head. "Lieutenants and above only. Apparently that's standard protocol in the Orbital Patrol."
Marshall pulled his communicator out of a pocket, activating it with an effort, "Ensign Esposito and Sub-Lieutenant Tyler, report to the briefing room on the double."
Not waiting for an answer, he limped into the elevator, sighing with relief as he leaned on the wall. Usually the rides seemed to take far too long; this one seemed to be over far too quickly, and the door opened on the lower deck, a couple of surprised-looking crewmen saluting as they saw the captain.
With an effort, he returned the salute, and shrugging off any assistance, started limping towards the briefing room. He could hear a loud argument inside as an unfamiliar officer ran down the corridor behind him.
"Ah, you must be Sub-Lieutenant Tyler. We didn't have a chance to meet before the incident."
The young, carrot-haired officer looked as if he hadn't yet got around to shaving; his face flushed red with guilt, "Sir, you can have my resignation. I've already prepared it."
"How could anyone have known what was going to happen, Sub-Lieutenant? What happened there is the past; it is what happens now that is important. Make sure it doesn't happen again."
Caine squinted at the young security officer, looking him up and down, "You seem vaguely familiar, Sub-Lieutenant. I couldn't quite put my finger on it earlier. Are you any relation of Maggie Tyler? Last time I saw her she was a Captain on the Curtiss."
He nodded, jerkily, "She made Major before dying at Second Vesta. My father fell in the same battle."
"Sorry, Sub-Lieutenant. I didn't know," Caine replied.
"That's fine, ma'am. It was a long time ago." He turned to the captain, "Can I have your permission to implement security procedures, sir? At the very least I want to assign you a permanent bodyguard, though I'll make it clear that they are to be discreet."
"Good start, but forget about the discreet part. I'd rather have people warned away completely than force one of your people into a daring last-minute rescue. Now, shall we go in? I'd really like to sit down."
"Oh, yes, sir." The young security officer opened the door, revealing minor pandemonium inside. Zakharova was on her feet, yelling at Esposito, who was standing over by the door. Mulenga was shaking his head, while Quinn had his head buried in a pile of datapads, muttering something to himself. It was Dietz who first noticed the captain half-staggering into the room, and bolted to attention.
"Captain on the deck!"
Mulenga rose with evident relief on his face, as did Esposito. Fury danced across Zakharova's features as Marshall made his way to the head of the table with precise steps, gesturing for her to move out of his place.
For a brief second he thought he was going to have to order Tyler to move her, but she finally nodded and strode to the other side of the table. He managed to sit down before his legs gave out from under him, and gestured everyone else to seat.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, Captain?" his Exec began, before turning to the doctor, "I understood, Doctor, that his condition was extremely serious."
"I can't help being amazing at my job, Lieutenant," Duquesne replied. "Nor can I refuse the orders of my commanding officer. When he tells me he's ready to attend a staff meeting, I am forced to agree."
She pointed at him, "You can declare him medically incompetent."
"I could, but I'm not going to."
Lieutenant Caine smiled, taking a drink of water from the desk. "Captain Marshall is here, he's fit, and he's in command."
"You are allowing your personal feelings for Captain Marshall to overcome your professional judgment."
Marshall looked daggers at Zakharova. "Lieutenant, this conversation is over. Now. If you wish to continue it then you can do so in your cabin, but I warn you, no-one will be there to listen."
Dietz nodded, "Unless judged medically unfit, the Captain is in command." He slid over a datapad. "My operations
Marshall pulled his communicator out of a pocket, activating it with an effort, "Ensign Esposito and Sub-Lieutenant Tyler, report to the briefing room on the double."
Not waiting for an answer, he limped into the elevator, sighing with relief as he leaned on the wall. Usually the rides seemed to take far too long; this one seemed to be over far too quickly, and the door opened on the lower deck, a couple of surprised-looking crewmen saluting as they saw the captain.
With an effort, he returned the salute, and shrugging off any assistance, started limping towards the briefing room. He could hear a loud argument inside as an unfamiliar officer ran down the corridor behind him.
"Ah, you must be Sub-Lieutenant Tyler. We didn't have a chance to meet before the incident."
The young, carrot-haired officer looked as if he hadn't yet got around to shaving; his face flushed red with guilt, "Sir, you can have my resignation. I've already prepared it."
"How could anyone have known what was going to happen, Sub-Lieutenant? What happened there is the past; it is what happens now that is important. Make sure it doesn't happen again."
Caine squinted at the young security officer, looking him up and down, "You seem vaguely familiar, Sub-Lieutenant. I couldn't quite put my finger on it earlier. Are you any relation of Maggie Tyler? Last time I saw her she was a Captain on the Curtiss."
He nodded, jerkily, "She made Major before dying at Second Vesta. My father fell in the same battle."
"Sorry, Sub-Lieutenant. I didn't know," Caine replied.
"That's fine, ma'am. It was a long time ago." He turned to the captain, "Can I have your permission to implement security procedures, sir? At the very least I want to assign you a permanent bodyguard, though I'll make it clear that they are to be discreet."
"Good start, but forget about the discreet part. I'd rather have people warned away completely than force one of your people into a daring last-minute rescue. Now, shall we go in? I'd really like to sit down."
"Oh, yes, sir." The young security officer opened the door, revealing minor pandemonium inside. Zakharova was on her feet, yelling at Esposito, who was standing over by the door. Mulenga was shaking his head, while Quinn had his head buried in a pile of datapads, muttering something to himself. It was Dietz who first noticed the captain half-staggering into the room, and bolted to attention.
"Captain on the deck!"
Mulenga rose with evident relief on his face, as did Esposito. Fury danced across Zakharova's features as Marshall made his way to the head of the table with precise steps, gesturing for her to move out of his place.
For a brief second he thought he was going to have to order Tyler to move her, but she finally nodded and strode to the other side of the table. He managed to sit down before his legs gave out from under him, and gestured everyone else to seat.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, Captain?" his Exec began, before turning to the doctor, "I understood, Doctor, that his condition was extremely serious."
"I can't help being amazing at my job, Lieutenant," Duquesne replied. "Nor can I refuse the orders of my commanding officer. When he tells me he's ready to attend a staff meeting, I am forced to agree."
She pointed at him, "You can declare him medically incompetent."
"I could, but I'm not going to."
Lieutenant Caine smiled, taking a drink of water from the desk. "Captain Marshall is here, he's fit, and he's in command."
"You are allowing your personal feelings for Captain Marshall to overcome your professional judgment."
Marshall looked daggers at Zakharova. "Lieutenant, this conversation is over. Now. If you wish to continue it then you can do so in your cabin, but I warn you, no-one will be there to listen."
Dietz nodded, "Unless judged medically unfit, the Captain is in command." He slid over a datapad. "My operations
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