to be something far worse.
A chill shivered sickly through her, reinforcing her fears.
Justice had no idea what had crawled up the commander‟s ass, but she was just this side of committing a major infraction against a senior officer. Commander Chapel had been in a raring nasty mood for the past twenty-four hours, and there wasn‟t a single crew member who wasn‟t feeling the backass side of it. Even the medic was making himself mighty scarce after daring to suggest that the commander might need something to relieve his tension. Needless to say, the suggestion wasn‟t well received.
Justice glared over her shoulder at the one and only member of the crew who would survive telling the commander to kindly remove said bug from said ass. Lasher cocked a brow at her in response and calmly stared her down.
“That‟s easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “He isn‟t chewing nails and spitting them out at you .”
Lasher was well aware that Bronse was in a bad mood. Frankly, as far as Masin was concerned, Chapel had as much a right as anyone else to have a decent funk now and then.
Granted, the timing was poor and the cause was questionable, but Bronse was just venting.
Lasher knew he would steam down after a while. Hopefully it would be before he alienated the entire crew.
Lasher finished studying his schematics for the mission. He had done so dozens of times, and now he felt ready to present the mission parameters to the crew when they met for the midday meal. They would be touching down in nineteen hours. That gave them time for chart review, mission review, reports, rack time, and gear-up.
Lasher logged off his CompuVid and stood up. He trekked back to Medbay, and the door hissed open easily at his approach. The pneumatics of the door actually were drowned out by the compressors that misted the air with disinfectant every time someone passed through the portal.
On large flight ships and on space stations, a laser shower was used instead, more efficiently zapping away all surface bacteria from visitors and doing so without their notice. Lasher brushed a hand back through his lightly dampened hair. The mist would evaporate in a few seconds.
“Jet?”
“Yeah?”
Jet popped up from behind one of the diagnostic palettes, a laser wrench in one hand and a calibrator in the other. The medic was obviously tweaking his equipment in anticipation of any possible casualties.
“I need a favor.”
“A sedative for Commander Chapel?” Jet asked hopefully.
“Yeah. Right. When Hepraps fly.”
Jet sighed with clear consternation. “It would last only five hours. Plenty of time to relax and refocus. He needs to focus, you know.”
“I know. But where would you hide on a ship only so big after those five hours were up, Jet?” Lasher sighed softly. “I‟ll talk to him about this after midday. Listen, I need a specialized med kit.”
“Specialized?”
“Yeah. I‟ll tell you exactly what I want and you tell me exactly how to use it. Okay?”
“Something I should know about?” Jet asked warily. He might be a medic, but Jet was as much IM soldier as the rest of them. Medics always stayed with the ship. They never went directly into the field. The ETF crew members had plenty of basic first-aid training to get them back to the ship. There was no need for a medic until after they reached extraction.
“Negative. Let‟s just call it a gut instinct, okay? C‟mon, jack me up.”
Jet gave him a crooked grin. “Come into my laboratory …”
Bronse sat in the mess hall working up a report while he waited for the rest of the crew to arrive for midday meal. He was tired, and he rubbed at his forehead and temples where a bitch of a headache was throbbing rhythmically. Focusing on the VidPad was no easy trick. Focusing on writing a mission report for a mission he was certain was bogus was even harder.
With a disgusted grunt, he tossed the VidPad on the table and set both hands to work at
A chill shivered sickly through her, reinforcing her fears.
Justice had no idea what had crawled up the commander‟s ass, but she was just this side of committing a major infraction against a senior officer. Commander Chapel had been in a raring nasty mood for the past twenty-four hours, and there wasn‟t a single crew member who wasn‟t feeling the backass side of it. Even the medic was making himself mighty scarce after daring to suggest that the commander might need something to relieve his tension. Needless to say, the suggestion wasn‟t well received.
Justice glared over her shoulder at the one and only member of the crew who would survive telling the commander to kindly remove said bug from said ass. Lasher cocked a brow at her in response and calmly stared her down.
“That‟s easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “He isn‟t chewing nails and spitting them out at you .”
Lasher was well aware that Bronse was in a bad mood. Frankly, as far as Masin was concerned, Chapel had as much a right as anyone else to have a decent funk now and then.
Granted, the timing was poor and the cause was questionable, but Bronse was just venting.
Lasher knew he would steam down after a while. Hopefully it would be before he alienated the entire crew.
Lasher finished studying his schematics for the mission. He had done so dozens of times, and now he felt ready to present the mission parameters to the crew when they met for the midday meal. They would be touching down in nineteen hours. That gave them time for chart review, mission review, reports, rack time, and gear-up.
Lasher logged off his CompuVid and stood up. He trekked back to Medbay, and the door hissed open easily at his approach. The pneumatics of the door actually were drowned out by the compressors that misted the air with disinfectant every time someone passed through the portal.
On large flight ships and on space stations, a laser shower was used instead, more efficiently zapping away all surface bacteria from visitors and doing so without their notice. Lasher brushed a hand back through his lightly dampened hair. The mist would evaporate in a few seconds.
“Jet?”
“Yeah?”
Jet popped up from behind one of the diagnostic palettes, a laser wrench in one hand and a calibrator in the other. The medic was obviously tweaking his equipment in anticipation of any possible casualties.
“I need a favor.”
“A sedative for Commander Chapel?” Jet asked hopefully.
“Yeah. Right. When Hepraps fly.”
Jet sighed with clear consternation. “It would last only five hours. Plenty of time to relax and refocus. He needs to focus, you know.”
“I know. But where would you hide on a ship only so big after those five hours were up, Jet?” Lasher sighed softly. “I‟ll talk to him about this after midday. Listen, I need a specialized med kit.”
“Specialized?”
“Yeah. I‟ll tell you exactly what I want and you tell me exactly how to use it. Okay?”
“Something I should know about?” Jet asked warily. He might be a medic, but Jet was as much IM soldier as the rest of them. Medics always stayed with the ship. They never went directly into the field. The ETF crew members had plenty of basic first-aid training to get them back to the ship. There was no need for a medic until after they reached extraction.
“Negative. Let‟s just call it a gut instinct, okay? C‟mon, jack me up.”
Jet gave him a crooked grin. “Come into my laboratory …”
Bronse sat in the mess hall working up a report while he waited for the rest of the crew to arrive for midday meal. He was tired, and he rubbed at his forehead and temples where a bitch of a headache was throbbing rhythmically. Focusing on the VidPad was no easy trick. Focusing on writing a mission report for a mission he was certain was bogus was even harder.
With a disgusted grunt, he tossed the VidPad on the table and set both hands to work at
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