Dakson just grunted and slouched in the back of the car, grimacing slightly as he stared out the window as he thought about how boring these meetings usually are.
Thinking his abrupt departure was kind of strange, Brison made a snide comment to Walker about the type of lunch meeting the chief likely had with the division officer, and got an elbow in his side for the trouble. Irritated, Brison spun around to ask him what the hell that was for when he saw the quartermaster standing behind him. His planned comment fled, the blood drained from his face, and he started sweating under the cold stare of the woman.
“I would expect you to keep your speculations concerning your senior officers and non-coms to yourself, especially when you are somewhere you can be overheard. Follow me, and I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
Brison managed to stammer out a “yes, ma'am” while suffering a laughing smile from Walker, and followed her to the chow line.
“We'll be serving for another forty five minutes,” they were told as the quartermaster dropped them off at the tray rack. “The enlisted mess is to the right of the galley, the officers' mess is to the left. You are not authorized to enter either unaccompanied, so you will find tables along the wall of the galley area itself,” she stated as she moved off, leaving the two cadets to fend for themselves.
Cadet Walker grabbed a tray and headed for the food line, not wanting to lose a minute of real food. Brison followed, still red in the face from his recent embarrassment. He passed through the line without saying anything or looking anyone in the eye, just pointing to his choices, and ended up at the desert rack. As he was debating on which pie to take, he was startled out of his brooding by a voice at his shoulder - “What's up, Brison? You look like the Chief just stepped on your favorite cat.”
Jumping a little, he turned and saw Cadet Wilston standing behind him. He grinned a bit and shrugged. “I need to learn to keep my mouth shut, is all.”
Wilston chuckled at that, “You are just now figuring this out? I would have thought it dawned on you as they led you out of the barracks a couple weeks ago in hand cuffs.”
Shrugging again and looking down, Brison replied “Yeah, well sometimes the bat upside the head only makes your think about how much it hurt to get hit by it, not so much about what you did to deserve it...” He looked back at her and asked “What are you doing here?”
“I am going to be a supply officer, so they figured I should spend some time at the elbow of some of the cooks.” As she replied, Brison noticed that she was wearing a white smock over her dungarees. “Though how learning to follow a recipe card is going to help me understand the logistics of supplying battle groups, I still haven't figured out,” Wilston continued.
“I haven't a clue, either,” Brison replied, shaking his head. “I'm sure it will al reveal itself by the end of the week...” As he started to turn toward the booth that Cadet Walker had found for them, he stopped and asked “Do you have a few minutes to join us?”
She looked over to the table and back, then nodded slightly. “Sure, they won't miss me for a couple minutes yet,” and joined Brison for the quick walk to the table. Declining Brison's offer to give her the booth seat, she grabbed a chair from another table and sat at the end. “This way I can head back quick if they give me a call. So, what are you two doing out here?”
“We get to be hangar rats this week,” Walker replied.
Nodding and chuckling, Brison looked over and saw that she was a bit confused. “We go to flight school when we get out of here, so they sent us over to work around the fighters. They might let us get inside one sometime this week – we hope.”
“Very cool!” was her reply. “Pilots, huh? How long have you wanted to fly?”
“Since I was a kid,” both Brison and Walkers' replied at the same time, and all three laughed.
“My dad was a pilot but was out by the time I was born,” Brison explained. “I grew up hearing stories about his deployments and was always day dreaming about taking on the bad guys. So, here I am.”
Walker looked at Brison, then at Wilston, and shrugged. “I watched a lot of space movies growing up and just wanted to be one of the heroes. It took a long time before I realized that the pilots in the movies weren't really pilots, but by then the dream had taken root!”
As they talked, Brison remembered watching the fighters, both atmospheric and vacuum, flying overhead to and from the base. His father had made sure to find a home close to the training base on the southern coast, that way he could watch the various craft on maneuvers. He learned each of the models and configurations of the ships while watching them with his dad, and in the process absorbed his passion for flying. A childhood spent building spaceship models, reading novels, and collecting anything with air or spacecraft on them served to solidify the goal in his own mind.
The galley closing chime sounded in their ears and they automatically started cleaning up their lunch mess. Brison realized he essentially participated in the conversation on auto pilot while he was daydreaming, and glanced at the other two cadets to see if they had noticed. They seemed pretty well clueless that he had been checked out for the last half hour and he felt better.
“Well, it was nice talking to you guys,” Wilston said as she stood and put the chair back. “I better head back and see if they need me to scrub pans or something. Enjoy sweeping the hangar bay!” With that she went back into the kitchen.
“Ready to see what the Chief has in store for us this afternoon?” Walker asked.
“Not really, but let's do it anyway...” Brison replied, and led the way out of the mess hall and back across the street to the hangar.
Lieutenant Pipkin and Chief Dakson stared at each other across the conference table in the Captain's office, eyes glazed and only half listening to the other department heads bickering about their respective annual budgets.
'How much longer do you think this will go on?' the chief sub vocalized into their private channel.
'Not much, if I have to break in myself. I am about to go to sleep.'
'About to? I am pretty sure I did for a good thirty minutes there!'
Lieutenant Pipkin couldn't help but smile. She had thought his eyes were more glassy that they usually were during the Monday department head meeting. 'Careful, Chief. I would hate to have to write you up for snoring.”
Dakson smiled himself and rolled his eyes at her comment, then again at Supply's request for new silverware in the officers' mess.
That was enough for Pipkin, however. Clearing her throat and leaning forward, she faced the head of the table. “Sir, can we get an update on the status of our request for that patrol squadron. I have been on the comm with the tactical group and have gotten nowhere.”
The budgetary discussions fell away as the reminder of even a slightly potential danger was voiced. A few of her fellow officers voiced their agreement in more information but most just sighed and sat back, tired of hearing about it after the last few weeks.
The base commanding officer looked back at Pipkin, undisguised irritation written plain across his aged face. “Lieutenant, I have not heard anything new. The request has been made and no special squadron was dispatched. We will get our usual patrol stop in a month or so and I will see if I can get them to hang out for a while. That shouldn't be too hard, I'm sure they will be ready for some good R and R. That's the best I can do.”
“With all due respect, sir, we need to try to expedite that. I am not comfortable with that ship and that drive. What if one of their Brax mainbrains got a glimpse of the star field on the other side of the fold when the tender came through. We are wide open here – I haven't been able to get decent upgrades for the system defense net for years.”
The Captain stared back at her. “Drop it, lieutenant. As you know, the tender folded in from a secure location. There is virtually no chance of a trace to it here.”
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