The doctor didn’t like being pushed on such a tight schedule, but the captain had given him his orders in no uncertain terms. Get these people off the Odyssey, upright or on their backs, within three hours, or the Odyssey would be entering battle with them on board.

Being the chief medical officer gave him quite a lot of power, even over the captain, but none of it concerned tactical decisions. So he found himself pushing the envelope of what he’d recommend under similar circumstances, trying to get as many of the patients moving under their own power as possible. Any others they’d carry off if they had to.

A ship in combat was no place for an innocent bystander.

Not even when the ship was, itself, an innocent bystander of sorts.

Weston watched the first flood of shaky passengers being led to the small orbiter parked on his deck. A junior lieutenant moved to his side, catching his attention.

“Lieutenant.”

“Begging the captain’s pardon, sir, but I just came back from the Archangels’ berth.”

“Did you deliver my request to speak with Commander Michaels?”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant was sweating, Weston noted.

“Then why is the commander not here, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I…sir…that is, Lieutenant Amherst…sir, he…”

“Spit it out,” Weston snapped, wondering why the young kid was so worked up. Amherst was Steph’s second in the Angels, but if something had happened to Steph, Weston should have been told about it.

“Sir!” The young man snapped straight. “Lieutenant Amherst told me that, unless the ship was about to be blown to hell, I wasn’t getting within twenty feet of Commander Michaels, sir.”

Weston kept a straight face. “Very well. If you’ll inform Mr. Amherst that I would like to speak with him, I would be appreciative.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” The young man snapped a salute and beat a hasty retreat.

Weston watched him go with an amused look. Amherst was just doing his job, even if it sounded like he’d been a little rougher than he had to be. If he felt that Steph needed more sleep, and Weston wasn’t going to argue with him on the subject—not until the attack was underway, at any rate.

Still, if Amherst wanted to play that game, he was going to have to learn the consequences one had to suffer as a good XO.

Weston turned his attention back to the refugee exodus.

Things were going as well as could be expected, he supposed, given that most of the refugees were still at least somewhat under the effects of the sedatives and weren’t in the most lucid state of mind.

The pilots of the orbiters had pitched in and seemed to be trained medical personnel as well as pilots, which made things a lot easier.

Their efficiency almost made Weston sorry for ripping a strip off each one of their backs in turn for their landing.

Almost.