“You know what I mean.” She looked over Rogers’ shoulder. “Here she comes. Just think about it, Rogers. You can’t con the Viking.”

Brushing past him, Mailn moved to rejoin her boss and walk over to the corner of the bridge, where they’d be able to view the briefing. The Viking, seeing Rogers, spat.

The rest of the crew filed into the bridge, and McSchmidt stepped in front of the screen. After a moment, a comfortable silence settled, punctuated only by the beeps and squeaks of the routine electronic equipment.

“Sir,” McSchmidt said. “I’m ready to begin.”

Klein waved him on.

“I’ll need more time to study,” McSchmidt said, glaring at Rogers, “but these ship formations don’t appear to be positioned for offensive action. In fact, it looks like they’re more concentrated on forming a blockade, as though they thought we were the aggressive ones.”

“So, what’s all the fuss about?” the Viking said. “Blockading their own system seems a little pointless, doesn’t it?”

McSchmidt cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable, but Rogers attributed that to being new to the position. “The reporting isn’t very clear, ma’am, but from what we know of new Thelicosan space strategy, they also utilize a blockading formation as a baseline for forming ceremonial ship patterns. In a few days, you might see, say, a smiley face, or a star. It could just be a parade.”

Rogers spoke up. “How old is this data?” he asked.

“Well,” McSchmidt said, “I’m only becoming familiar with the sensor array now, but the information is probably less than a few days old.”

So, what’s all the warmongering about? Rogers thought.

“That concludes the intelligence briefing for today,” McSchmidt said, turning off the display. “Are there any questions?”

“I have one,” the admiral said. “Who are you?”

McSchmidt’s eyes flashed to Rogers as he wrung his hands together in front of him. “I’m . . . Ensign McSchmidt, sir. I’m the new intelligence officer.”

Rogers nodded. “You approved the transfer just a few minutes ago, sir.”

“Oh, right, right,” the admiral said as he scratched through some speech he was writing. “Well, I’m promoting you to lieutenant lieutenant, McSchmidt. I can’t stand ensigns. Go change your uniform. And tomorrow, I want more colors in your pictures.”

“Sir?”

“More colors. You should be showing all the enemy ships as red and all the friendly ships as blue. Here, they all look like they’re made out of metal.”

“They are made out of metal, sir.”

The admiral leaned over to Rogers and muttered, “Munkle never argued.”

“Munkle probably argued with you every day,” Rogers muttered back. “You just couldn’t understand a damn word he was saying.”

“That will be all, Lieutenant Lieutenant McSchmidt,” said the admiral, leaning back in his chair and giving Rogers a dark, disapproving look.

McSchmidt saluted and, looking like a little kid who’d just been given a bag full of puppies, flounced out of the room, tearing the rank off his shoulders and whistling.

“Well, that’s that,” Rogers said. “Admiral, I need to—”