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“You’re what?” Captain Reynaud demanded, and Lieutenant Andreas Venizelos wrinkled his brow in puzzlement.

“I said I’m your customs and security officer, Captain. I’m sure Captain Harrington’s dispatch will explain everything.”

Reynaud accepted the message chip almost numbly, and Venizelos’s puzzlement deepened. He couldn’t understand why the ACS man looked so confused. It wasn’t as if Venizelos were using any big words.

“Let me get this straight,” Reynaud said after a moment. “Your Captain Harrington actually expects you and your people to be quartered here at Control? He means to leave you here to support our operations?”

“Yes, Sir, she does.” The darkly handsome lieutenant stressed the pronoun’s gender, and Reynaud nodded, but he still looked so dumbfounded Venizelos was moved to continue. “Why do you seem so surprised, Sir?”

“Surprised?” Reynaud shook himself, then smiled oddly. “Yes, I suppose ‘surprised’ is a pretty good word, Lieutenant. Let me just put it this way. I’ve been chief controller in Basilisk for almost twenty months. Before that, I was senior assistant controller for damn near two years, and in all that time, you’re the first—what did you call it? Security and customs officer?—anyone’s bothered to assign me. In fact, you may be the first one any station commander’s ever bothered to assign to Control.”

“I’m what?” Venizelos blurted, then flushed as he realized how exactly his tone matched Reynaud’s original emphasis. The two of them stared at one another, and then the ACS captain began to grin.

“Now that I think about it,” he said, “I believe I did read something in my original orders about the Navy being responsible for inspections and station security. Of course, it’s been so long I can’t be certain.” He glanced at the habitat services tech standing at his shoulder. “Jayne, do me a favor and find the Lieutenant’s people some quarters and get them checked out on the basic emergency procedures, would you? I’ve got some station regs to plow through to find out what the hell we’re supposed to do with them.”

“Sure thing, Mike.” The tech gestured to Ensign Wolversham, Venizelos’s second in command, and Reynaud turned back to Venizelos, still grinning.

“In the meantime, Lieutenant, perhaps you’d care to join me in my data search?” Venizelos nodded, and Reynaud’s grin grew broader. “And perhaps you’d care to tell me a little something about your CO, as well. But take it slow, please. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I don’t know if I’m ready for the concept of a competent senior officer on Basilisk Station!”

Andreas Venizelos grinned back, and for the first time in weeks, it felt completely natural.

Lieutenant Commander Dominica Santos tried not to swear as Lieutenant Manning handed her the latest projection.

They’d made the captain’s deadline for the first three drone drops, but she was already heading for the fourth, and Santos glared at the chronometer with something like desperation. Less than six hours before they began deployment, and they had barely sixty percent of the drones switched over. They were losing ground steadily; there were five more drops to go; her people were drunk with fatigue; and, worse yet, they’d just run out of beacon kits. From here on out, they were going to have to build the damned conversion sets before they could even put the sensor heads into them!