Lê leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “I see no reason to place you in the brig, sir. However, I’ll want your parole that you’ll not try anything untoward. And, of course, I’ll have to refuse or countermand any orders you give.”

Moore nodded, feeling the blood draining from his head. It had hit the fan. This was the moment that every career officer dreaded. And, he supposed, every career politician and every business executive. The career-ending, insurmountable screw-up.

Moore found himself thankful that he had no family to disappoint.

* * *

The crew had been transferred out of two ships, and Pritchard returned control to the rest of the fleet. He explained that his nanites would remain, ready to re-take control if necessary, until the fleet returned to near-Earth space. At that point, the nanites would all self-destruct.

Moore stood in his customary position in the bridge. He had no illusions, though, that he was any longer in charge. His presence would be tolerated as long as he didn’t create problems.

He wondered idly about the outcomes of the other interviews. Castillo, he could trust. Gerrard, Richards, maybe not so much. They’d wavered and waffled at every bump in the road. He guessed they had folded like a house of cards at the first glare.

Moore looked down and sighed. He could see a small chance of a quiet and early retirement, with no fanfare or handshake. That was the best case. The next best was a dishonorable discharge, and no pension. And that left the most likely scenario by far—trial, conviction, imprisonment. For a long, long time.

Unless he was proven right. Then he would look like a prophet. But would it come too late?

69.Collateral Damage

69.Collateral Damage

The intercom beeped. “Dr. Kemp, Dr. Narang, to the bridge, please.”

Kemp sat up on his cot. It was nominally the beginning of sleep period. Who knew what had drawn Captain Jennings to the bridge?

He dressed and stepped out of his stateroom, almost running into Dr. Narang.

They proceeded together up the corridor, and stepped into the lift without comment. One of the many improvements in the new vessel—no more ladder to move between levels.

In minutes, they were entering through the bridge door. Lita Generus, in the pilot’s chair, swiveled to watch them.

“What’s up, Captain?” Kemp asked.

Jennings turned in his chair and gave Kemp a look that he couldn’t categorize. The captain gestured to the intercom. “Say hello, Ivan.”

“Hello, Ivan,” the intercom replied.

Jennings shook his head. “Everyone’s a comedian.” He turned to face Kemp and Narang squarely. “That is actually Ivan Pritchard on the intercom. He has apparently taken over our ship.”

“What?” Kemp moved to stand by the captain. “Ivan?”

“Hi, Doc. Glad you could make it. Dr. Narang. Long time no see.”

“Can you actually see us?” Narang asked.