Blood Impulse

Part 8.3 - TURRET MALFUNCTION

Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

"Fuck." It was much the only word Colonel Zarrey had for their current situation. Just, "Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Are you okay, sir?" Lieutenant Robinson asked, pulling the microphone of her headset away from her mouth.

"Fuck!" He threw the packet of papers down onto the flat top of the radar console. "No! Why the hell would I be okay?" What kind of stupid question was that? "I'm inheriting a ship that's falling the fuck apart!"

The bridge crew fell into an uncomfortable silence. Mention of Zarrey taking permanently over was a foreign concept. It was the first rule of being assigned to the Singularity: she was Admiral Gives' ship. The fact that was no longer the case would take some getting used to for everyone involved.

"Well, sir," Lieutenant Jazmine said, cluelessly attempting to brighten the mood, "I'd say at least ten percent of that stuff was broken before the nuke hit, and the other ninety percent wasn't really your fault."

Colonel Zarrey contemplated walking over and whacking the helmsman upside the head. That was beyond the point. But, ultimately, he realized he was too tired to move his feet even that small distance.

"Sir," Robinson said, her voice soft as she stood beside him on the lower tier of CIC, "It might benefit you to rest for a few hours. We can handle this."

"Fuck that," Zarrey grunted. "If Admiral Gives can stay up three days straight, so can I."

"With all due respect, Colonel," the communications officer said gently, "you're not the Admiral."

"And thank the stars for that." Galhino added from her station.

Every member of the bridge crew turned to stare at the sensor officer, unsurprised, but unamused by her blatant disrespect.

Jazmine shook his head, "Keep that up, Galhino, and mark my words: he's gonna haunt your ass."

"Keep that up and I'm gonna maroon your ass in the nastiest place I can think of, no matter how long it takes us to limp there," Zarrey corrected. "I don't care if he's almost dead or actually dead, you will give the Admiral your utmost respect. He gave thirty years of good service to this ship and he managed to put up with your shit, even if I'm not entirely sure how." Put in the same position, Zarrey would have kicked Galhino off the ship in a heartbeat. Hell, he was still considering it.

Robinson was staring down at her standard-issue shoes, cheeks flushed, embarrassed by Galhino's comments. Zarrey turned to her, rubbing his head, "I'm really not sure what you see in her." A nice young lady like Robinson could do a lot better.

"Owens," he flagged down the yeoman that ran papers on the bridge, "find me some drugs. My head is killing me."

Ensign Owens put up a salute, "Yes, sir."

"Dammit, stop it with all the saluting!" Ever since Zarrey had taken over temporary command, the crew had gone straight to treating him like a legitimate flag officer. "Standing orders on saluting the commanding officer are still valid. It's annoying and I don't want to see it." Admiral Gives had abolished that bit of decorum on the ship with good reason. There was no reason to start it up again now.

"Aye, sir," Owens acknowledged before dashing off in search of painkillers.

Zarrey continued to rub his temples. This was excruciating. He didn't know what the hell he was doing. Sure, he knew how to run a crew, but he did not have the slightest clue how to run a ship, especially not one that had been half-sunk by her own fleet.