“Where’re Marshall and Sullivan?”

“Cannon deck.”

“What about… what’s the other guy’s name?”

“John Johnson. He’s in stores.”

“John Johnson, huh? That was kind of cruel.”

Luke leans over the map sphere, gazing into it at the sparkling jewels of forest and plain and cliff. “So basically we can’t trust this thing for weather. And we can’t trust me for weather. And we definitely can’t trust the Center for weather. And there is no way we’re going to fly blind, so who gets the fun job of playing lookout?” He glances up at Atlas. “Got any grudges?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no.”

“Helpful.” Luke sighs, rests his forehead against the glass, and closes his eyes.

Atlas shuffles a minute. “You alright captain?” He finally asks, and there’s a bit of worry coloring his voice, because apparently this isn’t what fighter captains usually do.

“Who’d you sail under?”

“Captain Reller.”

Luke snorts. “Figures. Look, you know you don’t have to be so formal all the time, right? I mean, I won’t kill you for slouching a bit. No way can I deal with Reller’s idea of acceptable twenty-four/seven. Or even at all. All I ask is you don’t act like Paten in there, cause, I mean, rude is rude, y’know?”

Atlas looks a bit off balance as he takes this in, because Reller really is a drill sergeant, and an ass, and if that’s Atlas’s only experience of ship life, it’s no wonder he looks like he’s been ironed.“I… think I could do that.”

“Good. Now, this spatial thing, how exactly does that work? I’ve never really met someone with it; I mean, there were a few people in the Academy at the same time as me that did, but I didn’t pay attention to them. And I did not mean that the way it sounded.” Luke sighs, and flops into a chair. “You have no idea how much I could use a coffee right now.”

“I could get that for you sir.”

Face? Meet palm.

Previous: Scene 2-V

Scene 2-VI

Next: Scene 3-I