Lawrence is back in front of an Islands map, but this time it’s his own, in his office on Banse. Pins have been shuffled around, and ships on their way back to base are backlight with yellow. All Flights were calling one third of their ships home at a time, to be briefed, and Flight 7 is no exception.

He has a headset on, and is just waiting for it to connect through to Njord. All that’s left after this are Haast and Ullr, and he’ll be able to do that with just one call, considering they’re working the Range together. Finally, finally, the line clicks in; he knows the Comms Center is overloaded right now, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

“Jansen, get Fosher in there; I need to speak to him.”

“Uh, yes sir, one moment.”

Lawrence raps his knuckles impatiently on his desk, such a nice desk, waiting once again.

“Commander?”

“Fosher. Good. You need to return to base.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Mul and Rak were sunk yesterday. By Mettians. And Aranek is mobilizing its army. We, the Flight Commanders, I mean, have been instructed to brief one third of our flight at a time. Skaoi, Crow, Haast and Ullr are also part of this group; Haast and Ullr just don’t know it yet. You won’t be in town long, a few days at most; believe me when I say there’s lots to be done.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Fosher says slowly, and Jansen, sensing this isn’t just ordinary news Fosher is receiving, pulls a chair out for him. Fosher takes it gratefully, easing onto it, afraid if he moves to quickly he’ll just topple over. “When do you need us there by?”

“Day after tomorrow, first thing in the morning. So, tomorrow night, if you can.” Lawrence says, spinning a pen on his desk as he listens to Fosher muttering numbers under his breath.

“We might be able to make that.”

“Sam has been asked, and Luke will be, to give you guys an extra boost, so you can add about twenty-five knots to your speed.”

“Right, we’ll be there tomorrow evening.” Fosher says. “Twenty-five knots, you say? That’ll be…”

“Fast. Exactly. See you then.”

Lawrence cuts the line and adds the yellow glow to the pin representing Njord on his map. And then he goes ahead and adds it to Ullr and Haast as well, and spins his comms’ tuner to Haast’s notch. As he waits for the line to click in, he considers the map. Ullr and Haast will make fourteen and fifteen of the ships currently on route to the Lattice Harbor, and it’s a damn good thing Cavalle was able to get those wind sheers under control, otherwise it would have been ugly. As it is, he will have at least nine ships landing all within about an hour, and at those speeds, it will be a miracle if there are no midair collisions.

“Clark? Get Luke and Reefer for me will you?”

“They’re playing Go Fish, sir.”

“I don’t care, interrupt them.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, sir.”

“Do it, corporal.”

“Yessir.”

Lawrence pauses a moment to reflect, as he waits, yet again. He’s probably slipping if a comms man doesn’t tremble with fear at the might of his voice and run to do his bidding, but instead show hesitation at interrupting a card game, of all things. Maybe he should find a voice coach…

“Georgie, that you?”

“Show some respect, you little monkey turd.”

“Oww! Lawrence, Reefer hit me!”

“Tattletale.”

Lawrence sighs; probably he’d be better off just retiring and being done with it.

Previous: Scene 5-XIV

Scene 5-XV

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