Fleet Admiral Williamson entered the room next. All focused their attention on him as he stood ten feet in front of the steps towards the middle of the room. He blew a sharp whistle. The chatter ceased almost instantly.
"Troops! My name is Fleet Admiral Williamson. I'm the boss. We want to get you all into your ships as quickly as possible, so please listen carefully. Behind me are the Admirals who will be overseeing each of your missions tonight."
He introduced each one in turn with an outstretched hand. First, Megan, a two-star Admiral overseeing the Falcon; next, two-star Admiral Call, overseeing the Odyssey; three-star Admiral Daymont was overseeing the Magellan; two-star Admiral Stacey oversaw the Galileo, and Commodore Houston was overseeing the Voyager. A Lieutenant Commander and five others lined up behind Admiral Megan, a Lieutenant Colonel and seven others lined up behind Admiral Call (Aaen looked at his rank paper to find Lieutenant Colonel as only a few ranks below Admiralty); a major and ten others lined up behind Commodore Houston; Aaen and twelve others lined up behind Admiral Daymont. Each crew left the room following their assigned Admiral.
After a brief restroom break, Admiral Daymont led the thirteen crew members into the same briefing room where Aaen recalled having been briefed for Intolerance. He was the third crewmember to enter the room. There was a cool, but comfortable chill as he passed through the room's threshold; Aaen liked the sensation on his face, and felt his enthusiasm building at the sight of the darkened room and the Magellan's logo projected onto a screen next to the black desk at the front of the room to his left, a desk that bore a black and gold variant of the Command logo. The room was very dimly lit; behind the desk, a wall-mounted writing platform with light beaming onto it from an array of small ceiling-mounted lights. He quickly took his seat at the head of the first of three tables and watched and waited as the rest of the crew took their seats. Admiral Daymont stood behind the desk and faced the crew.
Aaen leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and putting his weight on his elbows as he coupled his fingers. The crew gave Admiral Daymont their full attention.
"Alright, troops. The sooner we get through this briefing the sooner we get you all into your ship. It takes thirteen people to run the Magellan's bridge." he activated a small laptop computer on the desk and entered a command which changed the projection to show all of the senior officer bridge jobs, starting with the job of Admiral and ending with Deputy Security. He described each of the jobs in detail in what Aaen estimated was thirty seconds to a minute each. The Admiral runs the ship, but he or she focuses on the Ranger—Magellan's peripheral spacecraft, and basically The Union's first warship, though it is considered and regarded as an 'escort.' Aaen quietly and subtly laughed at the obvious inference. The captain focuses more on the ship's internal operations. The executive officer supports the captain and the Admiral and serves as the bridge for the rest of the crew to the captain and the Admiral. Everyone has a computer and unique functions that they can perform with that computer. The executive officer and two bridge security officers get sidearms.
—Great. Aaen thought skeptically, there are security officers on the lower decks, but only three people are expected to be able to protect the bridge of the largest traversable spacecraft (station) in The Union's fleet. Aaen was starting to wonder about Magellan's tactical capabilities. If, in the unlikely event the bridge should be taken over by a hostile outside force . . . what are the real odds of three people preventing that take over from being successful? He wondered skeptically, he felt his curiosity building, and he was becoming increasingly anxious to find out just how serious Magellan could get if the Admiral or the captain declared red alert, and the ship came under hostile fire. How many ships could Magellan take on in combat, if that were to happen, and hold its ground before. . .
*****
Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."
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