Thunderhead

7

In his quarters on the VIP deck, the vice admiral studied the Operational Utter Top Secret dispatch which had been handed to him five minutes earlier by his staff signal major.

“It looks as though this is no ordinary boatload of privateers.” He looked soberly at the elderly communicator. “They’re reported to be carrying a new weapon of unassessed power, and a cargo of spore racks that will knock Containment into the next continuum.”

“It doesn’t look good, sir,” the major wagged his head.

“I note that the commodore has taken action according to the manual.” The admiral’s voice was noncommittal.

The major frowned. “Let’s hope that’s sufficient, Admiral.”

“It should be. The bogie’s only a converted tender. She couldn’t be packing much in the way of firepower in that space, secret weapon or no secret weapon.”

“Have you mentioned this aspect to the commodore, sir?”

“Would it change anything, Ben?”

“Nooo. I suppose not.”

“Then we’ll let him carry on without any more cause for jumpiness than the presence of a vice admiral on board is already providing.”