Devereux leaned back in the pilot's chair, arms crossing her chest. As she surveyed the instrument panel as a whole, her foot tapped idly against the large pedal on the floor. She fought back an urge to pound at the circular steering control. In that moment, she might have forgiven Rusty or Elizabeth for any part they might have had in the mutiny if they could tell her how to operate this damned machine.
#
Hawkes ordered an additional security team to the Chief's location. His console reported that a medical team had already been requested. He looked toward Thompson to see the First already heading for the hatch. His hand went automatically to his side, checking for the presence of his weapon, and he followed the First into the corridor.
His quick strides brought him quickly to Thompson's side, despite the First's more powerful gait. The First cast a sharp, somewhat annoyed glance in his direction, his lips turned in a determined sneer. He said nothing, though. He was prepared to take action, not necessarily before careful thought to the consequences, based on the Tactical Officer's experience with the First.
As the pair descended onto the deck, Hawkes caught the distinctive odor of burnt metal.
Whatever had happened, someone had cut into one of the bulkhead—or there had been another malfunction and bulkhead breach. The tenor of the voices ahead seemed to indicate the first, as did the lack of warning klaxons. Rounding the corner, Hawkes saw the Chief kneeling beside a limp figure in a violet-tinged uniform. His face betrayed deep concern and, Hawkes was surprised to see, barely controlled anger.
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