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Still cursing under his breath, he pulled a scrap of paper to him and grabbed a pencil to compose an email to his father. Severity of work required him to remain with his command, he wrote, knowing the old man would see through the fiction at once, but would the admiral like to visit him on the Roth?
The email took a surprisingly long time to write, short though it was. Jack typed it in, ordered and drank a glass of whiskey, and clicked ‘send’ as seven bells rang. He leaned back in his wobbly chair and rubbed his temples.
“Liberty,” he said, putting his hands down and turning back to the computer.
Two minutes later he rose to answer a knock on the cabin door, but rather then Mister Greenstreet responding to his commander’s summons, Doctor Russ walked in, holding a roll of vellum. “I saw your admiral,” he said, laying the vellum on the table and taking off his coat to hang it on the back of his accustomed chair. “What happened to my chair,” he asked.
Jack flushed. “I, er, tripped. I’ll have Chips set it right, but use mine for now,” he said, taking Stephen’s coat and hanging it on a bulkhead peg.
Stephen sat and considered his new perspective on the cabin. “Hmm,” he said. “Strange how a different angle on something makes it unfamiliar. But I saw your admiral. I am not at all certain that I made a good impression."
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