>>6041342“New armor spot-welded onto Deck 5-12 breach. Should hold up to rough inspection. Materials salvage still-ongoing, 10 min left.” It's a bit odd for Goldsmith to type out messages like this. Then again, you are technically off-duty right now, a short break to cram as much food into your stomach as possible before taking the first watch. You envy Silas' and Tim's more deliberate approach; unlike you, they can afford all the time to play around with their brunch.
Silas' spoon falls back into the bowl and immediately starts sinking into the beef congee. “That bitch! She did jack shit and how much scrap is she claiming?” He raises his voice to a mocking pitch, “The entirety of Dandelion-1, half of Snapdragon-1, at least 40% of Sparrow-2's destroyer task group. You weren't even in the same zip code, for fuck's sake.”
Tim stops blowing on the steaming hot congee for a second, “Don't read while eating, O'Keefe. Besides, who cares? De Tassigny already hands over most of his share to her. As a naval officer, he doesn't get to take any spoils on top of his monthly paycheck anyway.” Silas' ire is now redirected to the man sitting across from him, “And tell me, Johnson, am I a proper naval officer to you? Or does your boy's club only admit the realest officer with sparkly ribbons and shiny medals.”
Your second officer picks up his whole tray. “I will not argue with you while the Commander's watching. But know this, Lieutenant Commander O'Keefe, by the letter of the Naval Code, I am four years your senior. Yet in many cases, seniority rightfully starts long before the letter of marque. I hope you will one day extend to me the same consideration.” He leaves without another word.
Silas also puts away his tablet before taking off, leaving you without a conversation partner. You wonder whether he is simply too proud to admit he has made a mistake hiring Tim. “A better question, my little mouse, is what you should do when those two finally draw swords on one another.” Damnit, shouldn't have jinxed it like that.
“How did you get on my ship again, the real Commander Jean-Pierre de Tas-si-nie?” Like a haughty cat pretending to paw away the hand giving it a good neck scratch, the man raises his ears in protest, “I cannot reveal the secrets of my trade just like that. Where will society go?” You parry the pathetic attempt and go in for the full cuddle, “You care for society?”
