The stories told high and low aboard DSS Exeter about the “Brittany Incident” had gone from largely accurate accounts of how Lieutenant Hawkins got a chance to meet the sole occupant of Mount Olympus for the first time to fanciful tales of how she had almost sunk the fleet only to be stopped with moments to spare by the direct intervention of the TFC herself.

On the one hand, many of Lieutenant Hawkins’ contemporaries were secretly envious because their chances of even exchanging a greeting with Jayce Hunter were so close to zero as to be virtually immeasurable. On the other hand, the wildfire-like stories had swept through the fleet to the point where Brittany Hawkins was a name almost as recognizable as Hunter’s, at least recently. Granted, the junior lieutenant’s fame hadn’t come as the result of a medal or a generous promotion, but one way or another, everyone knew the name of the third watch signals specialist. What they thought of her was their own business.

For Hawkins herself, recapturing her reputation as the relatively unknown officer working in one of the less prominent sections on a war destroyer was her top priority. The very last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself or anything near her station. She had made a vow and told only her closest comrades about her plans. From now on, she was determined to treat her day-to-day duties like an infantry assignment. Don’t do anything likely to draw fire, especially from her own side.

It was for that reason the strange readings she was getting were driving her up a bulkhead. Exeter was battle group point right alongside Ajax. As the heaviest non-cruiser in the formation, her job was to focus maximum firepower against incoming birds and, if necessary, block for Ajax in the event hostiles decided to walk up to the front door and knock.

Exeter’s Signals Section was therefore able to operate full spectrum forward of the battle group. Many of the other ships in the formation were unable to use their full sensor and scanner capabilities due to the interference from the other vessel drive fields and any ECM the two capital platforms were generating. For Exeter, space was wide open. She had every radio listening and broadcasting on every possible frequency along with nearly a hundred flavors of motion, temperature, radiation, spectrometry and electromagnetic sensors. There was no need to be stealthy, so the ship was active and pinging away at the asteroid field. The Perseus formation was still outside the maximum range of the mines, fortunately. The Sentinel could still target some of the battle group’s ships, but it hadn’t fired in some time and even if it did attempt a waveform lock, the firing angle from its position on the asteroid would make a clean shot tricky at best.

Hawkins thumped the side of her scope. “I’m telling you, this thing is getting senile. First it complains about mass readings being off. Then it says there’s nothing there. Later it complains about EM emissions. Then when I switch over to analyze them, they’re gone.”

“I think thumping on it is making it dizzy,” Ensign Jameson said quietly.

“These things are supposed to be military grade, right? Knocking on the side isn’t going to hurt them. Hey! There it is again!”

“What?”

“The mass readings. Every time we sweep the field, it should come back at 2.7TT. Sweep 1314 was right on, but then 1315 reports there’s another half a million tons unaccounted for.”

“Range?”

“I thought of that. It’s inside our perimeter, which means it should trip the proximity alarm here and on the bridge. But it doesn’t. The Navicomp acts like it isn’t even there.”

“You have to be sure on this, Brit,” Jameson replied. “Don’t start another argument with the bridge. They’ll lock us in here and turn off the lights.”

“See? Sweep 1316. Normal.” Hawkins sat back in her chair and exhaled heavily. “It’s like this thing is trying to get me busted back to mess hall duty.”

“Inconclusive readings. The bane of all junior officers.”

Hawkins snapped her fingers. “Wait a second! What about the battle computer? We can tie in a parallel analysis module and let it chew on the numbers for a while!”

“We can’t engage priority systems without a green light from the signals station on the bridge.”

“That’s only if we’re not at stations. I can order an emergency override from my console.”

“That’s going to get logged and show up on the XO’s board.”

“By the time they notice it, we’ll have our answer. If it comes back clear, I’ll have deniability. If it says what I think it’s going to say, we might have a big problem out there.”

“Brit, do you have any idea how many senior officers are in this fleet now? We’ve got more captains and commanders around here than a core base! Any minute I expect we’ll be hosting a golf tournament for a few admirals and cabinet secretaries!”

“Don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

“If the officer of the deck comes in here breathing fire I never heard of you.”

By now Hawkins was deep into her work. Configuring an override switch was not a trivial thing. All the little flags and settings had to be just right or the mismatch would trip a console alarm at the XO station which would bring high ranking dragons into the room in large numbers and at high speed. What she was attempting had to be done exactly right. Authorizing an emergency override was right at the extreme upper limits of a junior lieutenant’s authority. She had the power to do what she was doing. She needed to be sure she had the backup to take the responsibility if necessary.

There it was. 28 lines of command codes. The commit button glowed serenely beneath the console. Brittany hesitated for a moment. Then she realized her inquisitiveness might be the only thing between the fleet and a hostile contact. Lives could be on the line.

The scope quietly switched to an override configuration. No alarm. Hawkins breathed a careful sigh of relief. At least the command worked. A moment later, the battle computer engaged and ran its first six passes on the accumulated data. Hawkins froze. A reddish glow from the indicators bathed her face in ominous light. Ensign Jameson almost jumped out of her chair when the junior lieutenant leaped into action. Hawkins grabbed the handset from the overhead panel.

“Get me the Officer of the Watch.”

A moment passed. Then the line clicked.

“Bridge, Pierce.”

“Hawkins in signals section, sir. I have two unidentified contacts. Threat board is active and tracking. Targets bearing zero three niner mark two two, range three megaclicks. On oblique course and closing at ten thousand MPS. Confidence–”

The unidentified contacts shifted red on Hawkins’ scope as they vectored into an intercept track. Hawkins didn’t think or hesitate. She rammed her fist down on the scram bar. A high-powered klaxon alarm went off and the signals section lighting changed to a burning crimson.

“Belay that, sir. Battle computer reports hostile contacts designated Whiskey India Three, Whiskey India Four on intercept course and closing. Recommend alert condition one. Standing by.”

The intraship clear frequency tone sounded through Hawkins’ handset at the same time it was broadcast on speakers throughout the ship. Hawkins glared at the incoming contacts. It was one of the toughest scans of her career, but she had them dead to rights, and Exeter’s mighty weapons would have three million miles of room to engage them before they could threaten the fleet.

Ensign Jameson was as white as a ghost, but she had survived her initiation. She was now officially a member of the ongoing saga of Brittany Hawkins.