Free Tin Woodman by David Bischoff, Dennis R. Bailey Page B

function, the briefing lounge was severely military. The transition from the comfort-oriented living and entertainment quarters was always a noticeable one to Lieutenant Gary Norlan. It was almost as though the environment itself called for attention, discipline, and restraint in one’s duties. But as he settled in one of the briefing table’s straight-backed, hard-plastic chairs, it was the captain who called for the immediate attention of the assembled members of Bridge Crew A.
    “Where is Dr. Kervatz?” he demanded, as though one of them might be hiding the man. Captain Edan Darsen was obviously still weak, and yet his almost manic inner intensity backboned him into performing his duty, despite his ill-health. He refused to stay in bed.
    It was Tamner who immediately responded. “He’s not bridge crew, Captain. You only ordered—”
    Darsen’s eyes betrayed an uncharacteristic anxiousness—usually hard and cold, they now darted about, searching the faces of those assembled for—something. Norlan felt a queasy sensation when those eyes lighted on him. They looked out from a severely disturbed consciousness. “Kervatz’s attendance here is necessary,” he stated, his big bass voice louder than necessary. “What I have to say will concern him. Have him paged.”
    Tamner immediately rose from his seat beside the captain and left the room. Funny, Tamner had never been this close to the captain’s confidence before—he must have wormed into it only recently, convincing the obviously paranoid captain that he could be trusted.
    “Now then,” Darsen began gruffly. “I called this meeting to inform you that I have just received orders from Galactic Command which alter the mission status of this vessel.”
    So that was it, thought Norlan. But why did Darsen sound so hesitant—almost unsure of himself. Something strange was going on.
    Norlan glanced at the faces of his fellow officers. They all wore the same solemn military mask as his own. No one was going to expose his feelings here. But the executive officer—Leana Coffer—had a controlled fire of rage in her eyes.
    “Our new orders are available through the ship’s computer log. You are to read them in full,” Darsen continued. “For now, however, I want to cover the immediately relevant portions.
    “In response to this ship’s transmitted report concerning the Tin Woodman incident and the assault upon myself it precipitated, Galactic Command has ordered the Pegasus to pursue Tin Woodman, now regarded as a hostile alien—”
    What?!
    “Captain?” Norlan interrupted, unable to stop himself. Darsen’s busy eyebrows rose, but Norlan continued, his mask crumbling. “I am the chief communications officer aboard this ship. I would like to know who authorized that report’s transmission—I’ve never seen it. Nor have I seen any incoming communication from the GC.”
    “I authorized it, of course,” Darsen replied curtly. “Jin Tamner drafted the report from my dictation from MedSec, and had the—ah—communications officer on duty at the time make the top-secret transmission to Crysor. Tamner also personally received the response. As it happened, both times you were off duty.”
    “Might I remind the captain that regulations require both my authorization of outgoing transmission and my cognizance of incoming—”
    “My prerogative, Lieutenant,” Darsen’s voice rose above Norlan’s imperiously. “I am the captain of this ship! I am yet capable of performing my duties!”
    Common sense and discretion dictated that Norlan accept this. But the abuse of regulations irritated him. That—and something more. “I should very much like to see a copy of this report.”
    Darsen glared at him. “It is secret material, classified under my own personal code,” he snapped. His gaze swept the others at the table. “This ship is considered to be on combat alert from this point on, as per our orders from Galactic Command. And my orders are to be carried