Free The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2) by J.S. Harbour

mirror of the XO’s cabin, the only two so equipped on the ship.
    He stared into the mirror and frowned at his wrinkled face. Too white , he said to himself, need to get some ultraviolet . He rubbed the stubble on his chin, thought to ignore it, then reluctantly got out his kit. Who knows how long the next shift will last with that freighter coming up .
    He shaved quickly. Doing it without a nick had become an art form over the years. He knew his face—the lines, the angles, the trouble spots. Then he pulled off shorts and t-shirt and stepped under the hot spray for three minutes. Five minutes later, he exited his cabin.
    A spacer stopped mid-jog to snap a salute. The captain returned the salute absently and the man continued on his way, bucket and mop in his hands. One lesson of command he had learned on the G-W was, while on duty, speak to the crew only when giving orders. No small talk, no chatting them up, no shooting the breeze. That just made seamen— spacers— squirm, afraid of saying the wrong thing to an officer.
    These were just boys, some of them, eighteen, nineteen, snatched from their mothers into the Navy. Many of them had no life skills yet. Those who grew up hardest had an easier time on ship, but those who were pampered—well, their parents had not done them any favors. One grew up fast in the Navy, but it could be brutal to the soft. An aircraft carrier— no, space cruiser , he reminded himself again—was a floating city of steel that did not care about human feelings. You either got tough or washed out.
    Fortunately, there were no newbies on the Lexington. The bottom rung was occupied by second-year spacers. Easy detail to forget.
    Spacer. Face it, I’m never going to get used to that damned word , Long said to himself.
    The stairs to the deck above—the bridge deck—were at the end of the hall.
    The XO had a much longer hike from his cabin to the bridge, being located amidships. Officer quarters were distributed into four sections around the ship to avoid catastrophic loss of command from a single event, but the captain’s quarters were just beneath the bridge. While junior officers had a tiny cabin, the enlisted crew slept in triple bunks along several halls. Each pilot was a senior officer with a cabin, while troopers had their own hall of bunks near the troop commander’s cabin.
    The captain was comfortable with the familiar layout of the ship, but he thought it was inefficient to follow the old sea vessel designs internally. On a spacecraft, space was meaningless. Mass is what counts.
    Long emerged onto the strap-shaped “handle” hall connecting the bridge to the upper spine hall. It was still divided into decks with hatches every fifty feet but it was the closest thing they had to a long stretch of open space this far from a flattop. Since the hatches were flush with the floor and ceiling, they could be opened all at once for an eighth-mile run, and used for the weekly 5k and sprint races.
    Good for morale.
    Long made his way around the curved hall to the bridge. Two troopers stationed at the door nodded and saluted smartly.
    “Benson, Marks, good morning, gentlemen,” the captain said, returning their salute as he walked past. He made an exception to the small talk rule with bridge crew and guards.
    “Captain on the bridge!”
    “As you were,” he said. Despite hearing it several times per day, he did not tire of the tradition. It was important, not for his ego but for discipline, to remind officers who they reported to and where both the captain and XO were throughout the day. He often didn’t see his XO since they usually took alternating shifts. During any interdiction, they would both be on the bridge. Like today.
    Having just left an hour ago, the captain skipped his usual ritual and said, “What’s the status?”
    Plaas pointed to the center screen. “Captain, we’re an hour from the ship’s last known position. Nothing on RADAR.”
    “Debris?” Long