Free A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) by Christopher Nuttall, Justin Adams Page B

moment,” Howard said.  He turned, motioning them to follow him.  “I know it's a burden, but we cannot afford to take risks.”
     
    He said nothing else until they reached their suite.  It was larger than Penny had expected - one small living compartment and a single bedroom - but she had the very definite impression that Stevenson was disappointed.  She dropped her bag on the sofa, checked inside the bedroom and smiled to herself.  The compartment was much bigger than the quarters she’d used last time she’d been on the ship.
     
    “You’ll have the bedroom, we assume,” Howard said.  “Mr. Stevenson will have the sofa.  The head” - he jabbed a finger towards the bathroom - “is shared.  I’m afraid there isn't anyone assigned to keep the room tidy, so you’ll have to handle it yourselves.  The door will need to be keyed to your fingerprints if you want to keep everyone else out; you’ll be able to handle that through the room’s terminal, over there.”
     
    Penny followed his pointing finger and nodded.  “When will we depart?”
     
    “Tomorrow morning,” Howard informed her.  “As we’re moving vast amounts of supplies through the ship, the two of you are to remain in your compartment for the moment.  You will be escorted to the mess when dinner is ready; until then, there’s a small stockpile of food and drink in the fridge.”
     
    “It’s a tiny fridge,” Stevenson complained.
     
    “I assure you that this is the second-largest cabin on the ship,” Howard said.  “This isn't exactly a fancy hotel.”
     
    Stevenson looked disbelieving, but Penny nodded in understanding.  She’d seen the junior enlisted quarters during her first cruise and they were tiny .  There was nowhere near enough room to swing a cat and privacy was a joke.  She’d endured the refugee camps on Earth, but she honestly doubted she could have tolerated such close quarters for very long.  If the crewmen had fallen out or started fights, it would have been intolerable.
     
    “We understand,” she said.  “It was in the briefing notes.”
     
    Howard smiled, very briefly.  “You can compose or record messages, if you like, but they will be held in the buffer until a censor can inspect them or we return to Sol,” he reminded her.  “And I’ll see you tonight, for dinner.”
     
    “Thank you,” Penny said.
     
    She watched Howard go, the hatch hissing closed behind him.  “Well,” she said.  “All we can do now is wait.”
     
    “I suppose,” Stevenson said.  He bent down to inspect the sofa carefully.  “How do you think you turn it into a bed?”
     
    Penny examined it for a moment.  “I don’t think you do,” she said.  The sofa wasn't very big - Stevenson was in for a few uncomfortable nights - but it was better than sleeping on the deck.  “You’ll probably find blankets in the drawers underneath.”
     
    Stevenson sighed.  “The things I do ...”
     
    “Just go embed yourself with the troops,” Penny said.  Her mentor during her first year as a reporter had been an embed, someone who’d lived and worked with a military unit while being a reporter.  His stories had always been hair-raising.  “You’ll be sleeping in mud, eating dung for dinner and dodging fire from people who are trying to kill you.”
     
    “Reporters shouldn't be killed,” Stevenson objected.
     
    Penny snorted, rudely, as she picked up her carryall.  Reporters were targeted; sometimes, they looked like soldiers, if seen from a distance.  Or they were targeted because the insurgents saw them as the enemy, the men and women who encouraged the British population to support punitive strikes against rogue states and terrorist groups.
     
    And if this ship gets destroyed , she thought, we'll be blown to atoms, without the enemy ever knowing who they killed .
     
    She pushed the thought aside as she stepped into the tiny sleeping compartment and opened her carryall, dumping her clothes into the