[font=Palatino Linotype]Prison Station Mitchell, Alaska System
Havelock paced his room on board the prison station Mitchell. Thoughts flew through his mind as he pondered over the events of the past several months. Thoughts about loyalty; about trust. Thoughts about the mental state of his commanding officer, and of the true purpose of their mission here. Thoughts that could, if anyone caught wind of them, get his ass hauled into a court marshal, or worse. His attempts at gathering information about the full extent of the situation here had merely given him more questions. What were the doctors using the Nomad specimens for? Why were his ship’s weapons systems malfunctioning? And why, above all else, was the Vice-Admiral acting so strangely?
They had captured another Order pilot recently. Havelock had gone over the brig video logs thoroughly, and questioned the ship guards about the prisoner. The man seemed to be ranting on about the Liberty Navy doing something wrong, but had never bothered to elaborate on what their transgression was exactly. And, of course, since Havelock had ordered the guards to ignore the prisoner’s comments, he had no idea what the prisoner was talking about. Thinking back on the incident, Havelock regretted not questioning the prisoner. That would very likely have illuminated the whole matter.
In fact, Havelock began to pity the Order pilot which he had taken prisoner. If things were as bad as that pilot had said; as bad as he was beginning to fear, then…
Havelock tore himself away from that thought with a shudder. If things had gotten that bad...
His thoughts were interrupted by a ring from the door he marched up and opened it, and was greeted by the cheerful face of Ensign Smith.
“Yes, what is it, Ensign?” growled Havelock.
“Uh, you said you wanted me to go over the specs on the repairs we did yesterday, so I-“
“Yes, yes. Thank you for reminding me. I’ll be along in a second. Meet you in the docking bay,” replied Havelock.
Smith went off in the direction of the bay, and Havelock closed the door and slumped down on the chair in front of his desk. He ran his hand through his hair, thinking. The captain’s behaviour was worrying him, recently. He wasn’t having any outbursts any longer, and the doctors (not that Havelock trusted them) had said that he was fine now, but Patterson had been acting strange lately. The way he spoke… it wasn’t normal. Something was off, but Havelock couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem.
Ah well, he thought, I guess I’d better head over and see what sort of shape the ship’s in.
