“Engineering inspected every secondary system yesterday, ma’am,” Vance replied quickly, producing his own tablet of reports. “The propulsion plant is secure, but the financial loss and breach of trust are catastrophic for this entire command.”
The door opened once more, and two Master-at-Arms personnel escorted Brandon into the brightly lit room. My brother had removed his white hat, clutching it nervously against his chest like an erring schoolboy caught red-handed.
He glanced around the room, seeing two admirals, a ship captain, and several senior officers staring at him coldly. The reality of his precarious situation finally shattered the protective bubble our father had built around him.
“Petty Officer Owens, stand at attention,” Commander Harris commanded, his voice ringing sharply off the steel bulkheads. Brandon snapped his heels together instantly, his eyes darting frantically between my stars and the thick files before me.
“Do you recognize these maintenance disposition logs, Petty Officer?” I asked, sliding three laminated forms toward his position. My voice carried neither anger nor sibling familiarity; it was the measured tone of a flag officer conducting official business.
