Flynn
huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath as he leaned against the
bulkhead. His muscles felt watery, and he could swear that the gravity had been
increased to almost twice what was standard for all that he wanted to sink to
the deck.
Beside him,
Lt. Stephanie Kimball, whom he usually referred to as Eltie, jogged in place
beside him. She hardly broke a sweat, and had that infuriating grin on her
face.
“Come on,
sir. Up and at ‘em. Ten more laps through the ship.”
Flynn
barely suppressed a groan. He could stop at any time. He was the captain, and
he wasn’t even in the Fleet any more. But then that was why he asked Eltie to
help him get into shape. He had spent too many years as a senior officer on a
ship. He did all his work from offices or the bridge of his ship. But he
couldn’t do that anymore. He had to carry a sidearm, infiltrate installations,
and defend his ship from attack in hand-to-hand combat.
Flynn took
a deep breath and pushed away from the bulkhead.
Eltie set
off at a light pace—for her—and began the song.
Bad enough I have to run, but I have to sing
while running. And I have to sing that
song. If I wasn’t already out of the fleet, I’d be laughed out for this.
Flynn
lurched into a jog after her, joining in “From the Halls of Montezuma. . . .”