ight light. His eyes swept the room – he was in the lounge. On the other side of the room, a low archway led into an open plan kitchen-cum-dining area. It allowed the Captain o

were visible along the bottom edge: "I.S.S. Mordrake AT-995". His view panned across to the other side of the room, where he spotted the Captain. Blaine was on a chair, slumped forward over the round glass-topped dining room table, a glass still in his hand. Lofflin shook his head, having half-expected to find Blaine skulking inside a blanket-fort on his bed, perhaps sucking his thumb! He stalked over to him, e

ttempting to speak clear

grinned at him lopsidedly and giggled, almost choking. He slapped the table, knocking his empty glass ov

think I co-uld ssit here an' calmly wait t'die

g that drunken face till it was either sober or unconscious, or ...gon

ds you!" Lofflin scowled. "You're turning you

little model of the Tower of Freedom on Ba Jel on the way, and

wha' they'll say back at the Fl-heet... Core Com-mand! All of us! Wastin' your breath, silly fellow." He slurred again. "Took

at the shoulder, while the other slapped the glass flying! His knuckles stung from the blow, but he was past caring! To hell with the consequences, he thoug

the half empty bottle from the table and brandished it under Blaine's nose, his bloodshot eyes swimming in shock. Lofflin was shouting now, but was beyond carin

ed to the floor. Blaine slumped silently back into his chair, totally deflated. This was not the Captain Blaine who would give clear concise instructions on the bridge, the commander who always had a series of options in his plan, or the man who would stick to protocol and etiquette as if they were etched in stone by one of the Old Gods. This was not the same man Lofflin had known as Captain. Sure,