Page 46 of Red Scale Daddy
I close my eyes briefly and open them again because piloting through departure traffic while committing murder would complicate the launch profile. “Dux.”
“Yes, Commander?”
“Why did the cockpit illumination change?”
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
I adjust the lighting back to standard. “You accessed ambient control.”
“I was curious.”
“I warned you about curiosity.”
“You warned me about touching systems for entertainment. This was educational.”
“It will be posthumous if repeated.”
“That is a strong training model.”
I bring up the command permissions and lock ambient controls from the secondary station. “New protocol. Any unauthorized system input outside your approved panel generates a warning chime.”
“That seems excessive.”
The ship chimes as he touches the camera selector again.
I look at him.
Dux looks at the panel, then at me. “Effective, though.”
The second chime sounds when he attempts to mute the first.
“Do you understand the purpose of command structure?” I ask.
He folds his hands together in his lap with exaggerated innocence. “I understand several purposes. Which one are you currently defending?”
“The one that prevents us from dying because you have impulse control comparable to a fireworks accident.”
“Fireworks accidents are often memorable.”
“Mostly to emergency personnel.”
He nods toward the forward display. “You’re drifting point-zero-two degrees starboard.”
“I am allowing traffic wake to pass before correcting.”
“Sure.”
The word lands wrong.
Not because he says it loudly. He does not. He says it easily, lazily, as if he has set a hook and is waiting for me to notice. I check the wake pattern, the drift compensation, the cargo hauler crossing four thousand kilometers out, and the faint ripple from its shield wash.
The correction is not necessary yet.
Technically.
