Hover by Anne A. Wilson Read Free Book Online

on that tomorrow just before lunch, at eleven hundred.”
    â€œBrian, would you mind if Lace sat in on that lecture?” Commander Claggett says.
    â€œNo, not at all.”
    â€œShe needs to get her recce up to speed and this will give her something useful to do tomorrow,” he says, looking at me directly.
    Son of a … This is twice now. First the hair and now the inference that my knowledge of submarine recognition is lacking. But the last comment is the worst—like the husband whose wife accompanies him on a business trip and he sends her out shopping to give her something useful to do .
    Brian gracefully covers the awkward comment. “Sara, we’d love to have you and get your input. It’ll be nice to hear your opinion … to get a different perspective.”
    And Brian does it again. I allow myself a small moment to imagine what it would be like to have an officer in charge like him. Open. Progressive. But I quickly banish the thought, knowing I need to remain where I am mentally, so I can deal with reality.
    â€œWell, that should be everything,” Brian says before turning to Commander Claggett. “They just started dinner in the wardroom if you’d like to join us.”
    Commander Claggett agrees, which comes as a bit of a shock. I was sure he was going to find something for us to do that was more pressing.
    When we enter the wardroom this time, it’s crammed with ship’s officers, most of whom are clustered around one end of the table near the ship’s commanding officer. Brian walks toward him, motioning for Commander Claggett and me to follow. His name tag reads ROBERT PLANK.
    â€œSir, this is Nick Claggett—the Sabercats’ officer in charge—and Sara Denning,” Brian says.
    Captain Plank has silver hair worn high and tight—Marine Corps style—his eyes so dark, I can’t discern the pupil from the iris. At his side, strapped in a holster, he wears a Beretta M9 semiautomatic pistol. What is a ship’s captain doing with a weapon on his person in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?
    He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “How long until you’re off my deck?”
    â€œSir, we hope to have the transmission changed by tomorrow evening and then fly off the following day,” Commander Claggett says.
    â€œTwo days … Well, ensure that it happens.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    The air detachment has congregated at the far opposite side of the wardroom. Brian takes his seat at the head of the table, opposite Captain Plank, and Commander Claggett takes the seat next to him.
    Unfortunately, I have to sit next to Commander Claggett. I’m already bracing for the dinnertime conversation and wonder if by some miracle I’ll be able to escape more humiliating treatment. Eric sits on Brian’s other side, directly across from Commander Claggett.
    Seaman Ogilvy rushes over to find out what we would like to drink and gives us the menu selections for the evening. I’m not very hungry, so I opt for a small salad.
    The conversation is animated due to the weather. And speaking of weather, boy does this ship move. Everything is tied down because the pitching and rocking would knock anything un-stowed to the ground. I hold my glass so it won’t slide, and proceed to eat my salad in a mental cocoon. Conversation hums around me, but tonight, I’d rather just stay out of it.
    While I’m eating, I find that I can let go of my glass and it doesn’t slide. Hmm. The ship is pitching buckets, but the plates and cutlery are staying put. I finally realize it’s the table covering. I run my hand over it, touching my fingers down one at a time. It’s sticky. We don’t have this on the Kansas City.
    I look up and see that no one else is holding on to their glasses or silverware either, including Eric, who watches me with a lighthearted look on his face as I explore the sticky