"The cabin will be in order, Mr. Scott," replied Hartnett casually, "My staff and I are all destroyer men."
Scott cursed himself for an idiot and mumbled an apology, but the Commodore had let the incident pass with a half hidden smile and was inspecting the orbital calculators at the far wing of the Control panel.
The voice of Lieutenant Morse, Astrogation Officer, saved Scott any further embarassment. The communicator buzzed and Scott closed the switch.
"Control here!" he snapped, a bit too crisply.
"Astrogation. We'll be at the boundary of our inner patrol zone at 2335 Sidereal, sir."
Scott looked over at Hartnett. "Any orders, sir?"
The Commodore shook his head. "Just have the other ships maintain visual contact. Particularly the Artemis. The Lysander can take the rear position. Have me called in my cabin if anything comes up before then. See you in the wardroom at dinner. Carry on, Mr. Scott."
He left Scott feeling sorry for his friend, Tom Drew, who commanded Blue Three's lame duck, the beloved Artemis.
Striding down the ramp, the Commodore came to the main gun-deck and headed aft, past the banks of five inchers and torpedo tubes that lined the inner shell. The gun crews stood respectfully as he walked past them and returned young Blake's sharp salute. Hartnett restrained a smile and continued down to the cabin deck.