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."
Everyone in the comm room exchanged glances. No one even pretended to work. Dixter started for his office, Tusk in accompaniment. Once they were alone, in the small corridor that separated Dixter's office from the comm room, Tusk leaned near.
"You were relieved, too, sir. Weren't you?"
"In case it hasn't occurred to you, Commander," Dixter said grimly, "we may be facing armed rebellion, a revolution. Or a mass assault from the Corasian Empire. The next order I'm about to give will throw the fleet into disarray, disrupt Naval operations in every sector of the galaxy."
Dixter fumbled in his pocket, produced more antacid tablets, threw them in his mouth, and crunched them down.
Pausing at the door to his office, he said quietly, "Yes, maybe I was." Then, shaking his head, he added, "But I shouldn't have been."
With that, he entered.
"Bennett, I will be holding a holo-conference with my flag officers."
Bennett's gaze flicked over the Lord Admiral's uniform. The aide counted two coffee stains on the sleeve and what appeared to be the remnants of a bran muffin on the breast.
"I'll send to your quarters for your other uniform, sir."
"No time for that!" Dixter snapped, heading for the conference table.
Bennett planted himself in front of the Lord Admiral. The aide said nothing, but stared pointedly at the bran muffin crumbs.
Dixter looked down
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