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Harry permitted the computer to return, ordered it to go into combat mode but advised it to leave the shields down until further orders. The computer began rerouting and shutting off some systems, activating others. The interior lights dimmed to emergency status only; the supply of cool air was cut off, replaced by circulating air. It would soon grow moderately warm in the living quarters. Power to onboard amenities was cut. No showers, no hot food, no flushing the head. Tycho and Jamil climbed into the gun turrets. A bombardier wasn't needed; they'd opt for speed over heavy weaponry.
When each person reported ready, Harry nodded his head slowly, placed his big hands on the controls. On his face, an expression of intense concentration--which Xris had come to associate with these times--replaced the slightly foolish and occasionally goofy look Harry generally wore. Almost like an idiot savant, Harry was good at only one thing-flying. But he was supremely good at that, one of the best pilots Xris had ever known.
Harry melded with the plane in some strange way, as if it were just another body part. Weird to watch and see in action, scary to be along for the ride, but worth it at the end. Or so Xris hoped.
"I'm taking over manual control," Harry said, and even his voice sounded different--confident, deeper. "When I give the signal, computer, activate shields. Brace yourselves," he added for the benefit of everyone on board
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