“You’re senior,” Carla turns to me and shrugs. “Think we ought to chance it?”
“Don’t let her mislead you.” Dawkins interrupts with a hurt expression on his face. “We were forced to invite a bunch of Navy guys along to police up the debris. It’s a joint service function—and a lot of fun. You guys should really come by.”
“Can’t hurt,” I say. I know how to handle Marines.
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The rest of the time seems to pass in fits and starts. On Tuesday, I’m bogged down with reading paperwork and manuals plus spending time at each work station, trying to learn a little more about how we do what we do—now that I mostly understand what that is. Agnes Burke seems to have adopted me. She keeps getting up from her dark hole at the back of the shop to ask if I need anything, like help with my computer work
