The Brightstar Hearing Room smelled both new and dusty, like a new car too long in the dealer’s lot. Jonal and Tonas ran a tight ship. The Brightstar crew imbibed a bit, kicked up a ruckus in port now and then, but seldom required any disciplinary action other than a confinement to Quarters or a night in the brig to dry out. Jonal’s arrival coincided with TeZarron’s, and the Elder viewed the room with a simultaneous sneeze and grimace of distaste.
“It doesn’t get much use, High Lord. I apologize for neglecting to send crew to freshen up.” Jonal marked the obvious lack of minimal preparation. “I’ll call down to Maintenance; we have 30 mots until the scheduled start.”
“Your mind roils, Admiral. No apology necessary.” With a small grimace of distaste, TeZarron waved his hand over the chambe
