Minor Repairs (Kalidor, Kuat Shipyards)

[Bette Davis]

If it isn't one thing, its another.

Lieutenant Commander Bette "Shooter" Davis had been thrilled to get some leave while the Strike-class medium cruiser Kalidor was docked for repairs in the Kuat shipyards. The orbital stations were full of interesting things to do, and best of all she could get away from her nuggets.

Granted, they were doing better, mostly because of her teaching, but they still tended toward asking super annoying questions that had common sense answers. Like Kidd Smix. Bette suppressed a shudder at the thought of the young ensign. Skilled in piloting, perhaps, but not socially. He'd really fallen straight out of a turnip transport right into the recruiting shuttle. Of course she'd shown him the error of his ways, and now he was comfortably far away, causing headaches for someone else as a shuttle pilot.

She walked with purpose down the wide central promenade of the orbital station, but she had no destination in mind except perhaps the bottom of a bottle. Even that was starting to lose its appeal, however. Her run in with Kelly Perris had awakened a part of her she'd thought drowned. Conscience? Whatever it was, it was about as dammed annoying as her nuggets.

A group of pilots were walking towards her, and she drew herself up to her full height of five feet four inches and tried to look imposing. Despite her rank and full uniform, women in the Navy didn't get a lot of respect. Something else that was like a constant migraine in the back of her head.

Still, despite all the current 'things' going on, Bette wouldn't change much of her situation. As long as she could still get out in a Defender, or any other fighter, she felt alive. The wind in my face, metaphorically. She determined that she would ignore these pilots, some of whom looked familiar from Kalidor as they drew closer, and find a quiet bar for a nice, big, beer.