“I still don’t see what this is supposed to accomplish, Remmie,” Armstrong grumbled, picking up another sheet from the stack. “We don’t even know for sure that he’s still in the complex.”
Though he was from a military family and had consequently had more experience with planning, the same background had also made Armstrong a stickler for protocol and chain of command. Lieutenant Rembrandt’s commission predated his, making her the senior officer and his superior, and he deferred to her as much from ingrained habit as from courtesy.
“It’s a starting point, okay?” Rembrandt snapped back at him. “I just don’t think we should start tearing the whole space station apart, dividing our forces in the process, until we’re sure they aren’t holding him right here. It’s our best bet that he’s being held here somewhere, since I don’t see them running the risk of being spotted while trying to move him out of the complex. That means we’ve got to take the time to check out all the out-of-the-way nooks and crannies in this place before we go barging around outside-and there are a lot of them.”
“You can say that again,” Armstrong said, scowling at the sheet he was holding. “As long as we’ve been here, I never realized how many access corridors and service areas there were in this place.”
“Hey! Look who’s here!”
“C.H.! How’s it goin’, man?”
The officers looked up as the company’s supply sergeant made his way into the room through the waiting crowd, smiling and waving his response to the greetings that marked his arrival.