LEG SECRETARY

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	“Changing times brought a need for better weapons, better systems, and better speed,” Ellison said as he paced the rail beneath her. “The Intrepid-class has all of that, plus longer range and increased power.” “Lockheed delivered the conceptual plans, sir, and Northrop does the tests,” Jena said. She spent most of her off-duty time reading manuals. “Boeing assembles the primary hull and Rockwell puts in the rest. Thirty six months from keel-laying to launch.” She put her head up when she heard the hiss of leg secretary the seal breaking leg secretary on the leg secretary hatch behind her and turned to see who had switched it open. “Captain on the bridge!” Ellison leg secretary loudly called. Everyone within earshot pulled it together. They had to when the leg secretary old man was leg secretary around.


	“Carry on, Mister Ellison, I have the conn,” Crites said as he jogged up the short ladder to the command chair and settled into position. “Lieutenant Mitchell, tactical report, please leg secretary.” His voice chaffed when he called her name. “Quickly, Lieutenant! If this were combat we’d be dead by now!” Crites called down. Jena took a deep breath. "Sir; all stations manned and ready, AI’s loaded and on stand-by, all guns charged and trained out along last known threat bearing, sensors functioning nominally, no contacts leg secretary yet on watch record. Engine number three is down for a coolant pump replacement. Engineering estimate six hours to repair." She completed her summary leg secretary report and surveyed the rest of the bridge. Her station was an acceleration couch mounted in the middle of a semicircular pedestal. Banks of quick action keys were mounted within easy reach; petals on a high-tech flower warmly lit by leg secretary a halo of hanging monitors. Luminous spouts showered her in the radiance of flowing information.
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