Flynn huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath as he leaned against the bulkhead. His muscles felt watery, and he could swear that the gravity had been increased to almost twice what was standard for all that he wanted to sink to the deck.
Beside him, Lt. Stephanie Kimball, whom he usually referred to as Eltie, jogged in place beside him. She hardly broke a sweat, and had that infuriating grin on her face.
“Come on, sir. Up and at ‘em. Ten more laps through the ship.”
Flynn barely suppressed a groan. He could stop at any time. He was the captain, and he wasn’t even in the Fleet any more. But then that was why he asked Eltie to help him get into shape. He had spent too many years as a senior officer on a ship. He did all his work from offices or the bridge of his ship. But he couldn’t do that anymore. He had to carry a sidearm, infiltrate installations, and defend his ship from attack in hand-to-hand combat.
Flynn took a deep breath and pushed away from the bulkhead.
Eltie set off at a light pace—for her—and began the song.
Bad enough I have to run, but I have to sing while running. And I have to sing that song. If I wasn’t already out of the fleet, I’d be laughed out for this.
Flynn lurched into a jog after her, joining in “From the Halls of Montezuma. . . .”