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As Marcie had projected a year previously, the little missile boats were insanely easy to mass produce. The Richard O'Kane PC School at Atlantisat and a second PC school at Azahar were churning out PC commanders and Executive Officers by the score, and yet were having trouble keeping up with industrial production.His erstwhile Executive Officer had taken his own PC, the Barb, on three war patrols and was now commander of a flotilla based near Demeter. The rest of the Lieutenant-Colonel's former crew were scattered through the PC fleet, although his former Chief of the Boat was now senior NCO at the School with him. Admiral Bernard "Battling" Bickerson was the commander of all PC's, and had switched his home colony to Atlantis. The Admiral's former aide Yohko Tanaka was now skipper of her own PC, the Trigger, out of Borneo. And Marcie? Apparently she was still creating new and fun ways to give tradition-bound officers in all the Services a severe case of fits, and still preferring to. They are far away, except for one pair of footsteps, one person, who is getting closer and closer. He comes in such a direct line toward me, it’s as though he knew where I was, as if I had left him a trail, a scent. As if we had planned this hiding place together. I catch my breath, my heart pounding, because I know who it is, the one person in the group I want to have find me, to find me before the others. It has to be Steve. I will it to be him. He comes straight to the room, quietly and quickly so the others won’t hear him, and slides under the bed beside me in the darkness. We lie together, hardly breathing, our hands beginning to move over one another. Hands that have never before touched me, move all over me. Hands I put a face to in my mind, that face I’ve always found exciting but that was never mine to kiss. I hardly dare breathe as I listen for other voices, moving in and then away as the seeker looks to find one person after another, exploring room after distant room..
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