“It’ll take eight minutes to get to the surface, sir,” Ensign Lansford told Carlton. “Every minute means additional radiation damage for the settlers down there. Our shielding armor should keep us safe, shouldn’t it?”}
{Before Carlton could answer, truthfully or evasively, Rebecca’s subspace-carried voice briefly penetrated the ionic interference.
“Darling, hold up! The pu–”
The static crescendoed at that point, drowning out any further communication.
“Holding position above the mining area,” Petty Officer Bakken stated curtly.
“Commander Kristain?” Ensign Lansford’s voice held an urgent undertone.}
At that point, the dream diverged from the actual chronology of Carlton’s incredibly-altered life…
{As he struggled to voice a decision, even knowing already what that decision would be and that he would be undertaking a potentially life-threatening sacrifice, Carlton felt a sudden incessant itching on the surface of his hindquarters.