Assuming there were still Services bases to head for. Assuming the Messenia attack had been a one-shot deal. Assuming the Drymnu had not, in fact, launched an all-out war.
And if those assumptions were wrong, running from the Drymnu now wouldn't gain us anything but a little time. Maybe not even that.
Which was where the crux of my dilemma lay. Saving the Volga now for worse treatment later on wouldn't be doing anyone a favor. I was chasing the logic around the track for the fifth time when my door buzzed.
"Come in," I called, the words releasing the lock.
I'd expected it to be the captain. It was, instead, Kittredge. "Busy?" she asked, stepping inside with the peculiar gait that rotational pseudogravity always gives people in ships the Volga's size.
A younger man might have expected it to be a social call. I knew Kittredge better than that. "Not really," I said as the door slid closed behind her.
"Just plotting out the victory parade route for after we've whipped the Drymnu's sauce. Why?"
The attempt at humor didn't even register on her face. "Travis, we've got some serious trouble here."
"I've noticed. What do you suggest we do about it?"
"Call the whole thing off," she growled. "We can't take on any Drymnu hive ship—it's completely out of the question."
If it had been Wong who'd tossed my own ideas back at me like this, we would have been off to lay out our ultimatum before the captain in thirty seconds.
But Kittredge was so intense and by-the-book... Perversely, my brain shifted into devil's advocate mode. "You're suggesting Captain Garrett disobey a duly given and recorded order?"