“... and we are running low on food. The store master reports that we’ve only got fifteen to twenty daycycles worth left. Our water supply is not where it should be either, the recyclers are old and out of repair but we should have more.” said the junior officer, his long ears twitching slightly.
Ral kept his gaze downward, trying not to upset the Mardor further, this information would not be received well. His duty on the command staff of the Clanship Ankor was shaping up to be more difficult than he imagined. Wern was a hard master to serve, demanding and cunning in wit, qualities a successful Mardor must possess.
“This ship and it’s crew will be the end of me!” Wern growled. His teeth clicked as he worked his muzzle, a nervous habbit.
Wern looked across the wooden table to his subjects in disgust, and continued to work his jaw, holding back his anger. Their long solemn faces hung toward the pitted and ancient table surface.
“We are due to arrive in the target system within thirty daycycles and I will not have my legion be sent into battle starved... and that’s assuming they don’t eat each other until then.” he said with disgust.
Ral looked to his left and to his right, the other junior officers were doing their best to become invisible. He loathed himself for what he was about to do.