In my previous post, I had Kendrick size up D’Abo, from my science fiction manuscript Day 10K. In this one, D’Abo, a senior lieutenant who’s over 40 and seen it all, sizes up the young Ensign Kendrick.
. . . the floor of the bridge looked like a cluster bomb packed with handrails, auxiliary consoles, and vertical power cables had gone off, then left as is. In the midst of it all, Kendrick had stationed himself at the captain’s shoulder, as if he belonged there.
Tall for a half-Japanese person, Kendrick was nimble on his feet. Unlike Mannheim, who stared in disbelief when whipsawed, or other junior officers who protested when jerked around, Kendrick would project an air of calm, as if he already knew how an officer should react in every situation.
He almost got away with it.
His narrow face would show the tight lips of disdain when told to not be so by-the-book when a situation was fluid. That, his obvious intelligence, and something about one of his parents having been in the Fleet, all pointed to a certain type of attitude: The senior officers did not measure up to his freshly-minted standards.