"Sir," Sabatine responded, a placeholder to give herself a moment to think rather than a response to his question. Just because he had been stationed here didn't mean he had been stationed to the Vickie, as the Vicount was colloquially known. That was self delusion, ever since Lieutenant Harrington, their previous second officer, had lost his leg when a main mast yard had fractured on extraction there had been an open berth aboard. Sabatine herself had been filling the slot with one of the midshipmen had been filling her slot. In her heart of hearts she had hoped to keep it, but there was a war on, or their might soon be. That was the way of the RCN, officers went where they were assigned, but did it have to be THIS officer? Her mind returned to the question she had been asked by a superior officer. Fortunately in the six months she had been on Herculaneum station she had taken the time to get the various communications feeds hooked up to her helmet interface with filters that routed information she though she ought to know about. That automated system had pinged her a few minutes before the transport had reached the base, informing her that the Trash Heap, mine tender TH-15, had detected the Commodore's ship dropping out of the Matrix about a hundred million miles out. 

"Sir Commodore Welkins is returning from Marengo with the Caddy, err that is the Cadbury Sir," she told him in a voice that was all but a hiss for its total lack of accent. The Cadbury was an aging light cruiser of the old Agesilaus class, hardly front line in RCN service these days but a formidable vessel in this remote corner of the galaxy. There had been an uprising of some kind on the world of Marengo, the local politics were murky, but Welkins had though that an RCN cruiser in orbit might damp down the locals enthusiasm for the massacre of Cinnabar traders and other such normal accompaniments to energetic political change.  Having visited the worlds during the Vickie's patrol loop more than once, she rather hoped the Commodore had felt inspired to blast the place with plasma cannon before returning. A hundred million miles wasn't good astrogation and the Commodore would certainly be in a bad mood about it.

"He should be entering orbit any time now..." as though summoned by her words the deep spine rattling rumble of a starship descending on its plasma thrusters began to vibrated through the atmosphere. None of the spacers looked up, aware from long training that the plasma exhaust of a starship could cause serious eye damage if not viewed with the proper equipment. 

"What ship are you assigned to sir?" she asked, hoping against hope that he would answer with the name of one of the two gun sloops, or perhaps Grandwing, though the latter didn't seem likely.