Blake was still lecturing Thomas about the importance of knowing one's place, completely oblivious to the silent alarm that had just been raised.
The energy in the mess deck shifted. Sailors who had been passively watching were now looking past Blake, past Thomas, toward the main hatches. They sensed something coming.
Blake, misreading the crowd's attention as agreement, felt emboldened.
"I've had enough of this," he declared loudly. "I'm contacting the logistics officer right now to have this contract terminated. You're a distraction, Mr. Brennan. Go sit in the corner until we can arrange your transport back to shore."
Thomas didn't move. He stood behind the counter, the spatula resting lightly in his weathered hand.
The calmness he radiated wasn't submission. It was something else entirely. The quiet readiness of someone who had faced far worse and survived.
Two decks above, in the carpeted quiet of the executive officer's ready room, Commander Patricia Morgan was reviewing maintenance schedules when her secure line beeped twice.
"Morgan here."
The voice on the other end was strained. "Ma'am, Chief Reeves has alerted us to an ongoing situation in the galley. Lieutenant Blake is engaged in a heated confrontation with the civilian food service contractor, Thomas Brennan."
Morgan frowned. "Thomas? What's the problem?"
"A complaint about cheese, ma'am. But Chief Reeves sounded genuinely alarmed. She believes Lieutenant Blake is attempting to fire or discipline the contractor on the spot, without authority."
Morgan's hand tightened on the phone. "Blake has zero authority over civilian contractors. Tell him to stand down and wait for the logistics officer. Why are you calling me about this?"
The duty officer hesitated. "Ma'am, Chief Reeves specifically asked us to ensure you knew the name. Thomas Brennan. She said she thinks it's about to get very bad."
The name hit Commander Morgan like a physical blow. The pen in her hand clattered onto the desk.