SCMR Chpt 81

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==Chapter 81 - Self Configuring Modular Robot==
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Samantha Daimh...
...was a convicted terrorist, once. She'd been caught stealing a Monolith class JumpShip from the yards, for Free Skye.
the whole jumpship. She'd have gotten away with it, too-if her team didn't include two Lohengrin deep-cover agents and a third deep-cover from MIIO. This isn't to say she'd come up with the plan, way-back-when. That was Lohengrin Deep Cover agent number two, Michael Broadhouse, who was also the second-in-command of her father's cell.
She found this out after being pardoned. She was sixteen when she was sent to Blackgate Prison, a juvenile sentenced as an adult for a Capital crime, her sentence reduced by the mercy of the court to life.
And then, the Navy came looking for talented navigators, and 'uncle Mike' put her name in the hat.
The same man who planned the heist, to catch a cell of Free Skye, put her name on the LCN's list of possible candidates.
Now in her twenties, Sam Daimh doesn't hold much of a grudge-learning how to be a Naval Officer has taught her what she didn't know when her father let a mole talk him into high treason.
She's been in command of the LCG Marjorie Jennings for a little over a year now, and her crew is tighter than her father's Free Skye cell ever was, tighter than family, even. 
You either grow close, or you self-destruct on month thirteen of a deep-space cruise.
"We're going to need to hook up with a Tender soon." she noted. The evidence? the third Head was emptied out, marking two more months before they would be bingo on food and fuel.
'bingo' means you either head straight home as fast as the core will charge, or you starve to death.
"Word from the Squadron command memo says we're to rendezvous with the Tenders next week, mein Kapitan." Wilhelm Krause was a good sort of XO for Sam-he tracked details almost as well as she did, the poor man's only real defect, in her view, is that he needs to use the presets and can't plot a nav point without help...
But he's good with the crew, and the Marines aboard, handling people with a 'gift' she had to work her ass off to match.
"Yeah. We're a year out from Spider Moon." she pointed out, "The enemy is getting clever. What about the drop-sats?? Anything in the probables?"
"Eleven systems seeded by ours, and seven more per boat. They're going to have to use brown dwarfs to avoid being spotted, Mum." Wilhelm told her.
"We've got maybe enough ammo for two more convoys." she mused, "Assuming we don't burn it up on one..."
"It's always possible, mum. They are, as you noted, getting smarter about guarding their convoys." he agreed.
"What's our med status looking like?" she inquired. "I mean, we're three months overdue for a gravity break, how are the crew handling it?"
"Nobody's shorting their bone-meds, but we're going to need a fresh-air break in one gee fairly soon, especially for the Planetborns." Wilhelm noted, "Bone meds are bad for kidneys and livers."
"I know." she nodded, "Have the med officer start doing enhanced physicals, focus on our planetborn personnel in particular, I don't want anyone shorting their exercise periods or medication. Also start working up rotations for when we do get the chance for the crew to leg-stretch on a planet or in a dome."
Deep sorties like theirs are almost stereotypical- a frenzy of activity laying 'trip sensors' linked to black boxes in a spherical pattern in likely systems, followed by waiting and monitoring communications. long periods of boredom, followed by frantic action, followed by long periods of boredom. "In the meantime, morale activities?"
"Cooking contest is on this week, Mum, and the board for the squadron fiction contest is convening to judge entries."
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