"Morning, sir!"

Mina Taylor jogs past on your right, huffing and bright red. You can't believe it. Given the situation aboard the Temeraire, the last thing you'd expect her to be doing is jogging on the observation deck at 0600. People are staying close to each other, huddled in cabins and wardrooms. People are bolting back from their shifts and sealing themselves up in their bunks to hide. No one's up here, with the cold stars.

You shake your head and grin. That's Taylor. Seems a bit mercurial, sure, but -

"Morning, sir!"

Taylor has lapped the observation deck. She's practically sprinting. "Taylor!" you shout, trying to catch her before she corners the forward bulkhead. But it's too late, the deck's loud up here and she's gone.

Taylor and Corey, your two wingmen, really seem to have bonded: they fight constantly but it never sticks, it's more like sibling rivalry. Corey's dour nature works nicely with Taylor's energy. Morale's good here in Alpha Wing, Lumin Kristae's an excellent squadron leader, and if it weren't for those nagging fears about the Orestes and your father...

"Morning, sir!" She bolts past, saluting. "Nice view!"

You call up the deck security logs. Taylor's been up here since 0520, which you suppose isn't ALL that long, except that she's dashing along like a cheetah and still picking up speed.

"Taylor!" you call, next time she comes into view. "How long are you going to keep this up?"

"Until I get tired, sir! Dropped my pacekeeper somewhere, but I always burn out around fifty!"

You find the pacekeeper, kicked behind a survival pack. It's at seventy circuits and rising. Without the count to remind her, Taylor seems to have forgotten her limits. 