Music filtered to Hartman's ears, filtered by an uncomfortable volume of alcohol. Still, enough notes staggered through for her to recall the tune. Reveille. She could have sworn the day's activities hadn't been due to start for at least four hours a few minutes ago. At least, it felt like a few minutes ago. It was the damn space stations. No sun rising over the horizon. No means to navigate. No means to even guess at the time.
With a muttered curse against everything space-bourne, and a second one for anything that emitted more then about a candle's worth of light, the Ensign staggered to her feet and the waiting briefing room.
![[Image: icthMHY.png]](http://i.imgur.com/icthMHY.png)