12By the time Scott finally headed for his billet that night, he felt like the walking dead. His exhaustion was overwhelming, his head full of static, his eyes glazed over. He was still moving, but only on autopilot; his every last reserve of energy had been totally depleted, leaving him just enough juice to shuffle off to bed.
It had been a hell of a day. After the surprise sparring on the Training Deck, he'd gone to Engineering and taken a different kind of beating. Chief Azimuth hadn't thrown tools at him like before, and he hadn't done anything like ordering Scott to kill himself, but he'd worked him like a rented mule.
It seemed like Scott had scrubbed every centimeter of Engineering...then gone back over it all a second time...and a third. Not only had he polished the manipula
