“You okay? What’s wrong?” her Fighter Controller asked. Reva’s fingers involuntarily spasmed, rattling her cafeteria tray as she briefly considered doing an about-face and heading straight to her cabin-and a cache of candied apples-when Junior Lieutenant Nazir caught her elbow, preventing her escape. It soared and rippled in cascading, charismatic waves, hitting her right in the gut. It had been five years, but Senior Lieutenant Reva Tuzius could pick that laugh out of a hundred-no, a million sailors.
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