A red warning box appeared in the center of the monitor.

*Access Denied. Terminal Locked.*

Behind me, the heavy metal door of the communications room clicked and slowly began to swing open.

I spun around in the swivel chair.

My hand dropped instinctively to my side, though I was unarmed in my dress blues.

The heavy steel door swung wide, revealing the harsh fluorescent light of the corridor.

My mother stood in the doorway.

Helen Rogers looked immaculate in her silk evening gown, but her eyes were cold.

Behind her stood Michael, his Navy dress uniform pristine, his face pale under the white cap.

Two armed Navy shore patrol officers stood behind them.

“I told you she was tampering with classified terminals, Lieutenant,” Helen said, her voice sharp.

Michael stepped forward, his hand resting on his dress sword hilt.

“Step away from the console, Emerson,” Michael said.

“You are in violation of security protocols,” he added.

I stood up slowly, smoothing the front of my Marine Corps tunic.

“The only violation here is the one you signed, Michael,” I said.