~ * ~
Dom Jake grasped her shoulders and held her against the partition, the ladder pressing into her back. Zak stood behind him.
Renna blinked and tried to make sense of the Dom's raving. “The course drifted one-hundredth of a degree every nine hours,” she answered as her senses woke. “You said to use common sense before calling you. I corrected for the engine misfire. I suspect there is an energy lag in the rotation firing system. The event is noted in the log.”
“You damn stupid podder! Of course there is! You think we don't know? I told you the course was set. Your corrections put us off course! We'll be late, again!”
There was no defense; nothing she could say. He stopped yelling and pushed her against the partition before he backed away. His flushed face and clenched hands revealed his fury. She looked from him to Zak. They both looked dreadful, ashen, and angry. “I can replot the course.”
“No!” Dom Jake said in the same denigrating tone Dom Dukan used when he found her unusually inept. “You stay away from my flight deck. Stay away from anything to do with ship's function. I thought you could handle a ship.”
Renna felt heat filling her face with familiar shame at Dom Jake’s reprimand. Calmness, professionalism, duty. She bit the inside of her cheeks.
~ * ~
Yes, Jake comes off as a douchbag