CHAPTER ONE<br >IEUTENANT MARK PALMER allowed himself this one<br >bit of baiting -- playing dumb while the CO of the USS<br >Modoc waited for him to ask the obvious question -- even<br >at the risk of irritating his commanding officer. The skip-<br >per held a manila envelope near his face， as if inviting<br >comparison to his own skin tone. The envelope wins，<br >Mark thought. Mark pushed a lock of straight brown hair<br >off his forehead and leaned forward， expectation shining<br >in his hazel eyes. The captain s expression faded， along<br >with any hint of theatrical tension.<br > "Well， it s a letter，" the captain said.<br > Mark tightened the jaw muscles of his lightly tanned<br >face and drew down the comers of his mouth to strangle a<br >smile. His ears popped.<br > "And not just any old letter，" the captain continued，<br >attempting to save the moment. "I want you to read it.<br >Carefully. You ll be action officer on this， Mark." Com-<br >mander Morgan Baxter Bennett III leaned back and waved<br >a match over a briar from the rack on his cluttered desk.<br > Mark stepped forward to receive the letter， then<br >settled back in the metal chair and regarded Bennett. He<br >and the skipper were the same height， about six feet， but<br >