Having completed the meeting, and ushering the Lancers back to their ship to report to their Admiral, Navarre rushed to his quarters to make preparations. Having gathered what he thought he might require, he entered his office to find his three officers standing before his desk. "Blue will be in charge." He stated as he settled into his chair. "Maintain security and readiness. Do not endanger this ship and crew. Assist the Lancers in prepping their ship. Supply them with what they will need to do and the environment within Hells Kitchen." He was talking rapidly, even as he picked up the Klingon knife that always lay on his desk. Without even missing a word, he slipped the blade into a sheath now attached to his under shirt belt. "I will return in a few days. Ensure that they are ready to depart upon my arrival." "Where will you be going, Sir?" Sil asked curiously. Navarre didn't lift his head, but his eyes slowly looked up from beneath his brows with a cold stare. "Right." Sil nodded curtly. "Understood." "This is something I have to do." Navarre stood to his feet. "You have your orders, and a lot to get done. Dismissed." He then turned and headed back through the doors that lead to his quarters. "I hate when he gets like this." Blue whispered softly under her breath.