way.
'Captain's in Combat!'
Paul jerked his head around at the announcement, fumbling with the quick release buckle on his straps so he could stand to attention. But Captain Hayes was already gesturing Paul and his sailors to remain seated. 'Carry on. Stay strapped in.' Hayes walked over to Paul and peered at his display. 'Everything ready, Paul?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I want us to show these foreign ships how it's done.'
'Damn straight, sir. My guys'll show them.'
Captain Hayes grinned. 'I never doubted it.' Then he headed on out the hatch.
'Captain's left Combat,' Chief Imari called out, unnecessarily this time since every sailor had their eyes on Hayes as he cleared the hatch. Imari gave Paul another thumbs up.
Paul nodded back. Tell them you believe in them. Right, Chief. Just like Hayes just let me know he believes in me. He keyed another internal communications circuit, this one to the bridge. 'Bridge, this is Combat. The captain just left Combat, probably headed your way.'
'Thanks for the heads-up, Combat,' a voice answered almost absently.
Paul didn't take the tone amiss. He knew there were a lot of other things going on for the bridge watch to worry about, and that they were grateful to know the captain would likely be there soon. Lieutenant Kilgary and Lieutenant Junior Grade Sam Yarrow were standing watch as the officer of the deck and the junior officer of the deck. The captain'll probably tell Kilgary to take the ship out today. Not that Smilin' Sam has any major faults as a shiphandler, but Kilgary has more experience and Sam tends to slam the ship around instead of using finesse. We don't want anything to make us look less capable than the foreign ships watching us get underway.
Another whistle of the bosun's pipe. 'All hands prepare to get underway. Standby for maneuvering.'
Paul checked the straps holding him tightly into his own chair, then looked around to make sure all his sailors were also double checking themselves. If he'd wanted to, he could've activated a circuit that let him watch and hear everything on the bridge, but Paul already knew what orders would be said, and always hated the idea of someone else watching him on watch so he rarely did it to anyone else.
A warning came on his display, showing the Michaelson 's quarterdeck was being sealed. Lines providing power, water and other necessary supplies from the station to the ship were likewise sealed, then retracted away from the ship. Then the magnetic grapnels tying the Michaelson to Franklin began releasing, smoothly reeling back into the ship. Paul felt forces nudging at his body as the Michaelson left the constant rotation-inspired feeling of gravity which Franklin provided. As the ship drifted away from the station, Paul's stomach and inner ears began insisting he was falling. He gulped, fighting off the nausea. We haven't been inport that long. You'd think I'd still have my space-legs.
The last line holding the ship to the station came free. 'Underway. Shift colors,' the bosun announced. Sudden, gentle lurches pushed Paul against his straps as the Michaelson 's maneuvering thrusters fired. He watched the image of Franklin falling down and away as the ship accelerated farther from the station. More thruster firings nudged Paul in different directions as the Michaelson 's bow was brought around to the right heading. Gentle and smooth. That's got to be Colleen Kilgary driving the ship. Sam Yarrow'd be giving us all bruises by now.
A moment later the main drive kicked in. Paul sank deep into his seat as the almost nonexistent feeling of gravity was replaced by acceleration strong enough that he felt over twice his normal weight. His stomach complained again, protesting the changes in up and down.
Paul moved his hand carefully against the force of the acceleration, using controls to shift his display presentation to show the Michaelson 's new path through space. Symbols glowed to mark other spacecraft, each with vector arrows arching away to show their speed and direction of travel relative to the Michaelson. A pale line came into view, marking the vector the Michaelson sought, slowly converging on the actual course of the ship. The actual course and intended course lines merged as the main drive cut off.
Another stomach lurch as sustained heavy acceleration was replaced by free fall. Paul gritted his teeth. I'm used to this. Just give it a little while to adjust again. To distract himself, he scrolled out his display to where the symbol marking the Maury hung ahead of the Michaelson. With both ships moving along the same path at the same speed, the relative position of the Maury wouldn't change until the ships fired thrusters or main drives again. And they wouldn't do that for several hours, when they were approaching the area where the foreign ships awaited the Americans.
'Secure from maneuvering status. All hands are free to move about.'
Paul shook his head, causing his inner ears to wobble a little more. For some reason, that helped his body adjust to zero gravity faster. He unstrapped, floating free of the chair, and using the handholds positioned everywhere began pulling himself toward the hatch out of combat. 'Good job, everybody.'
Over the year and a half since reporting aboard the ship he'd learned to pull himself through the narrow confines of the Michaelson 's passageways, gliding through hatches while avoiding all the wires, cables and equipment which often seemed to have been diabolically positioned to slam or snag human arms, legs or heads. Sailors passed him, waiting for Paul to go through a hatch first because of his status as an officer, though Paul himself had to hug the side of a passageway and wait for the chief engineer, Commander Destin, as she came by. Destin, who always seemed to be carrying a virtual cloud of depression in her wake, brushed past Paul without a word. Paul spared one brief glance at Destin before continuing on his way. Still no love lost there. I sure hope Captain Hayes doesn't decide I should transfer into the engineering department.
Two hours later, Paul pulled himself onto the bridge for his own watch as junior officer of the deck. Kris Denaldo, who'd been standing the watch, pretended to make a prayer of thanks. 'Hey, I'm not late.'
'No,' she agreed. 'It's just soooo boring.' Denaldo pointed to the maneuvering display, where the symbols representing the other ships seemed to hang unchanging against the immense emptiness of space. 'We're going somewhere fast but you wouldn't know it. It's still six hours until we maneuver for the rendezvous with the furriners. Until then, we just bore a hole in nothing on our way there. Nobody and nothing else is near us.'
Paul nodded, scanning the displays. Watches tended to be either way too dull or way too exciting. Once they joined up with the foreign ships, they'd probably all be exciting for a while, but they had a lot of space to cover before then. 'Who's this on a slightly converging track with us?'
Kris pointed to the symbol. 'The Mahan 's out here, too. Heading for the same general area.'
'What?' Paul stared at the symbol. 'They're adding in another ship? This late in the game? I haven't seen-'
'Relax, relax. We got briefed on it during our watch. The Mahan got tapped as an observer ship.'
'What's the Mahan going to see that anyone watching from Earth's surface couldn't?'
'Nothing. But they loaded some VIPs onboard her. American and foreign. They get to 'be here' during the exercise.'
'Whoopee.' Paul settled into the chair, adjusting the straps to suit his larger body.
Kris Denaldo gave him a curious look. 'Why's the Mahan got you spooked?'
'I'm not spooked.'
'You're not happy.'
'You know who the captain of the Mahan is!'
She frowned, then her expression cleared. 'Oh, yeah. Jen's dad.'
Jen's dad. Captain Kay Shen. A man who'd made it clear that he didn't think Paul measured up to what his daughter deserved, and who'd warned that he'd be watching Paul. And now here he is, literally watching my ship. Oh, joy.
Denaldo smiled at Paul's expression. 'Captain Shen's not that bad, is he?'
Paul stared at her with exaggerated disbelief. 'Do you know those illustrations for science fiction stuff where some big, dark character is looming over and menacing an entire galaxy? That's how I think of Jen's father. He's out there, always watching.'
Kris laughed. 'Paul, I met him once. He seemed okay.'
'You weren't dating his daughter.'
'That's true. Jen and I don't swing that way.' Kris paused as if thinking. 'Still, Jen is awful cute.'
'And she's mine. Just in case you're not joking.'
' Yours? Jen's like a cat, Paul, just in case you haven't figured that out, yet. She might choose to hang around with you, but you'll never own her.'
