'Okay.' Paul brought up his display, concentrating on the 3-D picture. The maneuvers needed were easily calculated, just calling for plugging in the amount of thrust you wanted to use from both the maneuvering thrusters and the main drive. Then the answer popped up as a time to turn and activate the drives. 'How's this?'
Tweed looked the solution over, then nodded. 'Looks okay to me.'
'Do we need to call the Captain for this?'
'Not necessarily. Scheduled maneuver. But I will. Or I'll let you do it. I don't like talking to him all that much.' Tweed grinned nervously again. 'Just also be sure to give the petty officer of the watch a five minute heads-up so he can broadcast a warning to all hands that the ship will be maneuvering.'
'Right. Five minutes warning.' They sat silently for a while, watching the paths of the Michaelson and other contacts, natural objects and manmade, curving around through the navigational displays. Part of Tweed's warning to be prepared in advance came back to Paul, so he called up the standing orders and reviewed the part explaining how the Captain wanted calls to him to be handled. Short, quick, detailed, complete. How can something be all those things at once? Paul thought about his sole encounter with Captain Wakeman to date, then looked over where Lieutenant Tweed sat studying her displays with the demeanor of someone walking through a minefield. So many ways to mess up. So many opportunities to mess up. It's easy to see how Jan Tweed ended up this way. But if I let it get to me I'll end up like her.
'Paul.'
Sinclair tried not to jerk in guilty surprise as Jan spoke right on the heels of his last thought. 'Yes?'
'We're coming up on that course change.'
'We are?' Paul checked his display, appalled to see less than ten minutes remained until the optimum time for the maneuver. 'Okay. Okay.'
'Relax. I'm here. The petty officer at the helm knows his job. There's no other ships detected within a thousand kilometers. You can't screw up too bad. Ready to call the Captain?'
Paul hesitated, wishing Tweed would take on that responsibility, then nodded. He mentally ran through the wording of his statement again, then keyed the circuit to the Captain's cabin. 'Captain Wakeman. Bridge.'
After a brief pause, a clipped answer came. 'Yes.'
'Sir, this is the Junior Officer of the Deck. We are, that is, the Michaelson is approaching-'
'Briefly. Spit it out.'
Paul swallowed. 'We are coming up on a course change in six minutes, Captain.'
'Why?'
'To enter our operating area and merge with our track, sir.'
'Very well.'
The circuit clicked dead. Paul fought down a wave of annoyance, glancing over at Jan, who shrugged in reply. 'Bosun mate of the Watch?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Notify the crew that we will be maneuvering in five minutes.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' The bosun mate keyed the intercom, calling out the warning throughout the ship.
Paul waited, watching the minutes and seconds count down. At zero, he called out commands in a voice he thought a little too loud, a little too strident. 'Helm, maneuvering thrusters at one-third power. Bring us to course one eight zero degrees absolute, up ten degrees. Maintain main drive at all-ahead one third.'
'Maneuvering thrusters at one-third, aye. Coming to course one eight zero degrees absolute, up ten degrees.' Michaelson shuddered again as the thrusters pushed her onto a new vector, her mass slowly responding to the pressure. Paul watch with a sense of pleasure as the ship swung onto the projected course vector he'd calculated.
'Captain's on the bridge!'
Paul looked around frantically as Captain Wakeman hopped into his chair and fastened his harness, then looked over at him and Tweed. 'Let's get going!' Wakeman commanded. 'Thrusters on full! Main drive ahead two- thirds!'
Paul glanced at Tweed, who quickly signaled him to comply. Hastily checking the display again to ensure the maneuver wouldn't cause immediate problems with other contacts in the area, Paul called out the commands. 'Thrusters on full. Main drive ahead two thirds.' The helm echoed the command, then the Michaelson jumped under the multiplied force of her drives. Inertia and acceleration tugged at Paul, making him thankful for his tight harness, as the ship yawed into a tighter, faster turn. The hull groaned, complaining of the strain on its structure. Paul scanned his display, watching the ship's projected track swinging far off the planned course through the oparea and trying to understand the reason for Captain's orders.
Wakeman leaned back, grinning happily even though his face reflected the stress of the maneuvers. 'This is more like it! Looking good, people! Now, where are we going? What are we doing?'
For the first time in his life, Paul felt his jaw actually drop in amazement as he stared at Wakeman. He has no idea where we're going or why and he kicked the ship around like that?
Tweed signaled him again, a resigned expression on her face, speaking softly. 'I'll take it, Paul.' Then, in a louder voice she called to the bridge. 'This is Lieutenant Tweed. I have the conn. Captain, we are enroute our planned track through the oparea…'
Paul felt his attention straying from Tweed's words, still stunned that a cruiser had been jerked around for no discernible reason. He watched the subsequent maneuvers, as Tweed nursed the Michaelson back onto the track the ship had been intended to take. Captain Wakeman looked increasingly bored, then abruptly popped out of his chair and headed for the hatch.
'The Captain has left the bridge!'
Paul looked over at Tweed, sure his face still showed his emotions. 'Why'd he do that? What was the point?'
Tweed looked like she'd eaten something bitter yet familiar. 'He told us. 'Looking good.' Pushing the ship through that high-speed turn set off alerts on every ship in the area, and back at the station where they're still tracking us. He was showing off.'
'That's it?'
'That's it. Get used to it.'
The watch crawled to its end without further event. Carl Meadows was Paul's relief, listening to the turnover with jaded stoicism and checking the list of scheduled events for his watch. 'Okay. I got it.'
'Thanks. On the bridge, this is Mr. Sinclair. Mr. Meadows has the watch.'
'This is Mr. Meadows. I have the watch and the conn. See ya, Paul.'
He left the bridge, moving with caution under the unfamiliar conditions of being underway. The push of the Michaelson 's main drive provided an illusion of gravity, but not normal gravity. Paul fought down a quiver in his arms and legs brought on by relief and tension, still grasping a handhold just outside the bridge as Jan Tweed came through. 'Uh, thanks, Jan.'
'Don't mention it. You going to lunch?'
'I don't think my stomach can handle it.'
'Oh, yeah. Don't worry, you'll get your space legs in a while. Remember, we've also got the second dog watch.' Paul nodded numbly, recalling that the watches around the evening meal were 'dogged' in half so both watch sections could eat. 'Be sure to eat dinner early if you're up for it by then.'
'Thanks.' Paul made his way to his ensign locker, trying not to notice the amusement his shaky progress and strained expression brought out in the crew he passed. He made it to his bunk, lay down, and stared at the already familiar pipes, wires and ducts running just above his nose.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep. The bang of the hatch opening startled Paul awake. 'Hey, Sinclair. You in here?'
'Yeah, Sam.' He'd followed Jen's advice, not letting on he knew about the trick Sam Yarrow had pulled on him. It had seemed to make Yarrow nervous in a manner Paul found gratifying.
'The XO said to remind you she wanted to see you.'
'Right now?'
'I guess. What's up?'
'I don't know.' The honest answer seemed to annoy Yarrow, bringing another spurt of satisfaction to Paul. He rolled out of his rack, very cautiously, and made his way to the XO's stateroom. 'Commander? You wanted to
