'Uh huh,' the captain of the Prometheus agreed. 'We saw bits of that from where we were, and we got some news updates flashed to us. So, uh, you see, they know pretty much what happened.'
'Then I suggest you and they depart,' Hayes advised shortly.
'Well, captain, they'd like to do something first, and the guys in charge on the asteroid won't talk to them. They figured you might help.'
Hayes pressed both palms against his face for a moment, then lowered his hands and spoke carefully. 'I'm sorry, but-'
'All they want to do is lay a couple of wreaths, captain. That's all. For the dead, you know.'
Hayes sat silent for a moment, then looked over at Paul. 'Did we receive any heads-up that this ship and those people were coming?'
Paul thought before answering, not entirely trusting his memory. 'We knew the Prometheus Rising was on her way to this area, sir. But I don't remember seeing anything about her carrying protestors.'
'I don't remember anything about that, either. Funny no one knew.' Hayes stared at nothing for a moment. 'But it's even funnier that the cops went in the night before that ship got here. If those idiots kept important information from me…'
Paul didn't know what to say to that. Had someone rushed things to avoid having to deal with the people on the Prometheus? If so, they'd bungled things badly. And if the fact that protestors were on the way had been known to the cops but not shared with the Michaelson, somebody had been exceptionally stupid.
Captain Hayes addressed the captain of the Prometheus again. 'I don't have control over what happens on the surface of the asteroid. You need to talk to the head of the law enforcement people on the surface.'
'Captain, they won't talk to me.'
'Hold on. I'll get back with you.' Hayes drummed his fingers on his arm rest for a moment, then hit another communications control. 'This is Captain Hayes of the USS Michaelson. I want to talk to Colonel Trey.'
'I'm sorry, sir. Colonel Trey is not available. This is Major Veshak. May I help you?'
'Yes. I've got a merchant ship up here with U.S. citizens on board who want to lay a couple of wreaths on the asteroid. I understand they can't get anybody down there to talk to them.'
'Sir, we're exceptionally busy.'
'Did you people know they were coming?'
The circuit stayed silent for a moment, then instead of replying to Hayes' blunt question, Veshak passed the buck. 'Sir, I believe Colonel Trey is available now.'
Hayes glanced around the bridge. 'I think I'd better handle the rest of this in my cabin.' He unstrapped and pulled himself off the bridge.
'Captain's off the bridge!'
Paul gave Val Isakov a questioning glance. She shrugged.
Twenty minutes later, Hayes called the bridge from his cabin. 'The people on the Prometheus are legitimate, but the cops on the surface won't let them take any transport from the merchant down to the asteroid. I agreed to use our gig. Notify the XO that we're going to send it to the Prometheus to pick up a couple of representatives and their wreaths. They'll be taken to the surface, brought back to the Prometheus, and the gig will return straight here. Any questions?'
Val Isakov frowned. 'Captain, when is our gig to depart?'
'I want it at the Prometheus in one hour.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
'Oh, one more thing. Paul, you're going along.'
Paul stared at his display. 'Captain?'
'You're the legal officer, and you've got experience dealing with protestors. You'll be in charge on the gig.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Paul felt a headache starting to come to life. Oh, Garcia's going to love this. He hates it any time my legal officer job gets in the way of my primary job as Combat Information Center officer, and he hates it when the captain tasks me directly because I'm the legal officer. He wondered what the protestors would be like. They couldn't be anything like Greenspacers or the captain wouldn't have agreed to help them even if he was ticked off at the cops for keeping the Navy in the dark. I hope I don't fall asleep in front of them.
Garcia turned out to be just as angry as Paul had expected. Commander Moraine just gave Paul a suspicious look. But neither could override the captain, so Paul found himself twenty minutes later strapping into a seat on the gig after hastily turning over the watch to a perturbed Randy Diego. 'I'm the First Lieutenant,' Randy had complained. 'I should be commanding the gig.'
'Randy,' Paul had stated wearily, 'if you can convince the captain to let you go instead of me, be my guest.'
Randy hadn't seemed interested in trying that, however. Even Randy had learned that there were times when you just did what the captain said.
Paul checked his straps, then glanced over at Ivan Sharpe, the Michaelson 's master at arms. 'It's funny seeing you in khakis, Sheriff.'
Sharpe shrugged. 'I was bound to make chief petty officer someday, sir, with an officer of your caliber mentoring me.'
The two bosun mates sharing the gig's cabin grinned.
Paul nodded, keeping his expression serious. 'I'm glad you appreciate that, Sheriff. That's why I make sure you get to participate in outstanding training opportunities such as this.'
'I thought I had you to thank for drafting me on this mission, sir. Thank you so much. There ain't nothing I'd rather do than chauffeur a bunch of hippies around the solar system.'
Paul leaned back against his seat, closing his eyes. 'They're not hippies, Sheriff. They're strictly mainstream people who happen to believe in peace, love and understanding.'
'I believe in those things, too, sir. And I have some very effective methods for keeping everything peace ful because I understand what it takes.'
'You left out love.'
'Love? All my love is for the Navy, sir.'
Paul opened his eyes and snorted in derision. Sharpe was smiling with exaggerated insincerity. 'Sheriff, sometimes I wonder about you. Just help keep an eye on the peaceniks and help keep those cops on the asteroid happy until we leave.'
'I'll try, sir, but those cops are probably not going to be happy with us.'
'I have every confidence in you, Chief Master at Arms Ivan Sharpe. After all, you're a cop, too. You speak the same language they do.'
'Sort of. These are paramilitary, SWAT guys. They're a bit different.'
The chief bosun signaled to Paul from the conning station. She wasn't going to let anyone else drive the gig on this run. 'All ready, Mr. Sinclair?'
'Yeah, Boats. Let's go.'
' Michaelson, this is the gig. Request permission to get underway.'
'Permission granted.' Paul had no trouble recognizing the XO's voice. Commander Kwan's going to keep a personal eye on this little mission. Great. I'd better pray nothing goes wrong in even the smallest way.
The chief bosun tapped her controls. Paul felt force pushing him to one side as the gig's cradle pushed it gently out and away from the Michaelson. Then he was back in a zero-g state again as the gig drifted out of its dock. Only when it was well clear of the ship did the bosun once again reach for her controls, using thruster firings to bring the gig up and around, then triggering the gig's main drive to propel it forward.
Paul craned his head to see the maneuvering display. The gig's systems were well capable of auto-piloting their way to the Prometheus, but he could tell the bosun was controlling the gig manually. Officially, that was frowned upon except during training for loss of automated control. Unofficially, experienced spacecraft drivers loved to eyeball their way through maneuvers, depending on experience and skill to do everything any automated control system could do, but often with more style.
Paul leaned his head back again and closed his eyes once more. The flight should take about fifteen minutes, and no experienced sailor would let that time go to waste.
'Reveille, reveille, Mr. Sinclair.'
