Paul jerked in reaction to the warning from Isakov, then cursed to himself before answering her. 'I see him. The system shows him tracking clear of us.'
'He's too close.' Isakov kept her eyes riveted on the maneuvering display where dozens of contacts within the five thousand kilometer danger zone around the Michaelson moved along their own trajectories. 'I hate being this close to base. There's to much crap out there to worry about.'
Paul privately agreed but didn't say so since he'd yet to forgive Isakov for her latest verbal jabs at him. Franklin Naval Station had spent weeks being just a bright dot in space; then with apparently shocking speed had become a great hollow disc rotating majestically before them as the Michaelson 's velocity had closed the final thousands of kilometers within a short time. 'Braking maneuver in five minutes,' he reminded Isakov.
'Handle it.'
Yes, ma'am. Paul turned to look at the bosun mate of the watch. 'Give the five minute warning, Boats.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' The bosun raised his pipe, triggered the internal broadcast circuit and blew the notes that called attention to his announcement. 'All hands prepare for maneuvering in five minutes. Secure all objects and materials. Undertake no task which cannot be completed prior to maneuvering.'
Paul reached to call the captain, only to have his gesture halted in mid-reach as the bosun spoke again. 'Captain's on the bridge!'
Hayes pulled himself into his chair and strapped in even as he scanned the maneuvering display and shook his head. 'There's a lot of traffic out there today.'
Isakov nodded. 'Yes, sir. Request permission to begin final deceleration and approach to station.'
'Permission granted.' Hayes looked over at Commander Kwan entered the bridge and hastily went to his own chair on the opposite side of the bridge from the captain's. 'XO, let's go ahead and get the crew to stations.'
'Yes, sir.' Kwan pointed at Paul and Isakov. 'Do it.'
Isakov in turn looked at Paul, who couldn't help smiling at the absurdity of the way the chain of command was playing out on the bridge as he faced the bosun again. 'Pass the word for all hands to man stations for entering port.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Another blast on the whistle. 'All hands man stations for entering port. Department Heads make reports of readiness for entering port to the Officer of the Deck on the bridge.'
Paul checked the time. Two minutes to the final braking maneuver. 'Boats, give the two minute warning.' Hayes and Kwan were talking across the bridge to each other, but he couldn't pay any attention to that now. One minute. 'One minute warning, Boats. Captain, request permission to initiate final braking maneuver.'
Hayes nodded without taking his eyes off of his own maneuvering display. 'Permission granted.'
Paul watched the countdown scroll down to zero, then pushed the button confirming the maneuver. Thrusters fired, pitching the Michaelson to the side. On the maneuvering display, her trajectory toward Franklin showed as a broad curve. More thrusters fired, halting the ship's stern on the right bearing, then the Michaelson 's main drive slammed them into their seats as it roared to life and began braking the ship's velocity. Paul swallowed, wondering if his stomach would ever get fully used to the rapid changes in apparent gravity caused by such maneuvers.
The curve of the ship's trajectory flattened out until the Michaelson was aimed at a point just above the station and coming in at an angle that would allow it to match the station's rotation at the point where its berth awaited the ship. Paul glanced at Isakov out of the corner of his eyes. Who's taking the ship in for final? If I ask, they'll give me the job for sure since it'll sound like I'm volunteering.
An instant later his unspoken question was answered by the captain. 'Paul, why don't you take her in today.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Lucky me. Again. Driving the ship through open space could be great fun. Driving the ship into her berth, where the slightest mistake could cause a collision and lots of damage, was never fun.
He keyed the communications circuit. 'Franklin Naval Station this is USS Michaelson. Request permission to approach the station and dock at our assigned berth seven alpha. Over.'
After a moment, Franklin replied. 'This is Franklin Naval Station. Roger. Permission granted for USS Michaelson to approach the station and dock at assigned berth seven alpha. Follow standard docking procedure. Over.'
Paul looked over at the captain, who waved one hand to acknowledge the message, then replied. 'This is USS Michaelson, roger, out.'
To his side, Isakov spoke. 'All departments report readiness for entering port, Captain.'
Paul concentrated on the maneuvering display. The ship's systems could auto-pilot them into dock, but few ships used those systems routinely for close in approaches. The tiniest problem in the electronic brains running the automated systems could translate into serious trouble too quickly for human intervention to correct it in time. Experienced people, for all their human flaws, were more reliable.
'Standby thrusters,' Paul commanded as the Michaelson began gliding over the top of Franklin's great disc. Berth seven alpha loomed ahead and off to one side, the movement of the ship and the rotation of the station bringing ship and berth together with ponderous precision. He had to gauge the right moment to fire thrusters to halt the Michaelson relative the station at just the right place. 'Starboard thrusters all ahead two-thirds.'
'Starboard thrusters all ahead two-thirds, aye,' the bosun mate of the watch echoed. The Michaelson shuddered as the thrusters slowed the ship's sideways progress.
Paul tried to feel the ship's motion and match it to the need to reach the spot right above the berth. 'All stop.'
'All stop, aye.'
It wasn't quite enough. 'Starboard thrusters all ahead one-third.'
'Starboard thrusters all ahead one-third, aye.'
The ship quivered again, with less force, slowing even more. 'All stop!'
'All stop, aye.'
Watching the ship's movement and the rotation of Franklin below, Paul thought it felt very good. 'Standby all lines.'
'Standby all lines, aye.'
They were drifting very slowly now, the berth coming into alignment with the ship. 'Send over Lines One, Three and Five.'
The lines snaked out, leaping toward the berth and latching onto contact plates. The lines tightened as the Michaelson continued to drift. Paul studied the display, wondering if he'd need to tap the thrusters again. But the strain on the lines stayed within acceptable limits and the ship lurched only slightly as the lines brought her into a complete match with Franklin's movement. The bosun twirled his pipe again. 'Moored! Shift colors!' The flag on the Michaelson, safely ensconced in a container aft, didn't actually move to another location as it would on a seagoing ship, but the Michaelson 's broadcast identity changed, telling anyone listening that the ship had ceased being a free maneuvering object and was now tied to a station with a fixed orbit.
Paul took a deep breath. The hardest part was over. 'Send over lines Two and Four.' The last two lines latched on. 'Take in all lines.' With the greatest of care, the lines started being reeled in again, gently tugging the ship into the assigned berth. Paul leaned back, knowing all that was left was the tedium of waiting while the ship was winched ever so slowly into the berth. But even that had to be monitored. If the winches malfunctioned and started pulling too hard and too fast the final mating of the ship to its berth would just be another form of collision.
Eventually, they were nestled securely in their berth, feeling the apparent steady force of about one Earth gravity under the influence of Franklin's rotation. Paul ran through the final responsibilities of his watch, then faced the captain again. 'Request permission to secure stations for entering port and to shift the watch to the quarterdeck, Captain.'
'Permission granted.' Hayes unstrapped and got down his chair a trifle unsteadily. 'Good job, Paul.'
'Thank you, sir.' While the bosun passed the word, Paul called up the camera on the quarterdeck so he could see the pier. There was a small crowd awaiting them. Paul searching for any sign of Jen, noticing a commander standing waiting to go onboard the Michaelson first. He zoomed in on the commander's uniform and saw the Judge Advocate General's insignia. A JAG waiting on the pier. That's never a good thing. What do you want to bet he's here to see me?
