"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?
He was. Paul had scarcely left the bridge, his legs a little wobbly under the unaccustomed steady feeling of gravity, when he was paged to the quarterdeck. Paul had met a lot of the JAGs on Franklin because of his legal officer responsibilities and involvement in too many court-martials, but he didn't know this commander, so he must be fairly new to the station.
The commander didn't waste time, hauling out some paperwork. "Lieutenant Sinclair? Good. I've been assigned to compile the official investigation into the recent action involving your ship. Nothing to worry about. We've already gone over all the materiel we received from your ship's transmissions during the engagement. We do need a few personal statements, though." He tapped the papers. "The list is here. Please get sworn statements from everyone listed and forward them to me as soon as possible."
Paul took the list, trying not to think of everything else he needed to do and how much he just wanted to relax for a few hours at least. "Yes, sir."
"That's all." The commander waved farewell and left while Paul was still scanning the list. Captain. XO. Operations Officer. No surprises. Just a royal pain in the neck for Paul to get those officers to cough up the statements. Since they all outranked him, it wasn't like he could order them to do the statements right away, which meant he'd have to diplomatically ride herd on the process until he could get every statement completed.
"Request permission to come aboard."
Paul looked up quickly at the familiar voice. "Jen!"
She finished saluting the officer of the deck and came over to him. "Virtual hug." They couldn't really hug, not while they were in uniform.
"Virtual hug back. Virtual kiss."
"Fresh." Jen's smile faded. "You look like you've been rode hard and put away wet. Rough one, eh?"
"You know what happened out there."
"Yeah. What's your status?"
He knew she meant whether he could leave the ship or not. "Standard work day." Which meant at least twelve hours.
"You're kidding. You guys have been out for several weeks, you've been involved in tough ops, and they can't even give you a little stand-down?"
"Sorry, Jen, the XO told us the morning-"
Ensign Gabriel, the officer of the deck, waved a forestalling hand at Paul. "Wait a minute. The captain's about to make an announcement."
Captain Hayes' voice came over the announcing system. "This is the captain speaking. I want to thank all of you for the outstanding effort you've put forth the last several weeks. You've all worked hard and done the Michaelson proud. Now you deserve a break. I can't give you much of one, but I'm authorizing liberty for everyone except the duty section effective as soon as your department heads and division officers can release you. That's all."
Jen grinned. "Let's go."
"Jen, I've got to cut my own people loose and get permission from Garcia."
"I can wait. Kris and I can catch up on things."
"Okay." Paul held up the papers. "And I've got to get this started before I go."
"Paul Sinclair-"
"I just have to notify the officers who have to provide statements. It shouldn't take too long."
Jen shook her head, then smiled again as Chief Sharpe came onto the quarterdeck. "When did you make chief?"
"A month ago, ma'am." Sharpe saluted with a solemn face. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant Shen. Though I have to confess I keep hearing about you constantly from a certain love-struck lieutenant on this ship who will remain nameless." He faced Paul. "Sir, a word of warning. There's going to be a hot time in the old town tonight. This crew is strung tight. They're really going to be blowing off steam. I'd appreciate it if you talk to your troops and-"
"Remind them to maintain control because if they don't they'll end up paying for it? Sure, Sheriff. I'll pass the suggestion on to the other division officers." He checked the time. "Jen, I'll look you up in Kris' stateroom. Request permission to proceed on duties assigned."
She shook her head in mock annoyance and flipped him a salute. "Permission granted."
Paul hastened off in search of the Captain or the XO, his arms aching with the wish to hold Jen but knowing he couldn't leave the ship without passing on the JAG's need for statements. As he walked, he glanced down at the questions. Most of them were totally predictable, as well as totally superfluous since the answers to them were already known thanks to the materiel Michaelson had transmitted during the engagement.
But then he frowned and came to a halt, reading the last question over slowly again. " Provide your assessment of South Asian Alliance planning for this event, including any indications that to your mind might imply SASAL foreknowledge of US intentions."