“How’s the training going?”
“Sir?” Nathan wondered if it was a trick question.
“How are you doing in the simulations?” the captain asked more directly.
“There’s definitely room for improvement, Sir.”
“Yes, Ensign. I’d have to agree with you on that.” The captain leaned back in his chair, something he liked to do while considering his next statement. “And how would you say Ensign Taylor is doing?”
“Better than I am, Sir.” Nathan figured if he was going to be honest, he might as well be brutally honest.
“How so?”
“She knows her flight and navigation protocols better than I do, Sir. And she stays more level headed under pressure.”
“And you feel that’s a good thing?”
“I would think so, Sir.”
“Why?”
“Sir?” Nathan was confused, unsure of what the captain was getting at.
“You seem to think that Ensign Taylor has an advantage over you at the helm, because she is more level headed under pressure. I’d like to know why you think that’s an advantage.”
“I believe it allows her to think more clearly, weigh all her options, and choose the best course of action.”
“And you don’t think you’re capable of doing that?”
“I didn’t say that, Sir.”
The captain leaned forward on his desk again. “But you do think it gives her an advantage. What are you doing that she is not?”
Nathan stumbled for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “Sir, I believe that I get too emotionally involved in the situation.”
“You mean, you take it more personally?”
“Yes, I believe so, Sir.” The captain was looking at Nathan, like he was waiting for him to elaborate further. “It’s, it’s like I’m fighting a battle, Sir. Like it’s me against the scenario, and I don’t want to lose.”
“And you don’t think Ensign Taylor has this same problem?”
“No Sir, she doesn’t. She just looks at the problem, and calculates the safest solution.”
The captain leaned back once more, taking in a deep breath. “If you don’t bet big, you don’t win big,” he mumbled.
“Sir?”
The captain rose from his chair and started making his way around to the front of his desk as he spoke. “Mr. Scott, there are two kinds of officers. Those that follow the book, and those that use it as a general guideline.” The captain sat down on the front of his desk, facing Nathan. “Are you following me so far?”
“I’m guessing that Ensign Taylor’s the first kind of officer, and I’m the second?”
“Actually, Ensign Taylor probably has the damned book memorized,” the captain chuckled. “Hell, she probably sent the brass a list of grammatical errors.”
The captain’s joke raised a smile on Nathan’s face. For the first time since he came into the ready room, he didn’t feel like he was in trouble.
“You, on the other hand, “you’re the one saying, ‘there’s a book?’”
Suddenly, Nathan became nervous again. Captain Roberts could see the uncertainty in Nathan’s eyes, and decided to cut to the chase.
“Piloting a ship, that’s a monkey skill. I can teach anybody to fly this ship. Hell I can just tell the computer where I want to go and the ship will go there. ‘Flying’ on the other hand, well that’s a feeling, an instinct. And you can’t teach instinct. You’re either born with it or you’re not. I can sharpen it for you, but first you’ve got to have it.”
Nathan looked at the captain, not sure if he was understanding him correctly.
“That’s right, Mr. Scott, you have it. Hell, you’ve got it in spades. But, either you don’t realize you have it, or you don’t believe you have it. I haven’t figured that out yet.” The captain rose, walked back around and returned to his seat. “Now Ensign Taylor, she doesn’t have it. She’s a skilled pilot, to be sure. And she’s definitely as cool as they come under pressure. In fact, she’s the perfect type for a navigator, and a top notch one at that. But the helm is not where she belongs.”
Suddenly it dawned on Nathan. “Are you saying…”
“That you’re my new helmsman, Mr. Scott.”
Nathan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But Sir, don’t you think that…”
“…A simple thank you sir would be the correct response.”
“Of course, thank you sir. It’s just that Ensign Taylor has been doing so much better in the sims than I have. Hell, I crashed and burned most of them!”
“But not all of them, Ensign. You even managed to pull through a few that there wasn’t supposed to be a way out of!”
“But I don’t see how…”
“…You need to give yourself a little credit, Son,” the captain said. “Do you really think Fleet just tossed me whatever graduates nobody else wanted? Hell, I handpicked every last one of you.”
Nathan was taken aback. Up until now, he had been sure that getting assigned to the Aurora had been either some cosmic joke, or the result of his father’s influence.
“I picked you to be my helmsman, and Ensign Taylor to be my navigator. You wanna know why? Two reasons. First, 'cause you’re both perfect for the job, and second, 'cause you’re polar opposites. You two fit the bill perfectly. Now all I’ve got to do is get the two of you to stop arguing like an old married couple and start working together.”
Nathan’s head was reeling from his sudden change of fortune. Ten minutes ago, he was sure he was about to get thrown off the ship. And now he was being offered the job of lead pilot, which also meant he was about to be promoted.
“Sir,” Nathan said. “May I ask a question?”
“Please do.”
“If you knew what positions you were going to assign when you picked us, why did you put us through all this cross-training, this competition?”
“That, is an excellent question,” the captain admitted, seeming quite pleased that Nathan was finally thinking instead of reacting. “I needed a way to make you want the position, a way to make you realize what you were capable of in the helmsman’s chair. And of course a little cross training never hurts.”
Nathan stood silently for a moment, thinking about everything the captain had said over the last few minutes.
Captain Roberts opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small black box, tossing it to Nathan. “You might want to put those on, Lieutenant Scott.”
Nathan opened up the box to see a pair of lieutenant’s Bars inside.
“I’ve given you both the afternoon off, so get some rest. You’ll both be back at it at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow.”
“Yes, Sir!” Nathan snapped to attention and saluted.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
Nathan turned to exit, but paused before leaving, turning back to the captain. “Thank you, Sir.”
The first thing that Nathan wanted to do was share his good news with the only friend he had on board, Vladimir. But having never gone as far aft as the hangar bay, he was finding himself a little lost wandering the corridors of the lower aft decks where the engineering spaces were located. He was almost about to give up when he heard someone arguing nearby. Nathan followed the sound of their voices, realizing it was Vladimir. When he turned the corner, he found himself in the corridor outside the starboard shield generator compartment, one of the two spaces being used by the Special Projects team.
“I cannot give you so much power,” Vladimir was telling Doctor Sorenson firmly.
“Cannot, or will not,” she challenged, only a few inches from his face. It was an unusual sight, being that his mighty Russian friend had a good 30 centimeters on her.
“I cannot give you that much power at once,” he argued. “It is too much. The lines will overheat.”
“They will not!”
“Protocols state that I cannot exceed the maximum energy transfer rating for that line. I would have to install additional lines from reactor all the way to you.”
“Then do it. What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? Do you realize how much work that would be? It would take days!” Vladimir noticed Nathan approaching, welcoming the interruption. “Oh, hello Nathan,” Vladimir greeted, shifting his focus away from the irritating woman. “I see you did not get fired.” he joked, noticing the lieutenant’s bars on his collar. “I hope you do not think I am going to salute you now,” he added, shaking his hand.