On the maneuvering display, the Michaelson 's course rose toward a projected path set by the station traffic monitors. Feel the ship. Feel the ship. "Secure port thrusters. Main drive all ahead two thirds."
"Port thrusters secure, aye, main drive all ahead two thirds, aye."
Smooth. Not exact. But smooth. "Quartermaster. What's your recommendation?"
"Recommend course two zero zero degrees absolute, up two zero degrees, sir."
Paul looked toward the captain. Hayes nodded judiciously without being asked. "Very well," Paul acknowledged. "Helm, come to course two zero zero degrees absolute, up two zero degrees."
"Come to course two zero zero degrees absolute, up two zero degrees, aye, sir."
Paul let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Something else. Oh, yeah. "Captain, request permission to secure from getting underway."
Hayes nodded again. "Permission granted."
Paul called back to the petty officer of the watch. "Pass the word to secure from getting underway."
"Aye, sir." Keying the all-hands circuit, the petty officer called out the announcement. "All hands, secure from getting underway. The ship remains in maneuvering status. All hands exercise caution in moving about."
USS Michaelson shuddered as the helm orders caused thrusters around her hull to fire, killing drift in one direction, then bringing her bow around toward the desired course before firing again. Her mass responding to the thrust, the Michaelson ponderously steadied onto the planned trajectory. The desired course and the actual course displayed on the maneuvering screens merged into one curving path, then as the thrusters shut off their absence made itself felt as all sense of gravity disappeared. Paul's stomach lurched in an all-too-familiar fashion, but he fought it down with the ease of long practice.
Scott Silver tapped his controls. "I guess you trust the automated maneuvering system when you're clear of the station."
"That's right." Paul pointed at the display. "There's a lot more room for error if something goes wrong out here."
"Whatever."
Captain Hayes unstrapped, pulling himself from his chair gingerly in the new zero-gravity conditions. "Good job, Mr. Sinclair."
"Thank you, sir."
Hayes cupped one hand to his ear as if straining to hear Paul's reply.
"Thank you, sir!"
Hayes nodded, then headed for the hatch.
"Captain's off the bridge!"
Paul smiled to himself. Captain Hayes chewed me out for not speaking loud enough when I gave that one order, but he did it without chewing me out. He just made his point. Paul heard a chuckle and looked over at Scott Silver, who was laughing at him. What right do you have to laugh about that? You were just baggage up here this time.
Apparently oblivious to Paul's soured mood, Silver chatted through the rest of the watch, telling sea stories about being at the Academy and his experiences since then. If Paul hadn't been so ticked off at Silver, he might have found the stories charming. Instead, he found himself questioning some of what he was hearing.
The arrival of Lieutenant Diem and Ensign Gabriel to assume the watch was a bigger relief than usual. Partway through the turnover, Paul realized that right after he discussed each important item with Gabriel, Silver would discuss the same item with Diem. The realization that Silver appeared to be depending on Paul to keep track of important details did nothing to improve Paul's mood. He rushed through the last stage of the turnover, then bolted the bridge as quickly as propriety would allow so he wouldn't have to leave along with Silver.
Once inside his own stateroom, Paul pulled up his division's training records. He knew from experience that Commander Garcia usually did checks of training records soon after an underway period started, though Paul had never figured out if Garcia did that because he was bored or because he expected his division officers to have neglected their duties amid the hassles of getting underway. Speaking of Garcia, he's the senior watch officer. Several months back he scrambled watch sections to keep us from "getting too comfortable." Commander, please, please, please scramble the watch sections again so I don't have to spend hour upon endless hour up on the bridge with Scott Silver!
Sam Yarrow came in, strapped into his seat, then eyed Paul. "What's eating you?"
"Who says anything's eating me?"
"The way your back's rigid and your ears are red and you're pounding the keys on your data terminal."
Paul willed himself to relax, then tried to smile. "I guess I'm just tense. It was a rough morning. I conned the ship out of the dock."
"So? You've done that before."
"Yeah, but the new captain was watching me, and I had a new officer of the deck. It made things a bit more stressful."
"If you say so. What's that guy Silver like on the bridge anyway?"
Paul didn't have to fake his smile now. Sam, do you really think I haven't learned not to spill my guts to you? If I said one word remotely critical of Silver, you'd be telling Silver and half the rest of the ship about it within the hour, and making me sound like I'd labeled Silver a hopeless incompetent. "I can't tell, yet."
"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."
"Because I don't have enough experience with Silver. That's all. I'm not going to evaluate someone based on a single time standing watch with them."
"It sounds like he didn't do too good."
Stop fishing, Sam. "I didn't hear any complaints." Which was true. Paul closed out his files. "Sorry, I've got a meeting."
Garcia didn't scramble the watch teams. Lieutenant Sindh began to develop a deepening frown as she waited for Scott Silver to arrive, always late, on the bridge to relieve her. Acting unaware of Sindh's disapproval, Silver always had an apology and an explanation for his lateness. Paul found himself begrudging duties on the bridge as Silver routinely assumed everything would be done by Paul as his assistant.
The test-firing went smoothly this time. Either the Michaelson 's two escorts or the inability to replace the ship Greenspace had used last time meant no one interfered with the test. Paul, not on watch on the bridge, sat in Combat watching the Michaelson 's combat systems track the target, then engage it with the new weapon. The phased-pulse laser scored direct hits on the target, as it should've since the target had a beacon attached and was traveling on a fixed trajectory. The contractors smiled and pronounced the weapon a success. Whether it would work in a real combat situation was another matter altogether, of course.
Captain's Mast, also known as Non-Judicial Punishment, also known as NJP in the initials-addicted military. The first Captain's Mast for Captains Hayes, meaning the first time the officers and crew would see him directly deal out discipline to those accused of relatively minor infractions against rules and regulations.
Paul stood at attention against one bulkhead of the crew's mess, having locked a hand onto a nearby tie down both for safety and so he could keep his feet from drifting up into the middle of the proceedings. Next to him stood the ship's highest ranking enlisted sailor, Senior Chief Petty Officer Kowalski. Kowalski nodded in greeting. "Another fine day underway, Mr. Sinclair."
"Underway's the only way." Paul gave the expected reply, only his tone betraying the expected irony in the statement. "How many have we got today, Sheriff?"