“Now, once we’re at Hope Nation we know the Admiral Commanding will assign us a new Captain and lieutenants. It will mean sailing eleven months with inexperienced officers, instead of the six it would take to go home, but Hiberniacarries too many supplies that our colonies need, to abandon our trip lightly. Their supply ships arrive only twice a year.”
The Chief said only, “Aye aye, sir.” The Pilot was silent.
“Gentlemen, we’ll bury Captain Malstrom this forenoon, and we’ll Fuse this afternoon after the burial service.”
The bridge and engine room were unmanned and sealed.
We gathered around the forward airlock, seven deep in the crowded corridor. All the remaining officers, resplendent in dress uniform with black mourning sash across the shoulder, nearly all the crew, dressed as if for inspection. Lieutenant Malstrom had been as popular among the enlisted men as among the middies.
The rest of the corridor was filled with passengers: Yorinda Vincente, representing the Passengers’ Council, in the front row; behind her, Mr. Barstow, Amanda Frowel, the Treadwell twins, many others I knew, all waiting for the service to begin. Derek Carr, whose father had been lost earlier with the launch, his finely chiseled, aquiline face marred by sunken eyes and an expression of grief remembered. He nodded, but said nothing.
The flag-draped alumalloy coffin waited behind me in the airless lock, visible through the transplex inner hatch. I turned on the holovid and began to read from the Christian Reunification service for the dead, as promulgated by the Naval Service of the Government of the United Nations.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...” Lieutenant Malstrom and I had cast off together at this very airlock. Now I was to continue, and he must disembark. “Trusting in the goodness and mercy of Lord God eternal, we commit his body to the deep... to await the day of judgment when the souls of man shall be called forth before Almighty Lord God... Amen.”
I snapped off the holovid. “Petty Officer Terrill, open the outer lock.”
Chief Petty Officer Robert Terrill stepped forward. “Aye aye, sir.” Taking the airlock control from my hand he spun on his heel, marched to the airlock panel, pressed the transmitter to the outer lock control. The alarm bell chimed; Hiber-nia’souter hatch slid open. I shivered involuntarily; the emptiness of interstellar space beckoned to my mentor, my friend. I breathed a silent prayer of my own, that Lord God might welcome him to his reward.
“Eject the casket, Mr. Terrill.”
He pressed a button on a small transmitter clipped to his belt. The folded metal arm mounted in the airlock bulkhead slowly unfolded, pushing gently on the side of the casket.
Captain Malstrom’s coffin slid smoothly to the outer lock. As the arm extended, the casket drifted past the end of the chamber and floated slowly into the void.
Mesmerized, we watched it recede. It disappeared into the dark long before it would have been too distant to see. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Mr. Terrill, secure the outer hatch.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The petty officer pressed his transmitter to the outer airlock control. The hatch closed quietly. The service was complete. My friend Harv was forever gone.
The crowd dispersed. I started back toward my cabin. I felt a hand on my arm, abruptly lifted. I turned. Amanda Frowel looked angry; Alexi Tamarov had a firm grip on her arm, his shoulder thrust sharply between us. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, barring her way. She tried to shrug loose; the midshipman held tight.
“It’s all right, Alexi.” He released her and backed away.
“What was that about?” she demanded.
“Ship’s custom. One doesn’t touch the Captain. For crewmen it is a capital offense.” I took her hand, oblivious to the civilians milling around us, trying to pass. “What is it, Amanda?”
“Are you all right, Nicky?”
“I think so.” I studied her face. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you. I’ve been rather busy.”
She glanced at my new uniform. “You certainly have. Are you sure it’s wise?”
“No. I’m just sure it’s mandatory.” I hesitated. “May I visit tonight?”
“If you’d like.” To my dismay, mere was a coolness to her voice. She seemed almost indifferent.
“I’d like. If you would.” Reluctantly she nodded. We parted.
“We’ll Fuse as soon as we’re ready, gentlemen.”
Vax and Pilot Haynes were in their places. I keyed the caller. “Bridge to engine room, prepare to Fuse.”
“Prepare to Fuse, aye aye, sir.” The Chief. My lips twitched in a smile; according to the rotation, the engine room petty officer had the watch this hour, but clearly the Chief didn’t trust us to Fuse except under his vigilant eye.
After a moment the caller came to life once more. “Engine room ready for Fuse, sir.”
“Very well, stand by.” I looked up to the screen. “Darla, Fusion coordinates, please?”
“Aye aye, Captain Seafort.” The coordinates flashed on the screen.
“Manual coordinates, Pilot?” My request was but a formality. If his own figures hadn’t agreed with Darla’s he’d have immediately recalculated; the wrong Fusion coordinates could send us to oblivion. Pilot Haynes brought up his coordinates. They matched Darla’s.
“Vax, did you also run a plot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s see.” From the corner of my eye I noticed the Pilot shake his head with ill-disguised impatience. I examined Vax’s figures; they were identical to the others.
I was ready to give the order. While normally the ship was Defused from the bridge by running a finger down the Fusion control console, ignition was trickier. The Captain usually passed the Fusion order to the engine room, and the ship was Fused from there.
“Does everything check, Captain?” There wasn’t a hint of insolence in the Pilot’s voice. None was needed; the question itself conveyed his contempt for my overcaution.
“So far. I’ll run my own calculations, just to be sure.”
Childish, but it would be a windy day in space before I ignored that sort of remark. I entered the variables.
I wasn’t very good at the exercise, as Lieutenant Cousins had continually reminded me during our last drill. But I shut my mind to distractions and plowed through the formulas, step by step. At last, I emerged with my final figure and compared it to the Pilot’s. I was off by nearly seven percent.
The Pilot’s amusement was almost unnoticeable, but not quite. Coolly I erased my calculations and began again. A half hour later, my shirt soggy with perspiration, I found my figures off by the same amount. I was aware how much face I’d already lost. Even if I finally got it right I would look a fool.
The Pilot waited in the duty officer’s chair, motionless except for an occasional long breath akin to a subvocal sigh.
Ignoring the distraction, I stored each figure as I calculated it, then ran the results through the usual formula.
I was still six point seven nine percent off, and couldn’t find the error. “Pilot, please watch while I try again.” My tone was brusque. He came over to stand behind my chair, like a long-suffering lieutenant overseeing a middy’s drill.
“Stop me when you see the mistake,” I said.
I went through the steps, plugging in the parameters I’d generated by previous calculations. When I finished I had the same answer I had before, and he hadn’t intervened. “Well?”
“I didn’t see an error. Sir,” he added begrudgingly. “You manipulated the numbers correctly.”
Interesting. “Go through your own calculation again.”
I watched him enter the base figures, run his compensations with a practiced skill I longed to match, factor our present location, mass, and target, and calculate drive power and coordinates. His result matched his previous figures.
Vax sat staring at the screen. I suspected his mind was on automatic; thanks to my cruelty he was exhausted. He wouldn’t be the only one; the crew had been on standby for nearly two hours.