I tapped, “Continue parameter display.”
“FIXED PARAMETER DISPLAY COMPLETE.”
I swore. Ship’s mass was the very last parameter in the list. If I’d started at the end of the list and worked backward I’d have saved hours of tapping.
“That’s the last one, Pilot.”
“It can’t be!”
“Why not?”
“Adjusted mass should be a parameter as well.”
The Chief said, “Not if she derives it from base mass.”
“We know she’s using the wrong figure for base mass,”
I said. “How do we change that?”
“The quick fix is to delete base mass as a fixed parameter and input it as a variable, sir.” The Pilot had the manual on his holovid in his lap. “Then we instruct her not to adjust the variable except after recalc.”
The manual provided a step-by-step example of how to do that. “Read me the instructions exactly.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The Pilot magnified the page so it was visible to all of us. “There are fourteen steps for deletion, sir. Input takes six.”
“Any reason not to proceed now, gentlemen?” I asked. A few seconds hesitation; I added, “Other than those stated in the Log?”
Pilot Haynes said reluctantly, “Nothing else, sir.” The Chief shook his head.
We took great care with each step. Both the Pilot and the Chief checked each of my keyboard commands against the manual before I entered it, to make sure I had made no mistake. I was so nervous I could barely contain myself; we were barbarians engaging in brain surgery. I began to wish I had followed my officers’ advice.
Finally we were done. “VARIABLE INPUT COMPLETE,” the screen displayed. I let out a long breath.
“Hardcopy input parameters and input variables,” I typed.
The eprom clicked on. A moment later a holochip popped into the waiting tray. I handed it to the Pilot, who slipped it in his holovid. We keyed to the list of parameters. Base mass was absent. We checked the variables, found it at the end of the list.
“To put her back together, we reverse the steps that took her apart,” the Pilot said, consulting his manual. “Here’s the list.”
“No.” They looked up in surprise. “Darla stays down.”
My tone was firm. “We check every one of the input parameters before she goes back on-line.”
Chief McAndrews said, “Captain, Darla monitors our recycling program. We need that information daily, to make adjustments.”
“Hydroponics too, sir,” added the Pilot. “We’ve been on manual all day; if a sailor’s attention wanders, he could foul up the systems. We need to get back to automatics.”
“We have manual backup procedures.” I tried to quell my irritation. “The hydroponicist’s mates will stand extra watches. So will the recycler’s mates. We’ll do without Darla.”
The Pilot. “Captain, the longer it takes, the more--”
“Darla stays down! That’s an order!” Their nagging infuriated me.
The Pilot stood. “Aye aye, sir,” His voice was cold. “I protest the order and request you to enter my protest in the Log.”
I bit back a savage retort. “Denied. Your previous protest continues and is sufficient. You both have your orders. Call the midshipmen together, divide up the list, and start checking every item. Go to the textbooks for astrophysical data. Manually recheck all ship’s measurements and statistics.”
“Aye aye, sir.” They had no choice; arguing with a direct order was insubordination.
“One more thing. I’ll see all of you, including the middies, on the bridge before you begin. Dismissed.” I shut the hatch behind them and sagged in my chair. With my customary finesse I’d thoroughly alienated the Chief as well as the Pilot.
Now I was truly alone.
I paced the bridge, Darla’s last output still frozen on the screen. I was in over my head. My order to run Hibernianssystems manually could put our men on emergency watches for a month or more, while every last parameter was checked.
The crew would grow tired, then embittered. Meanwhile, the officers would be driven to distraction by the rote examination of data. They’d be exhausted from ceaseless extra work. Their relations with the crew would worsen.
My order risked far greater damage to the ship than Darla’s glitch.
When the officers assembled on the bridge an hour later, I was near panic. “Gentlemen, we’re about to check all the information in Darla’s parameter banks. Some of you may not agree with this course. You may think it’s a waste of time. I don’t care. You will personally recheck each and every datum on your list until you verify its accuracy from other sources.”
That much was acceptable, but I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Let me make clear what will happen if you gloss over any items. Chief, Pilot, you will be tried for dereliction of duty and dismissed from the service. Mr. Holser, Mr.
Tamarov, Mr. Wilsky, I will personally cane you within an inch of your life, then try you for dereliction of duty. Mr.
Holser, the cadet may help you with measurements, but you’re not to give him any tasks to perform without supervision.” I ignored the shock in their faces. “Acknowledge, all of you!”
One by one they responded. “Orders received and understood, sir. Aye aye, sir.” The midshipmen were agitated; they’d never heard an officer speak in such a manner. Nor, for that matter, had I. After I dismissed them 1 flopped in my leather chair, appalled at what I’d heard myself say.
Some of the data were standard and easy to check, involving no more than a trip to the ship’s library and a review of standard references. Others were more complicated: for example, the volume of air in each airlock. Alexi checked lock dimensions in the ship’s blueprints, then confirmed them by measuring them himself. I knew, because I watched.
I tried to be everywhere. I peered over the Chiefs shoulder while he took the dimensions of the drive shaft opening. I watched Vax and Derek measure the volume of nutrient in one hydro tank, then multiply by the number of identical tanks. I held the electrical gauges as the Chief and Vax, sweating and swearing, connected them to each of our power mains to measure ship’s power consumption.
By the end of the second day I could stand myself no longer. During our rest period I forced my reluctant steps down the ladder to Level 3, to the Chiefs cabin near his engine room. I knocked. He opened the hatch, his jacket off, tie loose.
“Carry on,” I said quickly, before he could come to attention. He stepped aside for me to enter. I remained in the corridor. Now, especially, I had no right to be in his cabin.
“I’ve come to apologize.” My tone was stiff. “I’ve never had reason to think you wouldn’t carry out your duties. My remarks on the bridge were abominable.”
“You owe me no apology,” he said, his voice stony. “You gave your orders, as was your right.”
“Nevertheless I’m sorry. I insulted you. I know you won’t forgive me, but I want you to know I regret my words.” I turned and left abruptly, not wanting him to see my eyes tearing.
We made progress, but it was slow going. The crew continued to monitor ship’s systems manually. Over the next weeks I noticed an increase in the number of seamen sent to Captain’s Mast. Tempers flared as the crew’s irritability began to match my own. They too suffered from loss of sleep. Only the midshipmen seemed to thrive under the extra burden.
While the exacting labor continued, days stretching into weeks, Vax Holser stolidly carried out all the tasks I laid on his broad shoulders, without objection and, more importantly, without offense at my manner.
I grew to depend on him; when I wanted to be sure a difficult measurement was made and rechecked without complaint, it was Vax I called upon. Whatever he said to the other midshipmen in the privacy of the wardroom, it persuaded them to work with willing good humor, a feat of which I’d have been incapable.
Sandy and Alexi crawled around the cargo holds in their confining pressure suits for hours at a time, determining location and mass of the cargoes. Derek, when he wasn’t poring over his navigation texts or performing the strenuous exercises Vax required of him, obediently held measuring lines, copied figures, and made himself otherwise useful to the midshipmen.