"Number three," Ursis said quietly. "Standard start. You do it, Mr. Chairman." A third and higher pitched thrumming soon joined the first two.
"All generators running and steady," reported the Chairman.
"Your ship, Wilf," the Bear pronounced. "Drive systems are checked and waiting."
"Thank you, Nik," Brim said, trying desperately to avoid matching eyes with the clearly thunderstruck Gallsworthy. He mentally ran through a dozen personal checklists, scanned the readouts once more—all normal. Satisfied for the moment, he relaxed in the recliner. "Mr. Amherst," he announced to the clearly disapproving Number One, "the Helmsman's station is ready for immediate departure."
"Let's be at it, then, Number One," Collingswood's voice prompted as Brim watched the freezing rain spatter against the heated Hyperscreens. A large tracked vehicle had just pulled onto the jetty, lining up in front of Truculent's sharp nose. Presently, three great amber lenses deployed from its back and positioned themselves so that only one could be seen from Brim's console. They glowed once, twice.
Brim's hands eased over his control panel. "Ground link complete," he reported tersely.
"All hands to stations for lift-off, Mr. Chairman," Amherst commanded. Brim listened to alarms going off below. "Special-duty spacemen close up!" On the forward deck, lights appeared in the mooring-control cupola. A nearby display showed the two mooring cupolas aft were now manned and ready. All over the bridge, a familiar litany of departure was in full activity. Below, at least ten maintenance analogs were racing along the decks making last-minute checks for loose gear. From the rear of the bridge, Maldive spoke into a dozen interCOMM systems. "Testing alarm systems! Testing alarm systems! Testing...."
Outside, an indistinct movement on the basin caught Brim's attention. imagination? No—there it was again! Nearly lost in the grayness, a light of some sort was battling through driving rain.
"Ship approaching from green, yellow-green, Lieutenant Brim," a rating warned from his center console. "Very well, Brim acknowledged. "I'll keep an eye on it." Within ticks, he could make out a darker mass within the gray—which steadily defined itself into an angular shape. A KA'PPA beacon broke clear first among the sheets of driving rain, then a bridge, and finally a hull, riding fast about twenty irals off a flattened, frothing area of water amid the thrashing waves of the storm-swept basin. Brim made out "A.45" on the side of a wing—she was one of a relatively new class of large, fast, and heavily protected destroyers that had been constantly the public eye of late because of their prominent employment in the Empire's critical convoy lifelines. From her bridge she also displayed the flashing triangular device that signaled she carried a flotilla leader aboard. A ship of some consequence, this one, and she approached Truculent's gravity pool with an important mien, drawing to a stop in a sweeping cloud of ice particles as her reversing generators bled off the tremendous momentum she carried.
"I.F.S. Audacious," Amherst observed with ill-concealed awe as he looked up from a data display.
"With Sir Davenport himself aboard. Do you suppose she's the next one for our gravity pool? We could run the next checklists out on the water."
"Why should we do that?" Collingswood asked with a frown.
"Well," Amherst said with raised eyebrows. "Sir is Hugh an influential person in The Fleet, after all."
"And he is at least a quarter metacycle early," Collingswood answered. "We shall clear the mooring in our own good time. You will proceed with our departure in a normal manner, Mr. Amherst."
"As you wish, Captain," the senior Lieutenant said, a half-troubled timbre in his voice.
Brim mentally shrugged, storing that tidbit in a safe corner of his mind. If Collingswood wasn't worried about a flotilla leader, then neither was he. He grinned to himself while all around the gravity pool, mooring beams flashed as ratings in the mooring cupolas drew the ship solidly into place. Suddenly, treble-pitched steering engines overlaid the rumbling gravity generators. Truculent's bridge quivered as side thrusts jolted through her spaceframe. "Steering engine thrusts in all quadrants, Lieutenant," the Chairman reported.
"Very well" Brim said calmly. "Pretaxi check, Mr. Chairman. bridge report...."
"Bridge is secure, Lieutenant."
"Electrical?"
"On generators."
"Environmentals?"
"Packs are set for 'flight.'"
"Auxiliary power?"
"Running."
"Launches stowed and secured for deep space," a voice reported at Amherst's console behind him.
"All working parties on station, Lieutenant," said another voice. "Analogs report decks clear and secure."
"Pretaxi check complete," Brim announced, forcing himself to relax. He felt the gentle throb of the gravity generators, watched Ursis' face as the Bear made last-minute adjustments to their controls.
Truculent was nearly ready for lift-off.
Suddenly, KA'PPA rings flashed from the waiting ship's high beacon like concentric waves from a pebble in a pool.
"Message from I.F.S. Audacious," a balding signals yeoman with fat cheeks reported to Collingswood.
"Very well, Mr. Applewood," Collingswood replied. "I'll have it."
"'Flotilla leader, the Honorable Commodore Sir Hugh Davenport, I.F. informs I.F.S. Truculent that he is now assigned this gravity pool,'" Applewood read in a high-pitched voice.
Brim heard Collingswood chuckle. "Is that so?" she asked. "Well, Mr. Applewood, you can make this back to the Honorable, etc., aboard I.F.S. Audacious: 'Pity. Where does the Commodore propose to moor his starship?"'
"All stations ready to proceed, Captain," Amherst reported—this time almost in a gasp.
"Lieutenant Brim," Collingswood's voice boomed confidently in the pregnant silence of the bridge, "you may proceed to the takeoff zone when you receive taxi clearance."
Brin smiled to himself. It was one of those moments he imagined he would recall for the remainder of his life—as long as that might be, considering the going mortality rate for destroyers. "Aye, aye, Captain," he said. "Proceeding to the takeoff zone. Mr. Chairman, have the cupolas single up all moorings," he ordered. Immediately, beams winked out all around the ship until only a single shaft of green remained attached at any of the optical bollards in the jetty walls.
"All mooring points singled up, Lieutenant," the Chairman reported.
"Very well, Mr. Chairman," Brim announced quietly, "you may now switch to internal gravity—Quartermaster Maldive on the interCOMM, please."
"Aye, aye. Lieutenant," Maldive answered from a display.
"All hands stand by for internal gravity," Maldive's voice echoed from the ship's interCOMM as alarms clattered in the background.
Brim braced himself as the first sudden rush of nausea swept his stomach. He swallowed hard, forcing his gorge back where it ought to be. Loose articles all over the ship rattled and clanged. He felt sweat break momentarily from his forehead. Then, quickly as it struck, the sensation passed. A muffled thump announced detachment of the ground umbilicals—the ship sagged precariously to port, then righted as her stable platforms adjusted to independent operation. From a corner of his eye, he watched the brow swing away from the hull and retract into the top of the jetty. He glanced at the tracked vehicle—its lenses were still perfectly lined up with his console but now glowing cool green. A white cursor was centered on the foremost surface. He flexed his shoulders and shook his head, smiling to himself—another gravity switch without losing his breakfast. "I'll speak with Ground Control now, Mr. Chairman," he said, glancing quickly at the waiting vehicle on the jetty wall.
"Ground Control," a narrow face with huge, bushy eyebrows announced from a display.