Oddly enough, the pending maneuver made the first portion of the watch drag as they waited. At one hour prior to the maneuver Jan Tweed beckoned to the bosun mate of the watch, who raised his archaic pipe to his lips and shrilled out the ancient naval call to attention before making an announcement on the all-hands circuit. "All hands prepare for maneuvering in one hour. Secure all objects and materials. Undertake no task which cannot be completed prior to maneuvering." The message was repeated at the half-hour and quarter-hour points.
Five minutes prior, as the bosun was issuing his latest warning, Captain Wakeman entered the bridge. "Captain's on the bridge!"
Lieutenant Tweed saluted and indicated the main maneuvering display. "We are ready to execute our course and speed change, Captain."
"Right. Uh, how long?"
"In five minutes, sir."
"No, no, no. How long will the maneuvering last?"
Jan flushed. "Ten minutes, sir. As indicated on the display."
Captain Wakeman glanced at the indicated data, his face sour, as Commander Herdez arrived on the bridge. "XO, has this maneuvering solution been double-checked?"
Herdez didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir. Three times." She looked at Tweed. "I believe the watch has run a fourth check."
"That's correct, ma'am."
"Hmmm." Wakeman settled into his chair, fumbling with the straps. "Can this watch team handle it? Shouldn't we have our varsity up here?"
Paul felt himself flushing this time at Wakeman's casual public questioning of his competence, but Herdez shook her head. "This is a capable watch team, Captain. I'm certain they will execute the maneuver without any problem."
"All right. Let's get on with it, then."
Tweed signaled the bosun to issue the final advance warning at the one minute point, while Paul maliciously wondered if Captain Wakeman would mess with this maneuver in the hope of impressing unseen watchers. I can't believe he asked that question about us being able to handle it right in front of us. What a jerk.
Jan looked at him a moment after the thought and quirked a smile, causing Paul a sudden worry that he might have spoken his last thought out loud. But she simply pointed to the timer, where the final seconds were counting down. "It's not much fun when the maneuvering computer handles everything, is it?" she murmured. With a final glance to either side at the Captain and the XO, Tweed firmly pushed the approve button as the count hit zero.
Stresses jerked Paul against his straps as the maneuvering thrusters pushed the Michaelson's bow around to a new heading, then rolled the ship slightly to accommodate the human desire to align themselves heads-up within the solar system. A tiny object went flying past Paul as the force of the thrusters generated a partial equivalent to gravity. Without thinking, he flung out one hand and more through luck than design managed to snag the debris. He glanced at it, apparently a data chip misplaced during routine maintenance, then looked to see if anyone else had noticed and found the XO's eyes on him. It figures she'd have seen it. I don't think Herdez misses anything. He braced himself for a withering look, but instead the XO actually seemed amused.
The thrusters cut off, then shoved from the opposite side, slowing the Michaelson's bow with just enough force to halt the momentum of thousands of tons of mass and make the bow stop on the desired heading. A moment of silence and anticipation, then the main drives cut in, shoving everyone back in their chairs. Paul strained to pull in deep breaths even as the bosun whooped, "Yeee-hah!" After months of little or no gravity, the two g's of acceleration felt awful, but also exhilarating.
Now they were watching the time count down again. Paul's gaze switched between the digits showing burn-time remaining and the maneuvering display on which the marker representing the Michaelson and her course slid steadily onto the desired vector. The main drive cut off, and a few moments later the actual and desired vectors joined as one. Paul swallowed hard and gritted his teeth as his inner ears and stomach protested the many and varied changes in gravity conditions as well as the sudden return to zero g.
Lieutenant Tweed pivoted in her chair to face the captain. "Maneuvering completed successfully, Captain. The Michaelson is on course for intercept."
"Hmmm. Very well." Wakeman unstrapped himself, then moved away unsteadily.
"Captain's left the bridge!"
"Thank you, bosun," Herdez replied. "And next time we maneuver, try to restrain your enthusiasm."
"Aye, aye, ma'am."
"Good job, Lieutenant Tweed." Herdez left even as Jan acknowledged the praise.
Tweed rubbed her neck. "Ahhh. So much for excitement." She noticed Paul staring intently at the maneuvering display. "What's up?"
"I was just wondering. Is it possible for a human to maneuver the ship anything like that?"
"Sure it is. Just like that. You just have to feel her motion, anticipate the right moments to kick in different thrusters, and not try to haul her around like a bag of bricks on the end of a rope. You don't look like you believe me."
"I'm sorry, but . . . the maneuvering system computers handle complex problems in a flash. How could any human do what they just did?"
"By feeling the ship. Look, you've been real straight with me, Paul, so I'll tell you a secret. If you promise not to tell anyone else." Paul nodded, frowning in puzzlement, as Jan tapped her display. "Here's the automatic ship's log for the maneuver we just completed. What's it say?"
"It says . . . it says the automated maneuver controls were disabled. The maneuver was controlled from—" Paul checked the words again in disbelief. "From the officer of the deck's watch station. You handled that maneuver? Manually?"
"Yeah. I disabled the automated controls beforehand. The maneuvering control relays are right here on the chair handles, so you can manipulate them easily while everyone else is staring at the displays."
"Geez. If Wakeman had found out—"
Tweed grinned nervously. "He won't. Not from you. Right?"
"I promised. But that's amazing. You're a great ship handler, Jan. That maneuver was perfect."
"Thanks. Now remember what I told you. It's a secret."
"But—"
"A secret. Nobody else hears a word of it."
"If they review the log—"
"Nobody looks at the log. They're too busy handling whatever's going on right now to worry about what happened five minutes ago. Don't tell anybody else what I showed you, Paul."
Tweed's face was firmer than Paul had ever seen it, so he nodded in assent. I guess she just wants to prove to herself how good she can be at something. But why not let the others know? I don't understand. Good thing no one spotted her working those controls. Paul frowned again, remember the XO's eyes on him when he snagged the tiny bit of flotsam. Herdez doesn't miss anything. Does she know? She must know. That "Good job, Lieutenant Tweed" bit. Why would she say that about just activating an automated maneuvering sequence? But it's like she's keeping it a secret that she knows Tweed's secret because she knows Tweed needs it to be a secret for her own reasons. Paul shook his head, slightly dizzy from following his last thought train. Jan flicked another nervous smile his way and he nodded back to her in reassurance.
* * *
"The SASAL ship is running." Paul glanced up in surprise at Lieutenant Sindh's calm statement. "They, or South Asian deep space sensors, must have spotted us when we maneuvered for intercept."
"They're going to get away?" Paul felt a mix of regret and relief.
"Maybe. We're calculating course options now, trying to see if we can still manage an intercept inside the US zone."
Lieutenant Bristol looked up from his meal. "What if they can't? Can we intercept them outside the zone?"
"We can. The question is, may we?" Sindh glanced at Paul. "What do the orders say, almost-a-JAG?"
Paul snorted at the nickname, then concentrated on remembering the twists and turns of their convoluted orders. "There's a lot of room in there for the captain's discretion. But, orders aside, we don't really have legal authorit
y to stop another ship which isn't in an area we claim."
"Even if he used to be in our area?"
"That's right. If we don't catch him inside our zone, we're not supposed to haul him over outside of it. It's sort of a jurisdictional thing. Just chasing him out of our zone enforces our claim."
Jen Shen swung over to grab another tube of coffee. "Unambiguously?"
"Well, no. Not like actually catching him in our area."
Sindh looked around the wardroom as if evaluating her audience. "Chasing another ship out of the zone isn't going to generate lots of good visibility for the Michaelson. Or her captain."
Paul bit his tongue. She's saying what we're all thinking. Wakeman isn't going to let a potential career boost like seizing that ship slip through his fingers.
"If we do that, seize the SASAL ship outside our zone, won't it generate bad visibility?" Bristol asked. "Since it'd be illegal?"
Sindh made a face. "I don't think Paul said such a seizure would be illegal. He said we're not supposed to do it by international standards."
Paul nodded. "I'm no expert, but it seems to be really complicated. The XO has had me draft some point papers to try to explain it all to the captain—"
Jen snorted. "Explain complicated stuff to Cap'n Pete? Good luck. He's so dense he bends light."
Sindh suppressed a smile. "Jen . . ."
"Okay, okay. I'll watch my words. But the point's the same. Trust me, if there's room in our orders for our captain to figure he can grab the SASAL ship in or out of our claimed area, he'll try to do it."
On the heels of her statement, the bosun's pipe shrilled on the all-hands circuit. "All hands prepare for maneuvering in five minutes. Secure all objects and materials. Undertake no task that cannot be completed prior to maneuvering."
Sindh looked toward the speaker. "I suppose that means we've calculated a new intercept trajectory. We'd best get comfortable. If the Captain is going to try to manage an intercept within our area, this might be a long burn to build up sufficient velocity."
Jen hoisted her coffee, then dropped the tube back into storage undrunk. "Yeah. 'Damn the torpedoes,' but since we don't know how long we might be pinned down I'm not drinking this."
"High-g acceleration is hell on a full bladder," Sindh agreed.
* * *
It felt strange. They were in a chase, heading at high speed toward a point where they should intercept the fleeing SASAL ship just inside the American area. But, as if in a dream, the huge distances to be covered caused the chase to play out in slow motion over days and weeks. On maneuvering displays, the vectors of the Michaelson and the other ship continued converging, but at an apparent snail's pace. Physically, the SASAL ship was off the Michaelson's starboard bow and about ten degrees above the plane of the Michaelson. As the ships converged, that position never changed even though the distance to the other ship steadily decreased. Constant bearing and decreasing range had been the formula for intercept or collision for as long as ships had sailed, and it applied just as surely in space.
Inside the Michaelson, activity had the same hurry-up-and-wait feeling. Preparations, planning, and training for the impending encounter were run-through and then run-through again.
It's like they expect us to intercept the SASAL ship in a couple of hours, but then we come out of the training sessions and realize it's still a couple of weeks away. How's anybody supposed to keep their adrenalin pumped for that long?
Paul glumly went back to scanning the section of the Ship's Organization and Regulations Manual update he'd been assigned to review. Possible impending combat or not, the Michaelson's command structure had no intention of letting routine paperwork slide, and there wasn't anything more tedious or routine than updating the SORM. General Quarters. Ship's company to battle stations. Highest state of alert and readiness. Blah, blah, blah. Station assignments. Assistant Combat Information Center Officer, which is me, posted in the Combat Information Center. That'd make a lot more sense if had a real job to do in CIC.
During General Quarters, Commander Garcia had posted Paul behind a multi-spectrum sensor tracking panel, ordering him to supervise the two enlisted Operations Specialists who crewed the panel. However, the two enlisted knew their jobs better than Paul ever would and didn't need supervision. They knew it, Paul knew it, and Garcia knew it. "The real reason you're here," Jan Tweed had confided to Paul, "is so that if I get disabled in action, or relieved for cause by Garcia, you can take over for me." Which truth had left Paul feeling like a cross between a spare tire and a vulture.
The decompression alarm located not far from Paul's right ear suddenly began whooping wildly. Paul flailed his arms, shocked from his near doze over the boring paperwork, then slapped the ensign locker's comm unit. "Engineering, I've got a decompression alarm in space—"
"Understand," the engineering watch stander broke in, her words barely audible over the clamor of the alarm. "We've already checked your stateroom's status. There's no decompression under way. False alarm."
"Thank you!" Paul yelled back over the alarm. "Now can you reset the alarm before it deafens me?"
"Uh, sorry, sir. Remote reset isn't working. Do you know how to do a local reset?"
"What?" Paul shook a fist at the alarm, then jerked in surprise as the hatch to the locker popped open and Jen Shen swung in.
"Real or false alarm? I assume false since the hatch opened for me."
"False, Jen. How the hell do I stop it?"
"Like this." She flipped up a panel next to the alarm, made a fist and punched the touch pad that rested under the panel. The alarm's wail finally shut off. "When the alarms stick you have to joggle the 'trons a little. Don't ask me why."
Paul rubbed his forehead, fighting down a headache inspired by the alarm's scream. "Why'd it go off in the first place?"
"Hell if I know. If you ask the crew, they'll tell you it was Petty Officer Davidas."
"Huh?"
"Yeah. You hadn't heard? If anything unusual happens now the crew says it's Davidas screwing with stuff."
"They think the ship's haunted?"
"Well, yes. But not in bad way. Davidas was a good guy, so none of the crew think he'd do anything to hurt them. But they figure he is having fun at their expense." Jen grinned as Paul flinched again at a stab of pain in his head. "Or your expense, in this case."
"I don't believe it. We're a million miles away from civilization, and the crew thinks the ship's haunted, but they're not worried about it. I'll never figure out sailors."
"Yeah, you will. Let me tell you a secret." Jen Shen leaned so close to Paul that he could feel her breath against his cheek. "You're becoming a sailor yourself, Mr. Sinclair." Then she winked, laughed, and swung out of the compartment.
Paul rubbed his cheek, his senses overloaded by recent events, but with an odd feeling that seemed like pride stirring inside. She really thinks I'm becoming a sailor?
* * *
The South Asian Alliance ship had held a steady course as the Michaelson closed on it. As the kilometers between the ships dwindled, more and more details had become apparent, until the Michaelson's combat intelligence systems had been able to identify the ship.
"He's a research ship?" Paul checked the display again.
"Yeah. Pavarti-Class." Jan Tweed pointed to the same data. "A crew of about twenty, plus another twenty scientists, if they're carrying a normal amount of people."
"No weapons."
"None to speak of, no."
"Then we don't have anything to worry about."
"Not if he's really a Pavarti, no. That is, if he really is a Pavarti and hasn't been modified to carry armament."
Paul checked the data again. "You know, this'd actually be simpler if we knew we were dealing with a warship up front."
"Yeah, it would be." Jan twitched as an alarm sounded, focused on the SASAL ship. "Damn. They're maneuvering." She hit her comm pad. "CIC, I want an estimate of what that ship's doing soonest. Captain, this is the Officer of th
e Deck. The SASAL ship is maneuvering."
"Captain's on the bridge!" Wakeman was there almost before Tweed finished speaking.
He swung into his chair, peering at the main display. "What's he doing? What's he doing?"
"We don't have an estimate, yet, Captain." Tweed was chewing her lip, perspiration standing out on one cheek. "We have an aspect change, so he's changing heading, and a main drive burn." The display chirped, bringing a narrow probability cone to life. "It looks like he's altered course a bit and put on speed to try to clear the area before we can intercept."
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