Against All Enemies ps-4

by John G. Hemry

  Bristol followed Paul's gaze and nodded in understanding. "I miss him, too."

  "We're tired as hell and too strung out to think straight." Paul pushed his own food away. "We could use some calm center of gravity right now."

  "Yeah. The guy was almost a father figure. Of course, if we'd told him that he'd have said 'could be' and asked us who our mothers were." Bristol sighed. "It's hard having Smithe for a boss now. Sykes gave us plenty of free rein, but Smithe wants to know every time I need to push a button on my keypad so he can sign off on it first."

  "Ouch. My sympathies."

  "I bet you're looking forward to Garcia leaving."

  Paul grinned. "You could say that. I haven't got a good feel for what Moraine is like, though."

  "She doesn't seem to have Garcia's distemper problem."

  Paul smiled again. "No. But she seems sort of… twitchy."

  "Twitchy? Nervous?"

  "Yeah. And every time she looks at me she has this expression like I'm another ship on a collision course with her and five seconds from impact." Paul unstrapped. "I've got twenty minutes left to grab some sleep."

  Instead of heading straight for his stateroom, though, Paul went by Kris Denaldo's quarters. She was sitting in her chair staring morosely at nothing, but she looked up as Paul knocked on the open hatch. "Hi, Paul. Sorry I blew up at Crazy Ivana. Unprofessional."

  "It's not like you weren't provoked."

  "I'm turning into Jen."

  "Careful, that's my fiancee you're talking about. Are you calling Jen unprofessional?"

  That brought a half-hearted smile to Kris' face. "Perish the thought."

  "Besides," Paul added, "if Isakov had been within reach of me I would've beat you to her." He grinned. "Did you see the look on Randy's face when you reached across him to get at her?"

  "No. Was it priceless?"

  "'Deer in the headlights' doesn't begin to describe it."

  Kris smiled again, then went somber. "Three years is a long time to do this sort of thing, Paul. I feel burnt out and sucked dry. That's how I felt before the asteroid incident. Now it's even worse."

  "Will you be okay?" Airlocks were too easy to find for someone who thought they couldn't handle life anymore. It had happened on other ships to other sailors who couldn't handle their personal or professional pressures.

  But Kris shook her head. "I'll be fine. Me big strong Space Warfare Officer. Underway is the only way. Do I sound perky enough?"

  "Try a 'hoo-rah.'"

  "I will not try a 'hoo-rah.' I'm not a Marine."

  "Hang in there, Kris. In two weeks you'll be walking off of this ship for the last time."

  "I'll believe it when it happens. Who's going to look out for you for Jen when I'm gone?"

  Paul smiled. "I'm a big strong Space Warfare Officer, too. I'll be okay."

  "Sure you are." She waved him away. "Go get some sleep."

  "Do I look that bad?"

  "Frankly, yes. And before you tell me, I don't want to know how I look."

  "Watch out for that guy!"

  Paul jerked in reaction to the warning from Isakov, then cursed to himself before answering her. "I see him. The system shows him tracking clear of us."

  "He's too close." Isakov kept her eyes riveted on the maneuvering display where dozens of contacts within the five thousand kilometer danger zone around the Michaelson moved along their own trajectories. "I hate being this close to base. There's to much crap out there to worry about."

  Paul privately agreed but didn't say so since he'd yet to forgive Isakov for her latest verbal jabs at him. Franklin Naval Station had spent weeks being just a bright dot in space; then with apparently shocking speed had become a great hollow disc rotating majestically before them as the Michaelson 's velocity had closed the final thousands of kilometers within a short time. "Braking maneuver in five minutes," he reminded Isakov.

  "Handle it."

  Yes, ma'am. Paul turned to look at the bosun mate of the watch. "Give the five minute warning, Boats."

  "Aye, aye, sir." The bosun raised his pipe, triggered the internal broadcast circuit and blew the notes that called attention to his announcement. "All hands prepare for maneuvering in five minutes. Secure all objects and materials. Undertake no task which cannot be completed prior to maneuvering."

  Paul reached to call the captain, only to have his gesture halted in mid-reach as the bosun spoke again. "Captain's on the bridge!"

  Hayes pulled himself into his chair and strapped in even as he scanned the maneuvering display and shook his head. "There's a lot of traffic out there today."

  Isakov nodded. "Yes, sir. Request permission to begin final deceleration and approach to station."

  "Permission granted." Hayes looked over at Commander Kwan entered the bridge and hastily went to his own chair on the opposite side of the bridge from the captain's. "XO, let's go ahead and get the crew to stations."

  "Yes, sir." Kwan pointed at Paul and Isakov. "Do it."

  Isakov in turn looked at Paul, who couldn't help smiling at the absurdity of the way the chain of command was playing out on the bridge as he faced the bosun again. "Pass the word for all hands to man stations for entering port."

  "Aye, aye, sir." Another blast on the whistle. "All hands man stations for entering port. Department Heads make reports of readiness for entering port to the Officer of the Deck on the bridge."

  Paul checked the time. Two minutes to the final braking maneuver. "Boats, give the two minute warning." Hayes and Kwan were talking across the bridge to each other, but he couldn't pay any attention to that now. One minute. "One minute warning, Boats. Captain, request permission to initiate final braking maneuver."

  Hayes nodded without taking his eyes off of his own maneuvering display. "Permission granted."

  Paul watched the countdown scroll down to zero, then pushed the button confirming the maneuver. Thrusters fired, pitching the Michaelson to the side. On the maneuvering display, her trajectory toward Franklin showed as a broad curve. More thrusters fired, halting the ship's stern on the right bearing, then the Michaelson 's main drive slammed them into their seats as it roared to life and began braking the ship's velocity. Paul swallowed, wondering if his stomach would ever get fully used to the rapid changes in apparent gravity caused by such maneuvers.

  The curve of the ship's trajectory flattened out until the Michaelson was aimed at a point just above the station and coming in at an angle that would allow it to match the station's rotation at the point where its berth awaited the ship. Paul glanced at Isakov out of the corner of his eyes. Who's taking the ship in for final? If I ask, they'll give me the job for sure since it'll sound like I'm volunteering.

  An instant later his unspoken question was answered by the captain. "Paul, why don't you take her in today."

  "Aye, aye, sir." Lucky me. Again. Driving the ship through open space could be great fun. Driving the ship into her berth, where the slightest mistake could cause a collision and lots of damage, was never fun.

  He keyed the communications circuit. "Franklin Naval Station this is USS Michaelson. Request permission to approach the station and dock at our assigned berth seven alpha. Over."

  After a moment, Franklin replied. "This is Franklin Naval Station. Roger. Permission granted for USS Michaelson to approach the station and dock at assigned berth seven alpha. Follow standard docking procedure. Over."

  Paul looked over at the captain, who waved one hand to acknowledge the message, then replied. "This is USS Michaelson, roger, out."

  To his side, Isakov spoke. "All departments report readiness for entering port, Captain."

  Paul concentrated on the maneuvering display. The ship's systems could auto-pilot them into dock, but few ships used those systems routinely for close in approaches. The tiniest problem in the electronic brains running the automated systems could translate into serious trouble too quickly for human intervention to correct it in time. Experienced people, for all their human flaws, were more reliable.


  "Standby thrusters," Paul commanded as the Michaelson began gliding over the top of Franklin's great disc. Berth seven alpha loomed ahead and off to one side, the movement of the ship and the rotation of the station bringing ship and berth together with ponderous precision. He had to gauge the right moment to fire thrusters to halt the Michaelson relative the station at just the right place. "Starboard thrusters all ahead two-thirds."

  "Starboard thrusters all ahead two-thirds, aye," the bosun mate of the watch echoed. The Michaelson shuddered as the thrusters slowed the ship's sideways progress.

  Paul tried to feel the ship's motion and match it to the need to reach the spot right above the berth. "All stop."

  "All stop, aye."

  It wasn't quite enough. "Starboard thrusters all ahead one-third."

  "Starboard thrusters all ahead one-third, aye."

  The ship quivered again, with less force, slowing even more. "All stop!"

  "All stop, aye."

  Watching the ship's movement and the rotation of Franklin below, Paul thought it felt very good. "Standby all lines."

  "Standby all lines, aye."

  They were drifting very slowly now, the berth coming into alignment with the ship. "Send over Lines One, Three and Five."

  The lines snaked out, leaping toward the berth and latching onto contact plates. The lines tightened as the Michaelson continued to drift. Paul studied the display, wondering if he'd need to tap the thrusters again. But the strain on the lines stayed within acceptable limits and the ship lurched only slightly as the lines brought her into a complete match with Franklin's movement. The bosun twirled his pipe again. "Moored! Shift colors!" The flag on the Michaelson, safely ensconced in a container aft, didn't actually move to another location as it would on a seagoing ship, but the Michaelson 's broadcast identity changed, telling anyone listening that the ship had ceased being a free maneuvering object and was now tied to a station with a fixed orbit.

  Paul took a deep breath. The hardest part was over. "Send over lines Two and Four." The last two lines latched on. "Take in all lines." With the greatest of care, the lines started being reeled in again, gently tugging the ship into the assigned berth. Paul leaned back, knowing all that was left was the tedium of waiting while the ship was winched ever so slowly into the berth. But even that had to be monitored. If the winches malfunctioned and started pulling too hard and too fast the final mating of the ship to its berth would just be another form of collision.

  Eventually, they were nestled securely in their berth, feeling the apparent steady force of about one Earth gravity under the influence of Franklin's rotation. Paul ran through the final responsibilities of his watch, then faced the captain again. "Request permission to secure stations for entering port and to shift the watch to the quarterdeck, Captain."

  "Permission granted." Hayes unstrapped and got down his chair a trifle unsteadily. "Good job, Paul."

  "Thank you, sir." While the bosun passed the word, Paul called up the camera on the quarterdeck so he could see the pier. There was a small crowd awaiting them. Paul searching for any sign of Jen, noticing a commander standing waiting to go onboard the Michaelson first. He zoomed in on the commander's uniform and saw the Judge Advocate General's insignia. A JAG waiting on the pier. That's never a good thing. What do you want to bet he's here to see me?

  He was. Paul had scarcely left the bridge, his legs a little wobbly under the unaccustomed steady feeling of gravity, when he was paged to the quarterdeck. Paul had met a lot of the JAGs on Franklin because of his legal officer responsibilities and involvement in too many court-martials, but he didn't know this commander, so he must be fairly new to the station.

  The commander didn't waste time, hauling out some paperwork. "Lieutenant Sinclair? Good. I've been assigned to compile the official investigation into the recent action involving your ship. Nothing to worry about. We've already gone over all the materiel we received from your ship's transmissions during the engagement. We do need a few personal statements, though." He tapped the papers. "The list is here. Please get sworn statements from everyone listed and forward them to me as soon as possible."

  Paul took the list, trying not to think of everything else he needed to do and how much he just wanted to relax for a few hours at least. "Yes, sir."

  "That's all." The commander waved farewell and left while Paul was still scanning the list. Captain. XO. Operations Officer. No surprises. Just a royal pain in the neck for Paul to get those officers to cough up the statements. Since they all outranked him, it wasn't like he could order them to do the statements right away, which meant he'd have to diplomatically ride herd on the process until he could get every statement completed.

  "Request permission to come aboard."

  Paul looked up quickly at the familiar voice. "Jen!"

  She finished saluting the officer of the deck and came over to him. "Virtual hug." They couldn't really hug, not while they were in uniform.

  "Virtual hug back. Virtual kiss."

  "Fresh." Jen's smile faded. "You look like you've been rode hard and put away wet. Rough one, eh?"

  "You know what happened out there."

  "Yeah. What's your status?"

  He knew she meant whether he could leave the ship or not. "Standard work day." Which meant at least twelve hours.

  "You're kidding. You guys have been out for several weeks, you've been involved in tough ops, and they can't even give you a little stand-down?"

  "Sorry, Jen, the XO told us the morning-"

  Ensign Gabriel, the officer of the deck, waved a forestalling hand at Paul. "Wait a minute. The captain's about to make an announcement."

  Captain Hayes' voice came over the announcing system. "This is the captain speaking. I want to thank all of you for the outstanding effort you've put forth the last several weeks. You've all worked hard and done the Michaelson proud. Now you deserve a break. I can't give you much of one, but I'm authorizing liberty for everyone except the duty section effective as soon as your department heads and division officers can release you. That's all."

  Jen grinned. "Let's go."

  "Jen, I've got to cut my own people loose and get permission from Garcia."

  "I can wait. Kris and I can catch up on things."

  "Okay." Paul held up the papers. "And I've got to get this started before I go."

  "Paul Sinclair-"

  "I just have to notify the officers who have to provide statements. It shouldn't take too long."

  Jen shook her head, then smiled again as Chief Sharpe came onto the quarterdeck. "When did you make chief?"

  "A month ago, ma'am." Sharpe saluted with a solemn face. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant Shen. Though I have to confess I keep hearing about you constantly from a certain love-struck lieutenant on this ship who will remain nameless." He faced Paul. "Sir, a word of warning. There's going to be a hot time in the old town tonight. This crew is strung tight. They're really going to be blowing off steam. I'd appreciate it if you talk to your troops and-"

  "Remind them to maintain control because if they don't they'll end up paying for it? Sure, Sheriff. I'll pass the suggestion on to the other division officers." He checked the time. "Jen, I'll look you up in Kris' stateroom. Request permission to proceed on duties assigned."

  She shook her head in mock annoyance and flipped him a salute. "Permission granted."

  Paul hastened off in search of the Captain or the XO, his arms aching with the wish to hold Jen but knowing he couldn't leave the ship without passing on the JAG's need for statements. As he walked, he glanced down at the questions. Most of them were totally predictable, as well as totally superfluous since the answers to them were already known thanks to the materiel Michaelson had transmitted during the engagement.

  But then he frowned and came to a halt, reading the last question over slowly again. " Provide your assessment of South Asian Alliance planning for this event, including any indications that to your mind might imply SASAL foreknowledge
of US intentions."

  Somebody does think our rules of engagement might've been compromised. But how?

  Chapter Four

  Now that she was serving on "shore duty" on Franklin, Jen actually had assigned berthing on the station. Remarkably, she'd managed to score one of the few private single officer compartments. Granted, there were a great many closets on Earth that probably had a larger square footage, but Paul didn't particularly mind the fact that just being in the compartment with Jen made them stay practically touching the entire time. "Nice place."

  "Thanks. It's just a little hole in the wall, but it's home." She handed Paul a drink and sat down next to him on the bed/couch. "Relax."

  "I'm trying." Paul made a conscious effort to let the tension out of his body. "Let's talk about something besides my underway time. You know what I was doing. What've you been up to?"

  "I had dinner with my father while you were out."

  Gee, too bad I missed seeing Captain Kay Shen. But Paul kept his sarcasm silent, knowing Jen couldn't be held responsible for her father's opinion of Paul. "How'd it go?" he asked instead, trying to keep his voice casual.

  He apparently didn't quite succeed, as Jen gave him an exasperated look. "You two remind me of a couple of bears or something. The old leader trying to keep control and the young upstart circling and looking for an opening."

  "I am not trying to take control of anything from your father!"

  "It's an analogy, Paul. You're not bears, either. Usually."

  "So, how'd it go?" he repeated.

  Jen shrugged. "Dad insisted on instructing me in lots of schemes to make my career 'healthy' again."

  "He's fairly senior and he's got a lot of experience."

  "Yes, but he's not me! He says I should stay away from engineering from now on. But I love that stuff, both theory and practice. And I swear, some of the things he suggested come down to kissing every butt in the solar system and begging them to forgive me. For what? For my being unfairly accused of sabotaging my own ship and killing my own shipmates and then having my name dragged through the mud and almost being convicted of a crime I didn't commit? I'm supposed to ask them for forgiveness?"