by P J Strebor
“Athenian.”
Tivendale wanted to slap him. “You were born on a colonial world. Yes?”
“Some people have all the luck.”
"Are you trying to be clever, Mister …” he glanced at his nametag, “Telford?"
“That was never my intention, lieutenant. Merely trying to defuse an awkward situation with a little levity.”
Tivendale caught in Telford’s lethargic tone the gist of what he left unsaid. The dullness in the eyes. The barely veiled disinterest and his insistence on avoiding the use of the honorific sir was now blatantly clear. Well, no middy will ever get the better of Stevenson Tivendale.
“How would you like to be put on report, midshipman?” The boy stood there, the same dull-eyed expression unchanging. “I asked you a question, Midshipman Telford. Are you refusing to answer my question?”
“Please forgive me, lieutenant,” he said, with the exaggerated innocence of a five-year-old. “I assumed you were asking a rhetorical question. But apparently not so.” He squinted, as if in thought. “What was the question again?”
Tivendale bounced on the balls of his feet.
“You are confined to quarters until further notice.”
“Aye-aye, lieutenant.” Telford made no attempt to hide his smirk as he turned away.
Impudent wretch.
CHAPTER 26
Date: 5th June, 320 (ASC).
Position: In orbit, Planet Carina.
Status: Awaiting clearance to inner marker, for hyper ingression.
From his position at the Auxiliary Operations Station, Leo Saunders observed how the real professionals performed like a well-oiled machine.
“Thank you, harbormaster, we are proceeding now.” Cmdr Demianski glanced up from his readouts and nodded once to the captain.
“Helm, set course for the Inner Marker,” Waugh said.
“Captain, course is laid in to the I/M,” Lt Cmdr O'Donnell replied.
“Very well. Both ahead half, thrust engines only.”
“Aye, captain, both ahead half.”
“Captain, time to Inner Marker is four hours sixteen minutes.”
“Very well.” Waugh leaned close to the D-O and whispered something.
He nodded and partly stifled a snort.
Leo considered that to be a well-oiled machine. Those two had served as captain and operations officer for so long rumor suggested they could read each other’s minds.
During the dreary four-hour journey to the I/M the crew stayed alert by conducting checks and counterchecks. Tactical and helm stations kept a wary eye on the surrounding space. The Auxiliary Operations Station provided additional backup. Leo ran his checks but dedicated one of his screens to sweeping the surrounding space. Commercial shipping was unlikely to venture anywhere near an Athenian naval vessel but human beings were flawed creations and mistakes happened. It would reflect poorly on their files to have a wayward civvy plow into their state of the art boat. Leo felt every minute of the next four hours but paid attention to everything happening around him.
“Captain,” O'Donnell said, “I/M ETA thirty seconds.”
“Very well. D-O, confirm our clearance out of system with harbor control.”
“Aye, captain,” Cmdr Demianski said.
Leo stifled a yawn.
“Captain, permission to ingress has been granted,” the commander said. “We have a clear run to the Outer Marker. All departments report ready. I show green across the board. Full shield power is at your command.”
“Very well. Helm, prepare to ingress.”
“Aye, captain. Stealth engines on standby. Thrust engines are at your command. Standing by to ingress.”
“Thank you. D-O, final systems check.”
“All systems optimal, captain. The boat is fully pressurized and buttoned up. All departments report ready. Maneuvering department reports hyper generator buffer at maximum. Awaiting orders to ingress. Shields are at optimal for station keeping and navigation. I confirm we are green across the board.”
“Very well, bring shields to Alert Condition one status.”
“Aye, captain, shields are at A/C one status.”
“Very well. Helm, standard hyper ingression procedures.”
“Aye, captain,” O'Donnell said, “activating hyper generator, now.”
Leo focused the forward optical scanners at the point directly ahead of the boat. The perforation into hyperspace created by the Hydro Magnetic Wave Form generator caused a circle of golden light to form within the darkness of space.
“Captain, ingression point opened.”
“Very well. Both ahead dead slow.”
“Aye, captain. Helm is responding. Both ahead dead slow.”
Crossing the invisible barrier between normal space and hyperspace was indistinguishable to human senses. Some old hands said they could physically sense something during transition but Leo could not.
“Captain, hyper ingression achieved.”
“Very well, helm. D-O, confirm shield status.”
“Shields are at optimal A/C One status, captain.”
“Very well. Helm, secure hyper generator. Both ahead full. ETA to Outer Marker?”
“Aye, captain. Hyper generator is secured. Both ahead full answering. ETA to O/M is one zero niner minutes. Suggest standard roll over and braking commence in fifty five minutes plus or minus one.”
“Very well, helm.”
With shields at optimal level a protective energy barrier stood between the boat and the destructive forces of hyperspace. Any vessel entering hyper without adequate shielding would have their hull fried in very short order. Like sticking your finger into a beaker of undiluted pressic acid.
One hundred and nine minutes later Truculent egressed into normal space. Leo checked his navigation plot and shook his head. O'Donnell had been within thirty five seconds of the marker. It was an outstanding example of dead reckoning navigation. O'Donnell, like the captain, wore the gold wings of a command pilot. They were not only remarkable pilots but, by absolute necessity, equally talented navigators. They had to be, for once a course had been laid in all variables had to be accounted for before entry into hyper.
Having passed through the outer maker and now free of the restraints of the Carina system, Truculent set course toward her northern patrol area.
“Captain,” O'Donnell said, “recommend ingression on course 325 by 165 by 289. Recommend roll over for egression in eight point two five hours.”
Leo scrutinized the captain and helm officer intently. This was one of the most critical standard procedures any vessel could undertake. A half-degree variation in course could result in an awkward situation at best and a fatal outcome at worse.
"Very well, helm, I concur with your recommendation. Prepare for ingression. Both ahead full after transition on a course of 325 by 165 by 289.”
“Aye-aye, captain.”
Once the vessel ingressed into hyper Leo checked his panel one last time before CPO Rocca relieved him.
Now, time to feed the inner man. He should also touch bases with his middy.
***
Nathan looked up from his reader when an officer, about his age, stepped through the hatch. Silver wings adorned his left breast pocket but he did not wear an academy ring. Probably an OCS graduate awaiting a fighter berth.
“Allan Mattich,” he said, extending his hand. Allan had a nasal twang peculiar to residents of the colony world of Koufos Laurium in Western Quadrant.
“Nathan Telford.”
“Settling in all right?” Allan dropped onto the bottom rack.
“Fine thanks.”
“Good.” Allan glanced at the hard copy images affixed to the wall above where Nathan rested on his rack. “Family?” He stood to take a closer look.
“And friends.” The Penkovsky family, Moe and Livy stared back.
“Wow! Who's this beauty?”
“My fiancée.”
>
“I thought middies weren’t permitted to marry.”
“We're not married yet. We plan to, the day after graduation.”
“Who’s that?” Allan said pointing at the image. “She looks familiar.”
“That Allan, is Midshipwoman Moe Okuma.” Nathan said.
“Moe? Strange name.”
“Her given name is Mary Ann, but I wouldn’t recommend calling her that.”
“She’s really attractive. Are you two …?”
Nathan laughed. “Moe and me? No, she’s my best friend. More like a sister than anything else.” Nathan noted that Allan’s eyes remained fixated on Moe’s image. “She’s aboard Truculent you know. I could arrange an intro if you like?”
“Ah, well, I –”
Leo stepped into the now crowded room. “What are we looking at?” After examining the image of Livy, Leo whistled. “You dog, Nathan.”
Make that lucky dog.
Leo squeezed past Allan, removed a holo cube from his locker and activated it. An image formed of a pretty young woman with short dark hair. The little boy in her arms emulated her soft smile. “Mary-Lyn and James Saunders.” Leo swelled with pride. “We got married straight out of the academy and junior arrived a few months later.”
“Nathan's planning to do the same thing,” Allan said. “I don't know about the baby but the marriage bit. That's right isn't it, Nathan?”
“Yes Allan, and as for starting a family …” He smiled. “If we did everything right before I shipped out I could be getting some good news when we disembark.”
“Good for you,” Leo said. “A sound tactical approach. If the academy won't let us marry for some silly fear it will distract us from our studies, that’s their call. But they can't stop anyone from starting a family.”
“How about you Allan?” Nathan asked. “Any special someone waiting back home?”
Leo took advantage of Allan's awkward delay. “Our young ensign has more than he can handle. A girl in every port, isn't that right young man?”
When Leo shook Allan firmly by the shoulder the young officer blushed bright crimson with astounding speed.
Nathan smiled at the Allan’s obvious embarrassment. Moe would love to get her lustful hands on an innocent like Allan. I wonder if I should hook them up?
“Enough of this frivolity gentlemen. Shall we retire to the mess to see what disaster cookie has dreamt up for today's repast?”
Allan, only slightly less red, mumbled his agreement. Nathan leaned against the bulkhead. At the hatch Leo glanced over his shoulder.
“Coming?”
Nathan shook his head.
Leo's eyes narrowed. “I'll catch up with you in a minute, Allan.”
Allan nodded before the hatch slid shut.
“What happened?” Leo's asked.
“I have been ordered to remain in my quarters until summoned.”
“Why?”
“I spent a little time familiarizing myself with the drop shafts. Mister Tivendale did not approve.”
“Tivendale.” Leo's single word said all Nathan needed to hear of his opinion of the Midshipman Training Officer.
“I can't remember the last time I was sent to my room without supper. Would I be correct in assuming the lieutenant has no bloody sense of humor?”
Leo choked back a laugh. “You work fast, Nathan. On the boat less than two hours and you've already run afoul of the MTO. Impressive.”
“You get that.”
Leo sighed. “Did he place you on report?”
“He asked if I would like to be put on report.” Nathan shrugged.
“What happened?”
Nathan explained to him the gist of the encounter. Leo shook his head. “You're not backward about coming forward are you?”
“I had experience with Tivendale’s kind when I was … in the north.” He snorted. “He’s an amateur compared with the Pruessens but I recognized his type within a few seconds of meeting him. I’ll never bend knee to that sort of power abuse again.”
“I thought you’d lost your memories of that time,” Leo said.
Damn. “I have. But I get flashes, images of some of what my family went through.”
“I see.”
“Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I’ve heard bad manners are most un-Athenian.”
“That's generally correct but there are always exceptions to any rule,” Leo said. “Just watch your step with him.”
Nathan nodded.
Leo stared at him for a long moment. “He is the MTO so I can’t overrule his decision. But I will have a word with him and see what I can do.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn't interfere.” Leo’s startled expression told Nathan to soften his harsh tone and force a smile he did not feel. “I thank you for your concern but I’ve had to deal with Tivendale's type before. I don't want you or anyone else getting caught in the cross fire. Please say nothing to him. All right?”
Leo sighed. “Are you sure?”
Nathan nodded.
“Very well. Is there anything I can do for you, middy?”
“As a matter of fact there is a small matter I would like you to run past Commander Demianski.”
CHAPTER 27
Nathan leaned against the bulkhead outside the wardroom hatch. In the twenty minutes since Tivendale had summoned him, several officers passed by, their expressions curious. When Commander Demianski stopped before him Nathan snapped to attention.
“What are you doing here, mister?”
“Waiting for the Midshipman Training Officer, sir.”
“Can't you wait inside the wardroom?”
“That would undoubtedly be the sensible thing to do, sir, but the MTO has ordered otherwise.” Nathan caught the barest twitch at the corner of the commander's eye before he entered the wardroom.
Less than a minute later the middies spilled out of the wardroom. They pinned themselves against the wall next to Nathan. Moe rolled her eyes. Tivendale stepped through the hatch still licking his lips.
“One of the best meals I have ever had,” Tivendale said. “Pity you missed it, Midshipman Telford.”
You petty little rodent.
“You have something …” Nathan pointed to Tivendale’s mouth. As the lieutenant checked for refuse clinging to his teeth, the middies drew on their years of self-control training to maintain neutral expressions.
“Today, middies, I will show you how a monitor works. Pay close attention and do not touch anything. Follow me.”
Tivendale stepped through the first pressure hatch headfirst. The clod stumbled over the coaming and barely retained his balance. Meta held her thumb and forefinger slightly apart. Nathan cleared his throat. After a few near falls Tivendale took the lift to deck three. They arrived at the entrance to the maneuvering department. Tivendale entered the security code, opened the hatch and stepped inside.
“Maneuvering,” he said, with a derisive snort. “On a proper Service warship this would be called by its correct name. Engineering. Why would anyone call it maneuvering?"
“It's a tradition dating back to the old Earth wet navy days,” Ozzie said. “In those times a type of stealth ship had its engineering area called maneuvering because – ”
“If I wanted a history lesson I would ask for it,” Tivendale snapped.
Some of the crew shot the group inquisitive glances as Tivendale led them toward the reactor room. A short, spare woman with hard-boned features blocked his path.
“What can I do for you, lieutenant?” Her tone told Nathan she wanted nothing to do with him.
“Nothing, thank you, Commander Chanderpaul,” Tivendale said. “I am showing the middies around the ship and thought I would start here.”
“Think again,” the senior engineer snapped. “It is customary for the MTO to request a time to tour his middies rather than stumbling into my department unannounced. Your blatant disregard for professional courtesy
aside, there is the larger issue. This boat is currently transiting through hyperspace. The last thing I need is a bunch of grommits cluttering up my department.” The commander softened her tone as she addressed the middies. “We egress to N space in two hours. Have your running mates contact me for an appropriate time to tour the department. But one at a time. Later, I will have time to give you a proper overview.” Her scowl reappeared when she turned on Tivendale. “For now, lieutenant, take yourself and your middies out of here.” She stalked off.
Tivendale bounced on the balls of his feet before clearing his throat noisily. “Apparently we are not welcome here.” The middies maintained neutral expressions. “Does anyone have a preference for what we see next?”
“I'd be pretty keen to see Damage Control, lieutenant,” Moe said, exaggerating her lazy Kastorian accent.
“Yes, lieutenant,” Meta added pleasantly, “let us check out DC.”
“I have always been fascinated by the workings of Damage Control,” Ozzie said.
Tivendale's face darkened. Not surprisingly, they did not end up in Damage Control. They spent the next three hours in the supply department hand counting inventory.
Back in the wardroom they sat and drank coffee.
“I'd be pretty keen to see Damage Control, lieutenant,” Nathan mimicked, causing subdued chuckling from the middies. “You shouldn’t antagonize Tivendale like that,” he said, addressing them as one.
“Look who's talking,” Moe said. “We could hear the blast he gave you through the bulkheads. What did you do to upset such a sweet fellow?”
“I told him thanks very much but I'm seeing someone at the moment.”
The middies roared with laughter.
“Hey, Moe,” Nathan said, “you're the one who keeps telling me to lighten up.”
“Yeah, life is so unfair,” Moe said.
CHAPTER 28
Sergeant Redpath was a marine not a nursemaid. He examined the last middy's v-suit and was pleased, though surprised, to find a fault.
“Do you want to suck on vacuum, girlie?” he growled. “Tighten your O ring.”
“It’s Miss Kaspowitz to you, sergeant,” Meta snapped.
