Carl grinned. "Aye, aye, ma'am."
The bosun mate of the watch stiffened to attention again as Gonzalez and Hayes exited through the hatch. "Captain's left the bridge!"
Commander Kwan pointed at Carl. "Keep me informed."
"Yes, sir."
Paul glanced at Carl after Kwan left. "Not exactly the nice, routine evolution you were looking forward to."
Carl shrugged in an exaggerated fashion as he worked on the intercept plan. "No. But that's okay. This is kinda fun. Maybe I can meet our 'visitors' when we haul them aboard. 'Welcome to the USS
Michaelson
. We hope you have a pleasant stay in the two-meter-square compartment we're going to cram you all into.'"
Paul chuckled despite the stress of recent events. "Thanks for mentioning that. I'd better give the Sheriff a heads-up." He quickly paged the ship's master-at-arms. "Hey, Sheriff. We've going to have some hippie peacemongers coming aboard." Paul vaguely knew "hippies" had been a group of some sort back in the twentieth century, but the term had long ago entered the permanent vocabulary of the military to describe any particularly unmilitary appearance or anti-military civilians.
"Once again you have made my day, sir." Master-at-Arms First Class Ivan Sharpe, the
Michaelson
's onboard law enforcement professional, didn't sound thrilled.
"Happy to oblige. You've got . . ." Paul checked the maneuvering plan Carl was finalizing. "About two hours before we haul in the first one. The rest will dribble in over the next couple hours after that."
"They'll be prisoners?"
"Until we turn them over to the civilian cops on Franklin Station, yeah."
"Fine. I'll set them up in our finest minimal living standards compartments."
"By the book, Sheriff. These Greenspace guys love publicity. We don't want to give them any bones to gnaw on."
"Ah, shucks, there goes my idea for feeding 'em."
"Once you've worked it up, give me a rundown on your plans for confining them until we reach Franklin. I'll brief the XO after that."
"How many hippie peaceniks are we talking, sir?"
Paul checked the number of escape pods, each of which was automatically broadcasting the number of people on board. "Looks like twenty."
"Twenty? What am I gonna do with that many hippies?"
"I'm sure an experienced cop and highly qualified petty officer such as yourself will find a solution."
"Gee, thanks, Mr. Sinclair. Maybe I can stuff 'em into some of the officer staterooms."
"Can't use mine, Sheriff. The starboard ensign locker is already stuffed full."
"What a shame. Speaking of ensigns, are the rumors I hear correct, that you are now a lieutenant junior grade in the United States Navy?"
"That's so, Sheriff. I've been promoted. Any word on whether you're going to make chief petty officer this year?"
"No, sir. But if I do, I'll know it was all due to your inspired leadership, sir."
"I'm glad you appreciate that, Sheriff. See you later."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Carl grunted with satisfaction. "My, that looks purty." On his navigational display, a smooth curve arced from the
Michaelson
's current path, aimed at intercepting the nearest of the Greenspace pods. From there, shorter curves leapt from point to point, painting intercept courses to where the other pods would be when the
Michaelson
reached them. "We should be able to nab those pods on the fly, if their grapple sites are up to specifications."
Paul studied Carl's work. "That's nice. Hey, maybe we ought to make sure the ship's gig is ready to launch, just in case we miss a pick-up on one of the pods."
"An excellent idea. I'm glad I thought of it."
"That's funny, you don't look like Sam Yarrow."
Carl grinned. Lieutenant Junior Grade "Smilin' Sam" Yarrow had a well-earned reputation among the other officers. "Okay, I'll admit you thought of it. Just don't compare me to Sam." He tapped a communications circuit. "Captain, this is the officer of the deck. I have a plan worked out for picking up the pods for your approval. I'd also recommend having the gig ready to launch in case we have a problem with any pick-ups."
Gonzalez's voice came back over the circuit. "Shoot me a copy of your plan, Carl. Okay, got it. Wait." A couple of minutes passed while Carl and Paul waited silently. One of the lessons Paul hadn't needed reinforcing was the foolishness of bantering on the bridge when the captain might be listening in. "Very well, Mr. Meadows. Execute your plan as you prepared it, and notify the First Lieutenant to get the gig ready."
"Aye, aye, ma'am. Execute the plan as prepared and ready the gig." Carl switched circuits. "Hey, Ensign Diego. Are you home?"
"Uh, yeah."
"This is Carl Meadows on the bridge. Have I got a deal for you."
"Carl, I'm working on updating my division's training records -"
"Not any more. The captain wants the gig crewed up and ready to go while we're hauling in those Greenspace escape pods."
"What Greenspace escape pods?"
"Oh, Randy. Being that out of touch with recent events is no way to make lieutenant junior grade. Let me know when the gig's ready." Carl swung and pointed to the bosun mate of the watch. "Broadcast a maneuvering warning when we hit the ten minute mark. Which is about forty seconds from now. Also order the gig crew to stations."
The bosun stiffened into a semblance of attention. "Aye, aye, sir. Maneuvering warning at the ten minute mark, and crew the gig." Carl spent the next few seconds sending a copy of the maneuvering plan to the XO, then the bosun opened the all-hands broadcast circuit and shrilled his Bosun's pipe in the age-old naval call to attention. "All hands prepare for maneuvering in ten minutes. Secure all objects and materials. Undertake no task which cannot be completed prior to maneuvering. Gig crew to duty stations. I say again, gig crew to duty stations."
Paul admired the arcs of the maneuvering plan again. "Are we going to do this manually?"
Carl's eyebrows shot up. "Manually? Hell, no. We'll let the ship handle it. There's too much mass and momentum involved to risk a screw up on these maneuvers."
Paul hid his disappointment, nodding in response to Carl's order. He'd seen Lieutenant Tweed, the officer of the deck he'd first trained under, use manual control to make the
Michaelson
dance like a horse under a skilled rider.
Someday, I want to learn to do that half as well as she could. But Carl's probably right. Right now, we've got the lives of those Greenspacers riding on whether we execute these maneuvers correctly
.
The bosun mate repeated his warning at the five-minute point. A moment later, Ensign Diego called in. "The ship's gig is crewed and ready."
"How's its fuel state?"
"Uh . . ." Carl winked at Paul as the pause lengthened. After a few more seconds, Diego came on again. "Three-quarters of maximum."
"That
might
be enough, but it'd be a good idea to get the gig's fuel topped off as soon as you can."
"Yeah. Okay. How long will we be standing by?"
Carl checked his plan before replying. "About four hours, assuming nothing unexpected happens."
"Four hours? Man, I've
got
to get those training plans reviewed -"
"Randy, Randy, Randy. First off, complaining on this circuit is a bad idea because either the CO or XO might well be listening in to see how our preparations for the pod pickups are going, and neither of them is going to be sympathetic to your problem. Secondly, you can link your data pad to your divisional training records via the status panel in the gig's dock. Just make sure you're paying enough attention to what's going on with the pickups that you'll be able to jump into action if we need to order the gig launched."
"Oh, uh, okay."
Carl shook his head, then looked at Paul. "Now you see where ensigns get their reputations."
Paul snorted. "I've had plenty of painful personal experience on that score. Give Randy Diego a break. He's only been aboard about a month."
"True. Let's hoped he's learned enough by now to pay attention to good advice." The bosun's three-minute warning interrupted whatever else Carl might have said.
Paul once again checked the straps securing him to his watch chair, then glanced back to ensure the enlisted watchstanders were properly strapped in as well. "Looks like we're ready to go."
"Yup. Since you've got the conn, go ahead and authorize the maneuver for the ship."
"Authorizing the maneuver, aye." Paul carefully depressed two buttons in sequence, telling the
Michaelson'
s computers to carry out the preplanned maneuver when the countdown hit zero. "Maneuver authorized." It had taken a while for Paul to get used to the standard Navy practices of repeating back orders and stating information which everyone should already know, but he'd soon learned how important both routines were to ensuring orders had been properly understood and that everyone actually knew everything they needed to know.
The two-minute and one-minute warnings passed, then Paul watched the final seconds count down. After long periods spent without maneuvering, any change of course and speed brought some excitement, as well as extra stresses on the bodies of the
Michaelson
's crew.
"Executing ordered maneuver," the
Michaelson
's voice announced. A moment later, Paul felt his body strain against his straps as the maneuvering thrusters pushed the
Michaelson
's megatons of mass down and over to a new heading. With the ship swinging toward the proper heading, Paul's back slammed into his chair as the ship's main drive cut in, pushing the ship onto the proper vector to intercept the first escape pod. Paul watched the gravity meter climb swiftly to more than twice Earth's normal gravity under the force of the main drives, then switched his gaze to the main display, where the arc of the
Michaelson
's actual course smoothly dropped toward the new course laid out by Carl. The main drive cut off, causing Paul's stomach to lurch as zero gravity abruptly returned, then his body hit his straps again as more thrusters fired to halt the ship's bow on the proper heading.
"Sweet," Carl muttered, eyeing the perfect joining of actual track with the planned course. "How're you doing?"
"Nauseated and bruised."
"Welcome to the glamorous Space Navy. It's not just a job, it's physical and mental abuse." Carl checked the display again. "One hour, fifty minutes to intercept of the first pod. Hey, did we notify the bosun mates we'd be needing the grapnels?"
The bosun mate of the watch cleared his throat. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, I took the liberty of passin' that word."
"Thanks, bosun." Carl shook his head and smiled ruefully. "Imagine if we'd been bearing down on that pod and suddenly realized the grapnels weren't ready. So many ways to mess up, Paul. I can't say I'll miss it all that much."
The hour and fifty minutes dragged slowly onward as the
Michaelson
steadily headed toward the point where she'd intercept the track of the first Greenspace pod. About fifteen minutes prior to the intercept, the XO came onto the bridge, scanned the displays silently, then pulled himself into his chair and strapped in. Five minutes after that, the bosun once again called out "Captain's on the bridge!" as Gonzalez and Hayes entered as well.
Carl tapped his panel to bring up direct communications with the bosun mates operating the grapnels. "We've got a fast passing speed on this intercept. Are you tracking the pod?"
"Yes, sir." The voice was recognizable as that of the leading chief bosun mate, personally supervising her sailors during this evolution. "Those pods have reinforced grapnel points. We should bring off the snatch fine, unless he tries moving at the last minute. It'll bruise him up a little, of course."
"That's a real shame, Boats." Carl turned toward Gonzalez. "Captain, the grapnels are ready."
Gonzalez nodded almost absently, her eyes on the display where the pod symbol and that of the
Michaelson
steadily closed on each other. "Very well."
Hayes leaned forward as well. "Officer of the Deck, is the First Lieutenant supervising the grapnels?"
"No, sir. He's in charge of the gig, so he's standing by there. The leading bosun chief is at the grapnel station."
"I see. Thank you."
Carl raised an eyebrow toward Paul, who made a noncommittal expression back. It was impossible to tell whether Captain Hayes approved of the situation or not. Which was how it should be, since Gonzalez remained the captain of the
Michaelson
, but it left Paul and Carl wondering what Hayes might do, what things he might change, when he assumed command in the near future.
The
Michaelson
's maneuvering system spoke to the bridge. "Closest Point of Approach to Contact Alpha Charlie One is 100.2 meters in four minutes, thirty seconds. Recommend maneuvering to open CPA."
CPA stood for Closest Point of Approach, and one hundred meters at the speed the
Michaelson
was traveling meant they'd pass very close indeed. But that was their intention. Paul tapped a switch to acknowledge the information and recommendation, then hit another command to keep the
Michaelson
from automatically continuing to recommend opening the distance to the pod.
"CPA to Contact Alpha Charlie One is 99.6 meters in two minutes, two seconds."
Carl faced the captain again. "Request permission to launch grapnel when ready."
"Permission granted."
"Boats, launch grapnel when ready."
"Launch when ready, aye, sir. Standing by."
They could have turned off the
Michaelson
's announcements completely, but most officers preferred letting them be spoken to reduce possible misreading of displays. "CPA to Contact Alpha Charlie One is 99.1 meters in fifty-three seconds."
Moments later, an alert signified the launching of a grapnel to intercept the pod. Technically, the launch was simply a matter of letting the
Michaelson
's fire control system calculate the launch time and direction. In practice, experienced bosuns always let their instincts time the launch. On the bridge close-in displays, a representation of the grapnel snaked out toward the oncoming pod. The end of the grapnel merged with the pod symbol, then the
Michaelson
lurched slightly as the ship absorbed the pod's momentum and mass, seizing the pod like a catcher snagging a ball in mid-flight. Carl tapped his communications panel. "How's the strain, Boats?"