Paul tapped his own communications controls to acknowledge the Gilgamesh 's message, letting the other ship know the message had been received and understood.. "This is the USS Michaelson. Roger, out."
He glanced over at Isakov, or who looked back at him and nodded toward the general area of the captain's cabin as she answered his unspoken question. "You go ahead and call him."
"Okay." Paul reached for the comm switch, then hesitated and went to his display controls instead. He manually moved the Gilgamesh 's position along the track it had announced, then told the combat systems to update their readings and studied the results for a moment before finally calling the captain. "Sir, this is the junior officer of the deck. The Gilgamesh has informed us they're changing position slightly."
"Slightly?" Captain Hayes sounded grumpy, but then he hadn't had much sleep lately.
Probably less than any of the other officers had, Paul realized when he thought about it. And Paul hadn't been getting very much. "Yes, sir. Two kilometers along a track one three five relative and two zero down from his current position. Our combat systems don't reveal any change in the tactical situation as a result."
"Hmmm. No reason given for the shift?"
"No, si-" Paul's answer was cut off by another call to the bridge.
"Bridge, this is Combat. We've analyzed the Gilgamesh 's position change. In his previous location the asteroid's tumble would produce an occasional momentary line of sight blockage between the Gilgamesh and the Saladin. This change will make sure they have continuous line of sight."
"Thanks, Combat. Captain, Combat reports the Gilgamesh probably moved to ensure a continuous line of the sight to the other SASAL warship present, the Saladin."
"Hmmm. Okay. Thanks. Keep me informed."
"Yes, sir." Paul listened to the circuit click off, feeling a tight knot in his guts. I should've gotten that analysis from Combat before I called the Captain. But what if Combat had taken a while to figure out that line of sight thing and something had happened before then so that I'd have had to tell the Captain I hadn't informed him of the Gilgamesh shifting position when it took place? I would've lost a piece of my hind end if that'd happened. I got lucky. Or maybe I helped make my luck. After all, I've been leading those operations specialists in Combat for a long time, now. He pressed the comm switch again. "Combat, this is Mr. Sinclair on the bridge. Who ran that analysis on the Gilgamesh?"
"That was me, sir. Kaji."
Operations Specialist First Class Kaji. "Damn good job. That was fine work, Kaji."
"Thank you, sir."
Paul didn't bother looking toward Val Isakov. He knew she wouldn't offer any praise and he didn't want to look like he expected any. Besides, that message from the Gilgamesh rattled me. It felt too much like it woke me up from a daze. How can I be drifting off when there's so much potential for trouble? But let's face it, that was probably the only two minutes of excitement we're going to see in this four-hour watch and I'm working on a serious sleep deficit.
But if anything else exciting happens, I don't want it waking me up.
If there'd been another officer standing watch with him, they could've played trivia games to pass the time and keep awake. I'll take emergency maneuvering systems for four hundred, if they were in a professional mood. Or I'll take late twentieth-century movies for two hundred, if they weren't. But not with Isakov.
He did the next best thing, calling up the detailed information on the other ships present, both warships and freighters. He'd already looked at them too many times to count, but if an emergency arose he might need to know something right off the top of his head.
It worked well enough to pass the time that Paul was surprised when the bosun cleared his throat. "Permission to sound reveille, ma'am."
Isakov, who didn't seem to have moved for hours, nodded without looking back at the bosun. "Permission granted."
The bosun raised his pipe, an archaic little device the Navy had clung to even as efficiency experts tried to sell the virtues of digital recordings played automatically with canned announcements. In the deliberate inefficiency of his human presence, the bosun represented one of the U.S. Navy's constant rear-guard battles against change. The bosun keyed the ship's internal broadcast system, took a deep breath, then sounded the drawn-out whistle which tradition insisted upon for declaring the ship's day had begun. "Reveille, reveille," the bosun chanted immediately after the last note faded. "All hands turn to and trice up."
Paul stretched and yawned as Isakov made a face and dialed up the captain's cabin. He knew she didn't like giving the Captain his wake-up call, but Isakov knew that was one task she had to handle in person instead of handing it off to Paul. He half-listened as Isakov ran through the standard spiel. "Good morning, Captain. It's zero six hundred. The ship is on-station…"
The darkened bridge gradually brightened as the ship's lights came to their "day" settings. Occasional sounds came to the bridge team as the rest of the ship stirred to life. The bosun passed mess call for breakfast. Paul glanced at the hatch, hoping their reliefs would show up on the bridge before the captain did. He both liked and respected Hayes, but the captain could be a real bear first thing in the morning if he hadn't got at least a few good hours of sleep.
"Yo, Paul."
Paul turned and smiled. "Yo, Randy."
Ensign Randy Diego smiled, too, though the gesture was aimed mostly at Isakov. Paul tried not to let his reaction show, instead running through the details Randy had to know in order to assume the watch, repeating some of it when Randy's attention seemed to be wandering. "Okay. That's it. Any questions?"
"Uh, no."
Paul pointed to the display. "Don't forget the Captain's going to ask questions about Gilgamesh after that position change."
Randy blinked with apparent surprise, then nodded. "Right, right. I'll be ready." He saluted. "I relieve you, sir."
"I stand relieved. On the bridge, this is Lieutenant Junior Grade Sinclair. Ensign Diego has the conn."
"This is Ensign Diego. I have the conn," Randy repeated.
Paul unstrapped wearily and pulled himself out of his chair. "Later, Randy." He glanced over at Isakov, who was busy turning over her duties to Lieutenant Bolen and ignoring both Paul and Randy, then pulled himself off the bridge using the handholds set at convenient intervals in any spot that wasn't occupied by some other equipment. Living in zero-gravity most of the time didn't do much for the leg muscles, but the arms got good workouts.
He went through Combat on the way aft, stopping to once again praise Petty Officer Kaji for his quick work a few hours previous.
Most of the passageways on the Michaelson were still relatively free of traffic this early on the ship's morning, but Paul still found himself squeezing past other members of the crew whenever they passed. He'd seen some specifications which declared that the passageways on the ship had originally been designed to be wide enough for two people to pass without any trouble, but it didn't take a genius to look at all the equipment, wiring, ducting and piping sticking out from the bulkheads and realize that a few things had been added on to the ship after those specs were drawn up.
The compartment grandly labeled the wardroom was still empty when Paul pulled himself inside to grab some coffee. He paused, looking toward the chair at one end of the table that dominated the wardroom. Commander Steve Sykes' chair. Suppo always seemed to be sitting there, but he got more done than any supply officer I've ever heard of. It feels funny not having him onboard anymore.
He was still hanging there when Kris Denaldo came in, looking like she'd spent half the night standing watch. Which she had. "How's the coffee?" she mumbled.
"Terrible."
"It's good to know there's some things we can always count on," Kris remarked, shuddering as she took a drink. "Too bad Suppo's not here for us to complain to." She looked toward the same chair. "I miss the old Suppo."