The comparison bothered him. We're here watching these civilians. They're not harmless, though. Well, some of them aren't. But some of them are likely to die tonight. And we're helping that effort even if we're not directly involved in what's going to happen on the surface of that asteroid. What if the civilians fire at us? What if we have to kill kids to stop them? What a lousy choice.
We're supposed to use these weapons of ours against other military forces. That's the way it's supposed to work. Honorable combat against people who follow the same rules we do. That sounds stupid and archaic but it's true. But how many times do we end up pointing them at civilians, instead?
And we don't have a choice. What the hell else are we supposed to do?
He didn't know. So Paul headed for combat, nursing his coffee and hoping his fears would prove meaningless.
He tried to move without any sign of unusual haste or tension, though Paul realized that if he did move with speed and apprehension then everyone seeing him would assume Commander Garcia or the XO had just called him in for another chewing out. The darkened nighttime passageways of the Michaelson were once again almost deserted except for a few personnel conducting physical inspections as a backstop for the automated sensors which had too great a tendency to fail just when they were most needed. The quiet and sparsely populated passageways made a strange contrast to the turmoil inside of Paul as he thought of the upcoming operation and everything that might go wrong.
He arrived in Combat a good half hour before the operation was scheduled to begin, nodding casually to the watchstanders who looked up at his entrance. He talked to them for a few minutes, the sort of quiet interaction that just reassured Paul that they knew what was going on and reassured them that Paul cared about them and their work. He was sure they were wondering what he was doing up here, but also sure the enlisted sailors would simply chalk it up to the mysterious and strange world of officers.
The sailors turned back to monitoring their watch stations as Paul strapped into his own and called up a view of the entire situation. He spent the next ten minutes trying to again commit every important fact about the familiar situation to memory, then paged Senior Chief Imari on her data pad. "Senior Chief Imari? This is Mr. Sinclair. Could you come on up to Combat?"
The reply took a minute. Senior Chief Imari was surely unhappy at being awakened at a time very close to the legendary "o-dark-thirty," but had to realize upon thinking about it that Paul must've had a very good reason. "Uh, yes, sir. Give me ten minutes."
"Fine." No need to rush the her, and no wisdom in doing so. If he did, every other chief would be aware before Imari left their quarters of something very short fuse about to go on in Combat.
Paul played with the displays at his watch station, looking at views of how the tactical situation would appear from the point of view of some of the other ships. It felt odd, seeing a symbol labeled USS Michaelson hanging out in space, just where one of the SASAL warships would see her. He noticed the weapons simulators automatically calculating firing solutions for the SASAL ship to target the Michaelson and cut off the view.
Senior Chief Imari entered, eyeing Paul with mild curiosity. "What's up, sir?"
Paul waved toward his watch station. When she got close, he nodded toward the time display, which now read 0055. Catching the Senior Chief's eye, Paul held up his hand with five fingers splayed out, then closed his hand into a fist.
Senior Chief Imari looked from the time to Paul's hand, then nodded, her face impassive. "Okay, sir. I guess I ought to check that on my watch station." Imari strapped in, checked the situation display, then gave Paul a quick thumbs up.
She's ready. And I didn't tell her anything. I'm sure Garcia or Kwan would rip me apart for getting Imari up here at all, but if something's going to happen I want my Senior Chief here.
He checked the time, trying to fight down his nervousness. Three minutes to go. Did 0100 mean that's when the cops would move in, or was it just the time when the merchant ships would start launching the cops toward the asteroids? He'd seen pictures of the system they'd use. Just big tubes with spring-loaded platforms on the bottom. The cops would climb in and be launched toward the asteroid on just the right course with just the right amount of force and without using any active propulsion system that might give them away. With the latest stealth gear hiding their presence, the cops would hopefully remain invisible to the people on the asteroid until they were ready to move.
And if some of them somehow missed landing on the asteroid, the Michaelson would eventually help retrieve any cops heading on a one-way trip to deep space.
"Sir." Paul jerked his head over at the sound of Imari's voice. "Transients," she reported. "From both the Gilgamesh and the Saladin. They may be charging weapons."
Oh, hell. Paul focused on the other watchstanders. "Bayless. Chen. I want three pairs of eyes on those read-outs. Give me your estimates." He called up the information himself, feeling a heavy sensation in his guts. The transients were there, sure enough. Tiny leakages of power that almost certainly indicated the two SASAL ships were charging up their weaponry in preparation for firing. Nothing else could keep produce readings like that.
"Sir." Senior Chief Imari again. "The system gives a ninety-five percent level of confidence on those transients."
That meant a very high probability that they were accurate. "What about you, Senior Chief? What's your confidence?"
Imari gave Paul a hard look. "My gut feeling is ninety-nine percent confidence, sir. They're real solid."
Damn. What're the SASALs up to? He couldn't help remembering an incident years ago when Combat had reported picking up transients. The transients hadn't been real, that time. He'd been on the bridge then, a brand-new ensign watching as the Michaelson 's captain mistakenly fired upon and destroyed an unarmed ship. Paul hesitated for a fraction of a second. But this time it's Senior Chief Imari telling me those are real transient readings, and I know those are warships, and I know a lot more about this job.
He hadn't heard anything from the bridge, yet, but Paul figured they were fixated upon the asteroid just as Paul had been. He keyed the communications circuit. "Bridge, this is Combat." He heard his voice starting to rise with tension and lowered it. "We have high-confidence transients from both SASAL warships indicating they are charging their weapon systems."
He had only a moment to wonder how his information was being received. It was all to easy to imagine the report had landed like a bomb on the quiet bridge.
Instead of the officer of deck responding, he heard Captain Hayes' voice, sharp and uncompromising. "Combat, how high a confidence?"
"The system says ninety-five percent, sir. My people say ninety-nine percent."
"What do you say, Mr. Sinclair?"
"Ninety-nine percent, Captain." Paul didn't have to hesitate. He knew his job and he knew his people.
There was a pause. Paul checked the time. 0102. Whatever was happening on the asteroid had already started.
This time Captain Hayes' voice was more controlled. "Is anyone else doing anything, Paul? Any other ships?"
"No, sir, not-"
Chief Imari's voice interrupted him. "The Peter Ville's started chargin' weapons, too, sir," she reported, using the sailors' nickname for the Russian ship. "High confidence."
Paul swallowed and continued his reply. "Captain, we've just picked up high confidence indications that the Pyotor Veliki is also charging weapons." Were the Russians coordinating their actions with the SASAL ships, or were they responding to the SASAL actions? There wasn't any love lost between the South Asian Alliance and the Russian Federation, but that didn't mean there weren't areas of mutual interest.