Wondering how the sims could get worse, Kris went to check her quarters. She quickly passed down narrow passageways to find her room was where it should be. Once she and Chief Bo were sure their own gear was straight, they took a quick walk through the enlisted women's quarters. There were no problems; even the usual complaints about being shoved back eight to a room were subdued. ''They're scared it's for real this time,'' Bo muttered as they left.
So Kris arrived late for lunch. The shrunken ship had no wardroom; the officers now shared their meals with all personnel in the cafeteria. Most of the crew had already eaten, the exceptions being the bridge crew and, apparently, the engineering watch standers. The XO commanded one table far from the door and well away from the steam tables. Lieutenant Commander Paulus, the ship's engineering officer, was surrounded by his officers and crew at a table about as far from the XO as was possible. Tommy had joined the engineering staff and probably was deep into a discussion of nano or some other techno delight. Suppressing a sigh, Kris headed for an empty place next to the executive officer. This put her elbow to elbow with the communications officer and the ship's lieutenant, who, with the XO, stood eight-hour watches, seven days a week as officers of the deck or OOD.
Kris and the other two ensigns should also be standing watches, one each, at their elbows as junior officers of the deck. That was what would have happened if the Typhoon had fifteen officers aboard. But it was peacetime. Right! On the last cruise, Kris had stood watches as the OOD and been relieved by chiefs and first-class petty officers. She wondered how things would change this cruise.
''So, things got exciting on Olympia,'' the XO started as Kris sat down.
''They had a bandit problem,'' Kris said simply.
''And don't have one anymore?'' the communications officer added.
Kris measured her response carefully as she sampled the meat loaf, potatoes, and green beans. ''We took out a few of the bad elements. Fed a lot of hungry elements. Problem solved.''
''That's putting a fine twist on what I hear was a major firefight,'' the executive officer insisted.
''It got plenty hot for a while there,'' Kris agreed.
''So, looking forward to things getting plenty hot here?'' The ship's lieutenant leered.
In the miniature chain of command on the Typhoon, he was the division chief of all the junior officers not in Engineering, and thus, Kris's boss. ''I'd like to hope cooler heads prevail,'' she said to her string beans.
''God save us from cooler heads,'' the comm. officer snapped.
''This has been coming for years,'' the XO said. ''Earth bureaucrats have been leading us around on a chain. Telling us this. Telling us that. It's time we do what we want to do, not what those overpaid chair warmers back there say.''
Kris didn't need to answer that, so she concentrated on eating. The XO filled the silence with every familiar argument for war. Rationally, to Kris, they added up to nothing. But hadn't Doc Meade warned her class that it was a rare war that had a solid basis in reality? ''Emotions. Watch for the emotions that inflame,'' he'd said. Kris had dutifully taken notes, but she hadn't been one of his believers that day. Just now, it was starting to look like Doc knew what he was talking about, at least in this mess. Finished, she stood and picked up her tray.
''Ready to shoot Earthy antiques?'' the XO demanded.
''I'll shoot whatever the skipper puts in range,'' Kris said.
''Good, Ensign. Very good,'' the XO said with a broad grin.
Captain Thorpe was on the bridge when Kris returned, having taken his meal in his cabin. And he had sims waiting that made this morning's seem easy. The afternoon went long. When the captain finally released her, Kris quickly found her stateroom. Chief Bo was already snoring, giving Kris a reminder she didn't need that a warship was a cramped ship.
At 0600 the next day, Kris was back at her board. The skipper was hunched over his own, apparently oblivious to his bridge team as they arrived, checked their stations, and awaited his pleasure.
Thorpe punched his own commlink without looking up. ''This is the captain speaking. Fast Attack Squadron Six and the Typhoon have been ordered to the Paris system. There we will rendezvous with the rest of Wardhaven's fleet and ships from other planets that are ready to meet this threat from Earth. As of now, I consider this ship to be on a war footing.''
''Nelly,'' Kris whispered subvocally.
''The media reports that the Earth fleet and nearly one hundred other planetary squadrons are to meet at the Paris system to officially mark their withdrawal from the Society of Humanity. The Paris system is a nearly uninhabited system with an unusual number of jump points created when two systems collided since the jump points were created by aliens.''
''Cut the standard media pablum,'' Kris ordered, her gut knotting. ''This is supposed to be a peaceful meeting, right?''
''Commentaries and news reports run the full spectrum, from war to peace to high-stakes gamble, usually reflecting established editorial positions and past commentaries.''
''What does the prime minister say?''
''He hails this as peace in our time.'' Kris remembered that quote from somewhere, searched her own memory, found it, and didn't like the taste of it.
''I have the conn,'' the captain announced. ''I can get us away from the pier. Let's start you three on some really hard simulations.'' So Kris got down to business and stayed that way through the rest of the day. Arms and hands aching, she stumbled to her bed and was asleep before she even got her shoes off.
Next morning, Chief Bo was brushing her teeth as Kris awoke. ''You slept right through reveille,'' the chief reported through the foam in her mouth. ''Figured you could use a few extra winks. You know your hands were moving in your sleep?''
''I was dreaming battle scenarios.'' Kris admitted.
''Well, you were going through them full bore.''
Kris stripped, stumbled to the shower, and was under the spray for a full half minute before what was missing dawned on her. Grabbing a towel, she asked the chief, ''You remember us going through a jump last night?''
''Nope, they always wake me up. No matter how bushed I am, they wreck a night's sleep.''
''Nelly, did they announce a jump during the night, or did I miss one yesterday?''
''This ship has not yet jumped out of the Cambria system.''
Kris lifted her hand, estimated its weight. ''One g, maybe a bit more.''
''One point two-five g's, ma'am. Geeze, I thought you bridge types always got the word first.''
''Skipper must have ordered that while I was deep in a sim. We should have been at any of the five standard jumps out of Cambria hours ago.''
''Guess we aren't using them. I heard there's supposed to be a war on or something,'' the chief said, dryly. ''Might account for brass doing the less expected.''
''Yeah,'' Kris agreed. The skipper had put them on a war footing, and she should quit thinking peacetime drills. They'd packed them into the elevator pod, into the Happy Wanderer. Why not use the jump less traveled? ''Nelly, keep track of the ship's acceleration, and let me know which jump we do use.''
''Yes, ma'am.'' Which was a good thing, because Kris's day rapidly vanished, lost in simulations. Targets were moving faster, jinking and zigzagging. There were friendly ships now as well to keep track of. Space was more cluttered as planets and moons entered the exercises, warping maneuvers with their gravity. ''Damn it, Addison, you accelerated us into that gravity well. We shot past those bastards so fast we'll never get turned around.''
''Sorry, sir. I saw them, and I went for them.''
''That's the right stuff when we're in deep space, but fights, real fights, take place where there's something worth fighting for. Nine out of ten battles with Unity and the Iteeche were within two hundred thousand klicks of a planet. Get used to working with gravity, Ensign, or I'll get someone who can.''