Эрик Флинт - The Service of the Sword

"Oh." Sean started to open his mouth and then closed it.

"And, yes," the warrant said dryly, raising his cup, "I'm included in that bunch. Whatever my competence as a doc, I've . . . got a bit of a drinking problem. So here I am, exiled to Siberia."

"Well," Tyler said with a laugh, "at least the Exec has a sense of humor."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Tyler said, grinning, "when he said they should court-martial the navigation officer and sp—" He stopped when he saw the warrant officer's face. "He was joking, right?"

"Nope," the medic said, pulling out the bladder and taking a squirt from the neck. "Welcome to Siberia, friend."

"I think I'll have that drink now," Tyler said weakly.

"Tester, spare us this day from your Tests.

"Please don't let us slam into any celestial bodies, our souls to drift helplessly through the deeps of space as our families wonder what disaster has overtaken us and left us, Tester, bereft and alone, among the stars . . .

"Tester, spare us this day from your Tests.

"It's been three days now, Tester, and Astrogation is still trying to figure out where we are. If you could maybe see the way clear, Tester, to giving them a hint how to find our way back to Grayson before the air runs out or the environmental systems fail or one of the shuddering fusion reactors explodes, spreading our constituent atoms among the stars . . .

"Tester, spare us this day from your Tests.

"Tester, I understand that one of the beta nodes is looking pretty bad. If we lose it, Tester, please don't blast out the whole bank. We still don't know exactly where Grayson is, Tester, and we won't be able to send out a distress call that will be picked up unless we can send it in their direction. We don't want to die, Tester, drifting through the empty blackness of the Heavens, our bodies shriveled by vacuum, fighting like rabid dogs, Tester, over the compartments that still have air . . .

Tyler was just stooging through the bridge, on his way to the missile tech's quarters where there were reports of illicit gambling being conducted, when the alarm went off.

The captain was on the bridge three seconds after the alarm started, in a crouch, looking as if he didn't know which way to run.

"Is that the reactor alarm?!" the captain yelled.

"You're the Captain," Tyler said quietly, putting his hand over his eyes and mentally kissing his butt goodbye. "You don't know ?"

"Fusion Two is in alarm!" the engineering watch PO said. "But there's no sign of the fault on my screens."

"Prepare to jettison!" the captain yelled as the alarm shut off. "Or not." He cursed luridly and hit the button for Fusion Two.

"Two! What in the Sweet Merciful Tester's name is going on?!"

"Uh, sorry about that," the talker replied. "Kowalski dropped his coffee mug on the alarm switch."

"Sir."

"AH!"

The XO had just appeared behind the CO again, causing the already somewhat overwrought captain to nearly jump out of his skin. One of these days, Tyler was going to see the XO actually walk. So far, he appeared to travel by telekinesis. "I recommend that we convene a summary court and space Spaceman Kowalski."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Exec," the captain panted. "Tempting . . . but no. We'll talk about a Captain's Mast tomorrow. For now, I'm going to go to my cabin and change my shorts. Make that a general order."

"Medic to the missile compartment," the enunciator called. "Bring your syringe."

Tyler left the bridge shaking his head.

"He didn't know if it was the reactor alarm or not," he said, giggling helplessly. "He's the captain , and he didn't know . Hah-hah. Hah-hah, hee. Uhn hah, Oh My God . . ."

"Tester, spare us this day from your Tests . . ."

By the fourth day on the Francis Mueller , Tyler had taken to carrying a tranquilizer injector with him at all times. He wasn't sure if that was to use it on other crewmen, or himself.

But he had it, and a straitjacket, with him when he was called to the bridge on second Day Watch.

"Taylor, you need to sedate Petty Officer Kyle," the captain said, pointing to a PO in the tactical section. The petty officer was rocking in his chair, playing with himself.

"Hah, hah! Planet! Missed the planet! Hah, hah," Petty Officer Kyle was clearly enjoying himself.

"Yes, Sir," Tyler said, walking over and hitting the PO in the shoulder with the injector. The sedative worked quickly and in a few moments the petty officer slid bonelessly out of his chair and hit the deck with a thump.

"Sir," the XO said, appearing again behind the captain.

"AAAH! Sweet Merciful Tester, Greene, wear a bell on your boot or something ."

"Yes, sir," the XO replied, seriously. "Sir, I think that PO Kyle needs to go before the Mast."

"I don't," the captain replied. "He was clearly driven around the bend by Lieutenant Wilson's announcement that the fault in his calculations was that he forgot to account for Blackbird's mass as well as all of her moons! It turns out that if we hadn't had that forty minute delay when we were trying to get the course adjusted on the way in, we would have hit the planet ."

Tyler unfolded the straitjacket and started to load the tactical PO in as he kept one ear on the conversation behind him.

"Well, at least we know where we are, Sir," Lieutenant Wilson said. "And I've got a course laid in for Grayson."

"Are you sure ?" the captain asked. "And are you sure there's nothing in the way ?"

"Yes, Sir," the communication officer said. "We sent a ping to them. They replied asking where we've been for the last few days."

"I think the best response was that we were lying doggo, under communications silence, in case anyone was trying to sneak into the system," the captain said, rubbing his chin. "The less mentioned about the last week, the better."

" Masterful response, sir," the XO said. "Com, fire that off right away."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"We've got two weeks before we're due in the yards," the captain said. "We're supposed to be doing workups, but with the crew in the shape it is, I don't think that's a good idea. We're already as worked up as any crew I've ever seen."

"We can do them, Sir," the XO protested. "All the crew needs is a little firm discipline. If you'd just see your way clear to giving me a free hand . . ."

"We don't have any thumbscrews, Greene," the captain said, shaking his head. "No, what they need is some down time: a day off. Bosun!"

"Yes, Sir?" The senior enlisted person on the ship was heavyset, with thinning hair and a bulbous, red nose that indicated he probably was in Siberia for the same reason as Doc Kearns.

"Adjust Axial One to a forty-five degree, one gee, gravitational cone," the captain snapped. He keyed the enunciator and cleared his throat. "All off duty watch, report to Axial One, and BREAK OUT THE POTATO SACKS!"

Axial One was a large "tube" running down the spine of the ship. Normally, it was set to low gravity and used for movement of personnel and equipment. Under the low G personnel could move materials quickly and efficiently. Or, alternatively, crewmen who thought they were "salty" could move like a bat out of hell down the tube, bounding along under the .2 G field at speeds of up to forty kilometers per hour or moving huge loads like missiles or pallets of explosive bolts at only somewhat slower velocities.

Of course, the law of conservation of mass applied, so all those salty crewmen eventually had to decelerate or dodge other crewmen who were moving down the corridor at speeds far in excess of sense. And since the human eye and mind are not designed to calculate automatically what is "too fast" a closing speed, quite a few of those crewmen ended up impacting on some other sailor, or his large and occasionally deadly load, sometimes at closing speeds that would do for a small air-car wreck.