The whistle called a two-note signal; the emergency lights glowed blue for a moment. Adele remembered the call from when the Princess Cecile left Kostroma: atmospheric density had fallen to the point that the captain could switch power to the High Drive at will.
Daniel engaged the PA system again. “Engaging the High Drive,” he announced in a tone so emotionless as to sound bored. He waited still-faced for five beats of the second hand, backed the throttles to quarter power, and with his right hand threw the toggle that shut off fuel to the plasma thrusters at the same time as it engaged the matter-antimatter power plant.
The Princess Cecile shuddered. A high-pitched keen replaced the tremble of the plasma motors. Any change in acceleration was too subtle for Adele to sense, but she did feel a slight queasiness, familiar from her previous experience.
The High Drive delivered its thrust from a multithroated central port rather than eight—six during most of this liftoff—widely separated plasma nozzles. It was as though the Princess Cecile were balancing her thirteen hundred tons on the point of a needle. The controls kept the corvette aligned by minute changes in the thrust vector. The direction of “down” changed many times a second.
Adele smiled wryly. In this case, the delicate measuring ability of her inner ear was a detriment to her well-being.
On a sudden whim, she filled her display with a holographic image of the planet beneath. The first time she’d left Cinnabar, she’d sat in the passenger lounge and watched her world shrink on the display. She hadn’t found it particularly interesting. Being who she was, she’d watched a perfect simulation of the process as soon as she decided to continue her schooling on Blythe.
Fifteen years ago, Adele had expected to return home. More accurately, it had never crossed her mind that she wouldn’t return home, much less that her home would cease to exist. Now . . .
Adele turned from the image of a planet, the lines of its continents softened by the blue haze of atmosphere, and looked at the spacers around her. They were intent, ready for an emergency but cheerful nonetheless. Betts and Sun slapped hands in acknowledgment of a successful liftoff, and the riggers joked in the corridor.
Adele laughed aloud. She didn’t worry about coming home again this time either.
Because this time she was taking her home with her.
* * *
Daniel rose from his console and stretched, a full-bodied exercise that ended with him leaning backward and bracing his hands on the seatback with a deck sandal locked around the chairpost. Liftoffs—and landings, even more so—were so all-involving that tension drew his muscles up like drying rawhide until the job was complete.
Delos Vaughn walked onto the bridge, smiling pleasantly. He wore a set of fawn coveralls which were utilitarian in cut, though grease stains would show as they didn’t against the gray-on-gray mottling of RCN utilities. Over his left breast pocket was a tape with his name in glowing gold letters.
“Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Lieutenant,” Vaughn said. “Your recovery was so quick that I scarcely noticed the systems failure.”
You have no business on my bridge! Daniel thought. A bracket snapping on liftoff is no more a systems failure than you’re an RCN officer!
“Thank you, Mr. Vaughn,” Daniel said aloud, “but I’d appreciate it if you’d consider the bridge off-limits unless I inform you otherwise. This is a warship on active service.”
Turning his attention immediately to his console so that the comment would appear trivial rather than an angry dressing-down, Daniel keyed the Battle Direction Center channel. “Mr. Mon?” he said. “Come to the bridge please and take the conn. I’m going topside.”
“On the way, Mr. Leary,” Mon replied immediately. There was no need to go through full communications protocol on a dedicated line, any more than there was when dealing with one’s fellows face-to-face.
Daniel straightened and again glanced around him. Vaughn had retreated into the corridor. He was watching with the bright interest of a bird but was careful not to interfere with the team of riggers preparing to go onto the hull. He must have felt Daniel’s glance, for he waved an index finger in friendly greeting.