August 12th, 8252
You call your crew to warp jump stations with two hours to go until the warp jump. Midshipman Huckle heads off into the engineering space to make the rounds of the new warp jump screen generators. All twelve of them (six primaries and six full backup units) show as green on the status board but you don't blame him in the slightest. Midshipman Engel settles in at the sensors station to keep watch for anything out of the ordinary that Celesmore's senor installations might have missed. You settle back in your command chair on the bridge to supervise this. CWO Fish settles into the navigator's position, flexes her hands as if she was cracking her knuckles, and pulls up the warp jump route.
“Warp Jump route looking good. It's impressive how much better mapped these things are since the last time I had to plot a course.”
“This is a well traveled jump route so the maps are quite good. Past here we'll be making the map up and filling it in as we go.”
“Right. Would I be out of line to request that we jump to the Tumul system first so that I can ease back into things?”
“Not at all. I'd prefer we hit a snag with the new warp jump screen generators before we head out into the true wilds anyway.”
August 17th, 8252
The warp jump from Celesmore to Sonwatch is the smoothest that you have had in the Night Horse to date. You feel a great deal of satisfaction as every post warp jump diagnostic comes back green. The Navy inspector gives your refits a solid thumbs up and clears you to proceed onward after refueling is complete.
August 19th, 8252
CWO Fish pours over the old warp jump navigation for the Sonwatch to Tumul leg of your trip. Several holographic coffee mugs sit scattered about her station alongside an old-fashioned calculator and several hard copy sheets of paper.
“This jump data is older then I am Sir. I think I'd almost prefer to re-do the calculations from scratch.”
“Go for it Navigation. The Night Horse's computers have been pretty good at working out the math so far but a fresh set of eyes always helps. I don't mind waiting around an extra day to re-check the math.”
“Sounds right fine to me Sir. We'll be taking the warp jump at pathfinder speed then?”
“It's a 'new' route, so yes. Better slow and safe the plowing face-first into a warp jump anomaly.”
“Ok, I've got the rough math done already. Looking like eight days at full speed or sixteen at pathfinder speed. I'll chew on these and leave a few subroutines to refine the course overnight and we'll be ready to jump at first watch tomorrow.”
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Affirmative. Don't forget to get enough rest yourself. Staying awake non-stop can't be good for your health.”
“I have auxiliary computers in my frame that I can leave running without issue wile I sleep and charge overnight.”
“How long does your charge last for anyways?”
“Three days at full power or about twenty if I ration things out.”
“The Saturn mark 2 reactor puts out plenty of power.”
“Just enough for everything and the crew overhead actually, but I take your point Sir.”
August 20th, 8252
“Warp jump route set, entry vector locked, stand by for the lurch. Brace your guts and pray if you dare because here we go folks!”
CWO Fish's announcement isn't quite out of the book but you forgive her anyways. You managed to dig up her CV form her life in flesh and she did well in the Star Empire's merchant marine. Many commanders noted her competency, colorful personality, and contempt of religion. They also unanimously recommended that she remain a chief warrant officer for life rather then offering her a commission on the grounds that one, she was sure to reject it and two, that such a colorful low-class personality would ill mesh with the 'noble blooded well to do gentlemen' who populated the upper ranks of command. You find yourself agreeing with them forty years later. Things are a bit better in terms of acceptance of 'mustangs', lower-class people working their way to a warrant and then a commission on the basis of competency over connections, but are still ill-suited to the acceptance of females in commissioned roles, particularly in 'front line' roles.
“Call the count chief and let's get this ship underway.”
August 26th, 8252
You tablet chimes with an incoming communication. You rub sleep from your eyes and hit the acceptance button.
“Midshipman Engel here on the bridge Sir. Sensor contact! Computers are calling it a Wolfpack class destroyer with ninety two percent accuracy. Problem being that such ships were retired from service with the Navy thirteen years ago and the last one was sold for scrap two years ago. Contact is fading in an out. Best lock I have seen is only sixty seven percent.”
“Might be a sensor ghost, might be an actual ship. Cycle the sensors and then, if it comes back, re-run the computer match.”
“Cycling sensor now Sir... and the contact has vanished.”
“Sensor ghost then. Keep an eye out in case it comes back, just in case.”
“Aff Sir. Aye aye.”
September 1st, 8252
Midshipman Huckle drags into the dining hall for breakfast looking like he hasn't slept in at least a day, possibly two. Midshipman Engel isn't far behind him also yawning and looking bedraggled.
“Bad night's sleep?” You ask out of concern for the health of your crew.
“Y'might say that Sir.”
“Aff Sir.”
“Right then. Light duty for the two of you for today but it'll be back to the regular schedule tomorrow so be sure to rest up.”
“Aye Aye Sir.”
September 4th, 8252
“Shit!”
“Talk to me Fish!”
“We've got an anomaly on sensors. Can't tell if it's debris or just energy flux. I'm taking us around it, hang on tight.”
You hit the all hand announcement button even as CWO Fish takes the helm.
“All hands brace for evasive maneuvers. I say again, all hands brace for evasive maneuvers.”
“Over that crest, turn about that wave... made it. Now where is that... crap crap crap.... ok, cleared that flux. Still got it. And... done. All clear Sir.”
“Colorful commentary there CWO.”
“Bad habit Sir, sorry about it.”
“Bah, I'd rather have you focusing on the job then silly crap like that when it all hits the fans. Better a bit of shaking and some extra words then another hole in the hull. Well done CWO Fish.”
“Thank you Sir.”
“All hands, all hands. Secure from brace stations. I say again, secure from brace stations. Bridge clear.”
You let go of the all hands transmit button as CWO Fish slowly realizes that she did all of that with a live ship-wide mic broadcasting everything.