lockers." Why am I going on? I have one foot poised over an abyss now. "For personal gear."
I didn't expect the comforts of Officer's Country aboard a Main Battle, but I did figure on lockers. I can't leave my cameras lying around. Too much chance they'll walk away.
"You use your hammock. Your bunkmates sleep with it."
Comes the dawn. "No wonder nobody brings anything with them."
"Just one of the luxuries they've taken away. That's why the limited modifieds, like the Eight Ball, are so popular. Rumor is, they've still got a shower on old Number Eight."
"And I thought we had it bad in the bombards."
"That's right. The Old Man said you were in destroyers back when. Did my original active duty there. Luxury liners compared to this. Hello, Commander."
"There's got to be a better way."
The Commander shrugs as if to say that's a matter of complete indifference to him. He smiles a thin, grim smile that seems carefully studied, the secretive smile of a Commander on top of it all and mildly amused by the antics of the children in his charge. "Nature demands .her price. Board all squared away, Mr. Westhause?"
"I'm just starting my check sequence, Commander."
I take the hint. I'm in the way here. Everyone else is busy, too. The compartment is in a state of chaos. The sleeping arrangements seem fairly well settled. The men are slithering over and around one another to examine their duty stations. Despite the care the ship has received in wetdock, they want to double-check everything. It isn't that they mistrust the yard-birds' competence. They just want to know. Their lives depend on their equipment.
As I wander, I ponder the mystery of the Old Man. If anything, he's more taciturn, more remote, now that we've boarded the ship. He changed masks when he passed through the entry hatch. He turned on some sort of Commander's personality engineered to fit a profile of crew expectations.
Strong and silent, competent and confident. Tolerant of infractions in the personal sphere, strict regarding anything that might affect the welfare of the ship. I've seen the act before, on other ships. Never have I seen it assumed with such abruptness, such cold calculation. I hope he mellows out. I hope he doesn't exclude me from his thoughts entirely. He's half the story here.
Westhause changed, too, when the new Commander passed through his orbit. In moments he was oblivious to anything but his astrogational toys.
There must be a magic in the Climber. The Old Man and Westhause went away. First Watch Officer arrived. Lieutenant Yanevich is treating me like an old friend. Who else shifted personalities at the hatchway? Bradley? I don't know. I haven't seen him since we came aboard. I don't know any of the others.
I get out of their way in Ops by going exploring below. I don't run into anyone with the time or inclination to talk till I reach the bottom of the can. There I meet Ambrose Diekereide, our Engineer-in-Training.
I spend an hour talking the man's speciality. He loses me after the first five minutes.
Surviving Academy requires an acquaintance with physics.
1 got through the courses on stubborness and an elaborate system for memorization. I have a mind which surrounds itself with armor plate when it's faced with a physics more subtle than that imagined by Isaac Newton. I guess I really do see the fuzzy outlines of what Einstein said.
Reinhardt and hy-permechanics I take on faith. Despite Diekereide's heroic effort and all my prereading, null and Climbing will remain pure witchcraft till the day I die.
Diekereide says it's possible to look at our universe from a continuum of viewpoints. Classical.
Newtonian. Einsteinian. Reinr-rdter. All points on the spectrum, like the central wavelength line of each color cast by a prism.
The defining parameter of the Einsteinian view is the constant c, c being the velocity of light in a vacuum.
Then along comes Reinhardt, who turns it all over by saying
2 + 2 = 4 sometimes, and c is a constant
I didn't expect the comforts of Officer's Country aboard a Main Battle, but I did figure on lockers. I can't leave my cameras lying around. Too much chance they'll walk away.
"You use your hammock. Your bunkmates sleep with it."
Comes the dawn. "No wonder nobody brings anything with them."
"Just one of the luxuries they've taken away. That's why the limited modifieds, like the Eight Ball, are so popular. Rumor is, they've still got a shower on old Number Eight."
"And I thought we had it bad in the bombards."
"That's right. The Old Man said you were in destroyers back when. Did my original active duty there. Luxury liners compared to this. Hello, Commander."
"There's got to be a better way."
The Commander shrugs as if to say that's a matter of complete indifference to him. He smiles a thin, grim smile that seems carefully studied, the secretive smile of a Commander on top of it all and mildly amused by the antics of the children in his charge. "Nature demands .her price. Board all squared away, Mr. Westhause?"
"I'm just starting my check sequence, Commander."
I take the hint. I'm in the way here. Everyone else is busy, too. The compartment is in a state of chaos. The sleeping arrangements seem fairly well settled. The men are slithering over and around one another to examine their duty stations. Despite the care the ship has received in wetdock, they want to double-check everything. It isn't that they mistrust the yard-birds' competence. They just want to know. Their lives depend on their equipment.
As I wander, I ponder the mystery of the Old Man. If anything, he's more taciturn, more remote, now that we've boarded the ship. He changed masks when he passed through the entry hatch. He turned on some sort of Commander's personality engineered to fit a profile of crew expectations.
Strong and silent, competent and confident. Tolerant of infractions in the personal sphere, strict regarding anything that might affect the welfare of the ship. I've seen the act before, on other ships. Never have I seen it assumed with such abruptness, such cold calculation. I hope he mellows out. I hope he doesn't exclude me from his thoughts entirely. He's half the story here.
Westhause changed, too, when the new Commander passed through his orbit. In moments he was oblivious to anything but his astrogational toys.
There must be a magic in the Climber. The Old Man and Westhause went away. First Watch Officer arrived. Lieutenant Yanevich is treating me like an old friend. Who else shifted personalities at the hatchway? Bradley? I don't know. I haven't seen him since we came aboard. I don't know any of the others.
I get out of their way in Ops by going exploring below. I don't run into anyone with the time or inclination to talk till I reach the bottom of the can. There I meet Ambrose Diekereide, our Engineer-in-Training.
I spend an hour talking the man's speciality. He loses me after the first five minutes.
Surviving Academy requires an acquaintance with physics.
1 got through the courses on stubborness and an elaborate system for memorization. I have a mind which surrounds itself with armor plate when it's faced with a physics more subtle than that imagined by Isaac Newton. I guess I really do see the fuzzy outlines of what Einstein said.
Reinhardt and hy-permechanics I take on faith. Despite Diekereide's heroic effort and all my prereading, null and Climbing will remain pure witchcraft till the day I die.
Diekereide says it's possible to look at our universe from a continuum of viewpoints. Classical.
Newtonian. Einsteinian. Reinr-rdter. All points on the spectrum, like the central wavelength line of each color cast by a prism.
The defining parameter of the Einsteinian view is the constant c, c being the velocity of light in a vacuum.
Then along comes Reinhardt, who turns it all over by saying
2 + 2 = 4 sometimes, and c is a constant
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