Read Online Ride The Rising Tide (The Maxwell Saga) by Peter Grant - Free Book Online Page A

Engineering, the Executive Officer and the Chief of the Ship, so you’re officially registered on board.”
    “ Thanks, PO. If I’ll be under Engineering, who’s the Engineer Officer? What’s he like?”
    “ That’s Lieutenant–Commander Wollaston. He’s pretty good at his job. Trouble is, he’s convinced any spacer ever born can walk on water, if only they faithfully obey his orders to do so.” He sighed. “All we need to succeed is The. Right. Attitude.”
    “ I hear you. Some of the instructors at Small Craft School were like that.”
    “ Yeah, but Wollaston’s hard–nosed about it. If things don’t happen as fast as he wants, or as well as he thinks they should be done, he gets real unhappy — and he’s got ways and means of making everyone else even more unhappy until they get fixed! You might want to keep that in mind. To be fair, though, if you do your job well, he’ll give you credit for that and back you up all the way.”
    As he spoke, the NCO entered a code into an intercom handset. He waited, then said, “Hey, Nick, Bill here. I’m on duty in the docking bay tonight. Your new pilot just got in — a Spacer First Class named Maxwell. D’you have anyone available to take him to his quarters?… OK, I’ll tell him. Thanks.”
    He replaced the handset. “PO Garza’s coming down himself. Take a seat over there.” He indicated a row of chairs against the bulkhead behind his counter. “He’ll be about five minutes.”
    “ OK, thanks, PO.”
    Petty Officer First Class Garza proved to be a short, thick–set man, looking as if he were all muscle. He entered the docking bay wearing utility coveralls that he’d obviously thrown on hastily over off–duty garb.
    “You Maxwell?”
    “ Aye aye, PO.” Steve rose and snapped to attention.
    “ Good to have you aboard.” His handshake was strong, testing. Steve had learned by now to give as good as he got, rather than let himself be dominated in that way, so he returned the grip with interest. Garza didn’t comment, but his eyes flickered. “Bring your gear and follow me.”
    They didn’t take the high–speed conveyor, but walked along the passage below it — almost certainly, Steve presumed, in order for Garza to have time to ask a few questions. He was soon proved right.
    The older man glanced at the chevron–over–star rank insignia on his left arm. “When we were told you were coming, a month ago, the signal listed you as a Spacer Second Class. You completed Boot Camp a little over a year ago, and you’d been in training since then, so how did you get First Class rank so quickly? Most spacers take at least two to three years to get there, often longer.”
    “ I had a couple of years in the merchant service before enlisting, PO, plus a civilian pilot rating. That earned me Second Class rank as soon as I graduated from Boot Camp, and admission to Small Craft School. I finished top of the class there last month, which carried a one–step incentive promotion.”
    “ Uh–huh. You’ll still be the most junior pilot aboard Hebe , though, so don’t put on any airs!”
    “ I won’t, PO. I know I’ve got to get a thousand hours under my belt as second pilot before I qualify as Pilot In Command. I’ve got only eighty at present, and a long way to go.”
    “ Don’t expect to build up that much stick time in a hurry. Most of our pilots don’t need a second pilot for their usual missions. They’re also required to do a lot more than just fly. They try to weasel out of all sorts of crappy work details by claiming that NCO’s aren’t supposed to do that sort of stuff. As junior pilot, you’ll end up catching a lot of that.”
    Steve mentally braced himself. He daren’t equivocate on this issue if he wanted to get ahead in a hurry. He tried to choose his words carefully. “That’s fair, PO. All I ask for is the chance to fly often enough to reach a thousand hours of stick time and get my Pilot–In–Command rating by the end of my