"David Feintuch - Seafort 02 - Challenger's Hope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feintuch David)

locked front.
I unfolded my orders. "To Nicholas Ewing Seafort, Commander, United Nations Naval Service," I read aloud.
"Effective November 4, 2197, you shall command U.N.S. Portia, a vessel assigned to the squadron commanded
by Admiral Geoffrey Tremaine. You are to voyage to Hope Nation and thence to Detour Colony in such manner
as may be ordered by the Admiral commanding..." I read through the orders and folded the paper.
"As you were." As they relaxed, I looked about. We were at the fore airlock, adjacent to the ship's launch berth.
The aft lock was below, on Level 2.
From a distance our vessel-or any Naval starship-would look like a pencil stood on end; the disks in which we
lived consisted of two rings fitted tightly over the pencil about halfway from bow to stern. Portia had only two
Levels rather than the three of Challenger and larger ships.
I turned to the waiting midshipman. Derek Carr, lean and youthful at eighteen, stood confidently in his crisp
blue middy's uniform, buckles and shoes shined to perfection. As his eye caught mine I winked. Derek, whom I
recruited from among the passengers of Hibernia, was maturing into a fine naval officer, despite occasional
traces of the haughty young aristocrat he'd once been.
"I'll show you to your cabin, sir," Vax offered.
I made a quick decision. I still knew virtually nothing about my new command. "No. Mr. Carr, take my duffel
to the Captain's cabin, and tell Amanda I'll be there in a while. Vax, show me everything, bow to stern."
"Aye aye, sir," Vax said automatically. No other response was possible to a Captain's command. As the others
drifted away, he hesitated. "It won't take long to see. Compared to Challenger, this is a toy. He had no right-"
"Mr. Holser!" My voice was tight. "Don't even think of saying that aloud."
"I-no, sir."
"Did you forget an Admiral is senior to a Captain? The squadron is his to deploy. No criticism, now or ever."
"Aye aye, sir." His tone was subdued. "Shall we start at the bridge?"
"If you like." As I followed him along the corridor I remembered that I still wore my dress whites; I'd get them
dirty poking around the ship. I'd also be hot. I decided against stopping to change; better not to appear indecisive
my first day aboard.
As we were still moored, the bridge hatch was open and only a nominal watch was kept. Midshipman Rafe
Treadwell came to attention when I entered. My eyes took in the control consoles, the navigation equipment, the
simulscreens covering the front bulkhead. I would spend many of my waking hours in this compartment. Smaller
than Hibernians bridge, still it had ample room to move around. I wondered if Naval designers knew Captains
liked to pace.
I looked down at Rafe, fourteen, promoted from cadet at my recommendation so that he could join my next
command as midshipman. "Enjoy your shore leave, Mr. Treadweil?"
"Uh, yes, sir." He blushed furiously. It must have been an interesting leave indeed. As midshipman, Rafe had
his majority by statute of the General Assembly, and could frequent the bars and dives of Lunapolis. He'd been
but eleven the last time he'd seen home port.
"Good; carry on. Vax, where to?"
 Lieutenant Holser led me from the inactive bridge to the sickbay, and I chatted a moment with the Doctor, I'd
see a lot of that place now that our baby was near. Down the circular corridor just past the ladder was the
officers' mess, a tiny compartment barely larger than a passenger cabin. We officers would take our evening
meal in the ship's dining hall with the passengers, and few enough of us would share the mess for morning and
noon meals, as we stood our staggered watches.
Belowdecks, I glanced at the engine room and took a long look at Hydroponics, on whose output we would all
depend, Outside the crew berth the chief petty officer brought a gaggle of seamen to attention. "Akrit, stand even
with the others! Wipe off that idiot smile, Clinger. Sorry, sir."
I nodded curtly. The petty officers would have their hands full for a time, one of the pitfalls of guaranteed
enlistment. Virtually any able-bodied person was guaranteed acceptance into the Service, and got a half-year's
pay in advance as a bonus.
Back on Level 1, I surveyed a few passenger cabins as well as officers' quarters. I said little, trying to memorize
what I could. We came across Alexi in the passengers' lounge chatting with two civilian girls; he detached