>>5197043>>5197065>>5197132>>5197170>>5197239>>5197286The bridge of the <span class="mu-i">Calypso</span> adheres to traditional nautical sensibilities in both design and function. It’s a rectangular room, with windows on every side that afford a near-unobstructed, overlooking view of the ship and the surrounding waters. The captain’s seat dominates the forward-right corner, with another seat fastened onto the deck beside it. Predictably, Elshani and Geary sit strapped into them, gazing intently at maps, papers, and a rare laptop computer that’s interfaced with the ship itself.
Occasionally, they direct commands to any of the other officers or enlisted occupying various watch-stations that comprise the pilot house. Similar to the aft deck, you take a quiet moment to observe their functions, and make educated guesses as to their myriad roles. Navigator, helmsman…a quartermaster, maybe even a chief engineer. There is a station on the wall dedicated to communications, but a noticeable lack of a comms officer.
A watch-stander notices you, then signals to Elishani. The captain looks up only long enough to recognize you, then returns to his work, muttering over intense mathematical calculations. It falls to Geary to rise up from his seat, and make his way over to the entrance.
“Mister Unami,” the XO says with a smile, shaking your hand. “What brings you to the pilot house today?”
“Work,” you say straightforwardly. “And the promise of lunch.”
“Of course. Yesterday, weren’t you with Chief Holt? I thought you might’ve stayed there today as well.”
Shrugging, you reply, “Just long enough to make sure that the <span class="mu-i">Magellan’s</span> in good hands. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He seems to accept that easily enough. “Indeed. You’d be hard-pressed to find a finer mechanic than Holt on this side of the Belt.”
Maybe a hyperbole, but one that you wouldn’t dispute. Holt knows her stuff, especially about PUEXOs, to the point where you wonder why she isn’t a pilot herself. She doesn’t have the sort of bitter, jadedness that comes with washouts from the program. Maybe she just likes the bay better than the cockpit.
But those are questions for another time. To Geary, you continue, “Your list said that I’d be a good fit here on the bridge. But I don’t necessarily know where that’d be.”
“How good are you at math?” he asks.
Good, but you aren’t about to toot your horn too hard. Wouldn’t have been able to pass for the piloting license or half-a-dozen other certs. “What do you need me to do?”
Paperwork, it turns out to be. The regular quartermaster had called out sick for the day, and it fell to the quartermasters’ mates to make up the difference. While you aren’t expected to prepare or alter nautical charts, the math you perform aids the helmsman in piloting a safer, more efficient course. No satellites means no GPS, which means old-fashioned sextant navigation.
(cont.)
