Fall of the Terran Empire - Traci Ganner series book 1

FTE - Ch 6

 “Hand me that field meter, ensign, would you?” Admiral Scott Pearson asked. He had been on his way to see his chief of staff aboard his flagship, the dreadnought Thor, when he noticed a small work team diagnosing a problem with the inertial converters. For once, he was not surrounded by aides, commodores, admirals, and the other senior brass of his fleet command, so he thought he would assist the repair team, if for just a few minutes. In a very short time, he had removed his white and green outer jacket, and found himself on his back with half of his upper torso in the access bay, looking at the circuits. The senior chief and a very nervous ensign were crouched down beside him, reviewing the schematic and sorting through tools that would be needed to replace the circuit the computer diagnostics identified as the most likely cause of the problem. As Chief Kone reached into the compartment to hand him the meter, Commodore Santos walked by and stopped just short of the compartment.

“Admiral Pearson,” the commodore stated with an exasperated tone that simultaneously conveyed his displeasure with the admiral’s conduct and indicated to the senior chief that he should have known better. “Sir, may I remind you we have a briefing at 2300 hours?”

“Come on, Sebastian,” the admiral protested as he measured the sections indicated by the computer analysis and reached for a control knob on the panel’s outer edge. “This just needs a minor adjustment.”

“Yes, sir, by the men trained to make those adjustments, not by the commander of the fleet!” Commodore Santos continued to stand alert as crewmen walked past, showing no sign of approval for the admiral’s whim to “assist” in a ship’s repair. “Besides, if Captain Veiga finds out you have been tinkering with her ship…” He let his voice trail off as might a child who was just about to tell a parent about a particularly naughty activity he had just witnessed.

Admiral Pearson curled his torso until his head was sticking out of the hole, glaring at the man who was now threatening to turn him in. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Begging the admiral’s pardon, but we need to get to briefing five minutes before the rest of the command staff. It wouldn’t do to be late.”

Admiral Pearson handed the meter back to the ensign, who was visibly delighted the admiral would soon be leaving the crew alone to complete their task, and pulled himself upright out of the workspace. As he dusted off his trousers, the chief handed him his outer tunic, which he quickly donned.

“Chief, make sure the stabilizers are tuned in parallel, we don’t want to see any--”

“--any neutral field variance, aye, sir,” the chief finished for him with a wry smile. The admiral patted Chief Kone on the shoulder and began walking down the walkway toward the lift, followed closely by Commodore Santos.

“Sir, it is admirable of you to want to look like part of the crew upon occasion, but it really does more harm than good,” Santos commented, keeping his voice lowered to prevent passing crewmen from overhearing. “Great dragons, sir, you’re admiral of the fleet, not a master chief! There are plenty of people whose job it is to crawl around in tight spaces and make repairs.”

“True, but all I get to do all day is listen to briefings and wade through more paperwork than a man should have to endure in his lifetime.” Admiral Pearson didn’t actually do paperwork; that was what his executive aides were for. But he did have to sign off on everything from fleet supplies to formation drills. “It was a nice change to get to do something I used to do as a junior officer.”

“Yes, sir, but you are not a junior officer. You are the flag. Besides, you scared that poor ensign half to death.”

“Maybe, but the chief appreciated it. Even if I didn’t do a darn thing but get in the way, at least he knows I see what he does and don’t look down my nose at him for it. It’s important to let your crew know you think about them when you make the big decisions.”