Free The Circle by David Poyer

one slip of his knife means death. Well, down below, we’ve got three hundred men asleep. We slip up and they can all die. Quick, in a collision, or slow, one by one in the water. It won’t matter what the rules said then. Do you know what existentialism is?”
    For a moment, he thought he’d heard wrong. “What was that, sir?”
    â€œThe belief that we’re free in an amoral universe, and have to determine our own standards of right and wrong. That we make our own rules, and evaluate our lives according to how well we fulfill them.”
    â€œWell, I saw Waiting for Godot, ” he said, not sure he was following Evlin’s drift. He looked out at the freighter. “Are you … are you an existentialist, sir?”
    Evlin laughed. “Personally? No. But as a professional—sure. There are sanctions against wrongdoing and incompetence, but in the end we do what’s right because we choose to. We build our lives around self-imposed intangibles like duty and honor.”
    Dan said cautiously, “I think I see. But it seems to me you could justify evil that way just as well as good. Also, I don’t—well, how does all this relate to the rules of the road?”
    â€œMaybe it doesn’t.” Evlin chuckled again, softly, and turned his head. Beyond the open window, the freighter loomed close, its lights paving tapered paths of yellow and white on the sea. Dan could hear it now, a whooshing hum carried down the wind. “Or maybe it does. The old man’s lying awake down below. He’s thinking, a mile and a half, thirty knots closing speed, that gives Evlin and the new ensign three minutes to act if something goes wrong. And not just us: the helmsman, the engine-room throttleman, after steering; if one man hesitates or screws up, that won’t be enough. He’s waiting to hear that whistle. He’s waiting for that phone to buzz.”
    The ship rode steadily by them. Now they could see it through the wing hatch. The green light suddenly winked out.
    Evlin reached down, then held something out. “Here.”
    He took it. It was the phone. Before he had time to get nervous, he heard the voice in his ear, alert, crisp, not the voice of a man just awakened, though it was 1:00 A.M. “Captain.”
    â€œUh, Lenson, sir, junior officer of the deck. Sir, contact ‘Tango’ is passing down our starboard side, range three thousand, now opening.”
    â€œBearing drift?”
    â€œRapid right, sir.”
    â€œVery well. Keep an eye on it. Any other contacts ahead?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œYou up there with Al?”
    â€œYes sir.”
    â€œWe’re still in the coastal shipping lanes. Stay alert. Call me if you’re in doubt.”
    â€œAye, sir.” He waited, but there was only a rattle as the handset below found its holder. So he hung up, too.
    â€œOkay?”
    â€œHe said, ‘Very well.’”
    â€œThat wasn’t too bad, was it? Remember: Stay alert, take action early, keep the captain informed. Those’re rules one, two, and three on Ryan. ”
    â€œThanks.” He hesitated. “Look, sir—the captain, he—why’s he so wired? He sounds like he’s just waiting for somebody to make a mistake.”
    â€œIt isn’t what you think.”
    â€œWhat did I think?”
    â€œThat he’s a sundowner. He isn’t. No, James John Packer—you didn’t read about him in the papers? Whipple, off the DMZ two years ago?”
    â€œI guess I missed that one, sir.”
    â€œHe put her in commission on the West Coast. A brand-new DE. Took her on her first deployment to Vietnam. Then he refused a fire mission. They pulled him off for the investigation. Apparently, he was right, because he got exonerated. There was press interest, so the Navy had to give him another ship. But they didn’t have to give him a new one. Bottom line: He’s walking a