A Just Determination

Chapter Five

"Hey, Paul." Lieutenant Mike Bristol hauled himself into the wardroom seat next to Paul, fastening the lap belt with the ease of long practice. "Got a minute?"

"Sure." The assistant supply officer and Paul hadn't crossed paths too frequently so far, but everything Paul had heard about him was good. The same went for Commander Sykes, of course. Steve Sykes and Mike Bristol had even earned praise from the prickly Jen Shen. A lot of supply types don't understand operational needs, she'd told Paul. You're dying because you need a spare, and they won't open the supply office because it'd interfere with the Supply Department badminton tournament or something like that. But Sykes and Bristol are good pork chops. Paul resolved, for the umpteenth time, to find out why supply officers had been given the nickname pork chops instead of that of some other food-derived term. Given the fact that Mike Bristol was Jewish, calling him a pork chop seemed not only odd but also slightly blasphemous.

Bristol inclined his head toward where Commander Sykes occupied his habitual place at the other end of the wardroom table. "The boss and I weren't too happy with what happened to Arroyo."

"Yeah. I gathered that. Sorry."

"Well, you're the ship's legal officer. Is there anything we can do about it? I mean, any recourse or appeal or something like that?"

Paul made a helpless gesture. "Technically, yes."

"Technically?"

"I just looked it up myself because I was curious. The Uniform Code of Military Justice says any individual is allowed to appeal an action of their commanding officer."

"Really? Who does the appeal go to?"

Paul smiled thinly. "The commanding officer's immediate superior."

Bristol absorbed the information, then laughed sharply. "That'd be the commodore. So Arroyo would have to ask the commodore to overturn an action of one of his captains?"

"Right."

"What are the odds of that happening?"

"You've been in the Navy longer than me. What do you think?"

Bristol shook his head. "I think Arroyo would be better off praying for an angel to shower the ship with packets of peaches, because that's probably more likely to happen."

Paul nodded. "I'm afraid so. The lawyers who taught my course said it wasn't too common. Mind you, if the Captain had done something clearly outside his authority, something like exceeding the limits of punishment he can impose under the UCMJ by ordering Arroyo to hard labor or a bad conduct discharge, then the commodore would have to overrule him. Other than that, you're really spitting into the wind to even try."

Bristol shook his head again. "That's nuts. I mean, I understand why the process exists. There's no courts out here and you need a way to impose discipline. But I can't imagine what civilians would do if somebody told they had to live with something like NJP."

Paul spread his hands. "You're right. It has a reason. A good reason. But you're also right that civilians wouldn't stand for it. Can you imagine any civil court putting up with Article 134?"

"Which one's that?"

"The General Article. Basically, it says that if anybody does anything you think is bad, even if it's not specifically cited as illegal in all the other punitive articles, you can just charge them under Article 134. It sort of allows you to make up the law to suit your needs. Within reason, of course."

"Wild." Bristol looked around conspiratorially. "So if I said bad things about the government and the captain happened to like whichever political party was in power, he could charge me with violating Article 134?"

"Uh, no, because saying anything derogatory about the President or Congress is illegal under Article 88, Contempt Toward Officials."

"I can't say anything bad about the president, even if I don't like him or her? What happened to freedom of speech?"

"You're in the military. You, uh, forfeit certain rights as a result."

Commander Sykes laughed briefly. "Welcome to the land of the free, Lieutenant Bristol."

"Of course," Paul added, "if you did something like, say, abuse of a public animal, then you'd be charged under Article 134."

"Abuse of a public animal?"

"Yeah. That's a specific offense listed under Article 134."

"What does that… no, I don't think I want that question answered. So there's nothing legal-wise we can do about Arroyo?"

"No. Not in any practical sense. Unless the captain changes his mind."

"Fat chance. Okay, that's what I figured, but I also figured it didn't hurt to ask."

Paul nodded in agreement. "If I could help, I would. Is there anything you guys can do for Arroyo?"

Commander Sykes replied before Bristol could, his relaxed tone at odds with his words. "I'm afraid all we can do is bend every effort toward getting Arroyo promoted back to petty officer as soon as possible. Outstanding fitness reports, commendations, that sort of thing. Oh, don't look disapproving, young Sinclair. We won't be giving Arroyo anything he doesn't deserve. The man is an excellent sailor."

"Chief Mangala doesn't think so."

"Ah. Chief Mangala." Commander Sykes took a slow drink of coffee. "He's allowed a personal dislike of a subordinate to translate into effectively framing that subordinate for a crime that likely never occurred. And he undercut my own authority to do it. I am not easily aroused to anger, but that chief has crossed the line."

"What can you do to a chief? I thought they were pretty much bullet-proof."

"No one is bullet-proof, lad. Chief Mangala's error is in believing as you do. But I have friends in certain offices back home, offices where orders are written. I will guarantee you now that the moment we arrive back at Franklin Station, Chief Mangala will find orders awaiting him, orders which will transfer him immediately to an assignment so unpleasant as to make service on this ship seem a lost paradise."

Paul grinned. "I didn't think any assignment could do that."

"Ah, 'where ignorance is bliss.' Get on my bad side, Mr. Sinclair, and you'll find out how wrong you are." Sykes smiled as he spoke to rob his words of any real threat.

Mike Bristol perked up unexpectedly. "Say, speaking of getting back, you work in Operations, Paul. Any truth to the rumor we might head home early?"

"None that I know of."

Sykes chuckled. "I've been on a number of extended deployments such as this, Mike. On every one, the rumors of being ordered to return early begin within a couple of weeks of departure. Those rumors have never proven to be anything but wishful thinking."

"Too bad," Bristol rubbed his chin, staring at the painting of the Michaelson on the far bulkhead. "What would it take to get us home early, anyway? Some international crisis?"

"I don't know," Paul confessed. "I haven't seen anything in the intelligence summaries that seems out of the normal. Trade disputes, low-level fighting in a half-dozen places around the world, all the usual stuff."

"Any ships anywhere near? I understand we're supposed to keep other ships out of this area, unless they get permission to go through it first."

"That's right. So far, though, everyone going through has made at least a gesture at asking permission, and most of those have been near the boundaries of the area we're patrolling. But the solar system's geometry is changing, so that might change also."

"Huh?" Bristol cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "The solar system is changing?"

"Its geometry. You know, everything's rotating about the sun in different orbits at different speeds. To get from, say, Earth to Mars requires different paths at different times of the year."

"And I thought logistics was complicated. What if a ship belonging to some foreign power does try to come through without our permission? What'll we do?"

Paul scratched his head. "To be perfectly honest, Lieutenant-"

"Mike."

"Okay. To be perfectly honest, Mike, what we do is up to the captain."

"We don't have orders?"

"We do." Paul frowned, remember the convoluted wording and evasive language of their orders. "But they pretty much leave it up to the captain's judgment as to what to do."

Bristol's jaw sagged for a moment. "Just like non-judicial punishment, huh?"

"Yeah, effectively. Just like that."

"Oh, great. I guess I better hope that doesn't happen. And I better forget about us getting back ahead of schedule."

"It's probably just as well," Paul offered. "I'd imagine if they needed us home early it'd be because something really bad had happened. I'm not so sure that'd be a good thing."

Commander Sykes took another drink, then sighed. "From the mouths of babes. As you say, Mr. Sinclair, getting home early would only be worth it if it didn't involve getting into a situation even worse than boring figurative holes through some of the more vacant space in the solar system. Be careful what you wish for, gentlemen. There's always a worse alternative."

Bristol grinned. "As Chief Mangala will discover."

"Ah, yes. Chief Mangala. Beware the wrath of pork chops." Sykes settled back in his chair, even though the gesture was meaningless in zero g, a small smile playing on his lips.

Half a day later, in the same wardroom, the Arroyo/Mangala affair assumed trivial significance to Paul as he and Kris Denaldo watched a friend in agony. Carl Meadows was shaking his head continuously, as if hoping he could deny a fact out of existence, his voice strained as he spoke. "Oh my God."

Paul reached out a hand toward Carl's shoulder, then drew it back, uncertain how to react. "What happened?"

"Petty Officer Davidas. He's dead."

"What? How?"

"We don't know. It just happened. He was working on one of the pulse lasers. It had been de-energized and tagged out. I saw the physical tag placed and watched the virtual tag placed on the automated systems controls. But the thing got energized somehow while he was lying across it."

"Holy Jesus." Kris Denaldo crossed herself in reflexive fashion. "He couldn't have stood a chance."

"No. Fried instantly. Never knew what hit him, I'm sure." Meadows buried his head in his hands. "Oh, God."

"Lieutenant Meadows." Commander Herdez hung in the hatchway. "I have appointed Commander Garcia to conduct an investigation of Petty Officer Davidas' death. Ensure he receives full cooperation from everyone in your division."

Meadows raised his head. "Yes, ma'am."

Her gaze shifted to Paul. "Ensign Sinclair. Provide Commander Garcia with any legal or other support he needs."

"Yes, ma'am." Oh, great. Garcia already hates every second I spend on legal duties, and now I have to work directly with him on legal stuff. Paul glanced over at Carl Meadows' drawn expression. What right do I have to worry about that? A guy just died. I can be such a jerk sometimes. "Carl, I better check with Commander Garcia right away. If there's anything you need…"

"Yeah."

Paul detoured to his stateroom first, calling up his copy of the Manual of the Judge Advocate General to refresh his knowledge on investigations. Okay. Death of military personnel falls under the Command Investigation category. Garcia doesn't need to be sworn in in order to run the investigation. He only needs a preponderance of evidence… except if he decides Davidas or somebody else caused the accident deliberately. Hope that doesn't come up. It's prohibited to make any determination as to whether the death was in the line of duty.

Garcia answered Paul's knock with a gruff grunt, then glowered at him as Paul stammered out his mission. "I don't need an ensign's help to do my job. Everything is spelled out in the manual, right?"

"Yes, sir. Chapter II of the JAGMAN. There's a sample report format at the end of the chapter."

"I've already looked at that. Do I need to swear anybody in when I take statements from them?"

"No, sir. Swearing in is not required for a command-level accident investigation. You can swear somebody in if you want to, though. The oath you use is in Chapter II."

"How long do I have to finish this?"

"A death investigation is supposed to be completed within twenty days, sir."

"Good. I won't need nearly that much time." Garcia focused on his own screen again, his face reddening with familiar anger.

It took Paul a moment to realize the anger wasn't directed at him. Is he really that upset over the death of Davidas? It can't possibly make him look bad. Just when I thought I had Garcia pegged, he turns out to care about something besides his own reputation. Paul stood awkwardly, wanting to leave but unable to do so until dismissed. "Sir, is there anything I can assist you with?"

Garcia's eyes locked back on Paul and held there for a long moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact, Sinclair. As long as you're standing there, go down to sickbay and make sure the doc knows what he's supposed to put in his report."

"Yes, sir." Paul left, steeling himself for the visit to sickbay and praying whatever remained of Petty Officer Davidas wouldn't be visible.

The ship's doctor nodded wearily at Paul's arrival. "Yes, I know. You people need an autopsy of sorts. I'm not a forensic pathologist, you know. I work on the living. That's by choice. But I should be able to tell you what killed the man. It's pretty obvious. I don't suppose you want to see for yourself?"

"No! No, sir." Paul swallowed hastily, his stomach suddenly feeling just as it had when he first encountered zero-gravity. "There's a format you're supposed to follow. Do you…?"

"Probably, but let me see." The doctor scanned the form for a moment, then nodded and made a notation in his own data link. "Okay. I'll use that form. Am I supposed to fill out all these areas?"

"As many as possible, sir. The report needs to rule out possible contributing factors to the accident."

The doctor snorted derisively. "I guarantee he didn't die from a drug overdose. Or alcohol poisoning. But I still need to test for drugs or alcohol?"

"Yes, sir. Not that anyone thinks those were a factor, but we have to rule it out."

"The body tissues have suffered extensive trauma. Serious oxidation from the energy that hit him. I might not be able to get a good test."

Paul swallowed again. "You just have to try, sir. If… if there's no way to make a determination, we'll have to work with what evidence is available."

"Fine. I'll do my best." The doctor let his gaze wander toward a sealed storage bin. "Not that my best could have helped that poor bastard. I work on the living."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any idea yet how this happened? Aren't there some sort of precautions taken to ensure equipment isn't energized when someone is working on it?"

Paul glanced at the doctor, surprised by the question. But then, how would he know about electrical safety procedures? That isn't what he does. "Yes, sir. They use tags. There's an actual physical tag put on the circuit where it's switched off, saying don't turn it on because someone is working on it, and there's a virtual tag saying the same thing that's placed in the electrical distribution system software to prevent anyone from remotely activating the circuit."

"Why didn't they use these tags?"

"They did, sir. At least, that's what everyone involved is saying. Maybe someone overrode the virtual tag, or pulled the physical tag off the circuit. If so, we'll find out."

"I see." The doctor scowled at his table surface. "Then you can punish whoever was responsible. That won't help Petty Officer Davidas, you know."

"No, sir, it won't. But punishment isn't the primary reason for the investigation. Finding out what went wrong is most important. So we can try to make sure it never happens again to any other sailor."

The doctor nodded, his scowl fading. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. Sometimes you line officers seem obsessed with punishment, with trying to brow-beat the rest of the world into your model of accountability for any mistakes. If the goal of this investigation is to save lives, then it's a very good thing."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you?" The doctor looked at Paul skeptically. "Did I say something about you personally?"

"I'm a line officer, sir. For better or worse. And I'm assisting in the investigation, which means I have a personal involvement there, too."

"Line officers." The doctor shook his head. "You all think you're Atlas, carrying the world around on your shoulders. If you stopped for a moment, if you made a small mistake, the world wouldn't crash and break, you know."

Paul looked away. The burden of his chosen profession suddenly felt very heavy. "With all due respect, sir, it did for Petty Officer Davidas." He only hoped it hadn't been due to a small mistake on the part of Carl Meadows.

Garcia handled the investigation with what could only described as ruthless efficiency. Carl came back shaken from his interview, but refused to complain. "He asked me tough questions. That's exactly what he should be doing."

Kris leaned close to him. "Questions about what?"

"Stuff I expected, really. He asked me to describe everything I did relating to the accident. Whether I personally saw the virtual tag-out activated and tested. Whether I tugged on the physical tag-out to make sure it wouldn't fall off."

"I thought they found the physical tag still in place."

"They did. Garcia's making sure it didn't drift off and then somebody put it back after the accident."

"Why, that-"

"No." Carl held up a hand. "He's not being a bastard. He has to check that, rule it out. I know that tag was on firmly. But if Garcia doesn't prove that to everybody's satisfaction then he wouldn't be doing me any favors. Right, Paul?"

Paul nodded. "Right. Garcia has to check out every possible angle and ensure he knows what really went wrong. If Carl's innocent of wrongdoing, he'll prove that."

Kris glared at him. " If?"

Paul's head suddenly felt cold and empty. "I said if? Carl, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"That's okay. It's easy to make a mistake." Carl fell silent as the implications of his own words sank in, then smiled bitterly. "Looks like a lot of people are saying dumb things today."

Paul shook his head, angrier at himself than he'd ever been. "No. What I said wasn't dumb. It was stupid. You've told us you followed procedures and did everything by the book, just like you told Garcia. I'm really, really sorry."

Carl nodded, and Kris Denaldo lost her own anger. "Just make sure you don't make that kind of slip of the lip when you're talking to Garcia, Paul. Tell me something, though. What kind of standard is Garcia using to judge Carl? Is the fact Carl followed procedure good enough?"

"It should be. But the standard is a guy called ORP-man."

"ORP-man? Is that some kind of weird super-hero?"

Paul managed to smile. "No. ORP stands for ordinary, reasonable and prudent. An accident investigation is supposed to look at what an ordinary, reasonable and prudent man or woman would have done. You don't have to be perfect. But just sticking to procedure isn't good enough if a reasonable person would have noticed a problem and done something about it."

"ORP-man. That sounds so stupid."

"Yeah. But it kind of makes sense. I mean, isn't that the standard you'd want to be judged by?"

Kris frowned. "I don't know. It depends on who's doing the judging, and what their definition of ordinary, reasonable and prudent happens to be. Doesn't it?"

"Well…" Paul frowned as well. "I guess that's right. But, Carl, you're careful. You're smart. You'll pass that test."

Carl twitched a smile. "I sure hope so. Like I said, I told Garcia everything I did. All the procedures I followed. But I didn't tell him something else, because I couldn't."

Paul stared. "What? What didn't you tell him?"

"Anything I didn't do because I didn't think to do it and still haven't realized I should have done. Any procedure I should have followed but didn't know I should follow. And that might be what killed Davidas."

Kris leaned forward again, her anger this time directed at Carl. "You did not kill Petty Officer Davidas. You are not that big of a screw-up, Mr. Meadows."

"I'm glad you think so. I hope you're right."

"Jen told me she'd trust you with her life. Would Jen Shen say that if she didn't mean it?"

"No."

"You've still got a division to lead, Carl. This investigation will clear you. Until then, keep your head clear. I've got a watch to stand right now." Kris pulled herself from her seat, gesturing to Paul to follow. As soon as they'd left, she pointed back to the ensign locker where they'd left Carl. "I've got ten thousand things to do, as usual. But you keep an eye on him, Paul. You're living in the same compartment. If you think he's losing it, you make sure Jen and I know."

"I don't think he'll lose it, Kris. He's depressed, but that's understandable."

"Yes, it is. I just want to make sure it doesn't go beyond understandable depression. Okay?"

"Okay." Kris headed rapidly down the passageway. Paul watched her until she swung around a corner. "Carl? I've got some work to do in the operations spaces."

"So do it."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah. See you at lunch."

Paul followed in Kris Denaldo's wake, but he hadn't gotten far when he heard his name called.

"Paul." He turned, seeing Lieutenant Sindh in the door to her stateroom. "How's Carl holding up?"

Paul didn't know Sindh all that well, but he'd never heard anything bad about her, and she was on Jen Shen's list of good people. "Not too well. You can tell he's torn up inside."

"Losing a sailor isn't easy. Wondering if you're guilty of somehow causing that death is harder. Paul, I'm what you might call a lay minister. Not Carl's religion, but the role of ministering is fairly universal. Tell Carl for me that if he needs to talk, I'm available."

"I will. Thanks."

Around the next turn he met Jen Shen. "Hey, Paul. How's Carl?"

"Could be better."

"What's funny about that question?"

"Funny?" Paul hadn't realized he'd quirked a brief smile. "Nothing. It's just that Lieutenant Sindh asked me the same thing a few seconds ago. Are you a lay minister, too?"

"Me? I don't think so. But if you think Carl needs somebody's shoulder to cry on, let me know."

Paul nodded, this time smiling gratefully. "I think he does need that, but I don't think he's ready to do it."

"Men. Why you refuse to deal with emotions, I don't know. How's Garcia's investigation coming? Any idea?"

"Not a thing."

"You're supposed to be his assistant."

"No, I'm supposed to be assisting him. When he needs it. I've asked. He hasn't needed it."

Jen came close, peering into Paul's eyes. "If you heard they were going to railroad Carl, you'd tell us, wouldn't you? You'd tell him?"

Paul didn't have to wonder if his shock at the question showed. "How can you even ask that? I haven't heard anything that'd justify railroading Carl, and if I knew they were trying I'd do everything in my power to derail it."

Jen grinned as she eased away again. "I kinda thought that. I just wanted to hear it from you."

He glared at her. "How could you even wonder about that?"

"You're a nice guy, Paul. Sometimes nice guys have a problem with standing up to jerks."

"I don't."

"Hey." Jen came close enough again to squeeze his arm. "Sorry."

Paul tamped down his temper. I guess it wasn't all that unreasonable a question. And what right do I have to get bent out of shape while Carl's going through this investigation? "That's okay. But I don't let people walk all over me, or all over my friends."

She nodded. "You already said that. Look-"

Her next words were cut off by the shrill of the bosun's pipe over the ship's general announcing system. "Attention all hands. Use of fresh water is restricted to essential purposes only until further notice. Ensign Shen, your presence is requested in the After Auxiliary Machinery Room."

Jen slapped the palm of her hand against her forehead. "Crap."

Paul eyed her with concern. "What happened?"

"What happened is one of my two working osmosis filters must have broken again. Damn. I've got to get down there and try to nursemaid the blinking piece of junk back into shape. Listen, I think you, me and Carl are all off watch after dinner tonight. If I've managed to get this filter mess cleaned up by then, I'll stop by your ensign locker. If you think Carl needs to vent, we'll squeeze it out of him together."

"Thanks. Even if he doesn't want to vent, I'm sure he'll be happy for the company. Smilin' Sam gets harder to put up with every day."

"Yeah. Too bad he wasn't the one who got fried on that laser." Jen grimaced at Paul's expression as she started on her way aft. "I know, I know. I shouldn't have said that. Bad Jen. Bad girl. Later, Paul."

"Later. Good luck."

One of the advantages of investigating an accident on an underway ship was that every witness was easy to find, and with the threat of Commander Herdez' displeasure looming behind Commander Garcia's demands, those witnesses produced their statements in short order. Paul heard that Garcia had also been insisting on reviewing all electrical system records and had caused numerous simulations to be run on possible accident scenarios. Jen Shen had been uncharacteristically supportive of Garcia's push to conclude his investigation as quickly as possible. "I don't like not being able to trust equipment. If that laser's capable of zapping anyone else working on it, we need to know yesterday." But Garcia's findings and conclusions, if any, remained a mystery for another twenty-four hours.

"Ensign Sinclair, your presence is requested in the executive officer's stateroom."

Paul jerked with surprise at the announcement. He'd just left the bridge ten minutes earlier after standing the afternoon watch. Carl, looking like he'd slept even less than usual in the last few days, had relieved him for the two-hour long first dog watch. They hadn't said a word about the accident or the investigation, even though waiting for the results of the investigation was obviously an agony for Carl. Perhaps now that agony would end. Paul only prayed the announcement didn't portend the beginning of another agony.

When he arrived at her stateroom, Herdez held out a data cartridge. "Commander Garcia has completed his investigation into the death of Petty Officer Davidas." Nothing in the XO's voice or expression betrayed the results of that investigation. "Review it to ensure it complies with the requirements of the Judge Advocate General's Manual. I'd like it back as soon as possible."

Paul took the cartridge gingerly. "Yes, ma'am."

"The results of the investigation have not yet been approved by the captain. Do not share them with anyone."

"Yes, ma'am."

Paul hastened back to his stateroom and plugged in the cartridge, then read rapidly. I'll skim it first for conclusions and then go back to check all the details against the JAGMAN. Where… where… there. No finding of fault. All parties followed proper procedures. Unavoidable accident. Recommendations to prevent reoccurrence. Whew.

Feeling a weight lifted from his spirit, Paul went back to the beginning of the report and began carefully comparing it to the examples he had and the instructions in the Judge Advocate General's Manual. So engrossed was he that he didn't look up when someone entered, only gradually becoming aware of someone else in the stateroom. "Carl? Your watch is over? Has it been two hours?"

"Yeah. It was on my end, anyway. What's so interesting?"

Paul hesitated, watching as Carl frowned at his reaction, then gazed worriedly at the display. "It's Garcia's investigation. He's finished. Herdez gave it to me to review for compliance with legal requirements. The captain hasn't approved the results yet so I'm not supposed to tell anyone about them."

"Oh." Carl looked away, the tension in his body obvious.

Hell. I'm not going to do this to him. "Carl. The report has no finding of fault. It says everybody did what they were supposed to do. The accident was unavoidable using correct procedures."

"How'd Garcia say it happened?"

Paul indicated the display. "The virtual circuit tag-out on the system fell through the cracks when the system techs had to do an emergency reboot and the system failed to carry through the temporary file. The physical tag-out didn't work because one of the switches in that junction failed, and the system automatically did a cascading power redistribution that required it to activate that circuit. With the virtual tag-out gone, the system didn't know it wasn't supposed to do that."

"Sounds sort of stupid to let a system reset switches like that in a non-emergency situation."

"That's what Garcia said. It was a one-in-a-million combination of events, but it could happen again. He recommends system software be altered to prohibit that kind of stuff without a human review of the action except during an emergency."

Carl Meadows stared somberly at his desk, then nodded briefly. "Okay. Thanks."

"I thought you might be a little happier to hear that news."

"I am. Really. It's just…" Meadows stared at his hands. "A sailor died, Paul. A Mark One Mod Zero human being ceased to exist… and it's nobody's fault. Nobody did anything wrong. Nobody caused it directly. Just an accident. Blast it, shouldn't there have to be a reason when somebody dies?"

"Carl, you need to talk to a chaplain about that. The meaning and purpose of life is way beyond my pay grade."

"Yeah. Not that the Merry Mike rated having a chaplain along on this little pleasure cruise, and I won't spill my guts to any virtual padre on the ship's computer systems."

"Don't forget Lieutenant Sindh's offer."

"I haven't. She's a decent person. Maybe I'll take her up on it, now." Carl rubbed his face wearily. "Damn, I wish I could get drunk."

"Drinking never solved anything."

"So says the youthful ensign. I'm not looking to solve anything, Paul, I just need something that'll help me unwind for one night." Meadows smiled crookedly. "Mind you, if I started taking that route to oblivion every night, you'd be right. You ever think about dying in combat, Paul?"

"Uh, sometimes."

"I know, we're not at war. Officially, anyway. Odds are if anything lethal happens to you or me it'll be an accident. But accidents just happen. You don't deliberately walk into them. Combat's deliberate, putting your life on the line while you think about it. Can you handle that?"

Paul hesitated before replying. "I hope so."

"An honest man. Diogenes, where are you? I hope so, too. I was thinking that if this accident was going to happen, then thank God that Davidas didn't have a chance to know it was coming. Thanks for letting me know what Garcia found out, shipmate. If you're done with that report, you'd best get it back to Commander Herdez before she finds out you've been talking to anybody about it."

"Right." Paul paused as he started to eject the data cartridge. "Hang in there, Carl."

"Hey, I lost a guy. It happens in this line of work. I'll get over it. Mostly."

"It wasn't your fault. You did everything you should." Paul pointed to his display. "That's official, now. You know Garcia wouldn't have cut you any slack."

"Yeah. I do know that. And it really does mean a lot to know I didn't make it happen by some careless act on my part. But I think it's going to take a while to work through me. You know?"

"I think so. Don't forget Jen's offered her shoulder if you need it."

"Now that's an attractive offer. Me leaning on Jen's shoulder. What do you think Smilin' Sam would do if he came in here and found me draped over Jen?"

Paul smiled at the vision. "His brain would probably explode."

Carl grinned as well, a trace of his old humor finally surfacing. "That might be worth what Herdez would do to me afterwards. But, no, better not. I might like it too much."

"Watching Sam's brain explode?"

"No. Being draped over Jen." Carl raised his eyebrows at Paul's expression. "What? You've never thought about it?"

"I don't… I mean… I try not to…"

"They can't nail you for thinking, Paul. Not yet, anyway. Just don't tell Jen."

"There's nothing to tell Jen!"

"Oh, come on. How about Kris?"

"No!"

"Ah hah. Lieutenant Sindh? Lieutenant Tweed?"

"Carl, you-" Paul stopped, staring at Meadows. "You're riding me for fun. You're joking. You do feel better."

"Yeah. I do. Thanks for cluing me in on that report. It takes a real weight off me to know I didn't cause it, and apparently couldn't have prevented it. I imagine I'll spend the rest of my life wishing there'd been something I could have done anyway, but now I know that's just wishful thinking. Between you looking out for me on the investigation and the babes mothering me, I've been well taken care of. You're all good people."

"So are you, Carl."

Paul made his way back to the XO's stateroom and offered her the data cartridge. "As near as I can determine, ma'am, Commander Garcia's investigation complies with all the requirements of the Judge Advocate General's Manual."

"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair." Commander Herdez took the offered cartridge, then looked sharply at Paul. "You seem to be happy, Mr. Sinclair."

Uh oh. I let my good mood at how Carl felt show. But I wasn't supposed to tell him. Better be careful what I say. "Yes, ma'am. I'm, um, happy at Commander Garcia's conclusions."

"Did you think Lieutenant Junior Grade Meadows would be found at fault?"

"No, ma'am. But… I did fear that might happen."

Herdez turned back to her work. "Reserve your fears for events whose outcomes you can influence, Mr. Sinclair. Had Mr. Meadows failed in his duties, our duty would have been to call him to account. I will agree that would have compounded the tragedy of Petty Officer Davidas' loss, but it would have been necessary. To do otherwise would have betrayed Petty Officer Davidas' sacrifice."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair."

Paul left, pondering the XO's words. Duty means we do stuff we may hate doing. I've always known that in the abstract, but this would have been very real and very personal. Suppose Carl had been at fault? Would I have been willing to pursue that? Or would I have taken the easy way out and tried to cover up that fault? I'm glad I didn't have to find out.

He went back to the stateroom, finding Carl had left, and laid down for a few moments, gazing at the tangle of conduits and wires not far from his nose whose patterns were becoming so familiar he had started to name the shapes he could imagine within them. Despite everything else his mind could fasten on, Paul found himself unable to shake Carl's earlier ribbing about Jen Shen. Why'd it bother me when Carl joked about making out with Jen? Get a grip. Jen's never shown that kind of interest in me, and was the first person to warn me against onboard relationships. Yeah, I like her, but that's not the same thing as imagining some sort of involvement, and she's never shown any sign of doing more than liking me. Jen'd probably say I was an idiot if she knew I was even spending this much time thinking about it. Then she'd keep me at arm's length for the rest of her time on board. Life's hard enough right now. Don't drive away one of the people who's making it bearable by giving in to ridiculous fantasies. He rolled out of his bunk, strapped into his chair, and began going over his OSWO qualifications. The drudgery of that should keep him focused on reality.

Within a few hours, Captain Wakeman approved Commander Garcia's investigation and forwarded it to fleet staff. Under normal circumstances, the Michaelson wasn't supposed to send even the brief transmission needed to shoot a compressed file of the report back to Franklin Station, because even that short transmission surely betrayed her general location to anyone watching carefully. But the death of a sailor wasn't normal circumstances.

A few days passed, then the reply came. Investigation results approved by Commander, United States Naval Space Forces. Recommendations forwarded to appropriate authorities for action. Instructions for the disposition of the remains of Petty Officer Davidas.

Paul checked his appearance carefully. Service Dress uniforms designed to hang naturally in gravity tended to get bunched up and absurd-looking in zero g, and this was one occasion where he wanted to ensure he looked as good as possible. Fortunately, before leaving Earth he'd been advised to attach Velcro liberally beneath the uniform blouse and trousers. The black armband around one sleeve of his uniform blouse, just snug enough to stay in place and weighing almost nothing, felt unnaturally heavy and tight.

"Do I look okay?" Carl Meadows appeared pale against the Navy blue of his uniform, his relief at the results of the investigation overshadowed at the moment by the ceremony they were about to attend.

"Yeah, Carl, you look good. Ready?"

"Yeah. This doesn't seem right without swords."

"I know." On Earth, such a solemn occasion would require full dress uniforms with swords, their gilt pommels swathed in black. But even the tradition-obsessed Navy wouldn't allow officers to bring swords into space. Too much extraneous mass to haul around, and too many sharp points capable of causing damage to delicate components packed inside spacecraft hulls.

The quarterdeck area never felt large. With the burial party assembled in it, and with everyone trying to leave at least a small gap between themselves and the body tube holding the remains of Petty Officer Davidas, it felt tight enough to induce claustrophobia. Paul squeezed in next to Kris Denaldo, who smiled briefly in wordless greeting before turning a somber gaze back on the body tube. Carl moved farther forward, close to the body tube, where he joined the enlisted members of the burial party.

"Attention on deck." Everyone stiffened to the best of their ability as Captain Wakeman and Commander Herdez wedged themselves into the crowd. Wakeman, looking decidedly uncomfortable, muttered "at ease" and gestured toward Herdez.

The XO cleared her throat. "We are here to commit the mortal remains of Petty Officer Michael Davidas to the depths of space. His family has indicated their desire that he be cremated within the Sun's own fires. Upon completion of this service, his body tube will be fired on a trajectory which will, in the course of time, bring it to that end." She consulted her data link, then began reciting the Burial Service. As the words came out, Herdez' voice softened and took on a lilting cadence, drawing surprised glances from most of the officers and enlisted present. Ending, Herdez put away her data link. "Now, I invite you to join me in the Navy Hymn." She began singing, also softly, as the others on the quarterdeck joined in raggedly.

Eternal Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep;

Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,

For those in peril on the sea!

Eternal Father, King of birth,

Who didst create the heaven and earth,

And bid the planets and the sun

Their own appointed orbits run;

O hear us when we seek thy grace

From those who soar through outer space.

The singing tapered off, then Commander Herdez looked around the quarterdeck at those present. "The Navy Hymn was originally written in the 1860s. The verse speaking of those in space was added in the 1960s. Sailors have always faced peril, and not always come home. But Petty Officer Davidas is part of a endless line of explorers and seafarers stretching back for untold centuries. Now he has gone to join them, and their ranks are surely brightened by that." Herdez nodded to a bosun mate who placed his left hand on the controls of a portable stereo. "Hand salute."

Everyone somehow managed to find the room to swing their arms up and hold their best salutes.

The bosun hit the Play control on his stereo, and the slow, mournful notes of Taps echoed softly through the quarterdeck until the last, long measure trailed off into silence.

"Two."

Everyone dropped their salutes.

"That is all. Thank you for coming."

"Wait a minute." The beginnings of movement halted as Captain Wakeman finally spoke again. "I wanted to pass on some good news on this solemn occasion." A nervous smile flickered across his face. "As some of you know, we've been watching a South Asian Alliance ship for some time. He's been hugging the edge of our area, but he's just taken the plunge and he's coming right through without requesting permission. We're going to intercept that ship! Who knows, we may even have to seize it. It's a great opportunity, and, well, let's get after him!" Wakeman ducked out the hatch, leaving silence behind him.

Paul watched Commander Herdez' face as she eyed the Captain's departure, her expression revealing no emotion.

After a brief pause, Herdez glanced around once again. "Dismissed."

Paul held himself in place, waiting for a few moments while others tried to wedge themselves through the hatches instead of fighting the crowd himself. His gaze settled on the body tube and the four sailors standing beside it along with Carl Meadows, ready to transport it to the launch tube from which it would be fired into space. Another ship, coming through this area and apparently deliberately defying the U.S. claim to this part of space. Does it know we're here? We might have been detected when we sent in the investigation report. Rumors of Q-ships came back to haunt him. Is it armed, a warship in disguise, maybe planning to surprise us and take us out before we can defend ourselves? Are we going to be in a shooting engagement before all is said and done? He watched the body tube, wondering if it would be merely the first of many he'd see on this trip. Wakeman's enthusiasm seemed not only inappropriate, but also thoughtless. I need to take another look at our orders.