A Just Determination

Chapter Six

The other ship stood out easily against the backdrop of space, but then most objects did. Like all warships, the USS Michaelson carried a wide variety of eyes with which to scan the heavens for items of interest. Some were devoted to watching for natural objects that might pose a hazard to the Michaelson herself by blundering through the same location in space at the same time as the ship. Others watched for human artifacts, which could generate hazards of a different nature.

"Space is cold." Jan Tweed pointed at the read-out beneath the symbol representing the intruding ship. "Look how much hotter that ship is than the temperature of space around it. It's like seeing a campfire in the distance."

"Do we have any visual yet?" Paul leaned closer to the display as if that could somehow resolve details on the distant ship better.

"Just background occlusion." As objects moved through space they might not be directly visible themselves, but their movement could be spotted by watching them block the view of stars behind them. "Nothing detailed."

"Strong temperature variation and background occlusion. Then it's not a warship."

Jan shrugged. "Or it is a warship, and he's turned off his can't-see-me system and is broadcasting vented waste heat instead of recycling it."

"I guess that could be true, couldn't it?" Paul glanced upward, as if he could somehow see the sophisticated system which made the Michaelson and other warships so hard to spot. Almost the entire outer hull was covered with micro-lenses interspersed with video displays. Anything a lens saw on one side of the ship was looped 180 degrees to the opposite side of the ship and displayed on a screen. With all the lenses and screens working, all you saw when you looked at the Michaelson was whatever the lenses on the opposite side were seeing, just as if the ship weren't there at all blocking the view. Effectively, the Michaelson bent light around her and remained invisible inside her cocoon. It wasn't a perfect system because small gaps existed in the lens/screen array, but you had to get pretty close to spot those gaps. With waste heat disposal minimized and directed out along an empty vector away from the ship, neither visual nor infra-red sensors had much chance of seeing the Michaelson from a distance.

"Yup." Tweed eyed him dubiously. "Did you read the intelligence assessment on Q-ships?"

"Yeah. 'Insufficient evidence exists to either prove or disprove the existence of Q-ship type combatants, so caution is advised when approaching other ships.'" Paul quoted. "That's a lot of help."

"Sir?" Paul turned at the question, seeing both enlisted watch standers eyeing him and Lieutenant Tweed. "Sir, we've heard these Q-ship things mentioned a lot. What are they?"

Jan made a deferring gesture to Paul, who ordered his thoughts before speaking. "The basic idea's been around a long time. You make a warship look like an innocent merchant ship, and when your prey gets close enough you drop the disguise and open fire."

"I saw a video where pirates did that," the bosun mate of the watch offered. "Way back when, with sailing ships and stuff. How come they call 'em Q-ships?"

"Because that's what the Brits called them during World War One. They had a serious problem with enemy submarines attacking their merchant ships, so they made these ships they called Q-ships as sort of a secret name. If a submarine approached on the surface to sink what it thought was a helpless merchant, the Q-ship would try to surprise and sink the sub."

"That's a nasty trick. So that guy we're heading to intercept might be that kind of trap?"

"It's… possible. There's no proof any Q-ships actually exist in space."

"Ships go missing," the quartermaster of the watch insisted. "Just gone."

Lieutenant Tweed smiled indulgently. "Accidents. Unfortunately, they happen."

"Well, maybe, Ma'am." Plainly unconvinced, the quartermaster exchanged glances with the bosun mate, then the two enlisted watch standers launched into a whispered discussion of the pirate video one had seen.

"I don't think you convinced them," Paul muttered.

Jan smiled crookedly. "I know a little bit about fear, Paul. I don't like that we don't know more about this other ship, I don't like the way he's heading straight into our area so brazenly, and I don't like all the rumors about covert warships."

"A lot of rumors are just garbage. Totally wrong."

"How many rumors do you have to bet your life on them being garbage?"

"Not a lot." Paul tagged the ship's symbol and read the associated data as it scrolled by. "They think it's a South Asian Alliance ship?"

"That's what they think."

"The South Asians have been pretty aggressive lately, back on Earth.

"I read the same intelligence reports you did, Paul. If you're trying to reassure me, you're doing a lousy job."

"Do you think he knows we're here? If our transmission of the death investigation report betrayed our general location, why would he have decided to make a dash inside our sovereign claimed area?"

"You said the SASALs have been aggressive lately. Maybe knowing we're here is why that ship decided to come in. The timing's about right, anyway."

"But, why…?" That's what a Q-ship would do, wouldn't it? If it was looking for a victim to come running up to it. But it's also what any other ship trying to challenge our sovereign claim would do. If we didn't react to the incursion when we had a ship nearby, it would make a stronger case that we hadn't enforced our claim. "I really don't like this. I hope we handle this intercept real carefully."

"Why don't you let the Captain know that?" She smiled briefly to rob the words of offense, then rushed to change the subject. "You ready for the zone inspection?"

"The zone inspection?" Paul rubbed his eyes. "I've hardly thought about it. With everything going on…" His voice trailed off as he caught the look on Jan's face. "The XO's just going to check our spaces, right? She's going to walk through and see how clean and well-maintained they are. I'm sure Chief Imari-"

"Have you talked to Chief Imari about it?"

"Uh… I think I did."

"Paul, the XO is death on zone inspections. You better make sure the spaces you have responsibility for look good." She checked the time. "Not that you'll have much chance to fix them if they're not. The inspection is half an hour after we get off watch. Maybe you ought to give Chief Imari a call?"

"Yeah. Maybe." But I've been doing so much extra work for Herdez on this legal stuff, and that's one of the reasons I didn't remember to do more preparations for this inspection. Surely the XO will take that into account. Still, I guess I better check with Chief Imari anyway. Paul was reaching for the comm pad when their watch reliefs arrived. It wasn't until he was leaving the bridge that he remembered the aborted call to Chief Imari.

As it turned out, Paul wasn't able to locate Chief Imari before having to join Commander Garcia and Commander Herdez, who were ready to begin the inspection. "Where's Lieutenant Tweed?" Garcia barked, a question which now tended to instantly generate a headache in Paul. Fortunately, Jan Tweed rushed up a moment later, apologizing for being last in a swift, low voice and looking away rather than face Garcia and the XO directly. Breathing a silent prayer, Paul followed the others as the inspection party trooped through the Operations Department spaces assigned to the Operations Specialist Division.

For the most part, Herdez remained silent as they went through Tweed's spaces, occasionally checking a detail up close or nodding in brief approval over some well-maintained equipment. A gleaming knife-edge on an emergency hatch actually drew a few words of praise.

"Mr. Sinclair." Paul winced inside at the XO's tone as she pointed at a similar but tarnished edge in one of his spaces. "Unacceptable." His guts got tighter as they proceeded and Herdez issued head-shakes and frowns over discrepancies in cleanliness and maintenance.

At the end of the excursion, Herdez faced the others. "Good job, Lieutenant Tweed. Ensign Sinclair, your spaces need considerable work. I will conduct another inspection of them at fourteen hundred tomorrow. I expect them to meet standards by then." With a nod to Commander Garcia, she turned and headed away.

Garcia, his face darkening more with each passing second, waited until the XO turned a corner before rounding on Paul. "What the hell excuse do you have for not properly preparing for that inspection?"

A million possible answers flooded through Paul's mind, even though he knew only one answer would not only keep him from being verbally ripped apart but also be true. "I have no excuse, sir."

Garcia glowered, raising both hands in a threatening gesture he converted to a single finger not far from Paul's nose. "You will make sure your spaces are ready for the XO's reinspection tomorrow. There will be no discrepancies. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you ever fail a zone inspection in my department again, I will make sure you wish you'd never been born. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Garcia seemed to be on the verge of saying more, but choked off whatever it might have been then left, somehow managing to stomp even in zero g.

Paul took a deep breath, shuddering slightly. "Damn."

Jan Tweed, her head slightly lowered, was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "You made Garcia look bad, Paul."

"I know. The cardinal sin. Dammit, I thought Chief Imari would take care of the spaces!"

"Paul, Chief Imari isn't your servant. She's got plenty of her own responsibilities. If you never indicated to her that you placed a priority on making sure your spaces were ready, why should she worry about it?"

"But-"

"But nothing. You can't put any of your jobs on automatic and expect Chief Imari, or any other enlisted, to do them for you. You have to show an interest and be involved." Tweed shook her head, her face reflecting past miseries. "Believe me."

"I do."

"This hurts worse, you know."

"What hurts worse?"

"The times you get chewed out and you really deserve it. They hurt a lot more than a chewing out you don't deserve."

"I won't argue with that. Thanks, Jan." It's funny. Most people on the ship think of Jan Tweed as a failed officer, just putting in her time until she gets out of the Navy and can find a place to hide forever from the Commander Garcias of the world. But she just gave me a constructive leadership lesson, and chewed me out in way I didn't even recognize as being chewed out until this instant. She could be ten times the leader Garcia is. Or I guess she could've been that someday, if she hadn't screwed up too much too early and been ridden too hard as a result.

Chief Imari, when eventually found, expressed contrition for the state of the spaces and walked through them with Paul, noting specific items to be corrected no later than noon tomorrow. "Chief, I'll do another walk-through with you at noon, and if we spot anything that's been missed we'll have some time left to correct it."

"Good idea, Mr. Sinclair. Sorry again. We should have done this walk-through before the inspection."

"Right. Next time I'll make sure we do." He headed back towards officer's country, praying he wouldn't encounter Sam Yarrow, who surely had already heard of the inspection's disastrous outcome and would just as surely express mock sympathy while prying for any word or action he could use to dig Paul's hole a little deeper. Instead, he almost collided with Jen Shen.

She took one look at his face, then grabbed his arm. "This looks bad. Come and talk."

"Jen, I don't really-"

"Yes, you do. Whatever happened, we've all been there, Paul." A few moments later he was sitting in the port ensign locker, Jen hovering nearby and Kris Denaldo handling e-paperwork while keeping one ear tuned to the conversation. "What happened?"

Paul described the inspection, his lack of preparation, and its outcome. "Herdez went over those spaces like a Marine drill sergeant. She didn't cut me any slack at all."

"What'd you expect?"

"Well, hell, Jen. I've been busting my butt on stuff she assigned me to do. I thought, well…"

"You expected Herdez to give you some special treatment because you'd been doing extra work for her."

Paul flinched. "I guess that's right. Pretty dumb, huh?"

"Very dumb, even for an ensign."

"Thanks. But doesn't Herdez, well, owe me something for all that extra work? She must think I'm doing a decent job of it."

Jen laughed. "Oh, I remember when I was as young and innocent as you are now."

Kris Denaldo's eyebrows shot up. "Innocent? You?"

"I don't need any comments from you, Saint Denaldo. Okay, think carefully, Paul. We're talking about Commander Herdez here. If she likes the work you're doing, what does she do?"

Paul took a moment to think through the question, then grimaced. "She gives you more work."

"And harder work. Because that's how the XO thinks. She thinks that's a cool reward system. The more Commander Herdez likes you, the more work she gives you." Jen pointed toward Kris. "Case in point. Miss Perpetual Motion here. Look at her work-load. Commander Herdez must love her."

Kris Denaldo sighed. "I think it's gone beyond love. If I get any more duties assigned I'll assume she wants to marry me."

Jen chuckled, then swung down to hover at Kris' feet. "Oh, Ensign Denaldo, will you make me the happiest XO in the world and be my aide? All I can promise you is twenty-eight hours of work in every twenty-four hour period."

"Really?" Denaldo squealed like an infatuated teenager. "Oh, Commander! I don't know what to say!"

"Try 'Aye, aye, ma'am.'" Jen glanced at Paul as he started laughing. "Somebody's feeling better."

"You two are insane."

"So? It helps us cope with the wonderful lives we lead." Jen came back to perch near Paul, peering into his eyes. "Okay, so what have we learned?"

"Not to expect any favors from Commander Herdez."

"Because…?"

"She figures riding me like an overloaded pack mule going straight up a mountain is doing me a favor."

"Very good. Kris, you got about an hour free anytime soon?"

"Uh, let's see." Denaldo checked her data link, then looked skeptically at Jen Shen. "How about half an hour? Forty-five minutes? That's it. Tops."

"Okay. Forty-five minutes it is. Paul, we've both been through this drill. You need those spaces to be immaculate tomorrow but you have to concentrate on the right kind of immaculate. Kris and I will do a run-through of your spaces and try to spot the problems the XO will fixate on so you can focus on fixing them."

"Jen. Kris. That's a real big favor. I can't ask-"

"You didn't," Denaldo pointed out. "We volunteered. Well, Jen volunteered both of us, but the principle's the same. You'd do the same for us, right?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Right. All for one and all that crap. Now will you please get out of here so I can get some work done?"

"Sure. Thanks. Jen, if there's ever anything…"

"Ask me that next time we're in port and I can't afford to buy any more drinks."

"You're on."

"Careful," Kris warned sotto voice, "or Smiling Sam Yarrow will start spreading rumors about you two."

Jen grinned nastily even as she shoved Paul out the hatch. "I doubt it. Ever since I threatened to break his arm unless he moved his hand real quick, Yarrow's invested too much time spreading rumors I'm a lesbian. Paul, we'll run you down after we've done our spot-check."

Paul's guts still seemed like they'd never unknot, but he felt a lot better nonetheless. Live and learn. I just wish the learning could be a little less painful.

"How'd the reinspection go?" Jan asked as Paul assumed the watch and slid into his chair.

"Good enough, I guess. The XO said it was 'acceptable' and Garcia didn't rip my head off."

"You can't ask for much more from a day, can you?" She grinned in an uncharacteristic display of happiness, then rubbed her hands. "Plus we get to fire off a burn on this watch. How long's it been since the Merry Mike maneuvered?"

"I can't even remember." Most of time they coasted. Every time the ship maneuvered, changing course and/or speed, it threw out signs that someone watching for ships could see. They could localize the Michaelson from such signs, though the longer the Michaelson remained silent after such maneuvers the greater the uncertainty such watchers would have of her current position. However, in order to intercept the intruder ship, they'd have to maneuver now. Paul checked his display, calling up the maneuvering information. Digits were counting off in one corner, showing the time remaining until the ship's thrusters pivoted her to a new heading and her main drives pushed her a little faster in the right direction. "Sweet."

"And simple. Mind if I take it?"

"Be my guest." Jan hadn't had to ask, since as Officer of the Deck she could assume any function of Paul's she wanted, but he appreciated that she didn't take advantage of that. Besides, the entire firing sequence of both maneuvering thrusters and main drive would be orchestrated by the ship's computers after they were given the go-ahead by the human watch standers. Pushing that single button would be a minor thrill, but one he was willing to let Jan Tweed experience.

Oddly enough, the pending maneuver made the first portion of the watch drag as they waited. At one hour prior to the maneuver Jan Tweed beckoned to the bosun mate of the watch, who raised his archaic pipe to his lips and shrilled out the ancient naval call to attention before making an announcement on the all-hands circuit. "All hands prepare for maneuvering in one hour. Secure all objects and materials. Undertake no task which cannot be completed prior to maneuvering." The message was repeated at the half-hour and quarter-hour points.

Five minutes prior, as the bosun was issuing his latest warning, Captain Wakeman entered the bridge. "Captain's on the bridge!"

Lieutenant Tweed saluted and indicated the main maneuvering display. "We are ready to execute our course and speed change, Captain."

"Right. Uh, how long?"

"In five minutes, sir."

"No, no, no. How long will the maneuvering last?"

Jan flushed. "Ten minutes, sir. As indicated on the display."

Captain Wakeman glanced at the indicated data, his face sour, as Commander Herdez arrived on the bridge. "XO, has this maneuvering solution been double-checked?"

Herdez didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir. Three times." She looked at Tweed. "I believe the watch has run a fourth check."

"That's correct, ma'am."

"Hmmm." Wakeman settled into his chair, fumbling with the straps. "Can this watch team handle it? Shouldn't we have our varsity up here?"

Paul felt himself flushing this time at Wakeman's casual public questioning of his competence, but Herdez shook her head. "This is a capable watch team, Captain. I'm certain they will execute the maneuver without any problem."

"All right. Let's get on with it, then."

Tweed signaled the bosun to issue the final advance warning at the one minute point, while Paul maliciously wondered if Captain Wakeman would mess with this maneuver in the hope of impressing unseen watchers. I can't believe he asked that question about us being able to handle it right in front of us. What a jerk.

Jan looked at him a moment after the thought and quirked a smile, causing Paul a sudden worry that he might have spoken his last thought out loud. But she simply pointed to the timer, where the final seconds were counting down. "It's not much fun when the maneuvering computer handles everything, is it?" she murmured. With a final glance to either side at the Captain and the XO, Tweed firmly pushed the approve button as the count hit zero.

Stresses jerked Paul against his straps as the maneuvering thrusters pushed the Michaelson 's bow around to a new heading, then rolled the ship slightly to accommodate the human desire to align themselves heads-up within the solar system. A tiny object went flying past Paul as the force of the thrusters generated a partial equivalent to gravity. Without thinking, he flung out one hand and more through luck than design managed to snag the debris. He glanced at it, apparently a data chip misplaced during routine maintenance, then looked to see if anyone else had noticed and found the XO's eyes on him. It figures she'd have seen it. I don't think Herdez misses anything. He braced himself for a withering look, but instead the XO actually seemed amused.

The thrusters cut off, then shoved from the opposite side, slowing the Michaelson 's bow with just enough force to halt the momentum of thousands of tons of mass and make the bow stop on the desired heading. A moment of silence and anticipation, then the main drives cut in, shoving everyone back in their chairs. Paul strained to pull in deep breaths even as the bosun whooped, "Yeee-hah!" After months of little or no gravity, the two g's of acceleration felt awful, but also exhilarating.

Now they were watching the time count down again. Paul's gaze switched between the digits showing burn-time remaining and the maneuvering display on which the marker representing the Michaelson and her course slid steadily onto the desired vector. The main drive cut off, and a few moments later the actual and desired vectors joined as one. Paul swallowed hard and gritted his teeth as his inner ears and stomach protested the many and varied changes in gravity conditions as well as the sudden return to zero g.

Lieutenant Tweed pivoted in her chair to face the captain. "Maneuvering completed successfully, Captain. The Michaelson is on course for intercept."

"Hmmm. Very well." Wakeman unstrapped himself, then moved away unsteadily.

"Captain's left the bridge!"

"Thank you, bosun," Herdez replied. "And next time we maneuver, try to restrain your enthusiasm."

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

"Good job, Lieutenant Tweed." Herdez left even as Jan acknowledged the praise.

Tweed rubbed her neck. "Ahhh. So much for excitement." She noticed Paul staring intently at the maneuvering display. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering. Is it possible for a human to maneuver the ship anything like that?"

"Sure it is. Just like that. You just have to feel her motion, anticipate the right moments to kick in different thrusters, and not try to haul her around like a bag of bricks on the end of a rope. You don't look like you believe me."

"I'm sorry, but… the maneuvering system computers handle complex problems in a flash. How could any human do what they just did?"

"By feeling the ship. Look, you've been real straight with me, Paul, so I'll tell you a secret. If you promise not to tell anyone else." Paul nodded, frowning in puzzlement, as Jan tapped her display. "Here's the automatic ship's log for the maneuver we just completed. What's it say?"

"It says… it says the automated maneuver controls were disabled. The maneuver was controlled from-" Paul checked the words again in disbelief. "From the officer of the deck's watch station. You handled that maneuver? Manually?"

"Yeah. I disabled the automated controls beforehand. The maneuvering control relays are right here on the chair handles, so you can manipulate them easily while everyone else is staring at the displays."

"Geez. If Wakeman had found out-"

Tweed grinned nervously. "He won't. Not from you. Right?"

"I promised. But that's amazing. You're a great ship handler, Jan. That maneuver was perfect."

"Thanks. Now remember what I told you. It's a secret."

"But-"

"A secret. Nobody else hears a word of it."

"If they review the log-"

"Nobody looks at the log. They're too busy handling whatever's going on right now to worry about what happened five minutes ago. Don't tell anybody else what I showed you, Paul."

Tweed's face was firmer than Paul had ever seen it, so he nodded in assent. I guess she just wants to prove to herself how good she can be at something. But why not let the others know? I don't understand. Good thing no one spotted her working those controls. Paul frowned again, remember the XO's eyes on him when he snagged the tiny bit of flotsam. Herdez doesn't miss anything. Does she know? She must know. That "Good job, Lieutenant Tweed" bit. Why would she say that about just activating an automated maneuvering sequence? But it's like she's keeping it a secret that she knows Tweed's secret because she knows Tweed needs it to be a secret for her own reasons. Paul shook his head, slightly dizzy from following his last thought train. Jan flicked another nervous smile his way and he nodded back to her in reassurance.

"The SASAL ship is running." Paul glanced up in surprise at Lieutenant Sindh's calm statement. "They, or South Asian deep space sensors, must have spotted us when we maneuvered for intercept."

"They're going to get away?" Paul felt a mix of regret and relief.

"Maybe. We're calculating course options now, trying to see if we can still manage an intercept inside the US zone."

Lieutenant Bristol looked up from his meal. "What if they can't? Can we intercept them outside the zone?"

"We can. The question is, may we?" Sindh glanced at Paul. "What do the orders say, almost-a-JAG?"

Paul snorted at the nickname, then concentrated on remembering the twists and turns of their convoluted orders. "There's a lot of room in there for the captain's discretion. But, orders aside, we don't really have legal authority to stop another ship which isn't in an area we claim."

"Even if he used to be in our area?"

"That's right. If we don't catch him inside our zone, we're not supposed to haul him over outside of it. It's sort of a jurisdictional thing. Just chasing him out of our zone enforces our claim."

Jen Shen swung over to grab another tube of coffee. "Unambiguously?"

"Well, no. Not like actually catching him in our area."

Sindh looked around the wardroom as if evaluating her audience. "Chasing another ship out of the zone isn't going to generate lots of good visibility for the Michaelson. Or her captain."

Paul bit his tongue. She's saying what we're all thinking. Wakeman isn't going to let a potential career boost like seizing that ship slip through his fingers.

"If we do that, seize the SASAL ship outside our zone, won't it generate bad visibility?" Bristol asked. "Since it'd be illegal?"

Sindh made a face. "I don't think Paul said such a seizure would be illegal. He said we're not supposed to do it by international standards."

Paul nodded. "I'm no expert, but it seems to be really complicated. The XO has had me draft some point papers to try to explain it all to the captain-"

Jen snorted. "Explain complicated stuff to Cap'n Pete? Good luck. He's so dense he bends light."

Sindh suppressed a smile. "Jen…"

"Okay, okay. I'll watch my words. But the point's the same. Trust me, if there's room in our orders for our captain to figure he can grab the SASAL ship in or out of our claimed area, he'll try to do it."

On the heels of her statement, the bosun's pipe shrilled on the all-hands circuit. "All hands prepare for maneuvering in five minutes. Secure all objects and materials. Undertake no task that cannot be completed prior to maneuvering."

Sindh looked toward the speaker. "I suppose that means we've calculated a new intercept trajectory. We'd best get comfortable. If the Captain is going to try to manage an intercept within our area, this might be a long burn to build up sufficient velocity."

Jen hoisted her coffee, then dropped the tube back into storage undrunk. "Yeah. 'Damn the torpedoes,' but since we don't know how long we might be pinned down I'm not drinking this."

"High-g acceleration is hell on a full bladder," Sindh agreed.

It felt strange. They were in a chase, heading at high speed toward a point where they should intercept the fleeing SASAL ship just inside the American area. But, as if in a dream, the huge distances to be covered caused the chase to play out in slow motion over days and weeks. On maneuvering displays, the vectors of the Michaelson and the other ship continued converging, but at an apparent snail's pace. Physically, the SASAL ship was off the Michaelson 's starboard bow and about ten degrees above the plane of the Michaelson. As the ships converged, that position never changed even though the distance to the other ship steadily decreased. Constant bearing and decreasing range had been the formula for intercept or collision for as long as ships had sailed, and it applied just as surely in space.

Inside the Michaelson, activity had the same hurry-up-and-wait feeling. Preparations, planning, and training for the impending encounter were run-through and then run-through again.

It's like they expect us to intercept the SASAL ship in a couple of hours, but then we come out of the training sessions and realize it's still a couple of weeks away. How's anybody supposed to keep their adrenalin pumped for that long?

Paul glumly went back to scanning the section of the Ship's Organization and Regulations Manual update he'd been assigned to review. Possible impending combat or not, the Michaelson 's command structure had no intention of letting routine paperwork slide, and there wasn't anything more tedious or routine than updating the SORM. General Quarters. Ship's company to battle stations. Highest state of alert and readiness. Blah, blah, blah. Station assignments. Assistant Combat Information Center Officer, which is me, posted in the Combat Information Center. That'd make a lot more sense if had a real job to do in CIC.

During General Quarters, Commander Garcia had posted Paul behind a multi-spectrum sensor tracking panel, ordering him to supervise the two enlisted Operations Specialists who crewed the panel. However, the two enlisted knew their jobs better than Paul ever would and didn't need supervision. They knew it, Paul knew it, and Garcia knew it. "The real reason you're here," Jan Tweed had confided to Paul, "is so that if I get disabled in action, or relieved for cause by Garcia, you can take over for me." Which truth had left Paul feeling like a cross between a spare tire and a vulture.

The decompression alarm located not far from Paul's right ear suddenly began whooping wildly. Paul flailed his arms, shocked from his near doze over the boring paperwork, then slapped the ensign locker's comm unit. "Engineering, I've got a decompression alarm in space-"

"Understand," the engineering watch stander broke in, her words barely audible over the clamor of the alarm. "We've already checked your stateroom's status. There's no decompression under way. False alarm."

"Thank you!" Paul yelled back over the alarm. "Now can you reset the alarm before it deafens me?"

"Uh, sorry, sir. Remote reset isn't working. Do you know how to do a local reset?"

"What?" Paul shook a fist at the alarm, then jerked in surprise as the hatch to the locker popped open and Jen Shen swung in.

"Real or false alarm? I assume false since the hatch opened for me."

"False, Jen. How the hell do I stop it?"

"Like this." She flipped up a panel next to the alarm, made a fist and punched the touch pad that rested under the panel. The alarm's wail finally shut off. "When the alarms stick you have to joggle the 'trons a little. Don't ask me why."

Paul rubbed his forehead, fighting down a headache inspired by the alarm's scream. "Why'd it go off in the first place?"

"Hell if I know. If you ask the crew, they'll tell you it was Petty Officer Davidas."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. You hadn't heard? If anything unusual happens now the crew says it's Davidas screwing with stuff."

"They think the ship's haunted?"

"Well, yes. But not in bad way. Davidas was a good guy, so none of the crew think he'd do anything to hurt them. But they figure he is having fun at their expense." Jen grinned as Paul flinched again at a stab of pain in his head. "Or your expense, in this case."

"I don't believe it. We're a million miles away from civilization, and the crew thinks the ship's haunted, but they're not worried about it. I'll never figure out sailors."

"Yeah, you will. Let me tell you a secret." Jen Shen leaned so close to Paul that he could feel her breath against his cheek. "You're becoming a sailor yourself, Mr. Sinclair." Then she winked, laughed, and swung out of the compartment.

Paul rubbed his cheek, his senses overloaded by recent events, but with an odd feeling that seemed like pride stirring inside. She really thinks I'm becoming a sailor?

The South Asian Alliance ship had held a steady course as the Michaelson closed on it. As the kilometers between the ships dwindled, more and more details had become apparent, until the Michaelson's combat intelligence systems had been able to identify the ship.

"He's a research ship?" Paul checked the display again.

"Yeah. Pavarti-Class." Jan Tweed pointed to the same data. "A crew of about twenty, plus another twenty scientists, if they're carrying a normal amount of people."

"No weapons."

"None to speak of, no."

"Then we don't have anything to worry about."

"Not if he's really a Pavarti, no. That is, if he really is a Pavarti and hasn't been modified to carry armament."

Paul checked the data again. "You know, this'd actually be simpler if we knew we were dealing with a warship up front."

"Yeah, it would be." Jan twitched as an alarm sounded, focused on the SASAL ship. "Damn. They're maneuvering." She hit her comm pad. "CIC, I want an estimate of what that ship's doing soonest. Captain, this is the Officer of the Deck. The SASAL ship is maneuvering."

"Captain's on the bridge!" Wakeman was there almost before Tweed finished speaking.

He swung into his chair, peering at the main display. "What's he doing? What's he doing?"

"We don't have an estimate, yet, Captain." Tweed was chewing her lip, perspiration standing out on one cheek. "We have an aspect change, so he's changing heading, and a main drive burn." The display chirped, bringing a narrow probability cone to life. "It looks like he's altered course a bit and put on speed to try to clear the area before we can intercept."

Wakeman stared at the display. "Give me a new intercept course. Now!"

Tweed fumbled at her controls, sweating more heavily, as Wakeman reddened with impatience. Paul helped where he could, but the system would only accept input from one watch station at a time. Finally, the new course popped up on the display. "There, Captain."

"That's no good! Look at it! That's outside our area! I want an intercept inside our area!"

Commander Herdez had appeared on the bridge, unnoticed in the tension, and was now leaning over Tweed's shoulder, studying her work. "Captain, ship's systems say this is the earliest possible intercept we can manage at this point."

"It's not good enough! Give me a better one!"

"Captain, I've confirmed Lieutenant Tweed's work. Due to the SASAL ship's speed increase and course change we cannot intercept inside our area. This display shows the earliest point at which we can intercept outside our area. If we put on any more speed, we'll be unable to brake quickly enough when we reach the SASAL ship and shoot past it."

Wakeman glared at the symbol representing the SASAL ship. "Why'd they wait until now? We're so close! It's like they're taunting us." His eyes fixed on Herdez. "That's what they're doing, isn't it?"

The XO crossed the bridge quickly, hanging close to Wakeman and whispering urgently as Paul strained to hear any of her words without success. Wakeman's face kept getting redder, until he waved a hand in angry dismissal. "I know all that. And I know our orders. If that's the best intercept we can manage, we'll damn well do it. Let's go!"

Lieutenant Tweed hesitated. "Captain? You mean execute the earliest intercept maneuver?"

"Yes! Is there something wrong with your hearing? Execute! Execute!"

Tweed froze for a second, then replied in a slightly ragged voice. "Aye, aye, sir. Bosun, warn the crew. Maneuvering in five min-"

"In one minute! We're not letting this bastard get away!"

"Maneuvering in one minute." Tweed, her face rigid, waited through the seconds, then punched in the command.

Paul, watching as covertly as he could, saw her hands gripping her arm rests, not inputting any further maneuvering commands. She's too upset or too angry to do this maneuver manually. Not that I blame her. His muscles tensed against the force of the main drive. This is a hard burn. With only one minute's warning. I hope nobody got caught in the middle of something they couldn't secure in time. Vectors swung around once more, eventually steadying onto a new intercept point several thousand kilometers outside of the area claimed by the United States. Four days. There's nothing else that ship can do to try to outrun us. We're faster. One way or the other, this chase is going to end in four more days.

"Sinclair."

Paul jerked his head around at Commander Garcia's hail.

"The captain wants you on the bridge for this intercept."

"Sir?" Maybe Paul didn't have much to do in CIC, but he was Tweed's assistant, which meant his duty station was supposed to be here. Granted, with both Garcia and Tweed on hand as his immediate superiors, odds were Paul would never have anything to do except watch and learn, as Tweed had once advised him. Unless both Garcia and Tweed somehow died or were incapacitated, Paul wouldn't be giving any orders in CIC. Still, he had a job here. "My general quarters station-"

"Is wherever the captain tells you it is! Get your butt up there."

"Yes, sir." Whatever the Captain wants of me on the bridge, I guess it doesn't matter too much. I'm not going to be giving any orders here or there, not unless that SASAL ship somehow knocks out every other line officer on the ship. Paul looked down at the two enlisted crewing the console he was supposed to superfluously supervise. "Sorry, guys. You'll have to handle this one without me."

One of the Operations Specialists grinned. "We'll do our best, sir."

Paul swung out past the other enlisted and officers at their stations, down the passageway leading to the bridge. At every bulkhead, he had to stop to open and then resecure airtight hatches sealed for general quarters. It made for a tedious journey, but Paul had no intention of attracting the wrath of the XO by failing to maintain airtight integrity on his route.

The bridge itself was far more crowded than usual already. Lieutenant Sindh, the general quarters officer of the deck, glanced over at Paul as he entered the bridge, a questioning and challenging look on her face. "The captain wanted me here," Paul answered the unspoken question. He felt awkward, not being part of the normal general quarters watch team, and fearing his presence might disrupt them somehow. But Sindh simply nodded and turned back to her console, the rest of the bridge watch continuing their functions as if Paul hadn't arrived.

Wakeman, sitting in his chair on the starboard side of the bridge, looked over and gestured sharply. "Sinclair. Make sure you're close enough to answer any questions I ask."

Paul wriggled through the watch standers, finally finding a clear spot aft and near the starboard side of the bridge. He fastened his tie-downs to the nearest securing stations, looked around to be sure he wasn't blocking anyone's view of any important display, then hung silently, his eyes on the main display.

This close, the SASAL ship was easily visible on the main display, its image magnified by the Michaelson 's visual sensors. Unlike the smooth surface of the warship, the research ship was blocky, studded with pods and apparently tacked-on compartments. Without air or water resistance to worry about, civilian spaceships often had such additions applied apparently haphazardly, though Paul had been told they were actually added with enough care to ensure the ship's center-of-mass and line-of-thrust stayed more-or-less aligned.

Paul looked forward, up, and to the right, as if there were a porthole there through which he could see the fleeing SASAL ship directly. If neither ship did anything else, the SASAL ship and the Michaelson would maintain the exact same bearings relative to each other right up to the moment their hulls bumped. Not that either the Michaelson nor the SASAL ship would actually let that happen.

"Okay, then." Wakeman actually rubbed his hands together, smiling in anticipation. "Let's ensure this wise guy sees us. Deactivate the visual bypass system."

"Deactivate visual bypass system, aye. Visual bypass system deactivated, sir." The lenses and the screens on the outside of the hull switched off, clearly revealing the Michaelson in all her menace to the nearby SASAL ship.

"Communications. Call that ship and tell them to heave to for boarding. I want them at dead-stop relative to us."

"Aye, aye, sir." Long moments passed, while Wakeman smiled confidently. "Sir, there's no response."

"Are they receiving your message?"

"Yes, sir. There's no doubt of that."

Commander Herdez, occupying her chair on the port side of the bridge, broke in. "What if their comm suite is down?"

Wakeman scowled. "Can't we tell them to stop anyway?"

"Yes, sir," communications replied. "We can display a visual signal on the bypass system screens. International coding. There's no way they could miss that."

"Then do it!" Minutes passed, while the distance between the ships shrank further.

"No response, sir."

"I can see that!" Wakeman pointed at the display. "He's not maneuvering at all! How can we get his attention?"

"Sir, we can pulse a low-power particle beam off his hull in the same international code. If there's anyone alive on that thing they'll have to hear that. It's like hitting the hull with a hammer."

"Yes! Good. Do it." Wakeman had lost his smile, his complexion slowly reddening.

"No response, sir."

"Damn him! Weapons!"

"Yes, sir."

"I want a shot across his bow. Make it powerful and make it close!"

"Captain?" Wakeman turned, scowling, at Herdez' voice. "We're outside the American-claimed area. Use of force at this point-"

"Is justified by our orders! Right, Sinclair?"

Paul spent a fraction of a second lamenting the fate which had placed him in the middle of a debate between the Captain and the XO. "Sir, our orders allow you to take any action which you deem necessary and appropriate."

"Yes! You hear that, XO? Firing across their bow is necessary and damn well appropriate, I say. Weapons? Fire when ready."

"Aye, aye, sir." A moment later the Michaelson shuddered slightly as she fired a multi-second burst from a high-powered particle beam which ripped through the space only a few kilometers ahead of the SASAL ship.

"Now what?" somebody muttered.

"He's maneuvering, Captain," Lieutenant Sindh called out. On the visual display, Paul watched the shape of the other ship alter as its thrusters pushed its bow around.

"What the hell's he doing?" Wakeman asked.

"Sir, I can't… he's lit off his main drive." Projected vectors leaped to life on the maneuvering display.

"He's coming straight at us! Is he trying to ram us?"

"Sir, it's too early to-" Sindh's voice was cut-off by the wail of the collision alarm as it was automatically triggered by the ship's maneuvering systems. "Disable that alarm! Captain, he's turned toward us and pushed onto a faster intercept. It looks like he's aiming to pass close above us from starboard bow to port stern."

"Close aboard? How close aboard?"

"Between one and two kilometers, sir."

"Is he insane?" Wakeman looked around as if seeking confirmation. "Why would he take that kind of risk?"

As if in answer, Commander Garcia called up from CIC. "Captain, the SASAL ship's projected course will put it in perfect firing position as it passes close above us. We'd be sitting ducks."

"What?" Wakeman stared at the display. "But it's unarmed, right?"

"Captain, we can't confirm that. He's not supposed to be armed."

Everything seemed to be happening very fast. Paul, hanging silently now, tried to grasp the situation as the SASAL ship moved onto a near-collision course. I never realized how all those months of doing practically no maneuvering made us so unprepared for something like this. All of a sudden we're dealing with another ship nearby and we have to react fast and nobody's used to it. Even Lieutenant Sindh must be seriously out of practice. Paul found himself wishing that Jan Tweed was at the maneuvering controls.

"Weapons! I want you locked on that ship! Communications! Tell him to veer off! What's happening now? Somebody tell me what's happening now!"

"Ten minutes to closest point of approach," Lieutenant Sindh announced. After months of having the luxury of long periods to plan maneuvers, they were now faced with less than ten minutes to act. On the display, the SASAL ship seemed to be closing on them with shocking speed.

"I need options, people! What's he doing?"

Commander Herdez spoke firmly over the growing tension on the bridge. "So far, the SASAL ship has displayed a pattern of taunting us. It is reasonable to assume this is another attempt to discomfort us."

"Reasonable?" Wakeman switched his gaze rapidly from Herdez to the displays. "I don't-"

"Eight minutes to CPA, Captain."

Garcia came back on. "Recommend maneuvering immediately to complicate his firing solution, Captain."

"Firing solution? He's not armed. Is he armed?"

"Sir, we don't know. He's on a perfect firing approach."

"We can detect if he's charging weapons! Right? Right?"

"Yes, sir," Garcia answered. "But we haven't-Sir, my watch says they just detected a transient."

"A transient?"

"Yes, sir. It could have been caused by a power surge leaking past a well-shielded weapon-"

Herdez spoke again. "Is that the only possible explanation?"

"No, ma'am."

"What does the combat system evaluate the transient as?"

"Ma'am, it, uh, doesn't seem to-There's another one. I've got another watch stander reporting a transient detection."

Herdez looked at Wakeman across the bridge. "Captain, I don't trust-" The collision alarm wailed again. "Secure that alarm!"

"Five minutes to CPA, Captain. Combat recommends immediate maneuvers."

Wakeman was staring at the display, then, like Paul had earlier, switched his gaze to look at the bulkhead in front of him and just above his head where the SASAL ship would be visible if there were a porthole there. "He's on a firing run."

"Captain?"

"The bastard's on a firing run. He's got concealed weapons. We detected them powering up. He lured us out of the American area and got us to fire that warning shot first so he could claim self-defense and now he's going to pass close above us and fire into us. Weapons."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Are you locked on?"

"Every weapon that will bear on the target, sir."

Paul, watching the situation spin out of control but unable to imagine any way to intervene, wondered briefly at what point the SASAL spacecraft had changed from a ship to a target.

"Three minutes to CPA, Captain."

"Too close! Too damn close already! Fire at will!"

"Captain?"

"Open fire, dammit! All weapons! Kill that bastard!"

"Open fire, aye."

The lights dimmed as the Michaelson 's battery of energy weapons discharged and recharged repeatedly. Material weapons created debris and shrapnel which in space would be an endless source of peril to other ships. Particle beams and lasers evaporated their points of impact, spearing through obstacles and creating holes in vital equipment of all kinds, as well as any humans unfortunate enough to be in the way. Paul imagined he could see the SASAL ship staggering as invisible demons ripped through it from stem to stern. Lacking the sort of water blanket the Michaelson boasted, which wasn't cost-effective on civilian ships, the SASAL ship was helpless before the onslaught. Atmosphere and vaporized fluids vented from dozens of places, causing the stricken ship to wobble in its course as the escaping jets pushed it erratically.

"Officer of the Deck!" Herdez snapped. "Immediate evasive action. Get us down and clear."

"Aye, aye, ma'am." Sindh, who like everyone else but Herdez had been focused on the damage being done to the SASAL ship, frantically slapped the thruster controls, pushing the Michaelson down and away from the threat of collision as the other craft staggered past overhead.

Paul blinked in the sudden silence. Everyone was watching the display, where the riddled hulk that had once been a living ship continued on its course past the Michaelson and on into empty space. After literally weeks of preparation and hours of tension, the combat had taken only a couple of minutes.

"Officer of the Deck." Herdez spoke now with her habitual calm and control. "Plot an intercept of that hulk." She looked toward Captain Wakeman, who was staring at the display as if uncomprehending. "We will need to board the wreckage."

Wakeman focused on her, his eyes wide. "Board it?"

"To determine if there are survivors. And to find evidence of the weapons they were carrying."

"Right. Evidence. OOD, get that course plotted."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Paul squinted at the display near his seat in the Michaelson 's gig. The hulk that had been a SASAL ship had long since ceased venting material, using up whatever had been onboard during the days the Michaelson spent bringing her mass around and accelerating on another vector to cautiously reintercept the wreck. Captain Wakeman had spent a good part of that period crafting and recrafting a message reporting on the incident and his certainty that he had saved the Michaelson from destruction by a ship which had planned its attack for months.

The final portion had been nerve-wracking to Paul, who had been on watch as the Michaelson matched course and speed precisely to the hulk so that the crafts hung motionless relative to each other even though they were hurtling through space at high velocity. "At least we know he's not going to pull any last minute maneuvers this time," Lieutenant Tweed had observed dispassionately.

Now, as the gig drew closer, Paul could tell Lieutenant Tweed had been, if anything, understating things. There'd been no sign of life on the SASAL ship since it had been riddled by the Michaelson, and the amount of damage Paul could easily see explained that all too well.

Paul glanced over at Sheriff Sharpe. As the ship's legal team, they'd been tapped to assist in the boarding and inspection of the wreck. Sharpe looked back, then smiled grimly. "Sir, if I may offer a small bit of advice, when we get on board that thing, I wouldn't look at stuff too close."

"Excuse me? That's why we're boarding it. Us and the rest of the boarding party. To look at stuff."

"Sir, I've assisted in some pretty unpleasant crime scene investigations in my time. I'm just suggesting not looking too close at certain things. That's all. You'll understand."

Soon enough, Paul did. While the chief engineer of the Michaelson led a group through the wreck searching for its concealed weaponry, Paul and Sharpe were ordered to find the captain's quarters and search it for records or orders which might provide further evidence of ill intent.

His progress through the wreck seemed dreamlike, floating through silence and darkness lit only by the areas his survival suit light fell upon or those spots where openings torn in the ship let through solid splashes of sunlight. The lack of atmosphere inside the wreck meant that none of the light spread in any way, so a location would be either brightly lit or totally dark. Paul set his suit light to its widest beam and moved cautiously, fearing jagged edges that might rip his spacesuit, but the energy weapons that had savaged the SASAL ship had left absurdly precise holes. Only where the ship's own equipment had flared or burst in its death throes did any torn surfaces exist.

They found the first body floating not far from their entry point. The wound on it caused from being nicked by one of the Michaelson 's powerful energy weapons was absurdly clean and smooth, instantly cauterized even as it was inflicted. The rest of the body, however, had nothing clean about it. "Oh, God." Paul looked away hastily. I've never actually seen a human body subjected to explosive decompression before. Now I know what the Sheriff meant when he said not to look too close. He couldn't throw up, not in a suit, so he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting down nausea.

"Sir?" Sheriff Sharpe had one hand on Paul's arm. "You're better off occupying your mind with something else, sir."

"Meaning exploring for records."

"That'd do, sir."

"Remind me to listen to you next time."

"Hey, sir, with that kind of learning curve you may make lieutenant junior grade, yet."

Even though he was grateful for the distraction posed by Sharpe's banter, Paul still glowered at him. "Let's head on down this way. The diagrams from our merchant shipping data base say the captain's quarters and the bridge should be over there." Finding a hatch with a name embossed on it just off the bridge, Paul looked inside. The stateroom was empty, making it all the more likely this space belonged to the ship's captain, who must have been on the bridge while the SASAL ship was making its run on the Michaelson. "I'll check the desk area."

Paul had to pound on the desk and use one of his suit tools before he could yank open drawers that had already been frozen into place, hastily pocketing the data discs he found inside. Much of their content might have been damaged by vacuum and cold, but something might be recoverable. A picture fastened to the desk showed several people, doubtless the dead captain's relatives or family. Paul tried not to look at the picture as he rummaged for anything else that might constitute evidence. He added a few pages of printout in a foreign language, then turned to see Sharpe going through an open safe on another bulkhead. "That was lucky."

"What was lucky, sir?"

"That they left the safe open."

"They didn't leave the safe open, sir." Sharpe grinned conspiratorially. "Certain talents come in handy in my line of work."

"Good thing you're on our side, Sheriff. Anything good?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Data discs, some foreign currency, and maybe a diary or personal log."

"Take it all." Paul swung slowly around, his light illuminating the bulkheads around him. "What's that?"

Sharpe moved close to the locked panel, examined the lock for a moment, then Paul could see his head nod. "Retinal-scan lock. Too hard to crack this one, sir. Request permission to pop it."

The Captain told us to check everything. "Permission granted."

Sharpe yanked a round spool of material out of his suit's belt. He carefully unwound the cord making up the spool, revealing it to be about the thickness of a little finger, and pressed the cord against the outline of the door. When his work was complete, Sharpe brought out an object the size of his thumb, inserted it in one end of the cord, then twisted the end of the object. "I'd look away if I was you, sir."

Paul hastily averted his gaze. The bulkhead where he was looking danced with jagged reflections as the cord flared to life at the point where the fuse had been inserted. When the reflections stopped, Paul looked back, seeing a gap edged by white-hot metal where the outline of the door had been. Sharpe waited while the metal rapidly cooled, then pulled the door free.

Inside, a small compartment about a meter on each side and less than a half meter deep held a half-dozen hand weapons. Boxes of ammunition were fastened near each weapon. Sharpe moved one suited hand carefully around inside the compartment, checking for other objects, then moved back. "Just the guns, sir."

"Why would a scientific research ship have pistols on board?"

"Oh, lots of reasons, sir. But I'd bet the main reason was discipline. I don't know enough about crews on civilian ships to be sure, but it's not a wonderful life out here, sir. If somebody in the crew went off the deep end, you might need one of these to take him down. Or maybe suppress a mutiny."

"Yeah. That makes sense. There's also those recurring rumors of pirates. I guess this would a cheap form of insurance against that, too."

"That it would, sir, though I think space pirates are a threat confined to the average bad movie."

"I agree. Do we need to take these?"

Sharpe moved his hand as if trying to scratch his head through the suit. "Well, sir, they are weapons. But the only way you could use one of these against us would be by suiting up and firing out an opened airlock. Even then, I can't see them penetrating our hull."

"Okay. Leave them for now. I'll ask the Chief Engineer later if we need to pick one up." Paul hesitated, steeling himself. "Let's get to the bridge."

He managed to handle it by pretending he was moving through a particularly detailed horror scene manufactured for Halloween. Close to a dozen bodies in various states of damage were either strapped into chairs or hooked onto nearby tie-downs. Despite himself, Paul's gaze swept across one face, which despite the stresses of decompression still bore a visible expression of shock literally frozen into place. I guess we surprised them. "I'm not finding anything, Sheriff." Not surprising, really, that there was nothing loose to be found, since no one in their right mind wanted data discs or papers flying around a bridge when a ship maneuvered.

"Me neither, sir. Should I try tapping the central data system?"

"No. The chief engineer has some people with him who are responsible for that. Can you tell which one's the captain?"

Sharpe spread his hands. "I'm sure he or she's in here. But these guys aren't wearing any rank that I can see."

Paul tried to focus closely on the collars and sleeves of the corpses and avoid noticing any other details. "No. I don't see any, either. There's four chairs here, but they've got identical control consoles in front of them." He moved past the still-occupied chairs, nerving himself for brushing against the bodies, and peered closely at the consoles.

"Looking for something in particular, sir?"

"Yeah. Firing controls."

"See any?"

"No. Not any dedicated ones. But that doesn't mean anything. These displays could have held virtual weapons control panels. There's no way to tell that, now, though." Paul triggered a different communications circuit to talk to the chief engineer. "Sir, this is Ensign Sinclair. We've finished going over the Captain's quarters and the bridge."

"Did you find any weapons?"

"Yes, si-"

" You did?"

"Uh, yes, sir. A half-dozen hand weapons."

"Hand weapons?" The chief engineer's elation of a moment before vanished. "You mean pistols?"

"Yes, sir. In the captain's quarters."

"That's all?"

"Yes, sir."

"What about the bridge? Any sign of weapons controls?"

"No, sir. No dedicated ones." The Chief Engineer's insistence had driven Paul's dread of his surroundings away, replacing it with a growing sense of another kind of unease.

"Damn."

"Sir?"

"We haven't found any, either."

"But…" The information couldn't seem to settle in, as if it were too unreal to be true. "You didn't find any weapons, sir?"

"That's right. No weapons. No extra energy capability to power weapons. No combat systems of any kind. No wiring for combat systems. Nothing. Just a lot of dead civilians on a ship that is apparently only outfitted to conduct scientific research."

"But… that means…"

"That means you'd better break out your legal books, Mr. Sinclair. We've got one hell of a problem to deal with."

Paul looked over at Petty Officer Sharpe, who was shaking his head. We blew away a bunch of helpless civilians? Oh my God. Paul was abruptly aware again of the dead bodies around him, but now their faces seemed to reflect not shock, but accusation.