A Just Determination

Chapter Eight

Paul tried to maintain his composure as he waited outside the wardroom. The JAG captain hadn't wasted any time in getting her investigation rolling. He knew she'd already talked to Captain Wakeman, Commander Herdez and all the department heads. Now the JAG had reached far enough down the food chain to snare Ensign Paul Sinclair.

Tweed left the wardroom, her shoulders hunched in a defensive slump, nodded briefly to Paul as she waved him in, then headed off on some unknown errand. Paul exhaled slowly to relax himself, then entered. The JAG, seated at the wardroom table, glanced up at his entry. "Ensign Sinclair?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have a seat." Paul took the indicated chair, on the other side of the table from the Navy lawyer, then waited with fraying nerves while she finished entering something into her data link. "Alright, then." The JAG favored him with a brief smile. "Ensign Sinclair. Ship's legal officer. Correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You'll need to sign this." The data link displayed a standard form for attesting to sworn testimony. "It requires you to swear to the truth of your statement."

Paul signed. Command level investigations didn't require witnesses to be sworn. JAG level investigations did. It was just one more sign of how seriously the incident with the SASAL ship was being treated.

The JAG checked the signature, downloaded the form to her files, then faced Paul again. "Mr. Sinclair, I'll tell you frankly that your statement was a pleasure to read. Concise and to the point."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Is there anything in that statement you wish to change?"

Paul looked away for a moment, concentrating. "No. No, ma'am."

"I want to be certain of one thing. Your statement indicates that prior to firing a shot across the bow of the SASAL ship, Captain Wakeman asked you for your opinion on whether his orders authorized such an action."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you told him that, in your interpretation, they did."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Did Captain Wakeman ask you any other questions subsequent to that?"

"You mean while we were all still on the bridge? No, ma'am."

"Prior to actually firing on the SASAL ship, did he again ask you if you believed his orders authorized such an action?"

"No, ma'am."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely."

The JAG smiled slightly, her lips pressed tightly together. "Thank you, Ensign Sinclair. Have you discussed your statement with anyone else on the ship in anything but general terms?"

"Well, yes, ma'am."

"And who was that?"

"The chief master-at-arms. Petty Officer First Class Sharpe."

"Ivan Sharpe? I know the man. What was the nature of your discussion with him?"

"He advised me to write a, uh, concise and to the point statement, ma'am."

"Ah. Very good. Congratulations on taking Petty Officer Sharpe's advice. I know a few full-fledged lawyers who wish they'd done the same." She cocked a questioning eyebrow at Paul. "You appear to have done a good job as ship's legal officer. Are you at all interested in pursuing a legal degree and transfer into the JAG corps?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. Not really." She doesn't need to know my brother's a civilian lawyer and I've been butting heads with him since we were kids. Nor that my dad was happy I chose to be a line officer like he'd been. And being collateral duty legal officer on this ship hasn't exactly made my life happier. Three good reasons not to be a lawyer, and none I know of to become one!

"That's all right, Mr. Sinclair. Not everyone wants to be a lawyer. Thank you. That's all. Please send in the next witness."

"Yes, ma'am." Paul fought down an impulse to grin with relief as he left, then frowned as he remembered one of the JAG's questions. Why'd she want to know if I told Wakeman if our orders said it was okay to shoot at the SASAL ship? Where would… Wakeman. I'll bet Cap'n Pete claims I gave him that advice. Like Jen said he would, he's still trying to place the blame on everyone else. I guess it's sort of a compliment that he thinks I'm important enough to be a target for some of the blame.

Later, comparing notes on their interviews with some of the others, Paul repeated his suspicion. Lieutenant Sindh nodded knowingly as he did so. "That also explains a question I was asked, I believe. The JAG wanted to know if I'd told the Captain the SASAL ship appeared to be trying to ram us."

" Ram us?" Carl Meadows stared at her. "Wakeman's trying to claim the SASALs were on some sort of suicide mission?"

"No. I think he's trying to claim all of us in a position to do so were giving him advice that made his actions seem correct at the time. In other words, that he acted properly based on the information and assessments we provided."

"What a sleezeball. I wonder what Wakeman's blaming me for? Using up some of the ship's oxygen so he didn't have enough to think straight with? Or the fact that my weapons worked when he told us to fire? Hey, if they'd all failed then we wouldn't be in this mess. It's too ridiculous."

"Be careful." Lieutenant Sindh looked at all present, a warning expression clear on her face. "This is the sort of thing which could easily drag down everyone involved in any way. Guilt by association. Even if Wakeman is found one hundred percent responsible, his accusations will find fertile ground if we act in a way that seems to support them."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if we go around bad-mouthing Wakeman, calling him a fool and an idiot, it will cause those who hear us to believe we did fail to properly support him."

"He is a fool and an idiot!"

"I know that as well as you do. Everyone else doesn't. To them, he's a ship's captain who was depending upon his crew for the best possible support. We need to ensure people know that we gave him the best possible support, despite what we know to be Wakeman's many and manifest failures as a commanding officer. They won't believe we gave him good support if we're openly contemptuous of the man."

Meadows stared down at the deck as if unable to think of a rebuttal. "Okay. You're right. No sense in the rest of us sinking any deeper into this than we have to."

Sindh looked straight at Paul. "What could be the outcome of this investigation? Can you guess?"

"Sure I can guess. It's serious. A JAG-level investigation means the result could be a recommendation for a court-martial."

" A court-martial, or multiple court-martials?"

"Possibly multiple ones. Yeah. Or maybe letters of reprimand. Or maybe nothing. It all depends."

Carl looked up again. "There's SASAL representatives on the station. They've been invited up as observers."

"How'd you find that out?"

"I know somebody who's involved with the care and feeding of them. They gave me a heads-up."

"Observers." Sindh ran the word around her mouth as if she didn't like the taste. "What will they be observing? Surely not the delivery of a letter of reprimand."

Paul shook his head. "The JAG-level investigation hasn't even been completed. How could they have already brought up a SASAL delegation to observe a court-martial when the investigation hasn't made any recommendations yet?"

"How? Sometimes, Paul, the results of investigations are foreordained. Not officially. Oh, no, never that. But it's understood. There's reports of a major oil discovery in SASAL territory. SASAL possession of such a resource makes them important friends for the U.S. to have. The South Asian Alliance would not regard a pro forma wrist-slap or exoneration of Captain Wakeman as a friendly act."

"Even though their ship all but invited it? But the system isn't supposed to work that way."

"Paul, you've been in the Navy for a while now. How many systems work as they are advertised?"

Paul stared back at Lieutenant Sindh. Like Carl before him, he couldn't think of anything to say.

The next few days were an odd mix of routine and suppressed tension. Paul began seriously considering the temporary use of some of Tweed's hiding places as Commander Garcia became more incendiary than usual. Wakeman spent almost every hour of every day in his own cabin, rarely venturing out and then not speaking to anyone. The junior officers began referring to Wakeman as the Neutron Captain, since he passed through groups without interacting in any way. Paul found himself checking not only the calendar but also the clock, wondering how long it would take for a high-priority investigation to produce recommendations, and how long it would be before those recommendations were acted upon. If someone had really decided on the results beforehand, it might not take long at all.

"All officers assemble in the wardroom."

Paul responded as quickly as he could, finding the small space packed with most of the rest of the other officers already. "Hey, Carl. Where's the department heads?"

"Somebody told me Herdez already called them in separately."

"That doesn't sound good." Paul looked up with surprise as Jen Shen squeezed into the wardroom. "Jen, aren't you on watch?"

"Yeah. Senior Chief Kowalski relieved me for a few minutes. He said the XO wanted every officer here."

Lieutenant Sindh, taking up station near the entrance, craned her head in an attempt to tally everyone's presence. "Ensign Shen. Are you here, yet?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Sinclair? Bristol? Okay, I see you both. Alright, that's everyone. Hold on." Sindh vanished for a few moments, then reappeared. "Attention on deck."

The officers straightened into the best semblance of attention they could manage while crowded so close. Paul eyed the hatch curiously. The attention on deck command was reserved on a ship for the captain or any visiting senior officer, and there weren't any visiting seniors present at the moment. Wakeman's coming out at last? What's he got to say to us?

But instead of Wakeman, Commander Herdez entered. "At ease." Her face a professional mask, Herdez surveyed the other officers for a long moment. "We have been notified by Commander, United States Naval Space Forces that Captain Wakeman has been relieved of command of the USS Michaelson effective immediately. I am to serve as acting commanding officer until Captain Wakeman's relief arrives. I expect you all to continue to exercise your duties to the best of your abilities and to ensure your personnel do the same."

"XO?" Lieutenant Sindh spoke in a subdued voice. "What's happening to the captain?"

Herdez didn't register any emotion as she replied. "Captain Wakeman is being referred to a court-martial which is to be constituted by order of Commander in Chief, U.S. Space Forces. At this time, I do not know the exact nature of the charges."

"Only him?" Carl Meadows blurted, then reddened as Herdez eyed him. "I'm sorry, ma'am. But, Captain Wakeman's the only one being charged?"

"That's correct. I expect we will be notified as to which officers and enlisted will be required to function as witnesses at the court-martial. Until such time, we still have a ship to run. Are there any further questions?"

Kris Denaldo raised one hand tentatively. "Ma'am? If we see Captain Wakeman, what do we… um…"

"If you encounter Captain Wakeman, you will render him the military courtesies appropriate to an officer of his rank. He is no longer commanding officer of the Michaelson, however, and no longer entitled to anything that position entailed."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Herdez nodded to the group, then left. "Attention on deck," Sindh called out, quickly followed by "At ease" after Herdez had cleared the hatch. "Okay, boys and girls. Now we know. Let's get back to work."

Carl looked over at Paul. "I always imagined I'd be cheering the day Cap'n Pete Wakeman left this ship. Why don't I feel like cheering?"

"I don't know. Neither do I. He's getting what he deserves. Right?"

"I think so. You don't sound so certain."

"How could I not be certain?"

Carl shrugged. "I don't know. Hey, do you know where Jan Tweed is?"

Paul didn't try to disguise his automatic flinch at the question. "No. Now what?"

"Relax. Her orders came through. I just want to make sure she knows."

"That's great. If I see her I'll let her know."

"Thanks. Now I have to run down Sam Yarrow."

"Did he get orders, too?"

Carl smiled at Paul's hopeful expression. "No. Promotion list came through. Yarrow made JG."

"Whoopee." Popular belief was that the average officer would be promoted from ensign to lieutenant junior grade as long as he or she could hear thunder and see lightning. But the promotion still meant a great deal as an escape from the ghetto of being an ensign. "That means we'll get a new bull ensign, right?" Yarrow's reign as the most senior of the ensigns had been notable not for his support of his juniors but rather for their distrust of him. Now that he'd been promoted, some other ensign would be designated the bull. "Who's next in seniority?"

"Jen Shen."

"Jen? We'll have a female bull? She'll be great at the job, but isn't that sort of an oxymoron?"

"Are you going to tell Jen she's an oxymoron?"

"Hell, no. I value my life too much to do that."

"You're learning, Paul. Maybe you'll make JG, too, someday."

"Thanks." Paul followed Carl out, then hesitated in the passageway, unable to decide his next action.

Over the ship's all-hands circuit he heard two quick bongs of the ship's bell, followed by two more, then the announcement, " Michaelson, departing." The captain of the ship was referred to by the ship's name when he or she arrived or departed onboard, a tradition going back who knew how long. A few minutes ago he would have known the person leaving the ship was Wakeman. Now he knew it was Herdez, doubtless reporting in person to higher authority. Odd, how quickly a universe could change.

"Is something the matter, sir?"

Paul looked up as Senior Chief Kowalski came past. "Sorry, Senior Chief. I was sort of lost in thought."

"Not happy thoughts, if I'm any judge."

"Are you surprised? How's the crew taking all this, Senior Chief?"

Kowalski grimaced. "About as you'd expect. A few want to cheer."

"Only a few?"

"Yes, sir. Oh, Mr. Sinclair, you and I both know the Captain wasn't too popular on the mess decks. But it's hard for most folks to be happy about someone else getting hammered, even if they think he deserved it. Meaning no disrespect to Captain Wakeman, of course, sir."

"I understand. What you say is true, Senior Chief."

Kowalski peered closely at Paul. "You worried, sir? About yourself?"

"About me? No. I don't think they'll try to pin anything on me. It looks like Wakeman is the only one being charged."

"That's not what I meant, sir."

Paul looked back at the senior chief, a man subject to his every legal order, yet also literally old enough to be his father. "Yeah, I'm worried. I'm not sure I'm doing as well as I should. At everything."

"Well, sir, I can't comment on everything. And there's nothing wrong with wondering if you can do better. But you're doing okay, sir. I think you're a good officer."

Paul stared back this time. "Really? Thanks, Senior Chief. That means a lot."

"No problem, sir. You earned it. Just don't rest on your laurels." Kowalski moved on down the passageway. "By your leave, sir."

"By all means, Senior Chief." Paul squeezed up against the bulkhead to let Kowalski past, then decided to go in search of Jan Tweed. Telling Tweed about her orders would be a rare opportunity to give her good news once he'd run her down.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Paul found a message on his data link from a Commander John Wilkes, Judge Advocate General's Corps. 'Commander Wilkes has been appointed trial counsel in the case of the United States versus Captain Peter Wakeman.' Trial counsel. That's the prosecutor. 'Contact Commander Wilkes as soon as possible to arrange an interview. Remain available at all times as a potential witness.' Okay, that means a convening order has been issued, right?

Paul called the ship's office, where administrative issues were handled and any incoming official mail was routed to the right officers. "Have you guys received a copy of the convening order for a court-martial against Captain Wakeman?"

"Uh, sir, that document was marked for delivery to the XO. I'm sorry, I mean acting-Captain Herdez."

"I'm the ship's legal officer. I have a need to see it, too."

"You weren't on distribution, sir."

Paul shook his head, annoyed. "Is it marked Eyes Only?" He knew it wouldn't be. Convening orders and charge sheets were matters of public record.

"No, sir. I guess there's no problem with you seeing it, then. We'll shoot a copy to your message queue."

"Thanks."

A moment later his data link chimed to indicate receipt of the document. Paul called up the convening order, scanning it first. It's a general court-martial, alright. A military judge and five members. He went back, reviewing the names of the members of the court-martial, then called up data on those officers, curious as to their service histories. The Military Judge is Captain Olivia Holmes. Her service history is one hundred percent JAG, but what else would you expect? President of the court-martial is Rear Admiral Charles "Chip" Fowler. OSWO, of course. Commanded various ships, also of course. The usual service awards. Wow. His brother's an admiral, too. Talk about sibling rivalry. Okay, what about the other members? Captain Hailey Nguyen. She's also OSWO. Just came off command of the Mahan. Mahan was the ship we relieved in that patrol area. She's not likely to cut Wakeman any slack. Then Captain Jose Feres. OSWO, last command was the Farragut. That's three Space Warfare Specialists, all with command experience. Then there's Captain Pedro Valdez, Supply Corps. I bet he'll feel like a fish out of water, but they had to dig up five officers who were at least captains to serve on this court-martial, and there can't be all that many candidates on Franklin. Finally, Captain Gail Bolton. Intelligence Specialist? Oh, yeah, they pulled her off the fleet staff.

Wakeman's certainly getting a jury of his peers. I wonder if he's happy about that or scared to death?

The convening order had an attachment. The charge sheet. I guess we'll finally find out what charges they're going to try to use to hang Wakeman. Paul stared as the attachment downloaded. Why is it so long? He waited impatiently, then began running down the charges. Violation of Article 86? Leaving Place of Duty? Two specifications? Why are they bothering bringing in Article 86? Next came Article 92… 'Failure to Obey Order or Regulation… first specification… in that Captain Peter Wakeman did… fail to maintain his assigned duty within the patrol area designated by general order 245-95'… that's the same as the reason for one of the Article 86 charges… 'second specification… failed to conform to operating instructions for his patrol… third specification… failed to conform to fleet guidance on encounters with third-party shipping… fourth specification… failed to conform to rules of engagement as promulgated in general order 267-97… fifth specification… failed to obey a lawful order from his immediate superior to keep said superior advised of all movements… sixth specification… derelict in the performance of his duties under fleet operational standards… seventh… derelict under requirements of Open Space Navigation Treaty… eighth… derelict in carrying out operational orders… ninth… derelict in exercising command functions during crisis as set forth in fleet instruction…'

Paul surfaced from his reading, blinking in amazement. No wonder this charge sheet is so long. What else are they hitting Wakeman with? He began scrolling through the charge sheet again. 'Article 107. False Official Statement. In that Captain Peter Wakeman did… knowingly provide false information in a message sent to Commander, United States Naval Space Forces regarding his encounter with a ship of the South Asian Alliance'… Three specifications… one for each message Wakeman sent. 'Article 110. Improper hazarding of a vessel.' Good Lord, that's potentially a death penalty offense. 'In that Captain Peter Wakeman did… wrongfully and willfully hazard the USS Michaelson by bringing said ship into proximity with another spacecraft without justification… second specification… wrongfully and willfully hazard the USS Michaelson by failing to maneuver his ship to remain clear of another spacecraft, thus risking collision… Article 111… Drunken or Reckless Operation of Vehicle, Aircraft or Vessel.' Give me a break! 'In that Captain Peter Wakeman, while serving as commanding officer of USS Michaelson, did suffer his vessel to be hazarded negligently by failing to order maneuvers to open the distance with another spacecraft when warned of a risk of collision… Article 119… Involuntary Manslaughter… in that Captain Peter Wakeman did, through culpable negligence, bring about the death of thirty-seven individuals manning a ship of the South Asian Alliance…'

Paul sat for a long time, staring at the charge sheet, a lump in his stomach. They threw the book at him. Every charge they could come up with. I'm surprised they didn't try to toss in bigamy and burglary. Yet, the death of the SASAL crew almost sounds like an after-thought. What's the point of all that? To make sure Wakeman gets nailed? After all, the more he's charged with, the more guilty he must be, right?

"Hey, Paul." Jen leaned into the stateroom. "My department head got a message from some JAG about maybe being a witness, so he's running around with his hair on fire. Does that mean a court-martial's going down?"

"Yeah." Paul indicated the document on his screen. "A general court-martial."

"That's the worst there is, right?" Jen came into the stateroom, peering at the display. "That thing's dated yesterday. Do you think Wakeman's seen it, yet?"

"I'd bet he saw it yesterday. I've been reading up on this stuff. They've got to give Wakeman a minimum of five days after being notified he's being court-martialed to get his defense together before they actual start his trial. The sooner they handed him a copy of this, the sooner that clock starts ticking."

"Wow. So you think they're going to do this as fast as they can, huh?" Jen looked away from the message, focusing on Paul, and frowned. "What's bothering you?"

"I read the charges."

"I can't imagine it's any fun to relive that mess. None of it was your fault, Paul."

"I know. It's just…"

She sat down. "What?"

"They're trying to hang Wakeman, Jen."

"Literally?"

"Uh, no. I don't think so, although some of the things they charged him with allow the death penalty."

Jen's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding. I didn't expect that, even for Cap'n Pete."

"I guess I didn't either. Jen, I want the guy to be called to account for what he did, but I don't feel right about all these charges."

"Why? What's the big deal?"

"Jen, look at this charge sheet. They're piling on the charges."

"Piling on? What's that mean?"

"It means they're charging Wakeman with everything they conceivably could, regardless of whether or not it increases the potential penalty. They're officially called, um, lesser included offenses."

Jen shrugged. "Hey, if he did it, he did it. What kind of extra charges are you talking about?"

Paul pointed toward his display. "Well, look here for example. Right at the top. They're charging him with two counts of violating Article 86."

"Article 86?" Jen squinted at the charge sheet skeptically. "They're charging Wakeman with being AWOL?"

"No. It's not the Absent Without Official Leave component of Article 86, it's the Leaving Appointed Place of Duty component. They're charging Wakeman with Article 86 first for leaving our patrol area while we were chasing the SASAL ship, and then again for matching course with the wreck and accompanying it for a few days instead of heading back into our patrol area."

"You're kidding. We were in hot pursuit of the SASAL ship, and no one in their right mind would have just let the wreck zoom off into nowhere without going aboard."

"Then you see my point."

"Okay. I will, with great reluctance, agree that those two charges are over-the-top. But it isn't like Wakeman doesn't deserve to be hammered. He was a lousy commanding officer."

"I'm not debating that. I think he's also a lousy human being. But he's not on trial for his general performance as a commanding officer. No. He's being tried for the specific actions he took while pursuing and firing on the SASAL ship. And some of these charges are nailing him for doing things anybody would've done."

"Like shooting at an unarmed ship?"

"I said some of them! Why couldn't they have just charged him with involuntary manslaughter? And maybe the false official statement charge, because he knew those messages we sent didn't reflect what we'd found on the SASAL ship. Why all this other stuff? It's like in medieval times when they'd sentence someone to be hanged, then drawn and quartered, and then beheaded. It's overkill. And like I said, some of this stuff he's being charged with is the same sort of thing we'd have done in his place with the orders we had."

Jen leaned back, crossing her arms. "So, you don't think it's fair, huh? What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know."

"Are you planning to somehow go to the mat defending Cap'n Pete's virtues as a commanding officer and leader because you don't think the system is being fair to him?"

"No! But… look, I just don't know."

"Will you at least promise me not to do anything stupid in the name of some personal concept of nobility?"

Paul frowned at her. "Why? What do you care what happens to me?"

"Who said I care?

"It sounds like you care."

"Ha! Don't get your hopes up, Sinclair. I'm just trying to keep your butt out of a bight so I don't get stuck trying to pry you loose and having to pick up all the pieces afterwards."

Paul stared stubbornly at his display, unwilling to meet Jen's eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Don't get your ego up. I hate seeing my friends dig themselves into deep holes. Does that sound better?"

Paul sat silently for a minute, while Jen waited as if sensing he needed time to think. "Jen, did you ever see something happening that you thought was bad, and everything you'd ever been taught said it was wrong to do nothing, but you ended up doing nothing anyway?"

"Duh. That's life. Theory versus practice."

"But didn't it bother you? Doesn't it still bother you? I remember back at the Academy, seeing some guy doing stuff that should have gotten him kicked out, but getting away with it all because he had the right connections. Thinking I ought to raise a stink. But I didn't. Now that guy's an officer and probably well on his way to becoming another Peter Wakeman. Because I didn't do something when I knew I should. How many lives will he make miserable? How many people might he kill through his own incompetence?"

Jen exhaled heavily. "Paul, part of me wants to try to slap some sense into that brain of yours. And part of me is amazed that someone can still believe in ideals like that. This is the real world. You're not personally responsible for all the injustices that take place. You can't stop them, you can't fix them. If you'd made a fuss over that jerk at the academy, maybe you would've been kicked out, too. Then you would've ruined your life, and that well-connected bozo would have gone on to live happily ever after anyway. Right?"

"That makes sense, but… it just doesn't seem right. Is my highest priority in life supposed to be looking out for my own best interests?"

Jen looked beseechingly upwards. "Heaven help me. It's not that simple. You're worried about people doing bad things? Wakeman did a bad thing. Now, he's going to get hammered. What's the problem?"

"He didn't get us into that mess alone, Jen. Our orders gave him discretion to get us there, and the people writing those orders knew Wakeman."

"Okay. Even if you happened to be one hundred percent right about that, and I'm not conceding that fact except for the sake of argument, even then, I can't see risking your career for the sake of Cap'n Pete. People like him aren't worth it."

"Then who is? Only people I like?"

"That's one way of looking at it. If I was the one being hammered I'd be really happy to have you donning your righteous armor on my behalf."

Paul nodded. "And I would, Jen. For you. In a heartbeat."

She eyed him for a moment, then smiled. "I bet you say that to all the auxiliary engineering officers you meet. So, does that perspective resolve your moral dilemma?"

"No. Where's the morality in only acting right on behalf of those you like?"

Jen shook her head. "You, Paul Sinclair, obviously read all the wrong books when you were growing up. And believed them. Heroic knights and common folk dashing off on noble quests just because it was the right thing to do. Fighting impossible odds against evil. Making the world a better place by their efforts and example and sacrifice. Right?"

"It sounds like you read the same books."

"Yeah, but I stopped believing in them. Mallory's book is called The Death of Arthur, remember? That's what the Round Table's idealism came down to: murder, adultery, war and a king and his son killing each other. Forget the noble causes, Paul. Look out for yourself. There's no sense in making your life any harder right now."

"I didn't think life could get any harder."

"That's probably what Kris Denaldo thought. She's picked herself up and learned the right lesson. I'd rather you didn't hit the same sort of wall before figuring out where you went wrong."

Jen's words made sense. He'd learned a long time ago that the world didn't work the way it should, and that trying to make a difference usually didn't seem to make any difference. She's trying to keep me out of trouble. So why does her advice grate me the wrong way? She's right. Isn't she? "Maybe."

"Instead of worrying about the fate of Cap'n Pete, shouldn't you be trying to catch up on some of your other duties?"

"Maybe."

"If they want to pile on the charges against Wakeman, they'll do it. It's not like you can make any real difference there. Right?"

"Maybe."

"And shouldn't you be agreeing with what I'm saying instead of repeating, 'Maybe?'"

Jen's last statement caught Paul off-guard, so that he found himself laughing. "Is that the key to happiness in life, Jen? Agreeing with you?"

"I certainly think it'd be a better world if everybody did that. My last advice to you right now is to get out of your stateroom and get to work, Paul."

"Okay. Thanks, Jen."

"So you're going to do what I said?"

"Uh… maybe."

Jen paused on her way out of the stateroom to glare back at him. "You're hopeless, Sinclair. I don't know why I bother."

Regardless of the truth of everything else Jen had said, she was right that Paul had plenty of other work to occupy his time and his mind. Paul located Chief Imari so they could review divisional training records, then sweated over the wording of a couple of fitness reports for enlisted personnel that Jan Tweed had asked him to take care of. After that, he pigeonholed Carl Meadows long enough to get a couple more of his OSWO qualifications signed off so that Garcia wouldn't flip out over Paul's lack of progress in that area.

All in all, it almost made him forget the upcoming court-martial, except that almost every task took him through a space or dealt with a document that brought Captain Wakeman to mind. The fact that he could neither shake his misgivings nor resolve them made Paul more and more restless, to the point where he headed aft as far he could go on the Michaelson, right back to the bulkhead unofficially labeled The End of the World, then turned and began working his way forward just to remain in motion.

Just past the crew's mess deck he found the chief master-at-arms, Petty Officer Sharpe, leaning against a bulkhead with arms crossed, checking out crew members who edged past him with assorted expressions of greeting, worry or hostility. "Hey, Sheriff."

"Hey, boss. Were you looking for me, sir?"

"No, not really. But I haven't seen you for a few days. How's the criminal element doing?"

Sharpe grinned. "Oh, they're being real good, sir. Or at least real careful. Nobody but nobody wants to end up restricted to the ship right after we get home from a patrol. So there's nothing legal to worry about. Except, well, you know."

"I know. Have you seen the charge sheet?"

"Have I seen the charge sheet? Sir, I haven't read a novel that long in ages. It's a doozy."

Paul shook his head angrily. "Sheriff, did you ever see someone hauled up on charges they didn't deserve? I mean, maybe they weren't great sailors or anything, but instead of being called to account for their real failures they ended being nailed on something they didn't necessarily do?"

"Why, sir, wherever could you have found that example?" Sharpe cocked his head to one side, regarding Paul intently. "Begging your pardon for the question, sir, but does this mean you're not happy with what's happening to Captain Wakeman?"

"You got it. I want him punished, but not the piling on, not the charges for doing things I might have done. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Sir, even if I did I wouldn't say so. Mama Sharpe didn't raise a fool. But justice is a funny thing, sir. Sometimes it happens in the wrong way but ends up doing the right thing."

"Then you never had a case where you felt somebody shouldn't be convicted on the charges against them, even if they were some kind of dirtball?"

"Dirtballs deserve whatever they get, sir."

Paul thought about that, then smiled wryly. "I forgot. You're a cop, Sheriff."

"Yes, sir."

"So you're going to see things in a pretty black-and-white way. A dirtball's got to be guilty of something, right?"

"You got it, sir."

"But I'm seeing a lot of shades of gray, Sheriff."

"Now, sir, don't you be turning into a lawyer on me."

Paul smiled again. "Surely there's a middle ground between lawyers and cops."

"I don't think so, sir. And if there is, you wouldn't want to be there because you'd be in the line of fire." Sharpe's own smile faded for a moment. "Mr. Sinclair, I think I understand what's bothering you. It doesn't bother me, but like you say, I'm a cop. And I'm not you. If there's something you think you ought to do, then that's up to you."

"Gee, Sheriff, I'd hate to let you down."

"Mr. Sinclair, as long as you're doing what you really believe is right, I can't very well think less of you. Not that you should necessarily care what I think. I might wonder why you did it, just like I'm wondering why anything about this is bothering you. But I'm just a cop. I catch dirtballs and let the justice system take it from there. You're the officer who has to worry about shades of gray."

Paul smiled again. "Yeah. You're right. I just wish I knew what was right for me to do. If anything."

"Seeing as I don't understand the problem, I can't help you there, sir."

"No, you can't. Thanks, Sheriff."

"For not helping you? This job gets easier every day."

"Go away, Sheriff."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Late afternoon found Paul in the office of Commander John Wilkes. Wilkes went over Paul's statement, asked for a few more details, told Paul he was on the list of witnesses to be called during the court-martial, then dismissed him. The brevity and coldness of the process left Paul feeling like a small cog in a steamroller aimed at Wakeman.

Dinners in the wardroom had been less than festive ever since the encounter with the SASAL ship, and since Wakeman's removal from command had become even more somber. Paul left fairly quickly, going back to his stateroom to dig further into his backlog of work. Sam Yarrow eventually came in as well, smiling with the same self-satisfied expression he seemed to have worn constantly since being promoted to lieutenant junior grade. "Working hard, Sinclair? Or hardly working?"

Paul glanced briefly toward Yarrow. "Working hard."

"Good idea. You'll need the best record you can get coming off this tour."

"What's that mean?"

"You know. Wakeman. What he did. Do you think any promotion board will look favorably on a fitness report signed by him?"

Paul took the time to glance at Yarrow again. "They did in your case."

"No. My promotion board met before Wakeman screwed up. But you guys…" Yarrow let his sentence trail off meaningfully. "Too bad."

Paul counted to five inside before speaking again. "I thought you liked Wakeman, Sam."

"Huh? No. No way. He's not half as good a leader as somebody like, say, Commander Garcia."

"Just to pick a name randomly, huh, Sam? Thanks for your sympathy, but I'm sure any promotion board will judge me on my merits."

Yarrow chuckled. "Boy, are you still clueless."

"Go to hell, Sam." Paul closed his work out and left the stateroom, standing in the passageway for a moment to cool off. At this time of day, in port and after the bustle of work had temporarily died down, the small stretch of passageway loomed empty in either direction. Carl's on watch. I can't bug him. If Herdez caught us chewing the fat while he was standing the quarterdeck watch she'd rip us both up one side and down the other. He glanced down toward the other ensign locker, thinking briefly of visiting there. No. Jen and Kris don't need me moping around. Especially Jen. I wish she understood what was bothering me. Hell, I wish I understood what was bothering me. He hesitated a moment longer, then headed for the wardroom for some coffee.

Paul swung into the wardroom and made a bee-line for the coffee. He nodded in greeting toward Commander Sykes, who occupied his habitual place in his informal wardroom office. "Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, Mr. Sinclair. Care to sit for a moment?"

"You want to talk to me, sir? Sure." Paul sat down, eyeing Sykes curiously. "Did my supply petty officer screw up?"

"Not at all. All is well in the world of supply. Which is as it should be. How are things in the world of ship's legal officers?"

"Not too bad. Pretty quiet, really, except for the, uh, court-martial."

"Ah, yes. The court-martial." Suppo took a drink from his own coffee. "My sources tell me that you have some misgivings on that count, Mr. Sinclair."

"Who told you that?"

"A good supply officer guards his sources, Mr. Sinclair. Care to talk about it?"

Paul took a long drink of his own, then shook his head. "What's to talk about? Captain Wakeman is being hammered. You've seen the charge sheet, right?"

"And a very long charge sheet it is."

"Yeah." Paul grimaced, staring at the table for a moment. "Damn it, Suppo, why couldn't they have just charged Wakeman for the big stuff he did wrong instead of piling on everything they possibly could?"

"This offends your sense of justice?"

The simple question crystallized the growing misgivings that Paul had been battling. "Yes. It does. Not that I can figure out why."

Sykes leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he gazed upward. "Legally, as I'm sure you know, being legal officer, all of those charges can be justified in some way. But justice, well, that's another thing, isn't it, young Mr. Sinclair?"

"And this isn't about justice, is it, sir? They need a scapegoat. Wakeman's it."

"Not entirely correct. Scapegoats are often innocent of misdeed. I think we both agree that Captain Wakeman is far from innocent in this matter. But Wakeman is certainly to be made an example of for the purposes of satisfying those who wish to see someone pay for what happened to the SASAL ship."

"Is that why we should be court-martialing Wakeman, sir? Because someone needs to be satisfied? Even though a lot of other factors contributed to Wakeman doing the wrong thing?"

"What do you think?"

Paul sat silent for a few moments. "I think that's wrong."

"Ah. You've identified a wrong. Do you intend attempting to right it?"

"What? Suppo, I don't even know what 'right' is in this case."

"But you've said you do know what's wrong. So I'll ask my question a little differently. What do you intend doing about that wrong?"

"What can I do?"

Sykes raised his eyebrows as if surprised at the question. "You were on the bridge. You are the ship's legal officer. I assume you have been tapped as a prosecution witness?"

"Yes. I have."

"Where your testimony will serve to further what you have said you see as a wrong."

"What else can I do?"

Sykes smiled gently. "Your testimony is your own, Paul. What you do with it, what you say and how you say it, is yours to decide. If you so choose."

"Suppo, I'm just an ensign. An ensign who's still new enough to still be learning how to tie my figurative shoelaces right so I don't trip over my figurative feet every time I try to do something. The senior unrestricted line officers making up the majority of the court-martial members don't really care what I have to say one way or the other."

Commander Sykes shook his head. "There you're wrong, lad. They don't care what I have to say. I am a supply specialist, a limited duty officer with restricted responsibilities. Unrestricted duty officers such as the warfare specialists represented on that court-martial don't give a flying leap about whatever opinions I may have about the leadership or operational decisions of one of their fellow line officers like Captain Wakeman. But, you, Mr. Sinclair, are one of them. Don't interrupt one of your elders, son. It's a fact. You're unrestricted line. That one thing means that even though you are still a young and barely experienced ensign, you have taken on responsibilities that I will never face. Should we be in battle or other peril and every other officer on the ship dropped dead in an instant, I would still not be in command. I can't. The Navy says so. But you would be. Even now."

Sykes sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trust me on this, young Mr. Sinclair. They'll listen to what you have to say, all right. They may decide after listening that you're an idiot and disregard your testimony, but until and if that happens, they will listen to you. You're one of them."

Paul stared back mutely for a moment. "What would I say, Suppo? And why? Why risk my career or my neck or whatever for the likes of Captain Wakeman?"

Commander Sykes shrugged. "What would you say? The truth as you saw it and know it. Whatever that may be. As for why… only you can answer that, Paul."

Paul spent a restless night, waking finally with a sense of having tossed and turned the entire time and with no feeling of rejuvenation. The morning passed with routine tasks, none of which seemed to engage his mind. When noon finally came, he had no appetite and simply went to his stateroom.

Paul find himself standing in front of the small acrylic mirror in the ensign locker, rubbing his face wearily. What do I do? I keep feeling like I shouldn't let them railroad Wakeman, but the guy's a jerk. And he's a marked man. That's obvious from the charge sheet. What difference will anything I do make? If our positions were reversed I know he'd let me twist slowly in the wind. Hell, Wakeman would help put the rope around my neck if he thought it would make him look better. But if I act like Wakeman would, what right do I have to condemn him? He looked up, meeting the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. Damn mirrors. When you look in one you don't just see your face, you also see everything you've ever done written on your face. Maybe Eve didn't offer Adam an apple. Maybe she made a mirror, and Adam looked into it and saw himself and knew he could never hide from himself again. So, Paul Sinclair, what are you willing to see when you look in a mirror?

"Lieutenant Commander Garrity?" The walk from the Michaelson to the lawyers' offices hadn't been all that far, but had felt longer with uncertainty dragging at his feet every step of the way.

Wakeman's defense counsel looked up from her work to see Paul standing in the doorway. "Yes. Ensign Sinclair, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I, uh, I'd like to talk to you."

"What about, Ensign Sinclair? You're listed as a witness for the prosecution."

"I… I think… my testimony might be more appropriate as a defense witness, ma'am."

Garrity couldn't hide her surprise, followed by interest. "You do?"

"I think so, ma'am."

Garrity smiled encouragingly. "Let's talk. Have a seat."