Burden of Proof

Chapter Five

"Hey, Paul!"

Paul turned, puzzled by the hail since he didn't recognize the voice. A tall, lanky lieutenant stood at the other end of the passageway, Carl Meadows at his side. Carl beckoned and Paul walked toward them. "This is Lieutenant Silver, Paul."

"Hi." Silver flashed a big smile and extended his hand. "Call me Scott. You're another ring-knocker from the Academy, right?"

"Yup. Nice to see you, Scott."

"Oh, I bet you're not half as happy to see me as Carl was. It seemed like I couldn't get on this ship!"

Carl nodded. "It's a real short turnover. We only have a couple of days left."

"But I was Auxiliaries Officer on the Rickover, so I can handle the turnover for main propulsion assistant quickly."

Paul gave Carl a puzzled look. "Main propulsion assistant? But you're the Weapons and Fire Control Officer."

Carl spread his hands. "It's a rolling turnover. Lieutenant Kilgary's taking over my job, and Scott Silver's taking over Kilgary's job."

"Kilgary's going to weapons? Why?"

"Colleen's afraid of being typecast in engineering and being forced to serve in that type of assignment her entire career, so she wants to get experience in another area. She's too late, if you ask me, but I understand why she's doing it."

"Yeah." Paul didn't know Colleen Kilgary all that well because their duty sections and watch patterns rarely crossed. But I'm sure she'll do great as Carl's replacement, and having her onboard after Scott takes over her job will mean he has a source of knowledge to draw on. It should be a win-win situation for everybody. "Is she going to replace you as my underway officer of the deck?"

"Nope," Silver replied with another smile. "That'll be me. Carl tells me you're a great junior officer of the deck, so I'm looking forward to it."

Carl checked his watch. "Let's get going, Scott. I need to get you to engineering and pick up Colleen to pass on my stuff to her."

"Sure. See you around, Paul." Paul watched them go, then mentally shrugged. He seems okay. Friendly, that's for sure. And if he's been on the Rickover he ought to be familiar with how the Michaelson handles as well, so I shouldn't have problems with him as my officer of the deck. I hate to see Carl go, but this could be a lot worse.

Paul, busy with his own work, saw little more of either Carl or Scott Silver before he received a page from the quarterdeck. Jen's here? He glanced at the clock. It's only 1700. She's the one who's early this time.

Jen gave his uniform a critical going over. "Did you actually get this pressed?"

"Yeah."

"I guess you're okay."

"Thanks. I haven't had a uniform inspection this tough since I left the Academy."

"Ha-ha. Forgive me for wanting you to look decent. Ready to head for the Mahan?"

Two docks over this time, and another quarterdeck very similar but not exactly the same as the Michaelson 's. A very sharp-looking officer of the deck welcomed them aboard, then a very sharp-looking ensign escorted them to the captain's quarters.

Jen rapped on the hatch. "Lieutenant Shen reporting as ordered."

Captain Shen looked up from his desk. "At least you follow orders now that you're in the Navy, Jen. This is Sinclair?"

"Yes. May I present Lieutenant Junior Grade Paul Sinclair."

Kay Shen squinted at Paul. "Pleased to meet you. I thought I might have to wear my sunglasses to this little get-together."

"Sir?"

"Jen keeps talking about this knight in shining armor of hers. I figured I'd need my sunglasses to cut down on the glare."

Paul smiled politely, unsure how to respond, and trying to figure out why Jen and her father were acting so formal with each other.

"Well, let's eat." Captain Shen led the way back to the Mahan 's wardroom, where a small group of officers awaited. After a dizzyingly fast round of introductions, Paul found himself seated opposite Jen, unable to be sure of the names of anyone else at the table except Captain Shen himself. The meal passed quickly as well, with only occasional small talk and a few questions to Paul about his operational experiences on the Michaelson. Before he knew it, Captain Shen was rising, everyone else was following suit, and he was once again walking with Jen back to the captain's stateroom.

Captain Shen sat in the one chair, waving Paul and Jen to the small couch against one bulkhead. Paul sat a little stiffly, unable to relax.

Kay Shen smiled briefly at Paul. "You're an Academy graduate."

"Yes, sir." Jen's body, next to his, felt tense.

Captain Shen leaned back, raising one eyebrow at Paul. "I looked up your record. You weren't the anchorman, but you didn't distinguish yourself in class rank, either."

Jen's voice carried an edge. "Dad…"

"Okay, okay. Somebody's got to be in the middle. So, Mr. Sinclair, do you have any plans about making my daughter an honest woman?"

"Dad! I don't require some male keeper to make me an honest woman."

"Oh. You don't want him."

"I didn't say that."

Captain Shen glanced at Paul again. "I take it you two aren't sharing quarters, yet."

"Dad!"

"No, sir. We're both still assigned to ships."

Captain Shen nodded. "Different ships, fortunately. Good thing you had Gwen Herdez riding herd on you when you were both on the Michaelson."

"You know Commander Herdez, sir?"

"I had the pleasure of serving with her once. Hard as nails."

"She has high standards, sir."

"Damn straight." Captain Shen smiled once again, the expression coming and going rapidly. "So does my daughter. She's never held on to a man this long before. They usually got the boot pretty quick."

"Dad, if you don't — "

"Mind you, they all deserved to get the boot, because they didn't deserve her. Apparently she feels differently about you."

"I'm a very lucky man, sir."

Jen covered her eyes with one hand. "Oh, please."

"Good people tend to make their own luck. Are you good enough for Jen?"

"I'm doing my best."

"We'll see if your best is good enough."

Jen spoke sharply. "I'll be the judge of that."

"Sure, Jen. Where's your next assignment? Any word yet?"

"I've got six more months on the Maury, Dad. I've got my dream sheet in with the detailers telling them what assignments I really want, but no responses from them."

"Nothing too odd about that. Am I correct in assuming you two have matching dream sheets?"

"Yes. We want assignments close to each other and know we need to make sure our detailers know that. I'm not an ensign anymore, Dad."

"Heck, no. You're a lieutenant junior grade! Practically an admiral. Let me lay it on the line. As long as you're not officially hitched the detailers are real unlikely to worry about sending you to the same general area on your next assignment."

"We know that, Dad."

"I assume there's no plans to rush into marriage to try to ensure you get similar orders?"

Jen look of annoyance deepened. "There won't be any rushing into anything."

"Well, that's a relief. What are your career plans, Mr. Sinclair?"

Paul tensed some more. The question was outwardly run of the mill, yet in professional terms the career plans of an officer told you a lot about them, for better or worse. "I've put in for shore duty on Franklin Station, sir. Preferably in the operations branch, but I'm willing to look at other options."

"Hmmm. Space officers tend to rotate to Franklin for shore duty, so I'm sure you'll get that. What about afterwards?"

"I'm going to evaluate options when my next orders come up, sir."

Captain Shen looked skeptical. "That's not exactly long term planning. Are you going to make the Navy a career?"

"That option's still open, sir."

"Options are all very well, but it's necessary to make decisions at some point."

Paul made a small gesture which stopped Jen's next eruption. "Sir, I'm fully capable of making decisions. I'm just awaiting some more experience before making decisions that don't need to be made now."

"The proof's in the pudding, young man."

This time Jen ignored Paul's attempt to handle the issue himself. "Dad, Paul has proven his ability to make tough decisions. He doesn't need any criticism from you on that score."

"I take it you're referring to his testimony in his former captain's court-martial. Carrying out Commander Herdez's instructions — "

"Sir," Paul interrupted, hearing his voice carry an edge of anger which he tamped down. "Commander Herdez gave me no 'instructions' on that matter. The decision was mine." He'd never boasted about it, but he couldn't bear having such a difficult, soul-wrenching decision casually dismissed.

"Really?" Captain Shen let the noncommittal reply hang for a moment. "Not a good moment for the Navy, in any event."

"I'm not happy it happened, sir."

"You're still the collateral duty legal officer on your ship?"

"Yes, sir."

"Aspire to be a lawyer, eh?"

"No, sir."

"I understand you had a run-in with Greenspacers recently. Tell me about it."

Paul recited the events surrounding the canceled test-firing, but couldn't shake the feeling that he was reporting to a superior instead of sharing information with a fellow officer. Boy, am I glad I don't work for this guy. No offense, Jen. Not that I'm ever likely to tell you that.

Paul's report over, Captain Shen appeared ready to interrogate him in other areas, but Jen ostentatiously brought her wristwatch up. "I'm sorry, but I need to get back to the ship. Are you ready, Paul?"

"Sure." Trying his best to conceal his relief, Paul stood and offered Captain Shen his respects, then stood outside the stateroom while Jen said goodbye. Within a few minutes, they were off the Mahan.

Jen walked rapidly, her mouth tight. "Well," Paul finally offered, "that was fun."

She looked at him skeptically, then tried to smile. "No, it wasn't. You did well, though."

"What was that all about?"

Jen led the way over to one side, where a large screen portrayed an image of space outside the base. She leaned against the bulkhead, her head turned so she could look at the field of stars displayed there. "My dad's been in the Navy a long time, and he's been commanding ships for years now. I sometimes think he's forgotten there's another world, one where his word isn't law and people don't jump to carry out his orders. Instead, he acts like he expects everyone and every place to acknowledge him as the Captain." She smiled ruefully. "He usually gets disappointed when he tries, though."

Paul leaned against the bulkhead on the opposite side of the display. "Sorry, Jen."

"It's not your fault. But since he's my dad he's sort of the baggage I bring to this relationship. I was hoping he'd be better tonight. He's not a bad person. Just tough and smart and demanding."

"'Tough, smart and demanding' sounds familiar."

"Yeah, I come by it honestly."

"How's your mother handle it?"

Jen looked down at the deck, her expression hidden. "Mom died six years ago."

"Oh, geez, Jen. I'm so sorry." No wonder she never talked about her mother. And with us being based up here and working constantly I never wondered about it. Family seems very far away, except when they come riding in with their own ship like Jen's dad did.

"It's not something I talk about. Maybe someday. But Dad got harder after Mom died. Maybe she'd always softened his rough edges, maybe that's how he grieves. I don't know. He doesn't talk about it, either."

"That's a helluva big elephant in the room whenever you meet, though, isn't it?"

Jen looked up, smiling wanly now. "Sure is. But that's how we both handle it."

"I won't bring it up again, Jen. But if you're ever ready to talk, I'm ready to listen."

"Thanks, but don't hold your breath. It's not going to happen tomorrow, I'll guarantee, even if my ship wasn't leaving in the morning." She looked back at the stars for a moment, then reached down, unzipped one pocket, and fished in it until her hand surfaced with a rectangular, plastic, coded room key. "I got us a room."

"Are you sure you're up for that tonight?"

"Very sure. I'm tired of the universe, Paul. It's too complicated. At this moment, I just want to go somewhere private where you and I can forget about everything except each other for a while."

"I'd like that, too. Lead on, my lady."

"I have no intention of being a lady tonight."

They began walking. Aware of the weary moodiness in her, Paul felt an urge to drape his arm over Jen's shoulders and hold her tight. But they were in uniform, and the passageways of Franklin Station still held plenty of personnel attending to personal and professional errands, so such a public display of affection between officers would be unprofessional and improper. Jen looked over at him, and as if reading his mind, reached her near hand toward Paul and pantomimed squeezing Paul's hand. Then her hand dropped, and the two officers walked on with a half meter of space separating them.

Paul sat in Combat on the Michaelson the next morning, watching his display report every detail as the Maury undocked and headed away from Franklin Naval Station. The symbol representing the Maury stayed bright as she accelerated outward, the distance between her and Franklin opening with dizzying speed. I wish I could at least send Jen a letter, and maybe get some back. But ships on patrol don't send or receive anything but important operational messages. Mail receipt and sending would pose too big a risk of betraying the ship's location. So, farewell for now, Jen. For the next three months, I'll only be talking to you in my mind.

Two hours later, Paul and the other junior officers gathered on the quarterdeck for Carl Meadows' final departure from the ship. The officers lined up as sideboys as Carl entered the quarterdeck with a seabag of personal belongings draped over one shoulder. Carl insisted on shaking everyone's hands, then stepped back, looked around for a moment at the ship, faced the officer of the deck inport and saluted. "Request permission to leave the ship."

"Permission granted."

As Carl started through the ranks of his fellow junior officers, Lieutenant Sindh called out, "Hand salute!" They all saluted in unison, holding the gesture as Carl brought his own hand up, maintaining his return salute as he walked past their ranks. The bosun mate of the watch trilled attention on his pipe, bonged the ship's bell twice, then announced, "Lieutenant, United States Navy, departing."

Carl pivoted after he'd cleared the Michaelson 's brow so he could face aft and salute the flag. Then he turned, smiling a bit wistfully. "See you guys around. Take it easy."

Lieutenant Sindh called out, "Two!" Everyone dropped their salute and waved to Carl as he walked away. Within a few moments, most of the junior officers had hastened off to work, leaving Paul and Kris Denaldo watching the dwindling form of Carl until it disappeared around a turn.

Kris slapped Paul on the back. "Come on. You and I've got work to do."

"I going to miss that guy, Kris."

"Yeah. It's hard when a friend leaves. I hated to see Jen go, but at least she's nearby and I still see her every once in a while."

"I guess I'd better get used to it."

"You won't. You saw how torn up Gonzalez was to leave."

"It's a screwy way to live, Kris."

"You volunteered for it."

"You sound like Jen. Reminding me of my mistakes."

Kris laughed and headed back into the ship. Paul took one more look toward where Carl had disappeared, then followed her. Two goodbye's in one morning. At least Jen's coming back. Unless an accident happened, unless Jen fell prey to the many ways a sailor could die in the course of "routine" duties. Paul's mind shied away from the possibility, though not before he realized Jen would have the same fears for him. We understand each other's work. That's a good thing. It can also be a bad thing, I guess.

Four days later, the Michaelson herself prepared to get underway again. The contractors were aboard, the pulse-phased laser appeared to be working properly, and this time two range safety ships would accompany the Michaelson to ensure another Greenspace trick didn't interrupt the test firing.

Paul twisted around from his chair on the bridge, looking for Lieutenant Silver. Where's Scott? He should already be up here and helping get through the checklist for getting underway. Paul focused back on the checklist, reviewing the next item.

Barely twenty minutes prior to the scheduled time for getting underway, Scott Silver came onto the bridge and strapped into his chair. "Hey, Paul. Sorry I'm late. Really sorry. Had some engineering issues, you know?"

"Uh, yeah." It's not his fault if something tied him down until now. And engineering problems are the sort of thing that might keep us from getting underway at all.

"How's the checklist coming?" Silver took a look at it, nodded and smiled. "Great. Really good work. It's almost done. I can see why Carl Meadows said you were a great partner on a watch team."

"Thanks. There's a couple more items — "

"Right. Can you handle them while I get up to speed on your bridge arrangement?"

Paul nodded back, trying not to reveal any reluctance since the request seemed reasonable. Unused to handling all the checklist items by himself, Paul went through the last few items as fast as he could and still be certain they'd been done properly.

He'd just finished when Commander Kwan arrived on the bridge, looked around carefully, then focused on Scott Silver. "How's preparations for getting underway going?"

Silver smiled confidently. "The checklist's just been completed, sir. We're ready to go."

"Good work, Scott. Notify the captain. He should up here any moment now."

Silver gestured to Paul. "Let the captain know, okay?"

Paul bit back his first reply. You could've let Kwan know I did the checklist instead of taking credit for it yourself. And why can't you call the captain? But Silver was the officer of the deck, which meant he had every right to delegate tasks to Paul. "Captain, this is Lieutenant Junior Grade Sinclair, the junior officer of the deck. All departments report readiness for getting underway."

"Thanks. I'll be right there."

A few moments later the bosun mate of the watch called out, "Captain's on the bridge!"

Scott Silver pivoted his chair to face Captain Hayes. "Sir, the ship is ready to get underway."

"Thank you." Hayes eyed Silver carefully. "Do you feel familiar enough with the ship to get her underway?"

Silver looked regretful. "I think so, sir, but in a close maneuvering situation like this…"

Captain Hayes switched his gaze to Paul. "Lieutenant Sinclair, why don't you get the ship underway today?"

"Aye, aye, sir." Am I going to do everything up here this watch? It makes sense, I guess. Scott hasn't been underway on the Michaelson, yet, which makes me the better-qualified one for conning her away from the station. Paul took a couple of deep, calming breaths, exhaling slowly, as he studied the close-in maneuvering display and ran through the procedure for getting underway. It's basically simple. I release the ship from the station, pushing her up and away, while the centrifugal force inherited from the station's rotation also pushes her up. I have to make sure the Michaelson doesn't drift too far to the side and smash into another dock before I get her clear of the station. And I have to avoid running into anything else.

The status panel for the ship's automated maneuvering system glowed a happy green at every point. Paul saw Scott Silver's eyes were focused there. Sensing his gaze, Scott looked at Paul, then nodded at the automated system panel. "That'll do it for you."

"No, it won't. We never take the ship out on automatic. That system isn't foolproof. No system is. And if it fails, we need to know how to do the job ourselves."

Silver shrugged. "Okay."

Easy for you to say. They let the Rickover leave port on auto? Never mind. Can't think about that now. "Captain, all departments report they are ready for getting underway. We have received clearance from station control to get underway."

Captain Hayes nodded, his eyes on his own display. "Very well, Mr. Sinclair. Get the ship underway."

"Aye, aye, sir." Paul licked his lips and swallowed, trying to ensure his voice would sound smooth and confident. "Bosun, pass the word to all hands to prepare to get underway. Quarterdeck, seal quarterdeck access and retract the brow."

"Seal quarterdeck and retract brow, aye," the petty officer of watch echoed in a routine designed to ensure he had heard the order correctly. "Quarterdeck reports it is sealed. Station has retracted brow. All seals confirmed tight."

Paul checked his display, mentally lining up his commands and surreptitiously using his fingers to remember numbers and sequences. "Take in Lines Two and Three. Take in Line Four."

"Take in Lines Two, Three, and Four, aye." Some of the grapples holding the Michaelson tight against the station let go, allowing the Michaelson 's lines to float free. The ship reeled in the lines smoothly, ensuring they wouldn't flail about and damage either the ship or the station. "Lines Two, Three, and Four secure."

Paul checked his display again, rehearsing the next order in his head, acutely aware that Captain Hayes was monitoring every step of the process. "Port thrusters all ahead one third. Let out Lines… One and Five."

"Port thrusters all ahead one third, aye," the helmsman echoed the command. Paul felt a kick as the thrusters began shoving at the Michaelson 's mass. Combined with the gradual loosening of her ties to the station, the fluctuating forces made the feeling of gravity onboard shift as well, causing Paul's stomach to react as if they were on a thrill ride, and introducing a dangerous distraction.

"Let out Lines One and Five, aye," the petty officer of the watch responded.

Michaelson 's mass accelerated ponderously away from the station, the two lines still tethering her to Franklin paying out slowly, the computers controlling their tension compensating for the acceleration as well as the inherited centrifugal force pushing the Michaelson out and to the side. Paul glanced at the emergency jettison panel. If one of the line computers failed, he'd have to hit the right switch as quickly as possible to cut the line and keep it from pulling on the ship and the station in a potentially disastrous way. The authorities on Franklin didn't like having to retrieve drifting lines, but they really hated mistightened lines pulling a ship and the station back into uncontrolled contact.

Paul watched, trying to follow the advice of his first officer of the deck and feel the ship's movement instead of just watching the displays. He stole another glance to the side, where Captain Hayes was watching his display with every appearance of calm interest. "Standby to let go all lines."

"Standing by."

Another moment. Feel the ship. Watch the displays. Factor in the delay between giving an order and when it's carried out. "Let go all lines."

"Let go all lines, aye, sir. All lines let go."

The bosun mate of the watch sounded his pipe. "Underway! Shift colors!" Instead of physically lowering the bow and stern flags, and then raising a flag to the main mast as seagoing ships did, the bosun on the Michaelson pressed a control to change her broadcast identity code to show the ship was no longer tethered to another object with a fixed orbit.

Paul sat rigid, barely aware of a pain in his lower back from tense muscles held tight so he could watch his displays closely. The maneuvering screen showed the Michaelson moving at a gradually increasing pace out and away from the station, her projected course a flattened curve. Up ahead, no other ships or objects were visible, leaving the Michaelson 's intended course clear.

"Say again, sir?"

Damn! I said that too softly. I know better. Project command presence and say your orders loud and clear, dammit! "Port thrusters all ahead two thirds. Main drive all ahead one third."

"Port thrusters all ahead two thirds, aye. Main drive all ahead one third, aye."

Paul tried not to look toward Captain Hayes again, wondering how he'd reacted to Paul's miscommunicated command. A moment later, the Michaelson 's main drive kicked in, slamming Paul back against his seat. As the maneuvering thrusters pushed the Michaelson farther away from the station, the main drive shoved her forward, creating a new projected course leading over and away from the station. He briefly flashed on another training memory, when he'd wondered why the ships didn't just use their thrusters to pivot around so they could accelerate directly away from the station. Carl had given him an I-can't-believe-you-asked-me-that look, and then pointed out that doing such a maneuver would direct the main drive's exhaust straight at the station. That'd be a bad thing, Carl had added with a grin. Man, I wish Carl was still up here.

On the maneuvering display, the Michaelson 's course rose toward a projected path set by the station traffic monitors. Feel the ship. Feel the ship. "Secure port thrusters. Main drive all ahead two thirds."

"Port thrusters secure, aye, main drive all ahead two thirds, aye."

Smooth. Not exact. But smooth. "Quartermaster. What's your recommendation?"

"Recommend course two zero zero degrees absolute, up two zero degrees, sir."

Paul looked toward the captain. Hayes nodded judiciously without being asked. "Very well," Paul acknowledged. "Helm, come to course two zero zero degrees absolute, up two zero degrees."

"Come to course two zero zero degrees absolute, up two zero degrees, aye, sir."

Paul let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Something else. Oh, yeah. "Captain, request permission to secure from getting underway."

Hayes nodded again. "Permission granted."

Paul called back to the petty officer of the watch. "Pass the word to secure from getting underway."

"Aye, sir." Keying the all-hands circuit, the petty officer called out the announcement. "All hands, secure from getting underway. The ship remains in maneuvering status. All hands exercise caution in moving about."

USS Michaelson shuddered as the helm orders caused thrusters around her hull to fire, killing drift in one direction, then bringing her bow around toward the desired course before firing again. Her mass responding to the thrust, the Michaelson ponderously steadied onto the planned trajectory. The desired course and the actual course displayed on the maneuvering screens merged into one curving path, then as the thrusters shut off their absence made itself felt as all sense of gravity disappeared. Paul's stomach lurched in an all-too-familiar fashion, but he fought it down with the ease of long practice.

Scott Silver tapped his controls. "I guess you trust the automated maneuvering system when you're clear of the station."

"That's right." Paul pointed at the display. "There's a lot more room for error if something goes wrong out here."

"Whatever."

Captain Hayes unstrapped, pulling himself from his chair gingerly in the new zero-gravity conditions. "Good job, Mr. Sinclair."

"Thank you, sir."

Hayes cupped one hand to his ear as if straining to hear Paul's reply.

"Thank you, sir!"

Hayes nodded, then headed for the hatch.

"Captain's off the bridge!"

Paul smiled to himself. Captain Hayes chewed me out for not speaking loud enough when I gave that one order, but he did it without chewing me out. He just made his point. Paul heard a chuckle and looked over at Scott Silver, who was laughing at him. What right do you have to laugh about that? You were just baggage up here this time.

Apparently oblivious to Paul's soured mood, Silver chatted through the rest of the watch, telling sea stories about being at the Academy and his experiences since then. If Paul hadn't been so ticked off at Silver, he might have found the stories charming. Instead, he found himself questioning some of what he was hearing.

The arrival of Lieutenant Diem and Ensign Gabriel to assume the watch was a bigger relief than usual. Partway through the turnover, Paul realized that right after he discussed each important item with Gabriel, Silver would discuss the same item with Diem. The realization that Silver appeared to be depending on Paul to keep track of important details did nothing to improve Paul's mood. He rushed through the last stage of the turnover, then bolted the bridge as quickly as propriety would allow so he wouldn't have to leave along with Silver.

Once inside his own stateroom, Paul pulled up his division's training records. He knew from experience that Commander Garcia usually did checks of training records soon after an underway period started, though Paul had never figured out if Garcia did that because he was bored or because he expected his division officers to have neglected their duties amid the hassles of getting underway. Speaking of Garcia, he's the senior watch officer. Several months back he scrambled watch sections to keep us from "getting too comfortable." Commander, please, please, please scramble the watch sections again so I don't have to spend hour upon endless hour up on the bridge with Scott Silver!

Sam Yarrow came in, strapped into his seat, then eyed Paul. "What's eating you?"

"Who says anything's eating me?"

"The way your back's rigid and your ears are red and you're pounding the keys on your data terminal."

Paul willed himself to relax, then tried to smile. "I guess I'm just tense. It was a rough morning. I conned the ship out of the dock."

"So? You've done that before."

"Yeah, but the new captain was watching me, and I had a new officer of the deck. It made things a bit more stressful."

"If you say so. What's that guy Silver like on the bridge anyway?"

Paul didn't have to fake his smile now. Sam, do you really think I haven't learned not to spill my guts to you? If I said one word remotely critical of Silver, you'd be telling Silver and half the rest of the ship about it within the hour, and making me sound like I'd labeled Silver a hopeless incompetent. "I can't tell, yet."

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"Because I don't have enough experience with Silver. That's all. I'm not going to evaluate someone based on a single time standing watch with them."

"It sounds like he didn't do too good."

Stop fishing, Sam. "I didn't hear any complaints." Which was true. Paul closed out his files. "Sorry, I've got a meeting."

Garcia didn't scramble the watch teams. Lieutenant Sindh began to develop a deepening frown as she waited for Scott Silver to arrive, always late, on the bridge to relieve her. Acting unaware of Sindh's disapproval, Silver always had an apology and an explanation for his lateness. Paul found himself begrudging duties on the bridge as Silver routinely assumed everything would be done by Paul as his assistant.

The test-firing went smoothly this time. Either the Michaelson 's two escorts or the inability to replace the ship Greenspace had used last time meant no one interfered with the test. Paul, not on watch on the bridge, sat in Combat watching the Michaelson 's combat systems track the target, then engage it with the new weapon. The phased-pulse laser scored direct hits on the target, as it should've since the target had a beacon attached and was traveling on a fixed trajectory. The contractors smiled and pronounced the weapon a success. Whether it would work in a real combat situation was another matter altogether, of course.

Captain's Mast, also known as Non-Judicial Punishment, also known as NJP in the initials-addicted military. The first Captain's Mast for Captains Hayes, meaning the first time the officers and crew would see him directly deal out discipline to those accused of relatively minor infractions against rules and regulations.

Paul stood at attention against one bulkhead of the crew's mess, having locked a hand onto a nearby tie down both for safety and so he could keep his feet from drifting up into the middle of the proceedings. Next to him stood the ship's highest ranking enlisted sailor, Senior Chief Petty Officer Kowalski. Kowalski nodded in greeting. "Another fine day underway, Mr. Sinclair."

"Underway's the only way." Paul gave the expected reply, only his tone betraying the expected irony in the statement. "How many have we got today, Sheriff?"

On the other side of the compartment, Master-at-Arms First Class Ivan Sharpe stood next to the hatch, ready to usher in those sailors who would face the captain. He raised three fingers in response to Paul's question. "Slow day, sir."

"Fine with me."

Senior Chief Kowalski looked toward the hatch. "Everybody here?"

Sharpe leaned out to confirm, then nodded. "All present and accounted for, Senior Chief."

"In that case Petty Officer Sharpe, please notify the captain we are in readiness for Mast."

"Will do, Senior Chief."

Paul knew it would take a few minutes for Sharpe to reach the captain's cabin and then return with Captain Hayes. He wondered again how Hayes would handle the Mast cases, and whether he'd ask more questions of Paul than either of his two prior captains had done. Since Captain's Mast was non-judicial, it wasn't really a legal proceeding, but the rules for it were still set forth in legal guidance like the Judge Advocate General's Manual. Still, most Mast cases dealt with routine offenses, so captains rarely had to ask questions about procedures, and since no lawyers were present for Mast, they couldn't confuse the issues either.

Sharpe arrived back at the hatch and leaned in to yell, "Attention on deck!" Paul and Senior Chief Kowalski stiffened to attention.

Captain Hayes entered, his movements in freefall still a bit tentative, then looked at both Kowalski and Paul in acknowledgement of their presence. "At ease."

Paul and the Senior Chief relaxed into parade rest, though with their hands locked onto tie-downs instead of clasped together behind them.

Hayes looked toward Petty Officer Sharpe. "Bring in the first case."

"Aye, aye, sir. Seaman Haggerty."

A small procession entered the compartment. Seaman Haggerty, his uniform trim and neat, came to stand at attention directly before the captain. Ensign Diego, Haggerty's division officer, came next and took up a position along the bulkhead opposite Paul, followed by Chief Petty Officer Bidden.

Hayes checked his charge sheet. "Seaman Haggerty. You are charged with violating Article 89 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Disrespect toward a Superior Commissioned Officer." He glanced toward Ensign Diego. "Are you the superior commissioned officer in question?"

Randy Diego nodded nervously, but his voice came out firmly. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me what happened, Mr. Diego."

"Sir, we were putting together a work detail. I had orders from my department head to get some materiel stowed away safely that night. Chief Bidden and I called the division together and told them we'd be working past liberty call to make sure it was done. There was some grumbling, captain. I didn't mind that. But Seaman Haggerty came up and asked to be excused on account of a social engagement. I told him no, that everybody'd be working. At that point Seaman Haggerty turned away and said he couldn't believe he had to listen to orders from a, uh, 'snot-nosed kid'."

Captain Hayes looked toward Chief Bidden. "Chief, did you hear that statement?"

Bidden nodded. "Yes, sir. Loud and clear. I told Haggerty he'd better express regret for that statement and do it right then, but he had a head of steam up, I guess, and wouldn't."

"I see." Hayes centered his gaze on Seaman Haggerty. "What do you have to say?"

"Sir, I, uh, got a little worked up. I know I shouldn't have said what I did."

"It's a little late to admit to that, Seaman Haggerty. Do you have anything else to say?"

Haggerty looked momentarily desperate. "I… No, sir. I'm just real sorry. I'd take it back now in a heartbeat, Captain. I do want to apologize to Mr. Diego. Honest."

Hayes looked back toward Randy Diego. "Ensign Diego, what kind of sailor is Seaman Haggerty?"

"Captain, he's been a pretty good performer before this. I'd expected him to make petty officer third class soon. But I couldn't let this go by."

Hayes nodded. "That's right. Chief, do you have anything to add?"

Chief Bidden shook his head. "No, sir. Mr. Diego summed it up right. Haggerty's been a good sailor. He ain't talking, but I think he was looking forward to seeing a girl, and he let something other than his brain do the thinking that day."

"I see." Hayes eyed Seaman Haggerty. "Do you understand the gravity of your offense, Seaman Haggerty?"

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I do."

"Ensign Diego talked about you possibly making third class soon. How happy would you be if someone junior to you then responded to your orders by insulting you?"

"I wouldn't like it, Captain."

Hayes frowned down at the charge sheet for a moment. "I'd be fully justified in throwing the book at you for this, but your division officer and chief both say you've been a good sailor and this incident was an aberration. Even then, though, I can't let it pass. Speaking so disrespectfully of an officer to his face cannot be tolerated." Hayes paused. "I'm going to order you to be fined half of one month's pay. And reduced in rate one paygrade." Haggerty flinched. "Suspended for six months." Haggerty brightened, then quailed again as Captain Hayes raised a hand in admonishment. "If you screw up again, you'll be a seaman apprentice, not a petty officer third class. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. That won't be a problem, sir. I promise."

"Good. Dismissed."

Haggerty looked toward Petty Officer Sharpe in some confusion. Sharpe hooked a finger to tell him to leave. Ensign Diego and Chief Bidden followed.

Paul nodded to himself. That wasn't an easy case, but Hayes seemed to find the right balance between discipline and mercy. Haggerty's going to miss that pay, so he didn't get off free, but he's got a chance to beat the rest of the penalty if he keeps his nose clean.

Hayes shook his head and glanced at Senior Chief Kowalski. "Let's hope that got Haggerty's attention. Next case."

Sharpe called out the next name. "Petty Officer Second Class Gadell."

Gadell came in, standing at attention before Captain Hayes, as Lieutenant Silver and Chief Asher followed.

Hayes looked at his charge sheet. "Petty Officer Gadell. You are charge with violating Article 134, Disorderly conduct, Drunkenness. Lieutenant Silver, what does this charge concern?"

Instead of answering, Silver indicated Chief Asher. "The chief knows the details, Captain."

Hayes frowned slightly and looked toward Chief Asher. "Well, Chief?"

"Sir, Petty Officer Gadell, she came back from liberty three sheets to the wind, if you know what I mean. Came into the berthing compartment after taps, raising hell and making noise. Everybody told her to shut up, but she just kept it up. So's I had to get involved. But she wouldn't listen to me, either. We had to tie her in her bunk. It was real bad, and everybody in the division was real unhappy. If we let Gadell get away with that kind of thing, others would think they could, too. So we had to do something, sir."

"Thank you, Chief. Petty Officer Gadell, what do you have to say?"

Petty Officer Gadell bit her lip before replying. "Captain, the charge is true. I drank too much. Lost control, and did some stupid stuff."

"You're not denying the charge at all? You aren't claiming any mitigating circumstances?"

"No, Captain. No, sir. I did it. I'm real sorry I did, but that's no excuse."

Hayes nodded, his expression thoughtful now. "Lieutenant Silver, what's Petty Officer Gadell's record like?"

Once again, Silver indicated Chief Asher instead of replying himself. Captain Hayes frowned a bit deeper this time.

Chief Asher looked unhappy. "Captain, Petty Officer Gadell's a real good performer. This isn't like her. I wouldn't have brought charges except she did this in front of the whole division. I count on sailors like her to be real good examples."

"And usually she's a good example?"

"Yes, sir. Normally, Gadell's a real fine sailor."

Hayes looked back at Gadell. "Alright, Petty Officer Gadell. Getting so drunk you couldn't control what you were doing wasn't very smart, was it?"

"No, sir."

"Are you going to do it again?"

"No, sir!"

"You've got two things in your favor. The first is that your chief says you're a good sailor and this isn't typical of you. The second is that you've accepted responsibility for what you did and didn't try to justify it. I can't let you off, because you do owe the rest of your division for causing all that disruption. But given your record and your attitude, I'm going to keep it light. Thirty days restriction to the ship. Don't let it happen again. Dismissed."

Petty Officer Gadell couldn't mask her happy surprise before she left. As Lieutenant Silver began to follow her and Chief Asher out, Captain Hayes beckoned him over. Hayes spoke in a low voice, but Paul could still barely make it out. "Next time you have a sailor up here, Mr. Silver, make sure you familiarize yourself with that sailor's record."

Silver, taken aback, nodded several times. "Yes, sir."

Petty Officer Sharpe waited until Lieutenant Silver had left before calling in the last case. "Seaman Apprentice Alvarez!"

Alvarez entered, her uniform looking good only relative to Alvarez's usual appearance, and stood before the captain. Lieutenant Sindh and Chief Turner took their positions opposite Paul, with Sindh giving Paul a brief eye contact that spoke volumes. Paul fought down a sour grin. Alvarez. She was at the first Captain's Mast I attended on this ship, and she's been pretty much a regular since then. I wonder what she did this time? A third person, Corpsman Second Class Kim, entered and stood near Chief Thomas.

Captain Hayes consulted his charge sheet. "Seaman Alvarez. You are charged with violating Article 112a of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Wrongful Use of Controlled Substances, and Article 115, Malingering. What's the story, Lieutenant Sindh?"

Sindh nodded toward Alvarez. "Captain, as you know, the urinals on the ship are equipped with automatic drug testing monitors and identify anybody using them who has drugs in their systems. One such system notified us that Seaman Apprentice Alvarez popped positive for a synthetic drug known as Blue Sky which is on the list of controlled substances."

"I see. What about the malingering charge?"

"After she was confronted on the positive drug detection, Seaman Apprentice Alvarez declared herself to be in great pain, claiming someone must have spiked her food with a drug which was now causing severe reactions. She was taken to sick bay, thoroughly tested and placed under observation for twenty-four hours. The duty corpsman reported Seaman Apprentice Alvarez displayed no bodily stress indicators which would have been consistent with pain, nor did she show any other detectable signs of physical stress aside from her own declarations. Moreover, Seaman Apprentice Alvarez' descriptions of her suffering were not consistent. It was the duty corpsman's official assessment that Seaman Apprentice Alvarez had faked being ill."

Hayes bent a stern face toward Alvarez. "What do you have to say to the charges?"

Alvarez licked her lips and put a pleading expression on her face. "Captain, sir, it's not true. I don't know why that thing said I'd been using drugs, 'cause I don't. No, sir. That'd be unprofessional, sir. Those things malfunction, sir. I know that's true."

Hayes looked toward Corpsman Kim. "What's your assessment?"

Kim cleared his throat. "Captain, those automated testers do give false positives every once in a while. But as part of the tests I ran when Seaman Apprentice Alvarez said she was sick, I checked for drugs, of course. I got a clean positive on Blue Sky. There's no doubt it was in her system."

Alvarez shook her head. "Sir, somebody must have put it in something. I don't even know what that Blue stuff is."

Hayes' face stayed hard. "And what about the malingering charge? What do you say about that?"

"Captain, sir, I was terrible sick. I couldn't do nothing but hurt. I don't care what them machines say. I know when I'm hurting. I wouldn't fake that, sir. I know the rest of the sailors in my division are counting on me, sir."

Hayes looked back to Lieutenant Sindh. "What kind of sailor is Seaman Apprentice Alvarez?"

Sindh let her eyes rest on Alvarez. "Captain, she's a frequent source of problems. She requires constant supervision, her work is substandard, and her attitude is usually borderline insubordinate. Alvarez is a detriment to my division."

Hayes looked at Chief Thomas. "Chief?"

Thomas inclined her head toward Lieutenant Sindh. "Captain, I agree with the lieutenant, except I think maybe she could've been a bit harsher in her assessment of Alvarez."

The corners of Hayes' lips twitched upward in a momentary smile. "I see. I also see from Seaman Apprentice Alvarez' record that she's been a frequent visitor to Captain's Masts." He speared Alvarez with a look. "I don't need sailors like you on my ship. The first thing I'm going to do is reduce you in rate to Seaman Recruit, fine you one half of your pay for three months, and order you restricted to the ship for the next ninety days. The second thing I'm going to do is get you off this ship. Senior Chief Kowalski."

Kowalski straightened to attention. "Yes, sir."

"You will work with the executive officer to find a way to get Seaman Recruit Alvarez transferred off of this ship as soon as possible, with a recommendation she be separated from the Navy with an administrative discharge." Hayes pointed a rigid forefinger at Alvarez. "You listen to me. If you pull any other stunts onboard the Michaelson before I get rid of you, you'll be facing a court-martial and a bad conduct discharge. Is that clear?"

Alvarez' mouth worked silently for a moment. "Y-yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Alvarez turned and left. Lieutenant Sindh, grinning widely, followed. As Chief Turner left, she and Ivan Sharpe exchanged a high five. Sharpe saw Captain Hayes give him a stern look and quickly came back to attention, but still smiled. "That was the last one, Captain," Sharpe announced.

"You saved the best for last, huh? Why is Alvarez still aboard this ship?"

Sharpe looked at Senior Chief Kowalski, who shrugged. "Captain, if we were allowed to kill dirtballs, then Alvarez would've been stuffed into a launch tube a long time ago. But she's been able to convince people she could turn around."

"People?"

"Uh, your predecessors, sir."

"I see. Senior Chief, I hate losing a sailor, even one with a bad reputation, as long as I have reason to believe that sailor can be brought around. Nothing about Alvarez made me believe she'd ever get her act together."

"No, sir. God knows Lieutenant Sindh and Chief Thomas have tried, sir."

"Well, they'll have one less distraction soon. Let me know how we can get rid of her, Senior Chief, and how soon. Dismissed." Hayes nodded again to Paul, then headed for the hatch.

Sharpe yelled, "Attention on deck!" then grinned at Paul after the captain had left. "Oh, it's a beautiful day, sir."

Senior Chief Kowalski smiled, too. "Alvarez hasn't left, yet. You keep an eye on her. I wouldn't mind booting her out with a bad conduct discharge."

"Me, neither, Senior Chief. Ah, Mr. Sinclair, I've been waiting for this day. Begging your pardon, sir, but if you were a woman I'd kiss you."

Paul laughed. "Then I'm glad I'm not." He left as well, heading for the wardroom in search of coffee. He found Mike Bristol and Lieutenant Sindh already there. "Well," Paul noted as he strapped into a chair, "Scott Silver appears to have accomplished the difficult task of looking worse than Randy Diego."

Lieutenant Sindh smiled. "It's nice to see Lieutenant Silver accomplish something."

Mike Bristol frowned in puzzlement, looking from Paul to Sindh. "What's wrong with Scott?"

Sindh took a drink before replying. "He's an ass."

"He seems like a great guy to me."

"That's because you don't have to depend upon him to do anything."

"Really?" Mike looked at Paul.

"Yeah. You think Scott's a great guy?" Paul shook his head. "He acts nice enough, I guess, but he lets other people carry the load."

"Huh." Mike Bristol scratched his head for a moment. "Most everybody likes him."

Lieutenant Sindh grimaced. "I'm certain Commander Kwan loves him, as no doubt does his department head, Commander Destin. However, to my knowledge neither of those officers has suffered as a result of Lieutenant Silver's avoidance of responsibilities."

"He's messed over both you guys?"

"Frequently and with apparent lack of remorse."

"Huh," Bristol repeated. "How come you guys haven't been complaining openly?"

Paul shrugged. "You don't do that. Who wants to be Sam Yarrow?"

"Why not? I mean, if the guy isn't doing his job, shouldn't someone know?"

Sindh and Paul exchanged glances. Paul shook his head again. "It's hard, Mike. You're not supposed to bilge people."

"Bilge?"

"Uh, the bilge is where trash ends up on a seagoing ship. It's a general term for bad stuff."

"It sounds like Scott's bilging you."

"You could say that."

Bristol scratched his head again. "I guess this is one of those fraternity of long-suffering line officers things, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah."

Lieutenant Sindh finished her coffee. "Consider, Mike. If the officers are running around dumping on each other, working relationships go to hell. The crew picks up on it, and problems such as insubordination become commonplace. Why respect an officer who isn't respected by his or her peers? In short order, you could have an actually hazardous situation on board, one in which accidents can occur due to ill-feelings and bad discipline."

"But aren't your working relationships with Scott already bad?"

"Yes, but that's not the same as dysfunctional. I understand what Scott will do. Or, rather, not do. I can do my job understanding that. Paul can do his job. Introducing actual hostility on both sides into the situation would generate problems with carrying out our duties."

Paul nodded. I hadn't thought it through quite like that, but she's right. "That's why most of us ignore Sam Yarrow. If we took him really seriously, that would hurt us all. Besides, Sam tries to make himself look good by making everybody else look bad. We don't want to have that kind of reputation."

"Okay, if you guys say so." Bristol checked the time and hurriedly unstrapped. "Gotta go."

Paul looked at Sindh after Mike Bristol left. "Are we doing the right thing?"

"What else can we do, Paul? Scott's professional behavior, or lack thereof, places an extra burden upon us. It doesn't translate into a danger to anyone."

"What if it does?"

She sat silent for a moment. "We must watch carefully. You know the truth, Paul. Mr. Silver is very popular with some of his superiors, at least, as well as many of the junior officers. Any complaints against him must be well-justified and documented, or they will likely be ignored."

"You're being evaluated against him! He could end up ranking higher than you because all he does is try to impress his superiors and make everybody else like him."

"Neither the Navy nor life is fair, Paul." Sindh unstrapped and pulled herself out of her seat. "Come, Paul. We've both plenty of work to do. Letting Mr. Silver's faults distract us from that will only compound our problems."

When you're right, you're right. Paul followed her out.

A day later, they were back at Franklin. They'd be heading out again on Monday for more tests, and Paul had duty that weekend, so he had to stay onboard the ship instead of taking a break enjoying what diversions Franklin Naval Station offered. Not that it mattered with Jen's ship gone for another two and half months.