"Captain's on the bridge."
Tweed and Paul, absorbed in watching the outside situation, jerked in surprise at the bosun's announcement. Tweed turned to the captain, licked her lips, then began a situation summary. "Captain, we are—"
Wakeman silenced her with a look and a gesture, belting himself into his chair with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner fastening the restraints on an electric chair. He sat silent, apparently staring at the main display, but with his eyes unfocused.
"Lieutenant Tweed." Jan spun around as Commander Herdez entered the bridge and made her way to her own chair. "Have all departments reported readiness for entering port?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"How long until we tie-up?"
"Thirty-five minutes to berth contact, ma'am, according to Franklin's piloting system."
Paul felt himself hunching down and made an effort to sit normally, sparing a sympathetic glance toward Tweed, who was sweating more heavily now.
Wakeman's sitting over there like an unstable explosive. No telling what might make him blow up at us. And now Herdez is here watching us, too, like she knows Wakeman might not spot any screw-ups, or might order something stupid this close in to Franklin. I have a feeling this is going to be the longest thirty-five minutes of my life
.
Exactly thirty four minutes and twenty seconds later, the
Michaelson
's lines were shot out to waiting grapples as the ship came to a dead stop relative to Franklin. The grapples locked on, merging the
Michaelson
's mass to that of the station. The feeling of a steady one gravity's worth of acceleration settled on the ship as it joined with the station's rotation. Tweed signaled to the bosun, who shrilled his pipe before making the age-old announcement. "Moored. Shift colors."
Wakeman pulled himself out of his chair and out the hatch so quickly that the bosun barely had time to call out. "Captain's left the bridge."
Herdez unstrapped herself, nodding to Tweed and Paul. "Good job. Notify me when you stand-down the bridge watch."
"Aye, aye, ma'am." Tweed watched her leave, then slumped back, breathing heavily. "God. Last time. I hope."
Paul noticed her hand was shaking. "I don't understand, Jan. I know it wasn't fun having Wakeman and the XO up here, but you handled the ship great out in open space. Why do ops near Franklin freak you out?"
"Look at the display! How many ways can you screw up here? I can't even count them. No. I hate this part. I like driving the ship out where it's free and clear, but not in traffic like this. Last time, Paul. I'll never have to do this again." She saddened abruptly. "I'll never get to maneuver her out in the big empty again, either. I'll miss that."
"I understand." Like so much else about Jan Tweed, her fears were easy enough to comprehend, even if they served mainly as a cautionary example for Paul. "Looks like the quarterdeck is sealing to Franklin."
"Good. When that's done, we're out of here." She triggered an internal communications circuit. "Quarterdeck, this is the bridge. Who's got the watch down there?"
"Ensign Denaldo. Seals are checked and cleared. Internal and external pressure readings are equalized. Request permission to pop the hatch." Since her rest in sickbay, Kris had apparently been none the worse for wear and had returned to full duty almost immediately. The only lingering effect had been a slightly slower working pace, interspersed with occasional down time. Kris had told Paul during one such period that Herdez had 'strongly suggested' she relax once in a while. Officially, the exhaustion incident had apparently never happened, though Paul suspected Kris was on probation against over-working herself again.
Tweed checked her own read-outs before replying. "Permission granted."
"Seals released. Hatch opening." A pause while hydraulics moved tons of material in the hatch ponderously out of the way. "Hatch open and secured. Assuming the watch."
"Understood. Bridge watch standing down."
"No brass band."
Paul winced at Kris' last observation. Normally, a ship returning from months in space would have a joyful reception awaiting. A band, any family members and friends of the crew who could manage to be there, and assorted high-ranking officers from the staff on Franklin. But not this time. Paul called up a picture from the quarterdeck camera. No band and no brass of any kind. No well wishers, either, which would have required active discouragement of their presence by the command on Franklin. A lone captain stood there, with a single enlisted assistant. Paul zoomed in on the image, close enough to see the insignia which revealed the captain was a Judge Advocate General's officer.
A JAG. The only one to greet us back is a lawyer. No one else wants to be seen welcoming us, or was allowed to be seen welcoming us. That pretty much settles it. They're going to try to hang Wakeman. And maybe some of the rest of us as well
.
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?"