Bristol hastened off to check on his own duties, while Paul went up to Combat to make sure no crisis had suddenly erupted there, then headed back to his stateroom. Partway there, he encountered Commander Garcia again.
Garcia stared at Paul, then shook his head. "You're an idiot. You know that, Sinclair? You should've let it rest."
Not knowing how to reply, Paul stood silently.
Garcia turned away. "Just don't make me look bad. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Paul got back to his stateroom, paged Sharpe, and filled him in on the part. "I need you to get to those snipes who worked for Chief Asher. They must have known something about the problem with the power transfer junction. Now that we have something specific to ask about, maybe one of them will spill their guts. And make sure you tell anyone you talk to about something that I checked on. There are no determinations of misconduct made when a servicemember dies in the line of duty."
Sharpe looked happier than Paul had seen him in weeks. "Will do, sir."
"One other thing. Have you found anybody yet who saw Lieutenant Silver around the time the engineering logs were hacked?"
"No, sir. Not any enlisted, anyway. Maybe an officer . . ."
"Do you think anything known to the officers onboard remains unknown in chief's quarters? Get on those snipes, Sheriff. I want to know what answers they'll give this time."
Paul dodged out of dinner as quickly as he could, wondering if he was just imagining the funny looks he was getting from the other junior officers.
Garcia knew I was doing something. How many other people heard? I know why Mike Bristol's acting a little weird, but the others . . .
Sheriff Ivan Sharpe awaited him outside of his stateroom, a nasty smile on his face. "I just had a long talk with Petty Officer Third Class Valyati."
"I take it he's a snipe in Lieutenant Silver's division?"
"Yep. And guess what?"
"At this point I don't dare guess."
"It seems the day after the accident, Lieutenant Silver had a talk with the sailors in his division. Mr. Silver told them he was really worried about what might happen to Chief Asher's family if anybody thought the Chief'd done anything wrong that might've caused the explosion."
Paul held his breath. "That's interesting."
"Isn't it? As best Valyati remembers, Mr. Silver never
told
them not to speak freely to the investigators, but he really laid it on about how that could hurt Chief Asher's family. Would you care to guess what the sailors concluded?"
"Not to talk about what really happened. Did they know there was something wrong with the power transfer junction in Forward Engineering?"
Sharpe's smile widened, not in humor but like a wolf baring its teeth. "Yes, sir. Valyati said he'd heard Chief Asher had wanted to report it with a casualty equipment report, but Mr. Silver wouldn't let him."
"That's hearsay, Sheriff. Somebody saying they heard someone said something isn't admissible as evidence."
"I know that, sir. But Valyati knows from first-hand knowledge that the junction had been going bad for a while. They were expecting it to fail."
"So it should've already been replaced. But the casualty reporting system never got notified that a spare was needed. Instead, Lieutenant Silver pays a frantic visit to the station supply depot late Friday afternoon and begs a replacement from them. Saturday, Chief Asher's really unhappy. A few hours later, the power transfer junction blows up, killing Chief Asher. Soon after that, engineering's logs are messed up, during a time period when nobody can locate Lieutenant Silver's whereabouts. The next day, Silver convinces his troops not to talk to the investigators."
"That sums it up, sir."
Paul slammed his fist onto his desktop. "Damn! It's all circumstantial, Sheriff. We don't have one piece of evidence that directly ties Lieutenant Silver to what happened."
"Sir, will all due respect, this is plenty to go on. We can nail this guy."
"No, Sheriff. Look, I know, you're a cop. To you this is open and shut. But we don't need to convince a bunch of cops this is good enough."
"Sir, guilty is guilty. When you know a dirtball's done something, you hammer him. Or her. You don't let them get away because you're worried the evidence might not be good enough."
Paul gazed back at Sharpe.
Now, this is hard. I respect Sharpe as a petty officer and I respect his knowledge as a master-at-arms. And he's been working in law enforcement since I was in high school. But I have to tell him he's wrong
. "Look, Sheriff, you're a damn good master-at-arms, but I've already figured out the attitude that comes with that. If the guy wasn't guilty in the first place, why is he a suspect? Cops tend to identify someone as a suspect and then go after that guy hard. Right? Don't look all offended. You and I both know you're a great cop. But this isn't about what you believe, or what I believe. We need to convince the captain, and then a military judge and maybe a panel of officer members of a court-martial, that the son of Admiral Silver is such a rotten officer he caused the death of one his sailors, then covered it up. I know you know that. Getting Lieutenant Silver charged might sound real great, but it won't mean a thing if the charges get tossed out. We have to be sure we're doing this
right
. So we can get a conviction."
Sharpe made an unhappy face as he thought about Paul's words. "Yes, sir," he finally admitted. "I guess you're right about that. But just because this is all we've found doesn't mean that's all there is. We haven't exactly been able to go whole hog on our little investigation. If it turns formal, a lot more ugly stuff might crawl out of the woodwork. Probably will, if my experience counts for anything."
"I'm sure it does." Paul slumped in his chair, staring at his display.
It's all there. Oh, nothing that says beyond a shadow of a doubt that Chief Asher received orders to do what he did, and nothing that absolutely proves who it was that messed up the engineering records, but it all points in one direction
.
So what do I do? Everything I've got is circumstantial evidence, but I've got a lot of it. The captain's supposed to make this decision, but Captain Hayes will make up his mind based on what I tell him. I think. In any case, it'll look like sour grapes to some people, especially since Scott Silver's one real talent appears to be trying to make people like him. A lot of those people will just see this as an attempt by me to blame someone else. And the someone else everything seems to point toward isn't just any screw-up. He's a son-of-an-admiral screw-up, which has apparently gotten him out of every jam up until now. But as far as I know, he's never been implicated in causing the death of a service member before
.
Vice Admiral Silver has a good reputation for doing his job. Does that mean he'll look at all kindly on having his son implicated in Asher's death?
The best I can hope for is for my own conclusions to be proven right. Which means Lieutenant Silver gets a court-martial and gets proven guilty. When did I turn into somebody'd who send another officer to a court-martial based upon evidence even I admit is circumstantial
?
Petty Officer Sharpe stayed silent, waiting. Paul screwed his eyes shut. Now all he could see was the random patterns of light and dark which didn't hold any more answers than the sight of his display had.
Why does this have to be
my
decision? It's not just because I was in the duty section. It's because I got stuck with this legal officer job when I reported aboard. As if I know what the hell I'm doing. Thank you, Commander Herdez
. The thought of his former XO brought up more memories. His first days and weeks onboard the
Michaelson
, his first Captain's Masts, mistakes he still shied away from remembering, the death of Petty Officer Davidas.
Davidas' death had definitely been an accident. No question. Paul had been vastly relieved, knowing the officer who'd be held to account if it hadn't been an accident would've been Carl Meadows. Herdez had seen that relief, just like she seemed to see everything onboard.
What was it she told me then? Our duty requires us to follow our investigations to their conclusions, regardless of how much we dislike those conclusions, because a sailor had died and we couldn't betray that sailor's sacrifice by shirking our duty, no matter how much it hurt us personally. Something like that. I never forgot that, because I knew deep down it was true. Herdez isn't easy to love. She's an ironclad bitch, I guess, but she's sure easy to admire as a professional. So I know what she'd do
.
His eyes opened and strayed to a small portrait fastened on one side of his desk. Jen, caught in a candid photo, laughing during some forgotten celebration in the wardroom.
What would Jen think about me putting my career on the line this way? Dumb question. Jen's a professional, too. If she thought another officer had caused the death of one of his sailors, and then tried to cover it up, she'd go after him with a vengeance. For good reason, too, because the next person that officer caused the death of might be Jen or a whole ship worth of Jens
.
And as for me, I know what I should do. I know what the heroes I admired growing up would do. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. He who will not risk cannot win. Can I do no less? I'm not even risking my life, like they did. Hell, not acting risks other peoples' lives.
That's three in favor of sticking my neck out
.
Paul looked directly at Sharpe.
Sheriff Sharpe looked back. "Sir?" The question Sharpe really wanted to ask was clear enough.
"Don't worry, Sheriff." Paul copied his findings to a data coin. "I took a poll and got three votes for doing the tough thing, and none against."
"Three votes, sir?"
"Yeah. One was mine. The others were two people whose opinions I respect." Paul grinned. "Don't worry, Sheriff, I respect your opinion, too. But I already know how you'd vote."
"You're going to see the captain now, sir? May I come along?"
Paul hesitated, then shook his head. "This is about an officer, Sheriff. It's better if the captain and I discuss it without an enlisted sailor present. You understand."
"Yes, sir, I do. And, to be perfectly frank, sir, there's some officers I'd worry about making decisions like that without an enlisted around watching them. But I think you and Captain Hayes will do the right thing."
Assuming Captain Hayes agrees with me on what the right thing happens to be
. "I'll let you know, Sheriff."
As usual, a line of personnel trailed away from the hatch of the captain's cabin. Paul waited patiently as the line inched forward, each officer or sailor getting the signature they needed to get personally or personally delivering the report they needed to personally deliver to the captain. Even with so much of the ship automated and so many reports sent around via the ship's intranet, Navy traditions and rules kept much of the work on a face-to-face basis. Despite his resolution, Paul felt his stomach knotting up as he neared the hatch. He didn't look forward to delivering his report, and wasn't sure how it'd be received.
Captain Hayes took one look at Paul's face when he entered, then directed him to close the hatch. "What's up, Mr. Sinclair?"
Paul offered the data coin. "Sir, I've completed my investigation into the accident."
"I see." Hayes took the coin, turning it slowly in his hand, then looked sharply at Paul. "What's the bottom-line?"
Paul swallowed, partly out of nervousness and partly to clear a throat which felt too tight. "Captain, I believe a preponderance of circumstantial evidence points to the conclusion that Lieutenant Silver ordered Chief Asher to undertake emergency repairs on the power transfer junction in Forward Engineering, and to do so single-handedly in violation of safety procedures. That required Chief Asher to disable the safety interlocks. This is what prevented the fire-suppression systems from functioning. The engineering logs would have clearly shown that this activity had taken place, as well as an authorization clearance from Chief Asher and an officer. Therefore I also believe Lieutenant Silver is responsible for damaging the engineering records to prevent his role in the matter from being discovered. Further, I have a statement from a member of Lieutenant Silver's division that he discouraged them from cooperating with the initial investigation by frightening them with the claim that anything they said would harm Chief Asher's family."
Hayes stared silently at Paul for a long moment. "Are you recommending I court-martial Lieutenant Silver?"
"Sir, I . . . the decision of what action to take is yours, sir."
"I didn't ask you to make the decision, Mr. Sinclair. I asked if that was what you were recommending."
It actually hurt to answer the captain's blunt question. "Yes, sir, I am so recommending."
Hayes' gaze shifted to the data coin still resting in his hand. "Have a seat."
"Yes, sir." Paul sat, his back stiffly erect, trying not to look anywhere in particular, while Captain Hayes loaded the coin into his data unit and with painstaking care reviewed the material Paul had gathered. Paul occasionally stole glances at the clock on one bulkhead, seeing the minutes drag by, wondering what those still in line outside thought about the closed hatch and Paul's long meeting with the captain.
Hayes finally made a angry snort, then turned back to Paul. "I could wipe this, Mr. Sinclair. Tell you I'd looked into it and disagreed. But I won't. You did a good job."
"Th-thank you, sir."
"I'm not sure I should thank
you
. Have you ever met Admiral Silver?"
"No, sir."
"He's tough. He's professional. He's not going to be happy." Hayes made a fist, as if he were going to slam it into his display. "But I'm not in this job to keep people happy. Not when I see this kind of evidence. Are you sure there's nothing aside from that supply part thing that actually names Lieutenant Silver?"
"There might be, sir, but I couldn't find anything."
"So I'll have to assume there isn't, until or unless I find out otherwise. Which leaves what to do up to my discretion." Hayes rubbed his lower face for a few moments. "Okay. You write me up a charge sheet, Mr. Sinclair. Whatever charges against Lieutenant Silver you feel would be appropriate and provable. No more, no less. Don't talk to anyone about this. Bring the charge sheet to me when you're done."