"Yes, sir."
"I want a clean document, Mr. Sinclair. If I approve of the charges, that charge sheet will serve as justification for convening a court-martial."
"Y-yes, sir."
Hayes rubbed his entire face this time, looking weary. "Some people think being the captain of a ship is a great deal. All this authority. You get to do just about anything you want to do. But you also have to do a lot of things you'd rather not do. I hate the idea of court-martialing an officer. But I hate the idea of someone doing this and getting off free even worse."
Paul waited a moment, but after Hayes stayed silent Paul stood up. "I'll get right on it, sir."
"One more thing, Mr. Sinclair. This is
my
decision. Understand? You didn't make it, you don't get blamed for it. It's my job to make decisions and live with the consequences."
"Yes, sir." Paul paused, then blurted out, "Thank you, sir."
Hayes looked cross for a moment. "For what? Get to work on those charges, Paul."
"Yes, sir." Paul exited the hatch, oblivious to the curious stares of those in line, and was halfway back to his stateroom before he realized that the captain's last word to him had been his first name. At the least, that seemed to signify approval.
Paul delivered the charge sheet to Captain Hayes the next morning. He notified Ivan Sharpe soon afterwards, swearing him to secrecy until the captain took action.
Sharpe bent a concerned look at Paul. "You don't look so good, sir."
Paul snorted and massaged the joints of his jaw to relieve the stress there. "I'm a little strung out, Sheriff. I spent a good part of the night writing up those charges and trying to make sure they're as well chosen and well drafted as I could make them. And every minute I was doing it I couldn't help thinking that the object of my work was to send a fellow officer to a court-martial."
"Sir, that guy's not worth your stress. Not after what he did."
Paul glared at Sharpe. "Lieutenant Silver hasn't been formally charged and he sure as hell hasn't been convicted."
"Are you telling me you don't think he's guilty, sir?"
Paul looked away, glaring now at a blank spot on the bulkhead. "No. I wouldn't have gone this far if I'd believed that. But, dammit, he's innocent until proven guilty."
"A cop can have trouble thinking that way, Mr. Sinclair."
"I know, Sheriff. That's why cops don't run the courts. Don't get me wrong. I respect the need for a 'find the guilty bastard' attitude. But we can't afford to fall into a mindset of 'he's accused so he must be guilty.'" The silence made Paul glance up again, to see Sharpe frowning in turn. "Hey, a big part of my job is making sure the captain doesn't hit any legal rocks and shoals. If I don't do that right because I'm convinced of someone's guilt or for any other reason, I'd be doing what Silver's accused of. Not doing my job right and letting someone else get hurt as a result."
Sharpe nodded. "Fair enough, sir."
"And I need a good cop like you to handle the cop side of things."
"Ah, shucks, sir, you say the nicest things. Did the captain give you any idea when he'd do something?"
Paul shook his head, looking away again. "No. It might be a few days, at least. He's got to read those charges, decide which he supports, decide if he still wants to go ahead with a court-martial. I'm not sure if there'll be anything public before the court-martial order is issued."
"Maybe not, sir. I don't envy you, sir. I don't have to be around Lieutenant Silver. You're going to have to work with him."
"Thanks for reminding me. Hopefully, it'll only be a couple of days."
* * *
One week went by. Whenever Paul encountered Captain Hayes, he ached to ask about the charges, but knew he shouldn't, and Hayes didn't volunteer any information. Paul's growing irritability at first worried his fellow junior officers, until Kris Denaldo suggested it was being caused by the extended absence of his girlfriend Jen Shen. The resulting teasing caused Paul a bit more stress, but at least of a different kind.
The second week had almost crawled to a close when Commander Kwan summoned Paul to his stateroom. Paul stood in Kwan's stateroom, wondering as to the reason, while Kwan scanned his terminal with an unreadable expression before looking up at Paul. "Mr. Sinclair. Lieutenant Silver has been referred to a general court-martial by the fleet commander." Kwan stopped speaking for a moment, his face hard. "By order of the captain, Lieutenant Silver is to be immediately relieved of all his duties. His stateroom is to be sealed off until it can be searched for evidence. Commander Destin is taking care of escorting Lieutenant Silver off of the ship. You are to take care of sealing his stateroom."
Paul nodded, trying not to let his reaction to the news show. "Aye, aye, sir. Lieutenant Silver shares a stateroom with Lieutenant Bristol."
"Then Commander Sykes will just have to find a new home for Lieutenant Bristol for a few days!"
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed. No, wait." Kwan pointed to his screen. "Did you know about this?"
"Yes, sir."
"So did I, Mr. Sinclair. There'll be no celebrating this event on this ship. Is that understood?"
Paul stared at the executive officer. "Yes. Sir." He knew his voice had come out hard and angry at the implications behind Kwan's order, but at the moment didn't care. "There's nothing to celebrate."
"That's right, Mr. Sinclair. I'm heartened to hear that you realize that. Dismissed."
Paul headed for Silver's stateroom, paging Petty Officer Sharpe as he went. He'd need the ship's master-at-arms to formally seal off the stateroom. Reaching the stateroom, he paused, wondering if Silver might still be inside, or if he'd already been escorted off the ship by Commander Destin. As he stood there, Mike Bristol came up and reached for the hatch. Paul held out a hand. "Sorry, Mike. You can't go in there."
Mike gave him a puzzled look. "Okay. And the joke is?"
"No joke. Captain's orders." Sharpe came quickly down the passageway. "Petty Officer Sharpe will be sealing this stateroom pending a search for evidence."
Bristol's jaw dropped as he looked from Paul to Sharpe. "Oh. Where's Silver?"
"Off the ship, I think, and not coming back."
"Geez. It happened? You found what you needed?"
"Yeah."
"Geez." Bristol stepped back automatically as Sharpe went to work, then finally snapped out of his shock. "Hey, all my stuff's in there!"
"Sorry, Mike." Paul let his helplessness show. "I'll loan you stuff. It's only for a few days."
"Thanks. I guess." Bristol stared wide-eyed at the Do Not Enter notification Sharpe was posting. "What's happening to Scott?"
"Court-martial."
"Oh, man." Bristol looked at Paul. "How am I supposed to be feeling?"
"I don't know, Mike."
Sharpe finished his work, then turned to Paul. "Sir, with your permission, I'll contact the Naval Criminal Investigative Service agents attached to fleet staff and see how soon I can get them over here to search this stateroom."
"Permission granted. Let me know when they'll be coming."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Paul watched Sharpe leave and Mike Bristol head in search of Commander Sykes so he could get new temporary living quarters. After a few minutes, Paul realized he was still looking at the seal on the stateroom hatch. He went back to his own stateroom, which happened to be blessedly empty, and sat down, staring at nothing in particular while emotions and thoughts swirled inside him without coalescing into any clear images.
Randy Diego came in, tossed some work on his desk, and glanced curiously at Paul. "Aren't you coming to lunch?"
Paul, startled, checked the time. "Yeah. Let's go."
They passed the sealed stateroom, causing Ensign Diego to do a double-take. "What happened here?"
Good old Randy. Always the last to know
. "It's a long story."
When Paul entered the wardroom, it was immediately obvious at least part of the story was known to everyone else. They all watched as Paul took his seat, no one saying anything. Finally, Paul looked around irritably. "All right, already. Doesn't anyone feel like talking?"
Mike Bristol forced a smile. "Well, under the circumstances . . . is Scott Silver really being charged with murder?"
Paul shook his head. "No. Manslaughter."
"What's the difference?"
"Well . . ." Paul thought for a moment. "I'm sure a lawyer would have all sorts of problems with this definition, but basically it's murder when you set out to kill or injure someone and they die. It's manslaughter if you're not setting out to hurt anyone but someone dies because your actions were so careless and reckless you should've known they'd result in someone's death."
"You mean like if I was, uh, firing a gun randomly and hit somebody it'd be manslaughter?"
"Right. It's the difference between aiming at someone, and pointing a gun in their direction without looking and firing. Except if you deliberately kill someone but do it in the heat of passion. That's manslaughter, too."
Lieutenant Kilgary mimicked surprise. "You can kill somebody when you're having sex and it's not murder?"
Paul laughed with everyone else, grateful for the diversion. "That's not exactly what the heat of passion is supposed to mean."
Kris Denaldo grinned. "Have
you
ever killed anyone while you were having sex, Colleen?"
Kilgary smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know."
As the next round of laughter died out, Kris aimed her next question at Paul. "Then Silver's not being accused of
trying
to kill Chief Asher?"
Paul nodded. "Right. He's being accused of doing something so reckless he should've known it could cause Chief Asher's death."
Lieutenant Sindh smiled wryly. "I suppose that means a total idiot couldn't be charged with manslaughter."
"Yeah. That gets into stuff like mental competence. Did the accused have the ability to understand they were doing? Did they know it was wrong? I wouldn't want to get into that."
"Am I correct in assuming such a defense on Lieutenant Silver's part would be counterproductive? Arguing that he was incapable of understanding the recklessness of the acts he's charged with committing?"
Paul snorted a brief laugh. "They could try saying that, yeah, but like you said, arguing that an officer couldn't understand the danger would be a career-killer even if it worked as a defense. I don't expect that, though. I'm not a lawyer, needless to say, but I'd guess the defense will try to say Silver never did any of the things he's charged with."
Sindh smiled again. "That's better, isn't it? I imagine issues of mental competency are raised when guilt is otherwise certain based on evidence."
"Probably."
"Are all of the charges against Silver of that nature?"
"No." Paul looked down, uncomfortable with the questions but understanding why his fellow officers wanted to ask them. "Most of them do require an intent, a decision to do something wrong. Like making a knowingly false official statement. You can't be charged with that if whatever you say is correct to the best of your knowledge, even if what you say isn't actually right. It comes down to intent, like a lot of other crimes. Often, you need to prove an intent to carry out a certain crime. But not in manslaughter. That just needs the fact it occurred."
"Or like being absent without leave," Colleen Kilgary suggested. "You don't have to intend to be AWOL to miss the deadline for getting back to the ship. You're not back, and that's that."
Commander Sykes finally chimed in. "Not entirely, dear Lieutenant Kilgary. Since most AWOL incidents are handled via non-judicial punishment, anyone who committed the offense is allowed to offer an explanation or excuse. A plausible argument that AWOL was not intended can suffice to limit or prevent any punishment. Call it a case where a lack of intent to commit the offense is important as a mitigating factor."
Everyone looked at Paul. "Suppo's right," Paul agreed.
"Of course Suppo's right," Sykes stated. "You should all practice saying that several times a day. 'Suppo's right.' It's an excellent guiding philosophy."
Mike Bristol nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Suppo's right."
Paul looked down at the table while Bristol tried to fend off various objects hurled at him.
I didn't expect to see horseplay in the wardroom again this quickly. Call it whistling past the graveyard, or just coping with another bad thing. We're getting good at it, I guess
.
"Paul?" Randy Diego leaned closer. "When's the court-martial going to happen?"
"I don't know. There'll be a convening order issued, then time for the lawyers to put together their cases. They can't even issue to convening order until they locate enough officers to serve as members of the court."
"Oh. I thought maybe it'd happen real quick."
"No. I can guarantee it won't be quick. It could easily be months."
Weird. Chief Asher dies in a heartbeat, but everything else takes a long time. Why is a death so fast, and figuring out who caused it so slow? That old poem talked about the wheels of the gods turning slowly. Who's going to get ground up by those wheels when the finally get moving? Silver? Or maybe me
.
Commander Carr glanced up as Paul knocked on her doorframe. This deep inside Franklin, the compartments were larger, and subdivided into rooms which could've been somewhere on Earth, except for the nagging sense that gravity wasn't quite right. Carr stood in greeting, smiling politely, and offered Paul a handshake. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Sinclair? I'm Alex Carr. I'll be the trial counsel for Silver's court-martial."
Trial counsel was the military term for the prosecutor. Paul tried not to wince from the pressure of her handshake. Commander Carr may have been a bit height-challenged, but what there was of her slim body obviously included plenty of toned muscle. A chin-up bar fastened to one wall offered a hint as to where the muscle came from. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."
"Have a seat." Carr laughed as she returned to her own chair. "Let me tell you, Mr. Sinclair, no JAG wakes up in the morning wishing she'd get handed the job of prosecuting an admiral's son at a court-martial. Especially Vice Admiral Silver's son. Do you know what Admiral Silver's nickname is among his staff?"