Sindh solemnly returned the salute. "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. Paul, you don't have to check every compartment on the ship multiple times every duty day." Paul busied himself with the coffee to avoid answering. "It happened once. It wasn't your fault. I appreciate your thoroughness, but also fear you're driven by guilt you shouldn't carry."
Paul shrugged, still not looking her way.
That's easy for her to say. She wasn't on duty when that fire started. She wasn't on duty when Chief Asher died. And she didn't get implicated as part of the cause in the initial investigation
. The fact that the investigation's conclusions had been reached by his girlfriend's father still rankled even though those conclusions had been subsequently disproved. However, a friend like Sonya Sindh deserved some consideration for her concern. "It's okay. Really."
"There's much you've never shared about how that incident affected you, Paul. I'm a lay minister. We can talk."
Paul grinned at her. "Not my religion, Sonya. But thanks, anyway. For what it's worth, I've talked it over with Jen."
"Ah. That's worth something." Sindh smiled. "But both you and the inexhaustible Lieutenant Jen Shen are very close to the problem. A third party's advice might be of help."
"I've also talked it over with Commander Herdez a few times."
Sindh's eyebrows shot up. "Our former Executive Officer From Hell as trauma counselor? I assume our old XO recommended hard work at least twenty hours every day as the best means to recover from your experience?"
This time, Paul laughed. "I think she actually recommended at least
twenty-two
hours a day of hard work. Minimum."
Sindh's smile widened. "It's good to hear she's not slacking off while on shore duty. Everyone else should suffer as we did. Have you seen this?" she asked, indicating her data pad's screen.
Paul came closer to peer at the information. "Orders for someone?" He read through the standard format, looking for the key pieces of information
.
Lieutenant Sonya Sindh. . .when directed detach from USS
Michaelson
(CLE(S)-3), proceed to Joint Forces Training Command, Norfolk, Virginia . . . upon arrival report Commanding Officer for duty.
"Oh. You're leaving"
"In about a month. Aren't you happy for me?"
Paul settled into the nearest chair, pushing aside the straps officers used to fasten themselves into their seats while the
Michaelson
was underway and no longer benefiting from Franklin's induced gravity. "I am. But you're a friend and a good officer, so I hate to see you go."
She smiled. "If you really thought of me as a friend you'd be thrilled I was heading for nice, relaxing shore duty. Earthside shore duty! Blue sky! Atmosphere! Constant gravity!"
"Insects. Bad weather. Pollen."
"Real food."
"That's a big one. Okay, I'm happy for you. But, you know, it's hard to see people leave the ship. We're kind of a—"
"Please don't say 'family.'" It was Sindh's turn to shrug. "Officers come, officers go. That's the Navy. We're on our third captain since you reported aboard, and our second executive officer."
"Yeah, but I don't work directly with the CO and XO like I do with you or the other junior officers."
"Look at it this way. Someday our fellow junior officer and dear friend Sam Yarrow will also leave. Isn't that nice?"
Paul laughed. "I don't know what I'll do when I don't have to worry about Smilin' Sam sliding a knife into my back."
"I'm sure you'll find plenty of things to fill your time," Sindh observed dryly.
Another laugh. "Oh, yeah. And if I don't, I'm sure Garcia will help."
Sindh took another drink, then made a face. "I'll also be able to get real chai again Earthside, instead of whatever this stuff is that they feed us. I wonder what real coffee will taste like after years of Navy coffee? But I digress. Paul, the job of a department head is to keep junior officers gainfully employed. Commander Garcia just happens to be a little bit incendiary in his approach to that."
"Incendiary? Hell, Sonya, there's been times I was sure he was going to strangle me for making him look bad because I'd screwed something up. And that's just when I screw up in my primary job as CIC Officer. Garcia hates my collateral duty with a passion."
"Duty?" Sindh looked up questioningly. "You have more than one collateral duty."
"Yeah, but the one that torques Garcia off is the legal officer job. You know that. He hates the time I have to spend on it and he hates that I go directly to the Captain or XO for stuff related to ship legal matters."
"If you'd manage to stay away from courts-martial for a few months at a stretch it wouldn't be such a burden and Garcia wouldn't be so sensitive about it." Sindh grinned again.
Paul smiled back. "It's been six months since the last court-martial. I'm not planning on getting involved in any more."
"You didn't
plan
on getting involved in the first two. Or did you? I ought to ask Jen. She'll know the truth. And, speaking of Jen, is she coming over tonight?"
Paul's smile turned rueful. "No. Jen's got duty, too. The
Maury
's gone to three sections, so Jen's got duty every third day."
"Three sections? That's not pleasant. What happened?"
"They're trying to get the
Sorry Maury
working after that yard period. The modifications to engineering are driving Jen nuts. She's working overtime because of them."
"Paul, we're space warfare officers. We always work overtime." Sindh let out a sigh. "I was hoping Jen could bring some carry-out onboard so we wouldn't have to eat wardroom food tonight. Not that carry-out on the station is that great, but it's better than rations."
"Nope. I guess we're stuck with Navy cuisine."
Lieutenant Sindh paused in thought, then tapped her data unit. "Chief Imari. Do you have a meal run planned? I expected as much. Please contact Mr. Sinclair and myself prior to the run so we can place orders as well. Thank you." She settled back with a satisfied smile. "When in doubt, always check with the chiefs. They may've already solved your problem."
Paul rose and bowed toward her. "Thank you, Master. I still have much to learn."
Sindh smiled and made a brief bow back. "Much more than you realize, Grasshopper."
About twelve hours later, Paul rolled out of his bunk, taking care to keep his body low so he wouldn't hit any of the pipes and ducting positioned just above his sleeping area. Yawning as he pulled on his uniform, Paul gave the digits on his watch a sour look.
Half-an-hour until midnight, and I'm getting up to spend four hours standing watch. The glamorous life of a naval officer
. Checking his appearance to make sure he looked fit to stand watch, Paul stumbled to the quarterdeck.
Petty Officer First Class Fontanelli was rubbing his eyes as Paul came up. "Sir, I don't mind telling you that you're a sight for sore eyes."
"Yeah. But you get to rest yours now and I don't. What's up?"
Fontanelli ran through the status of the ship, telling Paul nothing he didn't already know, advised that Captain Hayes and the ship's current executive officer, Commander Kwan, had both returned to the ship after taps, and closed his turnover with a warning to Paul that there'd been Franklin Station personnel conducting unannounced security checks of quarterdeck watches. Paul listened through it all, then straightened and raised his right hand, touching his brow in a casual salute. "Okay. I got it."
The petty officer returned the gesture. "I stand relieved." Fontanelli hoisted the heavy old-fashioned brass telescope called a long glass which signified his status as officer of the deck import and passed it to Paul. "Have fun, sir."
"Thanks." Paul put down the long glass and leaned on the watch desk as the petty officer of the watch finished turning over with his relief.
"Mr. Sinclair, I have the watch." The third class petty officer saluted Paul with the same kind of weary salute Paul had used earlier. "Any special instructions, sir?"
"Yeah, if I start to fall asleep, kick me."
The petty officer grinned. "Yes, sir. It'll be a pleasure."
About four long and essentially uneventful hours later, the hatch onto the quarterdeck opened and Chief Imari stepped out, yawning. "Have a fun mid-watch, sir?"
"They're always fun, Chief."
"Oh, yes, sir. Anything happen?"
"Nope."
"Of course, if something did happen, we'd be a lot unhappier than we are with nothing happening," Chief Imari observed.
Paul snorted and nodded. "Yeah, 'cause anything that happens at O-dark-thirty is bound to be bad." He briefed the chief just as he'd been briefed four hours before, exchanged salutes as Chief Imari relieved him, then walked slowly back to his stateroom and peered at the time. Zero four hundred. Two hours until reveille, when he and the rest of the crew would have to officially wake up, and when the lighting on the
Michaelson
and Franklin Station would brighten for the artificial day. Paul shrugged out of his uniform and pulled himself up into his bunk, ducking and rolling as he did so to avoid hitting the obstacles on the overhead.
It seemed only moments later that the piercing sound of a bosun's pipe wailed through the ship, followed by the announcement made every morning. "Reveille, reveille. All hands turn to and trice up."
One of Paul's four roommates in the starboard ensign locker staggered up and hit the stateroom lights. Three groans from those still in their bunks answered the brightness. Paul kept his eyes closed for a moment, trying to extend his sleep a few precious seconds longer.
Trice up. Why do they keep telling the crew to trice up? That's what you do with hammocks. The crew doesn't sleep in hammocks. Crews haven't slept in hammocks for who knows how long. Centuries? But if they ever sleep in them again, they'll know now is when they're supposed to trice those suckers up
.
"Hey, Paul!"
Paul kept his eyes closed. "Yeah, Sam." Lieutenant Junior Grade Yarrow, nicknamed Smilin' Sam by his fellow junior officers in recognition of his untrustworthy nature and false front of camaraderie, sounded unhappy, a fact which bothered Paul not at all given the many times Yarrow had caused problems for Paul.
"Did the guys in my division who had duty yesterday get their spaces cleaned up like I told them?"
"I don't know, Sam. Why don't you ask
them
?"
"You had duty! You should know."
"Sam, my duty responsibilities don't include supervising your division's internal tasking."
"Lousy attitude, Sinclair. Thanks for nothing." The hatch opened, then slammed shut.
Paul sighed, finally opened his eyes and rolled out of his bunk again, landing on the deck and groping for his uniform once more.
Ensign Jack Abacha stared after Yarrow, then at Paul.
Paul shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Jack. Once you've been screwed over by Sam as much as the rest of us have, you won't worry in the slightest about hurting his feelings." Abacha nodded, his uncertainty obvious.
Was it only eighteen months ago that I reported aboard the
Merry Mike
and was exactly like Jack Abacha? Overwhelmed and stunned by everything, wondering what I'd gotten myself into. Hell, I still haven't figured out what I've gotten myself into
. "Really, Jack. It's okay. Don't let Sam dump any of his work on you. He'll try to lay a guilt trip on you, but don't fall for it. Sam'll still try to take credit for whatever you did right and blame you for anything he does wrong."
"Okay. Thanks." Abacha hesitated. "Do I have to tell him off like that?"
Paul gave the new ensign an encouraging smile.
He only reported aboard two days ago. Two days after I joined the ship I still couldn't find my way around
. "Naw. When you realize he's trying to do it, tell him that you're too busy to talk and run off. He won't like it, but we're all usually too busy to talk, so Sam won't be able to tell if you're blowing him off."
Carl Meadows used to give me that kind of advice before he was transferred off the ship. I wonder how Carl's doing in his tour at the Pentagon
?
Zero seven hundred. Paul walked into Combat, where the rest of the officers from the Operations Department had already gathered for officer's call. Commander Garcia looked up from his data unit and scowled at Paul.
Oh, great. Now what'd I do
?
"Nice to see you made it, Sinclair."
"Sorry, sir. The XO—"
"I didn't ask for an excuse."
Paul took up position near the other officers. Ensign Taylor, the Electronic Materials Officer, gave Paul a sardonic wink. Taylor was a mustang, an officer who'd worked her way up through the enlisted ranks to officer status, and as a result knew her job and the Navy so well she could run rings around much more senior officers. Kris Denaldo, like Paul a lieutenant junior grade and now serving as the
Michaelson
's communications officer, glanced toward Garcia and rolled her eyes meaningfully. Paul nodded to both of them.
And so another Monday in the glamorous Space Navy begins. How come in the movies Captain Hardy Stud of the
Starship Spurious
never has Mondays
?
Garcia glowered at the three officers. Paul and Kris looked back with carefully neutral expressions, while Taylor returned a respectful but unmistakably not-intimidated gaze. "There's been a schedule change. Instead of spending the next two weeks in restricted availability to catch up on equipment maintenance, we have one week. The week after that, we're going out on as-yet-unspecified operations."
Paul barely managed to keep his exasperation from showing. Kris made notes on her data pad and shook her head.
Taylor raised both her hands heavenward. "Sir, just how am I supposed to get two weeks of work out of one week? We've got gear that's overdue for upkeep now."
Garcia focused directly on Taylor and intensified his glower. "You prioritize and you work as hard as you have to. These ops next week are high-priority and high-interest. That's all I can say right now, but saying we can't get underway for them is
not
an option."
Taylor shrugged as if unaware of Garcia's expression. "We'll be ready to get underway, but everything's not gonna get done. I'll shoot you my prioritized list and if there's anything that hasta be moved up on it, you tell me, sir."