by Peter Grant
“See to it that it doesn’t. I’ll have words with Senior Lieutenant Fulghum after we go off watch, and put a reaction thruster under the stock–take and audit. I want the handover completed by this time tomorrow!”
~ ~ ~
Steve asked to see Senior Chief Luculle the following morning, and found PO Jorgensson leaving her office as he arrived. The NCO looked tired and annoyed, and nodded briefly at Steve before walking down the passageway. Steve commented on this as he sat down in the Chief’s office.
“He is annoyed, Sir, and he’s got a right to be.” Her voice was curt. “He agreed to help with the audit of the commissary store as a personal favor to me — it wasn’t his job. Despite that, he’s just been made to work all night on the audit, notwithstanding the fact he has to pull a normal shift today. He’s tired and angry, and quite frankly I don’t blame him a bit! I’ve just sent him to Sick Bay for a stim–tab, to give him enough energy to get through the day.” She didn’t say it, but Steve felt sure she’d be taking the matter further.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Senior Chief,” he said with real contrition. “I feel partly responsible, because I’m involved in this handover too. When it’s complete, he’ll have a hundred credits in his commissary account. He can use it any way he pleases. Should I tell him, or would it be better coming from you?”
She looked at him narrowly. “You’re not allowed to use commissary profits for that sort of thing, Sir.”
“I know, Senior Chief. I won’t use them. All he needs to know is that he’ll have a hundred credits in his account. It’s the most appropriate way I can think of to apologize for the trouble to which he’s been put.” He couldn’t tell her he’d pay the money out of his own pocket, because payment for favors or services rendered, while not specifically forbidden, was officially discouraged. However, he knew she’d understand.
She sat back, relaxing as she began to smile. “Then on his behalf, thanks very much, Sir. That’s a nice gesture, and I know he’ll appreciate it. It’ll go some way towards making up for last night. I’ll inform him.” She hesitated. “Strictly between you and I, the audit didn’t go well. I guess the Exec will tell you more, since you’re taking over the commissary. Now, you asked to see me. How can I help you, Sir?”
“I need some advice, please, Senior Chief. I had a discussion with the Exec yesterday. He was angry that I hadn’t told him about the commissary situation. He said, amongst other things, that superior officers don’t like unpleasant surprises, and it’s my job to keep them informed, so they have early warning of problems before they get out of hand.”
She nodded. “That’s true everywhere I’ve served, Sir.”
“Problem is, Senior Chief, in general terms, how do I know for sure whether a problem exists or not? I’m trying to delegate to the NCO’s in each of my areas of responsibility, as the Fleet wants us to do. I’m telling them what to do, but not how to do it, and trusting them to keep me informed. Quite frankly, I don’t have time to check on their reports, what with the number of things on my plate! However, if they don’t keep me informed, I won’t necessarily pick up on that from other sources — which means I won’t be able to keep the Exec accurately informed. How do I deal with that?”
“I see your point, Sir.” She sighed. “I guess that’s been a problem throughout history. I daresay, back in the days of the old Roman Empire, centurions used to complain that decurions hadn’t kept them informed about the need to sharpen their legionaries’ swords.” They both laughed, and she pointed to the pot of coffee on a warming plate on her sideboard. “Pour yourself a cup, Sir. This is going to take a while.”
Steve took a disposable cup from the stack next to the pot, filled it, and added creamer and sweetener while the Senior Chief refreshed her own cup. As they sat down again, Luculle began, “You’re doing the right thing by telling your NCO’s what to do, not how to do it. If they’re trustworthy — and that should be your default assumption, Sir, unless or until they demonstrate otherwise — then delegate everyday supervision to them, and hold them accountable for it, just as the Exec holds you accountable. Yes, you’re responsible if they screw up, but the Fleet doesn’t normally promote habitual screw–ups to NCO rank in the first place! It’s been my experience that if you demonstrate trust in them, they’ll respond well to it. If they make a mistake, you can go into the detail of how to do something as part of corrective measures.”
Steve frowned. “But what if they do screw up? The problem will go up the chain of command, and come back down with a reaming for all of us.”
She shrugged. “That happens, Sir. It goes with the territory. You learn from every mistake, and try to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m Chief of the Ship, and with my years of experience I should be able to keep abreast of all my responsibilities, but it occasionally happens to me too. If it’s handled professionally and impersonally, we can live with that. It’s the people who can’t handle it impersonally who have problems. They take an official rebuke as being some sort of personal attack on them. It shouldn’t be, and most times it isn’t — it’s just the way the system works. During your enlisted service, Sir, were you ever blamed or held responsible for something that wasn’t your fault or your responsibility?”
Steve grinned wryly. “Yes, I was.”
“It’s going to happen to you as an officer, too, Sir. People are sometimes unreasonable. The proverbial brown substance does hit the rotary air impeller from time to time. All we can do is work through it and come out the other side.”
Luculle took a sip of her coffee, her face thoughtful. “Early in my career, I learned a rule that’s mentioned in military memoirs dating back to well before the Space Age. It’s very simple: ‘Never explain, never complain’. In practice, Sir, it means we let our actions speak for us rather than our words. If we get reamed out, fairly or unfairly, instead of trying to excuse ourselves or complain that we’re not being treated right, we turn around and demonstrate by our ongoing actions that we’re trustworthy and reliable. I’ve tried to stick to that. It’s worked for me.”
Steve sighed. “I guess so.”
“I’ve got two suggestions for you, Sir. First, make sure your NCO’s know you won’t ream them out for being up–front with you about a problem, and make sure you adhere to that in practice. That way, they’ll be more willing to tell you about something before it gets out of control. Tell them you expect to be given early warning of anything going wrong, just as the Exec expects that from you. That way they’ll have no excuse for not keeping you informed.
“Second, if something does go badly wrong and you get reamed out about it, try not to let that flow downhill in a negative way. I’ve seen too many people, officers and NCO’s alike, who get angry and frustrated when that happens. They pass emotions down the chain of command, instead of corrections. That’s not the way it should be, Sir. First, take a few moments to calm down. Next, figure out a way to correct your subordinates that tries to solve the problem and prevent it happening again, rather than beat up on them. If you do those two things, you’ll achieve far better results, and they’ll respect you for it. They’ll know you got chewed out — the grapevine always knows! The fact you didn’t let that flow downhill onto them will be counted in your favor, and they’ll work harder and more willingly for you because of it.”
Steve drank from his coffee cup, his face thoughtful. “That makes good sense.”
“It does, Sir, and it works. If they screwed up seriously enough to warrant reaming out, or even formal punishment, then by all means do that, Sir: but even then, try to do it positively. You want them to grow through the experience, if at all possible. The Fleet’s invested a lot of time and money to bring them this far. Why throw that investment away?” She grinned. “Think of it as an opportunity to reinforce lessons that should have been learned earlier. Way back in Boot Camp, I screwed up and shot a horrible score at the range one day. I was mad at myself, because I’d practiced until I thought I’d got everything
right — body position, sight alignment, trigger squeeze, the lot. The Platoon Instructor heard me bitching and pulled me up short. She told me, ‘Recruit, an amateur practices until she’s got it right. A professional practices until she can’t get it wrong!’ I’ve never forgotten those words.”
Steve took a deep breath. “I take your point, Senior Chief — and those are words to live by! I’ll remember them, and pass them on.”
“Good. Look at it this way, Sir. The Exec’s responsible to the Commanding Officer for the readiness and operational efficiency of the ship. He can’t possibly check on every detail in person. He has to delegate many of his responsibilities to more junior officers. They, in turn, delegate to others. Delegation flows downwards, and reports flow back upwards. Lieutenant–Commander Kilian has to trust the reports he receives; but he still checks up on his subordinates from time to time, to make sure they’re doing their job. That’s what he was doing with you yesterday, when he found out there was a problem of which he hadn’t been informed.
“You can do the same thing, Sir, although as a very junior officer you’ll need to be tactful. Set aside a few hours every week to audit one of your responsibilities in detail. See whether reality corresponds to what your NCO’s are telling you. Make sure they understand this is a routine thing and doesn’t imply distrust of them, just like when the Exec audits you from time to time. If you consistently work that way, right from the start, they’ll accept it. If an audit is something unusual and extraordinary, they’ll be much more worried by it, and probably try to cover up anything that may be wrong — which is precisely what you don’t want to happen.”
Steve’s brow cleared. “That’s a good idea, Senior Chief. I’ll do that. Thank you very much. Will you please help me set up that routine, and persuade them to cooperate?”
“All part of the service, Sir.” They grinned. “I doubt you’ll meet any resistance. Judging by what I hear from the ship’s company, you seem to be making the right impression so far.”
~ ~ ~
Senior Lieutenant Fulghum sent for Steve at mid–morning, and handed him an electronic clipboard. “There’s the results of a full stock–take of the commissary. I worked all night with PO O’Grady and PO Jorgensson to get it done. There’s also an audit of the commissary’s books. I’m afraid there are problems. The inventory received by the store doesn’t match what’s actually in stock, and the books don’t show any income from its sale. Both discrepancies have been logged and signed by the Exec, so you won’t be held responsible for them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir,” Steve said sincerely as he scanned the figures. “It could happen to any of us.”
“Yes. I suggest you put more time and effort into the commissary than I did, so it doesn’t happen to you! PO O’Grady and myself will have to face the music over this.”
He didn’t go into detail, and Steve wasn’t about to ask. They signed off on the stock–take and audit, and Fulghum handed over his keys.
During the afternoon watch, Lieutenant–Commander Kilian gave him a little more information. “I’m telling you this in strict confidence, because I want you to learn from this situation. Senior Lieutenant Fulghum and PO O’Grady will each have a reprimand placed on their files for failing to exercise due care and attention in their responsibilities. It’ll stay there for a year, after which, if they haven’t blotted their copybooks in any other way, it’ll be removed. Even so, it’ll probably delay their next promotions by at least half a year. The only reason they got off that lightly is that they’ve agreed to pay for the discrepancy out of their own pockets. Each will officially ‘buy’ half of the missing items, and their payments will balance the books. It’ll cost them several hundred credits apiece. If they hadn’t agreed to that, we’d have had to ask for an investigation by the Bureau of Security — and you know where that might have led.”
“Yes, Sir.” Steve knew that when BuSec was called in, courts–martial often resulted. He also knew that if Fulghum and O’Grady had been disciplined like this, it meant Kilian had probably had an uncomfortable interview with Commander Mars. He most likely wouldn’t have received a formal reprimand on his file, but he’d certainly have been put on notice to keep a sharper eye on his responsibilities.
“I discussed the handover with Senior Lieutenant Fulghum,” Kilian went on. “He confirmed that he’d tried to make you take over without an up–to–date inventory or audit of the books — in fact, he owned up to giving you an illegal order. You didn’t mention that to me, and I understand why. In your shoes, as an inexperienced officer on his first operational assignment, I might have made the same decision. Nevertheless, trying to issue such an order may be a symptom of possible deeper problems, of which an officer’s superiors need to be aware. I suggest, if it happens in future, you find a way to informally discuss it with your Exec or Commanding Officer, for the sake of good order and discipline in general.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
“So what have you learned from this situation, Ensign?”
“A lot, Sir. I spent some time with Senior Chief Luculle this morning, discussing it. She gave me some good advice.” He summarized what she’d said. “Between that and what you told me yesterday, Sir, I think I can see how to avoid such problems in future.”
“Good. I’ll keep a close eye on how you manage the commissary over the next month or two, but that’s not through any lack of trust in you — it’s simply to make sure that this mess has been dealt with once and for all.”
“I understand, Sir.” Steve hesitated. “Sir, is it advisable to retain PO O’Grady as Commissary NCO, or should I try to replace him?”
“I’d say keep him on for now. He helped cause the problem, and he’s been punished for that. I’d like to see him make good, given a chance to demonstrate that he’s capable of learning from his mistakes. Keep a close watch on him, and if you think he needs to be removed for ongoing lack of performance, talk to me about it. Unfortunately, that may imply he can’t be trusted in his primary area of responsibility in Stores, either. That would open up a whole new can of worms!”
“Aye aye, Sir. I’ll try to help him as much as I can.”
“Good.” The Exec looked at him thoughtfully. “I’m pleased to see you’ve accepted correction appropriately, Ensign, and I’m glad you consulted the Chief of the Ship. She’s very good at her job, and gives excellent advice. I know — I’ve taken it myself from time to time! She’ll help you take a round turn on your responsibilities going forward. You’re learning fast. Keep up the good work.”
Target
January 2846, Galactic Standard Calendar
Steve entered the docking bay carefully, picking his way through a work party of spacers loading crates, boxes and sacks onto a conveyor system that whisked them away into the bowels of the ship. The Petty Officer on duty at the counter looked up, recognized him, and grinned. “Evening, Sir. Come to get your hands dirty for a change?”
He sighed, trying to sound delicate. “No, PO Hyun, I try to keep them as soft and lily–white as possible. Can’t have them looking as if I actually work for a living, you know. That might ruin my dilettante image.”
The NCO guffawed. “It’s slipping badly, Sir. You were giving a pretty good imitation of hard work yesterday while we were replacing the fuel cartridges in the shuttles.”
“Shhh!” Steve put his finger to his lips. “Don’t say that aloud! People might hear you!”
“Don’t worry, Sir. Your secret’s safe with me.”
They felt a light thump through the fabric of the ship. In a light panel above an airlock, a red diode came on, showing that the airlock’s trunk was engaging with a newly–arrived small craft. It was replaced almost immediately by an amber, showing that the lock was equalizing pressures between the two vessels.
“That’ll be him now, Sir. That shuttle came straight up from the Marine Reaction Force base. They must be in a hurry to get rid of him.”
Steve grinned as he shook his head. �
�It’s more that we’re in a hurry to get him. Our Marines have a lot to do over the next week. It’ll be best if he does it with them, so he can get used to them and they to him.”
As he finished speaking, the panel above the airlock displayed a green light. The inner door clicked and opened. A smartly–uniformed Marine officer stepped into the docking bay. He wore the twin gold bars of a First Lieutenant on the epaulettes of his Number Two uniform. He came to attention and saluted the Commonwealth flag below the ship’s crest. As his hand came down he saw Steve, and his face broke into a huge grin.
“Steve, you scrofulous Spacer!”
“Brooks, you mangy Marine!”
They hugged each other, laughing, pounding each others’ shoulders, to the amusement of the work detail and the Petty Officer at the reception desk.
Brooks released him at last. “Did you have anything to do with my getting this slot?”
“You might say that. Lieutenant Garcia got the signal about his parents while we were inbound from the system boundary. Commander Mars granted him immediate emergency compassionate leave, but decided we can’t afford to be without a Marine platoon commander at present. There’s too much going on. He’ll be gone for at least two to three months — his home planet’s a long way from here, and it’ll take time to sort out family affairs. She told the XO to signal for a temporary replacement, but Sector Marine HQ said that if we needed one for that long, we’d best have a new platoon CO. Lieutenant Garcia will be reassigned when he gets back. They told us to ask the Sector’s Marine Reaction Force Brigade for a spare platoon commander.
“I happened to hear about it, so I explained to the Exec that we’d been roommates at OCS, and you were currently with the MRF here. He warned me I’d be held responsible if you weren’t up to the job, but I told him there was no danger of that. He must have mentioned your name in his signal, and MRF must have decided it wanted to get rid of you — so here you are.”
