Rule of Evidence

by John G. Hemry

  Paul found himself in Kris Denaldo's stateroom again, this time not only with Jen but with a chaplain who extended her hand in greeting. "Mary Hughes. I'm here to talk with Ms. Shen, and it was suggested that you be present as well."

  "Okay, Commander Hughes."

  "Mary."

  "Yes, ma'am. Uh . . . Mary."

  They sat, close in the confines of the women's ensign locker, Jen sitting with the rigid correctness of an officer in a formal meeting with a superior. The chaplain leaned back a bit and smiled at her. "Ideally, this sort of thing should happen within a few days of the event. We couldn't do that this time for obvious reasons. I understand Paul was able to give you some comfort immediately afterwards, at least."

  Jen flicked a glance at Paul, who made an expression meant to convey "I didn't tell her that." Then she focused back on the chaplain. "Ma'am, immediately after the . . . event I was focused on saving the lives of the sailors trapped with me in the aft end of the ship. I didn't see Mr. Sinclair until some time after that."

  "I'm sorry. I should've stated that differently. Could you please tell me what happened to you? I mean, just before and after the event."

  "The explosion, you mean." Paul saw the muscles in Jen's jaw tighten for a moment. "I've already provided statements about that. I can get you copies."

  "I'd prefer to hear it from you."

  Jen blew out a breath in apparently barely controlled exasperation. "All right. I was ordered aft to check out a malfunctioning power coupling."

  "Ordered by . . . ?"

  "The—" Jen paused to take another breath. "Chief Engineer."

  "Commander Juko?"

  "Yes. He sent me aft, told me to see what I could figure out from looking at the thing directly because we kept getting odd fluctuations in the remote readings."

  "Why'd he send you? Because he trusted you?"

  "Yes." Jen smiled for the first time, though defiantly. "I'd just cleared the after survival bulkhead when.. . . . whatever happened happened. It blew a lot of holes in the bulkhead, too many to patch. I gathered what intact survival suits and survivors I could find, took them to an interior compartment to await rescue, and when conditions began to look critical I went looking for help."

  The chaplain waited several seconds after Jen stopped talking. "That's all?"

  "That's all."

  "You must have been severely affected by the explosion, even before you knew how bad it had been."

  "I was worried," Jen admitted. "But I didn't have time to dwell on it. I had a job to do. That's all I thought about."

  "But later, sitting in that interior compartment, there was time to think then. Time to feel."

  Jen shook her head, her face unyielding. "I was focused on keeping those sailors alive. That's all I thought about."

  "What you had to do to save them?"

  "That's right."

  "You didn't think about yourself?"

  "Only to the extent that I needed to stay calm and in charge."

  The chaplain leaned back some more, eyeing Jen. "You had to stay calm. You couldn't relax, couldn't think about past events."

  "That's right."

  "Did you have any thoughts or emotions about the other personnel in engineering?"

  Paul noticed Jen's cheek twitch and wondered if the chaplain had seen it, too. Jen took several breaths before answering. "I . . . hoped they were okay."

  "You were worried about them."

  "Of course I was!"

  "But you couldn't do anything to help them." Jen's mouth opened for a moment, then closed. "Do you think perhaps you focused so intently on saving those sailors with you because that was something you could do?"

  Jen finally looked fully over at Paul, her eyes wide, then back at the chaplain. "That was all I could do at the time," she agreed in a soft voice.

  "All you could do. You wanted to do more?"

  "Yes! Of course! But I couldn't even get out through the damned internal airlock! And when I wanted to find another route forward I had all those sailors looking to me for help. To me. I couldn't go forward until I did everything I could for them. I had to do that."

  The chaplain nodded. "Yes. You did. You couldn't go to try to help the others in engineering because those sailors needed you."

  "That's what I said. Ma'am."

  "And you learned later that there never was anything you could've done. They were already dead." Jen flushed, though with anger or other emotion Paul couldn't tell. "You were able to save those sailors, though. You made the right decision."

  Jen looked down, then back up as she suddenly grinned tightly. "Yes. Someone advised me I should try to focus on what I could and did do and not on what I couldn't have done."

  Chaplain Hughes' eyebrows rose and she looked over at Paul. "You told her that?"

  Paul nodded. "I received that same advice some time ago, after a fatality on my ship."

  "It's good advice. You talked to a grief counselor?"

  "No, ma'am. A supply officer."

  "One with a more than adequate supply of wisdom, it appears! Jen, are you having difficulty working?"

  She shrugged. "I haven't had much to work on."

  "What you have been doing. Have you been able to do it?"

  "Of course I have."

  "You're completing tasks assigned to you?"

  Jen glared at the chaplain. "I always complete tasks assigned to me."

  "Do you dream about the explosion? About those events?"

  "No."

  "Nothing? No flashbacks?"

  "No."

  Chaplain Hughes looked over at Paul, then back at Jen. "There's a time for strength and a time for confronting problems."

  "I don't have any problems."

  "I understand your father is commanding officer of the Mahan?"

  "Yes."

  "And the Mahan just departed on a long patrol. Your mother is . . . ?"

  "Dead."

  "I'm sorry." The chaplain leaned forward. "Your father a commanding officer and your mother dead. You must be pretty tough."

  Jen shrugged again. "I'm nothing special."

  "You saved, let's see, twenty-one sailors in the aft section of the Maury. That sounds pretty special to me."

  Jen sat silent for a moment. "Anyone else could've done the same."

  "Maybe. But the fact that you did it counts." Jen didn't answer. "Listen, Jen, this is just a first preliminary session—"

  "I don't need any more sessions."

  "You'll get them, anyway. Courtesy of the U.S. Navy."

  "I don't—"

  "Did I mention the sessions are mandatory? By order of the Fleet Commander?" Jen subsided, looking sulky. "It won't be that bad, Jen."

  "I have other things to do, ma'am."

  "Mary. Sadly, not enough other things. Maybe you won't need much help. But my job is to see if you do and help you through any rough patches."

  Jen leaned forward, her face earnest. "I help myself. I mean that. I can't go running for a shoulder to cry on whenever things get tough. I have to be able to work through it myself."

  "You can't be weak, in other words."

  "I didn't say that."

  "This isn't about being strong or weak, Jen. It's about being human. You've been subjected to tremendous stresses. If you were a piece of this ship and had been stressed, you might need to be reinforced. Not because you weren't strong, but because even the strongest can be overstressed. Do you see?"

  Jen nodded with visible reluctance. "I honestly do not believe I need reinforcement."

  "I believe you. Let me do my job, though." Hughes checked her watch. "Too many people to see and too little time. I'll schedule the follow-up sessions and make sure you're notified." She pointed to Paul. "Use him."

  Jen couldn't help smiling. "I do."

  "I didn't mean it that way. Though if it helps . . . no, just remember you've got someone to confide in, someone who won't think you're not strong if you need to talk." Hughes looked at Paul. "Right?" Pau
l nodded. "You've got my contact information, Jen. I'm always available, too. But I have to leave now. Paul, could I see you for a moment?"

  He followed Commander Hughes out of the stateroom. She studied him for a long moment. "Paul, I think you understand Jen's in serious denial about the effect this has had on her."

  "That's who she is, ma'am."

  "Mary! You line officers . . . I can tell Jen's like that. She never admits weakness, does she? Well, you watch her and you contact me if you think I need to know something. At some point Jen's going to confront her feelings, and somebody'll need to be there for her."

  "What feelings? Do you know?"

  "Not for certain. In a case like this survivor's guilt is common. 'Why did I survive when others died?'"

  "She said something like that. The first time I saw her after the accident."

  "She did? Then she's at least admitted to that feeling. But there'll likely be more. Feeling she should've prevented it, done something, somehow. She's maintaining a protective shell of being professional and controlled because that's what she thinks the world wants to see, but there's got to be a lot of doubts inside."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Mary!' Chaplain Hughes walked off, shaking her head.

  Chapter Seven

  Carl Meadows didn't seem to have changed much as he grinned out from the display screen at Paul's desk. Paul hadn't expected a video letter from his old shipmate, but it'd been a pleasant surprise. "Greetings from the Pentagon, Paul. Long time no see. I miss you guys." Carl's smile faded. "Truth is, I sent this because I heard about the Maury and you guys. That must've been real tough. Thank God Jen made it okay. Just wanted you guys to know I'm still thinking about you."

  Meadows ran one hand through his hair. "There's been a whole lot of running around in the Pentagon. Admirals and generals bouncing off the walls right and left. All those stars in motion at once reminds me of maneuvering the Merry Mike. Anyway, I get the real feeling they're trying to put a lid on all this. It's no secret that we're not really ready for a war in space with the SASALs, and I don't think they're really ready for a war with us. Nobody wants to start shooting at each other down here on Earth, either. We're seeing a lot of stuff about cooling things down, confidence-building measures and junk like that. There's going to be a lot of pressure on the investigators to figure out what happened to the Maury as fast as possible, and I gather all the military and political brass are keeping their fingers crossed that whatever it was didn't involve the South Asians."

  Carl rambled on some more, with Paul enjoying listening to his friend again, then closed his letter with a list of people to say hi to on the Michaelson.

  Colleen Kilgary stuck her head in his stateroom. "Did you hear?"

  "Hear what?"

  "Preliminary investigation results released."

  Carl had been right. Given the damage to the Maury, that was a very quick announcement. "What did they say?"

  "Bomb definitely ruled out. No residue of any kind that'd be consistent with that."

  "That should calm the war talk a little."

  "Also, external sabotage ruled out. The Maury's safety interfaces would've kept any software or hardware problems from producing that kind of catastrophic failure of so many components in engineering."

  "Wow." Paul stared at his now-blank display. "Are they saying what they think did happen?"

  "Not yet. But I thought you'd like to tell Jen, just in case she hasn't heard."

  "Thanks."

  Colleen left and Randy Diego entered, dropping into the seat at his own desk. Paul waved in greeting. "Hey, Randy, did you hear what Colleen said? No bomb."

  "Really? That's good."

  Paul gave Randy a curious glance. "What's up? You seem distracted."

  "No. No. Just, you know, busy."

  "Sure." Paul bent back to his own work.

  "Uh, okay if I ask you something, Paul?"

  Paul glanced at Randy again, alerted by his hesitant tone. "What about?"

  "Well, I mean, you and Jen, you're both on active duty and you're dating and all." Randy paused, looking into one corner of the stateroom while Paul waited. "I was just wondering how that's working out."

  "It's working out fine, Randy. You know we don't see each other nearly as often as we'd like. My ship's out, or her ship's out, or we've got duty or have to work all night or something. You know how it goes. And of course there's the hazards of the job. I guess if my girlfriend worked as a stockbroker on Earth I wouldn't have to worry about that kind of thing. But since Jen was on the Maury I had some real heart-stopping moments." He found it easier to talk about, now. Now that the immediate fears of those awful hours had finally begun receding into memory like the remnants of a bad dream.

  "Uh, yeah. But, what about . . . uh . . . I mean . . . you guys must've gotten interested in each other while you were both onboard the same ship, right? While you and Jen were both on the Michaelson?"

  Paul frowned, not sure now where Randy was trying to go. "Not really. We were friends. We didn't do anything beyond that until Jen transferred to the Maury." That wasn't strictly true, since they'd actually gotten very personal a few nights before Jen's transfer, but Paul knew the relationship had remained hidden until Jen had left the Michaelson. Hidden from everyone except the Michaelson's old XO, that is. But Commander Herdez had trusted their professionalism. Randy, on the other hand, isn't a bad guy, but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, either. No way Herdez would've cut him that slack.

  Randy nodded rapidly. "Yeah. Sure. But you got to know each other real well before that, right?"

  Alarm bells finally sounded in Paul's mind. Great. Randy's got the hots for one of the other officers. "Not that well. In no way, shape or form. It's a bad idea, Randy. It's also against regulations. Keep it professional until she leaves the ship, Randy."

  "I didn't say—"

  "You don't have to. Look, maybe she feels the same interest you do. If she does, you can try dating after she leaves the ship. If she's not interested after she leaves the ship, then she's not interested now. Right?" Randy avoided Paul's eyes. "There's no way to hide a real romance inside the wardroom, Randy. Anybody'd be able to see you two making goopy eyes at each other." Jen's phrase, though Paul'd never been sure exactly what "goopy eyes" were.

  "But—" Randy interrupted himself this time, still avoiding Paul's gaze.

  Paul felt another suspicion arise. "How recent is this?"

  "Who said it was recent? Who said anything's recent or anything's going on?"

  "Has Isakov been flirting with you?"

  Randy jerked his head around, then tried to pretend nonchalance. "A lieutenant? I wish."

  "Randy, she's been teasing at me off and on. When she's not acting like I'm someone she's never seen before and doesn't want to talk to. I think it's some kind of weird power game she plays. Stay away from her."

  "You know, just maybe there's some good looking female officers out there who don't think you're the only game in town."

  "This isn't about my ego, Randy. I don't want anything to do with Isakov outside of work. She's trouble."

  "I wasn't born yesterday. I can take care of myself."

  Famous last words. "Be careful. Think really hard and don't do anything the crew might find out about." His sailors didn't exactly love Randy from all Paul had heard, which wasn't necessarily a problem except they didn't respect him as much as they should, either. Randy had too great a tendency to insist he was right when he wasn't. If he handed the crew a way to get back at him . . . "Just think."

  "Sure. Right. Fine. Sorry I brought it up." Randy Diego turned away, hunching forward toward his display, his back clearly communicating an end to the conversation. A few minutes later he stood and left the stateroom without a see-you-later.

  Paul shook his head. Maybe one of the other female officers can talk some sense into Randy. Why couldn't he get interested in Gabriel if he wants to mess around on the ship? Not that Gabriel's acted interested in him. She's
got a load more commonsense than Randy does.

  He tried to concentrate on his work again.

  "Mr. Sinclair?"

  Paul threw up his hands. "I give up. What's up, Sheriff?"

  Sharpe looked puzzled. "Something wrong, sir?"