Paul just nodded, knowing what Bashir was probably thinking. Captain Carney had decided what decision he thought the Navy wanted, so Captain Carney was going to do what he could to make sure that decision was reached. That way, the Navy would hopefully be grateful to Captain Carney, and it never hurt to have the Navy grateful when the next promotion board came up. I hope he's wrong. I hope the Navy as an institution isn't pushing for Jen's conviction regardless of whatever the truth might be. I can't believe it. I can't believe that some of the people involved in this, people like Alex Carr, would be part of that kind of thing. Like Mom said. There's a lot of good people in the Navy. People who surely wouldn't stand for that.
"It'd be a lot simpler if it was a big conspiracy, wouldn't it?" Paul stated aloud.
Bashir gave him a skeptical look. "Why?"
"Something that big, somebody'd talk, right? Somebody would refuse to play along."
"I like to think so." Bashir shook his head. "But it doesn't feel like a grand conspiracy to me. The senior people I've seen pushing for this court-martial seem to think Lieutenant Shen's guilty. That's why they're pushing it." He laughed bitterly. "It'd be a lot simpler if they didn't believe it. Then you and I and Lieutenant Shen wouldn't be here." Bashir paused, then reached into his pocket and offered Paul a data coin. "You asked me to look into SEERS. This is everything the government provided."
Paul took the coin gingerly. "Everything the government provided? Nothing else?"
"There isn't supposed to be anything else, Paul. I asked for all material pertaining to SEERS. The government's obligated to provide that if I ask for it and it's reasonably available. When Commander Carr gave me this she said it's the whole ball of wax and she's looked at it all. If Alex Carr says it's everything, then it's everything, and if she says she's looked at it, then she's looked at it. Now here it is for you to look at. Development, testing, evaluation, the works. I've skimmed it and I don't know how they managed to pack so much stuff into one data coin."
"You've just skimmed it?"
Bashir raised one eyebrow at Paul. "Don't sound so shocked. I went through all the executive summaries, did global searches for certain words and phrases, and so on. I'll be frank. I didn't find anything that contradicted what Admiral Hidalgo said. But if you want to dig into it, be my guest. I'd really appreciate input from a line officer, especially one as motivated as you are."
"You'll get it." Paul put the coin away carefully. Good thing I'm on leave. If this contains all the material Bashir says it does then I'll take a long time to go through it. And there's only so much time somebody like Colleen can give me for it because she's got her own job to do. "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I . . ."
"Thought I wasn't working hard enough for Ms. Shen? I'm doing all I can. Let me know if you find anything in there. As soon as you can."
Paul rushed back to the Michaelson, where Colleen Kilgary copied the coin and promised to look at it even as she couldn't help casting a despairing glance at the lengthy 'to-do' list visible on her display. Sitting down in his own stateroom, Paul began scrolling through documents, trying not be overwhelmed by the sheer mass of material on the disc. Just the listing of document titles seemed to go on forever. Now I know why Bashir just went to summaries and did word searches. There's months of work in here. Why can't he get the court-martial suspended until we have time to go through this in detail? Even as he framed the question to himself, Paul saw the probable answer in his own search results. Every reference to "failure" or other likely keywords was in the context of avoidance or ensuring it couldn't happen. Because we need to find some indication in this mass of charts, graphs, data and words that SEERS could've caused or contributed to what happened. And none of it's saying that.
Paul kept going, nonetheless, until he realized he wasn't actually absorbing what he read anymore. His numbed brain just slid over the surface of endless pages, all of which seemed to say that SEERS was doing just fine, thank you very much. Just my luck. The one system I want to be screwed up somehow or other, and it's the only system in the Navy that isn't screwed up somehow or other. Something in the back of his head hesitated over that, but the thought dwindled away into nothing before he could grasp it. Paul shut off his display with a muttered curse. I can't even think. I need a break. Sorry, Jen. Jen . . . Maybe they'd let me talk to her. Cheer her up a bit, and remotivate me. I can ask.
* * *
The brig allowed him some time to visit Jen. That surprised Paul at first, until he mentioned it to Sharpe and the master-at-arms nodded knowingly. "They want you to soften her up, sir. Not deliberately. But maybe get her to blurt out something to you, maybe get her thinking about cutting a deal."
While he was waiting for Jen, Paul read the warning posted on the wall of the visitor's room. "All conversations and movements within this compartment are subject to audio and video monitoring at any and all times. Use of this compartment indicates acceptance of these conditions." I hadn't really noticed that before. I wonder how many prisoners have said something here that they regretted?
A master-at-arms escorted Jen into the room, checked the door Paul had entered by to ensure it was securely locked, then left through the other door. Jen sat down heavily in the chair opposite Paul. Paul cleared his throat cautiously. "Hi, Jen."
"Hi."
"I, uh . . ." Want to cheer you up but hadn't really thought about how I'd do that beyond being here, which doesn't seem to be doing the trick. "How—" I'm going to ask how she's doing? What a stupid question.
Jen looked away from him. "I can't decide whether to be angry or despairing."
"We'll beat this, Jen."
"We aren't facing anything. I am. Thanks in no small part to your favorite lawyer."
"Commander Carr's doing her job, Jen. It's not fair—"
"Fair?" Jen finally looked at him, glaring with anger. "If you're going to bring up fair then what am I doing here?"
"I . . . I just wanted . . ."
"It's very convenient, isn't it?"
"What? Convenient?"
"You know what I mean. That hot-shot babe gets me convicted, leaving Paul Sinclair free to fill the role of her part-time boy-toy."
Paul held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Jen, are you serious? You can't really believe— "
"How am I know what to believe, Paul Sinclair?"
"I would never choose Commander Carr over you. Not for an instant."
"Then why are you defending her? Siding with her even while she drags my reputation through the mud?"
Paul looked down, unable to meet her gaze for a moment. Look at it from her perspective. She's right. "I'm sorry. I'm here, I'm at the trial, for you. Not for anyone else."
"Can you believe it? Bad enough I had to sit there while they recited all those names. Names of my friends and co-workers." Her face worked with emotion. "And what could I do? Cry? I couldn't do that. I'm an officer. I have to be strong."
"You're stronger than I believed possible, Jen. I mean that."
"I wish it helped. But I'm sure they're figuring out some way to use that against me. Just like they're using my professional skills against me. How can I defend myself against this? I'm supposed to be able to refute evidence. To strike back at hard facts. But there aren't any. There's just these ghosts, things I can't hit no matter how hard I swing. How do I prove I'm not guilty? Or am I crazy to even ask?"
"You're not guilty, Jen. And you're not insane, either."
Jen sank back into the chair, elbows on her knees and her head buried in her hands. "No hard targets to hit. That little son of a bitch Taber. I can't believe he made that stuff up."
"Lieutenant Bashir discredited him."
"No, he didn't! You saw the members!"
"Bashir proved Taber didn't know what he was talking about, that he'd distorted what he testified about, that he had ulterior motives. Jen, I'll tell Bashir that I'll go on the stand and testify for you. That I know you couldn't have had anything improper going on with Schmidt because you coul
dn't have done that. You're too honest."
Jen smiled sourly. "Honest. That's doubtless another crime on my part."
"Everyone knows Taber was wrong. Nobody'll believe him."
"That's wrong, Paul Sinclair. You know that's wrong. You know what everyone'll be thinking. Sailors. They leave their marriage vows and other commitments at the pier. They sail off and have affairs and patronize hookers, and it's always been that way and always will be that way. You know they'll think that. And even if you and Schmidt's guy go up there and swear teary-eyed that she and I were faithful to you two everyone'll just think 'those poor guys. Always the last to know. Don't they know what sailors are like?' You know that's what they'll think, Paul!"
Paul bit his lip as he met Jen's gaze. Do I deny that? Knowing she's right? I can't see where pretending that I'm oblivious is going to make her feel any better. "Yeah. I know that."
"How the hell do I prove I didn't have an affair with a dead woman? How do I prove that?"
"I don't know." Paul let his helpless feelings show. "This isn't how it's supposed to work."
"Oh, that makes me feel a lot better. Thanks for letting me know that."
"Jen, I'm doing everything I—"
"Then why am I still here?"
Paul stared at her, momentarily silent with shock at the way her anger had erupted. Anger obviously directed at him once again. How do I answer a question like that? I don't know. Maybe that's the only answer that fits now. "I don't know." Jen leaned forward so she could press her fingertips against her temples. Paul could see the flesh around her nails whitening from the force Jen was using. "I'm there every day, Jen."
She didn't look up. "For me or for her?"
"Her? Her who?"
"Commander Carr." Jen almost spat the name this time.
Paul felt his own anger flaring now. "Jen, for God's sake knock it off. I told you that's nonsense. You know full well—"
"I don't know anything anymore, Mr. Sinclair." She finally raised her head to look at him again, but Paul found his own eyes flinching away from the emotions mirrored in Jen's. "I'm fighting for my life. And I don't know why."
Paul's voice sounded rough to him. "I told you I don't know why either."
"Then you're not doing either of us much damn good, are you?"
He stared straight into her eyes, not believing what he'd heard. "What . . . ? Jen, what're you doing?"
She looked down again, concealing her haunted eyes from Paul once more. "I don't know," she whispered. "Just go away."
"No!"
"Then shut up or something."
"Jen, this isn't like you."
"What do you know what I'm like? What do I know what I'm like? Maybe it's all a big illusion, maybe I've always been an awful screw-up, an accident waiting to happen. And I did something or didn't do something and a lot of people who trusted me died. How do I know that isn't true?"
"Because it's not!"
"Then why am I here?"
"I . . ."
"You're not helping me. You're not helping you. Give it up. Just go away and let me sail off to hell alone."
"I don't want to."
"And I don't care."
"Jen." Paul waited as minutes passed without Jen moving, then finally he stood up slowly. "Okay." Shouldn't I say something else? What? I understand? How the hell could I understand? I don't even know what the hell's going on. "I'll see you tomorrow." Jen didn't respond, so Paul left, feeling an emptiness inside only partially filled by his anger at her.
* * *
Franklin offered no refuges, no places to hole up alone with his anger. The rent-a-shacks were all tied up, used by people brought in to work on the Maury or assist in or provide press coverage of the court-martial. He didn't even dare wander about, knowing that he might run into some press crew looking for a chance to stick a camera in his face. He'd never wanted that, and certainly didn't want it while his anger with Jen was burning so bright. All I've done for her. All I've tried to do. And she shoves me away. Great. Thanks. You're welcome. And go to hell, too.
Fortunately, there was always the ship. The Michaelson sat securely at her berth, her quarterdeck quiet at this time of the evening. A startled Jack Abacha standing watch on the quarterdeck saluted Paul onboard.
Paul swung in the wardroom door in search of coffee, then tried to swing back out again immediately when he saw Commander Sykes seated at his usual place. Sykes, however, raised a commanding hand and gestured to a seat near him. Paul scowled, but obeyed. "Yes, sir?"
"Ah. 'Yes, sir.' What's the occasion for the formality, young Sinclair?"
"Suppo, I'm sorry, but I'm really not in the mood for a discussion."
"In this case, that may mean you require one." Sykes lost his habitual smile and eyed Paul. "You've been to see Jen Shen."
"Yes, sir."
"It didn't go well."
"Commander Sykes, sir, with all due respect—"
Sykes raised his hand again, cutting off Paul. "Not well at all. Would you be surprised to know I expected this? No, don't turn that unflattering shade of red. It's not really about you and her. It's about what she's trapped in."
Paul took a long, deep breath, trying to calm himself. Sykes has given me a lot of good advice, and I know he really cares about Jen. I ought to listen to him. "Suppo, I know what she's trapped in. But why would that make her . . ."
"Lash out at you? I assume that's what happened?"
"Yes, sir." Paul stared at Sykes. "You do know what's going on? What?"
"I'm afraid it comes down to two things, Paul. One is what's happening to Jen, and the other is that you haven't fully appreciated the impact of those events upon her."
"Dammit, Suppo, I've been doing just about nothing but trying to appreciate what she must feel like!"
Sykes took a drink before replying. "Think about it from Jen's perspective, Paul."
"I've been doing that, Suppo. I understand how awful it must feel to be unjustly accused of such a crime."
"But you haven't fully grasped Jen's feelings." Sykes looked off into the distance for a moment before focusing back on Paul. "Jen's being accused of having done something horrible by people who, so far as she knows, have no reason to persecute her. The entire ponderous machinery of the Navy seems focused on proving she did this awful thing. Why? Why would they accuse her of such a thing? Why work so hard to prove her guilt? Jen wouldn't be human if she didn't fear deep inside that there might be a reason, that she might somehow in some way be guilty."
"Suppo—"
Sykes gestured for silence. "Wait. I'm not saying Jen's guilty. Not at all. I am saying she must in the dark hours of the night wonder why so many are convinced of her guilt. And she must wonder what about her causes them to be so convinced. Why did they charge her with these crimes? Why do they seek to convict her? Somewhere inside her, Jen surely fears there might be some basis for it all. Under such stress, under such accusations, even saints would question themselves. It's common after major traumas like what the Maury experienced. Feelings of inadequacy, of failure. Survivor guilt. You've heard of that? Wondering if you could've done something to change the outcome."
Paul stared silently at the supply officer for a long moment. "Like I felt after Chief Asher died."
Sykes nodded. "Exactly like that. Magnified sixty-one times. And magnified as well by the criminal charges against her."
"My God." Paul felt an icy knot inside. After Jen's father finished that investigation into Asher's death he didn't directly blame me, but he laid enough guilt on me for maybe not preventing the fire that I've carried it around ever since. And Jen isn't just being blamed by implication, but directly. "She's actually wondering if she's really, somehow, guilty. If she deserves what's happening to her."
"Either because of this crime or because of something else she's imagining she's done wrong and this is a cosmic way of balancing the scales. She'd never admit it, Paul. Not Jen. But I'm certain such fears haunt her. Only an insane person wouldn't ques
tion their innocence when so many seem intent on proving their guilt."
Paul closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recall the emotions he'd seen in Jen. He's right. Sykes is saying some of the same things Jen did, but from a different perspective. Jen's scared. Not just scared of being convicted. She's scared of somehow being guilty. "She's not."
Sykes nodded as if Paul had spoken aloud his entire train of thought. "No. I certainly don't believe so." He sighed and took another drink of coffee. "All we have to do is convince the world of that. And all you have to do as well is ensure Jen knows you remain certain of that, regardless if what else may happen."
Rule of Evidence Page 25
