Burden of Proof

by John G. Hemry

  Sharpe made an unhappy face as he thought about Paul's words. "Yes, sir," he finally admitted. "I guess you're right about that. But just because this is all we've found doesn't mean that's all there is. We haven't exactly been able to go whole hog on our little investigation. If it turns formal, a lot more ugly stuff might crawl out of the woodwork. Probably will, if my experience counts for anything."

  "I'm sure it does." Paul slumped in his chair, staring at his display. It's all there. Oh, nothing that says beyond a shadow of a doubt that Chief Asher received orders to do what he did, and nothing that absolutely proves who it was that messed up the engineering records, but it all points in one direction.

  So what do I do? Everything I've got is circumstantial evidence, but I've got a lot of it. The captain's supposed to make this decision, but Captain Hayes will make up his mind based on what I tell him. I think. In any case, it'll look like sour grapes to some people, especially since Scott Silver's one real talent appears to be trying to make people like him. A lot of those people will just see this as an attempt by me to blame someone else. And the someone else everything seems to point toward isn't just any screw-up. He's a son-of-an-admiral screw-up, which has apparently gotten him out of every jam up until now. But as far as I know, he's never been implicated in causing the death of a service member before.

  Vice Admiral Silver has a good reputation for doing his job. Does that mean he'll look at all kindly on having his son implicated in Asher's death?

  The best I can hope for is for my own conclusions to be proven right. Which means Lieutenant Silver gets a court-martial and gets proven guilty. When did I turn into somebody'd who send another officer to a court-martial based upon evidence even I admit is circumstantial?

  Petty Officer Sharpe stayed silent, waiting. Paul screwed his eyes shut. Now all he could see was the random patterns of light and dark which didn't hold any more answers than the sight of his display had. Why does this have to be my decision? It's not just because I was in the duty section. It's because I got stuck with this legal officer job when I reported aboard. As if I know what the hell I'm doing. Thank you, Commander Herdez. The thought of his former XO brought up more memories. His first days and weeks onboard the Michaelson, his first Captain's Masts, mistakes he still shied away from remembering, the death of Petty Officer Davidas.

  Davidas' death had definitely been an accident. No question. Paul had been vastly relieved, knowing the officer who'd be held to account if it hadn't been an accident would've been Carl Meadows. Herdez had seen that relief, just like she seemed to see everything onboard. What was it she told me then? Our duty requires us to follow our investigations to their conclusions, regardless of how much we dislike those conclusions, because a sailor had died and we couldn't betray that sailor's sacrifice by shirking our duty, no matter how much it hurt us personally. Something like that. I never forgot that, because I knew deep down it was true. Herdez isn't easy to love. She's an ironclad bitch, I guess, but she's sure easy to admire as a professional. So I know what she'd do.

  His eyes opened and strayed to a small portrait fastened on one side of his desk. Jen, caught in a candid photo, laughing during some forgotten celebration in the wardroom. What would Jen think about me putting my career on the line this way? Dumb question. Jen's a professional, too. If she thought another officer had caused the death of one of his sailors, and then tried to cover it up, she'd go after him with a vengeance. For good reason, too, because the next person that officer caused the death of might be Jen or a whole ship worth of Jens.

  And as for me, I know what I should do. I know what the heroes I admired growing up would do. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. He who will not risk cannot win. Can I do no less? I'm not even risking my life, like they did. Hell, not acting risks other peoples' lives.

  That's three in favor of sticking my neck out.

  Paul looked directly at Sharpe.

  Sheriff Sharpe looked back. "Sir?" The question Sharpe really wanted to ask was clear enough.

  "Don't worry, Sheriff." Paul copied his findings to a data coin. "I took a poll and got three votes for doing the tough thing, and none against."

  "Three votes, sir?"

  "Yeah. One was mine. The others were two people whose opinions I respect." Paul grinned. "Don't worry, Sheriff, I respect your opinion, too. But I already know how you'd vote."

  "You're going to see the captain now, sir? May I come along?"

  Paul hesitated, then shook his head. "This is about an officer, Sheriff. It's better if the captain and I discuss it without an enlisted sailor present. You understand."

  "Yes, sir, I do. And, to be perfectly frank, sir, there's some officers I'd worry about making decisions like that without an enlisted around watching them. But I think you and Captain Hayes will do the right thing."

  Assuming Captain Hayes agrees with me on what the right thing happens to be. "I'll let you know, Sheriff."

  As usual, a line of personnel trailed away from the hatch of the captain's cabin. Paul waited patiently as the line inched forward, each officer or sailor getting the signature they needed to get personally or personally delivering the report they needed to personally deliver to the captain. Even with so much of the ship automated and so many reports sent around via the ship's intranet, Navy traditions and rules kept much of the work on a face-to-face basis. Despite his resolution, Paul felt his stomach knotting up as he neared the hatch. He didn't look forward to delivering his report, and wasn't sure how it'd be received.

  Captain Hayes took one look at Paul's face when he entered, then directed him to close the hatch. "What's up, Mr. Sinclair?"

  Paul offered the data coin. "Sir, I've completed my investigation into the accident."

  "I see." Hayes took the coin, turning it slowly in his hand, then looked sharply at Paul. "What's the bottom-line?"

  Paul swallowed, partly out of nervousness and partly to clear a throat which felt too tight. "Captain, I believe a preponderance of circumstantial evidence points to the conclusion that Lieutenant Silver ordered Chief Asher to undertake emergency repairs on the power transfer junction in Forward Engineering, and to do so single-handedly in violation of safety procedures. That required Chief Asher to disable the safety interlocks. This is what prevented the fire-suppression systems from functioning. The engineering logs would have clearly shown that this activity had taken place, as well as an authorization clearance from Chief Asher and an officer. Therefore I also believe Lieutenant Silver is responsible for damaging the engineering records to prevent his role in the matter from being discovered. Further, I have a statement from a member of Lieutenant Silver's division that he discouraged them from cooperating with the initial investigation by frightening them with the claim that anything they said would harm Chief Asher's family."

  Hayes stared silently at Paul for a long moment. "Are you recommending I court-martial Lieutenant Silver?"

  "Sir, I . . . the decision of what action to take is yours, sir."

  "I didn't ask you to make the decision, Mr. Sinclair. I asked if that was what you were recommending."

  It actually hurt to answer the captain's blunt question. "Yes, sir, I am so recommending."

  Hayes' gaze shifted to the data coin still resting in his hand. "Have a seat."

  "Yes, sir." Paul sat, his back stiffly erect, trying not to look anywhere in particular, while Captain Hayes loaded the coin into his data unit and with painstaking care reviewed the material Paul had gathered. Paul occasionally stole glances at the clock on one bulkhead, seeing the minutes drag by, wondering what those still in line outside thought about the closed hatch and Paul's long meeting with the captain.

  Hayes finally made a angry snort, then turned back to Paul. "I could wipe this, Mr. Sinclair. Tell you I'd looked into it and disagreed. But I won't. You did a good job."

  "Th-thank you, sir."

  "I'm not sure I should thank you. Have you ever met Admiral Silver?"

  "No, sir."

  "He's
tough. He's professional. He's not going to be happy." Hayes made a fist, as if he were going to slam it into his display. "But I'm not in this job to keep people happy. Not when I see this kind of evidence. Are you sure there's nothing aside from that supply part thing that actually names Lieutenant Silver?"

  "There might be, sir, but I couldn't find anything."

  "So I'll have to assume there isn't, until or unless I find out otherwise. Which leaves what to do up to my discretion." Hayes rubbed his lower face for a few moments. "Okay. You write me up a charge sheet, Mr. Sinclair. Whatever charges against Lieutenant Silver you feel would be appropriate and provable. No more, no less. Don't talk to anyone about this. Bring the charge sheet to me when you're done."

  "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 stateroo
m 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?"