A Just Determination

by John G. Hemry

  "Yeah." Paul sagged into one of the free chairs. "I'm really looking forward to it."

  "Don't worry. From the dawn of time, naval officers have gone through the ensign stage, and most have later gone on to lead happy, productive lives."

  "Most have?"

  "Let's not talk about the others. You may meet some of them," Carl added enigmatically. "A word of warning, though. We're heading out real soon for a long cruise. We get underway in four days for a week of shakedown in the local operating area. Then another week back here to fix whatever breaks during the shakedown, and after that, we're heading out into the big, empty black for a long time. All of which means you won't have much luxury for learning the ropes onboard the Merry Mike. Hit the deck running, and keep your eyes and ears open."

  Paul fought down a wave of apprehension. "Thanks. I guess everybody calls her the Merry Mike?"

  "JOs do."

  "Commander Sykes did, too."

  "Oh, well. Suppo's a special case. I wouldn't use the name around the Captain or the XO."

  "I was starting to guess that. It seems to be said sort of . . . sarcastically."

  Meadows pretended shock, then laughed. "She's a warship, not a fun ship! You know what we say after putting in twelve hours on the job? 'Great, we only had to work a half-day!' Mostly, it's more like twenty hours a day of work and watch-standing under what you might call demanding supervision."

  "Huh." Paul bit his lip. "So the XO is tough. What about the other senior officers? The Department Heads? What are they like?"

  "Uh-uh," Meadows demurred. "You make your own mind up on them. I don't want to predispose you."

  "But—"

  "Uh-uh."

  "Okay." Paul glanced forlornly around the tiny stateroom. My new home. For months at a stretch, with people I don't know yet who I may not like and who may not like me, working my tail off the whole time. Why did I ever volunteer for this? "You said we'll be going out on a long cruise? Has the mission been announced?"

  Carl grinned, one thumb idly rubbing the silver bar of his collar rank insignia. "Our mission? Arrrhhh, we be pirates, lad!"

  "Huh?"

  "We're—" Meadows stopped speaking at a rap on the bulkhead, followed by the hatch opening. An enlisted sailor looked in, silently handed him a folded cloth, then left. Meadows unfurled the cloth, revealing the pirate flag Carl had seen in the wardroom. "Ah. It appears one of our humor-challenged seniors finally saw this."

  "Suppo told me they'd take it down."

  "Yeah, that's what I figured. But, what the hell. Why pirates? That's an open secret. We'll be on sovereignty patrol. Enforcing the U.S. claim on a very large volume of very empty space containing very valuable transit routes and the occasional very valuable rock."

  Paul nodded. "Yeah. I know about the sovereignty bit. We need to enforce our claim of control or it won't have any legal standing."

  "Meaning what? That's a real question. We're all a little vague on the reasons for what we're doing. Not that that's so unusual."

  "Well . . ." Paul paused to order his thoughts. "You can't just claim something and then leave it. If you claim you own something, but then let other people use it without hindrance for a while, then eventually your claim won't be regarded as having legal standing anymore. You have to enforce your claim in some meaningful way. You know, it's like if you have a trademark on some word but let everybody use it all the time and never complain. After a while the word is legally in public domain and you can't enforce the trademark anymore. That's really simplified, and I'm sure a lawyer could poke all kinds of holes in what I said, but that's the general idea."

  "Interesting." Meadows raised both eyebrows. "You know legal stuff, huh?"

  "Sort of. I had a one-month gap in my orders, so they packed me off to a Ship's Legal Officer course. I guess you could say I now know enough to be dangerous."

  "Lucky you. Then you also know what 'enforcing' our claim means?"

  "In theory . . ."

  "In practice." Meadows smiled, this time without real humor. "Like you said, we can't let other ships just cruise through our space, can we? But we're not at war with anybody, not officially anyway, so we can't officially blow them away, if that should be necessary."

  "Blow them away?" Paul stared. "You mean we'll be authorized to shoot at other ships?"

  "That's the scuttlebutt. How we can get away with that when we're not at war with anybody, I don't know, but then I'm just a dumb JG."

  "That's better than being a dumb ensign. Our orders really say that?"

  Meadows shrugged. "That's the scuttlebutt," he repeated. "You'll see the actual orders when the rest of us do. For now, I better get you to see the XO. You don't want her thinking she's being dissed. No, sirree. Follow me."

  Meadows went out the hatch, expertly ducking to avoid banging his head, and led the way through a maze of passageways in which Paul had already lost his bearings. His head brushed objects overhead twice, causing Paul to hunch even lower and envy the casual way Meadows ducked and twisted to avoid hitting things. A female ensign came around a corner, flattening herself against the bulkhead as Paul and Carl passed. "Hey, babe," Carl offered.

  "Hey, yourself. New stud?"

  "Yeah." Carl indicated the female ensign. "Jen Shen. Paul Sinclair."

  "Charmed."

  "Likewise."

  Carl pointed a thumb down, where the aft portion of the ship lay. "Jen's the Auxiliary Machinery Officer. She's not bad, for a snipe."

  Jen bared her teeth. "That reminds me. I may need to have the ventilation in your stateroom taken off line. Maybe for several hours."

  "Oh, God, please, no—"

  "Just joking." She looked Paul over appraisingly. "Is Carl giving you the ten cent tour?" Paul nodded. "Did he warn you about Smiling Sam, yet?"

  "Smiling . . . ?"

  "Sam Yarrow," Carl amplified. "The Bull Ensign." The official nickname indicated Yarrow was the senior ensign onboard. "Don't call him Smiling Sam to his face."

  "But keep your eye on him," Jen added. "He's a snake."

  "Now, Jen—"

  "Don't 'now' me, mister. Paul, if Sam tries to pat you on the back don't let him unless you've got armor strapped on between your shoulder blades. Otherwise, you're likely to find a knife there." She smiled with mock sweetness at Carl. "But that's just my opinion. See ya. I got work to do, unlike some underemployed combat systems types."

  Meadows shook his head, smiling wryly, as Shen hustled down the passageway. "Jen's got attitude to spare."

  "I can tell. She seems squared away, though."

  "Oh yeah, real squared away. You can trust Jen, on official business or on personal stuff."

  "Thanks. So she's right about Yarrow?"

  Carl hesitated before answering. "I don't want to predispose you—"

  "Come on."

  "Okay. The Bull Ensign's supposed to look out for the other ensigns, right? Sam Yarrow mainly looks out for Sam Yarrow. That's all I'll say. Now, onward. The XO awaits."

  They went around another corner, ducking where cables and ducts came too far down from the overhead, until Carl stopped before a hatch with Herdez stenciled on it. He rapped twice, waited for an acknowledgement, then opened the hatch and waved Paul forward. "New officer reporting aboard, XO."

  "Thank you, Mr. Meadows." Herdez rose from her chair just enough to shake Paul's hand. "Please wait outside while I speak with Ensign . . ."

  "Sinclair, ma'am."

  "Sinclair. Welcome aboard the USS Michaelson." Herdez sank back into her chair, gestured Paul to the stateroom's other seat, then held out her hand. "Your service record, please."

  "Yes, ma'am." Paul hastily popped the data cartridge containing his service record out of his wallet and handed it over. As Herdez loaded the record into her terminal, reading it intently, Paul tried to surreptitiously study her and his surroundings. Herdez had a build that was slim, but even through her uniform seemed hard. She scanned her terminal with a stern expression which seemed habitual
, radiating an aura of cool competence. Paul found himself hoping he never screwed up in her presence, yet simultaneously certain such an event was only a matter of time. Her stateroom, perhaps half the size of Paul's new shared quarters, was almost devoid of personal decoration except for one bulkhead which held a small collection of medallions and pictures, obviously memorabilia from Commander Herdez' earlier assignments.

  "Impressed?"

  Paul froze at the dryly-phrased question, looking to see Commander Herdez gazing directly at him once again.

  She pointed toward the memorabilia. "My 'Love Me' wall, Mr. Sinclair. Eighteen years of naval service are represented there. Perhaps you'll have such a wall someday, should you succeed in this profession." She paused, as if expecting a reply.

  "I hope to, ma'am."

  Herdez twisted one corner of her mouth in a brief smile. "Hope counts for far less than performance, Mr. Sinclair. Do well, and success will follow." She indicated the screen of her terminal. "You ranked two hundred and tenth from the top of your Academy class. Not bad. Could you have done better?"

  Paul took a moment before answering. Boy, that's a loaded question. Either 'yes' or 'no' could get me in trouble. I'd best just be honest. "Yes, ma'am, I could have ranked higher."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I didn't try as hard as I could have the first couple of years. I had some growing up to do."

  "That's not unusual in a young person, though not all of them actually manage to mature. What about the last two years?"

  "The last two years I elected to take a few courses that ate up a lot of my study time but earned only passable grades."

  Herdez pondered Paul's statement for a moment. "Why did you elect to take those courses, then?"

  "They were subjects I thought I ought to know, ma'am."

  "I see." Herdez glanced back at the record, then at Paul. "But you could have received better grades in other courses you could have taken instead?"

  "Oh, yes, ma'am. No question. I already had a good handle on the stuff in those courses." The answer popped out without Paul's thinking, leaving him wondering if the reply had sounded vain or thoughtless.

  "Hmmm. You certainly demonstrated academic skills, regardless. Why did you volunteer for duty on the Michaelson, Mr. Sinclair?"

  Paul swallowed to give himself time to consider the question, electing again for the truth. "They said they needed somebody in this assignment."

  "They?"

  "The, uh, detailers, ma'am."

  Herdez seemed amused by the reply. "Well, Mr. Sinclair, you seem to be devoted to neither puffing up your resume nor to demanding ticket-punching assignments. That bodes well for you. I see you've also attended the Ship's Legal Officer course."

  "Yes, ma'am, but—"

  "That's fortunate. The Michaelson needs a trained legal officer. You'll be assigned ship's legal officer as a collateral duty, effective now."

  "Uh . . . yes, ma'am."

  "As far as your primary duty, you'll be Assistant Combat Information Center Officer."

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  "The last postal officer just departed the ship. You'll have that collateral duty as well." She looked questioningly at Paul.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And we need to get a better handle on security issues. You'll be assistant security manager."

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  "You'll be expected to pursue your Open Space Warfare Officer qualifications. I like to personally track the progress of our junior officers in meeting those qualifications."

  "Yes, ma'am." Paul tried not to flinch outwardly, thinking of the huge amount of material he would be required to master to earn those qualifications.

  "Ship's office will assign you an inport and underway duty section. Do you have a stateroom?"

  "Yes, ma'am, Commander Sykes—"

  "Good. Have you met any of the other officers, yet?"

  "Just Commander Sykes, Lieutenant Junior Grade Meadows and Ensign Shen."

  "Good. You'll meet the rest of the wardroom soon enough."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Mr. Meadows can escort you around for the rest of your check-in procedure. While he is doing so, please inform Mr. Meadows that he'll regret it if I see that little flag of his again."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Welcome aboard, Mr. Sinclair. This is a challenging and demanding assignment. Give it your best."

  "Thank you, ma'am. Yes, ma'am."

  Commander Herdez rose slightly again, offered her hand once more, then waved Paul out.

  Carl awaited him in the passageway outside. "How'd it go?"

  Paul shivered. "Wow."

  "Yeah. The XO's hell-on-wheels, isn't she?"

  "She told me to tell you that you'd regret it if she saw that pirate flag again."

  "Ouch." Meadows winced exaggeratedly. "It just fell into a black hole. Lost to the sight of humanity for eternity. How many jobs did you pick up?"

  "My primary is ACICO, like my orders said, and I got, uh, three collateral duties. I think."

  "Only three? She must like you."

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope. You meet Kris Denaldo, yet?"

  "Yes. She's the officer of the deck, right?"

  "Yeah. She picked up four collateral duties. And she's the assistant electronics officer." Meadows grinned. "Kris don't sleep much."

  "I thought nobody slept much."

  "They don't, but some sleep a little less than others." With one extended hand, Meadows indicated a route forward. "Well, shipmate, let's get you checked in with everybody else."

  The next few hours were a blur for Paul. Names and faces went by, most disappearing from memory almost as soon as they did from sight. A blasé petty officer in ship's office downloaded a copy of Paul's service record and uploaded him a copy of the Ship's Organization and Regulations Manual. "Happy leisure reading, sir," the petty officer wished without any visible trace of irony. A pay clerk adjusted her database to reflect Paul's existence and newly qualified status for space hardship pay. A harried lieutenant arguing with a civilian contractor took a moment to flash a smile at Paul and welcome him to her duty section. A commander eyed Paul suspiciously, then plugged his name into the underway watch bill.

  Then there was Commander Garcia, Operations Department Head, and therefore immediate superior in the chain-of-command to both the Combat Information Center Officer and the Assistant. Garcia, squat and stolid, glowered at Paul even as he grimaced a brief smile of welcome. "You work for me, Sinclair. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Legal officer. Who said you should do that job?"

  Paul had already stiffened his posture in response to Garcia's attitude, and now spoke with equal stiffness. "Commander Herdez, sir."

  Garcia glowered again, obviously wishing to say more, then just shook his head. "Don't screw up, Sinclair. This isn't some Academy game. You've got a lot to learn. Screw up, and I'll dump your ass into vacuum."

  "Yes, sir." Behind Garcia, Paul could see Meadows making a face. "I'll do my best, sir."

  "I hope so." Garcia turned toward Meadows. "See if you can locate Tweed and introduce these two." Then he stalked off.

  Paul glanced at Meadows. "Who's Tweed?"

  "Lieutenant Jan Tweed."

  "Garcia doesn't like her?"

  "Garcia doesn't like anybody." Meadows waved Paul forward again. "Technically, Jan Tweed'll be your immediate superior, so try to get along."

  "Is that hard?" A headache, which had been building throughout the last few hours, began throbbing with renewed strength.

  "Uh . . . "

  "Carl, don't let me hit a mine."

  Meadows grinned. "Good analogy. Jan Tweed is an okay person, she just don't do much. That can be real aggravating if you're depending on her. Copy?"

  "So that's why the Michaelson needed an Assistant in CIC?"

  "That's one reason. See, Garcia told me to 'try' to locate Tweed because sometimes she's real hard to find. Especially w
hen she's needed. Like if she's supposed to relieve you on watch? Don't count on her showing up on time."

  Paul's headache flared a little worse. Great. Somebody I can't count on, and she's the person I'll have to work most closely with. Well, maybe she won't be that bad. Maybe she's just got a bad reputation. I hope. "I guess I should try to find her."