"Later. Good luck."
One of the advantages of investigating an accident on an underway ship was that every witness was easy to find, and with the threat of Commander Herdez' displeasure looming behind Commander Garcia's demands, those witnesses produced their statements in short order. Paul heard that Garcia had also been insisting on reviewing all electrical system records and had caused numerous simulations to be run on possible accident scenarios. Jen Shen had been uncharacteristically supportive of Garcia's push to conclude his investigation as quickly as possible. "I don't like not being able to trust equipment. If that laser's capable of zapping anyone else working on it, we need to know yesterday." But Garcia's findings and conclusions, if any, remained a mystery for another twenty-four hours.
"Ensign Sinclair, your presence is requested in the executive officer's stateroom."
Paul jerked with surprise at the announcement. He'd just left the bridge ten minutes earlier after standing the afternoon watch. Carl, looking like he'd slept even less than usual in the last few days, had relieved him for the two-hour long first dog watch. They hadn't said a word about the accident or the investigation, even though waiting for the results of the investigation was obviously an agony for Carl. Perhaps now that agony would end. Paul only prayed the announcement didn't portend the beginning of another agony.
When he arrived at her stateroom, Herdez held out a data cartridge. "Commander Garcia has completed his investigation into the death of Petty Officer Davidas." Nothing in the XO's voice or expression betrayed the results of that investigation. "Review it to ensure it complies with the requirements of the Judge Advocate General's Manual. I'd like it back as soon as possible."
Paul took the cartridge gingerly. "Yes, ma'am."
"The results of the investigation have not yet been approved by the captain. Do not share them with anyone."
"Yes, ma'am."
Paul hastened back to his stateroom and plugged in the cartridge, then read rapidly. I'll skim it first for conclusions and then go back to check all the details against the JAGMAN. Where . . . where . . . there. No finding of fault. All parties followed proper procedures. Unavoidable accident. Recommendations to prevent reoccurrence. Whew.
Feeling a weight lifted from his spirit, Paul went back to the beginning of the report and began carefully comparing it to the examples he had and the instructions in the Judge Advocate General's Manual. So engrossed was he that he didn't look up when someone entered, only gradually becoming aware of someone else in the stateroom. "Carl? Your watch is over? Has it been two hours?"
"Yeah. It was on my end, anyway. What's so interesting?"
Paul hesitated, watching as Carl frowned at his reaction, then gazed worriedly at the display. "It's Garcia's investigation. He's finished. Herdez gave it to me to review for compliance with legal requirements. The captain hasn't approved the results yet so I'm not supposed to tell anyone about them."
"Oh." Carl looked away, the tension in his body obvious.
Hell. I'm not going to do this to him. "Carl. The report has no finding of fault. It says everybody did what they were supposed to do. The accident was unavoidable using correct procedures."
"How'd Garcia say it happened?"
Paul indicated the display. "The virtual circuit tag-out on the system fell through the cracks when the system techs had to do an emergency reboot and the system failed to carry through the temporary file. The physical tag-out didn't work because one of the switches in that junction failed, and the system automatically did a cascading power redistribution that required it to activate that circuit. With the virtual tag-out gone, the system didn't know it wasn't supposed to do that."
"Sounds sort of stupid to let a system reset switches like that in a non-emergency situation."
"That's what Garcia said. It was a one-in-a-million combination of events, but it could happen again. He recommends system software be altered to prohibit that kind of stuff without a human review of the action except during an emergency."
Carl Meadows stared somberly at his desk, then nodded briefly. "Okay. Thanks."
"I thought you might be a little happier to hear that news."
"I am. Really. It's just . . ." Meadows stared at his hands. "A sailor died, Paul. A Mark One Mod Zero human being ceased to exist . . . and it's nobody's fault. Nobody did anything wrong. Nobody caused it directly. Just an accident. Blast it, shouldn't there have to be a reason when somebody dies?"
"Carl, you need to talk to a chaplain about that. The meaning and purpose of life is way beyond my pay grade."
"Yeah. Not that the Merry Mike rated having a chaplain along on this little pleasure cruise, and I won't spill my guts to any virtual padre on the ship's computer systems."
"Don't forget Lieutenant Sindh's offer."
"I haven't. She's a decent person. Maybe I'll take her up on it, now." Carl rubbed his face wearily. "Damn, I wish I could get drunk."
"Drinking never solved anything."
"So says the youthful ensign. I'm not looking to solve anything, Paul, I just need something that'll help me unwind for one night." Meadows smiled crookedly. "Mind you, if I started taking that route to oblivion every night, you'd be right. You ever think about dying in combat, Paul?"
"Uh, sometimes."
"I know, we're not at war. Officially, anyway. Odds are if anything lethal happens to you or me it'll be an accident. But accidents just happen. You don't deliberately walk into them. Combat's deliberate, putting your life on the line while you think about it. Can you handle that?"
Paul hesitated before replying. "I hope so."
"An honest man. Diogenes, where are you? I hope so, too. I was thinking that if this accident was going to happen, then thank God that Davidas didn't have a chance to know it was coming. Thanks for letting me know what Garcia found out, shipmate. If you're done with that report, you'd best get it back to Commander Herdez before she finds out you've been talking to anybody about it."
"Right." Paul paused as he started to eject the data cartridge. "Hang in there, Carl."
"Hey, I lost a guy. It happens in this line of work. I'll get over it. Mostly."
"It wasn't your fault. You did everything you should." Paul pointed to his display. "That's official, now. You know Garcia wouldn't have cut you any slack."
"Yeah. I do know that. And it really does mean a lot to know I didn't make it happen by some careless act on my part. But I think it's going to take a while to work through me. You know?"
"I think so. Don't forget Jen's offered her shoulder if you need it."
"Now that's an attractive offer. Me leaning on Jen's shoulder. What do you think Smilin' Sam would do if he came in here and found me draped over Jen?"
Paul smiled at the vision. "His brain would probably explode."
Carl grinned as well, a trace of his old humor finally surfacing. "That might be worth what Herdez would do to me afterwards. But, no, better not. I might like it too much."
"Watching Sam's brain explode?"
"No. Being draped over Jen." Carl raised his eyebrows at Paul's expression. "What? You've never thought about it?"
"I don't . . . I mean . . . I try not to . . ."
"They can't nail you for thinking, Paul. Not yet, anyway. Just don't tell Jen."
"There's nothing to tell Jen!"
"Oh, come on. How about Kris?"
"No!"
"Ah hah. Lieutenant Sindh? Lieutenant Tweed?"
"Carl, you—" Paul stopped, staring at Meadows. "You're riding me for fun. You're joking. You do feel better."
"Yeah. I do. Thanks for cluing me in on that report. It takes a real weight off me to know I didn't cause it, and apparently couldn't have prevented it. I imagine I'll spend the rest of my life wishing there'd been something I could have done anyway, but now I know that's just wishful thinking. Between you looking out for me on the investigation and the babes mothering me, I've been well taken care of. You're all good people."
"So are you, Carl."
&
nbsp; Paul made his way back to the XO's stateroom and offered her the data cartridge. "As near as I can determine, ma'am, Commander Garcia's investigation complies with all the requirements of the Judge Advocate General's Manual."
"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair." Commander Herdez took the offered cartridge, then looked sharply at Paul. "You seem to be happy, Mr. Sinclair."
Uh oh. I let my good mood at how Carl felt show. But I wasn't supposed to tell him. Better be careful what I say. "Yes, ma'am. I'm, um, happy at Commander Garcia's conclusions."
"Did you think Lieutenant Junior Grade Meadows would be found at fault?"
"No, ma'am. But . . . I did fear that might happen."
Herdez turned back to her work. "Reserve your fears for events whose outcomes you can influence, Mr. Sinclair. Had Mr. Meadows failed in his duties, our duty would have been to call him to account. I will agree that would have compounded the tragedy of Petty Officer Davidas' loss, but it would have been necessary. To do otherwise would have betrayed Petty Officer Davidas' sacrifice."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair."
Paul left, pondering the XO's words. Duty means we do stuff we may hate doing. I've always known that in the abstract, but this would have been very real and very personal. Suppose Carl had been at fault? Would I have been willing to pursue that? Or would I have taken the easy way out and tried to cover up that fault? I'm glad I didn't have to find out.
He went back to the stateroom, finding Carl had left, and laid down for a few moments, gazing at the tangle of conduits and wires not far from his nose whose patterns were becoming so familiar he had started to name the shapes he could imagine within them. Despite everything else his mind could fasten on, Paul found himself unable to shake Carl's earlier ribbing about Jen Shen. Why'd it bother me when Carl joked about making out with Jen? Get a grip. Jen's never shown that kind of interest in me, and was the first person to warn me against onboard relationships. Yeah, I like her, but that's not the same thing as imagining some sort of involvement, and she's never shown any sign of doing more than liking me. Jen'd probably say I was an idiot if she knew I was even spending this much time thinking about it. Then she'd keep me at arm's length for the rest of her time on board. Life's hard enough right now. Don't drive away one of the people who's making it bearable by giving in to ridiculous fantasies. He rolled out of his bunk, strapped into his chair, and began going over his OSWO qualifications. The drudgery of that should keep him focused on reality.
Within a few hours, Captain Wakeman approved Commander Garcia's investigation and forwarded it to fleet staff. Under normal circumstances, the Michaelson wasn't supposed to send even the brief transmission needed to shoot a compressed file of the report back to Franklin Station, because even that short transmission surely betrayed her general location to anyone watching carefully. But the death of a sailor wasn't normal circumstances.
A few days passed, then the reply came. Investigation results approved by Commander, United States Naval Space Forces. Recommendations forwarded to appropriate authorities for action. Instructions for the disposition of the remains of Petty Officer Davidas.
Paul checked his appearance carefully. Service Dress uniforms designed to hang naturally in gravity tended to get bunched up and absurd-looking in zero g, and this was one occasion where he wanted to ensure he looked as good as possible. Fortunately, before leaving Earth he'd been advised to attach Velcro liberally beneath the uniform blouse and trousers. The black armband around one sleeve of his uniform blouse, just snug enough to stay in place and weighing almost nothing, felt unnaturally heavy and tight.
"Do I look okay?" Carl Meadows appeared pale against the Navy blue of his uniform, his relief at the results of the investigation overshadowed at the moment by the ceremony they were about to attend.
"Yeah, Carl, you look good. Ready?"
"Yeah. This doesn't seem right without swords."
"I know." On Earth, such a solemn occasion would require full dress uniforms with swords, their gilt pommels swathed in black. But even the tradition-obsessed Navy wouldn't allow officers to bring swords into space. Too much extraneous mass to haul around, and too many sharp points capable of causing damage to delicate components packed inside spacecraft hulls.
The quarterdeck area never felt large. With the burial party assembled in it, and with everyone trying to leave at least a small gap between themselves and the body tube holding the remains of Petty Officer Davidas, it felt tight enough to induce claustrophobia. Paul squeezed in next to Kris Denaldo, who smiled briefly in wordless greeting before turning a somber gaze back on the body tube. Carl moved farther forward, close to the body tube, where he joined the enlisted members of the burial party.
"Attention on deck." Everyone stiffened to the best of their ability as Captain Wakeman and Commander Herdez wedged themselves into the crowd. Wakeman, looking decidedly uncomfortable, muttered "at ease" and gestured toward Herdez.
The XO cleared her throat. "We are here to commit the mortal remains of Petty Officer Michael Davidas to the depths of space. His family has indicated their desire that he be cremated within the Sun's own fires. Upon completion of this service, his body tube will be fired on a trajectory which will, in the course of time, bring it to that end." She consulted her data link, then began reciting the Burial Service. As the words came out, Herdez' voice softened and took on a lilting cadence, drawing surprised glances from most of the officers and enlisted present. Ending, Herdez put away her data link. "Now, I invite you to join me in the Navy Hymn." She began singing, also softly, as the others on the quarterdeck joined in raggedly.
* * *
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
* * *
Eternal Father, King of birth,
Who didst create the heaven and earth,
And bid the planets and the sun
Their own appointed orbits run;
O hear us when we seek thy grace
From those who soar through outer space.
* * *
The singing tapered off, then Commander Herdez looked around
the quarterdeck at those present. "The Navy Hymn was originally written in the 1860s. The verse speaking of those in space was added in the 1960s. Sailors have always faced peril, and not always come home. But Petty Officer Davidas is part of a endless line of explorers and seafarers stretching back for untold centuries. Now he has gone to join them, and their ranks are surely brightened by that." Herdez nodded to a bosun mate who placed his left hand on the controls of a portable stereo. "Hand salute."
Everyone somehow managed to find the room to swing their arms up and hold their best salutes.
The bosun hit the Play control on his stereo, and the slow, mournful notes of Taps echoed softly through the quarterdeck until the last, long measure trailed off into silence.
"Two."
Everyone dropped their salutes.
"That is all. Thank you for coming."
"Wait a minute." The beginnings of movement halted as Captain Wakeman finally spoke again. "I wanted to pass on some good news on this solemn occasion." A nervous smile flickered across his face. "As some of you know, we've been watching a South Asian Alliance ship for some time. He's been hugging the edge of our area, but he's just taken the plunge and he's coming right through without requesting permission. We're going to intercept that ship! Who knows, we may even have to seize it. It's a great opportunity, and, well, let's get after him!" Wakeman ducked out the hatch, leaving silence behind him.
Paul watched Commander Herdez' face as she eyed the Captain's departure, her expression revealing no emotion.
After a brief pause, Herdez glanced around once again. "Dismissed."
Paul held himself in place, waiting for a few moments
while others tried to wedge themselves through the hatches instead of fighting the crowd himself. His gaze settled on the body tube and the four sailors standing beside it along with Carl Meadows, ready to transport it to the launch tube from which it would be fired into space. Another ship, coming through this area and apparently deliberately defying the U.S. claim to this part of space. Does it know we're here? We might have been detected when we sent in the investigation report. Rumors of Q-ships came back to haunt him. Is it armed, a warship in disguise, maybe planning to surprise us and take us out before we can defend ourselves? Are we going to be in a shooting engagement before all is said and done? He watched the body tube, wondering if it would be merely the first of many he'd see on this trip. Wakeman's enthusiasm seemed not only inappropriate, but also thoughtless. I need to take another look at our orders.
Chapter Six
A Just Determination Page 11
