A Just Determination ps-1

by John G. Hemry

  "No. Not in any practical sense. Unless the captain changes his mind."

  "Fat chance. Okay, that's what I figured, but I also figured it didn't hurt to ask."

  Paul nodded in agreement. "If I could help, I would. Is there anything you guys can do for Arroyo?"

  Commander Sykes replied before Bristol could, his relaxed tone at odds with his words. "I'm afraid all we can do is bend every effort toward getting Arroyo promoted back to petty officer as soon as possible. Outstanding fitness reports, commendations, that sort of thing. Oh, don't look disapproving, young Sinclair. We won't be giving Arroyo anything he doesn't deserve. The man is an excellent sailor."

  "Chief Mangala doesn't think so."

  "Ah. Chief Mangala." Commander Sykes took a slow drink of coffee. "He's allowed a personal dislike of a subordinate to translate into effectively framing that subordinate for a crime that likely never occurred. And he undercut my own authority to do it. I am not easily aroused to anger, but that chief has crossed the line."

  "What can you do to a chief? I thought they were pretty much bullet-proof."

  "No one is bullet-proof, lad. Chief Mangala's error is in believing as you do. But I have friends in certain offices back home, offices where orders are written. I will guarantee you now that the moment we arrive back at Franklin Station, Chief Mangala will find orders awaiting him, orders which will transfer him immediately to an assignment so unpleasant as to make service on this ship seem a lost paradise."

  Paul grinned. "I didn't think any assignment could do that."

  "Ah, 'where ignorance is bliss.' Get on my bad side, Mr. Sinclair, and you'll find out how wrong you are." Sykes smiled as he spoke to rob his words of any real threat.

  Mike Bristol perked up unexpectedly. "Say, speaking of getting back, you work in Operations, Paul. Any truth to the rumor we might head home early?"

  "None that I know of."

  Sykes chuckled. "I've been on a number of extended deployments such as this, Mike. On every one, the rumors of being ordered to return early begin within a couple of weeks of departure. Those rumors have never proven to be anything but wishful thinking."

  "Too bad," Bristol rubbed his chin, staring at the painting of the Michaelson on the far bulkhead. "What would it take to get us home early, anyway? Some international crisis?"

  "I don't know," Paul confessed. "I haven't seen anything in the intelligence summaries that seems out of the normal. Trade disputes, low-level fighting in a half-dozen places around the world, all the usual stuff."

  "Any ships anywhere near? I understand we're supposed to keep other ships out of this area, unless they get permission to go through it first."

  "That's right. So far, though, everyone going through has made at least a gesture at asking permission, and most of those have been near the boundaries of the area we're patrolling. But the solar system's geometry is changing, so that might change also."

  "Huh?" Bristol cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "The solar system is changing?"

  "Its geometry. You know, everything's rotating about the sun in different orbits at different speeds. To get from, say, Earth to Mars requires different paths at different times of the year."

  "And I thought logistics was complicated. What if a ship belonging to some foreign power does try to come through without our permission? What'll we do?"

  Paul scratched his head. "To be perfectly honest, Lieutenant-"

  "Mike."

  "Okay. To be perfectly honest, Mike, what we do is up to the captain."

  "We don't have orders?"

  "We do." Paul frowned, remember the convoluted wording and evasive language of their orders. "But they pretty much leave it up to the captain's judgment as to what to do."

  Bristol's jaw sagged for a moment. "Just like non-judicial punishment, huh?"

  "Yeah, effectively. Just like that."

  "Oh, great. I guess I better hope that doesn't happen. And I better forget about us getting back ahead of schedule."

  "It's probably just as well," Paul offered. "I'd imagine if they needed us home early it'd be because something really bad had happened. I'm not so sure that'd be a good thing."

  Commander Sykes took another drink, then sighed. "From the mouths of babes. As you say, Mr. Sinclair, getting home early would only be worth it if it didn't involve getting into a situation even worse than boring figurative holes through some of the more vacant space in the solar system. Be careful what you wish for, gentlemen. There's always a worse alternative."

  Bristol grinned. "As Chief Mangala will discover."

  "Ah, yes. Chief Mangala. Beware the wrath of pork chops." Sykes settled back in his chair, even though the gesture was meaningless in zero g, a small smile playing on his lips.

  Half a day later, in the same wardroom, the Arroyo/Mangala affair assumed trivial significance to Paul as he and Kris Denaldo watched a friend in agony. Carl Meadows was shaking his head continuously, as if hoping he could deny a fact out of existence, his voice strained as he spoke. "Oh my God."

  Paul reached out a hand toward Carl's shoulder, then drew it back, uncertain how to react. "What happened?"

  "Petty Officer Davidas. He's dead."

  "What? How?"

  "We don't know. It just happened. He was working on one of the pulse lasers. It had been de-energized and tagged out. I saw the physical tag placed and watched the virtual tag placed on the automated systems controls. But the thing got energized somehow while he was lying across it."

  "Holy Jesus." Kris Denaldo crossed herself in reflexive fashion. "He couldn't have stood a chance."

  "No. Fried instantly. Never knew what hit him, I'm sure." Meadows buried his head in his hands. "Oh, God."

  "Lieutenant Meadows." Commander Herdez hung in the hatchway. "I have appointed Commander Garcia to conduct an investigation of Petty Officer Davidas' death. Ensure he receives full cooperation from everyone in your division."

  Meadows raised his head. "Yes, ma'am."

  Her gaze shifted to Paul. "Ensign Sinclair. Provide Commander Garcia with any legal or other support he needs."

  "Yes, ma'am." Oh, great. Garcia already hates every second I spend on legal duties, and now I have to work directly with him on legal stuff. Paul glanced over at Carl Meadows' drawn expression. What right do I have to worry about that? A guy just died. I can be such a jerk sometimes. "Carl, I better check with Commander Garcia right away. If there's anything you need…"

  "Yeah."

  Paul detoured to his stateroom first, calling up his copy of the Manual of the Judge Advocate General to refresh his knowledge on investigations. Okay. Death of military personnel falls under the Command Investigation category. Garcia doesn't need to be sworn in in order to run the investigation. He only needs a preponderance of evidence… except if he decides Davidas or somebody else caused the accident deliberately. Hope that doesn't come up. It's prohibited to make any determination as to whether the death was in the line of duty.

  Garcia answered Paul's knock with a gruff grunt, then glowered at him as Paul stammered out his mission. "I don't need an ensign's help to do my job. Everything is spelled out in the manual, right?"

  "Yes, sir. Chapter II of the JAGMAN. There's a sample report format at the end of the chapter."

  "I've already looked at that. Do I need to swear anybody in when I take statements from them?"

  "No, sir. Swearing in is not required for a command-level accident investigation. You can swear somebody in if you want to, though. The oath you use is in Chapter II."

  "How long do I have to finish this?"

  "A death investigation is supposed to be completed within twenty days, sir."

  "Good. I won't need nearly that much time." Garcia focused on his own screen again, his face reddening with familiar anger.

  It took Paul a moment to realize the anger wasn't directed at him. Is he really that upset over the death of Davidas? It can't possibly make him look bad. Just when I thought I had Garcia pegged, he turns out to care about somet
hing besides his own reputation. Paul stood awkwardly, wanting to leave but unable to do so until dismissed. "Sir, is there anything I can assist you with?"

  Garcia's eyes locked back on Paul and held there for a long moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact, Sinclair. As long as you're standing there, go down to sickbay and make sure the doc knows what he's supposed to put in his report."

  "Yes, sir." Paul left, steeling himself for the visit to sickbay and praying whatever remained of Petty Officer Davidas wouldn't be visible.

  The ship's doctor nodded wearily at Paul's arrival. "Yes, I know. You people need an autopsy of sorts. I'm not a forensic pathologist, you know. I work on the living. That's by choice. But I should be able to tell you what killed the man. It's pretty obvious. I don't suppose you want to see for yourself?"

  "No! No, sir." Paul swallowed hastily, his stomach suddenly feeling just as it had when he first encountered zero-gravity. "There's a format you're supposed to follow. Do you…?"

  "Probably, but let me see." The doctor scanned the form for a moment, then nodded and made a notation in his own data link. "Okay. I'll use that form. Am I supposed to fill out all these areas?"

  "As many as possible, sir. The report needs to rule out possible contributing factors to the accident."

  The doctor snorted derisively. "I guarantee he didn't die from a drug overdose. Or alcohol poisoning. But I still need to test for drugs or alcohol?"

  "Yes, sir. Not that anyone thinks those were a factor, but we have to rule it out."

  "The body tissues have suffered extensive trauma. Serious oxidation from the energy that hit him. I might not be able to get a good test."

  Paul swallowed again. "You just have to try, sir. If… if there's no way to make a determination, we'll have to work with what evidence is available."

  "Fine. I'll do my best." The doctor let his gaze wander toward a sealed storage bin. "Not that my best could have helped that poor bastard. I work on the living."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Do you have any idea yet how this happened? Aren't there some sort of precautions taken to ensure equipment isn't energized when someone is working on it?"

  Paul glanced at the doctor, surprised by the question. But then, how would he know about electrical safety procedures? That isn't what he does. "Yes, sir. They use tags. There's an actual physical tag put on the circuit where it's switched off, saying don't turn it on because someone is working on it, and there's a virtual tag saying the same thing that's placed in the electrical distribution system software to prevent anyone from remotely activating the circuit."

  "Why didn't they use these tags?"

  "They did, sir. At least, that's what everyone involved is saying. Maybe someone overrode the virtual tag, or pulled the physical tag off the circuit. If so, we'll find out."

  "I see." The doctor scowled at his table surface. "Then you can punish whoever was responsible. That won't help Petty Officer Davidas, you know."

  "No, sir, it won't. But punishment isn't the primary reason for the investigation. Finding out what went wrong is most important. So we can try to make sure it never happens again to any other sailor."

  The doctor nodded, his scowl fading. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. Sometimes you line officers seem obsessed with punishment, with trying to brow-beat the rest of the world into your model of accountability for any mistakes. If the goal of this investigation is to save lives, then it's a very good thing."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Thank you?" The doctor looked at Paul skeptically. "Did I say something about you personally?"

  "I'm a line officer, sir. For better or worse. And I'm assisting in the investigation, which means I have a personal involvement there, too."

  "Line officers." The doctor shook his head. "You all think you're Atlas, carrying the world around on your shoulders. If you stopped for a moment, if you made a small mistake, the world wouldn't crash and break, you know."

  Paul looked away. The burden of his chosen profession suddenly felt very heavy. "With all due respect, sir, it did for Petty Officer Davidas." He only hoped it hadn't been due to a small mistake on the part of Carl Meadows.

  Garcia handled the investigation with what could only described as ruthless efficiency. Carl came back shaken from his interview, but refused to complain. "He asked me tough questions. That's exactly what he should be doing."

  Kris leaned close to him. "Questions about what?"

  "Stuff I expected, really. He asked me to describe everything I did relating to the accident. Whether I personally saw the virtual tag-out activated and tested. Whether I tugged on the physical tag-out to make sure it wouldn't fall off."

  "I thought they found the physical tag still in place."

  "They did. Garcia's making sure it didn't drift off and then somebody put it back after the accident."

  "Why, that-"

  "No." Carl held up a hand. "He's not being a bastard. He has to check that, rule it out. I know that tag was on firmly. But if Garcia doesn't prove that to everybody's satisfaction then he wouldn't be doing me any favors. Right, Paul?"

  Paul nodded. "Right. Garcia has to check out every possible angle and ensure he knows what really went wrong. If Carl's innocent of wrongdoing, he'll prove that."

  Kris glared at him. " If?"

  Paul's head suddenly felt cold and empty. "I said if? Carl, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

  "That's okay. It's easy to make a mistake." Carl fell silent as the implications of his own words sank in, then smiled bitterly. "Looks like a lot of people are saying dumb things today."

  Paul shook his head, angrier at himself than he'd ever been. "No. What I said wasn't dumb. It was stupid. You've told us you followed procedures and did everything by the book, just like you told Garcia. I'm really, really sorry."

  Carl nodded, and Kris Denaldo lost her own anger. "Just make sure you don't make that kind of slip of the lip when you're talking to Garcia, Paul. Tell me something, though. What kind of standard is Garcia using to judge Carl? Is the fact Carl followed procedure good enough?"

  "It should be. But the standard is a guy called ORP-man."

  "ORP-man? Is that some kind of weird super-hero?"

  Paul managed to smile. "No. ORP stands for ordinary, reasonable and prudent. An accident investigation is supposed to look at what an ordinary, reasonable and prudent man or woman would have done. You don't have to be perfect. But just sticking to procedure isn't good enough if a reasonable person would have noticed a problem and done something about it."

  "ORP-man. That sounds so stupid."

  "Yeah. But it kind of makes sense. I mean, isn't that the standard you'd want to be judged by?"

  Kris frowned. "I don't know. It depends on who's doing the judging, and what their definition of ordinary, reasonable and prudent happens to be. Doesn't it?"

  "Well…" Paul frowned as well. "I guess that's right. But, Carl, you're careful. You're smart. You'll pass that test."

  Carl twitched a smile. "I sure hope so. Like I said, I told Garcia everything I did. All the procedures I followed. But I didn't tell him something else, because I couldn't."

  Paul stared. "What? What didn't you tell him?"

  "Anything I didn't do because I didn't think to do it and still haven't realized I should have done. Any procedure I should have followed but didn't know I should follow. And that might be what killed Davidas."

  Kris leaned forward again, her anger this time directed at Carl. "You did not kill Petty Officer Davidas. You are not that big of a screw-up, Mr. Meadows."

  "I'm glad you think so. I hope you're right."

  "Jen told me she'd trust you with her life. Would Jen Shen say that if she didn't mean it?"

  "No."

  "You've still got a division to lead, Carl. This investigation will clear you. Until then, keep your head clear. I've got a watch to stand right now." Kris pulled herself from her seat, gesturing to Paul to follow. As soon as they'd left, she pointed back to the ensign locker where they'd left Carl. "I've got
ten thousand things to do, as usual. But you keep an eye on him, Paul. You're living in the same compartment. If you think he's losing it, you make sure Jen and I know."

  "I don't think he'll lose it, Kris. He's depressed, but that's understandable."

  "Yes, it is. I just want to make sure it doesn't go beyond understandable depression. Okay?"

  "Okay." Kris headed rapidly down the passageway. Paul watched her until she swung around a corner. "Carl? I've got some work to do in the operations spaces."

  "So do it."

  "Are you going to be okay?"

  "Yeah. See you at lunch."

  Paul followed in Kris Denaldo's wake, but he hadn't gotten far when he heard his name called.

  "Paul." He turned, seeing Lieutenant Sindh in the door to her stateroom. "How's Carl holding up?"

  Paul didn't know Sindh all that well, but he'd never heard anything bad about her, and she was on Jen Shen's list of good people. "Not too well. You can tell he's torn up inside."

  "Losing a sailor isn't easy. Wondering if you're guilty of somehow causing that death is harder. Paul, I'm what you might call a lay minister. Not Carl's religion, but the role of ministering is fairly universal. Tell Carl for me that if he needs to talk, I'm available."

  "I will. Thanks."

  Around the next turn he met Jen Shen. "Hey, Paul. How's Carl?"

  "Could be better."

  "What's funny about that question?"

  "Funny?" Paul hadn't realized he'd quirked a brief smile. "Nothing. It's just that Lieutenant Sindh asked me the same thing a few seconds ago. Are you a lay minister, too?"

  "Me? I don't think so. But if you think Carl needs somebody's shoulder to cry on, let me know."

  Paul nodded, this time smiling gratefully. "I think he does need that, but I don't think he's ready to do it."

  "Men. Why you refuse to deal with emotions, I don't know. How's Garcia's investigation coming? Any idea?"

  "Not a thing."

  "You're supposed to be his assistant."

  "No, I'm supposed to be assisting him. When he needs it. I've asked. He hasn't needed it."

  Jen came close, peering into Paul's eyes. "If you heard they were going to railroad Carl, you'd tell us, wouldn't you? You'd tell him?"