A Just Determination (10 page)

"And recycling everything out here is a real good idea. Unfortunately, as Ensign Shen will tell you, those turbines like to break down just when you need them the most, and if one goes down you have to take down its partner as well. Paul, why do we need counter-rotating turbines?"

"Because if we just had a turbine going in one direction its torque would force the ship to rotate."

"Uh-huh. And what happens if something knocks a hole in the inner hull? How many water cells do we lose?"

Paul hesitated, then spotted Kris Denaldo waving her hand at him, one index finger extended.
Oh, yeah. I know this. Thanks, Kris
. "One. Seals activate automatically on all six sides to isolate a cell if there's a pressure drop."

"And why is having a shield of water armor real useful in combat?"

"Because the water flashes to vapor when it gets hit. That dissipates the energy of the hit on the ship as well as anything could."

"Excellent. What a fine crop of ensigns we have these days." Carl, pretending to ignore the rude responses of Paul and Kris to his sarcasm, hauled out his personal data link and tapped in some information. "Congratulations. You two have just signed off some of your damage control and engineering OSWO qualifications."

"Thanks, Carl." Kris gestured down the way they'd come. "Can we egress the exit now? I've got things to see and people to do." Moments later, they were out of the access trunk, Paul luxuriating in the suddenly expansive-seeming confines of the corridor, and Kris Denaldo was swinging rapidly away. "See you guys around," she called, before vanishing around a corner.

Paul shook his head. "Does she ever slow down?"

"Not that I've ever seen." Carl sighed audibly. "That babe is too damn driven. No off switch and her main drive is battle-shorted on full speed ahead. She's going to run into a brick wall someday and fly into lots of little pieces."

"Can't anybody get her to slack off before then?"

"They've tried. I've tried. The only one who might be able to work it is the XO. She could stop a good-sized moon in its tracks just by glaring, I think, but so far she's letting Kris run. I guess Herdez wants her to set her own limits instead of having them imposed."

"I hadn't thought of that." Paul suddenly found himself yawning hugely. "Sorry. I had the mid-watch. I think I got about four hours sleep last night."

"Well, there's your problem, Ensign. You aren't getting enough done because you're spending too much time in your bunk." Carl grinned, then sobered. "Seriously, though. I know there seems to be four times too much to do every day, because there
is
four times too much to do every day, but if you'd take a bit of advice from an elderly lieutenant junior grade you'd set aside enough time each week to get two or three OSWO qualification standards signed off. It may seem to be adding another complication, but by keeping your Department Head happy it's actually simplifying your life no end."

"Thanks, Carl. I appreciate the advice." Paul's own data link chose that moment to chime urgently. He checked the display, reading carefully since he didn't trust himself to scan text after so little sleep. "MA1 Sharpe is asking me to meet him at my stateroom."

"Well, it's not high noon, so I guess the Sheriff doesn't mean you ill. It's sort of odd he's paging you, though. That doesn't happen too often, enlisted paging officers."

"It doesn't?" Paul felt a chill run down his back. "Something tells me I better find the Sheriff fast."

"Good idea."

Paul emulated Kris Denaldo, swinging through the corridor far faster than he'd have dared a few weeks before. Rounding a corner, he saw Master-at-Arms Sharpe floating at parade-rest next to the ensign locker. "What's up?" Paul demanded as he braked so swiftly that Sharpe flinched from a possible collision.

"I was just on my way to captain's mast, sir. Which is scheduled to occur real soon, now."

"Captain's mast." Paul closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them to check the time. "I've still got five minutes to get there."

"Yes, sir. And you really wouldn't want to miss captain's mast, sir."

"No, I wouldn't."
Wakeman would rip my head off if I wasn't there on time
. "Thanks for looking out for me, Sheriff."

"My pleasure, sir."

Sharpe smiled broadly as he turned to go, which for some reason exasperated Paul's overstrung and overtired nerves. "Sheriff, why the hell are you always so damn cheerful?" Paul demanded as he followed Sharpe down the corridor.

Ivan Sharpe looked back over his shoulder for a moment, grinning wider. "Because I get to work with fine, young officers such as yourself every day, sir."

"You know where you can stick that reply, Petty Officer Sharpe."

Sharpe's grin didn't waver. "Yes, sir."

The passageway outside the cramped space officially designated the crew's mess was crowded with personnel. Those awaiting their turn before the Captain weren't hard to spot from their expressions and body language, which ranged all the way from sullen defiance in some cases to the sort of look you'd see on a deer caught in headlights in others. Every sailor awaiting Mast had at least two companions as escorts, their division officer and their leading petty officer. Paul hesitated a moment, amazed at the number of sailors who'd been able to get into enough trouble to face the Captain even though they were a million miles from anywhere, then followed the Sheriff into the mess.

Senior Chief Kowalski was already there, nodding casually to Sharpe in greeting, then sketching a half-salute to Paul. "Top o' the morning, Mr. Sinclair."

"Good morning, Senior Chief. Where do I stand?"

"You mean float?" Kowalski gestured along the bulkhead. "You and me hang here, sir. The Captain's gonna be up there, the witnesses and division officers and such on the bulkhead opposite you and me, and the accused right in the middle."

"Sounds like fun." Paul positioned himself carefully. A careless choice might leave him without nearby leverage to quickly halt any drifting his body might attempt, and Paul had no intention of letting his feet float between the captain and a mast case.

Kowalski nodded to Sharpe again. "MA1 Sharpe, please notify the Captain we are in readiness for mast."

"On my way, Senior Chief."

It left a few minutes for Paul to look around, feeling awkward.
This is my first real captain's mast. Funny. They call it that because the captain used to stand in front of the ship's mast while he rendered judgment. Up here the ships don't even have radar masts, but we still call it that
. He tried to focus on his all-too-brief legal training and experience.
Okay. This isn't really a legal proceeding. Captain's Mast is nonjudicial punishment. That means no rules of evidence or right to a lawyer or things like that. Heck, why do they even need me here?
Somehow, he knew better than to ask that question.

Sharpe leaned into the mess just far enough to yell, "Attention on deck!" Paul and Senior Chief Kowalski stiffened in place, holding the posture as Captain Wakeman pulled himself into the mess. Wakeman took his position, peered at Paul as if uncertain as to his identity, then waved one hand. "At ease. First case."

"Aye, aye, sir." Sharpe leaned back into the passageway. "Petty Officer Arroyo."

Arroyo entered, visibly nervous, his uniform immaculate. Commander Sykes followed, somehow managing to appear to lean against the bulkhead even in zero g, along with his assistant Lieutenant Junior Grade Bristol and Chief Petty Officer Mangala. "Petty Officer Arroyo?" Captain Wakeman made a question of the name, squinting at the charge sheet displayed before him. "You are charged with violating Article 108 of the Uniform Code. That's Loss, Damage, Destruction, or Wrongful Disposition of Military Property of the United States." Wakeman's expression hardened and his chin jutted out. "That's a very serious offense, Petty Officer Arroyo." Looking back to the charge sheet, Wakeman read out loud. "In that Petty Officer Third Class Arroyo, on or about 1 September, 2098, did wrongfully dispose of military property of the United States by consuming same—" Wakeman glanced up and around the small room. "Consuming? Just what government property are we talking about?"

Commander Sykes cleared his throat. "A package of frozen peaches, sir."

"A package of frozen peaches?" Wakeman glared suspiciously at Arroyo. "You ate a package of frozen peaches? Do you know how much people look forward to having a few slices of peaches out here? And you ate a whole package?"

Petty Officer Arroyo gulped audibly before speaking. "Captain, I didn't eat any peaches. I swear. I told Chief Mangala when he signed for the shipment that it seemed short, but he didn't—"

"Chief Mangala?" Wakeman pivoted to focus on the chief.

Mangala shook his head with deliberate slowness. "No, sir. Captain, I been keeping my eye on Arroyo here. Guys like him always slip up sooner or later. When I ran inventory on those peaches and came up short, I knew who done it."

"Did Arroyo tell you the shipment seemed short before you signed for it?"

"I don't remember nothing like that, Captain."

Commander Sykes cleared his throat again, drawing the captain's attention. "Sir, Petty Officer Arroyo is an excellent sailor with a good record. I would suggest this is a case of misunderstanding or miscommunication."

"You don't think he ate the peaches?"

"No, sir."

"What about you, Lieutenant Bristol?"

Bristol spoke with such care he seemed to be forming each word as a separate sentence. "I agree with Commander Sykes, sir."

"Hmmm." Wakeman looked from Arroyo to the charge sheet and back again. "Your officers seem to think a lot of you, but your immediate supervisor doesn't. How do you account for that, Petty Officer Arroyo?"

Arroyo made to shake his own head, then stiffened as he remembered to maintain himself at attention. "I don't know, sir. Chief Mangala just doesn't seem to like me. I do my best, but he's never satisfied."

"Hah." Wakeman's glance swept across Commander Sykes and Lieutenant Bristol. "Let me tell you something, Petty Officer Arroyo. There's not a thing, not a single thing, wrong with demanding good performance from your subordinates. Some people seem to be afraid to do that. But a good supervisor," here his gaze flicked to Chief Mangala, "knows what matters is trust. Trust and good performance."

Commander Sykes spoke again, his voice even. "Captain, I believe this incident has been blown seriously out of proportion and would be best dealt with within my own Department. There is no need for non-judicial punishment of Petty Officer Arroyo."

"If you believe that, then why is he here in front of me?" Wakeman pointed his index finger at Arroyo. "Why is that?"

Sykes took a deep breath. "Chief Mangala insisted on charges being brought before this venue."

"Well, that couldn't have been an easy thing. But stealing peaches . . . that's bad."

"Captain, I'm convinced Petty Officer Arroyo did not steal any peaches."

"Then you believe Chief Mangala is lying?"

"No, sir. I believe he is mistaken."

"Hah. Okay, then. Anything else? Petty Officer Arroyo, this is a bad thing. Very bad. I don't find you persuasive. You should devote more effort to satisfying your chief here. I hereby reduce you in rate to E3 and fine you half-a-month's pay for two months. You decide whether those peaches were worth that much! Dismissed."

Arroyo, looking stricken, exited, followed by Chief Mangala. Commander Sykes left last, looking daggers at Mangala's back. As Arroyo passed Sharpe, the Master-at-Arms helped him along with a firm hand on one arm and a nod of encouragement. Sharpe turned back to face the room, his eyes meeting Paul's but betraying no emotion. Paul shifted his eyes enough to see Senior Chief Kowalski's face and caught the same expressionless gaze. Paul wasn't certain what he'd just witnessed, but whatever it was, nobody but Captain Wakeman and Chief Mangala seemed happy with the outcome.

"Next case," Wakeman stated gruffly. A slow parade of seamen and junior petty officers followed, each linked to violations of the Uniform Code of Military Justice ranging from Article 86 (Absent Without Leave), through Article 112 (Wrongful Use, Possession, etc. of Controlled Substances), all the way to Article 134 (the General Article). The Captain interrogated each sailor, asked that sailor's superiors for their views, and then rendered judgments. He glanced toward Paul a couple of times, but never spoke to him or asked him questions. As time passed, Paul became aware of a growing crowd in the corridor as crew members gathered awaiting their noon meal, which couldn't be served until the captain's mast was completed. More than once, Sheriff Sharpe made threatening gestures to silence the crowd.

"Last one, Captain," Sharpe finally announced.

"Good. About time. What's wrong with the middle management on this ship? I shouldn't have to . . . never mind. Bring 'em in and let's get this over with."

Sharpe leaned back into the corridor. "Seaman Alvarez."

Alvarez came in, slightly better turned out than she'd been for XO's screening, adopting a posture as close to attention as could be achieved in zero g. Her division officer, Lieutenant Sindh, took up position opposite Paul and nodded to him in brief recognition. Chief Thomas came last, standing next to Sindh. As Sharpe's eyes rested in Alvarez, his face momentarily displayed dislike and contempt before settling back into formal lines.

Captain Wakeman scanned the document before him, frowning, then looked up at Alvarez and spoke quickly as if rushing through the procedure. "Seaman Alvarez. You're charged with being absent from a place of duty and insubordination toward a superior petty officer. Articles 86 and 91. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Alvarez licked her lips before speaking in a slightly pleading voice. "Captain, sir, I should have made it to formation on time and I shouldn't have mouthed off to Chief Thomas. I made some mistakes, sir. But, like I told the Chief, I think somebody slipped something into my drink the night before. It wasn't no normal hang-over. No, sir. I tried to get up and get to formation, but I couldn't. I really tried, sir."