Against All Enemies (10 page)

Paul took a deep breath. The hardest part was over. "Send over lines Two and Four." The last two lines latched on. "Take in all lines." With the greatest of care, the lines started being reeled in again, gently tugging the ship into the assigned berth. Paul leaned back, knowing all that was left was the tedium of waiting while the ship was winched ever so slowly into the berth. But even that had to be monitored. If the winches malfunctioned and started pulling too hard and too fast the final mating of the ship to its berth would just be another form of collision.

Eventually, they were nestled securely in their berth, feeling the apparent steady force of about one Earth gravity under the influence of Franklin's rotation. Paul ran through the final responsibilities of his watch, then faced the captain again. "Request permission to secure stations for entering port and to shift the watch to the quarterdeck, Captain."

"Permission granted." Hayes unstrapped and got down his chair a trifle unsteadily. "Good job, Paul."

"Thank you, sir." While the bosun passed the word, Paul called up the camera on the quarterdeck so he could see the pier. There was a small crowd awaiting them. Paul searching for any sign of Jen, noticing a commander standing waiting to go onboard the
Michaelson
first. He zoomed in on the commander's uniform and saw the Judge Advocate General's insignia.
A JAG waiting on the pier. That's never a good thing. What do you want to bet he's here to see me
?

He was. Paul had scarcely left the bridge, his legs a little wobbly under the unaccustomed steady feeling of gravity, when he was paged to the quarterdeck. Paul had met a lot of the JAGs on Franklin because of his legal officer responsibilities and involvement in too many court-martials, but he didn't know this commander, so he must be fairly new to the station.

The commander didn't waste time, hauling out some paperwork. "Lieutenant Sinclair? Good. I've been assigned to compile the official investigation into the recent action involving your ship. Nothing to worry about. We've already gone over all the materiel we received from your ship's transmissions during the engagement. We do need a few personal statements, though." He tapped the papers. "The list is here. Please get sworn statements from everyone listed and forward them to me as soon as possible."

Paul took the list, trying not to think of everything else he needed to do and how much he just wanted to relax for a few hours at least. "Yes, sir."

"That's all." The commander waved farewell and left while Paul was still scanning the list. Captain. XO. Operations Officer. No surprises. Just a royal pain in the neck for Paul to get those officers to cough up the statements. Since they all outranked him, it wasn't like he could order them to do the statements right away, which meant he'd have to diplomatically ride herd on the process until he could get every statement completed.

"Request permission to come aboard."

Paul looked up quickly at the familiar voice. "Jen!"

She finished saluting the officer of the deck and came over to him. "Virtual hug." They couldn't really hug, not while they were in uniform.

"Virtual hug back. Virtual kiss."

"Fresh." Jen's smile faded. "You look like you've been rode hard and put away wet. Rough one, eh?"

"You know what happened out there."

"Yeah. What's your status?"

He knew she meant whether he could leave the ship or not. "Standard work day." Which meant at least twelve hours.

"You're kidding. You guys have been out for several weeks, you've been involved in tough ops, and they can't even give you a little stand-down?"

"Sorry, Jen, the XO told us the morning—"

Ensign Gabriel, the officer of the deck, waved a forestalling hand at Paul. "Wait a minute. The captain's about to make an announcement."

Captain Hayes' voice came over the announcing system. "This is the captain speaking. I want to thank all of you for the outstanding effort you've put forth the last several weeks. You've all worked hard and done the
Michaelson
proud. Now you deserve a break. I can't give you much of one, but I'm authorizing liberty for everyone except the duty section effective as soon as your department heads and division officers can release you. That's all."

Jen grinned. "Let's go."

"Jen, I've got to cut my own people loose and get permission from Garcia."

"I can wait. Kris and I can catch up on things."

"Okay." Paul held up the papers. "And I've got to get this started before I go."

"Paul Sinclair—"

"I just have to notify the officers who have to provide statements. It shouldn't take too long."

Jen shook her head, then smiled again as Chief Sharpe came onto the quarterdeck. "When did you make chief?"

"A month ago, ma'am." Sharpe saluted with a solemn face. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant Shen. Though I have to confess I keep hearing about you constantly from a certain love-struck lieutenant on this ship who will remain nameless." He faced Paul. "Sir, a word of warning. There's going to be a hot time in the old town tonight. This crew is strung tight. They're really going to be blowing off steam. I'd appreciate it if you talk to your troops and—"

"Remind them to maintain control because if they don't they'll end up paying for it? Sure, Sheriff. I'll pass the suggestion on to the other division officers." He checked the time. "Jen, I'll look you up in Kris' stateroom. Request permission to proceed on duties assigned."

She shook her head in mock annoyance and flipped him a salute. "Permission granted."

Paul hastened off in search of the Captain or the XO, his arms aching with the wish to hold Jen but knowing he couldn't leave the ship without passing on the JAG's need for statements. As he walked, he glanced down at the questions. Most of them were totally predictable, as well as totally superfluous since the answers to them were already known thanks to the materiel
Michaelson
had transmitted during the engagement.

But then he frowned and came to a halt, reading the last question over slowly again. "
Provide your assessment of South Asian Alliance planning for this event, including any indications that to your mind might imply SASAL foreknowledge of US intentions."

Somebody does think our rules of engagement might've been compromised. But how
?

Now that she was serving on "shore duty" on Franklin, Jen actually had assigned berthing on the station. Remarkably, she'd managed to score one of the few private single officer compartments. Granted, there were a great many closets on Earth that probably had a larger square footage, but Paul didn't particularly mind the fact that just being in the compartment with Jen made them stay practically touching the entire time. "Nice place."

"Thanks. It's just a little hole in the wall, but it's home." She handed Paul a drink and sat down next to him on the bed/couch. "Relax."

"I'm trying." Paul made a conscious effort to let the tension out of his body. "Let's talk about something besides my underway time. You know what I was doing. What've you been up to?"

"I had dinner with my father while you were out."

Gee, too bad I missed seeing Captain Kay Shen
. But Paul kept his sarcasm silent, knowing Jen couldn't be held responsible for her father's opinion of Paul. "How'd it go?" he asked instead, trying to keep his voice casual.

He apparently didn't quite succeed, as Jen gave him an exasperated look. "You two remind me of a couple of bears or something. The old leader trying to keep control and the young upstart circling and looking for an opening."

"I am
not
trying to take control of anything from your father!"

"It's an analogy, Paul. You're not bears, either. Usually."

"So, how'd it go?" he repeated.

Jen shrugged. "Dad insisted on instructing me in lots of schemes to make my career 'healthy' again."

"He's fairly senior and he's got a lot of experience."

"Yes, but he's not me! He says I should stay away from engineering from now on. But I love that stuff, both theory and practice. And I swear, some of the things he suggested come down to kissing every butt in the solar system and begging them to forgive me. For what? For my being unfairly accused of sabotaging my own ship and killing my own shipmates and then having my name dragged through the mud and almost being convicted of a crime I didn't commit?
I'm
supposed to ask
them
for forgiveness?"

"I can see where that'd be hard to swallow. You got a raw deal."

"It would've been worse if you hadn't been there. Incredibly worse." Jen gave him a weary look. "But as you've probably guessed, father also suggested I dump overboard something that would immediately cause people to associate me with the court-martial."

Paul felt a flash of anger and stifled it in a short laugh. "Meaning me?"

"Of course. Good advice, huh? Give up my pride, everything I care about at work, the man I love, and hope that somehow I'll be able to salvage a 'career' out of what remains. Why the hell would I want a career doing things I don't like, alone, after I've flushed my self-respect down the toilet?"

"What'd you tell your father?"

Jen sat a little straighter, put an obviously artificial expression of gratitude on her face, and spoke in a lilting little girl voice. "Why, thank you, sir. I shall certainly give your suggestions all the consideration they deserve."

Paul coughed, choking on the drink he'd made the mistake of taking just as Jen started speaking. When he recovered enough to speak, he shook his head. "You didn't really do that to him, did you?"

She was laughing. "No. I was on my best behavior, Mr. Sinclair. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll think very carefully about what you've said, sir."

"You called him 'sir' that much?"

"Yeah. He knows when I do that he's stepping over the line. But he kept plowing ahead, anyway. Dad's one stubborn guy when he thinks he's right."

"Unlike his daughter, who's the soul of reason."

She grinned at him. "Or his future like-it-or-not son-in-law."

Paul grinned back. "What if the kids inherit it from both sides?"

"God help us." Jen smiled wistfully. "It's funny to be talking about kids. About having them."

"Funny? I think it's scary."

She laughed. "You're daunted by the prospect, Mr. Sinclair? You've been responsible for an entire Navy warship and all her crew."

He nodded. "Yep. But kids, I think, will be a lot bigger responsibility. I've never had to worry about screwing up someone else's entire life before."

"Really?" Jen came a little closer and slipped her arms around his waist. "What about my life?"

He looked into her eyes, marveling at the emotion he saw there. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You could screw up my life something terrible, Paul. If you left me, if you were unfaithful, if you lied and cheated."

"I'd never do that. Any of that."

"I know. At least, I believe that, which is why I've got my arms wrapped around you right now and why I'm going to do this." Jen kissed him, long and hard, then slowly pulled back enough to see into his eyes again. "And that's not all I'm going to do," she whispered.

Roughly half an hour later, Paul looked over at Jen where she lay next to him, awed once again at the emotion in her eyes as she gazed back.
I never thought someone would look at me that way. Never really believed it could happen. And there it is
. "I love you."

She smiled with unusual gentleness. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"No. Only to the one I'm going to marry."

"Damn straight, sailor." Jen snuggled close. "Right now, in here, I can forget everything outside, and just be happy. Forget all about careers and ships and sailing out into space without each other. Oh, that's right. There's something I forgot to tell you."

"What's that?" Paul asked, unable to prevent a sudden sense of tension.

Her breath was warm against his ear. "Welcome home, sailor." Then she laughed.

* * *

Commander Garcia marched off the quarterdeck for the last time as if even that was a cause for aggravation. The petty officer of the watch bonged the ship's bell and announced, "Commander, United States Navy, departing," then Garcia was gone and the other officers dropped their salutes. Commander Moraine shuffled her data pad and several other items, then lunged off the quarterdeck into the ship's interior as if headed off on a desperate mission.

Paul had come aboard the
Michaelson
that morning in the highest spirits he'd had for a while. A few more months and he'd be married to Jen and on shore duty here on Franklin along with her. He'd remembered to get a completed and sworn statement from Garcia before his old department head left the ship. They'd be inport for a while taking care of long overdue maintenance, so while the work would still be brutal it wouldn't be quite as brutal. All in all, things could be a lot worse.

He went back to his stateroom and started scanning through all the messages which had downloaded upon the
Michaelson
's arrival. While the ship was operating out in space, communications were always kept to a bare minimum to keep anyone from using the transmissions to help locate the ship's general position, speed and trajectory. Anything of high precedence or importance had been transmitted before the ship arrived at Franklin, of course, so he didn't expect to find anything except routine administrative and operational matters.

But Paul's scanning stopped when he saw a subject line with his name on it and the words "order modification."
What? They're modifying my orders? This close to my transfer? It's probably just adding some training courses before I report in to Franklin's Operations Department
.

It wasn't. Paul felt a odd numbness spreading across his body as he read. "
When detached USS Michaelson (CLE(S)-3) report to transportation office, Franklin Naval Station, for flight arrangements to Theodore Roosevelt Naval Base, Mars. Upon arrival, report to Commander for duties assigned . . . "