Jen said nothing, staring straight ahead. She didn't try to look at Paul as she was escorted out again. Commander Herdez gave Paul a grim nod of farewell and joined those leaving.
He stood waiting while the court-room emptied, then spoke to Jen's lawyer again. "Lieutenant Bashir, there really wasn't anyone else, anything else, that'd support Jen?"
"No. Do you think I'd have used those two if there had been?" Bashir shook his head. "I shouldn't have used them anyway. They just made the defense look bad. I should've known Carr would do her homework on them"
"Are things as bad as I think they are?"
Bashir lowered his head, avoiding Paul's gaze. "Probably," he finally answered.
Paul was still staring at Bashir miserably when he became aware someone had come up. "Mom. Dad. I didn't know you were here today."
"Civilians usually get Saturdays off up here," his mother advised. "We were in the back. Let's go somewhere."
"I don't—"
"I'm sure you don't. Come on."
They sat in a small dining area, Paul staring at a bulkhead with an incongruous scene displayed of mountains and meadows and billowing white clouds. Finally his mother spoke again. "I wish there was something we could do."
Paul nodded. "I know. I wish there was something I could do."
His father shook his head. "I thought she did a good job on the witness stand, but she's really in a bind."
"The charges include murder?" his mother asked.
"Yes, Premeditated murder."
"That's a—"
"Death penalty offense. I know."
"What about character witnesses?"
"Captain Halis testified in favor of Jen's character! If they don't listen to Halis, why should they listen to anybody?"
"Is there anything else that can be done?"
Paul shook his head and picked at the food his mother had made him order. "No. Not now. Final arguments have been made. The members of the court will debate and discuss and vote, and when they're ready they'll announce the results."
"Monday morning?"
"If they're ready by then." He didn't say that he thought Carney had long since made up his mind and would push the others to reach a quick decision.
The conversation meandered for a while, Paul not really paying attention or trying to contribute. Finally his parents wished him goodbye and left to look up some old friends. He sat for a while longer, then called the brig to see when he could visit Jen. He couldn't. She'd be granted no more visitors until after the court-martial concluded.
Paul felt an odd sense of relief. He hadn't been looking forward to seeing her, even though he knew he had to if he could. What can I say? There are no words of comfort possible, and damn little words of encouragement I could legitimately offer. Jen might just start throwing verbal punches at me again. Could I blame her? But I can't even offer her that diversion.
He wandered down to Fogarty's and sat at a small corner table, nursing a drink. If it couldn't have been an accident, and Jen didn't do it, then how'd it happen? How'd she happen to survive by such a narrow margin, reaching safety just in time? Why didn't that after power coupling show any signs of trouble that we could point to in support of Jen's story?
Why do I keep circling back to the same points that the prosecution is using against Jen? Is there really no alternative here? Am I letting my love for Jen blind me to a very ugly reality? She's got a temper. She keeps a lot inside. Could she possibly . . . ?
No. I have to hang on to that one certainty. There's nothing else left to hang on to.
As artificial afternoon began turning into artificial evening on the decks of Franklin, the number of people in the public areas started increasing. Paul knew many would recognize him, and that there was only place he could avoid them.
The first class petty officer standing the quarterdeck watch on the Michaelson saluted Paul aboard. "The captain was wondering if I'd seen you, Mr. Sinclair."
"Is he aboard now?"
"No, sir. The captain left about, oh, forty-five minutes ago."
Paul sought solitude in one of the few places he might find it, heading for Combat. But when he got there, he saw Chief Imari already in the compartment with someone else. He turned to go, but Imari had seen him. "Mr. Sinclair?"
"Yeah, Chief. I was just, uh, checking on the compartment."
"Sir, Senior Chief and I," Imari gestured toward Kowalski, who stood up so Paul could see him clearly, "were just talking about Lieutenant Shen. How's it look, sir, if you don't mind my asking?"
Paul came inside the compartment and shook his head slowly. "It doesn't look good. I don't know why, but it doesn't."
Kowalski frowned at Paul. "Sir, have they actually got evidence that Ms. Shen caused all that?"
"No. No, they don't. That's what's so frustrating."
"Then how . . . ?"
Paul sat down, rubbing his forehead. "They had people, engineers, testify that it couldn't have been an accident."
Chief Imari looked skeptical. "How can you ever say something couldn't be an accident?"
"The equipment. They testified that the equipment couldn't fail that way."
"Even that new thing? Chief Meyer mentioned the Maury had some new thing installed."
"Yeah. Uh, SEERS. But the experts said that couldn't have done it because it was designed to prevent that kind of thing."
Senior Chief Kowalski snorted in derision. "I'm no snipe, Mr. Sinclair, but I never met a new piece of equipment that worked like it was designed to."
Imari nodded in agreement. "Right. Stuff's not that good."
Paul nodded as well, though wearily. "That's what I thought. But I've been over all the documentation on SEERS. There's nothing to indicate it might've been involved in what happened to the Maury. The experts said the thing was certified ready to install on the Maury. And on top of all the other safety features in an engineering system, they say they can absolutely rule out an accident like that."
Kowalski shrugged. "I never met an expert that knew as much as they thought they did, Mr. Sinclair."
Paul smiled bitterly. "I wish I could put you up there on the witness stand to refute Rear Admiral Hidalgo, Senior Chief."
"Well, sir, I'd do it, if'n I knew anything that could help. All I do know for sure is that nothing comes into the fleet working perfect. There's always problems to be worked out."
It was Paul's turn to shrug. "That's what I thought, Senior Chief. But according to the SEERS documentation nothing like that turned up." He saw Kowalski and Imari exchange a quick look. "What?"
Kowalski frowned at the deck. "Uh, nothing, sir."
"Come on, Senior Chief. If it can possibly help Ms. Shen . . ."
"I don't think so, sir. It's just . . . well . . . you've heard of gun-decking, I'm sure."
"Yeah. Cooking the books to make things look better than they are."
"Well, sir, just maybe this SEERS – Look, Mr. Sinclair. Sometimes folks decide something's so important they've gotta ignore the rules. And they tell other people to ignore the rules."
Paul nodded wearily. "I know, Senior Chief. I've heard about that kind of thing. But somebody would've written something, wouldn't they? And there's nothing."
Chief Imari snorted. "Maybe they left it out. Didn't give you the stuff about the problems."
I'd like to believe that. God, how I'd like to believe that. Paul grasped desperately at the thread of hope, even as he knew he couldn't accept it. Commander Carr told Lieutenant Bashir that he'd gotten everything on SEERS. She wouldn't lie about that. Total paradox. In order for this to be a conspiracy to blame Jen, Carr would have to be part of it, but Carr wouldn't be part of something like that. "I'm sorry, but the people we're dealing with, like the trial counsel, are honorable, or I'm no judge of character at all. They wouldn't do that. I know that as surely as I know Ms. Shen didn't sabotage the Maury."
The two senior enlisted looked at each silently for a moment, then Senior Chief Kowalski sighed. "Helluva th
ing, sir. What'll happen to her?"
"Ms. Shen?" Paul hadn't wanted to go there. Still didn't want to go there. "I don't know. If she's convicted, there's a . . . range of penalties."
Chief Imari and Senior Chief Kowalski fell silent again. Paul understood. What else can they say? He stood up and nodded to them. "Well, I need to get going." He left, wondering if the rest of his life would consist of people watching him and not knowing what to say.
"Hey, Sheriff."
"Mr. Sinclair." Sharpe blew out his cheeks in an exasperated gesture. "Nothing?"
"No. The members of the court are deliberating."
"Don't look good, does it?"
"No." Paul slumped against the nearest bulkhead. "I just don't get it. Okay, let's say it wasn't an accident. That means somebody else did it. Or knows who or what did it. And they're letting Jen take the blame."
Sharpe scratched his head. "I guess that's the only theory that fits right now, sir."
"But why? If it was some weird kind of suicide thing, why take so many of their shipmates with them? And how'd they manage it without being detected? Even the prosecution hasn't been able to explain how Jen supposedly blew up all the engineering stuff at once. They just say she's so good she could've figured out a way."
"Maybe the chief engineer did it, sir. And maybe he sent Ms. Jen to safety 'cause he liked her or something?"
Paul shook his head. "No. Lieutenant Bashir and I went over that. No evidence to support it at all. It's bizarre. We can't accuse a dead guy of doing it because there's no evidence but they can accuse a live person of doing it without any evidence except for the fact that she lived through it." Paul heard himself laughing in disbelief. "How's that for irony, Sheriff? If Jen'd died in the explosions, she wouldn't have to worry about being executed for causing them. But she lived so now maybe she'll die."
"Sir." Paul could see the worry on Sharpe's face. "Sir. You need some rest. You're worn out and strung out."
"I'm exhausted, Sheriff. Completely exhausted. You're a cop. Why can't we find the pieces that'll let us tie this whole mess up into one neat package?"
Sharpe visibly hesitated. "There's conspiracies, sir."
"That big? Involving people I know are decent human beings? Why would people on fleet staff, just to give one example, take part in such a conspiracy? Why wouldn't at least one of them tell the truth?"
"I don't know, sir."
"I can't put the package together because I can't find all the pieces. Why can't I find the pieces?"
Sharpe looked down for a moment, then unexpectedly smiled slightly. "I just remembered a time I couldn't put it together, either, sir. Drove me nuts."
"What happened?"
"Oh, we had a problem with some druggies running stuff through an area, and we also had a lot of burglaries and other thefts going on. We kept trying to tie the thefts to the druggies and kept running into blind alleys." Sharpe shook his head. "We finally figured out the druggies and the thieves were two separate gangs. Wasted a lot of time trying to make them one big problem, though."
Paul listened a moment longer, but Sharpe's story was done. Paul shrugged. "I don't see how that helps, Sheriff."
"Uh, no, I guess it doesn't. I just thought of it, is all."
"Yeah." Paul blinked as his vision fuzzed. "I'm so exhausted."
"Do you need help getting back to your stateroom, sir?"
"No. I can make it. Thanks, Sheriff."
He made it back, rolling into his bunk, thankful for a moment that he was so used to his surroundings by now that he automatically ducked low enough to avoid the tangle of cables, pipes and supports than ran along the overhead just above his bunk. Paul fell asleep almost instantly, his mind filled with absurd images of Commander Carr and the Fleet Commander jointly plotting to destroy ships.
He popped back awake several hours later, staring up at the overhead. Something had jolted his subconscious. What? Something somebody said. Something more than one person said.
Senior Chief Kowalski, saying he'd never known any new equipment to work as designed. Senior Chief's not an engineer, but he's been in the Navy forever. He probably helped Noah sweep up after the animals. But if there is some big problem with SEERS, or any problem with SEERS, the Navy has to know it, and that would mean people I know are honorable were lying in the most horrible way I can imagine.
Or would it? The thing Sharpe talked about. Two problems instead of one. Is that what I'm missing? I keep trying to tie it all together. Jen's being court-martialed because . . . because of some grand conspiracy that doesn't make sense because of the people who'd have to be involved. What if that's not the case? What if the people I think are honorable are being honorable? What if they don't have any reason to think they're wrong about stuff like SEERS? But maybe there is something wrong, anyway.
What did Colleen tell me the other night? Even a lie has to agree with what people expect if they're going to believe it. Something like that. Well, everybody who's looked at this SEERS data has said they're surprised at the lack of problems during development. They don't really believe it. They just can't find anything that proves it's wrong and none of the people going after Jen have credible reasons to hide stuff that'd prove there were problems. But maybe they're not hiding it because they don't know, either.
It wouldn't be a matter of the left hand and the right hand working together. Or even a right hand and a left hand at all. It'd be two separate things entirely. And Jen getting stuck between them purely by chance. And no one able to see it because we're all trying to make sense of one big picture that isn't one big picture, and trying to see a reason for something, Jen surviving, that didn't have any reason.
Paul sat up so abruptly he rapped his head against the overhead. Ow! Blast it! What time is it? Zero six thirty. How'd I miss reveille? Because it's Sunday. Who can I ask about SEERS on a Sunday? Who'd be able to answer questions about something new being built under contract?
Oh. Duh.
"Mom, I really need some help."
She blinked blearily back at him. "Why do kids always really need help early on Sunday morning?"
"I need you. Jen needs you."
"What about?"
"Contractor stuff. Have you heard of SEERS?"
"Yes. That engineering system thing. Big contract. I haven't worked it, though. Different corporate entity."
"I need to know . . ." Paul's voice trailed off. What do I need to know? "If somebody was trying to hide something about SEERS, what would they do?"
His mother blinked a couple of more times, her hands fumbling around outside of Paul's vision. "Coffee. I need coffee. Hide something? Hide what?"
"Uh, design features?"
"That's all protected. Industrial secrets and confidentiality. And then the Navy wanting to keep ship performance capabilities secret. None of it's going to be sitting out on any public site."
"What about problems?"
His mother had finally found a coffee container and drank half of it before answering. "What kind of problems?"
"I don't know. Reliability? Test results?"
"Hmmmm. What is it you're looking for exactly?"
"I'm looking for something no one's found yet."
"That helps a lot."
"Something no one would want to be found. I mean, suppose there were problems with SEERS and no one wanted anyone to know that. And they hid that evidence from the fleet and from the investigators and the evidence gatherers after what happened on the Maury."
"That's a real big 'suppose.' Do you have reason to believe that's what happened?"
"No. Just a hunch."
His mother looked to one side. "I'll get your father. There's people we can talk to. Places we know to look. But you understand we're bound by confidentiality agreements for our work with contractors."
"I don't know exactly what that means."
"It means there's limits on what we can do." She took a good look at him. "You look awful."
"Thanks, Mom."
/> "Get some breakfast. I'll see what we can do. How urgent is this?"
"Life and death."
Her eyebrows shot up, then she nodded. "I should've realized that without asking. Oh-kay. Get something to eat. I'll call back as soon as I can."
Paul tried to clean himself up, then went to grab a quick meal. Kris Denaldo, obviously coming off the quarterdeck watch, spotted him. "Paul! Is . . ." Her voice ran down as she saw his face. "What can I do?"
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