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."
Paul, his eyes on Alvarez, caught a glimpse of Chief Thomas and Lieutenant Sindh rolling their eyes toward the ceiling in mutual reaction to Alvarez's contrite statement.
Captain Wakeman frowned again, looked down at the charging document, then back at Alvarez. "Then you're saying you did it but it wasn't your fault? Is that it?"
"Yes, sir, Captain. I mean, I guess it was my fault I wasn't more careful where I drank. But I didn't ever mean to break no regulations, sir."
Wakeman looked over at Chief Thomas. "What exactly did Seaman Alvarez say to you that prompted this insubordination charge?"
Chief Thomas cleared her throat, then pointed her jaw toward Alvarez. "She told me to go to hell, sir. I told her to get up to morning formation, and she told me to go to hell."
"Hmmm." Wakeman shifted his gaze to Lieutenant Sindh. "How about you? What kind of sailor is Seaman Alvarez?"
Lieutenant Sindh spoke softly but firmly. "Seaman Alvarez is a difficult individual. She requires almost constant supervision and direction. Her appearance and military bearing are usually marginal. I do not consider her an asset to my division."
Wakeman blinked, then focused back on Seaman Alvarez. "You don't have a good record. Your supervisors don't think much of you. What do you have to say to that?"
Alvarez slumped slightly, as if feeling overwhelmed. "Captain, sir, I really want to be a good sailor. I'm trying. I am."
Captain Wakeman blinked a few more times. "Seaman Alvarez, I hate seeing a potentially good sailor go to waste. I think with a little more inspired supervision you might come around." He turned slightly to face Lieutenant Sindh and Chief Thomas, wagging one finger at them. "Seaman Alvarez is an opportunity to display your abilities as managers. I want to see what you can do with her." Wakeman faced Alvarez again. "Ten days extra duty. Forfeiture of one-half month's pay, suspended for six months pending good behavior."
"That's all? Sir?" Lieutenant Sindh blurted out, than snapped her mouth shut.
"That's right. That's all. Dismissed." Without waiting for Alvarez, Sindh and Thomas to depart, Wakeman plucked up his data link and headed out the hatch so quickly that Sharpe barely had time to yell "Attention on deck!"
Paul found himself relaxing after holding a tense posture he hadn't been aware of. In the center of the room, Alvarez had also relaxed, a smug expression spreading across her face.
"Alvarez." Chief Thomas, her face as hard as the metal bulkhead, spoke the one word, drawing the seaman's gaze, then crooked her finger in a come-with-me gesture. Alvarez's expression shaded quickly from smug to alarmed and then defiant as she followed the chief out of the mess.
"Mr. Sinclair." Senior Chief Kowalski said his own brief farewell then was gone. Paul followed Lieutenant Sindh out silently, judging it unwise to speak to her given the rigidity of her neck muscles. As he cleared the mess, crew members began rushing in, clamoring for their meal.
"Sheriff?" MA1 Sharpe turned at Paul's call, holding himself against the bulkhead as crew members pushed by into the mess. "Thanks again for making sure I made it to captain's mast on time."
Sharpe snorted, plainly out of sorts. "Glad you enjoyed it, sir."
"Uh, yeah. What was that bit with Arroyo, anyway?"
"Sir, with all due respect, I don't want to talk about it. Perhaps you ought to ask Commander Sykes."
Yeah, I should. I also ought to have more sense than to ask a petty officer to comment on something the captain did. "I saw Chief Thomas take Seaman Alvarez with her."
"That's right, sir. The captain told Chief Thomas to see what she could do with Seaman Alvarez, didn't he? Me, I'd love to see what I could do with Seaman Alvarez. I'd probably start by feeding her piece by piece through the solid waste recycler, then I'd dump the end result out the nearest airlock."
"I take it you're glad you're not Chief Thomas."
"Sir, if I may say so in confidence, right now Chief Thomas is so pissed off she's probably trying to pound a hole through the hull with her head. And if she succeeds, she'll plug that hole with Seaman Alvarez's worthless butt. Sir."
Paul exhaled heavily. "Then she won't get off as easy as it seems?"
"Not if Chief Thomas and Lieutenant Sindh can help it."
"Good. Just one more question, Sheriff."
"Is that a promise, sir?"
"Yeah. Why the hell was I there? The Captain barely looked at me, and he certainly never asked me for any legal advice."
Sharpe obviously couldn't help smiling at the question. "Mr. Sinclair, do you have a car back on Earth?"
"Yeah."
"Have you got a jack in the trunk?"
"Of course I do."
"Just in case you need it to change a flat tire, right? But even if you never have a flat and never need that jack, you've always got it handy in the trunk of your car. Just in case you ever do need it."
Paul managed a small laugh. "That puts my role in perspective, Sheriff. Thanks for the ego boost."
"My pleasure, sir."
Paul headed back toward officer's country. He'd become aware that his own stomach was growling with hunger, but he had fifteen minutes before his shift was served in the wardroom. That meant he could grab about ten minutes of sleep before then.
Chapter Five
"Hey, Paul." Lieutenant Mike Bristol hauled himself into the wardroom seat next to Paul, fastening the lap belt with the ease of long practice. "Got a minute?"
"Sure." The assistant supply officer and Paul hadn't crossed paths too frequently so far, but everything Paul had heard about him was good. The same went for Commander Sykes, of course. Steve Sykes and Mike Bristol had even earned praise from the prickly Jen Shen. A lot of supply types don't understand operational needs, she'd told Paul. You're dying because you need a spare, and they won't open the supply office because it'd interfere with the Supply Department badminton tournament or something like that. But Sykes and Bristol are good pork chops. Paul resolved, for the umpteenth time, to find out why supply officers had been given the nickname pork chops instead of that of some other food-derived term. Given the fact that Mike Bristol was Jewish, calling him a pork chop seemed not only odd but also slightly blasphemous.
Bristol inclined his head toward where Commander Sykes occupied his habitual place at the other end of the wardroom table. "The boss and I weren't too happy with what happened to Arroyo."
"Yeah. I gathered that. Sorry."
"Well, you're the ship's legal officer. Is there anything we can do about it? I mean, any recourse or appeal or something like that?"
Paul made a helpless gesture. "Technically, yes."
"Technically?"
"I just looked it up myself because I was curious. The Uniform Code of Military Justice says any individual is allowed to appeal an action of their commanding officer."
"Really? Who does the appeal go to?"
Paul smiled thinly. "The commanding officer's immediate superior."
Bristol absorbed the information, then laughed sharply. "That'd be the commodore. So Arroyo would have to ask the commodore to overturn an action of one of his captains?"
"Right."
"What are the odds of that happening?"
"You've been in the Navy longer than me. What do you think?"
Bristol shook his head. "I think Arroyo would be better off praying for an angel to shower the ship with packets of peaches, because that's probably more likely to happen."
Paul nodded. "I'm afraid so. The lawyers who taught my course said it wasn't too common. Mind you, if the Captain had done something clearly outside his authority, something like exceeding the limits of punishment he can impose under the UCMJ by ordering Arroyo to hard labor or a bad conduct discharge, then the commodore would have to overrule him. Other than that, you're really spitting into the wind to even try."
Bristol shook his head again. "That's nuts. I mean, I understand why the process exists. There's no courts out here and you need a way to impose discipline. But I can't imagine what civilians would do if somebody told they had to live with something like NJP."
Paul spread his hands. "You're right. It has a reason. A good reason. But you're also right that civilians wouldn't stand for it. Can you imagine any civil court putting up with Article 134?"
"Which one's that?"
"The General Article. Basically, it says that if anybody does anything you think is bad, even if it's not specifically cited as illegal in all the other punitive articles, you can just charge them under Article 134. It sort of allows you to make up the law to suit your needs. Within reason, of course."
"Wild." Bristol looked around conspiratorially. "So if I said bad things about the government and the captain happened to like whichever political party was in power, he could charge me with violating Article 134?"
"Uh, no, because saying anything derogatory about the President or Congress is illegal under Article 88, Contempt Toward Officials."
"I can't say anything bad about the president, even if I don't like him or her? What happened to freedom of speech?"
"You're in the military. You, uh, forfeit certain rights as a result."
Commander Sykes laughed briefly. "Welcome to the land of the free, Lieutenant Bristol."
"Of course," Paul added, "if you did something like, say, abuse of a public animal, then you'd be charged under Article 134."
"Abuse of a public animal?"
"Yeah. That's a specific offense listed under Article 134."
"What does that . . . no, I don't think I want that question answered. So there's nothing legal-wise we can do about Arroyo?"
"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 spee
ds. 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?"
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