A Just Determination

by John G. Hemry

  "And this isn't about justice, is it, sir? They need a scapegoat. Wakeman's it."

  "Not entirely correct. Scapegoats are often innocent of misdeed. I think we both agree that Captain Wakeman is far from innocent in this matter. But Wakeman is certainly to be made an example of for the purposes of satisfying those who wish to see someone pay for what happened to the SASAL ship."

  "Is that why we should be court-martialing Wakeman, sir? Because someone needs to be satisfied? Even though a lot of other factors contributed to Wakeman doing the wrong thing?"

  "What do you think?"

  Paul sat silent for a few moments. "I think that's wrong."

  "Ah. You've identified a wrong. Do you intend attempting to right it?"

  "What? Suppo, I don't even know what 'right' is in this case."

  "But you've said you do know what's wrong. So I'll ask my question a little differently. What do you intend doing about that wrong?"

  "What can I do?"

  Sykes raised his eyebrows as if surprised at the question. "You were on the bridge. You are the ship's legal officer. I assume you have been tapped as a prosecution witness?"

  "Yes. I have."

  "Where your testimony will serve to further what you have said you see as a wrong."

  "What else can I do?"

  Sykes smiled gently. "Your testimony is your own, Paul. What you do with it, what you say and how you say it, is yours to decide. If you so choose."

  "Suppo, I'm just an ensign. An ensign who's still new enough to still be learning how to tie my figurative shoelaces right so I don't trip over my figurative feet every time I try to do something. The senior unrestricted line officers making up the majority of the court-martial members don't really care what I have to say one way or the other."

  Commander Sykes shook his head. "There you're wrong, lad. They don't care what I have to say. I am a supply specialist, a limited duty officer with restricted responsibilities. Unrestricted duty officers such as the warfare specialists represented on that court-martial don't give a flying leap about whatever opinions I may have about the leadership or operational decisions of one of their fellow line officers like Captain Wakeman. But, you, Mr. Sinclair, are one of them. Don't interrupt one of your elders, son. It's a fact. You're unrestricted line. That one thing means that even though you are still a young and barely experienced ensign, you have taken on responsibilities that I will never face. Should we be in battle or other peril and every other officer on the ship dropped dead in an instant, I would still not be in command. I can't. The Navy says so. But you would be. Even now."

  Sykes sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trust me on this, young Mr. Sinclair. They'll listen to what you have to say, all right. They may decide after listening that you're an idiot and disregard your testimony, but until and if that happens, they will listen to you. You're one of them."

  Paul stared back mutely for a moment. "What would I say, Suppo? And why? Why risk my career or my neck or whatever for the likes of Captain Wakeman?"

  Commander Sykes shrugged. "What would you say? The truth as you saw it and know it. Whatever that may be. As for why . . . only you can answer that, Paul."

  Paul spent a restless night, waking finally with a sense of having tossed and turned the entire time and with no feeling of rejuvenation. The morning passed with routine tasks, none of which seemed to engage his mind. When noon finally came, he had no appetite and simply went to his stateroom.

  Paul find himself standing in front of the small acrylic mirror in the ensign locker, rubbing his face wearily. What do I do? I keep feeling like I shouldn't let them railroad Wakeman, but the guy's a jerk. And he's a marked man. That's obvious from the charge sheet. What difference will anything I do make? If our positions were reversed I know he'd let me twist slowly in the wind. Hell, Wakeman would help put the rope around my neck if he thought it would make him look better. But if I act like Wakeman would, what right do I have to condemn him? He looked up, meeting the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. Damn mirrors. When you look in one you don't just see your face, you also see everything you've ever done written on your face. Maybe Eve didn't offer Adam an apple. Maybe she made a mirror, and Adam looked into it and saw himself and knew he could never hide from himself again. So, Paul Sinclair, what are you willing to see when you look in a mirror?

  * * *

  "Lieutenant Commander Garrity?" The walk from the Michaelson to the lawyers' offices hadn't been all that far, but had felt longer with uncertainty dragging at his feet every step of the way.

  Wakeman's defense counsel looked up from her work to see Paul standing in the doorway. "Yes. Ensign Sinclair, isn't it?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I, uh, I'd like to talk to you."

  "What about, Ensign Sinclair? You're listed as a witness for the prosecution."

  "I . . . I think . . . my testimony might be more appropriate as a defense witness, ma'am."

  Garrity couldn't hide her surprise, followed by interest. "You do?"

  "I think so, ma'am."

  Garrity smiled encouragingly. "Let's talk. Have a seat."

  Chapter Nine

  When Paul got back to the ship, Carl and Jen were sitting in the ensign locker idly bantering back and forth during the brief period left before ship's work resumed after the break for lunch. Jen took one look at Paul, then glowered at him. "You did it, didn't you?"

  "Yeah."

  Carl looked from Paul to Jen. "Did what?"

  "Something noble. And stupid. Right, Paul?"

  Carl laughed. "Oh, man. Did you change your statement or something?"

  "No." Paul sat down, avoiding looking at either of the others. "I just went to Lieutenant Commander Garrity, she's Wakeman's defense counsel, and got added as a witness for the defense."

  "The defense? Of what Wakeman did?"

  "No!" Paul almost yelled it, wondering why even he felt frustrated with himself. "Not of what he did. Of what he's charged with. Of why he did it. Of why we found ourselves in that position in the first place."

  Carl glanced at Jen. "Did you understand that?"

  "Not entirely. Paul, you did think this through, right?"

  "Yeah. I thought it through."

  "And you did it anyway? Why?"

  "Because I don't want to spend the rest of my life avoiding mirrors."

  Carl stared back, his puzzlement obvious, but Jen slowly nodded in understanding. "Mirrors can be real difficult. So did this Garrity tell you what Wakeman's defense is going to be?"

  "No. I gather she doesn't have much to work with."

  "Duh."

  "I just talked to Garrity about what I'd seen, what our orders were like, that kind of stuff. She's going to work that into her defense."

  "How?"

  "I don't know. It's not my place to know."

  "Then what is it you're going to say as a defense witness?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Paul Sinclair, you are the most exasperating human being I have ever met! What is this going to do to your career?"

  "I'm not sure of that, either."

  "Shouldn't you be?"

  He stared at the deck, then back up at Jen. "No. No, I shouldn't. Because if I didn't do anything that I thought might hurt my career, I'd be Sam Yarrow. I don't want to be Sam Yarrow."

  Carl looked over at Jen. "He's got a point."

  "Yeah. On his head." Jen stood up, eyeing Paul sourly. "What am I going to do with you? I've got some work that's going to keep me busy all afternoon. If you want to talk after that, look me up." She swung out through the hatch, the sounds of her movement through the passageway fading rapidly.

  Carl scratched his head. "Well, Paul, I'm not sure I'd have done what you did, but it took some guts. Do you think it'll matter?"

  "I have no idea. But I guess I finally decided that whether it mattered or not to everybody else, it did matter to me."

  "Another good point. Tell that to Jen when you talk to her tonight."

  "I'm not sure I should talk to h
er tonight."

  "She wouldn't have offered if she didn't want you to."

  "But Jen seemed real unhappy with me."

  "Nah. She's just a little aggravated. If Jen had been real unhappy with you, she would have ripped off your arm and then used it to beat you senseless. Oh, by the way, Commander Garcia was looking for you."

  "Great."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To find Jan Tweed."

  Paul discovered that word of his action was quickly circulating through the ship. He could track its progress by seeing how other members of the crew looked at him. Their questioning expressions and the wave of whispered conversations following him through the ship began to irritate Paul more and more. He finally found Jan Tweed, in a hiding place he'd have never imagined without a hint dropped by Chief Imari, then hauled her to see Garcia so they could both be chewed out at some length for the cleanliness of the spaces assigned to their division and the general appearance of their enlisted personnel. But after Garcia had finished his tirade he gave Paul a version of the look and hesitated before dismissing them. "Is there something else, sir?" Paul asked. I've about had it. Go ahead with whatever you want to say.

  Almost as if sensing Paul's defiance, Garcia eyed him for a long moment, then shook his head. "No. No, Sinclair. Don't embarrass me."

  "Yes, sir." Garcia didn't ask me anything, but he sure commented on the answer I didn't give.

  Jan Tweed stopped Paul before they separated. "What was that last thing about?"

  "I guess you're probably the only one on the ship who hasn't heard. I've agreed to be a defense witness at Wakeman's court-martial."

  Tweed seemed baffled. "Why?"

  "Because I thought it was the right thing to do."

  She stared at him a moment longer. "Why?"

  "I thought Wakeman was being railroaded, and—"

  "And whatever he gets, he deserves."

  For the first time since he'd met her, Paul saw flat disapproval in Jan Tweed's eyes. "I want him to get what he deserves. I just don't want him to get more than that."

  "Why not? It's the sort of thing he's been doing to us, isn't it? Doesn't Wakeman deserve the same sort of treatment he's given us?"

  Paul looked away, unable to bear her anger. "I'm sorry, Jan. I know what guys like Wakeman have done. I just don't want to end up like them."

  The silence following his last statement stretched so long that Paul looked back at her, finding Jan still watching him, her face working with emotion. "I didn't want to end up like this, Paul. Wakeman can go to hell. And if you help get him off you can go to hell, too."

  "Jan, I don't want to help him get off scot-free. I want him called to account. There's no way anything I say can exonerate everything Wakeman did." Her face steadied, but remained unhappy. "Jan, you taught me a lot of good lessons. I mean it. I don't want you leaving the ship hating me."

  "I don't hate you, Paul. I don't understand you. I'm worried that you're doing something that will let someone I do hate literally get away with murder. But what do you care what I think? I'm Jan Tweed, object lesson in failure for new officers."

  "That's not true!" Paul shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on hers even though she tried to evade them. "Jan, you taught me a lot of good lessons."

  Her face softened, falling back into its familiar protective mask. "Thanks. But there's more to being a naval officer than that." Tweed's face closed down and her shoulders went into their defensive hunch as she turned away. "I don't hate you, but if you let Wakeman get off free you'll have hurt me."

  "He won't get off free." Can I really promise that? It seems impossible, but what if he did? I don't want to be responsible for that. Paul watched Tweed leave. Is there any way I could have been true to myself without hurting Jan Tweed, who's already taken enough hurt? Should I have done what I thought was right even if I knew it would hurt Jan some more? Paul already knew the answer to the last question, but he didn't want to admit it to himself, not while he could still see Tweed making her dejected departure.

  * * *

  Commander Herdez faced the officers of the USS Michaelson, who stood in two ranks on the pier just outside the quarterdeck. "Some of you are designated as witnesses in the court-martial of Captain Wakeman which begins today. Those witnesses will be required to be present each day in the court-room and are therefore excused from regular duty during the court-martial in order to ensure their presence. Since the court-martial is a public proceeding the rest of you are free to attend as spectators on your non-duty days. I expect every one of you to comport yourselves at all times in such a manner as to reflect credit upon the USS Michaelson. Are there any questions?"

  Everyone stood silent, their expressions fixed with professional lack of emotion.

  "Very well. Dismissed. Duty officers return to the ship."

  Herdez turned and began walking toward the location where the court-martial would be held, a courtroom near fleet staff headquarters. The straight ranks of officers dissolved, the department heads following individually in Herdez' wake, while the junior officers clustered into a few small groups to give their seniors time to get out of easy earshot. "I'm sorry I'm going to miss this," Kris Denaldo remarked. "But duty calls."

  Paul shrugged. "You won't miss all that much today. A lot of what happens today should be boilerplate legal procedure, the sort of stuff they do in every trial."

  "How do you know that?"

  "It's in the Manual for Courts-Martial."

  Jen speared Paul with an intent look. "Have you changed your mind?"

  "About testifying for the defense? No, I haven't changed my mind."

  "Not worried, huh?"

  "Right, Jen. I'm not worried. I'm terrified."

  "But you're doing it anyway, huh? Well, good luck."

  Paul stared at her, surprised. "Really? I thought you thought I was an idiot for doing this."

  "I changed my mind. Listen, I may have to bail out of the court-martial early today because of a test being run on some of my gear. Make sure you look me up when you get back to the ship."

  "Sure."

  They all followed after the senior officers, catching up with them outside the entrance to the court room. The separate groups of officers stood around awkwardly until the court's bailiff cracked the door. "You may all enter now. Witnesses should sit in the front row of seats. All spectators must be seated behind them."

  Paul found himself suddenly worried that the front row would be so narrow that he'd find himself shoe-horned between Garcia and Herdez, but there were enough seats that everyone was able to sit at least one seat away from anyone else.

  He glanced around the room, trying to calm himself. Relax. You aren't going to be doing anything for at least a day or two. They have to run through all the stuff they always do at the start of a court-martial, then the prosecution will call all its witnesses, and only then will I be called. No sense sitting on the edge of my seat the whole time.

  Front and center in the courtroom sat the judge's bench, elevated above the rest of the tables and seats. Two doors in the back of the room presumably led to the judge's chambers and to the room where the members of the court would wait and relax. On one side of the room, angled to face the area just before the judge's bench, a long table draped with a Navy blue tablecloth and equipped with five chairs was obviously intended for the senior officers who would serve as the members of the court. Facing the judge's bench on either side were the two tables where the trial counsel and the defense counsel would be seated, as well as Captain Wakeman himself at the defense table. A few meters behind those tables the ranks of witness and spectator chairs began, an aisle up the center left clear.

  Somewhere, invisible in the gray uniformity of the walls around him, fiber optic lenses allowed cameras to not only record the entire trial, but also provide a means for remote observers to monitor the court-martial as well. Carl says the SASAL observers weren't allowed in the court room because Admiral Fowler threatened to raise hell, s
o they ginned up the excuse that classified material might be discussed and made the SASALs watch from a remote site with a video feed that could be censored. Just as well. I sure don't want them in here making me feel even guiltier about what we did to that ship than I already am.

  Paul twisted around to see the rest of the room, seeing the other junior officers seated several rows behind him against the back wall of the court room. Carl Meadows caught his eye, then he, Mike Bristol and Jen each raised a hand to wave at him while they grinned inanely like merry vacationers on tour. Paul grinned back, shaking his head. Thanks, guys. Glad to know you're with me, even though none of you seem to think I know what I'm doing.