Against All Enemies ps-4

by John G. Hemry

  "I don't think I'll have much control over that. When are you going back?"

  "Two days. I couldn't book a seat on an earlier shuttle because of uncertainty about the end of the trial. Why?"

  Paul hesitated. Get over it. "You know Jen and I had to move up the wedding on very short notice. It's tomorrow. Most of the guests and members of the wedding couldn't make it."

  "Yeah. Raw deal. I'll be there, though."

  "I know. The point is… I'm looking for a best man."

  David frowned. "Are you asking me?"

  "Yeah, I'm asking you."

  "Well, damn it all." David made a fist and punched the nearest wall. "I was thinking it was past time we stopped acting like kids with grudges and was planning on making the first move. You beat me again."

  "I'll try not to make a habit of it."

  "What, you think you have to go easy on me?"

  "No."

  "Good." David smiled broadly. "To properly answer the question put to me, I'll be proud to be your best man. I understand this Jen of yours makes even an Alex Carr pale by comparison."

  "Now that you mention it, she does."

  ***

  Jen had, to Paul's surprise, chosen to wear a white wedding dress instead of a dress uniform. She looked like a dream come true, he thought, as she came down the short aisle of the Interdenominational Religious Worship Facility on the arm of Captain Kay Shen, and never mind that the phrase was a cliche because that was how he thought she looked. Captain Shen was staring straight ahead as he walked. Jen had discussed not inviting her father to the wedding, but Paul had talked her into it, insisting she'd regret it for the rest of her life otherwise. In the end, the argument that cinched it was that watching his daughter marry Paul would be a worse ordeal for Captain Shen than missing the wedding.

  But Captain Shen managed to refrain from yelling out objections and the ceremony went off without a hitch.

  There wasn't room for a sword arch outside the chapel, which was just as well considering that officers didn't carry their ceremonial swords along into space, and considering that Jen had threatened to murder anyone who carried out the traditional slap on the butt of the bride with the flat of one of the swords. Everyone held up small party favors which broadcast holographic images of butterflies flitting around the couple. Paul flinched as he discovered that the realistic images of insects had a tendency to appear to fly straight at his face, which was particularly disconcerting after spending three years in pretty much insect-free environments. Jen rolled her eyes at the butterfly display but laughed and chatted with friends who crowded around them.

  "Paul! Congratulations!" Pam Connally was there, hugging him again. Paul stared at her, then at Jen.

  Jen smiled back. "I just had to invite an 'old friend' of yours to the wedding, Paul."

  "How did you-?"

  "I knew where she worked." Jen and Pam exchanged high-fives.

  Paul grinned, watching the two women talk. How do you like that? It looks like Jen and Pam Connally are going to be friends. Maybe having a cop for a friend will help keep Jen out of trouble while I'm gone.

  Paul's mother stepped close, eyeing him suspiciously. "What's going on?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Why are you and David getting along? What are you two up to?"

  "Oh, that. We just wanted to see if we could freak you out."

  "You're succeeding." His mother sighed. "I've hardly seen you for three years and now you'll be gone for another four."

  "You've got a new daughter-in-law who'll be a bit closer."

  "That's true. What a woman you chose!"

  "She reminded me of you."

  His mother laughed. "That's a compliment even if you didn't intend it that way! Be careful and try to stay out of trouble."

  Paul smiled reassuringly. "I have no intention of getting into any kind of trouble on Mars, mom."

  "Sure you don't. Jen, did you hear that?" Jen stepped closer and nodded. "Do you believe it?"

  "That Paul will stay out of trouble? No. Not a word."

  "Good," Paul's mother replied. "I'm glad you're not entering into this marriage with any illusions. As for you, Paul, remember that Mars is full of two kinds of people; idealists who want nothing more than to conquer a new world for the rest of humanity, and malcontents who want nothing more than to get away from the rest of humanity. Try not to get caught in the middle."

  "I promise."

  The next day, Paul stood on the dock, gazing at the quarterdeck of the USS Michaelson. He'd stood in much the same place three years ago when he'd first laid eyes on the ship.

  "What're you thinking?" Jen asked.

  "That I had no idea what was waiting for me on that ship when I crossed that quarterdeck for the first time. If I'd known everything that was going to happen I would've run screaming in the other direction."

  Jen gave him a sharp look. " I was one of the things waiting for you on that ship, Mister Sinclair."

  "I remember. You scared the hell out of me."

  "I did not."

  "Everything scared the hell out of me." He smiled despite the sometimes painful memories. "I guess I learned a few things."

  "You done good, Paul. Now, stop thinking about the past." Jen waved Paul onward. "Go ahead."

  He gazed back at her. "You don't want to come aboard? Are you sure?"

  "Yeah. You don't need me tagging along while you do your final check-out, and I figure you've got the right to make any farewells alone. Besides, there's nobody left on the Merry Mike that I know anymore. I'll catch you back at our quarters."

  Paul smiled at the thought of "our quarters." That was official now, though they'd be shoehorned together into Jen's single person compartment. "I be back as soon as I can."

  "Damn straight. We've only got forty-eight hours for a honeymoon and I intend making the most of every minute. I'm trusting you not to get involved in any trouble for the short period of time before you get back to me. Can I count on that?"

  "Me? Get involved in trouble?"

  "Yeah, you." She leveled an index finger at him, then smiled back. "I love you, Lieutenant."

  "And I love you, Lieutenant."

  She laughed and headed away as Paul turned to board the Michaelson.

  He raced through the few remaining items on his check-off list. When he got to the item requiring him to see his department head, Paul used a trick Ensign Taylor had taught him to make the block turn green even though he hadn't actually seen Commander Moraine. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her this morning.

  Commander Kwan, busy with something else, barely looked at Paul as he tapped Paul's data pad and sent him on his way. No love lost there.

  Last but certainly not least, Captain Agee greeted Paul with a smile, then explained that since he'd only been aboard a short time, far too short a time to independently evaluate Paul, he was giving him a less than ninety days fitness report, thereby extending the marks on the fitness report Captains Hayes had given Paul to cover the rest of his time on the ship. Barely suppressing an urge to dance with joy over avoiding a fitness report with marks set by Kwan and Moraine, Paul shook Agee's hand as he wished Paul the best.

  Formally speaking, that was it. Paul looked down at his data pad. The little icon in the corner which had declared him to be a member of the crew of the USS Michaelson, and which had been ever-present for the last three years, was gone now. It was time to do his personal good-byes..

  Ensign Taylor high-five'd Paul, offering a fond farewell and some final obscene advice for keeping Jen happy. Paul wandered through officer's country, meeting and greeting the officers he'd spent varying amounts of time knowing and working with. He could remember when each of them had come aboard, and every one of them had known him ever since they came aboard. Lieutenant Isakov was too busy to talk, naturally, and Commander Smithe was nowhere to be seen, also naturally, but the others offered sincere good-byes. Even Commander Destin, who'd never quite gotten over Lieutenant Silver's court-martial, t
hanked Paul for the chance to work with him.

  Having paid his respects to his shipmates in the wardroom, Paul made his final rounds of the USS Michaelson. Senior Chief Imari and some of Paul's sailors were in Combat and offered to-all-appearances genuine regrets at his departure. Paul didn't linger, thinking the compartment he'd once held as the center of his responsibilities on the ship already felt alien now that it no longer belonged to him but to Lieutenant Junior Grade Shwartz. He hoped the new CIC officer would do a good job of looking out for the sailors he'd once commanded.

  Paul stood alone on the bridge for a few moments, thinking of the many hours he'd spent there, most of them uneventful but some full of tension and danger. He looked toward the corner where he'd been located when Captain Wakeman had mistakenly ordered the destruction of an unarmed ship. It was hard to remember the brand-new ensign he'd been then, unsure and inexperienced.

  Forward Engineering felt oddly welcoming. Paul, hoping no one was watching, saluted into the emptiness. Farewell, Chief Asher. Then onward, through compartment after compartment, down narrow passageways grown familiar from years of travel through them, sailors wishing him cheery farewells as they passed, Paul only stopping for long again when he reached the place where Petty Officer Davidas had died. And farewell to you, too. I hope you keep looking out for the crew. And looking out for the ship. I can't do that anymore. My time here is done.

  He walked back up to the quarterdeck. The other junior officers were waiting, lined up on either side of the brow. He faced the officer of the deck inport and saluted with extra precision. "Request permission to go ashore."

  Lieutenant Junior Grade Gabriel returned the salute with a grin. "Permission granted. Fair winds and following seas, Paul." Then she gave Paul a thumbs up and gestured to the petty officer of the watch. The petty officer activated the ship's general announcing system and bonged the ship's bell twice before declaring "Lieutenant, United States Navy, departing."

  "Sideboys! Hand salute!" The two ranks of junior officers brought their hands up.

  Paul raised his own arm, holding his salute as he walked between the ranks, over the brow and off of the USS Michaelson for the last time. Behind him, he heard the command "Ready, two!" as the others lowered their salutes.

  He didn't look back at the ship, at the quarterdeck he'd first crossed three years earlier in the company of Senior Chief Kowalski, to meet for the first time Ensign Denaldo and Lieutenant Junior Grade Meadows and Lieutenant Sindh and Commander Sykes and many others. They were already gone, moved on with their careers and their lives, and now he didn't belong to the Michaelson anymore, either, though he knew part of him would always remain on the ship which had taken so much from him yet also seen him grow into an experienced officer.

  Jen was waiting. So, unfortunately, was Mars. But he could handle that. After the Michaelson, he figured he could handle anything.

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