by David Poyer
“So, good; I was afraid the two of you would slough it off, try to pass off some phony gun-deck job on me. Did you find out whose it was?”
He felt dismay. The way the exec had phrased it made it impossible to wriggle out of the question. He said slowly, “Yes, sir. I found out—whose it was.”
“Good! I’ll teach him to possess unauthorized drugs on my ship. Who is he?”
“Sir, I have to say this carefully. The guilty man is in my division. But I gave him my word that what we had discussed, including his name, was between the two of us.”
Bryce looked at him for a moment without really having an expression on his face. He tapped the file folder on his desk. It gaped open for a moment, and Dan saw that it was empty. After a moment, the XO shook out another cigarette. He measured the end slowly with flame.
“I’m not real sure I understand what you’re trying to tell me here, Lenson.”
“Well, sir, it went this way. I interviewed every man, from senior to junior. I kept the one I suspected most till last. I had no leads. Nobody knew anything. When he, too, admitted nothing, I was faced with failure of the investigation.”
“Go on.”
“To avoid that, I tried as a last resort to get him to talk to me man-to-man, off the record. He laughed and agreed. He then admitted that the marijuana was his, that he had more, and that he sold it among the crew along with other drugs.”
He had thought about this up till the Soviets had diverted his and everyone else’s attention. It was a fine question: his responsibility to the ship against his word to Lassard. He knew it wouldn’t go over well. He wasn’t even sure it was right. But it was what he’d done.
“Okay.” The XO leaned back again, blowing a smoky circle in the direction of the ventilator. “Now I hear you. I like quick thinking in a junior officer. So, who was this trusting lamb?”
“I can’t tell you, sir.”
“Lassard, right? Just nod.”
He didn’t nod. “I can’t tell you who it was, sir.”
“I know, he told you in confidence. That’s fine. I like to see a sense of honor, too—as long as it’s balanced against efficiency and safety.
“Now, I’m sure you can understand my position here. The safety and welfare of the crew, that’s my bailiwick, Dan. Jimmy John deals with the relations of the command with outside security. But he leaves the day-to-day management to the exec. As he should. As long as he shows he can handle it, that is. And that means solving knotty little issues like this.
“Now, you know you just gave the game away. You said you went from senior to junior and the guilty man was last, and Slick, course he’s a seaman recruit—can’t get any more junior than that. So let’s just say it’s understood. Now we’ve got that out of the way, where do you think we should put the nails?”
Dan stared at Bryce’s little eyes. The XO had trumped him. He tried to keep his tone neutral. It came out stubborn instead. “No, sir, that’s an incorrect inference. The rank order was not that rigid.”
“Do you deny it was Lassard?”
“I’m not denying it, sir, I just can’t answer that question.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Can’t, sir.”
Bryce examined the overhead. “Mr. Lenson, without some kind of backup in the way of proof—such as this here confession you got—I can’t do squat to Mr. Dope Pusher. Those goddamn shoreside sea lawyers would tear me up one side and down the other. This is all well and good, but what use is it to us if we can’t bend your damn scruples a little, like we all have to once in a while, so we can get anything done? Will you tell me that?”
“What did you plan to do, sir?”
“Goddamn it!” The exec threw down his cigarette, which bounced off the ashtray, throwing sparks. He retrieved it hastily from the carpet, but the accident seemed to irritate him further. He started to stub it out, then changed his mind and lighted another from it. “This is too much,” he muttered. “Okay. The book says, confine the suspect till we get back to Newport, then turn him over to the Naval Investigative Service. But I don’t see no point in doing that till we give him a chance to straighten out and fly right from now on.
“So what I planned, Ensign, if you don’t mind, is to confine the goddamn suspect in the supply locker, then have him up to mast in front of the captain and bust—well, we can’t bust a seaman recruit, but we can sure as hell make sure he doesn’t draw a dollar of pay or walk on grass again till his enlistment expires, that’s for damn sure. Does that satisfy you? He’s selling drugs through the ship. Isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You condone that shit?”
“No, sir,” said Dan miserably.
“Look here, boy. I understand your problem. Honor, honesty, they’re important. But discipline is, too. I don’t believe you’ve got the right perspective on this business. That Annapolis stuff may be all right when you’re dealing officer to officer. But this here’s the real world. You can’t have people working on engines, and guns, and such as that with their heads in a cloud of dope.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I guess I screwed up, telling him that.”
“No, goddamn it, I already said you handled that part right. Look.” The exec hitched his chair forward. “I’ve had a bellyful of this crap! There’s other people trying to stop me establishing naval discipline aboard this ship. You know who I mean.”
“Well—no, sir, I don’t.”
“I mean my laid-back, liberal, let-the-animals-pee-on-the-carpet department heads. People like them are handing out a load of hokum all over the country, and I don’t need to tell you who’s behind it all. You can see the sorry results of that, goddamn sandals on the steps of the White House! You can see it on Ryan, too. And how they turn yellow when the chips are down.” The avuncular tone was gone; as Dan was wearily becoming aware, it was only another tactic. “So, let’s just cut through the bullshit. Give me his name and everything goes smooth. You don’t, then far as I’m concerned, you’re making yourself a party to it. And once I start hoeing that row, I’m telling you now, I go all the way to the end.”
He wanted to apologize, to explain, but he’d done that already. He stared at the exec helplessly.
“For the last time: You won’t tell me?”
“Sir—believe me, I’d like to, but—”
“Hold it right there,” said Bryce. He lifted his chin a little and suddenly looked shrewd. “Yeah … tell you what. Seems to me maybe that crack on the head got you a little confused. Maybe you need time to think about this. Considering how important it’s going to be when it comes time for me to write your first fitness report.” He picked up the folder again. In a dry, uninterested voice, he added, “We’ll talk about this later, Ensign. Dismissed.”
Outside the door, Dan paused. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. Thoughts bounced around his mind like scared rabbits. Bryce didn’t seem so harmless now. He’d rather face the forty-foot sea. At least if it got him, Susan would be taken care of. But if Bryce shafted him, he’d never get promoted, and if he didn’t get promoted, he’d be out, with a wife and infant on his hands.
He thought very clearly: Maybe I should tell him. USS Reynolds Ryan wasn’t the Naval Academy, Bryce was sure as hell right about that. Did you have to keep your word with scum like Lassard? He’d laugh if you expected him to keep his. If someone else, if the captain had asked him … anyone other than Bryce …
But what was this business about giving Slick a chance to “straighten out”? Something didn’t sound right about that. It didn’t sound like the way Bryce operated, to give anybody a second chance once he had them on the deck looking up.
He wanted to go back inside so much, he made himself turn and walk aft. Away from the gray door. No, he thought. I made a mistake promising Lassard confidentiality. I shouldn’t have given him the opening. I screwed up again trying to waffle with Bryce. Breaking his word would just be another wrong move. He’d never get to whatever made Slick Lassard
run then.
He had the feeling he was making a lot of mistakes, even for an ensign. But sooner or later, Slick would foul up, too. He’d just have to be on his ass steady from now on. He thought of Lassard’s words on the forecastle.
And when I catch him off base, Dan thought grimly, I’ve got to ax the bastard.
Before he axes all of us.
* * *
LATE that afternoon, the 1MC announced that both evaporators were fixed and water hours were lifted until further notice. He luxuriated in a two-quart shower and his first shave in days.
Second dog, he thought, planting one foot ahead of the other up the bridge ladderwell. Two hours, then seven hours in the bag till the next watch. He wondered what it would be like operating with a carrier. He decided to break out the tactical publications over the next couple of days and bone up on stationkeeping before they rendezvoused.
The daylight had lasted longer today, but when he got topside it was dark again. The seas had dropped even more and the drizzle had cleared. The pilothouse seemed quieter than usual. After a moment, he realized that for the first time in a week the wipers were quiet. The captain was in his chair, head back on the leather headrest at an uncomfortable-looking angle. He was snoring, something Dan hadn’t heard him do before.
Silver was standing by the chart table, digging wax out of his ears with the eraser end of a pencil. They discussed the turnover in low tones. Course and speed were unchanged. Dan glanced at Packer. “The old man’s still tired,” he muttered.
“He was up writing the after-action report. Then he went down to watch them welding up the feed-water tank. Then he had to answer some more messages. I think he’s caught your roommate’s cold, too.”
“How could Chow Hound give him a cold? Guy’s never on the bridge.”
Silver shrugged. They reported to Evlin, then the jaygee went below.
Dan studied the captain. Packer’s mouth gaped. He sounded congested, as if it was hard for him to breathe. His hands twitched on the armrests. Into Dan’s mind came a picture of him at the height of the storm: cool, deliberate, unaffected by fear or fatigue. Some things James Packer did puzzled him. Some seemed foolhardy. But he had to admit he was a hell of a seaman.
During his musing, Evlin had drifted to the starboard side of the bridge. The lieutenant reached now to the speaker that monitored the distress frequencies. When he turned it up a hissing roar, like a rain shower on a tin roof, filled the bridge. He turned it down. The captain didn’t stir. He turned it up again. The snore faltered. Evlin turned the static down again. After a moment Packer’s hands twitched. They crept to his waist, groped for the seat belt. He opened his eyes suddenly.
“What’s going on?”
“Sorry, sir, just checking the circuits.”
Packer’s eyelids sank again.
“Sir, you had dinner yet? Spaghetti and ice cream tonight.”
A grunt. “What time is it?”
“Eighteen fifteen, sir, second sitting. Mr. Lenson and I have the watch. The scope’s clear, visibility’s good. Why don’t you grab some chow, maybe get your head down in your cabin.”
The captain stretched. He coughed into his handkerchief and blew his nose. Then he searched out his pipe, tucked it in his mouth, and got up. He prowled about the bridge, peered at the barometer, the radarscope, the chart, and then disappeared.
“Captain’s off the bridge,” Pettus announced.
“Pretty clever. You do that often?”
“No. You get to know how a CO’ll react after a while.”
Dan thought how weary Packer had looked. At his age, fighting a ship through a storm must be ten times as exhausting as it was at twenty-one. He thought then about the captain’s family, about what Lassard had told him. Maybe Evlin knew something. But he decided not to ask. The man was entitled to his privacy.
“I wish I could figure out the XO that easy.”
“Our fearless second in command been raking the coals over you?”
“You could say that.” He thought about it for a minute, then sauntered to the radio and tweaked it up again. “Look, I maybe need some advice, sir.”
“I’m listening.”
“I can’t seem to get a track on the guy. He doesn’t trust anybody. And every time he talks to me, he threatens me at the end, like that’s the only thing that’ll keep me in line.”
“He doesn’t trust me, either. In fact, he thinks I’m crazy. But whatever happens on this other business, I’ll be out of the Navy pretty soon. And his fulminations will just be history.
“As far as getting along with him—I just try to remind myself that even Bryce thinks he’s on the side of the angels. As long as they’re white conservative angels in the proper uniform. And as long as he gets a cut of the poker games in heaven.”
Dan remembered a snowy night, a wad of money, a binocular box on the signal bridge. “I had the feeling something like that was going on. He gets a chunk of the pot?”
“And other things. The anchor pool. Sometimes a man will need extra leave. Cash down helps it along.”
It made a lot of things clearer. Like Ryan’s lousy morale, and the cynical way the men talked. It made other things less clear, though. “It doesn’t seem to bother you very much.”
“I try not to judge him, Dan. He’s overage. Passed over for promotion. He’ll never make full commander, or have his own ship. He’s looking at retirement, and he doesn’t know how to do anything but shuffle Navy paper. Here, he’s a big deal. On the outside, he’ll be nobody. Most evil is motivated by fear.”
“You’d defend anybody, Al.”
“Sure I would. Not their actions, necessarily, but themselves—sure.”
“What’s the difference?”
“That goes back to Plato and Paul.” Evlin settled his foot in a nest of cables and Dan grinned, recognizing the start of another session of Metaphysics 101. “Difference between flesh and spirit. You can’t deny the influence of early experience, or blood chemistry. But neither can you deny that something in people shines through everything that ought by rights to crush them.
“Deanne works with multiple sclerosis patients. Some of them kids, a lot more old folks—people think MS is a kids’ disease, but it gets you more often between thirty and fifty. She manhandles them into the pool. They try to swim. They can hardly move without the water to hold them up. But some of them, she says, have clear, untroubled, liberated souls. The light inside shines through the sickness and age.
“So there’s an element of choice involved, too. But deep down, people are better than we realize. Than they realize.”
“You’re an idealist, Al.”
“Guilty.”
“A mystic.”
Evlin chuckled. “I think I’m a realist. I just define reality in broader terms.” He glanced at the radar, then out the window. “Did you check the running lights when you came on?”
Dan went out on the wings, checked the sidelights, looked up at the masthead and range. He went back inside. “All lights bright lights.”
“Very well.”
“Do you remember what we were talking about before? About how people would act if they believed what you do, that they’re not really separate, but all part of the same thing?”
“Yes.”
“That it would be a different world, a better one?”
“You’d hope so,” said Evlin. He set his binoculars for a slow sweep of the sea to starboard. “But in my less sanguine moments, I can also see it interpreted in the sense that since no one’s irreplaceable, you could destroy this one or that without really losing anything.
“I think belief has to go beyond dogma. Doctrine’s a dead end; it’s just accepting metaphors somebody else thought up. It has to be either revealed truth, direct access, or else a conscious, consistent model you arrive at yourself and believe in enough to live by.”
“Have you got this direct access?”
“No.”
“Have you got a model?”
/> “It’s not consistent yet. Or maybe it is, and my mind’s too limited to run the program. But I know a few people who have it. I’m going to see if I can get it, too.”
“Even though you’ll never be able to prove it exists.”
“Right.”
“Or explain it to me … because you can’t communicate that kind of stuff with words, right? So it’s still a matter of my accepting your metaphor. On faith.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Do you believe there’s a God?”
“I feel something greater than myself. I don’t know if it’s ‘alive,’ or has a personality. But there’s something there.”
“What does it feel like?”
Evlin didn’t say anything for a while. In the chartroom the fathometer began chattering as it ran out of paper. Dan could barely hear him as he murmured, “I guess the closest I can come is, evil and good have no meaning to this … power. We can cooperate with it. Or we can fight it. But either way, it’s going to win. Because everything’s the way it’s supposed to be. And everything’s going to turn out all right.”
Dan studied the lambent circle of the radar. The beam swept around smoothly, prickled by pinpoints of sea return that were gone when it came round again. But there were always more.
What Evlin was saying had a certain logic. But there was nothing he could see that tied it to the world he knew, a world of conflict and scarcity, of betrayal and pain and loss. It was too easy. No commandments, no judgment after death, no punishment—how could God punish part of Himself? It was unsatisfying. But he didn’t want to say this to Evlin. If his weird faith helped him through a court-martial, he had every right to it. He sighed and finished the last of his cold coffee. “Well, two more days, we’ll be steaming with Kennedy.”
“That’s right. They’ll probably transfer me off as soon as we join up, then fly me out to the States. There’ll be a trial later, probably when you get back to Newport. Officially, I’m restricted to my stateroom, but the captain said I could stand watches if I wanted. Seeing as how we’re so short on qualified OODs.”