Paul blew out air in a long sigh. "Thanks, Sheriff. I guess I'll be seeing a whole lot of you."
"That's because you're a lucky man, sir." Sharpe chuckled, then brought his right hand up in a salute. "By your leave, sir?"
Paul returned the salute, unable to fight down a smile of his own at the exaggerated military courtesy. "Go away, Sheriff."
"Thank you, sir!"
Paul was still smiling when he reached his stateroom, but the smile faded as soon as he saw the message from Commander Garcia demanding his immediate presence in the Combat Information Center. Paul hastened to CIC, finding the compartment jammed with enlisted operations specialists and Lieutenant Jan Tweed as well as Garcia.
"Where the hell have you been?" Garcia barked the question without taking his eyes off the tracking screen.
"Attending XO's screening, sir."
This time Garcia took a moment to glare directly at Paul. "Why?"
"Commander Herdez requested-."
"You're needed in here. Get to work."
"Yes, sir." Paul glanced hopelessly toward Tweed, who was slouched in a corner.
Tweed beckoned him over with a small gesture, then indicated two enlisted sailors operating a console nearby. "Hang around there, Paul," she advised in a whisper. "Just watch and learn."
Paul stole a glance toward Garcia. "But he said for me to get to work."
"This is work. Learning is work. Keep your eyes and ears open. That's the best way to avoid mistakes."
"Shouldn't I do anything?"
"If Garcia wants you to do something, he'll tell you. Until then, just stay out of his way."
Paul nodded, positioning himself near the enlisted. Great. My department head issues vague orders to do something while he runs this drill personally, and my division officer tells me to do nothing while she tries to hide in a corner. Well, I won't be happy doing nothing for long, but Tweed's right that I need to learn a lot about operations in here.
Paul had toured Combat Information Centers before, he'd taken courses on what happened in a CIC, and had even experienced a few CIC simulator runs during training. A CIC did exactly what its name said, collecting all available information to support combat decisions and carry out combat actions ordered by the ship's captain. Every sensor funneled readings and detections to this compartment. Every communications circuit was monitored here, either by humans or computers listening for keywords. Intelligence reports came here, their data and estimates added to the welter of information. Skilled personnel evaluated what they saw, monitoring displays that hopefully gave a ship's commanding officer everything needed to make critical decisions, decisions that might literally involve life and death. If those decisions dictated that weapons were to be employed, someone in this compartment might well fire those weapons.
Despite his training, Paul found being part of a real CIC to be daunting. Funny how much different it is to actually be expected to participate in a real CIC compared to some simulator drill. I'm actually part of this. What part, I'm not sure, yet. He glanced over at Tweed, hunched in her corner. The CIC Officer is supposed to be running all this, making sure all the enlisted specialists are doing their jobs well and making sure the information displayed for the Captain is clear and accurate. Everything seems to be running great. Is Tweed being smart by letting capable enlisted do their jobs, or is she just giving them free rein because she doesn't want to supervise them? Paul took a long look at Commander Garcia, hunched over a terminal and snarling commands. Or has Garcia effectively taken over Tweed's job and left her nothing to supervise, regardless of how she feels? The last possibility was particularly worrisome. Despite his misgivings, Paul had no doubt he could learn to carry out a CIC Officer's responsibilities. But he also knew he wouldn't have much chance of ever doing that if Commander Garcia insisted on personally running the show.
He watched and he listened, feeling a growing sense of reassurance at the ease with which the enlisted specialists handled their jobs, increasingly deciding that Tweed's passivity was a combined result of two of the factors he'd earlier considered: Garcia's involvement and confidence in her personnel. She wasn't being allowed to run things, but she didn't have to run things. The path of least resistance ran naturally right to the corner Tweed occupied.
Gradually, the commands issued and information displayed began to make sense. He had to think in three dimensions rather than the two dimensional movement of surface ships on Earth, and radically change his perception of distances and speeds involved, but the basic process of detection, localizing and tracking wasn't really different from that used on the waterborne ships Paul had trained on.
The two enlisted at the console directly before Paul were responsible for evaluating sensor detections. For the most part, they spent the drill trying not to look bored as detections popped up in what was obviously a predictable sequence. Paul watched them with increasing frustration, wanting to ask specific questions but unable to interrupt the drill being run by Garcia.
Garcia finally stood, slapping a few control buttons, swung a narrow-eyed gaze around the compartment, then left without a word. The sailors visibly relaxed and began bantering among themselves. Paul looked for Tweed, but she was already heading out the other hatch. I guess the exercise is over. "Excuse me," he asked the two enlisted specialists at his console, "could you guys give me a run-down on this gear?"
The senior of the two petty officers smiled obligingly, but shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. We've got to power it down for some scheduled maintenance. Maybe some other time?"
"Sure. Thanks." Feeling once more like excess baggage, Paul made his way out of the compartment as well, then stood for a moment in the passageway, uncertain. Okay, so I'm going to have to learn a lot of this job on my own. I can do that. And the first thing I'm going to do now is learn enough of the ship's organization manual to avoid any more unnecessary screw-ups.
Paul took his bearings. He'd figured out a few paths through the ship to different destinations, and didn't want to risk veering off his route and getting lost again within the maze of decks and passageways.
With increasing confidence in his knowledge of the way, Paul made his way back to the ensign locker, feeling a small measure of relief that none of his roommates were present. Carl Meadows wouldn't have been bad company, but Paul still wasn't sure how sympathetic he'd be to the travails of another junior officer. And he was still wary of Sam Yarrow.
Paul sat down, called up the ship's manual to check on procedures, then flinched as the hatch to the ensign locker boomed open. Ensign Jen Shen entered, her face dark, and punched the nearest locker hard enough for the metal to bow in temporarily. Waiting a moment, Shen slammed another blow at the locker, then dropped into the nearest chair and glared at Paul. "Idiots. Stupid, brainless, butt-kissing idiots."
"You appear to be a little upset."
"Just a little. I've got a piece of gear called a reverse osmosis device. It makes the water we recycle fit to drink. I've actually got three, but if only two work then eventually we run low on water and everybody gets real unhappy. Ask me how many working reverse osmosis devices I have."
"Something tells me the answer isn't three."
"It's not. Oh, I can make the piece of junk work in fits and starts by tweaking stuff and threatening it, but effectively it's broke. But can we report that? Maybe get a new one before we deploy? Heck, no, Ensign Shen! Because we can't deploy with only two working osmosis devices. We gotta have three! And heaven forbid we should upset anyone by telling them we only have two, because that might cause our deployment date to slip and the fleet staff would have a hissy fit."
Paul knew he shouldn't say it, but he did. "Two out of three ain't ba-" He ducked as Shen threw the closest available object at him. "I'm really sorry. That sucks. It doesn't make sense, either. I mean, what happens if one of the two working osmosis devices goes down hard?"
"We head home and pray we make it on time. Like I said, it's stupid." Shen buried her head in her hands.
"But you have to get used to it. It's all about looking good. And not looking bad. Admitting something is broke looks bad. So everybody pretends everything is fine." Paul sat silent, at a loss for words, until she raised her head again to regard him. "Speaking of looking bad, I'm surprised you were in any mood to joke."
"You mean that exercise message I messed up? I can't believe how many people have heard about that. I'm not happy, but I've got to learn from it and move on. Right?"
She stared at him for a moment. "Do you want to know what I just overheard Ensign Sam Yarrow discussing with Commander Garcia?" Paul felt his blood chill, but nodded anyway. "Something along the lines of 'I can't believe Ensign Sinclair thinks you're a hard-ass who's riding him too hard.' Did you say that?"
"No! He did!"
"Yarrow?"
"Yes, Yarrow! He came up and talked all sympathetic and asked me if I thought Garcia was a hard-ass and stuff, and all I did was kinda agree."
"Uh-huh." Shen hid her face again. "Sorry, Paul. I warned you."
"That slimy bastard! He actually put words in my mouth!"
"Uh-huh. How's the back feel?"
"Like I had ten inches of cold steel between my shoulder blades. I'll kill him! I can't believe he would do something like that."
"Usually, the victim doesn't know. I just happened to blow past and Yarrow didn't see me until too late. I could tell from the look on his face that he knew I'd tell you. Want some advice?"
Paul sat brooding for a long moment. "I guess I'd be an idiot to say no, and I already know your opinion of idiots."
Shen grinned. "That you do. My advice is, pretend it never happened. Keep Smilin' Sam at arm's length but don't ever let on you found out. That'll get him real nervous, wondering what you're up to. Maybe it'll make him nervous enough to lay off you."
"Is that what you do? Keep Yarrow nervous by not letting on what you're doing?"
"Me? Hell, no. I told Yarrow if he messed with me again I'd stuff him down the solid waste disposal chute. He's probably still playing games behind my back, but at least he's being cautious about it. You're a little more low key than I am, though, if I read you right."
"Yeah. I think so." Just about everybody's more low key than Jen Shen, if I read her right. "Okay. I'll take your advice. And thanks. What about Garcia? He must be ready to toss me out the nearest airlock."
"Probably. But he won't, because assaulting a subordinate would look real bad on his record. The best way to handle Garcia is to do the best job you can. If you do good, he'll lay off you. Nothing else will satisfy him except knowing you're not going to make him look bad."
"There's that phrase again. 'Looking bad.' Jen, I don't get it."
"What's not to get?"
Paul waved a hand around to encompass the entire ship. "There seems to be such a mix of people on this ship. I figured the space branch would be, you know, sort of the best and the brightest."
She laughed sharply. "Boy, and I thought I was young! You want the run-down Paul? There's basically three kinds of people up here. You represent one of them. You volunteered for duty in space. You're idealistic, hard-charging, ready to conquer the universe for humanity."
"I'm not that-"
"Hey, I'm using you as an archetype. When you're a symbol of something you can't quibble over details." Jen leaned back, gazing wistfully out the hatch. "I used to be like that. Now… I don't know. The second type up here are the Carl Meadows' of the Navy. They're just out to survive. Keep a low profile, get the job done, don't sweat anything that doesn't need sweating."
"Carl's a real decent guy."
"I didn't say he wasn't. What I said was he'll never make admiral. Carl knows that. He's not going to kill himself chasing a goal he wouldn't really want if he got there. Look around. He's not the only officer in the wardroom like that."
"You mean like Commander Sykes, too?"
"Oh, yeah. Suppo's the king of the slackers. If I ever convert to that religion entirely, he's the guy I'll worship." She sighed. "Then there's the third group, the unjustly exiled. In their eyes, anyway. They got stuck out here, far from all the plum jobs that just about guarantee promotion, far from all the admirals looking for adoring proteges, far from everything. The only way people hear about what you've done in space is if you screw up big time. And I mean big time." Jen flashed a smile. "Messing up an exercise message doesn't make the grade. So these exiles work their butts off, or make their subordinates work their butts off, in hopes they'll grab the golden ring and return home with glory, medals and promotion opportunities galore. In sum, they wanta look good. Problem is, they're not that good to begin with. Which is why they got exiled in the first place."
"I see. That makes a lot of sense. Garcia's an exile, isn't he?" Jen nodded. "And so's the Captain."
"Oh, yeah. Cap'n Pete would sell his mother for a ticket back to fleet staff, where he could impress the admiral with his social banter and devotion to the admiral's well-being."
Paul smiled ruefully. "I believe it. But what about the XO? She doesn't seem to fit any of those groups."
Jen frowned. "No. She's sort of an idealist, but not in the 'future of humanity in space' sense. For Herdez, it's the Navy. That's what she believes in. She doesn't give a damn what happens to her. She's here because they told her the ship needed a good XO. Don't ask me how I know that. But, fair warning, Paul, she supports the Captain. That's the Navy rule. Don't think because Cap'n Pete is doing something stupid that Herdez will step in and try to stop it. She's the XO, he's the Captain. That sets the rules of the universe as far as she's concerned."
"Thanks. Warning duly noted." Paul let his face momentarily sag, once again overwhelmed. "Man, if I had any idea what I was getting into…"
Shen grinned again. "Don't let it get to you. Endure. Find some hobby to keep the insanity and the big black outside at bay."
"What's your hobby?"
"I punch lockers."
Paul smiled back. "I'm glad I'm not a locker." He looked over at his, suddenly concerned again. "I hope I packed everything right." In the morning the Michaelson would be maneuvering, and any object not properly fastened down would become a victim of physics.
"I'll check it for you," Shen offered. She popped his locker, eyeing his gear, her face intent, transformed instantly into an experienced professional. "Looks good to me. If anything, you overdid some of the tie downs. But better that than underdoing them." Shen stepped back, glancing questioningly at Paul. "No pictures?"
"Uh, no. No girlfriend."
"Too bad. Or maybe good. Shipboard life is hell on relationships, if you haven't already figured that out."
"I'd guessed. No time for them, right?"
"Right. And if you found any time, you'd be halfway to nowhere when it showed up. You can't even phone home because the distances are so huge light-speed lag makes conversations a pain in the neck, and most of the time you can't send messages either because the ship's trying to keep emissions to a minimum so no one can detect us."
Paul nodded wearily. "So good luck maintaining a relationship with someone off the ship. And I know what regulations say about relationships among crewmembers."
Jen nodded quickly back. "Right again. Don't even think about that. If you fall in love, or lust, with someone else on this ship then keep it to yourself until you're walking off the ship for the last time enroute to your next assignment. Then you can share your emotions or whatever with the object of your affections to your heart's content. But don't try it while you're both still assigned to this ship. The XO's not amused when she finds out about that sort of thing."
"Has it been a big problem on the ship?"
Jen shrugged. "A big problem? No. But it happens. We had a couple of enlisted who got busted and fined, one of them subsequently being transferred to the US Navy's equivalent of Siberia. Then there was a Lieutenant some time back who couldn't keep his hands off a seaman in his division."
Paul stared in disbelief. "In his division? He messed around with an enliste
d sailor in his chain of command? How could he be that stupid? And unprofessional?"
"If you'd ever met the guy, you'd know how he could be that stupid and unprofessional. Of course, if you wanted to meet him now, you'd have to visit the brig where he's serving hard time. Like I said, Herdez doesn't tolerate anything that threatens the chain of command. If you've got a roving eye, try to park it while you're onboard."
Paul laughed. "Jen, to be perfectly honest, one of the few faults I can't lay claim to is a roving eye."
"Not a Don Juan, huh?"
"Nope."
"Good for you. That'll make life onboard easier for you. And if you really need some photos for your locker, you could do what Yarrow does. He's got pictures of his sports car posted."
"You're kidding."
"Take a look when you get a chance." Ensign Shen clapped Paul on the shoulder. "I have to get back to pleading with my bosses for sanity to prevail. Vainly pleading, no doubt, but I have to try so I can scream 'I told you so' with my dying breath. Hang in there, Paul."
"Thanks, Jen."
"You're feeling lost and overwhelmed, right?"
"Does it show?" The thought alarmed Paul, already worried over his performance onboard the ship so far.
But Jen shook her head. "No. You're doing a good enough job of projecting confidence. But it wasn't all that long ago that I was new to the ship. I remember. Boy, do I remember. A lot of things don't get easier, but that part does. Trust me."
"I sure hope you're right. Are you going out with the others tonight?"
"I wish. I've got duty, and even if I didn't I'd be fussing over that damned osmosis device. You?"
"Nope. I'm sort of voluntarily confined to the ship while I reflect on the error of my ways."
"A wise man. See you around. Maybe we can catch a flick after dinner." She smiled again. "My treat."
A Just Determination ps-1 Page 4