"Familiar? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Having a joke-fest with that guy in your stateroom, for one. He didn't belong in here."
Paul pondered a long list of possible replies, many of them profane, but decided to continue to follow Jen Shen's advice of refusing to confront Yarrow directly. "Thanks for the advice."
"I mean it. People are talking about you and that guy."
Yeah. I'm sure. We're heading home early to face what's certain to be a real nasty inquisition after blowing away a bunch of stupid but helpless civilians, everybody's worried about courts-martial and trying to justify whatever they personally did, and people are supposed to be talking about me being too chummy with Sharpe for proper officer-enlisted relations. Give me a break. I may not be perfect, but I know how to avoid crossing that line. "Thanks for telling me that."
"I don't want him in here again."
Paul counted to five slowly before answering this time. "Sam, this is my stateroom, too. If I need any enlisted to come in here to ask or answer a question for me so I can do my job, I'll do it."
"A good officer doesn't depend on enlisted to do his job."
"I guess that means I'm not a good officer."
Yarrow eyed Paul for a few seconds as if deciding how to respond, then finally smiled in a forced manner. "Funny. Just watch it. I'm trying to help you."
"Thanks."
"Sinclair!" Commander Garcia thrust his head into the stateroom. "Where's Tweed?"
Paul tried to fight down the automatic knot forming in his gut at the all-too familiar question. "I don't know, sir." Out of the corner of his eye, Paul could see Yarrow just barely failing to suppress a smug smile.
"Find her. Then both of you find Chief Imari. Then all three of you find me. We're going to review your divisional training and certification program, and it better be flawless, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir." Training and certification? Why's he suddenly so hot on… oh. Any investigation is going to be looking into how well-trained and qualified the Operations Specialists who reported those transients actually were. But Garcia can't just blame Tweed and me for any problems because he's signed off on the programs for all the divisions in his department. I guess trying to make sure there aren't any problems is part of him crafting his own defense.
Garcia shifted his glare. "Yarrow."
Sam Yarrow looked up, unable to mask his surprise. "Yes, sir."
"You told me your division's qualification records were being maintained by Chief Herzog."
"That's right, sir."
"Chief Herzog says you transferred those records from him two months ago for your review and he's been locked out of them since. Is that correct?"
Yarrow's face supplied the answer. Paul did his best not to let his own satisfaction show. Forgot you'd done that, eh, Sam? And from what I hear of the way you treat Chief Herzog, I hope you weren't expecting him to help cover your butt. He probably loved the chance to drop a ton of bricks on you.
Garcia's face darkened. "Is that correct?" he repeated.
"Uh, I, uh, think so, sir. I'll have to-"
"Get those records back to your chief so he can update them. I want them fixed immediately. Is that clear?" Commander Garcia focused back on Paul. "Why are you still here?"
"I… was just ensuring you were finished with me, sir."
"Find Tweed!" With that parting admonition, Garcia whipped his head out of the stateroom.
Paul closed out his work, making sure the personal encryption was active. He didn't think Yarrow would try to spy on him, but he also didn't put it past the other ensign. I think I'll run down Chief Imari, first. She might have some good ideas where Tweed's latest hiding places are. He swung out of the ensign locker without a backwards glance at Yarrow.
Jan Tweed looked more haggard than usual on their next watch. "You okay?" Paul asked.
"I'll survive. It wasn't any fun having Garcia go through those qualification records."
"I was there, too, remember? At one point, I thought I'd start bouncing off the bulkheads if Garcia said 'I don't care if that entry isn't supposed to be filled in, do it anyway' one more time."
Jan managed a weak smile. "Paul, I've got about three months left on this tub before I transfer to shore duty. I had this weird idea those three months might not be too bad."
And you're running out of hiding places on the ship that Garcia, Imari or I don't know about. But Paul nodded in real sympathy. Despite the aggravation Tweed's avoidance behavior caused him, he'd grown to like her somewhat. He was still in awe of her ability to maneuver the ship by feel, and it was easy to empathize with the reasons she chose to hide. And once Tweed transfers off, Garcia won't be able to ask me That Question anymore.
A brief chirp from the watch panel announced the arrival of a high priority message. Tweed visibly braced herself before calling it up, then read the message with a bleak expression. "The admiral's appointed an investigating officer to look into our encounter with the SASAL ship."
"That's no surprise. Why'd they tell us with a high priority message?"
"Because that officer is apparently hitting the deck running. We've got orders here to collect and forward statements from all officers onboard."
"We knew that was probably coming, too." Paul craned his neck to look at the message. "Wow. They want them back at Franklin within twenty-four hours of when this message was sent?"
"Like I said, our investigator is hitting the ground running." Tweed glanced at Paul. "Is your statement done?"
"Yeah. Yours?"
"Sort of. I've been working on some of the wording. I guess I'll finally have to decide how to say things now, though."
"I got some good advice on that, if you don't mind me passing it on to you once we get off watch." He decided not to tell her that Sheriff Sharpe had been the source, just in case that might bias Tweed against the advice. She kept so much of herself internalized that there was still a great deal Paul didn't know about Tweed, and probably never would.
"Sure, why not?" Tweed keyed in commands routing the message to the captain and executive officer, then punched the send command.
"Maybe the department heads should see it, now, too," Paul suggested, "so they have a heads-up."
"Maybe. At the moment I don't feel too charitable toward department heads, so I guess I didn't think of that, and now they'll have to scramble a little. Too bad."
Paul fought down a smile. Superiors could always make the lives of their subordinates miserable, but every so often the subordinates found ways to balance the scales a little.
Naturally, everyone ended up scrambling to get the statements collected and put into message format within the time limit. Paul and Jan were still on watch when Commander Garcia came onto the bridge. "You two make sure your statements are done no later than sixteen hundred. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Paul answered for them both.
"You will transmit copies to both myself and the executive officer."
"Yes, si-Simultaneously, sir?"
"Isn't that what I said?"
The look on Garcia's face made it clear further questions would be a big mistake. "Yes, sir." Paul watched Garcia leave again, then looked at Tweed. "Jan, why are we sending these statements to both our department head and the XO at the same time?"
She smiled as if he'd told her a mildly amusing joke. "Why not?"
"Because we always do stuff like that by sending our input to the department head, who reviews it and makes sure he has everyone's input before forwarding it to the XO."
"So this time the XO wants the department heads to know everyone in their divisions has provided input, but doesn't want the department heads to review those inputs before they go to the XO. Maybe she figures some of those department heads might try to change some of those inputs, given the chance."
"Oh." What was it Jen told me-something about Herdez's loyalty being to the Navy as an institution. The department heads, some of them anyway, are going to be looking
out for their own welfare. But not Herdez. She's looking out for the Navy. I wonder how Wakeman will take that? Unless Herdez thinks defending Wakeman's actions is the same as sticking up for the Navy. I wonder what's going on in the XO's mind? Not long ago I was thinking I'd never know a lot about what went on inside Jan Tweed, but compared to Herdez, Tweed is transparent.
Tweed smiled wryly at Paul. "I guess a lot of people are going to have trouble figuring out what to be thankful for tomorrow, huh?"
"Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?"
"Fourth Thursday of November. Also known as Thanksgiving. Remember?"
"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving?" Paul shook his head. "I don't believe it. You don't expect something like that to sneak up on you."
"We've been busy."
"I know. Like you said, there's not all that much to be thankful for right now, is there? Except for the fact that we're not Wakeman."
"Good point, but I've always been grateful for that."
Paul spent the afternoon reviewing his statement for completeness, fighting down repeated urges to add anything other than the bare facts to the narrative, then sent it to Commander Garcia, reveling in the knowledge that his department head wouldn't have any chance to demand that Paul make meaningless changes like altering every appearance of the word happy to the word glad. "Hey, Sam, you hear anything about holiday routine tomorrow?"
Yarrow, laboring over his own statement, which appeared to be much longer than Paul's, looked up with unconcealed annoyance. "No. Don't hold your breath waiting for it."
"But tomorrow's Thanksgiving."
"It's also an underway day." Yarrow bent back to his work, ostentatiously ignoring Paul.
Paul made a rude gesture, unseen by his fellow ensign, then left in search of better company. He found Jen Shen sitting in the wardroom, her face uncharacteristically bleak. "Hey, Jen. What's up?"
"Did you hear about Kris?"
Paul, jerked out of his absorption in the upcoming holiday by the question, looked at her in alarm. "No. What?"
"She's in sickbay."
"What happened? An accident?"
"Not exactly. More like a train wreck we've all seen coming." Jen closed her eyes. "This morning Kris started acting strange. Saying things that didn't make sense, starting to do something and then stopping, that kind of thing. This isn't for general dissemination, but the doc diagnosed Kris as suffering from exhaustion."
"Oh, man. She's in sickbay? Can I… I mean, are visitors okay?"
"No. The doc's got her sedated. I gather he's going to keep her out for about thirty-six hours to let her body catch up with her brain. Then another twelve hours bed rest to evaluate her condition, and if everything seems to be clicking right at that point they'll certify her fit for duty again."
"What about the XO? What'd she do?"
Jen smiled bitterly. "Herdez has pulled two of Kris' collateral duties and reassigned them to other junior officers. You're looking at one of them. I think Carl got the other. Feel free to look relieved you didn't get picked. I would in your place. I guess Herdez wanted to see how far Kris could run before she hit the wall. Maybe that's being cynical, though. Herdez might not have realized Kris couldn't handle it indefinitely."
Paul nodded. "Yeah. Maybe it was a miscalculation. The XO's human, too."
"Sometimes I wonder about that."
"Geez, Jen. I'm sorry."
"It didn't happen to me, Paul. Not yet." She looked away. "You've taken materials courses. You know how they figure out how much pressure something will take. They just keep adding on, a little at a time, and eventually whatever is being stressed cracks or shatters or whatever. The Navy does the same thing to us. Maybe now that Kris has hit the limit they'll want to see how much I can take. Or you."
"No, Jen." Paul sat near her. "Kris wouldn't say no. She just kept pushing herself. But you're smart enough to know when it's getting to you."
"Since when do you know so much about me?"
"I… sorry. I guess I don't."
Jen unbent slightly at the look on Paul's face. "Hey. I know you were just trying to cheer me up. I didn't mean to bite your head off."
"That's okay. I understand. Really."
"No, you don't. You won't understand until you see that wall looming in front of you and you have no idea if you can put the brakes on yourself in time, or if the command structure will even let you put the brakes on. But that's okay. I'll still give you points for meaning well."
"There's nothing we can do for Kris?"
"Only one thing, if I know Kris. If she gets cleared by the doc, don't let on you know anything happened to her. Non-event. Cleared from memory. Deal?"
"Deal." Thanksgiving, huh? I wonder what I'm going to be thankful for tomorrow? Right now there's not a lot on the list.
Paul's dark reverie was interrupted as Commander Sykes swung into the wardroom, expertly propelling himself with a minimum of effort to his favored chair, into which he slid with a sigh of satisfaction. "Ensign Shen. I was hoping to encounter you."
Jen nodded wearily. "You found me. What do you need?"
"This isn't a work request, Ms. Shen. I've just come from sickbay, where I had a pleasant conversation with the ship's doctor regarding your roommate, Ensign Denaldo."
"What? The doc wouldn't tell me much of anything. Why'd he talk to you?"
Sykes smiled. "Professional courtesy. Limited duty officers such as the doctor and myself must stand together against the disdain of line officers. In any event, I wanted to tell you that, after running such tests as he can onboard, it is the doctor's firm opinion that Ms. Denaldo is suffering only from physical exhaustion, with no underlying conditions, and once she has rested she will be, as the old chestnut goes, good as new."
Jen actually smiled, her relief plain. "That's wonderful. Thanks, Suppo."
Sykes waved his hand dismissively. "No thanks required. All in the line of duty. Hah. You heard that? I got to use the words line and duty while describing my work. Not bad for a supply officer." He eyed Jen as she failed to respond to the joke. "You don't seem as happy at the news as I expected. Are you concerned about yourself?"
"No, Suppo. I'm just a little tired."
Paul tried to keep from frowning at Jen's denial. It was her business whether she wanted to discuss her fears with Sykes, and he certainly didn't have the right to contradict Jen if she didn't feel like talking.
Judging from Sykes' expression, though, he didn't believe Jen anyway. "Young Ms. Shen, it isn't respectful to mislead your elders. You are concerned about yourself in the wake of Ms. Denaldo's misfortune, aren't you? Don't look so guilty. You have every right to be concerned. It's not as if you weren't thinking of Ensign Denaldo's well-being first."
Jen shook her head. "Suppo, you wouldn't understand."
"Because I don't work at least twenty-five hours a day like you line officer types? I'm wounded, Ms. Shen. At the very least, you should credit me with being a keen observer of the human condition."
Jen didn't rise to Sykes' last statement, so Paul intervened. "What do you think, Suppo?" Jen shot him an annoyed glance but didn't shut off the conversation.
Sykes rubbed his chin. "About what happened to Ensign Denaldo? It's a more common affliction than it should be. You line officers have to think of yourselves as runners. Yes, I said runners, and I don't just mean in the literal sense of dashing to and fro with your pants on fire trying to deal with the latest crisis, real or imagined. Your work requires you to be marathoners, maintaining a punishing pace for long periods. You have to keep running, but the goal is to reach the finish line without dropping out of the race." Jen was eyeing Sykes now, her face intent as the supply officer continued. "Sometimes, naturally, you have to sprint. A real crisis that involves a threat to human life or something like that. There's no helping pushing yourself too hard for a while under those circumstances. But you have to ease up when you can. Sometimes, all other factors permitting, you might even slack off to a walking pace." Sykes cast a quizzical glance at Pa
ul and Jen. "You line officers do slow down to a walk every once in a rare while, right? In any event, I hope you see why I use the analogy. You have to pace yourself over time so you can keep going. It's all much harder to do in practice than in theory, of course, but the alternative is at some point failing to be able to do your job at all. I don't know about you, but the idea of exhausted, totally strung-out officers making life-and-death decisions about matters in which I am involved does not give me a warm and fuzzy feeling."
Jen shook her head again. "Suppo, that's easy to say, but with my department head and the XO riding me, where's the time for easing up? What do you think would happen if I said, 'Sorry, can't do this, I'm taking a break?'"
Sykes shrugged. "And, as is well-known, junior officers are always one hundred percent candid with their superiors. I can't tell you how to find the time, Jen, because I'm not running every second of your life. Neither is your department head, though I'm certain it seems like he's attempting to do just that at times."
"And if he isn't, then the XO is. How do I catch a breath when Commander Herdez is looking for the smallest sign I'm underemployed?"
"You think Commander Herdez would begrudge you some downtime?"
"I know she would!"
"Ah. Have you perhaps noticed that no critical engineering activity is routinely scheduled for Sunday mornings on this ship?"
Jen frowned, nodded with visible reluctance, then noticed Paul's questioning look. "Regulations say you're not supposed to schedule any work activity for Sunday mornings," she explained. "Day of rest, or at least morning of rest. But the regulations say that if something critical needs to be done in engineering, of course that can take place. So just about every ship always schedules critical engineering work for Sunday mornings, because they can." She gazed back at Sykes. "But, no, this ship doesn't. Are you trying to say that's the XO's policy?"
"Who else could cause it to happen, young lady? The ship's executive officer is in charge of scheduling events."
Jen gave Paul a puzzled look before focusing back on Commander Sykes. "Then… I guess Commander Herdez must be responsible. I never thought about that. Why'd she do that?"
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