A Just Determination (20 page)

"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 Paul 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?"

Sykes raised both eyebrows at the question. "We were just discussing rest, I believe. What do you do on Sunday mornings? When you're not standing a watch, that is."

"I usually try to catch up on some work . . ." Jen's voice trailed off. "I should be resting?"

"An alien concept to the minds of ship drivers, isn't it? Ponder it long enough, and perhaps the idea will take root. It is officially endorsed, you know. The Navy has provided you with a bed on this ship. You should make use of it every once in a while." Sykes paused, frowning at the two ensigns. "Naturally, I mean individual use. I wouldn't want to be accused of urging two impressionable youngsters down the path to unauthorized social interactions."

Paul covered his face with one hand to cover up his embarrassed reaction to Sykes' joke, while Jen looked pained. "Suppo, I hope no one's trying to spread rumors."

"If they are, I haven't heard of them. But one never knows. I'm simply trying to be prudent." Sykes sighed theatrically. "Young people these days. Meeting, getting married, having children. Nothing at all like when I was young."

The absurdity of the statement, paired with Sykes' tone of apparently sincere nostalgic regret, finally forced another smile out of Jen. "Suppo, just how long ago were you young?"

"It's been a while. Back then you could walk from South America to Africa. Oh, occasionally the land-bridge would flood at high tide, but that just added to the excitement of the outing. The continents have drifted much farther apart now, of course, so that little walk is gone the way of the wholly mammoth. Speaking of which, did I ever tell you about my childhood pet? We called him Harry. Sort of a pun, you see."

Jen laughed this time. "Please. No more. Thank you for the advice, Commander. Next time my department head finds me snoozing away, I'll send him to talk to you."

"My office is always open," Sykes assured her, waving his hand around the wardroom as if staking claim to the entire compartment. "Though tomorrow it will be dedicated to Thanksgiving dinner. See the decorations?"

Paul looked around curiously. "No, sir."

"Of course not. They're virtual decorations. When the display projector works. Which, at the moment, it does not."

Jen grinned. "And it's not going to be working soon. We're remanufacturing the control box to try to fix it. Maybe it'll be done in a few weeks."

"Take your time, Ensign Shen." This time Sykes shook his head. "The officially-approved, nondenominational, interfaith decorations, guaranteed inoffensive to any human regardless of personal mindset, are truly horrible in their bland mediocrity. You may take a moment to give thanks tomorrow that the projector remains broken."