my part. But I think it's going to take a while to work through me. You know?'
'I think so. Don't forget Jen's offered her shoulder if you need it.'
'Now that's an attractive offer. Me leaning on Jen's shoulder. What do you think Smilin' Sam would do if he came in here and found me draped over Jen?'
Paul smiled at the vision. 'His brain would probably explode.'
Carl grinned as well, a trace of his old humor finally surfacing. 'That might be worth what Herdez would do to me afterwards. But, no, better not. I might like it too much.'
'Watching Sam's brain explode?'
'No. Being draped over Jen.' Carl raised his eyebrows at Paul's expression. 'What? You've never thought about it?'
'I don't… I mean… I try not to…'
'They can't nail you for thinking, Paul. Not yet, anyway. Just don't tell Jen.'
'There's nothing to tell Jen!'
'Oh, come on. How about Kris?'
'No!'
'Ah hah. Lieutenant Sindh? Lieutenant Tweed?'
'Carl, you-' Paul stopped, staring at Meadows. 'You're riding me for fun. You're joking. You do feel better.'
'Yeah. I do. Thanks for cluing me in on that report. It takes a real weight off me to know I didn't cause it, and apparently couldn't have prevented it. I imagine I'll spend the rest of my life wishing there'd been something I could have done anyway, but now I know that's just wishful thinking. Between you looking out for me on the investigation and the babes mothering me, I've been well taken care of. You're all good people.'
'So are you, Carl.'
Paul made his way back to the XO's stateroom and offered her the data cartridge. 'As near as I can determine, ma'am, Commander Garcia's investigation complies with all the requirements of the Judge Advocate General's Manual.'
'Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.' Commander Herdez took the offered cartridge, then looked sharply at Paul. 'You seem to be happy, Mr. Sinclair.'
Uh oh. I let my good mood at how Carl felt show. But I wasn't supposed to tell him. Better be careful what I say. 'Yes, ma'am. I'm, um, happy at Commander Garcia's conclusions.'
'Did you think Lieutenant Junior Grade Meadows would be found at fault?'
'No, ma'am. But… I did fear that might happen.'
Herdez turned back to her work. 'Reserve your fears for events whose outcomes you can influence, Mr. Sinclair. Had Mr. Meadows failed in his duties, our duty would have been to call him to account. I will agree that would have compounded the tragedy of Petty Officer Davidas' loss, but it would have been necessary. To do otherwise would have betrayed Petty Officer Davidas' sacrifice.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.'
Paul left, pondering the XO's words. Duty means we do stuff we may hate doing. I've always known that in the abstract, but this would have been very real and very personal. Suppose Carl had been at fault? Would I have been willing to pursue that? Or would I have taken the easy way out and tried to cover up that fault? I'm glad I didn't have to find out.
He went back to the stateroom, finding Carl had left, and laid down for a few moments, gazing at the tangle of conduits and wires not far from his nose whose patterns were becoming so familiar he had started to name the shapes he could imagine within them. Despite everything else his mind could fasten on, Paul found himself unable to shake Carl's earlier ribbing about Jen Shen. Why'd it bother me when Carl joked about making out with Jen? Get a grip. Jen's never shown that kind of interest in me, and was the first person to warn me against onboard relationships. Yeah, I like her, but that's not the same thing as imagining some sort of involvement, and she's never shown any sign of doing more than liking me. Jen'd probably say I was an idiot if she knew I was even spending this much time thinking about it. Then she'd keep me at arm's length for the rest of her time on board. Life's hard enough right now. Don't drive away one of the people who's making it bearable by giving in to ridiculous fantasies. He rolled out of his bunk, strapped into his chair, and began going over his OSWO qualifications. The drudgery of that should keep him focused on reality.
Within a few hours, Captain Wakeman approved Commander Garcia's investigation and forwarded it to fleet staff. Under normal circumstances, the Michaelson wasn't supposed to send even the brief transmission needed to shoot a compressed file of the report back to Franklin Station, because even that short transmission surely betrayed her general location to anyone watching carefully. But the death of a sailor wasn't normal circumstances.
A few days passed, then the reply came. Investigation results approved by Commander, United States Naval Space Forces. Recommendations forwarded to appropriate authorities for action. Instructions for the disposition of the remains of Petty Officer Davidas.
Paul checked his appearance carefully. Service Dress uniforms designed to hang naturally in gravity tended to get bunched up and absurd-looking in zero g, and this was one occasion where he wanted to ensure he looked as good as possible. Fortunately, before leaving Earth he'd been advised to attach Velcro liberally beneath the uniform blouse and trousers. The black armband around one sleeve of his uniform blouse, just snug enough to stay in place and weighing almost nothing, felt unnaturally heavy and tight.
'Do I look okay?' Carl Meadows appeared pale against the Navy blue of his uniform, his relief at the results of the investigation overshadowed at the moment by the ceremony they were about to attend.
'Yeah, Carl, you look good. Ready?'
'Yeah. This doesn't seem right without swords.'
'I know.' On Earth, such a solemn occasion would require full dress uniforms with swords, their gilt pommels swathed in black. But even the tradition-obsessed Navy wouldn't allow officers to bring swords into space. Too much extraneous mass to haul around, and too many sharp points capable of causing damage to delicate components packed inside spacecraft hulls.
The quarterdeck area never felt large. With the burial party assembled in it, and with everyone trying to leave at least a small gap between themselves and the body tube holding the remains of Petty Officer Davidas, it felt tight enough to induce claustrophobia. Paul squeezed in next to Kris Denaldo, who smiled briefly in wordless greeting before turning a somber gaze back on the body tube. Carl moved farther forward, close to the body tube, where he joined the enlisted members of the burial party.
'Attention on deck.' Everyone stiffened to the best of their ability as Captain Wakeman and Commander Herdez wedged themselves into the crowd. Wakeman, looking decidedly uncomfortable, muttered 'at ease' and gestured toward Herdez.
The XO cleared her throat. 'We are here to commit the mortal remains of Petty Officer Michael Davidas to the depths of space. His family has indicated their desire that he be cremated within the Sun's own fires. Upon completion of this service, his body tube will be fired on a trajectory which will, in the course of time, bring it to that end.' She consulted her data link, then began reciting the Burial Service. As the words came out, Herdez' voice softened and took on a lilting cadence, drawing surprised glances from most of the officers and enlisted present. Ending, Herdez put away her data link. 'Now, I invite you to join me in the Navy Hymn.' She began singing, also softly, as the others on the quarterdeck joined in raggedly.
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
Eternal Father, King of birth,
Who didst create the heaven and earth,
