Tweed and Paul, absorbed in watching the outside situation, jerked in surprise at the bosun's announcement. Tweed turned to the captain, licked her lips, then began a situation summary. 'Captain, we are-'
Wakeman silenced her with a look and a gesture, belting himself into his chair with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner fastening the restraints on an electric chair. He sat silent, apparently staring at the main display, but with his eyes unfocused.
'Lieutenant Tweed.' Jan spun around as Commander Herdez entered the bridge and made her way to her own chair. 'Have all departments reported readiness for entering port?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'How long until we tie-up?'
'Thirty-five minutes to berth contact, ma'am, according to Franklin's piloting system.'
Paul felt himself hunching down and made an effort to sit normally, sparing a sympathetic glance toward Tweed, who was sweating more heavily now. Wakeman's sitting over there like an unstable explosive. No telling what might make him blow up at us. And now Herdez is here watching us, too, like she knows Wakeman might not spot any screw-ups, or might order something stupid this close in to Franklin. I have a feeling this is going to be the longest thirty-five minutes of my life.
Exactly thirty four minutes and twenty seconds later, the Michaelson 's lines were shot out to waiting grapples as the ship came to a dead stop relative to Franklin. The grapples locked on, merging the Michaelson 's mass to that of the station. The feeling of a steady one gravity's worth of acceleration settled on the ship as it joined with the station's rotation. Tweed signaled to the bosun, who shrilled his pipe before making the age-old announcement. 'Moored. Shift colors.'
Wakeman pulled himself out of his chair and out the hatch so quickly that the bosun barely had time to call out. 'Captain's left the bridge.'
Herdez unstrapped herself, nodding to Tweed and Paul. 'Good job. Notify me when you stand-down the bridge watch.'
'Aye, aye, ma'am.' Tweed watched her leave, then slumped back, breathing heavily. 'God. Last time. I hope.'
Paul noticed her hand was shaking. 'I don't understand, Jan. I know it wasn't fun having Wakeman and the XO up here, but you handled the ship great out in open space. Why do ops near Franklin freak you out?'
'Look at the display! How many ways can you screw up here? I can't even count them. No. I hate this part. I like driving the ship out where it's free and clear, but not in traffic like this. Last time, Paul. I'll never have to do this again.' She saddened abruptly. 'I'll never get to maneuver her out in the big empty again, either. I'll miss that.'
'I understand.' Like so much else about Jan Tweed, her fears were easy enough to comprehend, even if they served mainly as a cautionary example for Paul. 'Looks like the quarterdeck is sealing to Franklin.'
'Good. When that's done, we're out of here.' She triggered an internal communications circuit. 'Quarterdeck, this is the bridge. Who's got the watch down there?'
'Ensign Denaldo. Seals are checked and cleared. Internal and external pressure readings are equalized. Request permission to pop the hatch.' Since her rest in sickbay, Kris had apparently been none the worse for wear and had returned to full duty almost immediately. The only lingering effect had been a slightly slower working pace, interspersed with occasional down time. Kris had told Paul during one such period that Herdez had 'strongly suggested' she relax once in a while. Officially, the exhaustion incident had apparently never happened, though Paul suspected Kris was on probation against over-working herself again.
Tweed checked her own read-outs before replying. 'Permission granted.'
'Seals released. Hatch opening.' A pause while hydraulics moved tons of material in the hatch ponderously out of the way. 'Hatch open and secured. Assuming the watch.'
'Understood. Bridge watch standing down.'
'No brass band.'
Paul winced at Kris' last observation. Normally, a ship returning from months in space would have a joyful reception awaiting. A band, any family members and friends of the crew who could manage to be there, and assorted high-ranking officers from the staff on Franklin. But not this time. Paul called up a picture from the quarterdeck camera. No band and no brass of any kind. No well wishers, either, which would have required active discouragement of their presence by the command on Franklin. A lone captain stood there, with a single enlisted assistant. Paul zoomed in on the image, close enough to see the insignia which revealed the captain was a Judge Advocate General's officer. A JAG. The only one to greet us back is a lawyer. No one else wants to be seen welcoming us, or was allowed to be seen welcoming us. That pretty much settles it. They're going to try to hang Wakeman. And maybe some of the rest of us as well.
Chapter Eight
Paul tried to maintain his composure as he waited outside the wardroom. The JAG captain hadn't wasted any time in getting her investigation rolling. He knew she'd already talked to Captain Wakeman, Commander Herdez and all the department heads. Now the JAG had reached far enough down the food chain to snare Ensign Paul Sinclair.
Tweed left the wardroom, her shoulders hunched in a defensive slump, nodded briefly to Paul as she waved him in, then headed off on some unknown errand. Paul exhaled slowly to relax himself, then entered. The JAG, seated at the wardroom table, glanced up at his entry. 'Ensign Sinclair?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Have a seat.' Paul took the indicated chair, on the other side of the table from the Navy lawyer, then waited with fraying nerves while she finished entering something into her data link. 'Alright, then.' The JAG favored him with a brief smile. 'Ensign Sinclair. Ship's legal officer. Correct?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'You'll need to sign this.' The data link displayed a standard form for attesting to sworn testimony. 'It requires you to swear to the truth of your statement.'
Paul signed. Command level investigations didn't require witnesses to be sworn. JAG level investigations did. It was just one more sign of how seriously the incident with the SASAL ship was being treated.
The JAG checked the signature, downloaded the form to her files, then faced Paul again. 'Mr. Sinclair, I'll tell you frankly that your statement was a pleasure to read. Concise and to the point.'
'Thank you, ma'am.'
'Is there anything in that statement you wish to change?'
Paul looked away for a moment, concentrating. 'No. No, ma'am.'
'I want to be certain of one thing. Your statement indicates that prior to firing a shot across the bow of the SASAL ship, Captain Wakeman asked you for your opinion on whether his orders authorized such an action.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'And you told him that, in your interpretation, they did.'
'Y-yes, ma'am.'
'Did Captain Wakeman ask you any other questions subsequent to that?'
'You mean while we were all still on the bridge? No, ma'am.'
'Prior to actually firing on the SASAL ship, did he again ask you if you believed his orders authorized such an action?'
'No, ma'am.'
'You're certain?'
'Absolutely.'
The JAG smiled slightly, her lips pressed tightly together. 'Thank you, Ensign Sinclair. Have you discussed your statement with anyone else on the ship in anything but general terms?'
'Well, yes, ma'am.'
'And who was that?'
