night?'
Paul closed his eyes again even as he answered. 'I did.' The midwatch ran from midnight to 0400 in the morning, leaving little room for sleep on either side of it. Paul had spent most of the watch trying to stay awake, a task made slightly easier by the need to keep from dropping the long glass, the telescope which had to be carried by the officer of the deck.
'Did any contractors come on board?'
'Uh, no. A couple left, but no new ones came on.'
'Damn! They don't give us enough technicians because they claim outside contractors can do the work, then they don't give us contractors! Damn!' The hatch swung open, then slammed shut as Ensign Sam Yarrow stormed out. Paul looked blankly at the closed hatch, trying to remember Yarrow's face. They'd crossed paths repeatedly in the last couple of days, but only for moments at a time, and every event somehow merged into the haze of too much happening too fast. He still didn't have any real personal impression of the fellow ensign he'd been warned against.
A heavy double-rap sounded, then the hatch swung open again and Commander Garcia stuck his head inside. 'Sinclair!'
Paul hastily rolled out of his bunk, barely avoiding whacking his head on a support bracket, and stood facing his department head, still blinking against the light and hoping his guilt at being caught in his bunk didn't show. 'Sir.'
'Where's Tweed?'
'Lieutenant Tweed? I… I don't know, sir.' And how the hell am I supposed to know right now? It's not like I'm sleeping with her. And if I was, I'd really be in trouble.
'Find her! Find her and then the two of you find me! Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
The hatch crashed shut, leaving the stateroom dim once more. Carl Meadows yawned. 'Have a nice day, sir,' he advised the hatch, then rolled out of his own bunk. 'Hey, Paul. Welcome aboard.'
'You already told me that, uh…' When? Had it only been the day before yesterday?
'Two days ago. Time flies when you're having fun.'
'In that case, time must be approaching light speed right now.'
'Yeah.' Carl yawned again, scratched himself, then checked his scheduler. 'Don't worry, though. It gets worse.'
Paul sighed, then hurriedly dressed and shaved before heading out in search of Lieutenant Tweed. Several minutes into his search, he came face to face with Master-at-Arms Sharpe. 'Good morning, Mr. Sinclair,' the Sheriff announced cheerfully.
'If you say so.'
'Don't forget, sir. XO's screening at ten hundred.'
'Uh…' How can I forget something I didn't know? I've got to remember to read the plan of the day as soon as I get up. 'Ten hundred?'
'Right.' Sheriff Sharpe smiled. 'That's ten A.M., sir.'
Paul couldn't help smiling back at the audacity of the statement. 'I know that. They did teach me to tell military time.'
'Can't take anything for granted with a new ensign, sir. See you at the XO's stateroom at ten hundred.'
'Sure. Say, have you seen Lieutenant Tweed anywhere?'
Sharpe paused, then used his thumb to point forward. 'She might be in the classified materials vault.'
'She might be, huh? Thanks, Sheriff.' Paul hurried along, vaguely recalling that the 'vault' containing the most sensitive classified material on the ship was located next to the ship's Combat Information Center. After asking a passing sailor for directions, he found the door and rapped softly. Getting no response, he rapped again, harder.
'Wait.' The lock on the hatch cycled open, then a lieutenant with a slim face and a guarded expression gazed out. 'Oh. Paul, right? Whatever it is will have to wait. I'm doing an inventory.'
Paul nodded in apparent agreement, even though he could see Tweed blinking sleep from her eyes. 'Commander Garcia said he needed to see us both. At once.'
'He did?' Tweed looked around as if seeking an escape route, then shrugged. 'Okay. Let's go.'
Garcia's temper didn't seem to have improved in the brief period since Paul had last seen him. Their Department head glared at Paul and Lieutenant Tweed, then shoved a portable reader at them. 'Where's the pre- ex for the simulated tracking drill this morning?'
Paul stared at the reader while dread grew in him. A pre-exercise message laid out coordination procedures for drills involving more than one ship. Most of the information was canned, Paul already knew, and simply had to be spelled out again, but every exercise required a pre-ex message to every unit involved. 'I… I…' Lieutenant Tweed was frowning in thought, then looking sidelong at Paul with a worried expression. She told me to take care of it. I remember now. Oh, geez. Commander Garcia's eyes were fixed on him, hard and angry. Paul swallowed, then spoke in a voice he knew sounded thin. 'I was supposed to take care of it, sir.'
'You were supposed to take care of it. Why didn't you?'
'I intended doing it today, sir-'
'The exercise is today! Didn't you review the exercise material as soon as you got told to take care of the pre-ex?'
'No, sir. I… didn't.'
Garcia's face reddened. Paul's department head looked as if he were barely restraining himself, then shook his head like an angry bull. 'You'd better not screw up like this again, Sinclair. Now, I personally will have to coordinate all this on the fly. Do you think I'm happy about that, Sinclair?'
'No, sir.'
'Were you planning on leaving the ship this evening, Sinclair?'
Michaelson was due to get underway in the morning. Paul had already been invited out to a bar crawl with the other junior officers, but now he shook his head, knowing what his answer had to be. 'No, sir.'
'Good. At least you got that right.' Garcia stomped away, leaving Paul and Jan Tweed alone.
Lieutenant Tweed tried to smile sympathetically. 'It happens to everybody.'
Paul held back a bitter reply, angry with her for not warning him the message had been a short fuse item, but also knowing it had been his own fault he hadn't checked on it before postponing action. And at least she didn't blame me for it right off. I guess Carl was right. You can't count on her, but Tweed won't mess me over deliberately. 'Yeah. First time for everything. I'm sure it won't be the last. Should I try to help the commander with fixing this up?'
'Uh-uh. Bad idea. Garcia will cool down while he works, unless you're there to remind him you screwed up.' Tweed checked her watch and smiled briefly again. 'Hey. Breakfast time. Coming?'
'No, thanks. I'm not too hungry right now.'
'Suit yourself.'
Paul wandered down the passageway, his eyes fixed on the deck, feeling angry at his own failure but still resentful of Commander Garcia. It's my fault, but it's also not like that guy is providing any real guidance or support for me. What's that they say about officers on ships? They eat their young. I guess that's true.
A body blocked his progress, causing Paul to look up into the sympathetic face of Ensign Sam Yarrow. 'Hey, Paul, I heard Garcia did a number on you.'
'Yeah.'
'Too bad.' Yarrow placed a friendly hand on Paul's shoulder. 'Garcia's a real hard-ass, isn't he?'
'Sure seems to be.'
'He riding you hard?'
'Real hard.'
'Damn shame. I bet you didn't deserve getting chewed out, did you?'
'Well, uh…' Paul let his words trail off, suddenly wary of Yarrow's apparent concern. 'I don't know. I made a mistake.'
'A big mistake or a little one? You've got to have a chance to learn. Right?'
'Uh, right. Look, I've got some other stuff to handle. See you later.'
