'How long?' Moraine raised her data pad as if that held the offending tracking software. 'How long until it's fixed?'
'We don't have an estimated time to repair, ma'am. The company says it can't provide one.'
'That's not acceptable! I don't want a major capability in my department to be in degraded status!'
'Ma'am, Ensign Taylor has helped us with some work-arounds and my people can identify problem detections-'
'I want it fixed right now, Mr. Sinclair!'
Paul tried to keep his face expressionless. I want another new department head right now. But neither one of us is going to get what we want, are we? Unfortunately, I appear to be the only one here who understands that. Since every attempt to explain reality had failed, he fell back on the only possible reply. 'Yes, ma'am.'
'Maybe I should take a look at it. Personally. Yes. Tell Taylor I want to see that software.'
'The… software?'
'Yes! The source-code! I've handled software acquisition and I'm sure I can evaluate the source-code for anything that looks odd.'
Oh, boy. I wonder how many millions of lines long that source-code is? I can just imagine Taylor's reaction when I tell her that Moraine wants to see it. 'Yes, ma'am.'
'Are the tracking consoles active? Can we go up to Combat right now? I want to personally look at this and find a fix.'
'I'm sorry, ma'am, but the consoles are down for system maintenance and upgrades. We can't even run any simulations,' Paul stated carefully, trying not to let his relief show at the fact that Moraine couldn't personally go up and try to do his sailors' jobs right now. 'It's in my division's status report,' he added with apparent helpfulness. Which means you'd know that if you weren't so focused on details that the big picture is lost to you.
'Combat doesn't seem very capable, Mr. Sinclair. Perhaps you haven't been focusing enough on your primary duty.'
Uh oh. Here it comes.
'You've been off the ship several times in the last couple of days supposedly dealing with legal issues. That's unacceptable.'
Paul knew he'd never win this battle. He'd never won it with Garcia, and Moraine obviously wasn't any more inclined to be reasonable. But, still… 'Ma'am, I've only left the ship twice in the last two days to deal with ship's legal officer responsibilities.'
Moraine didn't seem mollified. 'That's not what I recall. You haven't been around when I needed to contact you regarding your primary duty as Combat Information Center Officer! One time I couldn't even contact your data pad! Was it off in violation of regulations?'
Paul hoped his reaction didn't show on his face. She must've tried to contact me while I was in that NCIS isolation room. How do I explain that? 'It was not off, ma'am. I haven't turned off my data pad.' No lie, there. But how do I explain why she couldn't contact me? 'Some of the rooms down in the staff sections of the station are sealed against transmissions. It could be one of them blocked my signal temporarily.' Could be, hell. I was inside one of them. How many lies am I going to have to tell to get through this assignment?
Moraine glared at him, then looked down at her data pad again, apparently seeking some new item on which to grill Paul. Given the break, Paul decided to go on the offensive. 'Ma'am, we do need your sworn statement regarding the engagement at the asteroid.'
Her head jerked up. 'We? Who's been asking?'
'The XO asked me the status of that this afternoon, ma'am.'
'I wasn't even the department head then! Why do they need my input, anyway?' Moraine grumbled. 'All right. The sooner I can put that incident behind me, the better.'
Perhaps that finally offered an opening for Paul. 'A lot of things went wrong, ma'am.' Maybe Moraine would express some opinions that he could guide toward seeing if any motivation existed to commit espionage.
But his department head just glared at him again. 'Nothing I had anything to do with! I wasn't yet in the chain of command! Nobody had better try to claim I was, because I have documentation proving when I took over responsibility for this department and it was after we got back here. Nothing like that will happen now that I'm in charge. Whatever situation we confront, we will handle it perfectly because our equipment will be working perfectly and our enlisted personnel will perform perfectly. That's our only goal and I will accept nothing less.'
Paul, at a loss for words, could only nod. I wonder how screwed up a department can get while its boss insists on perfection in everything?
Grumbling to herself about the statement, Moraine dismissed Paul. He left with a real sense of relief that outweighed disappointment at his failure to get Moraine to talk about any of the things the NCIS had been interested in.
Paul walked down the passageway, fighting a growing feeling of frustration and deflation as his relief faded. Talking to Moraine didn't get me anything. All I ended up with is that stupid demand of hers for the source-code on the tracking software. What's wrong with her? There's no way she should be looking at that.
Paul stopped moving so abruptly that a sailor coming along behind bumped into him. The sailor gave Paul an aggravated look as Paul moved to the side of the passageway to let the other past. Paul wasn't paying attention, though. He was considering the realization that had just come to him. Moraine's job doesn't require her to look at sensitive source-code, has nothing to do with looking at source-code for software, but she insists on seeing it. Which is exactly one of the things that the NCIS agents told me to watch for.
Not that he could do anything about it right now. He couldn't leave the ship again today, and in any event Connally wouldn't see him until tomorrow.
The day finally wound down, the senior officers leaving to spend some time ashore as evening officially came to Franklin and the lights dimmed in public areas all over the station. Now the entire ship, in one sense, belonged to Paul. As command duty officer he had responsibility for whatever happened onboard until his duty day ended tomorrow morning.
Despite his weariness, Paul walked, checking every compartment on the ship from bullnose to stern, looking for any sign of trouble or anything amiss. He paused, as he almost always did, outside of Forward Engineering. Chief Asher had died there, and the engineers on the ship insisted that his ghost still occupied the compartment, keeping an eye on things. One petty officer had told Paul of an incident where an accident had been forestalled when a broken switch miraculously functioned long enough to divert power. The rational part of Paul laid that incident at the feet of the transient malfunctions that plagued sophisticated electronics. But another part of him felt a sense of someone watching whenever he visited the compartment. Not that Asher should be mad at him, but Paul just wasn't too comfortable around ghosts.
Farther aft he passed the weapons bay where Petty Officer Davidas had died even longer ago. According to the crew, Davidas (like Asher) occasionally made his continued presence known. Paul stopped for a moment. How's it feel? he asked Davidas. So many of the crew you knew back then are gone. I understand that feeling. Part of a ship is the hardware. The ship herself. But the biggest part is the crew. What happens when the crew changes? Does the ship become a different ship?
I know I won't be able to visit again in years to come and feel that this ship is a familiar place. It's already full of people I hardly know, and in a few more years there'll be nobody left onboard who remembers me as anything other than a name on an old crew roster.
The next morning he handed off duty responsibilities to his relief and dove into work in an attempt to catch up and also forget his recent unconventional activities. As usual, he was interrupted by a page, this one on the ship's general announcing system. 'Lieutenant Sinclair, Lieutenant Pullman, your presence is requested in the wardroom.'
Grumbling, Paul hastened that way, keeping his eyes on the messages on his data pad as he entered the wardroom. Finally looking up, the first thing he noticed was Jen smiling at him. 'Jen? What're you doing here?' She gestured to one side. 'Captain?'
Hayes frowned with every appearance of displeasure, the frown also taking in Brad Pullman as he entered. 'Didn't I ask for Lieutenant Sinclair and Lieutenant Pullman to report here?'
Paul nodded, trying not to look confused.
'But you're both wearing lieutenant junior grade insignia.' Hayes consulted his own data pad. 'According to this promotion message, you two are wearing the wrong insignia. I won't have my officers walking around out of
