'Uh, not mine, exactly.' He could see Chief Cruz, the officer of the deck, giving him an approving thumbs-up and wink from behind Connally. Great. This'll be all over the mess decks by morning. 'It's great to see you again after all these years, Pam. Come on inside.'
She followed him through the hatch, bending more than she had to in order to clear the hatch edge, in the way people who weren't experienced with moving around ships always did. They walked down the passageway, exchanging idle, generic chatter about non-existent old times. 'Can I see your room?' Connally asked.
'My stateroom? Uh, sure.'
Connally went inside, making remarks about the small size of the compartment. 'They actually have four of you living in here?'
'Yeah.' Paul pointed to the four small desks. 'That's mine. That one belongs to a guy named Brad Pullman, this one is Randy Diego's and that's where Jack Abacha works.'
'And this one… Brad?' Pam pointed to that desk again. 'He's a lieutenant like you?'
'Right. Lieutenant junior grade. The other two are ensigns.'
'Wow.' Having discreetly confirmed that she knew exactly which terminal belonged to Pullman, Connally looked around the cramped compartment with a wondering expression as if she were touring the Sistine Chapel.
'Mr. Sinclair?'
Paul turned to see Ivan Sharpe. 'Yeah, Sheriff. What's up?'
'Something I needed to talk to you about, sir. Oh, you've got a guest. Sorry, ma'am, I need to talk to Mr. Sinclair privately for a moment.'
Connally looked disappointed. 'Do I need to leave already?'
Paul shook his head. 'No. This will only a few seconds. Right, Sheriff? Why don't you just stay inside while I shut the door and the master at arms and I talk out here? When we're done talking I'll open it up again.'
'That'd be great! Then I could really see how it feels to be in this small room.'
Paul closed the hatch, reflecting that he'd never thought of being in that small compartment as anything anyone would seek to experience.
Sharpe cleared his throat. 'Yada, yada, yada,' he murmured. 'She's not bad lookin', sir.'
'I hadn't noticed,' Paul replied in a similar low voice.
Ensign Hosta came by on the way to her stateroom, giving Paul and the shut door a curious look. 'The sheriff and I are talking about something my guest shouldn't hear,' Paul explained. Hosta nodded and went on, hopefully to spread the explanation for the shut door to anyone who might wonder.
'I do recognize her,' Sharpe continued in a near whisper after Hosta had gone out of earshot. 'Seen her a few times around the offices where she works. Good thing you clued me in she'd be here or I might've mentioned it to someone tomorrow.'
'But now you won't mention it to anyone.'
'I wouldn't dream of it, sir. Sure you can't tell me what's up?'
'No. Nothing's up, Sheriff.'
'Aye, aye, sir. I don't know nothin'.'
Connally rapped lightly on the hatch and Paul pulled it open. 'Thanks, Sheriff,' he said in a normal voice. 'Keep me informed.'
'Yes, sir.' Sharpe nodded companionably to Connally. 'Nice meeting you, ma'am.'
'Likewise,' Connally replied cheerfully as Sharpe left. 'Can I see more of the ship, Paul?'
'Sure.' They walked around a while, then back toward officers' country. As they were approaching Commander Moraine's stateroom, Paul checked his watch. 'How much longer can you stay?'
'Not long. I had something come up at work. I need to go there right after this. There isn't a private restroom I can use around here anywhere, is there?'
'There's one in this stateroom,' Paul advised, halting in front of Moraine's hatch. He knocked as if not knowing whether Moraine was onboard and in her stateroom, then opened the hatch. 'Senior officers get their own. Go ahead.'
'Thanks.' Connally went inside, shutting the hatch, while Paul waited. A few minutes later she emerged. 'I'm glad I got that done.'
They walked back toward the quarterdeck, while Connally invented an imaginary social event she'd attended with Paul and some equally imaginary mutual friends in their college days and chatted gaily about the details. 'I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer.'
'That's okay.' Paul realized close to an hour had passed since she'd come aboard. The cover activities had taken considerably more time than the actual installation of the taps. 'It was nice having you here.'
She waved as she walked off the brow. Chief Cruz waved back along with Paul. 'Your secret's safe with me, Lieutenant.'
'There's no secret to keep safe, Chief.'
'With a fine lady like that? There ought to be.'
Paul laughed and left the quarterdeck, knowing word would somehow filter back to Jen and hoping she'd understand that Paul's secret activities tonight had been professional, not personal.
Another day, another evening at Fogarty's. Paul wondered whether he was starting to become too much of a regular at the bar.
But it wasn't like he could pass up on coming tonight. Neither Kris Denaldo nor Mike Bristol had wanted to make a big deal of their farewells from the ship, but tradition had to be served. Jen sat quietly beside him as Paul raised his drink toward the pair. 'Fair winds, you guys.'
'I still can't believe I'm going to be feeling real wind again before long,' Bristol remarked. 'Should I send some up to you guys after I get back to Earth?'
'Nah. If you tried that the new suppo would probably reject it as nonstandard.'
Bristol looked pained at the reminder of the state into which the Michaelson 's supply department had fallen. 'I tried to give my relief a good turnover, but she's got to work with Smithe so there's only so much I could teach her. Smithe won't let us do a lot of the things Sykes did.'
Paul looked around, finally spotting Bristol's relief, a small-framed, quiet, brand-new ensign. Paul had been so busy he'd hardly met her since she'd come aboard. Now he noticed her sitting nervously as if expecting a team of inspectors from Naval Supply Command to burst through the door at any moment and demand to audit her books. 'I'll try to look out for her.' He felt that as a duty, in a way. The lieutenants onboard when brand-new ensign Paul Sinclair had reported in had helped him when they could, while still giving him enough slack to learn some painful but important lessons.
'Thanks. I know you won't have much time onboard with her yourself, but I'd hate to see her made into a whipping boy for Smithe's policies.'
Kris Denaldo had been staring into her drink. Now she looked up with a wistful expression. 'Young and innocent. We were like that once.'
'Life goes on,' Jen replied. 'Keep in touch, Kris.'
'I'll do my best. It's strange. You know what's really freaking me out? The next time the Merry Mike gets underway, I won't be on her. For the last three years, every time that ship left port, I was onboard. Next time, I won't. It feels wrong somehow.'
Jen grinned. 'Paul, if Kris tries to sneak back aboard the Michaelson after she's transferred so she can keep working, promise me you'll kick her back off.'
'Even if she's doing some of my work?' Paul asked.
'Even if.'
'Okay.' He pointed a stern finger at Kris. 'Begone and darken our wardroom no more.'
'Screw both of you,' Kris replied, sticking out her tongue. 'Here I try to share my innermost feelings-'
'Save it for that lieutenant on the Mahan,' Jen suggested. 'Oh, yeah. Don't look so shocked. I have my sources.'
Kris smiled. 'I've spent a long time looking for someone as desperate as my lieutenant. Oh, there was always Paul, who was as desperate as they come, but someone else got their claws into him first.'
Jen smiled back. 'You snooze, you lose. Besides, you've been serving on the ship with him the entire time.
