* * *
After two more days of questioning and bringing in people to check over different parts of the
Michaelson
, Captain Shen left, leaving in his wake no clues as to what his conclusions would be. The first couple of days after that, everyone kept checking their messages for reports the investigation had been completed, but after another three days they'd gone back to concentrating on whatever individual crisis of the day had popped up in their areas of responsibility. Which, naturally, was when the text of Captain Shen's report arrived on the ship.
Paul started to read slowly through the report, fighting off a powerful urge to skip directly to the conclusion. But the urge triumphed partway through the dry and detailed description of the fire suppression systems in Forward Engineering. Paging rapidly forward, Paul went straight to the conclusions.
In light of the lack of evidence of other causes, the damage to engineering records must be laid to an unusual combination of shock and effects of the fire . . . Recommendation: Conduct testing to determine if systemic fault exists in log protective mechanisms . . . The initial explosion occurred in the power transfer junction for Forward Engineering. The cause of the explosion cannot be reliably determined due to massive damage to the area . . . Recommendation: Review fault limits on power transfer junctions . . . The state of the engineering logs prevents identification of what Chief Petty Officer Vladimir Asher was doing in Forward Engineering . . . no evidence exists of deliberate misconduct on his part . . . death judged instantaneous
. . .
Paul shivered as he read that finding, breathing a prayer of thanks, then went back to skimming the conclusions.
Reactions of Damage Control personnel were appropriate . . . their response time was within standards set by Damage Control instructions . . . actions of command duty officer were appropriate to the circumstances . . . actions of other officers reflected occasional hesitation in responding . . . inadequate inspection and monitoring of shipboard conditions prior to accident . . . no cause for misconduct finding, but enhanced training and supervision recommended
.
Paul stopped reading.
What the hell? He's not naming me, but he's practically blaming me for what happened! I didn't want a commendation out of this, but I didn't expect to get hammered for it
!
He re-read the conclusions, searching for a different interpretation.
Damn. Damn! At least he gave the Damage Control party credit for doing their jobs right. Otherwise, it doesn't explain what happened to Chief Asher or why. Just an unavoidable accident, except for "inadequate" actions on my part
.
Paul finally checked the distribution on the report. He'd received a copy as the ship's legal officer, as had the captain, the executive officer, and the chief engineer. The investigation and its findings had already been forwarded to the Commodore for his approval.
Even if I wanted to talk to Captain Hayes about it, would it matter? Hayes gets to comment on the findings, but why should he kick? The investigation gives him a clean bill of health
.
"Mr. Sinclair, sir."
Paul looked up, startled, to see Petty Officer Sharpe. "Sorry, Sheriff, I didn't hear you at the hatch."
"I can understand why, sir." Sharpe inclined his head toward the display where Paul had been reading the investigative report.
"How do you know what's in it?"
"Sir, a good cop doesn't divulge the identity of his informants. Suffice to say, I think it sucks."
"Sheriff, it's nice of you to say that -"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but while you didn't come out smelling like a rose, I'm frankly more concerned about the rest of it. It doesn't explain why Chief Asher died."
"No."
"Or how those logs got damaged when they shouldn't have been."
"No."
"Sir, I'm about to ask something. If you don't want to give me permission, can we assume I never spoke to you about it?"
Paul eyed Sharpe. "You don't ask that kind of favor too often, Sheriff. What's on your mind?"
"What if I was to bring onboard someone to check those logs, sir?"
"They've been checked."
"Someone who's an expert, sir."
"I thought . . ." Paul frowned at his display. "I guess I don't know the qualifications of whoever Captain Shen brought in."
"Then I have your permission, sir?"
"And if you don't?"
"Then we never talked about it, sir, and you won't know anything if I bring the guy aboard."
"Sheriff, I don't work that way. There's no legal reason your expert can't check the logs, too. Captain Shen's finished his examination of them. For God's sake don't let your expert do any more damage, though."
"No way, sir."
Paul peered closely at Sharpe. "Level with me, Sheriff. There's something else, isn't there?"
Sharpe pointed toward where the investigation was displayed. "I gave a statement, sir. It's not in there."
"Huh?" Paul looked back and forth from Sharpe to the display. "Why'd you make a statement?"
"Because I saw Chief Asher that morning. He was really unhappy, sir."
"About what?"
"I don't know. He was muttering something about 'just do it' when I came by. I asked him what was up and he just shook his head and walked away."
Paul stared at the master-at-arms. "And that's not in there?"
Okay, assume Captain Shen was gunning for me. But I still believe he's underneath it all just as ethical as his daughter, and Jen wouldn't bury some evidence just because she didn't like it
. "Any idea why?"
"No, sir."
"That's . . . odd. I can't honestly say it'd change the conclusions of the investigation, but it's still odd. Okay, Sheriff. Bring your expert aboard."
"It may take him a day or two to get over here, sir, but I'll let you know when he comes onboard."
"Thanks, Sheriff." Paul began reading the investigation again after Sharpe left, this time with an unpleasant sensation in his gut. He'd felt bad when he read the investigation's conclusions, but this was a different kind of bad, brought on by what Sharpe had said and what Sharpe obviously suspected.
He thinks the investigation missed some important stuff. Important enough to make a difference, to answer questions left unanswered? I guess I'll find out
.
Within a week, the Commodore had approved the investigation's findings, then forwarded them to the Admiral, who'd also approved them. If Captain Hayes had submitted any comments on the investigation, Paul hadn't seen them, but then the captain wouldn't have been likely to involve Paul in anything which addressed Paul's own performance. Besides, Paul had seen his award recommendations for the members of the Damage Control party receive similarly expedited treatment.
For the awards ceremony, they used the same hall which the change of command had been in, of course. The Commodore himself came by to award the medals. One by one, members of the Damage Control party were called forward. Petty Officer Santiago received the Navy Commendation Medal. Petty Officer Yousef received the Navy Achievement Medal. The rest of the enlisted received letters of commendation.
After the last enlisted had been presented with their awards, the Commodore held up a last medal case. "Lieutenant Silver, front and center."
Paul tried to keep his expression fixed as Silver marched up to stand in front of the Commodore, and as the Commodore began reading the medal citation. After lauding Silver's leadership during the crisis, and proclaiming it in the highest traditions of the Naval Service, the Commodore pinned a Navy Commendation Medal on Silver.
Paul somehow kept his face impassive, his eyes front, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Captain Hayes. The smile Captain Hayes had carried through most of the award ceremony had vanished, and his face seemed to be reddening. Paul didn't know what that meant, nor did he really want to know. At this point, he just wanted the ceremony over.
It ended mercifully a few minutes later. Paul quickly dismissed his division, then headed back for the ship, avoiding contact with anyone else.
But he couldn't hide on the ship. Within a few minutes of his own arrival, a group of his friends arrived at his stateroom. "They gave
Silver
a medal?"
Paul glanced up, keeping his expression flat. "Yeah."
Kris Denaldo was standing in the hatchway, Lieutenant Mike Bristol just behind her along with Ensign Randy Diego. "Why?"
"I don't know. I just work in the Combat Information Center, so I never know anything."
"That's really funny. Why'd they give Silver a medal?"
"You heard the commendation. I didn't really listen. Something about his control of the situation and crap like that."
"Crap is right. He got a medal and you didn't?"
Paul looked down at his desk, still trying to keep his face rigid. "Yeah."
"Isn't that kind of lame?"
"Look, Kris, what do you want me to do?"
Silence stretched, until Paul looked up to see everyone still standing there. Kris looked around at the others, then scowled. "Nothing, I guess. Do you want to vent?"
"No."
"You've got to be pissed."
"Sort of."
"But there's nothing you can do about it."
"Right."
"Any idea why Hayes did that?"
Another voice answered. "Captain Hayes didn't do it." They all looked to see Commander Sykes leaning against the bulkhead not far away. "The captain was just as surprised as you, Mr. Sinclair. He is not a happy man. This is, of course, not for attribution."
Bristol was staring at Sykes. "The Commodore did it? Without input from Captain Hayes?"
"Apparently. Our captain is attempting to run down the source of the medal recommendation. He can't really pull the medal. Not without cause. What damage has been done is done. I believe Paul is wise to attempt to accept this aspect of things."
"Suppo, he got hammered for that accident even though he led the Damage Control team in, and now Silver's getting rewarded even though he didn't do anything."
Sykes looked away. "I can't promise a just resolution to this."
Ensign Diego shook his head. "Paul's just got to live with it?"
"Unless he can find a constructive alternative, yes."
They all looked at Paul, who shrugged. "I don't know."
Mike Bristol grinned humorlessly. "I have an alternative. Liberty call's in fifteen minutes. Let's go have a drink."
That sounded as constructive as anything else.
The next morning, Paul was nursing a mild hangover when Ivan Sharpe called. "Sir, I have someone I believe you'd like to meet."
"Fine, Sheriff. Where?"
"In Combat, sir?"
"See you in a few minutes." Paul gulped a couple more aspirin, then headed toward combat. Commander Garcia and he passed each other outside the wardroom. Garcia frowned at Paul, then glared in another direction and went on his way.
Is he mad at me or for me? Sometimes you can't tell with Garcia. He's almost always mad about something
.
Sharpe, waiting near Paul's command console in the Combat Information Center, indicated the man standing next to him. "Mr. Sinclair, this is Chief Warrant Officer Rose."
Paul offered his hand, trying not to look too young. Warrants were former enlisted who'd worked their way up the ranks, which meant they were both highly-experienced specialists and notoriously underimpressed with typical junior officers.
But Rose smiled politely and accepted Paul's handshake. "Pleased to meet you. Bob Rose. Sharpe here tells me you're okay."
Paul glanced at Sharpe with exaggerated surprise. "He never tells
me
that."
Rose smiled a bit wider. "No, he wouldn't. Where do you want me to work?"
Paul looked around combat. Two of Paul's sailors were lounging around, watching Paul's group curiously. Then they saw the look on Sharpe's face and hastily went in search of another resting place. Paul indicated his command console. "You should be able to do anything you want to do from here, Warrant."
"Looks good."
"Do you need me to log in?"
"No." Rose grinned at Paul's reaction. "I actually want to see how easy your system is to crack, among other things." Rose sat, poised his hands above the controls, then glanced meaningfully at Paul and Sharpe. "I work best when nobody's leaning over my shoulder, if you know what I mean."
Paul barely bit off a reflexive, "Yes, sir" to an officer who was junior to him in the military hierarchy but carried authority and confidence with the ease of someone who knew his job and knew the Navy as only someone with decades of service could. Instead, Paul nodded, and he and Sharpe retreated to the far side of Combat.
Rose worked intently, his eyes never straying from the console display. Paul looked over at Sharpe, made a motion as if to speak, then a questioning gesture. Sharpe responded with an "I don't know" gesture of his own, so they sat silently.
Eventually, Rose straightened, stretched and then looked their way. "It was hacked."
"What?" Somehow, Paul hadn't expected to hear anything like that. "What was hacked?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"The engineering logs."
"The damage was deliberate?"
"Yup. No question."
"Why didn't the investigation find that out? They called in someone to check the logs for the cause of the damage."
"Because the hacker used a real effective program that's been available for a while to anybody who really wants it. It leaves no fingerprints. At least, that's what most folks think. A few of us know it leaves one." Rose pointed at his display. "The designer of the software had as big an ego as anyone. His program takes one line in one shredded file and adds on his initials. In code. Unless you're looking for exactly that, you'll never find it."
"My God." Paul tried to absorb the news, looking neither at Sharpe nor Rose.
Somebody mangled those records on purpose. Which means somebody tried to cover-up something. But who? And what
? "You're absolutely positive, Warrant?"
"Absolutely."
"You'd swear to it?"