Against All Enemies

Chapter Five

He spent the rest of the day trying not to look distracted. Commander Moraine chewed him out for not having provided enough files to her and for wasting time on legal issues ashore instead of doing his primary job. Captain Hayes had apparently provided that as a cover story for Paul's absence from the ship. Paul refrained from telling Moraine that he'd gladly let someone else do the legal stuff if he could find anyone else naive enough to take the job. But he figured he was stuck with it until he transferred off of the Michaelson.

He also, hopefully, refrained from looking at Moraine as if she were a spy. Which he felt she had to be, if there was truly an officer on the Michaelson committing espionage.

In the late afternoon, he passed the captain in a passageway. Hayes nodded casually as Paul flattened himself against the bulkhead to let the captain pass. "How'd that business go this morning, Paul?"

"Fine, sir."

"Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir." Once I know what I'm going to do.

Thankfully, he had one more night before duty would keep him on the ship for twenty-four hours. He went back to Jen's quarters at the end of the day, his mind whirling but focusing on nothing.

Jen knew him perhaps better than anyone else by now. She took one look at his face and gestured to the couch/bed. " Now what?"

Paul sat gingerly, trying to sort out his feelings and trying to figure out how to broach the subject. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

She nodded slowly, her face a mask. Watching her, Paul realized Jen could be misreading his hesitation. "It's not about us. Not that way."

"Your orders? Mars?"

"No. That hasn't changed."

"Then what is it?"

He looked down at the deck, knowing he should maintain eye contact but not able to do so. "Jen, I've been asked to do something, a professional something, that really bothers me. I wouldn't even be considering it, except my CO wants me to do it and I trust him and… and, hell, I don't want to let him down."

Jen gave him an arch look. "Gosh, you're so noble, Lieutenant Sinclair. I'm gonna haveta marry your sorry hide to keep you out of trouble, ain't I?"

Paul managed a smile. "I'm not sure that'd work, but I'm more than willing to try." Speaking quickly, he outlined what he'd been told and what was being asked of him while Jen listened without interruption, her expression unreadable. "They told me not to talk to anyone. But I couldn't not talk to you about it."

"Damn straight." Jen's face flushed and her voice came out a little ragged. "They have the nerve to ask you to help them? After what they tried to do to me? After trying to railroad me into prison for what happened on the Maury?"

"They know I'm marrying you. I told them."

"You're lucky they didn't accuse you of being a spy as soon as they heard that! Tell me you're not actually thinking of going along with this."

"Jen, I don't want to! But Captain Hayes is a good officer and I really think a good man. He's personally asking me to help. And if those agents are right, if somebody's selling our secrets, then we're all being put at greater risk."

"You can't trust them!"

"Do I know that?"

"They want to use you, Paul. They think they can, but they don't know you."

"No, they…" Paul's voice trailed off. They know… just like the SASALs knew. Admit it. You think they had our rules of engagement. The SASALs knew they could shoot up that asteroid and we couldn't do anything against them.

Whoever gave them those rules of engagement helped cause the deaths of those settlers.

"Paul? Hello. Lieutenant Paul Sinclair, please report back to your brain."

Paul blinked, focusing back on Jen. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking of something."

"Obviously something important," she prodded.

"You know what happened last time my ship was out. And you know how the SASALs acted. Like they didn't need to worry about what we'd do. Maybe they knew they didn't need to worry."

Jen paused, her mouth twisting as she thought it over. "Possible," she finally conceded.

"We've been trying to understand how they'd take the risk of opening fire. But if they knew it wasn't a risk…"

"Okay. I agreed it was possible." Jen let aggravation show. "That makes it personal, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"But… what does Sheriff Sharpe think?"

"He's not involved. He's leaving the ship real soon anyway."

"One more reason not to play, if you ask me. You are asking me, right? This isn't some roundabout way of trying to get me to think you've heard me out so you can go off and do whatever you've already decided to do, is it?"

He glared at her. "Jen, I don't deserve that. I've always been straight with you."

She sat still for a long moment, then nodded. "You're right. Do I have final say?"

Paul thought about that. "No."

"You're too damned honest for your own good, Sinclair."

"I can't let someone else decide this for me. But I can't make that decision without the input of a woman I not only care very deeply about but also admire as an officer."

Jen quirked an eyebrow at him. "Who is she?"

"Jen…"

"Herdez?"

"Yeah, right. Me and my old XO."

" Our old XO." Jen made a face, staring into a corner. "I wonder what she would think."

"She'd tell me to help NCIS, Jen. You know that."

"Yeah. All professional, all the time. Make sure you're looking out for…" Jen paused, her head down, then looked up and over at Paul. "You know what? Thinking about Herdez and all cleared things up for me. I want you to cooperate with them."

Paul was sure his amazement showed. "Cooperate with the NCIS agents? You mean that? Why?"

"Because of that trust thing. You know how Herdez worked. If she trusted you, she'd keep giving you more to do. Because she knew you'd do it right. Well, I trust you. I trust you to be involved with this. Because I know if they try to do to someone else what someone tried to do to me, you won't play along. You'll make sure the truth comes out."

Paul looked away, shaking his head. "I'm not perfect, Jen." And I'm tired of being the guy other people count on to do the right thing. Why can't somebody else do that? Especially when the right thing isn't so obvious. "What about the guys I work with? I guess just about all of the ones you knew are gone, now. But, still, we're talking about me spying on my fellow officers."

"Two of them, from what you told me."

"Yeah, just two. But it's the act, not how many people are directly affected by it. Would you ever trust another officer if you knew they'd spied on other officers in their wardroom?"

She came close and knelt to look into Paul's eyes. "That'd depend on who and why. Really. Two things, Paul. First, make sure you're protected. Even if you do this, your role doesn't have to be known. Confidential informant, isn't that what they call them? And if all this stuff does is point them at the right target, they won't need you to nail that target. Second thing, I've lost a lot of shipmates. Don't flinch. I'm the one who saw the Maury 's crew gutted. They died because someone played games with them. Some bureaucrat who wanted to score points by moving a program forward and didn't care what might happen to the sailors on the Maury or any other ship. I hate that guy, whoever he or she is. And if there really is somebody selling important classified info to the other side, then they're playing the same kind of games and I want them stopped. Just like you do, because their little game might've caused the deaths of those settlers, and could cause the deaths of others. Including you or me."

"Yeah, exactly that had already occurred to me. But even if there's a chance the one who's accused might be innocent?"

" You get in there and you make sure their rights are protected, and then if the evidence you help find points that way, we'll know. We'll also know if it doesn't."

" Why do I have to do it?"

Jen eyed him for a long moment, her face close to his, then suddenly grinned. "You big dope. I told you this would happen when you stood up for that idiot Wakeman. I told you everybody would start counting on you to 'do what's right.' You didn't believe me. I was right, wasn't I? Admit it."

"Jen-"

"Admit it."

"Jen-"

"I was right and you were wrong," Jen declared in a mocking sing-song voice.

He wanted to stay mad, wanted to stay frustrated, but started laughing. "Am I ever going to get to be right?"

"I'll think about it." She leaned forward and kissed him, letting the gesture linger. "Too bad you have to get back to your ship in the morning. I could do with a full day of you."

He held her shoulders lightly, smiling back at her. "Having tonight isn't anything to complain about."

"Yeah." She leaned back, letting his hands drop. "First we need to eat."

"Fogarty's?"

"No. Let's just grab some sandwiches from a take-out."

"Okay." Paul paused as they walked toward the nearest take-out, looking at Jen. "Why does this stuff always seem to be my responsibility?"

"Because you keep volunteering."

"I could say no."

Jen shook her head, looking rueful now. "No, you couldn't. Not you."

"You could tell me not to."

This time she cocked her head and regarded him for a moment. "Could I?"

"If anyone could, you could."

"But I won't. Because every time you've taken a stand, Paul Sinclair, you've been right."

He gave her a rueful look back and walked on silently for a while, thinking that the paths of duty shouldn't lead to an assignment on Mars without Jen.

Special Agent Connally smiled encouragingly. "You made the right decision."

"Yeah. What do I have to do?" Paul felt uncomfortable in the sealed room, as if he were plotting against his friends outside their knowledge. He'd managed to get another officer to cover his duty on the ship for a few hours because he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Of course, he'd had to lie about why he needed to be off of the ship, but his fellow officer hadn't noticed. Apparently Paul was a better liar than he'd thought.

"You have to do two things." Connally leaned back and pressed her fingertips together. "First, stay alert for unusual activities by either person of interest. Unusual for you people on the ship, that is."

"So what's unusual?"

Connally looked thoughtful. "Secretive activities. You know, if it becomes apparent they're trying to hide something from the rest of the people on the ship."

"Isn't that going to describe me?" Paul couldn't help asking.

"In a way. Also watch for signs of interest in things they shouldn't be pursuing. Things unrelated to their jobs. Messages they shouldn't have access to. That sort of thing."

Paul rubbed his neck, grimacing. "Brad Pullman's the communications officer now. He could see any message on the ship. And since Commander Moraine is the Operations officer, there's not a lot she couldn't see."

"I understand. That aspect of things is going to be hard. That's why we're asking you to do this other thing." Special Agent Connally held up a small, paper-thin disc. "This, believe it or not, is a wire."

Paul stared at it. "That's it? The entire thing?"

"Yeah. Beautiful, isn't it? Power source, microphone, storage media all in one." She leaned forward and reached inside his uniform to press it against the fabric. "See? It affixes here, under the collar. That's all you have to do. It'll monitor everything you hear for the next twenty four hours."

"Everything?"

Connally laughed. "You don't have to wear it while you're with your girlfriend."

"I've got duty tonight, so I'm stuck on the ship. But that was just one of my areas of concern."

"I can imagine the others. Trust me, there's not a lot we haven't heard. We actually have a very good reason for having you wear it all day on the ship. We want you to forget, as much as you can, that you're wearing it."

Paul brushed his collar near where the wire rested. "I don't see how I could do that."

"Trust me. You'll forget it's there." The NCIS agent brought out a large data pad. "This can't leave our office, so I'll have to ask you to memorize it as much as possible. We'd like you to somehow bring up the following topics while talking to Pullman and Moraine."

Paul took the pad, reading slowly. The topics were fairly predictable, once he thought about it. Money troubles. Recent purchases. Investments and investment advice. Opinions on foreign policy. Opinions on the current political leadership. "I have a little trouble with some of this. It's not illegal to dislike whoever's in the White House and I don't want to entrap someone into violating Article 88 of the Uniform Code."

Connally looked at him in surprise. "Contempt toward Officials? Not a lot of people even know about that one, let alone the right article number."

"I'm my ship's legal officer."

"Oh. In any event, nobody's going to get convicted of that charge nowadays unless they're standing on a mountaintop screaming obscenities and threats. You know that. All we're looking for is motivation."

Paul read the data pad again. "You think somebody would dislike the president enough to spy on their own country?"

"Stranger things have happened," Connally noted dryly. "How well do you know Pullman and Moraine?"

"Do you mean personally?" Paul made a dismissive gesture. "Neither all that well. Both of them just came aboard a little while ago. I knew Brad in school a little, but just sort of in passing."

"Then it might be a little hard to start discussing personal opinions and finances with them. Just do your best."

Paul shook his head. "I'm not a brilliant conversationalist. If I could get someone else to help-"

"No. I'm sorry."

"I'm sure Captain Hayes-"

"That reminds me." Connally leaned forward again, her eyes fixed on Paul. "Don't talk to your captain about this."

Rebellion rose immediately. "I can't do this and not inform my commanding officer!"

"We'll tell him." She must have read Paul's skepticism. "I swear. He'll know this evening. But you can't talk to him about it. Where could you get enough privacy?"

"The captain's cabin. We shut the hatch-."

"There might be a tap in there."

That startled Paul into momentary silence. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. There's any number of devices that could be concealed in there and be effectively invisible. We don't know whether or not our target has planted one, and there's no way to sweep the cabin for it without tipping off our target." Connally pointed to Paul's data pad. "Not to belabor the point, but just a reminder to make sure nothing's put in your data pad about this either."

Paul couldn't decide if was unhappier about being asked to spy on his fellow officers or unhappier about the real possibility that one of them was spying on him. "Understood. I guess I just come back here tomorrow and you take the tap off me?"

Connally shook her head. "No. We don't want you coming here too often. That might tip off someone, too. Is there someplace we could meet tomorrow?"

"Sure. A private place?"

"No. Someplace public." Connally smiled. "I'm new up here so I won't be recognized easily as an NCIS agent. And we're old friends! Did I tell you?"

Paul couldn't help smiling back. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. We go way back. When I see you I'll be sure to stop by and say hi. Might even give you a hug."

"Um… I'm engaged."

Connally's eyebrows rose. "Just a hug, Paul. I'm not that kind of friend. Or agent. You haven't been watching too many spy movies, have you?"

Paul laughed. "I didn't mean… That is, it might attract attention. People might talk about seeing us if you hug me because everyone knows I'm engaged and you're, well, pretty good looking."

"You silver-tongued devil you. And you said you weren't a good conversationalist. Don't worry. Bring your fiance. It'll be good cover. As far as she's concerned, I'm an old friend, too. She's not obsessively jealous, is she?"

Paul thought about that. "Do comments about ripping my lungs out if I ever cheat on her count?"

"Uh, yeah, but we'll keep this friendly. That's all. Your lungs should be safe."

"One other thing." Paul pointed to where he'd seen her shoulder holster on his earlier visit. "Are you going to have, uh…"

Connally frowned, following the line of Paul's finger toward her underarm. Then her expression cleared. "Oh. Am I going to be carrying, do you mean?"

"Carrying?"

"That's what we call it when we've got a sidearm. Yes. I'll be on duty. Don't worry. With my jacket on no one will be able to see I've got a weapon in a shoulder holster."

"I just wanted to sure I didn't react if I felt it."

"Don't worry," Connally repeated. "I'm the best shot on the station. Ask anybody. Carrying the weapon's just a requirement. I don't intend using it."

The idea of Connally using her weapon hadn't occurred to Paul at all. He spent a moment wishing he could discuss this with Sheriff Sharpe, then bade farewell to the special agent.

Paul returned to the ship, trying to forget about the little disc concealed under his collar, and therefore unable to stop thinking about it.

It was early afternoon before he saw Captain Hayes again. Hayes was standing in a passageway talking to the chief engineer. Paul flattened himself to the maximum extent possible to squeeze by without inconveniencing the senior officers, but Hayes stopped him at mid-point with a quick gesture. "Did you take care of that thing for me?"

"The legal thing, sir?"

Hayes cupped his hand to his ear as if he hadn't been able to hear, then nodded. "Yes."

"I'm on it, Captain."

"Good." Hayes waved him on.

About ten minutes later Paul realized that Hayes' gesture to his ear had very likely been a tip-off that Hayes knew Paul had a listening device planted on him. If so, at least the NCIS agents had proven true to their word on that matter.

It was getting on in the day before Paul realized something else. He'd been avoiding talking to Pullman or Moraine. He'd been evading the job he'd agreed to do. Not that the extra time had helped him plan any conversational gambits. His mind stayed so stubbornly blank on ways to steer any conversation around to the right topics that Paul realized he'd have no choice but the wing it and hope he could improvise.

He went to his stateroom, the fabled "ensign locker" which he shared with Brad Pullman and two ensigns but which was nonetheless the closest thing to an oasis of quiet and privacy for him on the ship, and concentrated on remembering all of the possible topics that Special Agent Connally had shown him.

He'd only been at it a couple of minutes when Brad Pullman entered, sat down heavily in front of his small desk and yawned. "I had the mid-watch inport last night. I think if you look up 'terminal boredom' in the dictionary it'll refer you to a mid-watch inport on Franklin."

Paul smiled ruefully, thinking that was how he would've reacted to Pullman's comment normally. That is, if he wasn't hyper over the need to steer the conversation and record whatever his room-mate said. "You got that right. Uh, how's your turnover with Kris Denaldo going?"

Pullman waved one hand. "Piece of cake."

"Really?" Paul thought about the long hours of work Kris had put in as communications officer, even when she'd had the help of Senior Chief Kowalksi before he'd transferred off the ship. "No worries?"

"No worries." Pullman leaned back. "No problems. I can handle the job in my sleep."

"Brad, there's a lot of things about being in charge of communications that can trip you up."

"Sure. I know that." But Pullman's dismissive tone didn't match the words. "Really, Paul, I can handle it. Don't sweat it."

"Okay." Brad is sharp. I know that about him. Everybody says he's really smart. And Kris hasn't complained to me that he's slacking off at all. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen Brad slacking off at anything. He's a hard worker from all I've seen. So relax about that and do the unpleasant job you said you'd do, Paul Sinclair. "Hey, Brad, mind if I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Have you ever looked into investments or anything? I'm building up a pretty good nest egg." Paul hoped he still sounded casual.

Pullman scratched his ear and appeared to contemplate the question. "A little bit. It's kind of cool watching the pay pile up while we can't spend it on much, isn't it?"

"Yeah. So, any advice?"

"Not really." Pullman looked mildly apologetic. "I've just sort of skimmed a few things. My money's picking up interest in my savings account and that's all. Investment stuff just isn't my thing. I've got enough money to get what I need, and if I can stick out the Navy long enough, I'll have the retirement package, so I'm cool."

"Oh. Okay. Just thought I'd ask." Paul let disappointment show, though he actually felt relief. Pullman obviously wasn't concerned with having too little money and certainly wasn't acting like he had more than he should.

"Why'd you bring it up?" Pullman asked. "Because you're getting married?"

"Yeah." Did that sound sincere? "Jen and I'll be both pulling in income, and with my orders to Mars I won't be spending much for the next couple of years, either."

Pullman shook his head. "They really screwed you, man."

"Tell me about it." Paul hesitated, then deliberately brought up another one of the NCIS agents' topics. "How could they do that? I'm plenty unhappy."

"With the Navy?"

"Yeah." Paul waited, certain that Pullman wouldn't take the bait but still trying not to show tension over simply dangling the bait before him.

As Paul had expected, Pullman just spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "You're not the first guy. Remember that joke about how being in the Navy guarantees regular sex, because you get screwed every day? Sorry I can't help. You can always punch out after Mars. By the time that's over your obligated service will have been completed and then some."

Paul pretended to agree, since he was keeping Herdez' offer secret to everyone except Jen. "Maybe I will. It's not like I'm getting major rewards for what I do." He hadn't meant to say the last, but it slipped out in what he knew must have been a slightly bitter tone.

Pullman just nodded again. "You've got to be smart, Paul. Smarter than the people calling out the orders."

"Like you?" Paul asked sarcastically.

"Yup." Pullman grinned. "Like me."

Paul couldn't help grinning back.

Commander Moraine scowled at Paul as he stood in the entry to her stateroom. It was getting late, and Paul simply couldn't afford to put off talking to her any longer. "You should have all the files from my division that you've asked for, ma'am," Paul reported.

Instead of replying directly, she picked up her data pad and began punching keys to check. Paul waited with outward patience as the minutes dragged. Finally, Moraine put down the data pad and nodded several times quickly. "It looks like it. Why is that new tracking software labeled as being in degraded status?"

Paul knew Moraine had already been told the answer because he'd been present when Senior Chief Imari explained it to her. But Moraine had looked distracted and had kept fiddling with her data pad and other objects, so Paul had been pretty sure his new department head had been so busy concentrating on other details that she'd missed the one being explained to her. "It's not handling all tracking functions up to specifications, ma'am. It occasionally drops an object, which we have to manually reacquire to restart tracking, and sometimes creates false echo tracks of real objects that we have to delete to keep the system from confusing itself."

Moraine stared at Paul, one eyelid twitching slightly. "Why is it doing those things? How can we fix it?"

"Uh, ma'am, Ensign Taylor believes the dropped objects are being caused by the anti-countermeasures subroutines being too sensitive and misreading real detections as fakes. She thinks the false echoes are being caused because the tracking subroutines are hyped up to be so sensitive that it's generating false targets from scattered indications off of real ones."

"I don't want our tracking system software degraded! How can we fix it?"

He decided to try to defuse things, because he would have to work with Moraine for some months, unless she was led off the ship under arrest for espionage, which event Paul was looking forward to seeing more and more with every minute. "Ma'am, Taylor suggested we target the anti-countermeasures subroutines against the detection subroutines and let the software fight it out." Instead of smiling, Moraine just stared at Paul. Well, that didn't work. "Commander, we're not allowed to modify the software in any way. The contractor has to make changes. We've been told the changes are being worked on."

"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 uniform."

It finally sunk in. Paul's promotion had been authorized to take effect. Jen grinned a little wider.

Hayes kept his expression stern. "If you're going to be promoted, perhaps you ought to retake the commissioning oath. No objections? Good. Raise your right hands," he ordered Paul and Brad Pullman. "Repeat after me. I, state your name."

"I, Paul Sinclair," Paul recited.

"Do solemnly swear or affirm…"

"Do solemnly swear of affirm…"

The captain read through the rest of the oath, pausing to let Paul and Brad Pullman recite each section in turn. "… that I will support and defend the constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic;"

"… that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;"

"… that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion;"

"… and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter; so help me God."

Paul lowered his hand and grinned at Jen.

Captain Hayes finally smiled as well and handed a set of lieutenant's insignia to Jen. "Lieutenant Shen, I understand we're jumping the gun a little bit on this, but as spouse-to-be I think the honor of pinning these on Paul should be yours."

"Thank you, sir." Jen took the twined silver bars, removed Paul's single silver bar from his collar, then pinned the lieutenant insignia on. "Now that we're the same rank you've got an excuse for not saluting me when we meet in public," she teased Paul.

Captain Hayes pinned the insignia on Pullman, then Paul and Brad shook hands.

Lieutenant Sinclair. It felt good. It'd been a long time coming.

Jen waved in farewell. "I've got to get back to work. See you at lunch."

"Yes. Fogarty's," Paul reminded her.

Ensign Taylor contrived to look shocked when she saw Paul an hour later. "Damn. I'd better make sure I get those ice skates."

"Why?"

"Because I figure I've got a better than middlin' chance of going to hell when I die, and since you just made lieutenant that must mean hell has finally frozen over."

"It might thaw out again by the time you get there."

"Could be," Taylor agreed. "I ain't in no hurry. Where's Willy Wise Ass?"

"Who?"

"Our fellow division officer."

"Brad Pullman? I left him in the wardroom."

"Huh. If you see him before I do, tell him that if he tries messing about with comm linkages again without coordinating with my people first, I'll pin those new lieutenant's bars of his onto his forehead."

"You're kidding." Ensign Taylor usually acted easy going, but Paul had quickly figured you could get on her bad side real fast by messing with "her" equipment. "Why'd he do that?"

"Figured he knew a better way to do it. Maybe it is. But since he didn't talk to anyone about it, his little changes locked up half the linkages." Taylor shook her head. "There's such a thing as being too smart for your own good."

Paul found himself smiling. "I guess that's one thing I don't have to worry about."

"Probably not," Taylor agreed. "And if it starts to become a problem, we'll just promote you to lieutenant commander and make you a little dumber. Ah, hell, maybe I won't kill Pullman this time. But he better start using his head as well as his brains."

"I'll make sure to mention that to him. Hey, has Moraine talked to you about the tracking software?"

They were still deep in a discussion of the twin problems of how to fix the software and how to keep Moraine happy, when Paul's data pad reminded him of his lunch appointment. He ended up practically running to meet Jen on time.

"Wow. Lunch at Fogarty's," Jen remarked as they sat down. "What a lucky girl I am. I haven't eaten here since… the day before yesterday."

Paul grinned. "I haven't seen you for a couple of hours. I didn't want to wait any longer."

"Please. My stomach. I haven't eaten yet, and you're making me nauseous."

They ate, they talked. Paul tried not to look at the time any more often than normal. Even though he had every right to take lunch off of the ship, Moraine was watching him like a hawk and he needed to get back to the ship on time.

"Paul? Paul Sinclair?" The voice was right behind him. Paul turned and saw Special Agent Connally smiling at him with a surprised expression. "I don't believe it! It's me, Paul. Pam."

"Pam? What're you doing on Franklin?"

"I got me a government job. Come here, you." She pulled him up and they hugged, one of her hands reaching in to remove the wire so smoothly that Paul almost missed it even though he knew it was going to happen. Then Connally was smiling brightly at Jen. "Who's this you're with?"

Before Paul could answer, Jen half-rose to offer her hand. "Jen Shen. You're a friend of Paul's, huh?"

"Sure thing. Years ago. Is that a ring? Are you two engaged? That's wonderful!" Pam burbled on for a few moments, playing her role so well that Paul found himself wondering if she really was an old friend. "Look, I've got some place I have to be, but I'm sure I'll see you around every now and then. I'll call. Okay? Great. See you soon."

Paul sat back down and saw Jen giving him an arch look. "Old friend?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"How good a friend? That was a nice lingering hug you two exchanged."

"She's just an old friend," Paul protested. "We were never involved." That, at least, was absolutely true.

"Where from?"

"Annapolis," Paul improvised. "She went to that civilian college located near the Academy."

"Oh, I see." Jen seemed to be enjoying herself. "You guys dated, then."

"No. I've never been on a date with Pam." It was a relief to be able to tell the truth about something even though the context was more than a little misleading.

"Why not? She seems nice."

"Uh, we just never clicked. You know."

Jen finally laughed. "Paul, you're allowed to have old girlfriends. It's not like I don't have a few old boyfriends floating around."

"I've never met any," Paul reminded her.

She grinned wickedly. "That's because I meant the 'floating around' part literally. My father spaced them out of airlocks."

Paul started to laugh, then gave her a questioning look. "Knowing your father, I'm not sure whether or not you're joking." His data pad beeped. "Time for me to get back. My new department head thinks I'm spending too much time off of the ship."

"And you're complaining? This from a guy who's planning to go back to working for Herdez? When she gets command of a ship she'll probably seal the quarterdeck for three years and keep the crew working nonstop the entire time."

"At least she'll know what she's doing. Catch you tonight?"

"Sure. My social calendar's open. Let's get you back to your ship. I'll walk a little ways with you." They were halfway back to the ship when Jen gave him a loving look. "Who's she really?" she murmured.

"What?"

"Don't look upset. Anyone watching can tell I'm saying sweet things to you. Who's this Pam person really?"

"I…"

"Is she related to that thing we discussed? Working on it?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought. Don't worry that your cover's blown, Secret Agent Man. I know you well enough to tell you weren't really old friends with her. I doubt anybody else could've told. Just be careful. This isn't your game they're playing."

"I know. Jen, I really don't like not telling you the truth."

"I could tell, which is why I'm not upset. Besides, I told you to do this. Just keep any lies to me about this stuff to the bare minimum necessary, okay?"

"I promise."

Connally met with him again the next day. "We've gone over everything recorded on the wire."

"And?"

"It's… not very useful."

Paul shook his head. "But Commander Moraine asked to see source-code for our tracking software. That's not something she should be looking at."

"True." Connally smiled encouragingly. "I didn't say there wasn't anything on it. But the psych we had listen to her said that Moraine's request is also consistent with her apparent obsessive-compulsive tendencies. That means it's not as strong an indicator as it would be if the action were uncharacteristic for her."

Paul sagged backwards. "That was a lot of trouble for nothing."

"I didn't say it was for nothing!"

"It didn't help you focus on Commander Moraine."

"Or Brad Pullman," Connally agreed. "I've talked this over with my superiors. We think the only way to resolve this is to set a trap."

"A trap?" Paul knew he looked alarmed.

"Yes. Relax. This isn't a blazing-gunfire-in-a-dark-alley thing. Do you know anything about taps on computers?"

"Just that they exist. It's one of the things they talk about in security classes."

"Yes." Connally gave Paul another smile. "Taps can either broadcast information from the computer, or alert someone on the outside to actions taken by the computer. The second form is much easier to keep hidden, because a lot less data needs to be sent out."

"What does this have to do with catching whoever's committing espionage?"

As she spoke, Connally tapped the table surface gently with her fingers to emphasize her points. "Our target needs to download data onto portable storage media in order to pass it to his or her contacts. There aren't any uncontrolled computers on your ship. Your own security systems prevent any of those from operating or tying into the ship's data."

Paul nodded. "Right."

"Which means our target has to use their own terminal to do the dirty work."

"Then we'd have a record of it," Paul objected. "All we'd have to do is access the system records-"

Connally was shaking her head slowly. "No. There's software that hides the operations. We have a couple forms of it. So do various bad actors."

"Then you can search for that software-"

"It loads to do the job, then wipes itself out without a trace. Now, if we could catch our target with a data coin holding that software, we'd be in fat city, but odds are that our target only has the stuff when it's needed. We have to catch our target doing a download of sensitive information with one of our special taps which even that sneaky software won't be able to spot, then nail him or her when they walk off the ship with it. That'll give us probable cause to get search warrants enough to check out personal possessions and dig into financial records. Then we'll have our target just where we want them."

Paul found himself nodding. "That makes sense. How do we do that?"

"One part's easy. We'll contact your captain about it. All you need to know is that your ship is going to get some special sensitive information downloaded to it. The second part is a little trickier. We need to physically install the taps in the targets' personal terminals in their staterooms. We'll need your assistance to make that work."

More spying on his fellow officers. But if it was only two terminals, and the taps only reported illegal downloads, that wasn't so bad, was it? "Who does this installation? How many people do I have to cover for?"

Connally pointed to herself. "Me."

"You? Just you?"

"I'm a woman of many talents. Look, we need to do this without arousing interest. We can't have people openly showing up to work on those terminals during the work day, or even at night. Your own computer people would want to know what was going on."

"Ensign Taylor can be trusted."

"I'm sure… she? Yes? I'm sure she can. That's not the point. We don't want anyone else knowing work was done. I can install the taps in a few minutes and not leave any trace for anyone to see. You say you stay aboard the ship some nights?"

"Yeah," Paul agreed, wondering why he was feeling a sense of unease.

"When's the next night?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Great! I'll come aboard in the evening as if I'm visiting you to catch up on old times-"

"Whoa!" Paul held up both hands, palms out. "You don't think anyone will notice if a good-looking young woman visits me on the ship at night?"

"That doesn't happen?"

"Well, yes, but it's always Jen. My fiancee. If you come onboard some people are going to… well, they'll talk."

Connally shrugged. "Not about taps on computers, I'm sure."

"One of those terminals is in my stateroom! I share the room with Brad Pullman! We can't go in my stateroom alone!"

"I promise not to do anything unladylike, Paul."

"That's not-" He could tell she was barely keeping from laughing. "All right, I know it sounds funny, but it does matter to me. I don't want people thinking I'm cheating on Jen. Besides, messing around on a ship is against regulations. I don't want everyone thinking I'm breaking regulations."

"Fair enough." Connally frowned in thought, resting her chin on one fist. "Can you think of any plausible way I can be alone in your stateroom, with the door closed, and in Commander Moraine's stateroom with the door closed? Just for a few minutes."

Paul thought, too. Then he finally looked back at her. "Yes. But I'll need one other person's help. An absolutely trustworthy person. I won't have to tell him anything, but frankly we'd have to tell him something anyway because there's too great a chance he'd recognize you as an NCIS agent if he saw you onboard."

"Who is this?"

"My chief master-at-arms, Ivan Sharpe."

"Hmmm. Tell me about this idea of yours."

So Paul did.