Rule of Evidence

Chapter Six

He went back to the Maury six hours later, in charge of another team responsible for patching up what was left of the ship. He assumed Jen was somewhere in the forward part of the Maury by then, but didn't ask. He'd already grasped how incredibly lucky he'd been. Paul couldn't look anywhere on the Maury without being reminded that a lot of other people hadn't been lucky.

Back on the Michaelson, Paul staggered to the wardroom for coffee. Commander Sykes wasn't there, but Mike Bristol was on his way out, coffee in each hand.. "Suppo's working nonstop to get anything the Maury needs out of our supply stocks," Bristol confided.

"He's going to ruin his reputation if he's not careful," Paul suggested as he slid into a chair.

"Strap yourself in, Paul. Since when does a line officer need a supply officer to tell him that?"

"Sorry." Paul fumbled with the straps and got them fastened just as Captain Hayes entered the wardroom. Figures. He tried to unfasten the straps so he could "stand" to attention, but Hayes waved him back.

"Carry on, Paul." Hayes grabbed some coffee himself, hanging for a moment near the dispenser. "You've been doing good work over there."

"Everybody has, sir."

"Yeah. Damn good job." Hayes took a big drink, his face weary. "We're bringing her back, you know."

"Sir?"

"Fleet's already decided. They're sending some tugs to take Maury in tow. That's why the damage control teams are concentrating on reinforcing her structure now. The bean counters probably want to just leave the wreck out here, but we'll bring her home." Hayes drained his coffee. "Captain Halis and a skeleton crew will ride the Maury back. She insisted. I would've done the same thing in her place. Helluva thing. The rest of the Maury 's survivors will be brought over here and we'll take them back to Franklin."

Paul nodded, not quite able to absorb all the information.

Hayes' eyes had gone distant. "The chief engineer on the Maury and I served together once. We were shipmates on the old John Glenn."

"I–I'm sorry, sir."

"We live in a small professional world, Paul. I hope you realize how lucky you are."

"I do, sir."

"Well." Captain Hayes looked at his empty coffee for a moment, then grabbed another. "Still a lot to do today." Paul watched him go, then sighed, unstrapped, and headed for Combat. Like the captain said, there was still a lot to do.

The Michaelson had been designed to have just enough room to carry her crew, with some means of emergency accommodations for a limited number of others in the event of emergency. She hadn't been designed to hold nearly as many extra personnel as were coming from the Maury. After using every available space, some of the sailors on the Michaelson still had to hot-bunk with survivors from the Maury, with two sailors sharing the same bunk, one sleeping while the other stood watch or worked. The only complaint Paul personally heard came from Seaman Fastow. Chief Imari had leaned close to Fastow, her face a devil's mask, and asked if Fastow would be happier if fewer members of the Maury 's crew had survived so she wouldn't have to be inconvenienced.

"Paul." He looked up at Kris Denaldo's hail. "Got a minute?"

"Is it important?"

"Very."

"Okay."

Kris led the way back to her stateroom, pausing a couple of meters from the hatch. "Old home week, Paul."

"What?"

She gestured. "Jen's in there."

"Jen? I thought they'd keep an engineer onboard the Maury."

"They don't need an engineer. It'll all be portable life support systems. Engineering doesn't exist on that ship anymore. And Jen, well, I'm no expert, but she's not doing well."

Paul stared at the hatch. "Shell-shocked?"

"Worse than that, I think. She's lost a lot of friends. Lucky she's still got you. But be careful with her. I can't believe even Iron Jen can shed this kind of thing without being really hurt inside."

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do. Neither do I. Just do your best."

"Okay." Paul pulled himself slowly to the hatch, hesitated, then knocked on the rim. "Jen?" No answer. He looked inside. Jen was strapped into the seat she'd used when she'd been stationed on the Michaelson. Now it was Kris's desk, but Paul doubted Kris had told her that. Jen was staring at nothing, her face almost blank. "Jen?"

She turned her head and looked his way, her eyes coming into focus. "Paul."

"Is it okay if I come in?"

"Uh, sure. Keep the hatch open."

He almost smiled at the reminder. Even in shock, Jen remembered to maintain the Navy's standards for male and female officers together on a ship. "How are you?"

Jen looked back at him as if confused by the question.

"Okay. Really dumb question. I know. I'm… so very sorry."

"Thanks." She looked away, staring into the distance again.

"Is there anything I can do?"

She held out her arm. "Hit it."

"What?"

"Hit it."

Frowning, Paul made a fist and rapped her forearm gently. "Okay?"

"No. Harder."

He tried again, with more force. "Was that hard enough?"

"Yes." Jen retracted the arm and rubbed it. "I felt that. I shouldn't feel anything."

"Jen-"

"I should be dead. Along with the others."

"Jen-"

"The only reason I'm alive is because an after power coupling started acting up and Commander Juko, the Maury 's Chief Eng-" She bit off the word.

Paul watched helplessly. She knows that Juko's dead, that everything about him now is past tense, but it's going to hurt every time you have to say it, won't it, Jen?

Jen stared at Paul, her gaze more alive but slightly wild. "The chief engineer told me to check it out. I'd just cleared the aft survival bulkhead when the whole ship shook. The survival bulkhead bent. Those're armored, Paul. They're not supposed to bend."

"I know, Jen."

"I bounced off of some stuff, and when my head stopped spinning I realized it was dark except for the self-contained emergency lighting. I could feel a breeze. There were funny dark spots on the survival bulkhead. They were holes. We were decompressing."

"Jen-"

"I got into a suit. A couple of sailors showed up and got suited up as well. We started trying to reseal the survival bulkhead, but it was hopeless. Not enough of us, too many holes. Some other sailors started showing up in their suits, and tried to pop the forward hatch. No go. Frozen solid, probably warped by the blast. Found some more sailors. Not enough suits to go around. Some of the lockers got holed by fragments during the explosion, so the suits in them were torn up. Everybody started to panic. I screamed them into shape and herded them farther aft. We had to go back a ways until we found bulkheads which hadn't been penetrated by fragments. All the way to the end-of-the-world bulkhead. We sealed ourselves in while I tried to figure out what to do. Doctrine says wait for rescue. But we had no comms with anybody. No power. We didn't know how much was left of the ship forward of the explosion." She started trembling.

"Jen, for God's sake, you don't have to-"

"Everybody was looking at me. What do we do Ms. Shen? Can you save us, Ms. Shen? Is anybody coming to rescue us, Ms. Shen? And I had to pretend I knew all the answers, because if I didn't they'd have all panicked and killed themselves doing something crazy. It seemed like forever, in the near dark with just the emergency lights. It started getting colder. The air felt like it was getting stale. Those of us with suits left them open to conserve power and the air recyclers. The rest just stared at us with helpless looks. None of them would ask one of us to give up our suits, but they knew without suits they'd die before long."

Paul couldn't repress a shiver of his own, imagining how it'd been inside that compartment.

Jen's eyes were fixed now on something Paul couldn't see. "I finally decided to go get help. Somehow. We couldn't afford to wait for rescue. We had twelve suits. Twenty two people. I wanted to take Petty Officer Stokes with me. He was the steadiest guy I knew there. But he needed to stay and keep the others from losing it. I took someone else. We went forward, real careful. Kept finding vacuum on the other side of hatches. Every way we went. Finally found an internal air lock still able to function and went through. Real dark. Junk everywhere. Took a long time to get through it, reach an opening." Jen screwed her eyes shut. " Gone. Nothing but a huge hole where I'd left everyone else."

Paul said to hell with the regulations against displays of affection between officers and pulled himself down to hug her. "Jen, it's okay now."

"It's not okay. Dammit, it's not okay. It'll never be okay."

"You're right. You're right. I shouldn't have said that."

"All gone." Jen's eyes were open, but unfocused again. "Saw some people out there. Found out they were from the forward section. I guess your ship's teams had just left."

"We had to take the gig back to change out suits and personnel."

"Yeah." She sagged against him. "Why? Can you tell me why, Paul?"

Why what? Why did so many die? Why did you survive? Why this happened at all? Paul looked down at his hands, wondering what he could say, what answer he could possibly give. "Maybe sometimes there isn't any 'why.'" He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Jen answered, her voice wavering up and down with stress.

"That would actually be a bit easier to handle, you know, because it'd mean nobody'd picked and chosen who'd live and who'd die. Nobody else would've died so I could live. That's a comfort, you know?"

"Jen, I thought you'd died. I was sure of it. I… I thought…"

She finally looked at him, her eyes wide. "I thought I would die. I thought about you. I thought about never seeing you again."

"We're…" What's the right word? "Incredibly lucky, Jen."

"Yeah. Lucky. We were." Her face twisted as she looked away. "A lot of other people weren't. People who had loved ones, too. Chief Calhoun. His wife just had a kid. He couldn't wait to get back." Jen's face convulsed with rage. "Goddammit!" Her fist slammed repeatedly into the nearest locker surface. "God… God… God…" The blows finally stopped as Jen slumped. "Oh, God."

She finally turned herself toward him, collapsing into Paul's arms, her body wracked with sobs. Paul waited to feel the wet of tears on his shoulder, but none came. Even now you won't cry, Jen? He thought of what she'd said about Chief Calhoun and closed his own eyes. The memories you're going to have. The memories you're going to live with for the rest of your life.

Jen's sobs finally stilled. A long moment later, she pushed him away. "I'm sorry."

"For what? After what you've been through?"

"I'm an officer. I have to bear up under pressure."

"Bull. Jen, you did bear up under pressure. You saved at least some of those enlisted with you. Maybe all of them. Twenty-one people probably owe their lives to you. Now you're allowed to relax a little and let it out before it blows you up!"

Jen looked away, but her face didn't express disagreement, just an awful weariness. "It'll be a long time."

"Before you can think about it?"

"No. I'm thinking about it now. A long time before I can accept it. Maybe never." She looked back at Paul. "I'm not special, Paul. Why did I live?"

"You're special to me."

"And the universe cares about that?"

He reached out again and pulled her close, murmuring in Jen's ear. "I care about that. And if I can make the universe care, I will. Maybe you lived out of sheer chance. Maybe you lived so you could save those sailors. Maybe you lived because I needed you so very much. You did live. Don't throw away that blessing, Jen. I thought my world had ended."

"Ha." Her voice sounded distant. "You'd have gotten over me in no time. Then you'd have found some sweet little thing who thought you were heaven's gift to the universe."

"I'd much rather have a temperamental lieutenant who doesn't take any crap and who I know is a gift to me."

She shoved away far enough to look at him, a ghost of a smile finally touching her lips. "You have very poor judgment, Lieutenant Sinclair." Jen hugged him close again. "But you're a gift, too."

A knock sounded on the hatch, then Kris Denaldo stuck her head inside. "I guess things are going well. Excuse me, but this is still my stateroom, too. Much as I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, and by the way isn't all this hugging on a ship a violation of assorted regulations, but I need to get ready for the next watch." Her gaze shifted. "Jen! There's new dents in that locker!"

Jen smiled for real this time, though half-heartedly. "Sorry, Kris."

"Sorry! Is that all you can say? Tell it to the executive officer when he inspects this stateroom. I can't leave you alone for five minutes without you getting me into trouble again." Kris pointed at Paul. "As much as I'm sure you'd love to watch me change clothes, I prefer to have all the Y chromosomes on the other side of the hatch."

Paul pulled himself up. "Wondrous beauty though you be, Kris, I only want to see Jen, because my heart belongs to her."

"Oh, really? What about the rest of you? Do those parts belong to anyone?"

Jen pushed Paul toward the hatch. "You're going to make me ill with all your romantic nonsense, Mr. Sinclair. Go do your job for a while and let me rest. As for you, Ms. Denaldo, stop thinking about my boyfriend's parts."

Paul swung out of the hatch, but just before Kris closed it he saw Jen. Her face still drawn with pain, she was nonetheless trying to smile at him, and was silently mouthing the words "I love you."

"Now what?" Mike Bristol wondered. "I assume we're going straight back to Franklin?"

Lieutenant Sindh nodded. "Accommodations aren't the only thing stressed on this ship. The Michaelson isn't supposed to carry this many living, breathing people for any length of time."

"At least we've got enough food."

"If you call this food." Sindh squinted at her meal. "What is this supposed to be again?"

"Veal San Francisco," Bristol announced with an apologetic look.

Paul poked at his meal. "Looks more like Spam Francisco. Where's Suppo, anyway?"

"He's going to eat with the… uh… the…"

"Survivors."

"Yeah. From the Maury."

Paul no longer felt like joking or eating. "I wish we could do more for those guys."

Sindh smiled reassuringly at him. "We did what we could, and we still are. I've been working with them. Counseling sessions."

Paul nodded back. He knew Lieutenant Sindh was qualified as a lay minister and as a counselor, but not much beyond that. "Does it help?"

"I hope so. A great deal of it is still up to the individual." Her gaze lingered on Paul, communicating her concerns about Jen. "I'm just doing some emotional damage control here. The real work will be once they get back to Franklin and the experts can take over."

Randy Diego looked around. "Anybody know what this is going to do to schedules? I mean, we were spending a lot of time out as it was, and with Maury gone…" He flinched at a couple of hostile looks. "Hey, it's a legitimate thing to think about."

Even though Paul shared in the initial reaction to Randy's question, he felt a need to divert the anger it had brought. Randy Diego could be clueless, but he wasn't knowingly mean. "That is something we have to consider. I mean, I'm not thinking about more time underway as much as I am about getting work done on the ship. We've had to defer a lot of maintenance because of these short-fuse underway periods."

Kris Denaldo nodded as well. "And the hull got beat up by all that stuff that flew off the Maury. We need at least a minor overhaul period. Fleet staff needs to decide whether they want a half-broke ship for the next few months or a fully-working ship at the end of that time."

"Commander Destin said-" Gabriel suddenly paled and looked down at the table.

"Uh-oh," Kris remarked. "Breach of internal security procedures. All hands to emergency destruction stations. So, Dana, what'd Commander Destin say?"

Gabriel looked up, then back and forth as if seeking a way out, before grimacing in defeat. "She said maybe we'd, uh, could, uh, be lead platform for the, uh, certification on the, the…"

Lieutenant Sindh swallowed her bite of food. "Lead platform for certification of that new engineering device the Maury had? What was it?"

"Uh, SEERS."

"Yes. Is that what she said?"

Ensign Gabriel looked down again. "Yes."

Kris Denaldo's icy tone seemed to be within a few degrees of absolute zero. "She's looking forward to the chance to shine doing that, huh? Nice."

"I… I'm sure she didn't-"

"Yes, she did. Nice career boost for her if it happens. Bitch."

Sindh frowned at her. "Kris. That's inappropriate."

"But if — "

"She's still a superior officer. And we're in a professional environment."

Denaldo bit her lip, then nodded. "Sorry to everyone who heard that. But I'd really advise no one let Jen Shen know Destin feels that way."

Everyone else nodded, though Paul noticed Lieutenant Isakov seemed slightly amused. What is it about that woman that annoys me?

Randy Diego looked at Gabriel. "But won't Shen be working for Destin on the way back? I mean, she's an engineer and all."

Gabriel shook her head. "No."

"How come?"

"I don't know. Chief Meyer brought it up at a meeting and Destin made it clear Shen won't be working in engineering on the Michaelson. No reason given. It's just not going to happen."

Everyone looked at Paul, who fought down a surge of irritation. Every time Jen gets mentioned everybody looks to me like I know everything that's going on in her head and her life. I don't know the life part and I don't think I'll ever know the head part. "I don't know. I haven't heard anything about that."

"Jen's doing okay, isn't she?"

"As well as the other members of the Maury 's crew."

Bristol picked at his food for a moment. "Suppo said something to me. He said we should've left them on the Maury."

"What?"

"Yeah. Commander Sykes said if they'd stayed on the Maury they'd have had a lot to do. Standing watches and fixing stuff and keeping things working. But on here all they've got to do with their time is think about what happened. He says that's not good."

Sonya Sindh nodded. "Commander Sykes is, I believe, correct. But the Maury 's not in any shape to sustain all those crew members all the way back to Franklin. We really didn't have any choice. But, speaking of the accident, has anyone heard if they have any idea what happened as of yet?"

Gabriel shook her head. "I was talking to Chief Meyer and Colleen. They say all we can tell right now is that the engineering spaces were destroyed by internal explosions."

"Explosions? Plural?"

"They think so. Very close together, though, so it seemed like one big explosion."

Mike Bristol shook his head in turn. "We'll find out for sure, right?"

"Well, Colleen wasn't sure of that. A lot of stuff was destroyed, including the engineering logs, and a lot of the, uh, fragments that might contain evidence were blown into space and dispersed so wide we'll never find them all."

Randy leaned forward. "Maybe it was a bomb." Everyone looked at him. "I mean it. The SASALs don't like us. Maybe they figured out how to get a bomb onboard the Maury."

"That's ridiculous," Kris Denaldo insisted.

"How do you know? Nobody else seems to know what caused the explosion. I'm not going to be the only one who thinks the SASALs might've had something to do with it."

Paul stared at the ensign. He's right. Remember the Maine. Did the SASALs sabotage the Maury somehow? If they did, could we prove it? If they didn't, will that matter to those who want war? He found himself torn inside. I don't want to think those sailors on the Maury died because of an accident. Just by chance. But do I want their deaths to lead to war? He became aware people were looking at him again. "What?"

"We were just wondering if Jen'd said anything about what she thought'd caused the explosion," Randy explained.

"No. And I haven't asked her and I won't ask her." Paul checked the time, eager for an excuse to leave. "I need to be in Combat. See you guys."

It was only partly a lie. It seemed Paul usually had to be in Combat, but he didn't have any specific requirement at the moment. He reached Combat, had a few words with the sailors from his division who were standing watch, then sat down at his console and stared at the screen. He wasn't sure how long he sat like that.

"Hi, sailor."

Paul looked up at Jen. "Hi. What brings you to Combat?"

She hooked herself through the tie down on Paul's console so she could float nearby. "Boredom and a desire for decent company. That and I have no appetite and the rest of my wardroom is eating at the moment."

"You should eat, Jen."

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm eating enough. Do you need anyone to stand watch up here?"

"You?"

Jen seemed unable to decide between angry and amused. "I was standing watches in Combat while you were still staging panty raids in college, Mr. Sinclair."

"I didn't go to college. I went to the Naval Academy."

"Oh, yeah. Trade school. Don't avoid the question. Can I do some work up here?"

"Well, I'm sure-"

One of Paul's sailors called out "attention on deck" as Captain Hayes entered Combat. "Good afternoon, Paul. How're you doing, Ms. Shen?"

Jen smiled politely. "I'm fine, sir. Thank you for asking. My shipmates and I are very grateful for the hospitality the Michaelson has shown us." The reply sounded to Paul almost mechanical, as if she were reciting a script, but he didn't think anyone who didn't know Jen as well as he did would detect that.

"It's the very least we can do. Do you personally need anything?"

"Yes, sir. I need something to do. I'm a line officer, sir. I'm going crazy with all this free time."

Captain Hayes grinned. "That's not a complaint I'm used to hearing from junior officers. I may be able to do something about that. A ship can always use another officer, but I'll be frank. I've been advised to minimize the stress on you and your fellow officers from the Maury. Watch standing is out."

"Sir, right now I'd do paperwork and be glad for it."

"Can you concentrate on that sort of thing?"

Jen's smile grew strained. "It beats concentrating on other things. If you know what I mean, sir. I've served on the Michaelson. As auxiliaries officer, before I went to the Maury. I'm familiar with the ship."

"So I understand, Lieutenant Shen." Captain Hayes gave Jen a long, appraising look, as she gazed back at him. "I'll talk to our chief engineer about getting you some gainful employment, Ms. Shen."

Jen didn't bother trying to hide her reaction. "Thank you, sir. That really means a lot to me."

"I try to look out for my officers, Ms. Shen, and if you're unhappy then Paul here would be unhappy, too." Hayes winked at Paul, smiled, and left.

Jen kept her eyes on the hatch after the Captain had left. "What's he like?"

"Hayes? Really good." Paul hesitated. "He served with the Chief Engineer on the Maury. They were on the John Glenn together."

Jen's face froze for a moment, then she smiled sadly. "Juko was a good boss, too. What about your Chief Engineer?"

"Commander Destin?"

"Yeah. What's Destin like?"

"She's an exile."

Jen laughed for just a moment. "Do you remember when I explained that stuff to you? Exiles and slackers and all? A few days after you joined the Michaelson?"

"Oh, yeah. I remember. You scared the hell out of me."

"Me personally or what I told you?"

"Both, I think."

She smiled briefly. "So Destin's an exile."

"And she doesn't like me, and something must've happened to her once that really hurt, because she's always walking around looking melancholy."

"Wonderful. But I'd be happy to settle for a boss like that if I can just get something to do. Let's see if your captain can wrangle some work for me from her."

Paul just nodded back, not wanting to share what Ensign Gabriel had told the other officers at lunch, and hoping Captain Hayes would change Destin's mind. Once she's seen how well Jen works, even Destin will have to admit Jen's really good.

After chatting a bit longer, Jen finally admitted to hunger, so Paul escorted her to the wardroom, then headed for his own stateroom. Paul's path took him by the executive officer's cabin. Just before he reached it, the hatch opened and Commander Destin swung out, her face flushed and her mouth tight. Commander Kwan followed, also looking unhappy. Seeing Paul in the passageway, Destin glowered at him for a long moment before turning and heading away. Kwan spotted Paul as well and gave him an annoyed look before going back into his stateroom.

Oh, great. Now what? Destin hasn't liked me since Silver's court-martial, but this seems pretty recent. Wait a minute. The captain said he'd talk to Destin about putting Jen to work. I guess he already did. Too bad I couldn't overhear that conversation. Destin must've just been venting to Kwan about it, and Kwan's not thrilled, either.

But it'd make Jen a little happier, and that made it worth it.

"Hey, Paul, have you seen this stuff?"

Paul looked over to Ensign Randy Diego, who had a news feed visible on his terminal. This close to Franklin, they could pick up the local data stream without much delay, and with the whole world knowing the Michaelson was bringing most of the Maury 's survivors home there was no reason Franklin shouldn't maintain a constant stream of communications to the ship. "No. What is it? Something about the Maury?"

"You might say it's about the Maury! They're blaming it on the SASALs. Just like I said they would!"

"What?" Paul punched buttons, hurriedly bringing the news feed up on his own display. Remember the Maury. Just like I feared. Paul switched news channels several times, finding the same stories being reported on each. He finally settled on a channel with several talking heads who seemed marginally more civil to each other than the average commentators.

An angry man held up his fist. "It's obvious the South Asian Alliance had to be behind this. There's no other explanation."

Another man held up both hands, palm out. "Now, George, it's a possibility. There's no evidence-"

"Evidence? Ships don't just blow up! You've seen the Navy's statements on this."

"The Navy says they don't know what could've caused such explosions. That's not the same as saying they know it was sabotage!"

"Sabotage, hell! Try act of war!"

Paul muted the sound, shaking his head. Act of war? Somebody's trying to get us to start fighting a hot war with the SASALs because of what happened to the Maury? Well, Randy was right. Too bad. Unless the SASALs did do it. Then I want them to pay.

Randy cleared his throat. "Paul? How could the SASALs blow up the Maury like that? Our engineers won't really talk about it. I mean, you can't exactly smuggle that much explosives onto a ship without someone noticing, right?"

Paul sighed. "I'd guess people are claiming they did smuggle a bomb on board because they don't understand how hard it'd be. Or that it was some other kind of sabotage. Messing with software or hardware so all the systems in engineering on the Maury blew."

"A virus? Could a virus do that?"

"They're not supposed to be able to do that. Nothing's supposed to be able to do that, from what I've heard. I'm not sure how we'd ever prove it anyway, with all that equipment blown to hell along with whatever software it carried."

"Do you think the SASALs did it?"

Paul hesitated, thinking through his answer. "I don't know they did, and I don't know they didn't. But I haven't seen anything to make me believe they did. And I can't believe the SASALs would risk war with us in order to take out the Maury."

"A lot of other people believe it. I saw some public opinion polls."

And what's true sometimes isn't nearly as important as what people believe to be true. There's been wars fought in the past because of that. But, dammit, if I'm going to fight a war I'd like there to be a solid reason for it. "Randy, a lot of people are being told that right now. Hopefully everyone'll have time to think things through before rushing off to avenge the Maury."

"I'd think if anybody'd want to get even with them, it'd be you!"

Paul stared back at Diego for a long moment, fighting down a wave of anger before he replied. "If they did it, I want them to pay for it. But I don't want to start a war because some people didn't want to wait until we got answers."

"But if Jen had-"

" That's my business. Not yours." And I'm getting pretty tired of people trying to leverage my relationship with Jen.

It was Randy's turn to stare, blinking at the uncharacteristic outburst from Paul. Then he flushed a bit, shrugged, and turned away. "Sure."

Paul gritted his teeth, concentrating on relaxing. "Sorry I blew up like that." He was out the hatch of the stateroom before Randy could reply.

Combat didn't seem to offer much refuge any more, and the wardroom was likely to have some of the officers from the Maury hanging out to kill time. Paul wandered through the ship, wishing they were docking at Franklin right now instead of the next morning.

"Mr. Sinclair?"

Paul looked up to see Senior Chief Kowalski regarding him, and realized he was right outside the chiefs' quarters. "Hi, Senior Chief."

"You doing okay, sir?"

"I think so, Senior Chief."

"May I ask how Ms. Shen is doing, sir?"

Paul smiled. He knew Senior Chief Kowalski had always respected Jen. "She's about as okay as she can be. I think. You know."

"I understand, sir. Helluva thing."

"She's glad she managed to get assigned some paperwork, but, uh…" Oh, hell, I shouldn't discuss this with the senior chief.

But Kowalski nodded. "She don't feel too welcome in engineering, right, sir?"

"How'd you know?"

"Sailors, sir. Superstition. Ms. Shen survived while the rest of the Maury 's engineering department got wiped out. There's people who worry about that."

Paul stared. "Like she's cursed or something?"

"No one's saying that, sir, and I sure as hell ain't saying it. But, it's there."

Maybe that's why Destin didn't want Jen working for her. "I don't believe it. She's not exactly unscathed by the experience, and now they want to slap some sort of scarlet letter on her to keep her out of the work she loves and knows best?"

Senior Chief Kowalski held his hands up in a calming gesture. "Sir, I wouldn't get all upset. It won't help. I'm just telling you so you'll maybe understand a bit better and help Ms. Shen through it. It'll pass. Ms. Shen's one fine officer. You know that. She'll do okay."

Paul nodded. "Thanks for caring, Senior Chief. I wish I could do more."

"Me, too, sir. For her and a lot of other people."

"Yeah."

It felt very odd, coming into port this time. No festivities, despite some joy at the Michaelson 's return. No one wanted to look like they were celebrating while the survivors of the Maury filed off the ship. "We'll be staying at temporary barracks near the shipyard section of the base," Jen told Paul. "When Captain Halis brings the Maury in, we'll be there to start putting her back together."

First aboard the Michaelson was the Fleet Commander. Bells bonged, bosun whistles wailed and sideboys snapped to attention as the admiral boarded to talk personally to the Maury 's survivors. Right after the admiral came what seemed like an army of others — chaplains and secular counselors to deal with trauma, Navy technical investigators to interview the survivors from the Maury and members of the Michaelson 's crew, shipyard workers to assess the state of the Michaelson, check her for exterior damage from the Maury 's debris field, and determine how much maintenance she'd need to be fully capable again.

Paul found himself in Kris Denaldo's stateroom again, this time not only with Jen but with a chaplain who extended her hand in greeting. "Mary Hughes. I'm here to talk with Ms. Shen, and it was suggested that you be present as well."

"Okay, Commander Hughes."

"Mary."

"Yes, ma'am. Uh… Mary."

They sat, close in the confines of the women's ensign locker, Jen sitting with the rigid correctness of an officer in a formal meeting with a superior. The chaplain leaned back a bit and smiled at her. "Ideally, this sort of thing should happen within a few days of the event. We couldn't do that this time for obvious reasons. I understand Paul was able to give you some comfort immediately afterwards, at least."

Jen flicked a glance at Paul, who made an expression meant to convey "I didn't tell her that." Then she focused back on the chaplain. "Ma'am, immediately after the… event I was focused on saving the lives of the sailors trapped with me in the aft end of the ship. I didn't see Mr. Sinclair until some time after that."

"I'm sorry. I should've stated that differently. Could you please tell me what happened to you? I mean, just before and after the event."

"The explosion, you mean." Paul saw the muscles in Jen's jaw tighten for a moment. "I've already provided statements about that. I can get you copies."

"I'd prefer to hear it from you."

Jen blew out a breath in apparently barely controlled exasperation. "All right. I was ordered aft to check out a malfunctioning power coupling."

"Ordered by…?"

"The-" Jen paused to take another breath. "Chief Engineer."

"Commander Juko?"

"Yes. He sent me aft, told me to see what I could figure out from looking at the thing directly because we kept getting odd fluctuations in the remote readings."

"Why'd he send you? Because he trusted you?"

"Yes." Jen smiled for the first time, though defiantly. "I'd just cleared the after survival bulkhead when…. whatever happened happened. It blew a lot of holes in the bulkhead, too many to patch. I gathered what intact survival suits and survivors I could find, took them to an interior compartment to await rescue, and when conditions began to look critical I went looking for help."

The chaplain waited several seconds after Jen stopped talking. "That's all?"

"That's all."

"You must have been severely affected by the explosion, even before you knew how bad it had been."

"I was worried," Jen admitted. "But I didn't have time to dwell on it. I had a job to do. That's all I thought about."

"But later, sitting in that interior compartment, there was time to think then. Time to feel."

Jen shook her head, her face unyielding. "I was focused on keeping those sailors alive. That's all I thought about."

"What you had to do to save them?"

"That's right."

"You didn't think about yourself?"

"Only to the extent that I needed to stay calm and in charge."

The chaplain leaned back some more, eyeing Jen. "You had to stay calm. You couldn't relax, couldn't think about past events."

"That's right."

"Did you have any thoughts or emotions about the other personnel in engineering?"

Paul noticed Jen's cheek twitch and wondered if the chaplain had seen it, too. Jen took several breaths before answering. "I… hoped they were okay."

"You were worried about them."

"Of course I was!"

"But you couldn't do anything to help them." Jen's mouth opened for a moment, then closed. "Do you think perhaps you focused so intently on saving those sailors with you because that was something you could do?"

Jen finally looked fully over at Paul, her eyes wide, then back at the chaplain. "That was all I could do at the time," she agreed in a soft voice.

"All you could do. You wanted to do more?"

"Yes! Of course! But I couldn't even get out through the damned internal airlock! And when I wanted to find another route forward I had all those sailors looking to me for help. To me. I couldn't go forward until I did everything I could for them. I had to do that."

The chaplain nodded. "Yes. You did. You couldn't go to try to help the others in engineering because those sailors needed you."

"That's what I said. Ma'am."

"And you learned later that there never was anything you could've done. They were already dead." Jen flushed, though with anger or other emotion Paul couldn't tell. "You were able to save those sailors, though. You made the right decision."

Jen looked down, then back up as she suddenly grinned tightly. "Yes. Someone advised me I should try to focus on what I could and did do and not on what I couldn't have done."

Chaplain Hughes' eyebrows rose and she looked over at Paul. "You told her that?"

Paul nodded. "I received that same advice some time ago, after a fatality on my ship."

"It's good advice. You talked to a grief counselor?"

"No, ma'am. A supply officer."

"One with a more than adequate supply of wisdom, it appears! Jen, are you having difficulty working?"

She shrugged. "I haven't had much to work on."

"What you have been doing. Have you been able to do it?"

"Of course I have."

"You're completing tasks assigned to you?"

Jen glared at the chaplain. "I always complete tasks assigned to me."

"Do you dream about the explosion? About those events?"

"No."

"Nothing? No flashbacks?"

" No."

Chaplain Hughes looked over at Paul, then back at Jen. "There's a time for strength and a time for confronting problems."

"I don't have any problems."

"I understand your father is commanding officer of the Mahan?"

"Yes."

"And the Mahan just departed on a long patrol. Your mother is…?"

"Dead."

"I'm sorry." The chaplain leaned forward. "Your father a commanding officer and your mother dead. You must be pretty tough."

Jen shrugged again. "I'm nothing special."

"You saved, let's see, twenty-one sailors in the aft section of the Maury. That sounds pretty special to me."

Jen sat silent for a moment. "Anyone else could've done the same."

"Maybe. But the fact that you did it counts." Jen didn't answer. "Listen, Jen, this is just a first preliminary session-"

"I don't need any more sessions."

"You'll get them, anyway. Courtesy of the U.S. Navy."

"I don't — "

"Did I mention the sessions are mandatory? By order of the Fleet Commander?" Jen subsided, looking sulky. "It won't be that bad, Jen."

"I have other things to do, ma'am."

"Mary. Sadly, not enough other things. Maybe you won't need much help. But my job is to see if you do and help you through any rough patches."

Jen leaned forward, her face earnest. "I help myself. I mean that. I can't go running for a shoulder to cry on whenever things get tough. I have to be able to work through it myself."

"You can't be weak, in other words."

"I didn't say that."

"This isn't about being strong or weak, Jen. It's about being human. You've been subjected to tremendous stresses. If you were a piece of this ship and had been stressed, you might need to be reinforced. Not because you weren't strong, but because even the strongest can be overstressed. Do you see?"

Jen nodded with visible reluctance. "I honestly do not believe I need reinforcement."

"I believe you. Let me do my job, though." Hughes checked her watch. "Too many people to see and too little time. I'll schedule the follow-up sessions and make sure you're notified." She pointed to Paul. "Use him."

Jen couldn't help smiling. "I do."

"I didn't mean it that way. Though if it helps… no, just remember you've got someone to confide in, someone who won't think you're not strong if you need to talk." Hughes looked at Paul. "Right?" Paul nodded. "You've got my contact information, Jen. I'm always available, too. But I have to leave now. Paul, could I see you for a moment?"

He followed Commander Hughes out of the stateroom. She studied him for a long moment. "Paul, I think you understand Jen's in serious denial about the effect this has had on her."

"That's who she is, ma'am."

"Mary! You line officers… I can tell Jen's like that. She never admits weakness, does she? Well, you watch her and you contact me if you think I need to know something. At some point Jen's going to confront her feelings, and somebody'll need to be there for her."

"What feelings? Do you know?"

"Not for certain. In a case like this survivor's guilt is common. 'Why did I survive when others died?'"

"She said something like that. The first time I saw her after the accident."

"She did? Then she's at least admitted to that feeling. But there'll likely be more. Feeling she should've prevented it, done something, somehow. She's maintaining a protective shell of being professional and controlled because that's what she thinks the world wants to see, but there's got to be a lot of doubts inside."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mary!' Chaplain Hughes walked off, shaking her head.