Rule of Evidence (10 page)

"Uh . . ."

"Men."

"Would you rather I was a woman?"

She reached for him as she answered. "No way."

"The SASALs weren't impressed enough by our little display." Commander Garcia almost snarled the words. "We're going out again."

"Second time's the charm," Taylor murmured.

Garcia ignored her. "No nonsense with foreign ships this time. We're going out with
Maury
. We'll head for the border of the region of space claimed by the South Asians, and when we get nice and close we'll deactivate our anti-detection devices."

Taylor snorted. Denaldo raised her eyebrows.
Paul nodded. So this time we're going to try to scare the SASALs by sneaking up on them and then going "boo."
"Just us and the
Maury
, sir?"

"That's right. And here's the fun part." Garcia bared his teeth. "They want us within ten kilometers of each other when we reveal ourselves. Going on the same vector right along the border at high speed."

"How the hell are we going to coordinate that when we can't see the
Maury
any better than the SASAL's can?"

"Because we're good, Mr. Sinclair. And because our fine communications officer Ms. Denaldo is going to figure out a way to pass information between the ships without giving ourselves away."

Chris spread her hands, looking dazed. "Sir, we can use visual signaling vectored only toward where the
Maury
's supposed to be, but if both ships are moving at high speed she might not see the signals in time to react even if she is where we think she is."

"Then figure out a way they
will
see them in time to react. Feel free to consult with Ensign Taylor on the matter." Garcia grinned again without any trace of real humor, his expression reminding Paul of a hungry bear. "This is a chance to look good. I expect you all to look good. Is that clear?"

So you can look good, right, boss? Garcia's got orders coming up before long, too, and pulling this off might help him get real good ones
. Paul glanced at Denaldo's face, now tight with repressed annoyance, and then addressed Garcia. "Sir, just how close are we supposed to be to the border?"

"Twenty kilometers."

Paul barely kept his jaw from dropping. "At high speed? That's no margin of error at all."

"We don't need a margin of error, Sinclair. Now stop complaining about the orders and start getting ready to execute them." Garcia checked his data pad, then glared at them again. "Oh, yeah. We're getting underway for this the day after tomorrow. Make sure your divisions are ready."

Ensign Taylor leaned against the nearest console. "I guess there's no sense in worrying about getting that back-logged maintenance taken care of."

Garcia focused on her. "Are there any equipment problems that I'm not aware of?"

"No, sir. Just all the stuff you
are
aware of. But that's okay. I'll tell my boys and girls to break out the chewing gum and duct tape again and hopefully everything important will hold together until we get back home."

For once, Garcia's grin held some real humor in it. "It'd better. Now, get to work. Denaldo, I want a workup on your communications plan before noon."

After Garcia left, Kris Denaldo looked at Taylor. "I sure hope you know a way to do this."

Taylor nodded. "Matter of fact, I do."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope. Ever hear of moon bounce communications?" Denaldo glanced at Paul and then they both shook their heads. "Didn't think so. It was pre-communications satellite stuff. Very primitive. To get a radio signal sent over a real long distance on earth, one station'd send the signal straight at the moon. The signal'd bounce off the moon, and get picked up by the receiver back on earth."

"That'd take a lot of power. And how did they aim the signal?"

"It did, and they didn't aim it. As long as the sending and the receiving station both had the moon up, they could bounce signals back and forth. But if we're just sending signals through vacuum we wouldn't need much power. And the spread from a reflected signal makes it real hard to trace back the angle to the sending station. Here's what you propose, Chris. Low power, high frequency signals."

"HF? That's Stone Age communications. You can't get any decent amount of information into an HF signal."

"What do you want to send 'em, movies? HF will spread real nice and nobody's going to be monitoring those frequencies for military communications. Just set up a simple code with
Maury
that'll let you pass basic location, course and speed data. Then every once in a while you guys bounce a signal at each other. You'll be transmitting away from SASAL space to bounce the signal off the moon, and by the time the reflected signal gets back to where we are it'll have spread out so much nobody'll be able to get a decent fix on the place it originated from even if they can work out the reflection angle."

Denaldo rubbed her chin, her expression showing she was thinking intently. "I can't see why it wouldn't work."

"Kris, you got Senior Chief Kowalski working for you. 'Ski was probably around when they were doing that moon bounce stuff."

"I don't think he's quite
that
old."

Taylor grinned. "Nah, but tell him I said so. 'Ski won't have any trouble setting up a system like that for us and the
Maury
to use."

"Thanks, Akesha."

"No prob. You need any brilliant plans, Paul? I got a two-for-the-price-of-one deal going this morning."

"I don't think so."

"Guess again."

Paul watched the older and much more experienced but technically more junior officer warily. "What?"

"The systems will provide proximity alert warnings when we get too close to something, like say that boundary of SASAL-claimed space, right?"

"Right."

"But we're already going to be within twenty klicks of that boundary."

"I . . . oh, hell. That's inside the parameters, isn't it?"

"Yup. You'll get continuous alerts. Drive you crazy and the captain won't like it. What do you do?"

"I have a funny feeling you know what to do already."

"Hey! You're right, college boy! Use the docking maneuvering system to set the alert distance."

"But that system won't work at transit speeds—"

"It will if you manually override the speed settings and input a simple fraction of our real speed. Then you just multiple any warning times by the appropriate factor."

Paul shook his head in amazement. "Wow. That'll work?"

"Of course it'll work."

"It's amazing what I can learn from you."

The former-enlisted officer gave Paul an exaggerated leer. "That's nothing. Boy, I could teach you things that'd make that girl of yours
real
happy. Though since we're assigned to the same ship that Wouldn't Be Appropriate," she intoned, emphasizing the capitals. "Your girl might wonder where you learned all that stuff, too. Then again, she might be so happy she wouldn't care." Taylor laughed, then rubbed her hands together. "Now, let's go tell our sailors the good news about getting underway again in two days and watch morale head for the nearest event horizon."

Kris Denaldo grinned at Paul as Taylor left. "She likes teasing you about sex because whenever she does you look like some ten year old boy who got caught sneaking peaks at a dirty vid."

"I do not!"

"Well, excuse me! Being so innocent and all myself I don't know enough to be embarrassed." Her smile faded and she looked out the hatch. "Fun time's over. Like Akesha said, let's go tell our troops the good news."

The rest of the day turned into a frantic swirl of activity as Paul huddled with Chief Imari to make sure everything important would be working well enough within two days, tried to plow through due-yesterday paperwork that had already been postponed to deal with other operational matters, and handled a sudden personnel emergency with Petty Officer Daniels when they got word both her parents had died in an accident back on Earth. The last thing he wanted to have to worry about at that moment was dealing with arranging emergency transport for her back to Earth for the funeral, but Paul also knew he didn't have any choice. Luckily, Commander Sykes had connections with the transport office and was able to get an unknowing officer bumped off the next shuttle home to make room for Daniels.

Sometime late in the day Paul realized he'd already worked into the early evening hours. He put in a hasty call to Jen, who peered blearily back him from the phone display. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Bad day. You know why."

"Yeah. Same here."

"Bye."

"Bye."

And then there was one day left.

* * *

"Bring in all lines." If Sonya Sindh was disappointed about taking the
Michaelson
out again, she didn't show any sign of it. "Bosun. Shift colors."

The familiar wavering whistle sounded as the bosun of the watch blew his pipe over the ship's general announcing system. "Underway. Shift colors."

They were heading out before the
Maury
, this time, which left Paul no leisure to watch Jen's ship. He focused all his attention on Lieutenant Sindh, acutely aware that her place on the watch team would soon be taken by Lieutenant Val Isakov. Isakov herself was strapped into an observer position near the back of the bridge, hopefully learning by watching. Paul stole a glance back that way, seeing Isakov looking around with an expression that might've described as either calm or unimpressed.
She's supposed to be experienced. Qualified as an officer of the deck on the
Isherwood. So Sonya Sindh had told him, anyway, since Isakov herself seemed totally uninterested in talking to Paul about anything.
Not that I'm looking to be buddy-buddy with every officer I stand watches with. But I'm not looking forward to losing a great officer like Sonya, who I know I can depend upon, and getting an unknown quantity in return, supposedly qualified or not
.

The pressure of the main drive and lateral forces of the thrusters finally died down, leaving Paul's stomach doing the usual flip-flops, though at least this time the period they'd spent under Franklin's sensation of constant gravity had been so short that readjusting to zero gravity shouldn't be too hard. Captain Hayes, looking a little haggard himself from all the work of the last few days, unstrapped. "Nice job."

"Captain's left the bridge!"

Sindh smiled at Paul. "Perhaps
this
was the last time I'll take the
Merry Mike
out."

He looked at the hatch where Captain Hayes had departed. "The captain's not feeling too hot. He usually says more than that."

"Yes. We need to tread a little lightly. Val." Sindh turned to look at her relief. "Any questions?"

Isakov smiled and shook her head. "Nope. Same class of ship, same layout, and it looks like she handles like the
Ish-fish
did."

"Paul's familiar with the ship, too. He can help with anything you need up here, since he'll be qualifying as an independent officer of the deck himself before long."

Isakov shifted her look to Paul for just a moment. "That's nice."

Sindh unstrapped. "Why don't we swap places so you can get a first hand feel for the watch station and get used to working with Paul."

The women switched seats. Isakov remained cool, but not off-putting, as she worked with Paul. He found himself feeling better about the imminent change in his watch team.
Okay. If we can work together, that's all I need
.

The watch relief went off easily, with nothing to do until they reached their positions near the border of SASAL-claimed space. Sam Yarrow scowled as Paul explained the moon-bounce messages which would provide brief, coded updates on the
Maury
. "What a lousy way of doing business. Prehistoric. Why don't we just toss out flares?"

"Taylor thought of it," Paul added, knowing Yarrow and she didn't get along.

"Figures," Smiling Sam mumbled. "Okay. I got it."

"I stand relieved. On the bridge, this is Lieutenant Sinclair. Lieutenant Yarrow has the conn."

"This is Lieutenant Yarrow. I have the conn." Sam leaned a little closer to Paul as he strapped in. "What's she like?"

"Who?"

"The new lieutenant. Who else?"

Paul thought about his reply. Anything he said which could even be remotely twisted to cause trouble would be dangerous to say to Yarrow, who had a nasty habit of repeating suitably embellished accounts of such conversations to his superiors. "She seems fine."

"Not bad looking, is she?"

"I hadn't noticed."

"What, not your type?"

Paul just shook his head and left the bridge. His stomach had decided that, even though nauseous from zero gravity, it still wanted more food than he'd wolfed down in the last couple of days.

Lunch in the wardroom was unusually quiet, with the junior officers worn out from the recent press of work. Commander Sykes shook his head with mock sorrow. "They don't make them like they used to. In my day you could work junior officers for, oh, weeks at a stretch before they started wearing out on you."

Kris Denaldo gave him an arch look. "Suppo, in your day they had to use junior officers to spell the rowers in the galleys."

Sykes nodded, still affecting sadness. "Ah, yes. The good old days of the wine-dark sea. I still have the calluses on my hands from the oars."

"A supply officer with calluses on his hands? That'll be the day."

Everyone laughed, while Sykes made a production out of bringing out his data pad and making some notes. He glanced up and saw he had their attention. "I'm just making some notes on what to serve the junior officers for dinner."

"Not those fake shark steaks, I hope," Paul noted.

"Sadly, no. There was a problem with the manufacturing facility, and we were advised to return all the steaks as they were unfit for human consumption."

Mike Bristol, the assistant supply officer, nodded. "Not that that's ever bothered us before, but this time they were
officially
unfit for human consumption."

Colleen Kilgary eyed the odd-looking meal before her. "One shudders to contemplate what it'd take to get something officially declared unfit to serve us, considering what we get most days."