"God bless him." Senior Chiefs weren't technically fonts of all knowledge, but they were close enough that smart officers tried to work well with them.
"Later."
Kris vanished, followed a moment later by a red-faced Sam Yarrow. "What'd Denaldo want?" he asked the compartment in general.
Paul debated not answering for a moment, then decided that keeping silent would be acting too much like Sam. "She'd just talked to the Senior Chief, who said — "
"I haven't got time for whatever the Senior Chief told Kris Denaldo." Yarrow strapped into his chair and called up his own evaluation files.
Paul raised one eyebrow, then glanced at Randy Diego, who favored Yarrow with a "screw you" look. Paul smiled, shrugged and went back to work as Randy smiled in turn.
Hours later, Paul closed his files out and blinked at the time display. I have to go on watch again at 0400, which means getting on the bridge by 0330 to turn over with Kris, which means getting up no later than 0300. Hey, I might get three hours sleep tonight. What a deal. I sure hope tomorrow — Paul checked the time again, seeing it was now past midnight, and corrected himself. I sure hope today's better than yesterday.
About twenty-four hours later, Paul stood beside Sheriff Sharpe as the Greenspacers were herded off of the USS Michaelson by a bevy of security personnel. Some of the Michaelson 's crew gawked at the protestors, while others like Sharpe eyed them disdainfully. The Saint offered Paul a fierce grin in passing then called out, "Until next time!"
Sharpe blew out a breath. "Looks like you made a friend, sir."
"Yeah. Do we get some kind of receipt for turning these guys over in one piece with no bruises?"
"They got bruises, sir. We maneuvered some after picking 'em up, remember?"
"Oh, yeah."
"But I got the receipt, sir. We're clear."
"Great. I'll tell the XO." Paul sensed someone nearby and turned to see Captain Gonzalez there. "Good evening, ma'am."
"Good evening, Paul." Gonzalez watched as the Greenspacers were marched away. "Never a dull moment, eh?"
"No, ma'am."
"Can you believe I'll miss it? Even this kind of nonsense. There's no other job like it."
"I won't argue with that, ma'am."
Gonzalez grinned. "I believe you have a visitor, Mr. Sinclair."
Paul followed her gaze, then smiled himself. Jen was a little hard to spot in the crowd on the pier since many of the others there were taller than her. She smiled brightly when their eyes met, walked to the USS Michaelson 's brow, saluted the national flag at the aft end of the Michaelson, then saluted Ensign Gabriel, who was officer of the deck inport at the moment. "Request permission to come aboard."
"Permission granted."
Jen saluted Captain Gonzalez as well. "Good evening, ma'am."
"Good evening, Ms. Shen. Nice to see you again. I'll leave you two alone." With an indulgent smile, Gonzalez left the quarterdeck.
Jen grinned, then looked at Paul. "Hey, sailor. New in town?"
Paul smiled wider. "Yup, and looking for a good time. You know of any prospects?"
"I'm not busy tonight."
"Unfortunately, I am."
Jen made a face. "Duty?"
"Yep. I can't leave the ship. Can I interest you in a wardroom meal and a flick afterward?"
"Be still my heart. Okay. Hey, what's this?" Jen pointed at the silver bars on Paul's collar. "You got promoted!"
"You don't have to sound so surprised."
"I'm not. Your name showed up on the promotion list a while back. But it's still cool. We'll have to celebrate."
Paul ached to hug Jen, but with them both in uniform and him on duty that would violate a number of regulations regarding public displays of affection. As if reading his mind, Jen reached out to squeeze his arm.
Petty Officer Sharpe cleared his throat. "My work here is done, sir. Request permission to get on with my life."
Paul returned Sharpe's salute. "Permission granted, Sheriff. Have fun."
"Thank you, sir." Sharpe flashed a grin. "You kids be good tonight."
"You don't have to worry about busting us. We both know the regs about no hanky-panky on ships."
Jen gave Sharpe an arch look. "Heck, Petty Officer Sharpe, I can't even kiss this guy. Do you know how hard it is not to do that?"
"Not ever having had the urge to kiss him, ma'am, I can't say I do."
"That's a relief." With another grin, Sharpe left the quarterdeck. "Paul, how do you put up with that guy?"
"The Sheriff? He's respectful when he should be, he never crosses the line into being too familiar, and he really knows his job."
"Works for me." They headed for the wardroom. "So, what's tomorrow look like on the good ship Merry Mike?"
Paul paused outside the wardroom hatch. "Change of command ceremony. After that, rumor says we'll get early liberty."
"Ohhhh, good deal."
"Then tomorrow night Carl's got his farewell laid on at Fogarty's. You'll be there, right?"
"I wouldn't miss it." Jen stared down the passageway. "It's funny. The Michaelson stays the same ship, the ship that was my home for more days, weeks and months at stretch than I care to remember, a place I knew like the back of my hand. But as the people I knew onboard transfer off she's slowly becoming like a place I don't belong. I belong on some past version of the Merry Mike, crewed by the memories of officers and enlisted who have gone on to other assignments. I wonder if this is how a ghost feels?"
Jen stood silent for a few moment, leaving Paul to think through her words. I don't understand. I guess because I'm seeing the changes happen one by one and they don't impact on me the way seeing a bunch at once would. Or maybe because the Michaelson is still home for me, all too often twenty-four/seven. I wonder what'll it feel like to watch her leave port, knowing I don't belong onboard anymore? He glanced at Jen's face, then reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "You feel real to me."
"Watch it, sailor. You're going to need that hand someday." But Jen grinned to remove any hint of real threat from her words. "Life goes on. Whether we like it or not."
"Yeah. Speaking of which, are you coming to our change of command?"
"Sorry. No can do. I served less than forty-eight hours under Gonzalez, so I can't convince my department head to let me go. But I'll bolt from the Maury the instant liberty call goes down. How's your new captain look? Is he another Wakeman?"
"Hell, no." Paul couldn't hide his reaction to the thought. "Hayes seems okay. Of course, he hasn't taken over, yet." As an observer, Hayes had been bound to follow the way Gonzalez wanted to run the ship. As captain, Hayes would be able to change things to suit himself.
"Speaking of captains, we're meeting for dinner on Thursday."
"Gee, Jen, that's three days from now, right before your own ship leaves. Are you sure it's a good idea to plan for that?"
"Excuse me, Paul. I didn't say 'can we meet.' I said we are meeting."
"What's so important about dinner that night?"
"The Mahan is in port. Long-term refit."
"Uh, yeah. So?"
"So that means her captain is in port, too." Jen paused, eyeing Paul as he looked baffled. "Captain Kay Shen."
"Captain Shen? Your father?"
"The only one I know of."
"Captain Shen?"
"You already said that."
"Your father."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Look, I'll be at the Michaelson by 1730 that night to make sure you look decent. We'll be dining on the Mahan as guests of the captain so you'll need to break out your service dress. Mine's fresh-pressed. How's yours?"
"Uh…"
"Wadded up in the back of a drawer? Probably. We've got a couple of days to see what we can do with it. Although I don't know what you were planning to wear to the change of command. Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"You're not worried about meeting my father, are you?"