"Sir, I… the decision of what action to take is yours, sir."
"I didn't ask you to make the decision, Mr. Sinclair. I asked if that was what you were recommending."
It actually hurt to answer the captain's blunt question. "Yes, sir, I am so recommending."
Hayes' gaze shifted to the data coin still resting in his hand. "Have a seat."
"Yes, sir." Paul sat, his back stiffly erect, trying not to look anywhere in particular, while Captain Hayes loaded the coin into his data unit and with painstaking care reviewed the material Paul had gathered. Paul occasionally stole glances at the clock on one bulkhead, seeing the minutes drag by, wondering what those still in line outside thought about the closed hatch and Paul's long meeting with the captain.
Hayes finally made a angry snort, then turned back to Paul. "I could wipe this, Mr. Sinclair. Tell you I'd looked into it and disagreed. But I won't. You did a good job."
"Th-thank you, sir."
"I'm not sure I should thank you. Have you ever met Admiral Silver?"
"No, sir."
"He's tough. He's professional. He's not going to be happy." Hayes made a fist, as if he were going to slam it into his display. "But I'm not in this job to keep people happy. Not when I see this kind of evidence. Are you sure there's nothing aside from that supply part thing that actually names Lieutenant Silver?"
"There might be, sir, but I couldn't find anything."
"So I'll have to assume there isn't, until or unless I find out otherwise. Which leaves what to do up to my discretion." Hayes rubbed his lower face for a few moments. "Okay. You write me up a charge sheet, Mr. Sinclair. Whatever charges against Lieutenant Silver you feel would be appropriate and provable. No more, no less. Don't talk to anyone about this. Bring the charge sheet to me when you're done."
"Yes, sir."
"I want a clean document, Mr. Sinclair. If I approve of the charges, that charge sheet will serve as justification for convening a court-martial."
"Y-yes, sir."
Hayes rubbed his entire face this time, looking weary. "Some people think being the captain of a ship is a great deal. All this authority. You get to do just about anything you want to do. But you also have to do a lot of things you'd rather not do. I hate the idea of court-martialing an officer. But I hate the idea of someone doing this and getting off free even worse."
Paul waited a moment, but after Hayes stayed silent Paul stood up. "I'll get right on it, sir."
"One more thing, Mr. Sinclair. This is my decision. Understand? You didn't make it, you don't get blamed for it. It's my job to make decisions and live with the consequences."
"Yes, sir." Paul paused, then blurted out, "Thank you, sir."
Hayes looked cross for a moment. "For what? Get to work on those charges, Paul."
"Yes, sir." Paul exited the hatch, oblivious to the curious stares of those in line, and was halfway back to his stateroom before he realized that the captain's last word to him had been his first name. At the least, that seemed to signify approval.
Paul delivered the charge sheet to Captain Hayes the next morning. He notified Ivan Sharpe soon afterwards, swearing him to secrecy until the captain took action.
Sharpe bent a concerned look at Paul. "You don't look so good, sir."
Paul snorted and massaged the joints of his jaw to relieve the stress there. "I'm a little strung out, Sheriff. I spent a good part of the night writing up those charges and trying to make sure they're as well chosen and well drafted as I could make them. And every minute I was doing it I couldn't help thinking that the object of my work was to send a fellow officer to a court-martial."
"Sir, that guy's not worth your stress. Not after what he did."
Paul glared at Sharpe. "Lieutenant Silver hasn't been formally charged and he sure as hell hasn't been convicted."
"Are you telling me you don't think he's guilty, sir?"
Paul looked away, glaring now at a blank spot on the bulkhead. "No. I wouldn't have gone this far if I'd believed that. But, dammit, he's innocent until proven guilty."
"A cop can have trouble thinking that way, Mr. Sinclair."
"I know, Sheriff. That's why cops don't run the courts. Don't get me wrong. I respect the need for a 'find the guilty bastard' attitude. But we can't afford to fall into a mindset of 'he's accused so he must be guilty.'" The silence made Paul glance up again, to see Sharpe frowning in turn. "Hey, a big part of my job is making sure the captain doesn't hit any legal rocks and shoals. If I don't do that right because I'm convinced of someone's guilt or for any other reason, I'd be doing what Silver's accused of. Not doing my job right and letting someone else get hurt as a result."
Sharpe nodded. "Fair enough, sir."
"And I need a good cop like you to handle the cop side of things."
"Ah, shucks, sir, you say the nicest things. Did the captain give you any idea when he'd do something?"
Paul shook his head, looking away again. "No. It might be a few days, at least. He's got to read those charges, decide which he supports, decide if he still wants to go ahead with a court-martial. I'm not sure if there'll be anything public before the court-martial order is issued."
"Maybe not, sir. I don't envy you, sir. I don't have to be around Lieutenant Silver. You're going to have to work with him."
"Thanks for reminding me. Hopefully, it'll only be a couple of days."
One week went by. Whenever Paul encountered Captain Hayes, he ached to ask about the charges, but knew he shouldn't, and Hayes didn't volunteer any information. Paul's growing irritability at first worried his fellow junior officers, until Kris Denaldo suggested it was being caused by the extended absence of his girlfriend Jen Shen. The resulting teasing caused Paul a bit more stress, but at least of a different kind.
The second week had almost crawled to a close when Commander Kwan summoned Paul to his stateroom. Paul stood in Kwan's stateroom, wondering as to the reason, while Kwan scanned his terminal with an unreadable expression before looking up at Paul. "Mr. Sinclair. Lieutenant Silver has been referred to a general court-martial by the fleet commander." Kwan stopped speaking for a moment, his face hard. "By order of the captain, Lieutenant Silver is to be immediately relieved of all his duties. His stateroom is to be sealed off until it can be searched for evidence. Commander Destin is taking care of escorting Lieutenant Silver off of the ship. You are to take care of sealing his stateroom."
Paul nodded, trying not to let his reaction to the news show. "Aye, aye, sir. Lieutenant Silver shares a stateroom with Lieutenant Bristol."
"Then Commander Sykes will just have to find a new home for Lieutenant Bristol for a few days!"
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed. No, wait." Kwan pointed to his screen. "Did you know about this?"
"Yes, sir."
"So did I, Mr. Sinclair. There'll be no celebrating this event on this ship. Is that understood?"
Paul stared at the executive officer. "Yes. Sir." He knew his voice had come out hard and angry at the implications behind Kwan's order, but at the moment didn't care. "There's nothing to celebrate."
"That's right, Mr. Sinclair. I'm heartened to hear that you realize that. Dismissed."
Paul headed for Silver's stateroom, paging Petty Officer Sharpe as he went. He'd need the ship's master-at-arms to formally seal off the stateroom. Reaching the stateroom, he paused, wondering if Silver might still be inside, or if he'd already been escorted off the ship by Commander Destin. As he stood there, Mike Bristol came up and reached for the hatch. Paul held out a hand. "Sorry, Mike. You can't go in there."
Mike gave him a puzzled look. "Okay. And the joke is?"
"No joke. Captain's orders." Sharpe came quickly down the passageway. "Petty Officer Sharpe will be sealing this stateroom pending a search for evidence."