The Maury finally returned to Franklin with fanfare that almost matched the world's interest in the event. Various military and civilian VIPs had flown up to Franklin, their entourages requisitioning every spare resource on the station as well as quite a few resources that were already needed for other purposes. Every display screen on the station was set to watch the Maury as the battered warship was eased into the space-dock which dominated one section of Franklin. Paul, far from the crowds and the VIPs at the dock, stared like everyone else, appalled yet again by the damage he saw, amazed that his own memories of the devastation had somehow been dulled.
His eyes locked onto the after survival bulkhead. Jen was back there when I thought she was dead. Then I thought she was okay. But she wasn't, not after losing every person she worked with in engineering. And not after getting charged with causing it to happen. Now Commander Hughes tells me Jen won't even see her anymore. Too worried about being labeled mentally unstable just because she's getting counseling. How's that for a Catch-22? If you need help, you can't seek it without people thinking you're full-scale nuts. But Hughes can't make Jen talk to her, and Jen won't listen to me on that score.
Paul shifted his display to the dock itself. Standing in the large group awaiting the Maury, he knew, was at least one military lawyer waiting to personally interview Captain Halis after the senior officers and senior politicians had given their speeches and pinned a medal on the captain. I wonder what Captain Halis thinks about all this? I'm sure she'd trade it all for half those dead sailors back. Or maybe even one of them. What'll Halis say to the lawyer? I know she's already listed as witness for the prosecution, but that doesn't tell me what the prosecution wants her to testify about. Events? Character? Background? I'll just have to wait for that answer. Won't be long now. Now that the Maury 's home.
He looked back at the severely wounded warship again. The reinforcing members laid across the Maury 's gapping wounds stood out clearly. He'd helped with that. Not a lot of help, measured against everything it'd taken to get the Maury home, but something.
On the bridge, he knew, Captain Halis would be watching as well, while the tugs which had brought the Maury this far carefully handed her off the station. Riding a crippled ship unable to maneuver on her own, the captain would just be an observer, but still surely watching everything and looking out for her ship. I can understand that. I hope I'd do the same. It must hurt, though, being towed back into port, with her ship ripped wide open.
Paul wished he could see Captain Halis in person, plead for her help, but he suspected that might fall into the category of witness tampering. Though he doubted it'd have much effect in any case, even if he could fight through the crowds of VIPs and other well-wishers, because his very brief meeting with Captain Halis in the midst of tragedy had left Paul convinced that Jen's commanding officer would hold to whatever course she thought proper.
And there wasn't time, anyway. The court-martial would begin tomorrow. People needed to be assured as quickly as possible that the incident was being "handled." That the South Asians hadn't been involved, that justice was being done, that appropriate punishment would be meted out to the guilty. The only problem Paul had with any of that was his certainty that what people were being assured would happen wasn't the same thing he saw happening.
Chapter Nine
The courtroom selected for the trial was the same one in which Captain Wakeman had been court-martialed. Given the small number of courtrooms available on Franklin, that wasn't too surprising, but Paul thought it an unnerving coincidence. As far as he could remember, the layout hadn't changed. But the paint on the walls had been freshened, the entire room cleaned and scrubbed, ready for any media scrutiny. Cameras would record the entire trial, of course, as they did every trial. Because classified material might well be discussed, open media access wouldn't be allowed and the proceedings wouldn't be televised in real time. But once the trial was over, that record might be released, edited or whole, to satisfy the curiosity of those watching from a distance.
The judge's bench dominated the front of the courtroom, rising higher than any other table or seat. There were two doors in the back of the room. One, Paul knew, led to the judge's chambers. The other was the entrance to be used by the five officers who were the members of the court. The member's table, just a long standard issue military table which had been glamorized by having a navy blue tablecloth draped over it, had five chairs behind it, the whole arrangement angled to face the judge's bench and the witness stand.
Actually facing the judge's bench on either side were two tables. Commander Carr already sat at the trial counsel's table, studying her data pad and ignoring the spectators. At the defense table, Lieutenant Bashir sat, his fingers drumming slowly on the table.
Paul sat directly behind the defense table, the only officer of his lowly rank that far forward in the court-room. But Lieutenant Bashir had been able to reserve a seat for him there, where Paul tried to look straight ahead and ignore the curious looks he knew he was attracting.
A loud murmuring finally made Paul look around. Coming in the main door was Jen, walking with stern dignity that couldn't banish the image of the two masters-at-arms escorting her, a prisoner under guard. Even though the masters-at-arms tried to lead Jen toward the defense table, she moved to block them and take the lead herself, then stood at attention for a moment before sitting down next to Lieutenant Bashir. The masters-at-arms retreated back to the main entrance of the court-room, where they went to parade rest and kept their eyes on Jen. Jen and Bashir exchanged some quiet words, then she turned enough to look at Paul and nod, her eyes revealing far more than her rigidly controlled expression.
As Paul smiled encouragingly back, he finally caught a glimpse of the band on her ankle which marked Jen's bonds. He'd seen such bands on prisoners, the violent, dangerous ones who might flee or attack their guards. Seeing it on Jen just emphasized how unreal the entire situation felt. If I'm going to wake up from a bad dream, now would be a real good time.
The court bailiff had walked to the center of the room, standing before the judge's bench. She looked around to ensure she had everyone's attention before speaking. "When the military judge enters, I will announce 'all rise' and everyone is to rise. The military judge will instruct everyone to be seated. When the judge directs me to summon the members of the court, everyone should rise once again. The military judge will once again instruct when you are to be seated. Are there any questions?"
The bailiff didn't bother waiting to see if there were any questions. She went to the judge's door, knocked gently, then stood back as the door opened. "All rise."
Paul sprang to attention along with everyone else. Captain McMasters walked up to his bench, settled himself, then looked at the trial counsel, the defense counsel and defendant, and all the spectators. Apparently reassured that all was in order, McMasters addressed the crowd. "This Article 39 (A) session is called to order. You may be seated. Trial Counsel?"
Commander Alex Carr stayed standing as everyone else sat. "The court-martial is convened by general court-martial convening order 0322, Commander, United States Space Forces, copies of which have been furnished to the military judge, counsel, and the accused. The charges have been properly referred to the court-martial for trial and were served on the accused on 22 March 2101. The accused and the following persons detailed to the court-martial are present: Captain McMasters, Captain Carney, Commander Carr, Commander Bolivar, Lieutenant Commander Cloud, Lieutenant Bashir, Lieutenant Kalin, Lieutenant Ishiki."