John Hemry: Against All Enemies

"Why are we here?" Kris Denaldo blurted out, ignoring a fresh set of glares from both Garcia and Moraine as well as the XO. "Captain?"

Hayes twisted his mouth. "That's a reasonable question. We're here to deter any adverse actions. That hasn't changed. But it's a bluff, Ms. Denaldo. We want our presence to prevent anything from getting out of hand. That can only work if the other ships present are sufficiently unsure of our own intentions and ability to act if and when we see fit. I hope that makes it crystal clear why the limitations on our ability to act must remain very tightly held.

"The rules regarding the people on the asteroid are different. If they fire upon us, we are authorized to take out any weapons firing at us. That's all. Nothing else. No power supplies. No inactive weapons. Nothing else. Pure self-defense on the most limited basis possible."

Commander Destin spoke again. "The people on the asteroid have threatened to use their children as human shields."

Captain Hayes grimaced. "We're all aware of that. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, if we come to it. We have to hope the cops can prevent any firing from taking place. They're supposed to have some new non-lethal stuff that'll incapacitate the defenders before they can do any shooting."

"What about the other ships?" Brad Pullman asked. "Do we know what rules of engagement they're operating under?"

Garcia gave Pullman an annoyed look.

"No." Hayes paused as if thinking for a moment before he spoke again. "As I said, I have reason to believe this standoff is coming to a head soon. I know this ship is as ready as human effort can make her, and I want you all to know I recognize the extraordinary effort the crew has been put forth in the last few weeks. But I need to make sure you're all ready, too. Mentally ready. If somebody throws a punch, we need to ready to react in the most appropriate means possible."

Silence followed the captain's last statement. Paul wondered how many of the others were thinking what he was. Just what will be the "most appropriate means possible"? Especially since we can't really do anything if someone "throws a punch"? He felt frustration boiling up inside. It's not the captain's fault. Hell, it's not the fault of anyone on this ship. We've been sent into this mess with orders that tie our hands. But if anything goes wrong, it'll be our fault.

The watch rotation had rolled its way to that point where Paul came off the 1800–2000 second dog watch knowing he didn't have another watch until 0400. It wasn't anything like a full night's sleep by normal standards, but the promise of several hours of uninterrupted sleep seemed like heaven.

Until a messenger came to his stateroom and woke him up. "Mr. Sinclair? You're needed in the captain's cabin."

Paul pried his eyes open and checked the time. Half an hour until midnight. He ran through most of the obscenities he'd learned since joining the Navy, adding in the ones he'd picked up from Ensign Taylor, as he struggled into his uniform.

Commander Kwan was waiting outside the captain's cabin when Paul arrived, with Lieutenant Bolen right behind. Kwan jerked his thumb to indicate they should enter, then followed, pulling the hatch shut behind him.

Inside, the captain's cabin was dimly lit by nighttime illumination and crowded with figures. Paul ran his eyes over the group, seeing that in addition to Bolen and Kwan those present were Commander Garcia, Commander Moraine and Commander Destin. The Combat Information Center officer, the weapons officer, the Operations Department head and his relief, and the Chief Engineer. Captain Hayes was sitting on his bunk to allow room for the others since the cabin could hardly hold the small group.

Hayes looked at them, his expression hard to read in the weak light. "We've been notified that the security forces will begin their operation against the settlers at oh one hundred tonight. Nobody outside of this room is to be told. Is that clear?" Everyone nodded. "I want each of you to be prepared. Hopefully, everything will go well and those cops will take down the settlers without any trouble. But if things don't go well, we may have to improvise some very quick responses."

Garcia nodded heavily. "Will we get copies of the operation plan or will we have to read yours, sir?"

"Neither. I don't have the plan and you won't have it. All I know is the start time."

For once, Paul agreed with Garcia's outrage. "Captain, that's nuts! They're carrying out this op right under our noses. We need to know exactly what's going to happen and when! Otherwise-"

"I know." Hayes cut off Garcia in a way that made it seem the captain agreed but couldn't do anything about it. "But we don't see the plan. Security is regarded as too important."

Garcia seemed to be struggling with himself but managed to keep silent.

Hayes looked around again. "I don't know how many of you were ever scouts when you were kids, but at oh one hundred I want you to be prepared. Clear? That's all."

They pulled themselves out of the captain's cabin. Paul caught Garcia's gaze, looking for any further instructions, but Garcia shook his head like an angry bull and headed rapidly off down the passageway. Moraine eyed Paul, then turned without a word and followed Garcia. Kwan and Destin stared at Paul and Bolen in a way that conveyed a desire for privacy, so the junior officers left, Bolen quickly angling off in his own direction.

Paul stopped moving, hanging with one hand locked on the nearest hold, and checked the time. Just after midnight. Sleep was obviously impossible at this point. But he couldn't do anything, either. Anything he might do could cause people to wonder what was about to happen, and the last thing Paul wanted was to have the Captain, the XO and both his current and future department heads accusing him of violating a clear order to avoid tipping anyone else off.

What did that leave? As he hung there, Randy Diego came by and gave him a surprised look. "What're you doing up, Paul?"

Good question. Randy had just come off watch, but what explanation could Paul give? "The XO wanted to see me," Paul explained, reasoning that it was a truthful statement as far as it went.

"Oh. Paperwork?"

"Yeah." Paul seized on the explanation. "Legal officer stuff. There's some reports the XO wants to see."

Randy winced. "That ship's legal officer job really sucks, doesn't it? Uh, have they told you who's going to get it when you leave the ship?"

"Not yet." Every officer had collateral duties, extra jobs they got to be responsible for in addition to their primary jobs. Paul had been given the legal officer job, responsible for advising the captain on legal issues, by virtue of a three-week-long course he'd taken before reporting to the ship. With Paul's own transfer off the ship coming up, he'd heard that the other junior officers were in mortal terror of being assigned the legal officer job. "Are you volunteering?" he couldn't help adding.

"No!" Randy suddenly seemed to realize he needed to be somewhere else and started down the passageway away from Paul. "I'm too busy all the time now! Check you later!"

"Sure." Paul watched him go, then headed for the wardroom first. He'd need coffee.

The only person in the wardroom when Paul entered was the new supply officer. Paul blinked in surprise as he realized Commander Smithe was watching a video on the big display screen. Smithe gave a non-verbal and non-committal greeting to Paul and then paid full attention to the screen while Paul got his coffee.

Paul checked the title of the video as he got his dose of caffeine. Slaughterhouse Five? Oh, it's a twentieth century video. Old junk. With time to kill, he pulled out his data pad and called up a description of the movie. It sounded mostly incomprehensible, but Paul locked on one section of the description. "The aftermath of Dresden." Dresden? Air raid. Good God. Now I remember. He looked at the screen, where two men were climbing up some huge pile of rubble. Dresden. They still don't know how many people were killed there. For no reason. No military reason, anyway.