"Uh, no, ma'am. I wouldn't dream of it."
"Good. Captain Hayes and I are of one mind on this issue, just in case you were planning on using it after the change of command." Gonzalez smiled briefly around the wardroom, then departed.
Sykes shrugged again. "I try. I try."
Paul grinned. "Cheer up, Suppo. Now you don't have to worry about being sued for libel by the Syrians. Hey, has anybody heard when we'll be back at Franklin?"
Kris gave Paul an arch look. "Oh, eager to get back to port, Paul? Could it be the USS Maury is in port there now?"
"She could be."
"Ha! As if you don't know. I'm sure you're heartbroken at seeing Jen again a day early. Count yourself lucky the captain didn't listen to the department heads."
"Why? What'd they want?"
Kris rolled her eyes. "They suggested we drop off the Greenspacers and then conduct some extra underway drills instead of docking. The XO thought that was a good idea, too. Fortunately, the captain reminded them we had to drop off the contractors as well, and their contract calls for in-port off-load except in emergencies."
Carl Meadows shook his head. "Gah. What do they do to peoples' brains when they get promoted to commander? No offense, Suppo."
Commander Sykes smiled. "None taken."
"I'm just glad their evil plans were foiled. I never thought I'd be this grateful to a contractor."
"Speaking of people awaiting us inport," Kris added, "I saw some administrative messages. A certain Lieutenant Silver is there, no doubt eager to relieve Carl of his many burdens."
Carl smiled broadly. "My relief is at hand. That news is almost enough to make this meal taste good."
Commander Sykes smiled back. "Indeed?"
"I said 'almost,' Suppo."
Paul had barely left the wardroom after the meal when his data pad buzzed urgently. He checked the page, then gritted his teeth. Garcia wants to see me. Right away. Great. The perfect cap to this day, no doubt. I wonder if I offended the universe yesterday?
"You needed to see me, sir?" Commander Garcia, Paul's department head, looked up with a frown deeper than his habitual bad humor. Uh oh. Now what?
"I need the personnel evaluations for all the enlisted in your division."
"Yes, sir. They'll be to you by Thursday."
"I need them tomorrow. Tomorrow morning."
Paul stared at Garcia, trying to imagine where he'd find time to get the evaluations done that quickly. "Sir? Tomorrow morning? But — "
" Tomorrow morning." Garcia unbent enough to add an explanation. "Because the test firing was postponed, we're heading back to Franklin Station. That leaves a hole in our operating schedule. The XO wants the evaluations done through the department head level before we get to Franklin so everyone can concentrate on preparing for heading out for the rescheduled test firing."
Oh, great. He's got a hole in his schedule, so I have to spend the next twelve hours straight writing like a madman, in addition to little things like standing watches and taking care of my other duties. Thanks for thinking of us, XO. "Yes, sir." It wasn't Garcia's fault, so there wasn't any sense in complaining to him. Not that complaining about stuff to Garcia ever makes much sense.
"Where's Ensign Taylor?"
Ensign Taylor had been assigned as the ship's Electronic Materials Officer when she reported aboard. For some reason, perhaps because much of Taylor's work supported Paul's job as Combat Information Center Officer, Garcia had decided Taylor worked for Paul. "I don't know, sir."
"Make sure she gets her evals in on time." Garcia turned away in obvious dismissal.
Paul fought down an impulse to make a rude face at Garcia's back. Taylor's a mustang, for crying out loud. Former enlisted, worked her way up the ranks, has been in the Navy almost as long as I've been alive, and I'm supposed to ride herd on her. Yeah, that makes sense.
Paul pulled himself rapidly back toward his stateroom, paging Taylor as he did so to pass on the new deadline for the evaluations. Taylor's response came almost immediately, and included a few obscenities Paul hadn't heard before. I wonder if I should ask her what those mean? That'd probably be a bad idea.
Kris Denaldo dodged to one side and looked alarmed as Paul darted past. "What's up, Paul? You look like general quarters is about to be called."
"Close enough. You didn't hear? The XO wants the enlisted evals done before we get back to Franklin. Mine are due in tomorrow morning. I'll bet you'll soon get word yours are, too."
"Oh, no. I've got the mid-watch! I was about to grab a few hours of sleep before I go back on watch at midnight."
"It's going to be a long night, Kris. I'd lay in some extra coffee if I was you."
"Yeah. Thanks for the heads-up." Denaldo reversed her own course and hurried back toward the port ensign locker as Paul continued towards his own stateroom.
Ensign Diego was watching a movie on his desk display when Paul swung in. The video was some old war movie, apparently set during the Twentieth Century. On screen, a grizzled war horse of an officer glared at a motley collection of soldiers and announced "Reveille tomorrow morning is at 0600" as his soldiers groaned.
Diego laughed. "How come they get to sleep in?"
"They must be on holiday routine," Paul replied. "Unlike us. Bad news, Randy. Be advised the enlisted evaluations in my department, and probably yours as well, will be due tomorrow morning. I'd get to work writing if I was you."
Diego looked horrified. "Tomorrow morning? Why are our department heads doing that to us?"
"The XO wants it that way."
"But I thought our department heads were supposed to look out for us."
Oh, man. Was I ever that naive? "Let me pass on some wisdom, Randy. I got told this right after I reported onboard. Officers in the Space Navy tend to fall into three categories. There's the exiles, guys who think they've been unjustly consigned to isolated duty in which they've little chance to maneuver for promotion. So the exiles tend to ride their subordinates hard in hope of somehow gaining favorable recognition for themselves. Then there's the survivors, officers who are merely trying to endure their tours without killing themselves or anyone else. They're usually relatively easy-going for Space Warfare Officers, but I imagine you can already guess there aren't that many survivors at department head-level and above."
Randy Diego grimaced. "Yeah. I haven't met any I'd call easy-going. Except for Commander Sykes."
"He's a special case. Finally, there's the idealists, who believe in human destiny in space and are willing to put up with extra hardships to help accomplish that, even if it doesn't necessarily enhance their careers." Paul didn't say that he'd been pegged as an idealist early on by his then-fellow-ensign Jen Shen. "Now, my department head, Commander Garcia, is very definitely an exile, which doesn't make life for me any easier and means Garcia's number one priority is looking good. Trying to talk the XO out of some new deadline the XO dreamed up is no way to look good. What about your department head?"
"Commander Nimitz? Uh, I think he'd be an idealist."
"Okay, so would an idealist, willing to undergo hardships himself, beg off the XO's new deadline so you can get a halfway decent night's sleep?"
Randy slumped for a moment, then with a flurry of curses shut off the movie and pulled up his own evaluation files. The compartment stayed silent after that, except for the sporadic sounds of Paul and Randy working.
Kris Denaldo rapped on the hatch coaming and leaned in. "Got word on the XO's anti-cut-and-paste program. As long as you make sure at least every fourth word varies, even by one letter, it'll give you a clean bill of health."
"Really?" Paul looked at his work and grinned. "Oh, that'll make things go a lot faster. How'd you find out, Kris?"
"I ran into Senior Chief Kowalski, and he happened to mention it."