Sharpe kept his eyes on the Greenspacers as he shook his head. "No, sir."
Paul saw he'd become the center of attention for the Greenspacers. One, a tall man with a beard who carried himself like some sort of secular saint, moved forward slightly before halting as Sharpe and his nearest deputy made warning gestures. "Are you in authority here?"
"I'm the ship's legal officer." Which has been nothing but a pain in the neck since I got assigned that extra job the day I reported aboard this ship. Why did I have to have had a two-week gap in my orders which somebody decided to fill by sending me to the ship's legal officer course? Being the Combat Information Center Officer is more than enough work without needing to deal with all the junk being legal officer tosses my way.
The Saint looked at Paul sternly. "We expect to be released immediately. This detention is unlawful."
"No, sir, it is not. United States law authorizes us to take you into custody if you deliberately violate a restricted area."
An intense-looking woman laughed harshly. "Space is free!"
"You'll have to discuss that with the United Nations, ma'am. Now, if you'll — "
The Saint raised a demanding palm. "We will not tolerate being held by military forces. This is a violation of our human rights."
Paul glanced at Sheriff Sharpe, whose expression made it obvious what he thought of the Saint's human rights, then addressed the group. "You would have all died if we hadn't rescued you. It's our duty to rescue humans in distress in space. Our humanitarian duty." Some of the Greenspacers glowered back, while others smiled as if they were sharing a joke with Paul. "You will be held in protective custody until we can turn you over to civil law enforcement authority."
"You're jailing us?"
"No, sir. A warship is a dangerous place. Even a misplaced hand could cause serious repercussions. For your own protection, you'll be kept in two compartments, one for the men and one for the women."
The intense woman laughed again. "We're all equals! We've no need for your archaic cultural codes."
"Ma'am, I regret to inform you that your needs are not this ship's priority. You will follow Petty Officer First Class Sharpe as he leads you to the compartments. Anyone who attempts to damage the ship or leave the group will be dealt with as necessary to ensure the safety of everyone on board." The last sentence of Paul's statement had been boilerplated in fleet guidance for handling situations like this. It simplified Paul's task and helped ensure he wouldn't say something potentially embarrassing or illegal.
Fortunately for all concerned, the Greenspacers followed Sharpe quietly. Some of the protesters obviously lacked much experience in space, having difficulty moving smoothly through the cramped passageways of the Michaelson in zero gravity. Paul had to suppress a couple of smiles as Greenspacers bumped painfully off of pipes, wiring, cabling conduits and other equipment lining the sides and overhead of the passageway.
As the Greenspacer men were shepherded into their compartment, grumbling over the tight quarters in the tiny crew recreation room which had been commandeered for their confinement, the Saint looked back toward Paul and smiled once more, this time triumphantly. "This shows the difference between us and militaristic fascists such as yourself. We don't believe in criminalizing peaceful acts of protest, or confining those who care only for the well-being of others."
Paul fought down his first biting reply, then smiled back. "That's your interpretation, sir. I think the difference between us is that every once in a while I'm willing to consider the possibility that I might be wrong." He swung around to leave, catching a wide grin on Sharpe's face as he did so. "Let me know when they're snugged down, Sheriff."
"Aye, aye, sir. May I make a suggestion, sir?"
"By all means."
Sharpe indicated the alarm panel next to the hatch leading into the temporary prison. "I wouldn't count on those, sir. Sometimes people figure out ways to mess with automated controls and alarms, and we've no idea what skills these prisoners might have. I want to put my deputy masters-at-arms on watch outside these compartments."
Paul paused to consider the suggestion. The Sheriff's deputies weren't masters-at-arms by specialty. They were petty officers from other ratings, such as fire control technicians, gunners mates and bosun mates, who'd volunteered for the extra responsibility. Putting them on a watch here would take them away from their primary duties, and make at least a few of their division officers and department heads unhappy. But Sharpe's suggestion made sense. Paul had a vision of Greenspacers with unknown skills and idealistic foolishness loose within the ship for even a few minutes, and had to fight down a shudder. "Do it, Sheriff."
"Aye, aye, sir. I'm sure the XO will approve."
Paul cocked an eyebrow at Sharpe, then smiled. It'd been one of the smoother means of proffering advice he'd received from enlisted sailors since joining the Navy. "I'm sure he will, too. I'll brief the XO right away, so if anyone complains refer them to me so I can refer them to the XO."
Sharpe's reply sounded perfectly serious. "Excellent idea, sir."
"Thanks. If you need me after that, I'm going to get some coffee."
"Another excellent idea, sir."
"Yeah, I'm full of them today."
The XO agreed immediately to the wisdom of using Sharpe's deputies to ensure the Greenspacers didn't wreak any havoc onboard, leaving Paul a few minutes to unwind. He headed for the wardroom, squeezing back against the sides of the passageways to let those on more urgent errands pass, then swung through the hatch into the relative haven of the Michaelson 's small wardroom. The chair normally occupied by Commander Steve Sykes, the Michaelson 's Supply Officer, sat uncharacteristically empty. However, Lieutenant Sindh was strapped into a seat at the small wardroom table, holding a drink the Navy hopefully labeled 'Near East Tea' but sailors referred to as 'Nastea', and staring contemplatively into space.
Paul grabbed some coffee and strapped himself into another chair. "Hey, Sonya."
Lieutenant Sindh focused on Paul, then raised her own drink in a mock toast. "Are our new passengers taken care of?"
"For the time being at least. They shouldn't be able to screw up anything else before we offload them." Paul shook his head. "It's kinda strange."
"What?"
"Well, I saw those Greenspacers, and I'm thinking, 'get a haircut, for pity's sake. Stand up straight, get a shave, and get your clothes neatened up.' I mean, they did look like hippies to me, but when I stand back and think about it, I realize I used to look a lot like that."
Sindh grinned widely. "Ah. Culture shock."
"I've been around civilians since I entered the Navy."
"But not recently. When's the last time you were home?"
Paul only had to think a moment. "After graduation from the Academy. I haven't been back since I got orders to space duty. You know how hard it is to get a shuttle home, especially when we have so little time available to take leave."
"Uh huh." Sindh leaned back, a meaningless gesture in zero gravity yet one which every human still attempted out of habit. " I've been back. Let me tell you, it's tough. My little brother, I thought he looked like some sleazy thug. He wasn't. He was just a typical teenage civilian. And my parents…" She laughed this time.
"What about your parents?"
"They thought I was insane."
Paul eyed her to see if Sindh was serious. "Why?"