The Cruiser by David Poyer

Fahad Almarshadi, who was slightly bent, smiling radiantly. The exec’s smile lessened as Dan didn’t return it. “The, uh … thought I’d give you an update.”
    â€œCheryl, I’m going offline, talk to the XO. —What have you got, Commander?”
    â€œThe results of the sonar self-noise test you asked for.” He swallowed visibly. “It’s … not as good as I’d hoped.”
    Dan flipped through the report. “Why’s our throughput so low?”
    â€œOne thought is, there might be water vapor in the transducers.”
    Which could trace back to the grounding damage; his decision to bypass a dry-docking might be coming home to roost. He grimaced. “We checking it out?”
    â€œYessir, the STGs are doing that.”
    â€œRit Carpenter made it aboard, right? He on it?”
    â€œHe’s down there with them, sir. A big help, from what I hear.”
    â€œGood. Have him come up and … no, belay that. What else?”
    Almarshadi went over their progress on testing the other cooling hoses in the electronics, then on how the Aegis team was doing against their proficiency milestones. When he paused, Dan lowered his voice. “No joy on finding that missing pistol, I take it?”
    â€œNo sir. It just … disappeared. I’ve got the loss report ready for you to sign out.”
    Great. “Fahad, why exactly do I get the impression that, like, something’s not exactly right aboard this fucking ship?”
    The exec’s dark brown eyes slid off his as if Teflon-greased. “I’m not sure I … understand what you’re referring to. Captain.”
    â€œI went over the records. We had liberty misconduct in Gibraltar. The Command Climate Survey … it’s pretty obvious there was a hostile work climate in some of the departments. I also saw that the commander master chief, I mean, the previous one, not Tausengelt, had a request in for transfer. How did all that connect to what happened coming into Naples? That’s a symptom, not the cause. Or am I pissing up the wrong rope?”
    â€œI wasn’t on the bridge then, Captain.”
    â€œWhich leads to the question, why were you below decks, Fahad? Why was the XO not on the bridge, coming into port in poor visibility?”
    Another visible swallow. “Captain Imerson did not like me in the pilothouse when he was there.”
    Aha. Dan put his next question in the least judgmental phraseology he could think of. “I see. Okay. And why do you think he felt that way?”
    Almarshadi seemed to grab his gaze and steer it, consciously, like a radar beam, back up into Dan’s face. A spark of—anger? resentment?—flared in those dark pupils. “I believe it might have had to do with my being an Arab.”
    Dan contemplated this, along with the gold cross he’d glimpsed underneath Almarshadi’s T-shirt. There were a lot of Christian Arabs, although the uneducated didn’t seem to grasp this. It was true, a few individuals didn’t leave prejudice behind when they put on a uniform. On the other hand, he’d run into his share of minorities who played the race card when they were just plain incompetent.
    He let the silence rubber-band, not meeting the XO’s gaze, just staring up at the display. Staurulakis was cat-and-mousing three Houdong-class patrol boats. Houdongs were Chinese-built, part of the progressively closer alignment of that country with Iran. They were filtering in, jockeying for the classic noon, four, and eight o’clock positions. Faced with that, she’d fight at a disadvantage, since warding off an attack from one sector left her vulnerable in the others. He realized Almarshadi was still gazing at him expectantly. “Uh, okay. Anything else?”
    â€œNo sir. That is about it. Oh, and Lieutenant Singhe has requested to see you. When it is convenient.”
    â€œAmy Singhe?