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slouched in a corner.
    Tweed beckoned him over with a small gesture, then indicated two enlisted sailors operating a console nearby. "Hang around there, Paul," she advised in a whisper. "Just watch and learn."
    Paul stole a glance toward Garcia. "But he said for me to get to work."
    "This is work. Learning is work. Keep your eyes and ears open. That's the best way to avoid mistakes."
    "Shouldn't I do anything?"
    "If Garcia wants you to do something, he'll tell you. Until then, just stay out of his way."
    Paul nodded, positioning himself near the enlisted. Great. My department head issues vague orders to do something while he runs this drill personally, and my division officer tells me to do nothing while she tries to hide in a corner. Well, I won't be happy doing nothing for long, but Tweed's right that I need to learn a lot about operations in here .
    Paul had toured Combat Information Centers before, he'd taken courses on what happened in a CIC, and had even experienced a few CIC simulator runs during training. A CIC did exactly what its name said, collecting all available information to support combat decisions and carry out combat actions ordered by the ship's captain. Every sensor funneled readings and detections to this compartment. Every communications circuit was monitored here, either by humans or computers listening for keywords. Intelligence reports came here, their data and estimates added to the welter of information. Skilled personnel evaluated what they saw, monitoring displays that hopefully gave a ship's commanding officer everything needed to make critical decisions, decisions that might literally involve life and death. If those decisions dictated that weapons were to be employed, someone in this compartment might well fire those weapons.
    Despite his training, Paul found being part of a real CIC to be daunting. Funny how much different it is to actually be expected to participate in a real CIC compared to some simulator drill. I'm actually part of this. What part, I'm not sure, yet . He glanced over at Tweed, hunched in her corner. The CIC Officer is supposed to be running all this, making sure all the enlisted specialists are doing their jobs well and making sure the information displayed for the Captain is clear and accurate. Everything seems to be running great. Is Tweed being smart by letting capable enlisted do their jobs, or is she just giving them free rein because she doesn't want to supervise them ? Paul took a long look at Commander Garcia, hunched over a terminal and snarling commands. Or has Garcia effectively taken over Tweed's job and left her nothing to supervise, regardless of how she feels ? The last possibility was particularly worrisome. Despite his misgivings, Paul had no doubt he could learn to carry out a CIC Officer's responsibilities. But he also knew he wouldn't have much chance of ever doing that if Commander Garcia insisted on personally running the show.
    He watched and he listened, feeling a growing sense of reassurance at the ease with which the enlisted specialists handled their jobs, increasingly deciding that Tweed's passivity was a combined result of two of the factors he'd earlier considered: Garcia's involvement and confidence in her personnel. She wasn't being allowed to run things, but she didn't have to run things. The path of least resistance ran naturally right to the corner Tweed occupied.
    Gradually, the commands issued and information displayed began to make sense. He had to think in three dimensions rather than the two dimensional movement of surface ships on Earth, and radically change his perception of distances and speeds involved, but the basic process of detection, localizing and tracking wasn't really different from that used on the waterborne ships Paul had trained on.
    The two enlisted at the console directly before Paul were responsible for evaluating sensor detections. For the most part, they spent the drill trying not to look bored as detections popped