"Petty Officer Third Class Ruelin Vespid, olive, fifteen sweeps, sir. It's in the report. Sir, if you didn't want me to involve myself, why did you allow me to go?" Not the faintest hint of suspicion or betrayal makes it into your voice or onto your face. You sit on the rock like a statue, back straight, hands on your knees. Of course he's going to discipline you for killing a violet. He may space you. But damned if you won't make him say why before he does it.