A Choice of Treasons (14 page)

CHAPTER 7: REMEMBRANCE

York sat down on a bench against a bulkhead in the gym, breathing hard and soaked with sweat. The damn marines were pushing him too hard, wouldn’t let him rest, and his leg was starting to ache. He looked around: nothing but marines,
Invaradin’s
entire compliment of two hundred. The gym was filled with them, men and women all stripped down to the bare minimum with an immodesty that would have been shocking on the upper decks, grunting and sweating; exercise drills, hand-to-hand combat drills, physical therapy for the wounded.

Sergeant Meciden Notay stopped in front of him, tossed him a towel, put her hands on her hips and said, “Come on, Cap’em. One more set.”

York caught the towel, wiped it across his face and looked at her carefully. She was actually rather good looking, if a little tough in appearance, but stripped down to shorts and a T-shirt he couldn’t help noticing she was in pretty good shape. “Go to hell,” York growled at her. He leaned over, began massaging his calf.

Notay squatted down in front of him. “Leg giving you trouble, sir?”

“You’re damn right it’s giving me trouble.”

She stood up, shouted over her shoulder. “Kalee. Front’n’center. Cap’em’s leg’s acting up.”

One of the marine medics slipped out of the crowd carrying a medical kit, squatted down in front of York and began rifling through the kit. It took York a moment to recognize him. “You’re the one patched me up on the boat, aren’t you?”

Kalee found what he was looking for. “Yeah, Cap’em. That was me.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Cap’em.” Kalee pressed a small, black box against the side of York’s calf, threw a switch on it and York’s leg went numb from the knee down. “Nothing to worry about, Cap’em. I just turned off your cyb. Need to make a few adjustments. That’s all.”

While the medic worked Notay sat down next to York, handed him a tumbler of cold water. York gulped at it greedily. “Glad you could make it this time, Cap’em.”

York finished drinking, looked at the woman and shrugged, “The old man made it an order.”

She smiled. “It’s all for the best, Cap’em. We need to stress that new leg of yours a little, work the bugs out of it. Besides, you’re a marine. It’s only right you working out with the rest of us.”

York started to growl that he wasn’t a damn marine, but instead he asked, “What kind of game are you playing, Notay? You and Palevi.”

“Game, Cap’em?” She looked offended. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you do. You marines treat me like shit, then all of a sudden you start treating me like I’m one of you.”

“But you are one of us, Cap’em. And we take care of our own.”

“But I’m not. I’m navy, all the way.”

She shook her head. “You went back for Stacy and Dakkart. Only a marine would’a done that.”

“But I screwed it up.”

“That doesn’t matter, Cap’em. You went back. That’s what counts.”

The medic removed the little, black box from the side of York’s leg and he could wiggle his toes again. “I dropped the gain back on the pain circuits, sir. I also checked the fit on the interface and the neural circuits. Shouldn’t give you any more trouble.”

York grinned unhappily. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it, Cap’em.”

“That’s enough for me,” York said. He stood, tested the leg for a moment. “I’m going back to my cabin, get cleaned up.”

“Don’t forget tomorrow, Cap’em,” Notay reminded him. “Same time.”

York turned for the exit. “Yeah,” he said as he walked away.

He was only a few meters down the corridor outside the gym when someone called after him, “Cap’em.”

He stopped, turned about, found Dakkart jogging down the corridor toward him. She stopped just in front of him, saluted crisply. He returned the salute. “At ease, private. What is it?”

The marine relaxed, and politely asked, “Can I speak frankly, sir?”

York nodded. “Sure.”

“Well sir, I just wanted to tell you I don’t figure I owe you nothin’ for coming back for me and Stacy. It was what you was supposed to do, so I don’t consider it no favor.” She finished with a defiant look.

York shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s fine with me, private. Now leave me alone.”

“Yes, sir,” she shouted in his face, snapped to attention, saluted, then turned and jogged back toward the gym.

“Captain’s compliments,” the yeoman said, “And Captain Telyekev wants you to report to his office immediately.”

Even on a screen York could see the tension in the yeoman’s face. “Is Captain Telyekev aware I’m on bridge watch?”

“Yes, sir, he is. Commander Rame has been notified, and he’s arranging your relief.”

York nodded. “I’ll be right down.”

York logged off the system, cleared himself off the console. As he was doing so Paris Jondee sat down next to him. “I’m here to relieve you, York old boy. Kind of funny, isn’t it? Only an hour out from Dumark and captain, first officer, and third officer haven’t even shown their faces on the bridge.”

York shook his head. “You ask too many questions, Paris.”

“Questions!” Jondee exclaimed. “I didn’t ask any questions. Just thinking out loud, old boy.”

York looked at Jondee carefully. “Well do your thinking more quietly, eh?” He didn’t wait for an answer, stood and stepped around the fire control console to stand beside Olin Rame at the command console. He saluted. “Request permission to leave the bridge, sir. Under orders of the captain.”

Rame was busy. He didn’t look up, threw a sloppy salute and said, “Permission granted.”

As the captain’s yeoman let York into Telyekev’s office he whispered, “Watch out, sir.”

York didn’t need the warning. The tension in the room was palpable. Sierka stood at attention in front of Telyekev’s desk, a bead of sweat running slowly down his brow. Telyekev sat behind his desk making no attempt to hide his anger. Joyson, a calm counterpoint to the white-hot fury of her captain, sat comfortably on a nearby couch.

Not the time for sloppy manners, York snapped to attention beside Sierka and saluted crisply. “Lieutenant Ballin reporting as ordered, sir.”

Telyekev growled, “At ease, Lieutenant.”

York assumed the position, but there was no
ease
to be had in that room.

Telyekev was in no mood for small talk. “Tell me about Trinivan, Mr. Ballin.”

York frowned. “Where would you like me to begin, sir?”

“From the moment you left this ship.”

York told them about Trinivan. It was not the first time he’d told the story so he kept it brief, leaving nothing out, but hoping to avoid details. He didn’t want to get caught in the middle of whatever was going on here. When he got to the part about his argument with Sierka he merely said, “. . . so I contacted
Invaradin
to warn you of the danger and—”

“Then you did contact us prior to the attack?” Telyekev asked.

“Yes, sir. I followed standard procedure there, sir.”

“Did you now?” Telyekev asked. “And did you request fire support?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“And what did Mr. Sierka say?”

This was getting nasty. “Well, sir, it’s rather hard to remember. We were under fire—”

“Bullshit!” Telyekev shouted, standing and leaning forward on his desk. “I want to know exactly what was said.”

Joyson intervened. “Now Alexiae,” she said softly. “Don’t take it out on poor Mr. Ballin.” She looked carefully at York. “Lieutenant, we need to know exactly what happened.”

York shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But I’d rather not make allegations I can’t prove.”

Joyson nodded resignedly. “I see you’ve already discovered portions of the ship’s log have been erased.”

York said unhappily, “It would just be my word, ma’am.”

“His word against mine,” Sierka added. “And I still don’t understand why the both of you’re so ready to side with him. He probably erased it to . . .”

Telyekev turned on Sierka with a sudden start, and Sierka’s voice trailed off into silence as Telyekev stormed around his desk, his anger unchecked, his face slowly expanding into a mask of rage. When Telyekev spoke, his voice was even more frightening for the calm, cold menace it held. “I want you to listen to something, Commander.”

Telyekev turned away from Sierka, leaned over his desk, touched a few keys on his console. York’s voice came out of a speaker there, surprising both he and Sierka. “. . . Sierka, you son-of-a-bitch. Where the hell are you? We’re under assault. Now. We need fire support—” His words were punctuated by the sounds of heavy weapons fire and exploding mortar rounds.

Telyekev touched another key and the sounds died. He turned toward Sierka, stopped with his nose only inches from the commander’s face. “Apparently you weren’t aware a copy of any marine transmission is automatically stored in the marine log, which is separate from the ship’s log and its backup.

“I don’t need to be told what happened. In fact I’ll tell you. Mr. Ballin called com and told you about our
feddie
friends, and you ignored him. Not only that, you didn’t bother to report the fact to me. And then, as if that weren’t enough, you tried to cover up your actions by erasing the com recordings of the incident.”

Sierka lifted his chin proudly. “You have no proof I destroyed any recordings—”

“Shut up,” Telyekev shouted. For an instant York thought he might hit him.

“Be careful, Alexiae,” Joyson cautioned.

Telyekev made a visible effort to calm himself, but his voice still came out in a growl. “Don’t you say another word, Sierka. I’m so mad right now, if you so much as squeak I’ll have you vented on the spot and worry about covering it up later. You seriously endangered this ship. That
feddie
got the drop on us, nothing but a fucking destroyer and it managed to hull us. He could have burned us. Not only that, you left Mister Ballin and his people at the mercy of the enemy without the support they should have been able to expect from us. I don’t give a damn what kind of difficulties you and he have between you. He and his marines are my people. Do you understand?
My people.
You don’t double-cross them that way.”

“It won’t happen again, sir,” Sierka said.

Telyekev shook his head and growled, “No. It won’t. At least not on this ship. We’re going to dock at Dumark Station shortly, and until that time you’re confined to your cabin. You can take the time to prepare a request for transfer to dirtside assignment. Have it logged for my approval before we hit dock. And have your gear packed, because if you’re not off this ship one minute after we break seal, I’ll lock you up and vent you to space when we lift off again. You’re dismissed.”

Sierka was smart enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. He saluted, turned and left.

For a moment it seemed as if Telyekev had forgotten York. But then he glanced his way, looked him over for a second, grumbled, “Get out of here.”

“Transition,” York said on
allship
, simultaneously blanking all exterior transmissions as
Invaradin
went sublight in Dumark
farspace
.

“Drones out,” Telyekev ordered.

Invaradin’s
hull echoed eerily as the combat drones launched. They waited in silence for Anda Gant to give her verdict, though on green status with little possibility of any
feddies
in the vicinity the atmosphere on the bridge was relaxed. York picked up an incoming transmission, switched it to his implants, heard the voice of a bored com-tech. “This is Dumark Station requesting an identity check.”

York examined the signal carefully. “Captain, I’m getting a request from Dumark for an identity check. It’s properly encrypted and coded.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ballin. Anda, what’s the word?”

Gant’s voice was calm. “Nothing in our immediate vicinity, sir. We’re clear to a hundred thousand kliks. There’s quite a bit of traffic near Dumark Station, but everything we’ve scanned so far seems to be ours.”

“Olin?”

Rame sounded as bored as the station com-tech. “We’re point-one lights out from Dumark’s primary, well beyond heliopause. We can move fast if we have to.”

York heard Telyekev take a deep breath. “Well, it looks like we’re home. Mr. Ballin, open communications with Dumark.”

York touched a switch on his console, activating a coded identity transmission. It also opened them up to receive their contact packet—news, mail, official business—and it transmitted a copy of their packet to Dumark for relay to Fleet, all in a fraction of a second. Then he switched in his voice pickup. “Dumark Station this is H.M.S.
Invaradin
requesting docking clearance.”