Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason (15 page)

“Here you are,” Ellen said, finally, opening the hatch for them to enter the stateroom. I hadn’t realised that Devastator had so many crew quarters, although I suspected that the designers had probably had something else in mind. The cabins in the stateroom would have suited forty Cadets or Ensigns. I doubted that even an Admiral on a battleship would have such accommodation.

“It’s too small,” one of the women said. She had a nasal voice that made me detest her right from the start, a high-pitched whine that might have been more suited to a dog whistle. She hobbled around on her high heels, the better to glare at Ellen. “We were promised the best quarters on the ship.”

“There are the best quarters on the ship,” Ellen said. She didn’t look hassled in the slightest, despite staring into a face that showed the signs of too much cosmetic surgery. It might have looked good on the videos, but face to face it was appalling. “They were designed for an Admiral and his staff, more than suitable for you.”

She smiled at the men and I watched them melt under her smile. “And if you have any further questions, Lieutenant Walker will be glad to handle them,” she continued. My thoughts were unprintable. “I have to return to help the Captain make the final preparations to depart.”

I watched as she swept out, having thrown me to creatures that were worse than lions. “This is our manifesto,” one of the male reporters said, thrusting a sheet of paper into my hands. I was surprised that they didn’t use datapads, but perhaps reporters were exempt from the strict limits on how much paper people could use. It was a valuable resource, after all. “I expect that all of it will be here or I will be forced to talk to Admiral Hoover, a very dear friend of mine.”

“Certainly, sir,” I said. I actually suspected that Admiral Hoover had never heard of him, but I didn’t want to risk finding out the hard way. I scanned the sheet of paper quickly, shaking my head. It seemed that some of the reporters had supporting staff who would be travelling on a converted assault carrier, but some of their supplies were travelling with us. It was an odd list too, odder than some of the Captain’s requests; they had alcohol and hard drugs. “I’ll see to it at once, shall I?”

“And be back here quickly,” one of the women added. She gave me a smile that had absolutely no humour in it whatsoever. “We will have more tasks for you.”

I slipped outside and used my terminal to call the crewmen who were in the pool, waiting for someone to give them orders. I told them to pick up the luggage that the reporters had left out in the airlock and transport it to their quarters. I guessed that the reporters would be spending the entire trip stoned out of their minds. I just hoped they wouldn’t start selling it to the crew. Once I had finished issuing orders, I went back inside, only to discover that an argument was going on.

“The food on these ships is terrible,” another female reporter snapped. She wore a dress that showed off all of her breasts, apart from her nipples, but somehow I couldn’t find her attractive. “I want you to ensure that we get the best food from quality dealers.”

“I shall do my best,” I promised. Everyone on the ship, apart from the Captain, was supposed to eat in the mess with the rest of the crew. I’d have to check with Anna if the reporters were allowed to eat in their own stateroom. I couldn’t see the Captain agreeing, but it didn’t seem fair to expose the rest of the crew to the seven reporters and their endless complaints. “And…”

There was another deluge of complaints. I wished that the Academy had taught more diplomacy, instead of just Non-Violent Conflict Resolution, but Gandhi himself would have sworn off non-violence after meeting the reporters. When I’d been chewed out on the Jacques Delors, I had thoroughly deserved it. The reporters seemed to expect me to have more authority than the Captain and the ability to snap my fingers and make things happen. That didn’t work, even on a properly-run starship.

“That crewman was leering at me,” one of the women – the one exposing her breasts – protested, when the crewmen finally delivered the luggage and left. Her voice rose to a pitch that hurt my ears. “I demand you have him punished at once!”

It looked to me as if I should ask the Ship’s Doctor to check his eyes, or perhaps his sanity, instead, but I didn’t say that out loud. “I shall see to it,” I promised. Some kind of reward seemed to be in order. “Do you want a tour of the vessel once you have finished unpacking?”

It was nearly an hour before I could escape and report back to Ellen that the reporters had started to settle into the stateroom. She seemed pleased about it, although I still didn’t understand why we were putting up with them in the first place. Why couldn’t they have travelled on an assault carrier along with their support staff?

But a good thing did come out of it. I had forgotten all about the logistics bureaucrats. When I returned to that task, it was almost a relief.

Chapter Twelve

Heinlein was founded by a group of colonists intent on developing a society based on the teachings of Robert Anson Heinlein (banned on Earth since the UN took control), particularly those exposed in Starship Troopers. Heinlein, unlike Earth or many other worlds, only granted the electoral franchise to military veterans, who signed up for a two-year period of service in the military. Although the system wasn't perfect, it did lead to the development of a society that stood in stark contrast to the UN, which granted a meaningless vote to every citizen. This meant that Heinlein, along with the purchased vote system of Williamson’s World and the Dual Monarchy of Nova Britannia, was a threat to the UN by the mere fact of its existence.

-Thomas Anderson. An Unbiased Look at the UNPF. Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“You did well,” Captain Shalenko said, gravely. “I only needed to intervene once.”

I nodded, too tired to speak. I’d finally managed to convince the Supply Department that we actually needed the items on the Captain’s list – all, but one. I’d kept playing the game until one day before our departure date, but then I’d had to admit defeat and ask the Captain to handle it. I don’t know what he said to the Supply Department, but suddenly all the obstacles melted away and we got everything we wanted, quickly. It almost made working with the reporters worthwhile.

“As a special reward,” the Captain continued, “you are to escort Miss Johnston with us when we go onboard Admiral Hoover’s flagship for the briefing.”

I blinked. “Captain…is that wise?”

“The Admiral wants a reporter there for the briefing,” Captain Shalenko said. He didn’t chew me out for my remark, which I took to mean that he privately questioned the Admiral’s wisdom as well. “You will find her and bring her to the Captain’s Boat for 1400.”

“Aye, sir,” I said, and went to the reporters stateroom. They had already exhausted most of the pleasures on the starship – which were few and far between – and had been driving me crazy with their incessant demands. Two of the reporters seemed to have fallen out with the other five and weren’t speaking to them, while the other five seemed to be drafting the victory proclamation already. Given that no one on the starship, but them, seemed to know the fleet’s target, I couldn’t help, but wonder if they were being premature.

But I had to admit that Lillian Johnston was the best of a bad bunch. She wore tight clothes that revealed everything while showing nothing, but she actually seemed to have a brain in her head. It just wasn't one that was focused on surviving in space. She’d already asked me a whole series of silly questions – she even asked me if she could go outside the starship without a spacesuit – and I didn’t want to read any of her work. It actually turned out, when I questioned her, that she was actually paid to present the news, rather than dig it up. The Admiral might have been smarter than I’d thought. She certainly wouldn’t notice anything amiss.

“The Captain wants me to come?” She asked, for all the world as if she got requests like that every day. “I’d love to, darling.”

I managed to duck the other reporters, who were shouting demands that they be allowed to come as well, and led her out of the stateroom. I saw her nose tighten slightly as she took in the lower decks, obviously comparing it to a pleasure liner she’d travelled on years ago. I’d already heard enough about the White Swan to feel that I knew it perfectly, apparently, the crew were respectful and the food was divine. It never seemed to cross their minds that the passenger liner was designed for the idle rich and that real starships were much more cramped. If half of what they said was true, the liner had to be making a loss with each passage.

“This is the Captain’s Boat,” I explained, when we reached the shuttlebay. Unlike a more workable shuttle, or tug, the Captain’s Boat looked surprisingly pretty. I’d heard that they were actually constructed somewhere on one of the colonies, which wasn't something to put my mind at rest. The engineers had been all over it, but a competent engineer could have probably rigged the boat to blow at will. “She can hold nine passengers in reasonable comfort.”

“This isn’t comfort, darling,” Lillian trilled, as soon as she saw the interior of the tiny ship. “This is barely large enough to swing a cat.”

“It was large enough for four First Lieutenants,” the Captain said, gravely. Anna followed him into the boat and took the helm. “We were on shore leave at Tropicana and decided to see how many First Lieutenants we could fit into the ship.”

I swallowed the bait. “But, sir…surely you could have fitted in five more…”

“Oh, at that point we ran out of First Lieutenants,” Captain Shalenko said, with a flickering grin. “We had to make up the difference with some of the locals.” He winked at me. “Not quite regulation, but close enough for government work.”

I blushed. “Yes, sir,” I agreed. “Close enough.”

Anna was a skilled pilot, I realised, as we flew out of the shuttlebay and orientated ourselves on Orbit Nine, before racing past it to the battleship looming up in the distance. It was large enough to be visible with the naked eye almost before we passed Orbit Nine, a single white craft that seemed to dominate the surrounding area. It was surprisingly elegant, in a way, shaped like a long oval. The drive blisters at the rear seemed only to mar its perfection.

“She’s beautiful,” I breathed. Suddenly, I envied Roger and his service on a battleship. “Sir, why don’t we have more like her?”

Captain Shalenko snorted. “She cost the same price as ten light cruisers and took five years to build,” he said. “If old Admiral Picard hadn’t wanted a proper flagship, she and her twins wouldn’t have been built at all. She handles like a wallowing elephant and is the easiest target this side of a planet. We should have built the cruisers instead and then we would have had more flexibility. Instead…”

Lillian spoke into the silence. “Do you think that she’s not beautiful?”

“Beauty only takes a person so far,” Captain Shalenko said, crossly. I caught his gaze and winced inwardly. “If she wasn't such a big target, I might admire the designers, but as it is…she’s nothing more than a glorified pleasure yacht for the Admiral and his staff. If she gets hit and taken out of action, the entire fleet will be decapitated.”

“Coming in to dock now,” Anna said, breaking into the conversation. “The Command Deck has cleared Docking Twelve for us.”

“Closer to the conference room,” the Captain commented, as we swept closer. “They must be in a hurry.”

As we came in to dock, I realised that a dozen other shuttles and smaller craft were also docked to the battleship, studding her white hull like so many limpets. The Captain had mentioned that it was a briefing, but I hadn’t realised that it was for so many officers and men. It looked as if every starship in Earth’s solar system had sent representatives. We docked, with nary a bump, and I smiled inwardly. If nothing else, I was looking forward to seeing the interior of the battleship.

“Welcome onboard the Kofi Annan,” a very familiar voice said. It was Roger, wearing his dress uniform. I was surprised by how much I missed him and the others. I was also surprised that I hadn’t been ordered to get into my own dress uniform, but perhaps the Captain hadn’t cared. “I am to escort you to the conference room.”

“Of course,” Captain Shalenko said. “Lead on.”

I wanted to exchange comments with Roger, but we both had to be businesslike. The starship’s corridors were almost completely empty, apart from a handful of officers wearing more braid than I ever expected to be wearing in my lifetime. I saw seven Captains, two Commodores and the Port Admiral; Roger and I, of course, were beneath their notice. Captain Shalenko exchanged comments with a few of his contemporaries, while I lurked behind him and tried not to be noticed. It took nearly ten minutes to get into the conference room…and it was heaving. There were nearly two hundred people in the compartment.

“Take Lillian and go to the rear,” Captain Shalenko ordered, tightly. Roger had vanished into the crowd, perhaps to round up some more strays. “Report back to me once we’re dismissed.”

“Admiral on the deck,” a voice cracked out. The entire room rose, apart from the reporters, who looked unimpressed. Lillian was far from the only reporter in the room and I found myself wondering why the Admiral had wanted her. Some of the reporters actually looked intelligent.