Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason (29 page)

Interlude Two

From: The Never-Ending War. Stirling, SM. Underground Press, Earth.

But who are the enemy?

The United Nations did not, at first, admit the existence of an enemy. That would have put the lie of their claims that they were beloved and ‘only’ at war against corrupt government officials and others who opposed the UN’s commitment for liberty and benevolent government for all. Indeed, despite various advances in weapons science deployed by the colonies – and other forces – the UN Intelligence Division (a contradiction in terms, if ever there was one) was unwilling to admit the existence of such weapons, as that would have made a mockery of the UN’s claims to be the most advanced society that ever existed, or ever would exist.

It would be easy to say that the enemy was everyone, and there would definitely be some truth in that statement. It would be more accurate to say that the UN’s main enemies, outside the independence-minded colonies, were hidden black colonies, wreckers (terrorist groups) and even renegade UNPF officers. The threat was multisided and seemingly limitless. No matter how many successful invasions – if only for a given value of successful – the UN mounted, no matter how many black colonies were encountered and destroyed, the hydra simply grew more heads. The UN sought the creature’s heart, to rip it out and tear it to shreds, but there was no such thing. The enemy had no head.

This should not have been surprising. Even during the first expansion into space, there were groups that sought to set up their own colonies and hide from the remainder of humanity. Some of them were religious communities intending to remain apart from infidels – see the Mormon Asteroid Colony, which became New Salt Lake City, for details – while others belonged to weirder fringe groups, including rogue criminal gangs and terrorists. The invention of the jump drive and the first expansion into interstellar space only strengthened this trend. As Earth became increasingly inhospitable to freethinkers and non-conformists, the vast reaches of space beckoned and the emigration began. Largely unknown to Earth – still dominated by nationalist governments at the time – thousands upon thousands of unregistered citizens were moving outside their control.

Some of these groups – the Mormons, in particular – founded planetary settlements, with or without the consent of the UN. Others found isolated stars without habitable planets and used their dead worlds as a base, fairly confident that the UN would not waste time trying to examine the systems thoroughly enough to locate the hidden colonies. The official wave of expansion pushed a more secretive wave of expansion in front of it, creating hidden populations with no reason to love the UN. Many of them, therefore, turned to supporting the UN’s enemies. Only the secrecy that is an inherent requirement for any black colony prevented the creation of a major threat to the UN.

The UNPF, therefore, found itself tasked with charting and patrolling the Beyond – as it came to be called. It forced them to divert desperately needed ships on courses that would keep them out of contact for months, perhaps even years. It was not surprising, therefore, that a few ships chose to rebel, or even died out among the stars, their passing unmarked by the UN until years later.

The enemy could be anywhere.

Part III: First Lieutenant

Chapter Twenty-Three

The First Lieutenant is one of the most important officers on a starship and stands between the Captain and his subordinates. The First Lieutenant is expected to handle personnel issues, keep the starship in working order, oversee maintenance and generally take as much of the weight off the Captain’s shoulders as possible. While there are Captains who take a far more hands on attitude to their commands than the above may suggest, the Captain should be able to rely on his First Lieutenant completely. A disloyal First Lieutenant can tear a ship apart.

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

“She doesn’t look any different,” I said. I couldn’t keep the wonder out of my voice. “She looks as beautiful as ever.”

“She sure does,” the Pilot agreed. He was the same Pilot who had served on the Jacques Delors for my first cruise, but that wasn't uncommon. Pilots needed to be very familiar with their starships and were rarely transferred unless there was a desperate need for their services elsewhere. Even so, a Pilot who was a rated expert with one starship might be no more than a more standard helmsman in another. “You really missed yourself with the engagement against the pirates at Robinson’s World.”

He grinned as the shuttle started to glide down towards the shuttlebay. “Now that was some fancy flying, sir,” he added. “The Captain was delighted with us all.”

I fought down a tinge of envy. It was much easier to hate pirates than innocents caught up in the midst of a ground war, when the UN had invaded their planet. Some pirates were raiders trying to take out as much of our shipping as possible. Others, the nastier kind, were complete sociopath-type people. They wanted to loot transports and kill or enslave as many people as possible. It seemed impossible that they would survive for long, but there was a thriving black market in starship components and there were certainly plenty of recruits. The people trying to flee the conscription program had every incentive to sign up with the pirates.

“Nice and easy,” the Pilot said, as the shuttle drifted neatly into the docking bay. There was a faint thud as the craft settled to the hard metal deck. An instant later, the doors started to slide closed as the crew started to pump in the atmosphere. The entire process had taken place in a vacuum. The Pilot saw my puzzlement and hastened to explain. “The Captain decided that we should practice operations in vacuum, so the bay force field was deactivated.”

“I see,” I said. Despite everything, I still felt eager to set foot back where I belonged. “When can I leave the shuttle?”

A green light flickered on over the airlock. “Now,” the Pilot said. “I’ll have a crewman take your bags to your quarters.”

Every starship smells different, but smelling the Jacques Delors was like returning home. There was a faint hint of oil and machinery, the aroma of two hundred men and women living far too close together…and I loved it. The shuttlebay, I was relieved to see, was still neat and tidy. Our second shuttle still sat on the other side of the bay, but now it was joined by a colourful Marine Landing Craft, its blocky shape covered with a painting of a shark’s jaw. I wondered, for a moment, why we had such a craft, before remembering what had happened on Terra Nova. The Captain had to be feeling a little paranoid. The Marines used to claim that they could be in their landing craft and on the surface within ten minutes of the call…and we might need them. The Quick Reaction Force on Heinlein hadn’t moved very quickly at all.

“Welcome back, sir,” a crewman said. He wasn't familiar to me, but crewmen transferred frequently. A crewman generally served two-to-five year terms in the UNPF, with a guaranteed settlement right for a new colony as a reward. It was very rare for a crewman to make the jump to commissioned officer status, although it did happen on occasion. “The Senior Chief will be right with you.”

“Thank you,” I said, gravely. I caught myself straightening my uniform before remembering that the Senior Chief wouldn’t be impressed by my dress blues. The Captain, on the other hand, might understand when I presented myself in my finery. The Great God Tradition dictated, as always, how we should act. “I’ll wait for him here.”

The Senior Chief looked older than I remembered, but his face was still merry and he winked at me as soon as he saw me. I held out my hand and then found myself giving him a bear hug. He hugged me back, hard enough to hurt, and then insisted on taking my bag, passing it to the crewman.

“It’s good to see you again, son,” he said, seriously. “I told you that you’d go far.”

“You did,” I agreed. I didn’t want to have any serious conversations in front of a crewman I didn’t know. “What’s been happening on the ship?”

“Only a few patrols and some excitement when pirates decided to attack a colony world and its settlements,” the Senior Chief said. He steered me towards the corridor and I allowed him to lead me up towards Officer Country. “I hear that you’ve been making quite a name for yourself.”

I frowned. What was he referring to? “I like to think so,” I said, carefully. “Chief…what happened to Lieutenant Hatchet?”

“She was well over five years in grade,” the Senior Chief reminded me. I winced. I could pretty much fill in the rest myself. “Eventually the Captain and the Political Officer ran out of delaying tactics and the beauecrats reassigned her to a research station orbiting Titan or somewhere. One of the many places where they send their failures, son, so bear that in mind. I think she applied to serve on a freighter afterwards and was snapped up by one of their Captains.”

“Shit,” I said, with feeling. Part of me – the part that looked forward to being First Lieutenant – was glad she’d gone. The remainder wished her well. She had been a role model for me during my first cruise and I had missed her on the Devastator. “And the others?”

“Half of the Ensigns left, as you know,” the Senior Chief said. “The Pilot, Engineer, Doctor and Marine Sergeant are still the same. The Engineer has been getting crankier recently because he believes that we’ve been cheated on priority for new components. He might even be right. Treat him with some care.”

“I will,” I promised. “And the Captain?”

The Senior Chief caught my arm. “Holding on,” he said, softly. I remembered what he’d told me two years ago and winced. “Be careful with him and don’t try to stab him in the back. I won’t stand for it.”

“Me neither,” I promised him. We had reached Officer Country, passing the two Marines on guard. On some starships, their presence was a vital necessity, but on Captain Harriman’s ship, it was merely a waste of resources. The senior officers weren't at war with the lower decks. We pushed the door buzzer and, after a moment, hatch hissed open. “I’ll chat to you later.”

Captain Harriman looked older, somehow, than he had when we’d first met. His face was as mature as ever – the regeneration therapies, only available to people with extremely good connections, had done a good job – but there were new lines embedded within his skin. Somehow, his hair gave the impression of turning grey, even though it seemed perfectly black. He looked up as I entered and I was shocked when I saw his eyes. They were old and very tired. The pressures of his role were bearing down on him.

“Lieutenant John Walker reporting for duty, sir,” I said. I had straightened to attention automatically. Lieutenant Hatchet had hammered that into my head during the first month on the vessel. Now I pulled a perfect salute, more out of respect for him personally than the rank. I would have died for him.

“Welcome onboard,” the Captain said. His voice, too, was tired. He sounded like a man on the verge of death somehow, even though there was some of the old strength there. I wished, suddenly, that I were Lieutenant Hatchet. She would have known what to do. I felt as if I were nothing, but a helpless observer. “I trust that you had a pleasant week at Luna City, John?”

I flushed, slightly. I’d spent the week making contacts with people I’d known and trying to sound them out about their feelings for the regime. It hadn’t been easy and I was grimly aware that if someone talked to the wrong person, or reported me to the security forces, I was dead. The planning hadn’t even reached the operational stages yet and wouldn’t realistically, for several years. The best we could do was plan and try to position ourselves for action in the future.

“Yes, sir,” I said. I had never lied to the Captain before, but there was little choice. “I spent most of it in the Video Lounge and then Madame Olga’s Place.”

The Captain smiled faintly. “The Video Lounge?” He asked, dryly. “Why there?”

“I like to play computer games,” I admitted. It was hard telling a lie to him, but I had used to visit back when I’d been in the Academy. There were aspects of Academy training that could be applied to computer games, although some of them were puzzles or strange adventures, rather than action and adventure. There was one featuring a small blue mutant hedgehog I’d used to love. “It’s not something you can do on a starship.”

“Against regulations,” the Captain agreed. He grinned suddenly, seeming years younger for a long heartbreaking moment. “And is Madame Olga the same as ever?”

“Ah…I wasn't too concerned with her,” I said, frantically. Madame Olga ran one of the more upscale brothels in Luna City and had been around as long as anyone could remember. “I just wanted a girl and…”

I trailed off. The Captain seemed to recognise my embarrassment. “I used to know her when I was younger,” he admitted. “She was quite a beauty in her day.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. I had the vague feeling that I was being teased. The imagination couldn’t cope with the idea of the Captain as a young man. It seemed more likely that he had sprung into existence on the bridge. “Some of her girls were almost beauties…”

The Captain laughed at my discomfort. “They always were,” he said. “However” – he shook his head slowly – “we have other matters to talk about, even though it would be nicer to talk about girls. Do you understand that you will be First Lieutenant on this vessel?”