Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason (3 page)

“Sally probably has the best claim,” Muna said, from her bunk. She was already stripping down to put on her standard uniform. I carefully didn’t look at her. “She’s the only one who didn’t earn so many demerits.”

“Yeah, but that’s not tradition,” Roger said. I rolled my eyes. It was evident that Roger was angling for the post himself, and equally evident that Muna and Sally were against it. I didn’t know why. As far as I knew, we all got on fairly well, even though we came from very different backgrounds. “Tradition says…”

“Tradition says that we need someone who has served longer than the others,” Sally pointed out. “Remind me; which of us has a fair claim to serving longer than the others?”

“No one,” I said. “Why don’t we just pull straws for it?”

“John, that’s not going to work,” Roger said. “We might as well play cards for it.”

“Not bloody likely,” Rolf said, from his bunk. “I’ve seen you pulling an ace from your sleeve before.”

“Enough,” I said, tightly. “None of us has a real claim to the position. If we cannot elect someone, then we need to go to the First Lieutenant and ask her to rule on the subject. Does anyone have more than two votes?”

There was a brief argument, which concluded with Sally and Roger having two votes each, me having another two, and Muna having the last one on her own. “I nominate Sally for the moment,” I said. “I dare say that we’ll have a clear First Ensign soon enough with the Lieutenant, right?”

“True,” Roger agreed. One of the more significant punishments was retroactive beaching for a short period of time, effectively wiping out someone’s service record. A man who had served for ten years might end up having legally served only eight – and therefore was no longer senior to nine-year officers. I had no doubt that the Lieutenant would be quite happy to use the punishment if she felt we deserved it. If she carried on, we’d end up being legally children, or unborn babies. “Shall we get dressed?”

I nodded, stripped myself, and pulled on my standard uniform. Unlike the dress uniform, it could be dirtied without incurring any penalties, although I doubted that the First Lieutenant would allow us to pass without at least a sharp reprimand. I checked myself in the mirror and was relieved to see that I looked reasonably neat and tidy. Roger made a great show of removing his talisman; Muna removed her headscarf without saying a word. Her dark eyes were unreadable. I opened my carryall and transferred the remaining clothing and equipment into the drawer. It was unlocked, but by long convention no one apart from the Captain could demand it opened. I trusted my fellow Ensigns. Besides, there was nothing valuable in my drawer.

“Remember to keep the room tidy,” Sally said, calmly. As First Ensign pro tem, she was responsible for ensuring that we took care of our quarters and drawing up the cleaning rota. It would be one of her tasks in the immediate future. “Ellen, put that bra away. We don’t want to see it.”

“We do,” Roger said, innocently. Sally fixed him with a look that would have made a rampaging tiger back down. “Sorry.”

“So you should be,” Sally said. The laws against sexual discrimination prohibited any awareness of differences between male and female cadets. I had often though that that particular regulation was stupid – I couldn’t help being aware of their femininity – but parts of it made sense. Sexual relationships between cadets and ensigns were forbidden. “Now, shall we go?”

We made one final check of our appearance and allowed her to lead us from our cabin up towards the bridge. It was my first time on a real starship and I gazed around me with interest, drinking in the sights with open wonder. The noise of the starship’s engines as they built up the immense power reserves needed to trigger the Jump Drive seemed to be singing in my ears. It was something out of my dreams. We passed a handful of crewmen who looked at us oddly, perhaps envying us our smart uniforms and career prospects, before we stepped onto the bridge. The First Lieutenant inspected us carefully – no demerits this time, thank goodness – before presenting us to the Captain.

The bridge itself was something of a disappointment. I had expected something out of the latest movie, showing a glistening place of magical technology. Instead, there were a handful of consoles and a single chair in the centre of the room. I felt my gaze linger on the chair, and the man seated in it, for a long moment. The Captain’s chair was only for the Captain. It was a serious offence for anyone else to sit in it.

“Captain,” an officer I didn’t recognise said, “we have received clearance to depart from Orbit Seven.”

“Finally,” the Captain said. He didn’t sound happy, but UNPF regulations were firm on the subject of disengaging from orbital stations. “Ensign Walker, would you care to take the conn?”

Me? I thought. It took me a moment to realise that I was even being addressed, or that the Captain knew my name. “Yes, sir,” I said, trying desperately to remember the procedure from the Academy. I had never docked anything larger than a Flitter or Bug in real life. I’d done well on simulations, but…I swallowed my nervousness and leaned forward. “Pilot, confirm that we have disengaged from the locks.”

“Not confirmed,” the pilot said calmly, although there was an undertone of nervousness in his voice. He knew just how badly I could fuck this up, all right. “We are still locked to the station.”

I cursed my mistake silently. “Confirm that the docking tube has been evacuated and depressurised,” I ordered. I could hear my heartbeat thundering away in my ears. I was sure that everyone could hear it, right across the bridge. “Disengage from locks and order the station to retract the tube.”

The display altered slightly. “Tube retracted, sir,” the pilot said. The starship was now flying free. “The station confirms that we are cleared to depart.”

“Bring up the drive field and manoeuvre us away from the station,” I ordered, searching my memory desperately. “Clear two hundred thousand kilometres from the station, and then prepare to bring up the Jump Drive.”

“Aye, sir,” the pilot said. I could feel a faint thrumming though the deck as the starship slowly moved away from the station. The drive field was pushing us towards the jump coordinate. “Target star?”

“Terra Nova,” I said, firmly. The Captain had said that we were going there first. I also expected that he would countermand me if we were going elsewhere. “Select jump coordinates as appropriate.”

“Very good,” the Captain said, warmly. I flushed. “Still…how many waypoints do you think we will need?”

I hesitated and finally took refuge in the regulations. “UNPF regulations state that starships must have at least four waypoints between Earth and the destination star,” I answered, carefully. “Five, sir?”

“Four will be sufficient,” the Captain said. He keyed his console. “Engineering, this is the Captain. Clear the Jump Drive for activation in…”

He looked up at me. “Fifty seconds,” I said, automatically. I’d been watching the display as we moved further away from Orbit Seven.

“Fifty seconds,” the Captain confirmed. He had to be aware of the sweat trickling down my back. “You have the conn, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir,” I gulped. I wanted to flee the bridge and hide. “Pilot, bring up the Jump Drive and engage in…three…two…one…now!”

The screens went black as the drive triggered and we vanished inside the artificial wormhole. “Secure from departure stations,” I ordered, automatically. “Estimated time of arrival at first waypoint; seven days.”

“Acceptable,” the Captain said, calmly. I flushed again. “You were given the conn, Ensign. Not issuing the orders would have been unacceptable. I relieve you.”

“I stand relieved,” I said, formally. The Captain nodded to the First Lieutenant. “Lieutenant Hatchet will take you to meet with the Political Officer now.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Hatchet said. “Follow me.”

“You did reasonably well,” she said, as soon as we were outside the bridge and walking down the corridor. We paused to allow a pair of crewmen to walk past carrying a large box of spares between them. “You could have been sent to the Captain’s Mast for forgetting to depressurise the tube, or forgetting to clear enough space between us and the station before opening the wormhole, but on the whole…good work.”

She smiled at me. It completely transformed her face. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” I stammered. I hadn’t realised how much I’d forgotten after the brief course at the Academy. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course,” she said. “I may decline to answer.”

“Why did the Captain talk to Engineering instead of me?” I asked. “I don’t mind, but…”

She laughed. “The Engineer would not have started the power-up sequence for anyone less than the lawful Captain,” she explained. “You’ll see more of it when we start you on the drills later this afternoon, but for the moment, only the Captain has the clearance to issue certain orders. You’ll hear more about those later.”

We stopped outside a large hatch. “This is the Political Officer’s quarters,” she said. I felt my insides clench before she issued her warning. “Behave yourselves.”

The hatch slid open, revealing a cabin that was much larger and more luxurious than our shared cabin, or perhaps even the Captain’s cabin. I looked inside and my first thought was wondering just what the Political Officer did with all the space. It was decorated in a fashion that surprised and disgusted me, with a handful of nude images on the bulkheads and a drinks cabinet placed in a prominent position. The Political Officer himself was seated behind a desk that looked rather out of place on the starship, but as we entered he came to his feet and smiled at us. I found myself distrusting the man on sight.

“Enter, enter,” he said, waving us to a comfortable sofa that had seen better days. It looked large enough to hold more than seven Ensigns without difficultly. “No need to stand to attention here, my dears; we’re all friends here. Take a seat, please. Would you like something to drink?”

I shook my head. None of us, even Roger, had the self-confidence to ask for a drink. The Political Officer looked far too well-fed, and polished, to be trusted. He was overweight and surprisingly unkempt, wearing civilian clothes on a very military starship. The string of medals he wore on his jacket clashed oddly with the civilian outfit. I didn’t know what half of the medals were, but I doubted that he had any right to wear them.

“Welcome onboard the UNS Jacques Delors,” he said. His voice was light and effeminate. “I would have greeted you at the hatch, but the Captain insisted on me seeing you after we’d entered the wormhole and shipped out for Terra Nova. I hope that you weren’t too disappointed to miss me there? The Political Officer is quite an important figure on the starship, my dears, even if I am not in the chain of command. You can talk to me about anything, anything at all.”

He took a chair himself and leaned back in it absently. I wasn't sure what to make of the performance – and yes, I was sure that it was a performance – but I saw no reason to change my first impression. He seemed to be trying to be friendly, yet disconcerting, and I had the feeling that telling him anything would be a really bad idea. The Political Officers at the Academy had been boring people with stuffed shirts, testing us endlessly on our political opinions, but this one was different.

“No?” He asked. “Well, we’ll get down to business. I am Jason Montgomerie, Political Officer to this ship. My task is to ensure that you understand the political implications of the work the Peace Force does and assist you to remove any doubts or hesitations you might have. You have to understand the rational behind your work to give your lives meaning, you see, and you have to understand that it is all worthwhile.

“The UN was founded originally to bring peace and tranquillity to the Earth, which was suffering under the endless curse of war spread by rogue nations and societies,” he continued. I’d heard this all before, but I knew better than to be lulled into complacency. “It took years to move from being little more than a talking shop to develop the framework of international law – later interplanetary law – that governs the human race today. The Rules of War, the Code of Behaviour and the various protocols governing interplanetary trade all grew out of those early works. The UN was resisted mightily by nationalists who wanted to reserve the right to butcher thousands with crude weapons and threaten the very future of the human race, but slowly it grew into a mighty edifice.

“And yet, enemies of the UN continued to threaten its existence, to make profits for themselves at the expense of the remainder of the human race,” he said, his voice rising. He believed what he was saying. “The asteroid miners insisted on selling their ore at prices the market would bear, not what the poor could afford to pay, despite the attempts by progressive forces to intervene. The development of the Jump Drive only made those problems worse. The Enemies of Progress took resources that should belong to the entire human race and used them to found new colonies, teaching their children that the UN was evil and its dream of a united humanity nothing, but an attempt to suppress them. Would you believe that many of them banned Free Speech regarding the UN?”

I felt myself shivering slightly and hoped that he couldn’t sense it. I’d seen the UN’s idea of Free Speech before, back when I’d been at school. A young teenage boy - a wiseass, true, but very smart with it – had questioned the UN’s policy on race and racism. His speech had been moving and quite effective, but the day afterwards…he hadn’t shown up at school. If the teachers had known what had happened to him, they never told their pupils…and we all drew the lesson. Free Speech was dangerous to the health. I’d been told that restrictions existed to prevent the spread of racial hatred and bad ideas, but…he’d just been a boy!