Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason (41 page)

“There is no reason to believe that anything is wrong with the components installed on the ship,” the Engineer said, “but with your permission, I’ll check everything as thoroughly as I can. Earth will insist on studying everything, of course, but my report will clearly state that the sabotaged component was responsible for the death of Captain Harriman and the pilot.”

“Ceres,” I repeated. Someone had aimed a random shot into the UNPF and scored a direct hit. They’d killed the Captain himself. It was easy to believe that I had been the target, in revenge for my actions above Albion, but cold logic told me otherwise. “Thank you, Ivan. Please let me know when we can wormhole out and head back to Earth.”

He left the cabin and the hatch hissed closed behind him. “It wasn't your fault,” the Senior Chief said. I’d been half-expecting him to scream at me for losing the Captain. “You don’t need to blame yourself.”

“I can’t help it,” I admitted. “It should have been me on that shuttle.”

“Bullock manure,” the Senior Chief snapped. “The Captain had to go pay his respects to the Government. He had to go. You didn’t know that the shuttle would explode and neither did he. Now, stop whining and assume command. You cannot afford to have people wondering why you didn’t assume command at once.”

I took his meaning. UNPF investigators would be crawling all over the ship. They might find something linked to my own plans, or place additional listening devices on the ship, or God alone knew what else. I couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion, not now that I had a chance to convert my vague plan into something workable.

“Yes,” I said, slowly. I stood up and walked towards the hatch. “I’ll take command from the bridge.”

The crew on the bridge stood to attention as I entered and, after a moment’s reluctance, sat down in the Captain’s chair. No bolt of lightning vaporised me. No one raced onto the bridge to declare me an impostor and throw me out of the nearest airlock. It felt…as if I was betraying him by sitting in his chair, yet the Senior Chief was right. If he were alive now, he’d be giving me a lecture on dereliction of duty instead of understanding.

“All hands, this is Lieutenant Walker,” I said, keying the intercom. My voice would be heard over the entire ship. “I must confirm the death of Captain Harriman and Pilot Garry Patterson in a shuttle accident at 1345. In accordance with regulations, I am assuming the position of Captain of this vessel. A brief funeral service will be held in the main shuttlebay at 1800. Anyone who wishes to attend will be welcome.”

An hour passed slowly. I found that I couldn’t remain in his chair and went to his cabin instead, inspecting it carefully. Jason joined me – as per regulations – and we carefully packed up everything he’d possessed, before transferring it all to a sealed hold. He’d had a collection of old books, including some that were in restricted circulation, and a small photo album. I looked through it and saw pictures of his family, his friends and his crew. There was even a picture of Roger, Muna and myself, taken on the day we’d been promoted to Lieutenant. I couldn’t stop the tears from forming in my eyes and wiped them away bitterly. The Captain had deserved better than that.

“It wasn't your fault,” Jason repeated. He passed me a Captain’s rank badge and I pinned it on, cursing the price that came with it. “Never forget that. It wasn't your fault.”

That evening, most of the crew assembled in the main shuttlebay. I had to order one of the Lieutenants and two of the Ensigns to remain on watch – the pirate ship might return at any moment – but everyone wanted to attend. I knew that the crewmen on duty in Engineering or Tactical would be watching through the internal communications system. I couldn’t blame them. It wouldn’t be the first shipboard funeral I’d attended, but it was the first of someone who meant something to me. The Captain had made a man of me.

I looked at the pair of sealed caskets – they were empty; the bodies had been vaporised – and felt a lump in my throat. “We stand together to bid farewell to two of our number,” I began, reading the standard UNPF funeral service. I had never felt that it lacked a certain something before, but now…now, I wondered what was missing. “They served well beside us and led us onwards towards the ultimate destination of the human race. We remember them fondly in our thoughts and memories and bid them farewell.

“They lived in space and so we return them to space to drift forever,” I continued. At my command, the burial party started to carry the two caskets towards the airlock. “Trusting in space to preserve them forever, we cast them adrift on their voyage towards the undiscovered country. We bid them farewell.”

It was customary to share stories of the diseased, afterwards, but I didn’t feel like saying much. “I remember the moment when I first met Captain Harriman,” I said. I was breaking regulations by referring to him by rank, but I couldn’t call him Percival. It was so hard to think of what I could say. How could I tell the truth when it might lead to me being investigated? “He taught me how to be a man and welcomed me onboard his ship. He taught me how to grow into a young officer. His presence is sorely missed.”

Afterwards, we bid farewell to the locals, opened up a wormhole, and raced towards Earth.

The Engineer’s report didn’t make comfortable reading. I had always known that components never lasted as long as the manufactures claimed, but I was starting to wonder if we were the victims of subtle sabotage. Several other components had been identified as failing suspiciously quickly, including one that was linked right into the tactical console. I read the report carefully and then insisted on the entire system being stripped down and replaced with completely new – and checked – components. It didn’t help that some components had to be locked in place and, when checked, were ruined anyway. There was nothing on the ship that could be used to destroy us completely, apart from the missile warheads, but if we suffered a series of failures, it would have the same effect. The missiles, at least, didn’t come from a place that used conscript workers.

I also realised just how the Captain must have felt when I was training the Ensigns. As First Lieutenant, I was responsible for their training, but as Captain, I had to remain aloof. Lieutenant Jerry Robertson – the new First Lieutenant – was a capable officer, but he wasn't me! He knew what he was doing – hell, he’d been almost as involved as I had been – but it wasn't the same. I started to insist on regular reports, which he accepted calmly, until I realised that the Captain had trusted me to do it properly and left it alone. I couldn’t understand how he had tolerated it. I felt the urge to check up on them every day.

The Captain’s private computer files made interesting reading. I hadn’t realised that the Captain kept copies of everything in his own files, but he had, including reports on us. I’d never read my own file before and was surprised to discover that both of my Captains had rated me highly. I had half-suspected that Shalenko’s willingness to agree to my transfer had been because I had been reluctant to fire on ground targets and accept the deaths of innocent civilians. Captain Harriman had praised me to the skies, along with several other officers, including Sally. If she hadn’t shot her mouth off…she would probably have risen high with his reports.

I worked with the Senior Chief and the Master Sergeant every day, using the time and privacy of the Captain’s position, working out the plan. It would be simple enough, I hoped, to bring most of the Marines onside. The Marines knew as well as everyone else that the war was beyond being won and, sooner or later, someone would unleash weapons of mass destruction. The UN was terrified of WMD and after the loss of two cities to terrorists it was hard to blame them. On the other hand, would they fear losing the war more? I allowed myself to start feeling optimistic. If we played our cards right, we might even be able to move within the year.

“The Marine Platoons won’t have been penetrated by intelligence,” the Master Sergeant assured me. “Everyone who goes into a platoon has been passed through the training camp and the Crucible. No spy could last the course.”

I hoped – prayed – that he was right. My own people were being trained by the Marines as well and, even though they couldn’t become Marines, they would be well-prepared for their future tasks. Sally, in particular, learned everything she could. She was turning into quite the bloodthirsty bitch. I knew who she saw when she smashed through the dummies and almost felt pity for her. Almost.

The ship seemed different, now that I was the commanding officer. I haunted the decks, moving from section to section and inspecting it all, keeping the ship as tidy as I could. Captain Harriman had always seemed to know what to do at all times, but I wasn't like him. I was sure that they could see that I was faking it. They might even be pretending to do as I said and plotting against me. The ship felt lonely. The Captain’s cabin was so large that I felt completely isolated.

I made myself unpopular by running drill after drill. I wanted to practice counter-boarding operations in case the UN managed to drive us away from Earth and board our ships. A boarding action occurs once in a blue moon, but if I knew the UN, they would be vindictive in victory. They would want to arrest me and my people so that they could hang us in front of the entire world. Anyone in the lower levels would probably be sent to Botany. The tension just kept rising and rising…

It was almost a relief to return to Earth.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The downside of using conscript labour is obvious, although the UN considered the risk of sabotage to be minimal, for reasons that remain unexplained. The conscripts believed that there was no hope of eventual return to their home planets and started a program of sabotaging as much as they could. The UN found it a serious problem, not least because there was little they could realistically use as a punishment. Death deprived the UN of the services of people they needed.

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

“The Admiral will see you now, Captain,” the secretary said. “If you will please follow me?”

I followed. She was worth following. Her uniform was tailored to show off her assets to their greatest advantage and it didn’t take much imagination to see how she could use those assets, or how she’d gotten the position. Her long blonde hair reached all the way down to her ass and I wanted to stroke it. I controlled the urge as she showed me into Grand Admiral Rutherford’s office. It was neither the time or the place.

“Walker,” Rutherford said, gravely. He was a tall man, inhumanly handsome, the sure mark of heavy plastic surgery matched with regeneration therapies. His file suggested that he had only commanded one starship in his career, but apparently it hadn’t prevented him from rising to the highest rank in the UNPF. “Have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand, sir,” I said, carefully. No one, not even the Senior Chief, had been able to brief me on what Rutherford would say or do to me. I was flying completely blind.

“Sit,” Rutherford repeated. “That’s an order.”

I sat down and placed my hands in my lap. I’d used to fidget a lot, but the Academy had broken me of that nasty habit. The Admiral had taken his time calling for me. We’d returned to Earth two weeks ago, but after we’d made our report we’d been told to remain in orbit – under quarantine – while the investigators made their report. It hadn’t been an easy fortnight. I knew that some of the crew had been looking forward to shore leave at Luna City and I…well, I’d had my own plans. The summons to EarthStar One couldn’t have come any later.

“So,” Rutherford said, once I’d sat down. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

I looked back at him and frowned inwardly. “Nothing, sir,” I said, finally. “I acted according to regulations at all times.”

“Indeed,” Rutherford agreed. He seemed to relax slightly. “You’ll be interested to know that your own…experience wasn't the only one. Intelligence has been reporting that there were several batches of…sabotaged components being sent out from Ceres, although you were particularly unlucky that you actually lost your Captain. Most of the other incidents were minor and cost us nothing, but time and effort repairing the damage. A handful of other people were killed, but yours was the worst.”

I didn’t relax. “The Board of Inquiry has already sat on the issue and decided that the staff at Ceres were to blame,” Rutherford continued. “Neither you nor any of your crew have been held accountable for the death of your commanding officer. The shuttle’s telemetry was inspected carefully – along with the reports of your own personnel – and they confirm your story. Captain Harriman’s death was an accident and there is nothing to fault in your own behaviour after his death.”

He leaned forward. “You should have declared yourself Captain at once,” he added, “but under the circumstances I think we can overlook that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. It was a relief. A full investigation would have destroyed morale under any circumstances, but it would have been particularly disastrous in my case. I had dodged a bullet. “I wanted to know what had happened before I declared myself Captain.”

“Quite right,” Rutherford agreed. He looked at me for a long moment and then stood up and started to pace. “How old are you, son?”

“Twenty-four, sir,” I said. It was certainly true, although wormholes did have a slight time dilation effect. I might actually be twenty-three and a half. There was no way to be sure. “My birthday’s in March.”