To Honor You Call Us (25 page)

“Despite our best efforts, we still don’t know how the Krag did it.  The best theory is that the Krag found a way to alter the relative strength of the nuclear force and the Coulomb force over a small area causing the deuterium and tritium fuel in the warheads to fuse without having to detonate the fission trigger.  God knows how.  So, to this day, we have no destructs on our ships.  And, the Krag don’t put them on their ships, presumably because they’re afraid we’ll discover whatever it is they used and turn it against them.  Therefore, it is possible for each of us to board and take the ships of the other, as both have done many times in this war.  As near as we can tell, the Krag have nearly a hundred of our vessels in their Navy and we have fifty-six of theirs.  And
that’s
why the tactics of boarding and repelling boarders are critical—not only to save you and your shipmates from being defeated by the enemy in face to face combat, but also to keep them from getting their furry little paws on our warships and using them to kill our people.  And, now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have a ship to run.  Carry on.”

He left the compartment and went straight back to his Day Cabin.  Every step of the way, he thought about the survivors in life pods and the hundreds of men at the deuterium complex on Han VII D.  He thought about how those men begged the Cruiser
Adrianople
and the Destroyers
Capetown
and
Colombo
not to leave them to the mercy of the Krag, and how those ships ran like scalded dogs, fleeing the system as fast as their compression drives could propel them.  And, he thought about how those men sounded to the Midshipman assigned to the Comms Back Room on the
Capetown
who dutifully
logged each of those incoming desperate signals by frequency, source, duration, and content and about how that young man did his duty with a stern Warrior Face, without shedding a tear, while his heart turned to ashes in his chest.  And, he thought about how that young man had nightmares to this very day in which he heard those men’s pleading voices.  And, most of all, he wondered if that young man, a man named Robichaux, would ever stop hearing them. 

Probably not.

***

After spending a few hours in his bunk, taking two of the pills that the doctor on the
Halsey
had given him for nausea, and eating some soup and crackers, Max was back at work making some changes to the Duty Roster when his comm buzzed.  “Skipper here.”

“Captain, this is Major Kraft.  I have a present for you in the Brig.”

“On my way.”  Max had determined that he could get from any point in the
Cumberland
to any other in two minutes, forty-nine seconds or less.  From his quarters to the Brig took just over a minute and a half, and would probably take less if he were willing to slide down the access ladders, as most of the younger crewmen did, rather than take them rung by rung.  But, Commodore Middleton told him a long time ago that, once one became a Commissioned Officer, people expected one to act with a certain degree of dignity, and that included not sliding down access ladders like a Mid 3
^rd
playing Marines and Rat-faces.  Besides, sliding was a good way to sprain an ankle or break a leg, and Max couldn’t afford either of those right now.

Max entered Major Kraft’s domain to be greeted by the Major himself and Lieutenant Brown, triumphant smiles on both their faces.  “We’ve got him sir,” Kraft announced.  “We nabbed our drug dealer red handed, synthesizing a batch of the Chill.  We broke in on him just as the drugs were coming out of the machine.”

“How did you get there so fast?” asked Max.  “The doctor tells me that the time from the power draw we were looking for to producing the drugs is less than a minute.”

“Chalk one up to good old detective work, Captain.  It’s not that I didn’t trust the engineering solution, but this is so important that I wanted to be pursuing a parallel line of inquiry.”  Kraft loved his work and he loved talking about it.  “You remember we traced the machine to the salvaged Corvette.  I pulled up the records on that salvage and discovered that a member of that salvage crew also happens to be a member of our crew:  a man named Green, an Able Spacer Third.  Well, skipper, I don’t believe in coincidences.”  Damn straight.  No officer worth the brass in his uniform buttons believed in coincidences.  “So I zeroed in on him.  I also remembered what you said about him needing a fantastic hiding place for the thing; obviously not his quarters, so I started to work out the places Green would normally go in the course of his duties, looking for one where a MediMax could be hidden and where he could use it without being observed. 

“Green is a High Energy Systems Technician and he regularly services the Main Deflector Emitters.  There are some large storage lockers in the Emitter Control Room with hundreds of factory sealed spare parts cases.  He could keep his machine in one of those cases and dummy up a seal so that anyone conducting a search would take one look at it and pass it by.  Chances are, he’d not be disturbed—you know how superstitious spacers are about picking up some stray tachyo-graviton output in there.  I put the man under surveillance and, when he went to the Control Room, we had men nearby ready to go as soon as we got the word.  But, don’t discount the Engineering contribution.  Being cued by that power signature let us burst into the room at just the right moment and catch him red handed, pulling the tablets out of the machine.  Teamwork triumphs.”

“Outstanding.”  Max was impressed again, not only by Kraft’s excellent detective work, but also by his readiness to share credit with Brown, something that many officers were very reluctant to do.  The young Captain was starting to recognize and appreciate how well the Admiral had taken care of him in terms of giving him a set of highly able officers to offset the ship’s other problems.  Garcia, Brown, Kraft, and even Sahin were all brilliant in their way and all had the prospect of marvelous careers ahead of them.  “Has anyone questioned him?”

“No, sir.  We just advised him of his rights and locked him up,” Kraft said.

“Rights?”  Max looked at the Major quizzically.  “This man’s a Spacer caught red handed committing a felony on a Union Naval Vessel in time of war in a combat zone.  What rights?”

A satisfied smile slowly spread across the Major’s face.  “
Genau
.”  Exactly.  Yes, the man definitely loved his work. 

Something clicked in Max’s mind.  “Spacer
Green
, is it?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“I believe I need to refresh my memory about Spacer
Green
.  Let me at your work station for a minute, then let’s have a chat with our pharmaceuticals salesman. 

A few moments later, the Major took Max to the ship’s small, Spartan interrogation room where they found Spacer Green sitting in one of the room’s three chairs at a small metal table.  Green was just above average height, with a slender build, dark hair, close-set hazel eyes, and the kind of pasty complexion that comes with being of Anglo-Saxon descent, spending as long as a year without seeing any natural sunlight, and not bothering to avail himself of the UV safe tanning lamps the Navy provided so that men did not have to see a Dracula-like pallor every time they looked at themselves in the mirror.  Unlike many men under arrest while under the Navy’s authority, Green did not look even remotely frightened.  His face wore an expression of annoyed arrogance, as though he were a Grand Admiral’s son put on report by an Ensign for a minor uniform violation and had just told his father to bust the Ensign to Midshipman.  Which was not too far from how he saw the universe.

Max put the ball into play.  “Spacer Green, we caught you with the machine.  We caught you with the drugs.  We have conclusive physical evidence that drugs from this device have been sold to a large number of people on board this ship.  With what we’ve got, I have enough for a Conviction by Order that will guarantee that you spend the rest of your life on a Penal Asteroid.  Fortunately for you, I have sufficient discretion that I can convict you of a lesser offense, say trafficking rather than manufacturing, and see that you serve a sentence of a few years in a gentler environment.  All I need is the names of your customers.”

Green laughed, a grating, nasal sound.  “It doesn’t matter what you do to me on this ship, Captain.  I know the law.  You can’t airlock me or shoot me for a drug offense.  So, I’ll be alive when we get back.  And, when we do get back to the Task Force or to a station, I have enough traction that whatever you sentence me to, I’ll get off with probation or, at worst, get sent to a VIP Detention Farm for a year or two.  I don’t have any reason to talk to you clowns.  A Lieutenant Commander and a Major?  You’re wasting my time.  Just lock me up and leave me alone.”

Kraft leaned into Green’s face.  “What makes you think you’ve got that much influence,
Schweinhund
?”

He smiled again, even more smugly.  “You don’t know this,
Dummkopf,
but this isn’t my first orbit around the planet.  Every time, my father has gotten me out of it and had the records expunged.  I only had to agree to continue to serve on active duty on warship in the Navy so he could tell everyone that his son wears the Blue.  La dee dah.  I hope you have fun having me in custody right now, because I’ll be free within two days once we get back.”

So, the little twit likes to show off that he speaks a little German.  “You’re an arrogant little
Schwanzlutscher
, aren’t you?”  Max did not actually learn to speak German when he served under Captain Heimbach on the
Luzon
,
but he did learn how to call someone a cocksucker.  “When a record is expunged, it doesn’t go away.  The Navy erases nothing.  Ever.  The record simply gets
labeled
as ‘expunged’ and gets buried behind a higher level access code.  I’ve got access, so I know all about your previous three convictions for trafficking and manufacturing.  And I know that your father is Schuyler Rudolph Green, one of the High Commissioners of the Admiralty.  And I know about the dirty deals done to get you off those other times.  So does the Admiral.  Things have changed, Green.  There are no more deals to pull your ass out of the fire.”

“You’re lying.”

“Really?”  It was Max’s turn to smile, now.  “Didn’t you ever wonder why, with a High Commissioner as a father, you were assigned to a cramped little Destroyer on a high risk deployment rather than a big, comfy, slightly aged Battlecruiser protecting some high value facility in a rear area?”  The expression on the man’s face showed that the question had, in fact, occurred to him.  “Or why, when you were restored to duty, it was as an Able Spacer Third, with fewer privileges and lower pay, rather than your previous rank of Petty Officer Third?  Or why you got saddled working in High Energy Systems, one of the noisiest, most dangerous specialties on the ship, rather than in something quieter, safer, and easier, like Sensor maintenance or Fire Control?”

Again, Green’s poker face slipped to show that he had considered these questions, probably at some length.

“Your father is smarter than you think.  He found out about your little scam—the one where you sold interests in a non-existent Helium Three Mining consortium that he was supposedly heading up.  High Commissioner Schuyler Green didn’t take too kindly to his good name being lent to a fraudulent securities offering.  He shut that deal down cold and paid the investors back out of his own, very deep, pockets.  Then, he called his lawyers to write you out of his will and cut you off from your trust accounts.

“And, when he was done with that, he saw to it that you got the orders assigning you to Admiral Hornmeyer’s Task Force and to a Destroyer being sent out to do some of the Navy’s real work.  Oh, and here’s the bow on that package.  Dear old Dad gave the Admiral a personal, father-son message that was to be passed on to you if you found yourself in the condition you are in today.  It’s easy to remember.  Nine words.  Quote:  ‘I’m done with you, son.  You’re on your own.’” 

***

Spacer Green had inherited most of his father’s intelligence, if not his judgment; accordingly, it was less than five minutes later that he was writing down the names of the crew members to whom he had sold drugs and the quantities.  His excellent memory in this regard was aided by a computer file that appeared to be his personal exercise log but was really a rather cleverly enciphered list of customer names, sales dates, quantities of drugs, and monies received.  That record, plus a comprehensive counting of all the Auster dots in all the black bricks in the
Cumberland’s
hold, allowed the doctor to compute with a fairly high degree of accuracy how many tablets or capsules, of what kind, were in the possession of which crew member. 

The next order of business was to extract the drugs voluntarily from the possessors and to provide to each the medical assistance they would need over the coming days.  There were thirty one customers, ranging from former Lieutenant JG, now Midshipman, Goldman, all the way down to a few Greenies just promoted from Mid.  Each would be summoned to the Casualty Station for an appointment with the Chief Medical Officer, made to look as though there was some question about the user’s medical history.  It would start with Goldman.

Goldman, who was, at this moment, sitting in a chair in Doctor Sahin’s small but functional office, across from the doctor in front of his small but functional desk.  Ordered to report to the Casualty Station, Goldman had appeared on the stroke of the appointed minute, delivered an elbow-dislocating salute, and was now sitting on the edge of the seat with his knees and feet together and his back rigidly straight, as appropriate when asked to sit by a superior officer.  “Sit at ease, Midshipman,” said Sahin.  The Midshipman allowed his back to touch the back of the chair.  Barely.