Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason (2 page)

“You were ordered to report onboard at 1300,” the woman said. Her voice suddenly became a commanding bark. “Stand to attention, now!”

We jumped and tried hastily to form a line, standing to attention. It took us nearly a minute to get into position. We hadn’t practiced it since the first week at the Academy, two years ago. I cursed our mistake under my breath, not daring to speak aloud; we should have practiced more. Standing to attention means standing absolutely still and I was suddenly very shaky on my feet.

“That is pathetic,” the woman said. She glared at Ellen, who was the first in line. “That’s a dress uniform, isn’t it?” Ellen nodded, too terrified to speak. “Answer me when I ask you a direct question, Ensign!”

“Yes…ah, Lieutenant,” Ellen said. “It’s a dress uniform with…”

“A simple yes is sufficient,” the Lieutenant thundered. “Why are you not wearing a jacket? Why do you have a stain on your shirt?”

Ellen gulped twice. “Because I didn’t wash the shirt, Lieutenant,” she explained, looking as if she was staring into the face of Medusa herself. “I didn’t have the time…”

“You should have made the time,” the Lieutenant informed her. She looked Ellen up and down, and then dismissed her with one flick of her eyebrows. “One demerit for untidiness while wearing a dress uniform. A second demerit for not taking care of your issued uniform.”

She paused and glared at us. “The dress uniform is a sacred uniform,” she informed us. We’d been told that at the Academy, but it somehow hadn’t sunk in. “You wear the dress uniform, you represent the honour of the Peace Force itself. You” – she pointed a long finger at Roger – “what is that?”

“My coming-of-age badge,” Roger said. It was a silver talisman that had been presented to him on his sixteenth birthday, just before he had joined the Academy as a cadet. “It’s from my…”

“Get rid of it,” the Lieutenant snapped. She eyed him up and down icily. “The dress uniform is worn according to regulations and there are no additions, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Roger said. He looked pale, but at least he managed to keep his voice steady. “I understand.”

“You,” the Lieutenant said, pointing to Muna. “What is that?”

“My headscarf,” Muna said, somehow standing her ground. Like most people from a very religious background, Muna had permission to wear a symbol of her religion, even if she didn’t want to wear it. It was blue and went surprisingly well with the dress uniform, but the Lieutenant wasn't impressed.

“You put someone else in danger wearing that thing, you get put in front of the Captain’s desk,” she thundered. I was starting to think that thundering was all that she did. “I…suggest that you wear it only as part of your dress uniform, understand?”

Her gaze locked onto me. I’d felt less threatened back when I’d been trying to escape the neighbourhood gangs and bullies back home. “Your shirt isn’t tucked into your trousers,” she informed me, her eyes never leaving mine. “Your hair is also longer than regulation length. Have it cut on your next off-duty period, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” I said. I wouldn’t have dared object. The Academy hadn’t cared about hair length or many other things, but it was clear that things were slightly different here. This was a real starship, when all was said and done. “I understand.”

“Excellent,” the Lieutenant said, sardonically, when she had finished. All of us had earned at least two demerits. “I see that we have a right set of geniuses here. Every year, without fail, the quality of Academy graduates grows worse and worse. Every year, I find myself having to teach young men and women who are unworthy of Cadet Rank how to survive on a starship.” Her gaze moved from face to face. “The worst that can happen to you at the Academy is being expelled for gross misconduct. The worst that can happen to you here is that you get your silly ass killed, understand? If you’re really unlucky, you’ll take the rest of us with you.”

She stood back and smiled thinly. “Attention to detail is the first thing they should have taught you at the Academy,” she added. “You may find all of these little rituals silly and wasteful, but they help to keep your lives safe. If you have a problem with any of them, you may leave the ship now. Are there any takers?”

There weren’t. None of us were stupid enough to take her up on her offer. We had all joined the UNPF to explore the galaxy, not to spend the rest of our lives flying desks on Luna Base, or Mars, or one of the other UNPF bases scattered around the ever-expanding human sphere. Even if the Lieutenant was a Medusa and the Captain was the Devil himself, we would have stayed on the ship. Nothing would have induced us to leave.

“Good,” the Lieutenant said, finally. “Perhaps we can make something of you yet.” She pointed one long finger towards the UN flag. “I believe that you have forgotten something…?”

As one, we turned and saluted the flag. “Good,” she said, again. “At ease.”

We relaxed, just slightly. None of us dared slouch. “My name is Lieutenant Deborah Hatchet, First Lieutenant Deborah Hatchet,” she said. The name fitted her perfectly, I decided. As the First Lieutenant, she was effectively the second-in-command of the starship. “You will address me as Lieutenant, nothing else. I am, for my sins, the officer charged with breaking you down and rebuilding you into useful and productive crewmembers. Work with me, listen and learn from me, and you will go far in the Peace Force. Don’t listen to me and you will probably end up being discharged at the end of your first five-year term, assuming I let you live.”

I winced. It might have been a joke, but I wouldn’t have placed money on it. “You are the lowest of the low on this ship,” she continued. “You may believe that as Ensigns, Commissioned Officers, you have the right to issue commands to crewmen and others not in the chain of command. You will earn that right in time, but for now, listen carefully and learn. The Academy did not prepare you for life on a starship. When you understand just how unprepared you are, you will also understand why.”

She stepped back. “If you have problems, you bring them to me. If you have questions or issues, don’t hesitate to ask. I will be far more annoyed with you if you don’t understand something and you don’t ask than if you do ask, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” we chorused. My feelings were confused now and I suspected that the others were in the same boat. I think I understood the subtext, but the Academy had told us that we were mature adults…and officers. The Lieutenant was telling us something different.

The Lieutenant smiled. “You don’t, yet,” she said. “Now, stand to attention.”

On cue, the hatch hissed open and a man wearing a Crewman’s uniform stepped through. “Captain on the deck,” he announced. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. I heard him easily and forced myself to straighten even further. The Lieutenant, I realised suddenly, had also stood to attention.

The Captain stepped through the hatch and studied us appraisingly. He reminded me a little of my grandfather, I realised, but he was definitely younger and fitter. He was scarred, like the Lieutenant, by experience, but he held himself firm and showed no sign of weakness. His dark hair was tinged with flickers of white, but his face showed no hint of doubt that he was in charge. I was impressed right from the start. He had command presence, all right. I had wondered who could command the Lieutenant, but now I knew. The Crewman, standing slightly behind the Captain, seemed to fade out in my mind. The Captain absorbed all of my attention.

He wore a simple white dress uniform – commanding officers were the only ones allowed to wear white uniforms – with gold braid and a line of service pins marking time spent in the UNPF. I counted them mentally and was astonished to realise that the Captain had spent nearly fifty years in the service. He must have taken a formidable doze of anti-aging drugs, despite the cost, and I felt a flicker of anger. If the drugs hadn’t been reserved for ‘socially useful’ people, my grandfather might have remained alive longer, long enough to see me don the uniform myself.

“At ease,” he said, finally. His voice was calm and very composed. I had the impression that he never lost his temper, or even raised his voice. “I am Captain Harriman. Welcome onboard my ship. The UNS Jacques Delors has a long and proud history and I expect each and every one of you to comport yourselves in a manner befitting that history. I also expect you to give the ship and crew one hundred percent of your time and attention. You volunteered for the UNPF and it has invested considerable resources in each of you. You will spend the first years of your career repaying it for your training, as…worthless as much of it was.”

He looked around the compartment and I lowered my eyes. I couldn’t face his gaze. “We are under orders to cruise out to Terra Nova and then to Albion as part of a general anti-piracy patrol,” the Captain continued. “We will be beginning an extensive period of training for you as soon as we have departed Orbit Seven and entered Jump Space. By the time we reach Terra Nova, I want all of you to be confirmed qualified to operate any of the consoles on the bridge. Those of you who had problems at the Academy will be given remedial training. You will qualify.”

I had no doubt of it. Somehow, the thought of disappointing the Captain was more than I could bear. “The Lieutenant and the Senior Crew Chief will see to your immediate training,” the Captain concluded. “I expect, however, to see you all on the bridge for departure.”

He nodded to the Senior Crew Chief, turned, and walked back through the hatch, which hissed shut behind him. “Stand at ease,” the Lieutenant barked. We relaxed, somehow. None of us quite dared to breathe. “This is Senior Crew Chief Markus Wilhelm, the senior Crewman onboard this vessel. He will show you to your quarters.”

Her gaze swept over us again. “Tell me something,” she said. One finger pointed at Ellen. “How many demerits have you all earned today?”

“Fourteen,” she said, rapidly adding them up in her head. “That’s…ah…”

“No need to break them down,” the Lieutenant said, dryly. “How did you work them off at the Academy?”

“Exercise, Lieutenant,” Ellen said. I nodded. In theory, twenty demerits meant a more severe punishment, but I had never heard of one actually being carried out. There had even been Cadets with far more demerits who had never worked them all off. Somehow, I was sure that it was going to be different here. “We had to work out for at least an hour in the gym under supervision.”

“Very good,” the Lieutenant said. Ellen blushed slightly. “You will discover that things are different here. A demerit is worked off by hard and embarrassing duties, including cleaning the ship’s toilets with a toothbrush, and you will do it. If you earn more than five without working them off, you will be disciplined firmly. The golden rule on this ship is simple. Don’t fuck about, understand?”

She didn’t wait for our answers. “Markus, show them to their quarters,” she ordered. Her voice darkened slightly. “I believe that the Political Officer will want to speak to them later and we don’t wish to disappoint him, do we?”

“No, Lieutenant,” the Senior Chief Crewman said. He smiled at us and I found myself liking him instinctively. He had a very trustworthy face, although I wasn’t blind to the muscles showing under his uniform. “Follow me.”

Chapter Two

The reasoning behind the demand for political reliability is simple. The UN relies on its officers and men carrying out orders without question, as questioning officers might question the very value of the UN itself, or the nature of the war they are forced to fight on the UN’s behalf. Therefore, every care is taken to ensure that not only are the officers and men exposed to UN propaganda regularly, but that they are also watched carefully for subversive leanings. This is the task of the Political Officers.

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

“My God,” Roger said, after we’d been shown into our quarters and informed that we would be expected on the bridge at 1400. “These quarters are small!”

I laughed dryly. “Are you going to go and complain?”

“Not really,” Roger said. His demerits would take him time and effort to work off. We’d been given so many between us that the toilets were probably going to be permanently spotless until we reached Terra Nova. “Maybe Sally should do it. She only got two demerits.”

“Fuck you,” Sally said, annoyed. “We’ve got twenty-one minutes until we’re expected on the bridge. Choose your bunks now, please.”

I looked around. There were eight bunks and only seven Ensigns. We might get someone else assigned to the ship, but I rather doubted it. We’d been ordered to report as a group and no one else had turned up. The cabin was barely large enough for us all to share and as for privacy…forget it. There were only two showers, a handful of drawers for our private possessions, and a small terminal. I tapped it absently and it lit up with a diagram of the ship.

“I’ll take this one,” Roger said, picking a high bunk. I shrugged and picked the one next to him. I didn’t really care if I got the higher or lower bunks, but it was the principle of the thing. “Who’s going to be First Ensign?”

We looked at each other. Traditionally, the First Ensign – or the First Lieutenant – was the officer who had held that rank the longest. Lieutenant Hatchet’s service pins had suggested that she’d been a Lieutenant for at least seven years, surprisingly long. She should have been promoted to Captain or rotated out of the zone years ago. We, on the other hand, had received our commissions together and we had all served an equal amount of time. It might have been barely two days, but even so, we were matched. There was no obvious First Ensign.