Mutiny (10 page)

"Well, Ensign Marcos?" said Cole.

"You're supposed to ask permission to come aboard, sir," replied Rachel Marcos.

"I think we've been through this once before. The shuttlecraft is already a thousand miles away. Where else am I going to go?"

She shrugged. "Welcome aboard, sir." She shook his hand. "And thank you for my commendation."

"I believe we've done the hand-shaking as well," he said. "I assume I'm in the same quarters as before?"

"Certainly, sir. Where else would you be?"

"Oh, I don't know. The brig, maybe."

She laughed. "You have an interesting sense of humor, sir."

Let's hope Mount Fuji does, too
, thought Cole. Aloud he said, "That's me—a barrel of laughs."

"By the way, the Captain wants to see you as soon as it's convenient."

"Right," said Cole. "I've got a few things to dump off in my cabin first."

She saluted. "I'm glad you're back, sir."

As he got off the airlift and started walking to his quarters, he passed Lieutenant Sokolov in the narrow corridor.

"Welcome back, Commander," said Sokolov. "The Captain's looking for you."

"Thanks," said Cole. He continued walking to his cabin, waited for the door to identify him and iris, and stepped inside. He put his dress uniform in the closet and placed his medal next to its three siblings in a dresser drawer.

There was a knock at the door. He ordered it to open and Forrice entered.

"I was glad when the word came down that you had survived," said the Molarian. "I wouldn't have given good odds on it the last time I saw you."

"It got a little hairy for a while there," replied Cole. "But what the hell—it goes with the job."

"Before I forget, Mount Fuji wants to see you."

"Jesus! Did he tell every member of the crew?"

"He probably wants to thank you for his medal." Forrice stared at him for a moment. "When you're done with him, I think you'd better go see Lieutenant Mboya."

"Oh?"

"You tried to give her a message, a code, something, on Rapunzel, and she missed it. She knows you were
trying
to tell her to do something, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She was sure she'd gotten you killed until we got the news that you had the whole planetary contingent of Bortellites after you. That's when I knew you'd be okay."

"All right, I'll speak to her and explain it wasn't her fault." He paused. "I tried to tell her what I wanted her to do when we staged that fight, but they pulled us apart before I could get it out. I knew if they thought I was giving her an order they'd never let her leave the planet, so I tried to give her a hint instead, something they couldn't spot. I guess I was too subtle."

"I was listening, too, and I never caught it," said Forrice. "What exactly were you trying to say?"

"I said something about headlines. I hoped she'd figure out I wanted her to go to the press, rather than the Navy. I knew by the next day that she'd missed it."

"I don't blame her for not spotting it," said the Molarian. "You just explained it to me, and I still can't see how it encourages her to go to the press."

"I used an anachronism," explained Cole. "They haven't printed the news on paper in centuries. There is no longer any such thing as a headline."

"Of course there is. It's the catchphrase that leads to a story."

"Okay, I could have used a better hint. But I only had about three seconds to come up with something the Bortellites couldn't understand."

"Well, you certainly did that," said Forrice with his equivalent of a smile. "Anyway, I'm glad you made it back. I hadn't realized how boring duty on the Rim could be until you got here and showed us what it
could
be."

"I didn't spot the warship," Cole pointed out. "Lieutenant Mboya did."

"You don't think for a minute we'd have taken any action at all if Mount Fuji or Podok had been in command?"

"Of course not," answered Cole. "But that doesn't mean I actively pursue confrontation with the enemy when I'm outgunned and outnumbered. I'd like to survive this war."

His computer suddenly came to life, and Sharon Blacksmith's image appeared before him.

"Welcome home, Wilson," she said. "You don't look any the worse for wear."

"I was only on the damned planet a couple of days," he replied.

"You'll have to tell me all about it later," she said. "But right now you're wanted in the Captain's cabin. He knows you're onboard."

"I'd hate to try to keep a secret on this ship," said Cole. He stood up. "All right. I'm on my way."

"I'll catch up with you later," said Forrice.

"You can walk me to the airlift."

"Well, I
was
planning to stay behind and steal your medals, but if you insist ..."

"Why not make me a cash offer?" said Cole. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement."

"You sound like you mean it."

"I didn't join the Navy to accumulate medals. I came to beat the bad guys." He paused. "I still have hopes that there are more of them in the Teroni Federation than the Republic."

"And I always thought you were a realist," said Forrice.

They reached the airlift and parted company, and a moment later Cole was standing before Fujiama's door, waiting for it to scan his retina and skeletal structure. It opened a moment later. He entered and remembered to salute.

Makeo Fujiama was seated behind his desk. When Cole entered, he got to his feet, walked around the desk, and stood in front of Cole, towering almost a full foot above him.

"Before we discuss anything else, Commander Cole, I want to express my gratitude for the medal and citation I have been awarded and for which I suspect you were responsible."

Why tell him that all the medals were a surprise to me? It never hurts to have a superior officer feeling obligated to you.

"You certainly deserve it, sir."

"I am very proud of this medal, and indeed of the
Theodore Roosevelt's
performance in the recently concluded action."

"As well you should be, sir."

"I wanted to say that on the front end, so that I wouldn't forget it," said Fujiama. "Now suppose you tell me just what the hell you thought you were doing, taking a shuttlecraft against an enemy warship without a direct order from me!"

"I didn't dare risk the
Theodore Roosevelt,
sir, so I took the shuttle-craft, which I assumed was expendable, and manned it with only myself and two volunteers."

"You didn't answer me, Mr. Cole. Why did you take action without informing your superior officer?"

"When you and Commander Podok are off duty and I am in command of the bridge, I have no superior officer," responded Cole.

"Read your Naval Regulations, Mr. Cole!" snapped Fujiama. "You must clear extraordinary actions with the Captain of the vessel."

"I have read them," said Cole. "And they state that when it is impractical, such as a case of hot pursuit or sudden enemy fire, I am to use my best judgment and take what I consider the proper actions."

"What hot pursuit?" demanded Fujiama. "The damned Bortellite ship had already landed on Rapunzel before you ever entered the
Kermit!"

"If the Bortellites were planning a surprise attack on the citizens of Rapunzel, speed was of the essence."

"If they were planning an attack, they wouldn't have landed a ship that could vaporize the world from orbit but couldn't carry an attack force of four hundred armed soldiers."

"You're absolutely right, sir," said Cole. "I guess that's why you're the Captain and I'm just the Second Officer."

"Spare me your glib, facile answers, Mr. Cole," said Fujiama. "The
Roosevelt's,
an old ship, old and tired. It has no business facing a modern warship. Don't you realize what you might have done?"

"The truth, sir?"

"It would be a pleasant change."

"All right," said Cole. "What I might have done was stay where I was and report the Bortellite ship to Sector Command, which would have relayed the information to headquarters on Deluros VIII, which is more than half the galaxy away and busy directing a shooting war. Then I would have hoped that by the time my report wended its way through channels and the Republic finally decided to take action—which we both know is a highly problematic decision—there would be Men left alive to save on Rapunzel." He paused. "That's what I might have done. What I
did
do was prevent an enemy power from establishing a foothold on a Republic world and keep them from replenishing their rapidly diminishing power supply. I alerted the Republic to the situation and let you take out the warship while it was a sitting duck on the ground—and I did all that without the loss of a single human life. I understand why the Teroni Federation wants me dead. What I don't understand is why my superior officers seem to share that desire."

"Sit down, Mr. Cole," said Fujiama, indicating a chair.

"I'd prefer to stand, sir."

"Sit down, goddammit!" bellowed Fujiama.

Cole sat down.

"I know what you think of me, Mr. Cole, and I can guess what you think of the
Theodore Roosevelt."
He hovered over Cole, glaring down at him. "Let me assure you that there are no cowards aboard this ship. What we have are a bunch of embittered fuck-ups who are serving their penance out here on the Rim. That little contretemps you precipitated on Rapunzel is the closest we've been to the war in four years. None of us signed up to guard a bunch of underpopulated worlds that the enemy couldn't care less about—but as long as Sector Command can't count on us to obey orders, here is where we'll stay. Now do you understand the reason for this interview, Mr. Cole?"

"Yes, sir," said Cole. "I do, and I must admit I hadn't considered the situation in that light. But I took an oath to protect the Republic and harass and harry the enemy, and nothing in that oath allows me to pick my spots."

"Well spoken," said Fujiama. "But part of your oath includes obeying orders and respecting the chain of command, and that is the part you have consistently ignored throughout your career. I don't want it ignored again. I am sick of being
here
when the war is
there.
The Men and aliens on this ship have served their time in the boondocks; they deserve to get back into the fray." He frowned. "The idiocy is that you represent our very best chance of accomplishing that goal. If the press and the people wouldn't let you die on Rapunzel, they're not going to be happy about keeping you out on the Rim when the war is fifty thousand light-years away. So as distasteful as it is, we're going to have to reach an accommodation."

"You don't like me very much, do you?" asked Cole curiously.

"Does that bother you, Mr. Cole?"

"Not really, though of course I'd rather be liked."

"The truth of the matter is that I don't know you well enough to like or dislike you," answered Fujiama. "What I do is fear and envy you. I envy your achievements and your ability to impose your will on extraordinary situations; and I fear what that ability can do to my ship and my future. Is that honest enough for you?"

"Yes, sir, it is," said Cole.

"Is there anything else you wish to say to me?"

"No, sir."

"Now that we understand each other, may I have your promise that you will not put the
Roosevelt,
its shuttlecraft, or any of its personnel at hazard without first informing me?"

"Yes, sir," said Cole. "Now that we understand each other, I will take no such action without first informing you."

"I have a feeling you are playing semantic games with me. I hope you're not, because I am not playing any game when I say that should you break your promise I will not hesitate to relieve you of command and confine you to your quarters for the duration of our tour of duty on the Rim."

"I believe you, sir," said Cole.

"You'd better." Fujiama stared at him for a long moment. "Is our conversation concluded?"

"Yes, sir, it is," said Cole.

Fujiama walked to a cabinet and waved his hand in front of it. The door vanished, and he pulled out a half-empty bottle of Cygnian cognac and two glasses. "Then let's have a drink and try to maintain the illusion of camaraderie."

"Sounds good to me, sir," said Cole, accepting a glass and wondering how long the illusion would last.

Cole was lying comfortably on his bunk, reading a book on his computer, when the book vanished and Sharon Blacksmith's image appeared.

"You busy?" she asked.

"Do I look busy?"

"Spare me your sardonicism," she said. "New orders just came through. You're going to hear about them anyway, but since I suspect you're responsible for them, I thought I'd let you know now—if you promise to keep your mouth shut and act surprised when they're announced."

"What's up?"

"Orders from the top. The
Teddy R
is being rotated to the Phoenix Cluster, where we and two other ships will patrol the whole damned cluster."

"That's almost as far from the action as the Rim is," said Cole. "How many inhabited worlds in the cluster?"

"A couple of hundred, most of them ours."

"Why do you say I'm responsible for this?"

"You're a hero, remember? The people don't want their hero out on the Rim where nothing's happening, so the Navy is moving us to the Phoenix Cluster"—she grinned—"where even less is happening."

"Is there anything in the cluster worth protecting?"

She shrugged. "Mining worlds, agricultural worlds, three commercial centers. There's supposed to be a hell of a whorehouse on Dalmation II, if that's to your taste."

"I'd ask how you know that," said Cole, "but I'm afraid you might tell me."

She laughed. "Just remember: when Mount Fuji or Podok announces the orders, you're surprised."

"Flabbergasted," he said. "I may swoon."

"You still on blue shift?"

"Yeah. I go to work in about two hours."

"I'm taking a break in the next couple of minutes," said Sharon. "If you're not doing anything, come on down to the mess hall and I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

"Sure, why not?" he replied. "I've read the damned book before."

"Did the butler do it?"

"Frequently. See you in the mess hall."

He broke the connection, went over to his sink and rinsed his face off, and left his cabin.

He was aware of being stared at every time he passed a member of the crew in the corridor, but he had no idea if they were impressed with what he'd accomplished on Rapunzel or resentful of his notoriety. He remembered to return the salutes of each yeoman and ensign who passed him and finally reached the mess hall, where Sharon was waiting for him at a small table.

"You're looking well," she said. "Obviously death-defying adventure agrees with you."

"Give it a rest," he said. Then, activating his side of the table, he ordered coffee. "How's the Peeping Tom business—or is it the Peeping Sharon?"

"Grim," she said, suddenly serious.

"What's up?"

"Same as usual," she said. "You'd better hope no one attacks us in the next two hours, because one of the three gunnery officers on duty is high as a kite, and the other two aren't far behind."

"Where did they get it?" asked Cole. "We haven't touched down in months."

"Where do you suppose? Someone's robbing the infirmary."

"With all the security devices you've got?"

"Someone very creative," she replied. "Or perhaps a lot of someones."

"I'd heard we had a drug problem . . ."he began.

"We've got an
everything
problem," said Sharon. "No one's showed up in the labs for three days. One of the female ensigns would have been raped in the ship's chapel, of all places, if your friend Forrice hadn't happened along. They're not just stealing from the ship, but from each other." She signed deeply. "Putting all our bad apples in one basket may not be the brightest idea the Navy ever had."

"I hadn't realized it was that bad," said Cole. "Oh, Four Eyes and the Captain both mentioned it, but I figured that was just normal bitching."

She shook her head. "It's bad, Wilson."

"Well, as long as I'm stuck here, and my life may depend on them, I suppose it's my job to instill a little discipline if the Captain won't."

"Mount Fuji spends most of his time in his office or cabin and almost never interacts with the crew. I think he's terminally depressed over the loss of his wife and kids." She took a bite of the pastry in front of her. "He was a good man once, and a brave one. In fact," she added, "I've been over the records of every member of the crew, and no one's here for cowardice."

"It doesn't matter," said Cole. "You don't have to be especially brave to fight in a war. If someone starts shooting at you and there's no place to run, you shoot back . . . and in space, there's rarely a place to run. But if discipline is lacking, you go to shoot your pulse cannons and find that they haven't been maintained, you try to maneuver and find no one's programmed the navigational computer for this sector, you start getting short of breath and realize that no one's tended the hydroponic garden and your emergency oxygen supply is exhausted." He paused. "Disobeying a stupid order is one thing, and if the Navy wants to call it a lack of discipline, that's their business; but failing to maintain your weapons, your equipment, and your ship in time of war is another, and
that's
the lack of discipline we have to put an end to."

"I agree wholeheartedly," said Sharon. "But things have gotten so far out of hand that I truly don't know if they
can
be fixed."

"Every problem is capable of solution," said Cole. "What's going on besides drugs?"

"There's a lot of sex, including some interspecies cohabitation." Suddenly she smiled. "In fact, I would imagine that carnal intrigue will raise its lovely head in your vicinity any moment now."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Three of the women on board have a wager on which of them will go to bed with you first," she said in amused tones. "Do you want their names?"

"No. I imagine I'll find out soon enough. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," said Sharon. "Watch out for Podok."

"Why?"

"She tried to put you on report for disobeying orders and regulations, and instead you got another Medal of Courage. I don't pretend to understand all the nuances and subtleties of the Polonoi mind, but my gut feeling is that she resents the hell out of you."

"Thanks for the warning."

Suddenly the Captain's voice and image appeared at stations all over the ship, including the mess hall.

"This is Captain Fujiama," it said. "The
Theodore Roosevelt
has just received new orders. At 1700 hours—that's thirty-seven minutes from now—we are leaving the Rim and relocating to the Phoenix Cluster, where we will join the
Bonaparte
and the
Maracaibo
in a joint patrol of the cluster's two hundred and forty-one inhabited worlds. Once we're there we have been instructed to maintain radio silence until otherwise notified, so if you have any subspace messages to send, send them now."

The image vanished.

"How long will it take us to get there?" asked Cole.

Sharon shrugged. "That's not my area of expertise. I can find out if it's important."

"No, not really. I was just curious." He paused. "There
is
one thing you can do for me, though."

"Name it."

"Keep me under surveillance around the clock."

"You're that proud of your sexual technique?" she said with a smile.

"I'm being serious. I plan to instill a little discipline on this ship—
my
kind of discipline, if not the Navy's. I figure it'll be resented. If someone sticks a knife between my ribs, I'd like to think he won't go unpunished."

"All right," she said. "Come on back to Security with me, and I'll rig you up so we can monitor you no matter where you are."

"Fine." He finished his coffee. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Not yet," she said. "
You're
just a hero.
This
"—she indicated the pastry—"is a sinfully rich mixture of chocolate, custard, and two or three ingredients that even the Chief of Security hasn't been able to determine." She took another bite. "I suppose I'll just have to keep eating it until I can identify all the elements."

"How can you eat like this and stay so slender?" asked Cole.

"A little exercise and a lot of worry," she answered. "Especially a lot of worry." She stared at him. "Not as effective as your method of weight loss on Balmoral IV."

"You know about that?"

"It's my job. I know your record as well as you do. What I can't understand is how you let yourself be captured. It was such an obvious trap."

"Of course it was. But no one knew where the Teronis were holding Gerhardt Sigardson. I figured the only way to find out was to let them capture me."

"How long did you go without food?"

"A while," he said noncommittally. "But it was essential that we free Sigardson. He knew the disposition of all our forces, and he knew where we planned to strike next. He was a tough customer, but nobody can hold out forever. Sooner or later they'd have broken him."

"The news stories said he was dead when you found him," said Sharon. "I never bought it for an instant."

"He was alive. But they'd been working on him for weeks. He was too feeble to escape with me, and I was too weak to carry him."

"So you killed him?"

He nodded his head. "He knew I had to. Hell, he begged me to." The muscles in Cole's jaw began twitching. "I still feel like shit about it."

"I saw holos of you when they gave you your medals. You looked positively gaunt."

"It's ancient history," he said uncomfortably. "Finish the last ten thousand calories and let's get me rigged so you can monitor me wherever I am."

"We probably can anyway," said Sharon.

"Let's make sure."

"All right," she said, finally finishing the pastry. "Let's go."

He followed her to the airlift, and a moment later they entered her office. She ordered the windows on the door to turn opaque.

"Take off your tunic."

He did as she requested.

"Not bad," she said, appraising him with an expert eye. "I might get in on the pool as well."

"If you do, I'll report you to Security."

She laughed, then picked up a small instrument of a type he'd never seen before. "Hold still, now," she said. "This will take a minute."

He felt a sharp stinging sensation in his right shoulder. It subsided after a moment.

"That's the chip everyone will be looking for," she said. "It'll show up on just about any scanner, and it won't hurt a hell of a lot more to take it out than it did to put it in. Now give me your hand."

He extended his left hand, and she sprayed his thumb with a solution that totally deadened it.

"You might want to look away," she said. "You won't feel a thing, but most people will still flinch when they see what's being done."

"How long will this take?"

"Maybe three minutes."

"Let's get going."

He saw her coming at his thumb with some sharp medical instruments, and he took her advice and looked away. He wasn't afraid of the pain, but he agreed that he might flinch, and he didn't want to waste any time.

"Okay, it's all over," she said after she'd finished working on him.

He looked at his hand. It didn't seem any different.

"What did you do?"

"I put a microchip under your thumbnail. It won't register on nine out of ten scanners, and most people will never think to check there, especially once they find the chip in your shoulder."

"What will this chip do?"

"It'll pick up every sound within a fifty-foot radius, and loud sounds from much farther than that. It also sends a homing pulse every five seconds, so we'll always know not only what you hear but where you are." She paused. "There was no way to fit anything visual under your thumbnail, but we do have holo cameras everywhere on the ship, even in the bathrooms."

"You're just a dirty old woman."

"A dirty young woman," she corrected him. "Though I must confess that this job ages you fast—especially aboard the
Teddy R."
She walked to the bank of computers on the back wall and checked one of the machines. "You're transmitting a signal, and everything we've said has been recorded. That means you're done. Put your shirt on so the ladies don't attack you the second they see you, and you can go about your business—which until blue shift doubtless means sprawling on your bunk with a good book or a bad woman."

"You've been looking in on too many private moments," said Cole. "You've got sex on the brain."

"Seriously, by the third day on the job, it's just that much meat on the hoof."

"Thanks for the chips," he said, walking to the door. "I'll catch up with you later."

He went down the corridor, then took the airlift to the gunnery level, where he entered the department. There were three sergeants on duty—a Man, a Polonoi, and a Molarian. None of them looked all that steady on their feet.

The human noticed him and gave him a sloppy salute. The Polonoi seemed to be in a trance, and the Molarian was standing and swaying before a computer.

"I'm pleased to meet you, sir," slurred the human. "That was some-show you put on down there on ... on wherever the hell it was."