Of Treasons Born (18 page)

Chapter 19:

Exposed

After swearing-in, they had five days before classes actually began. All the plebes were required to meet with their academic advisers to review their course schedule, and York's appointment was set for the following day. But he had no free time. With thousands of upperclassmen present, merely walking from one building to the next frequently proved to be an ordeal. During those first few days, even the slightest infraction earned a verbal whiplash from an upperclassman: a hat not square, a name tag slightly tilted. York was a bit luckier than most. After spending four years as the lowest of the low, sometimes under the watchful eyes of an obsessively strict officer, York knew to be obsessive about appearance, demeanor, and all the little rules required of him. He still earned his share of snipes from upperclassmen, but maybe just a few less than the others.

He'd been assigned Commander Laski as his academic adviser. He was careful to arrive early for his appointment, though that proved to be a bit of a mistake. He had to wait in a line of plebes in the hall outside Laski's office while three upperclassmen harassed them unmercifully, making them recite or sing everything from memorized regulations to silly little songs. When York's turn to see Laski finally came, he removed his cap, tucked it under his arm, knocked on Laski's door, entered, saluted, and presented himself with the standard formula.

“At ease, Midshipman,” Laski said.

Seated behind his desk, Laski was somewhat overweight, with a receding hairline, a couple of chins, and prominent jowls. Laski let him stand there without saying anything while he read something in front of him. More than five minutes passed before he looked up at York. “I've been reviewing your background, Midshipman Ballin.”

York's gut clenched. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone in a position of authority could easily look up his service record, and he realized what a fool he'd been to fail to anticipate that. At least Jarwith and Thorow had expunged any references to his criminal past when he left
Dauntless
. But still, York knew exactly what kind of reaction he'd get from Laski at the knowledge that the midshipman who stood before him was actually a lower-deck pod gunner spacer first class.

Laski said, “Don't worry, Midshipman. I won't hold your background against you. Your father, Command Master Chief Thomas Ballin, died valiantly in the service of the empire. It's only right that we allow a few of your kind into the academy each year.”

To cover up his utter surprise, York said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Ballin. We owe a debt to the lower strata who serve us well. And here you have an excellent opportunity to rise above your station.”

Could it have been Martinson and Parker? Could they have faked up his background? York realized it was imperative that he play his part. “I'm quite grateful for that, sir.”

“And you should be,” Laski said. “I doubt you'll be able to keep up with the academic rigors of life here at the academy. But I'll do what I can to help you, and if you have any trouble with your coursework, let me know and I'll try to intervene. There's nothing I can do about the physical demands, nor the verbal abuse you'll have to put up with from upperclassmen the first year, but you appear to be a strapping young man, so I'm sure you can handle that.”

Inside, York seethed at the assumption that
his kind
lacked the mental acuity needed to make the grade. But he knew better than to let it show. “Again, sir, I am quite grateful.”

“I see you and Lord Simma are bunkmates. I'll ask him to help you out with the academics. He may not be willing to do so, but it never hurts to ask.”

When York left Laski's office, he vowed that he would do well at every challenge the academy offered him.

In some of the academic subjects, York had a little head start because of two years of tutoring aboard ship. That helped in subjects like navigation and engineering, but in fundamentals such as mathematics, he still struggled. Each day started early and ended late, and when not in class, every moment of his time was carefully dictated by other scheduled activities, or the whims of an upperclassman.

Interestingly enough, Tony Simma had trouble with the academic subjects. He was by no means stupid or slow, but he showed no drive to excel, and York wondered if perhaps he was accustomed to having everything handed to him. York found it fascinating that Tony, who'd grown up at the pinnacle of imperial status, was less of a snob than Laski, who was completely untitled and could make no claim to nobility.

As midterms approached, Tony grew a little desperate, fearful that he'd fail and have to face his father, so he and York studied together. It actually helped York to help Tony.

“You know,” Tony said, “Laski thinks I'm tutoring you. That snob is the worst wannabe I've ever met, thanked
me
for helping you out. Sorry about that.”

When the midterm results were announced, Tony passed with flying colors and received a small ribbon for doing so well. York never said anything, but he wondered at that, thought it likely Tony would graduate at the top of the class no matter what, but be one of those officers Chief Parker said was not qualified to command a lifeboat, let alone a man-of-war.

Laski called York to his office to review his results.

“Very good, Mr. Ballin,” he said, as York stood at ease in front of his desk. “You won't graduate at the top of the class, but you're certainly in the top half, and if you keep this up, you might make it into the top thirty percent. I hope you appreciate the benefits of Lord Simma's tutoring.”

York nodded and said, “I have expressed my thanks to Lord Simma most sincerely, sir.”

“Excellent, Mr. Ballin, excellent! We'll make an officer of you yet.”

At random intervals, the barracks was subjected to a surprise, white-glove, black-sock inspection in which even the tiniest speck of dust earned demerits, or some sort of creative punishment. And they all learned that the entire platoon suffered the fate of the most slovenly among them. Most often an upperclassman or two conducted the inspection on an informal basis, while the plebes stood at attention at the end of their bunks listening to the upper-class midshipmen shout at them. The plebes came to look upon it as part of the general harassment meted out by their student superiors, though they were told the true purpose was to prepare them for a real inspection. York noticed that when the white glove came away from Tony Simma's bunk with a dark smear on it, nothing was ever said about it, while if any of the rest of them proved less than perfect, there was all hell to pay.

Formal inspections were conducted much less frequently by their cadet company commander, Madeen Schessa, with their company officer, Commander Murtaugh, looking silently on. Just after first-semester midterms, Schessa and Murtaugh showed up unannounced with Commander Abraxa in tow, which was unusual, but not unheard of. After all the plebes had snapped to attention at the end of their bunks, Abraxa announced, “Don't think for a moment that your battalion officer isn't personally interested in the discipline of even the lowest plebe.”

Standing at the end of his bunk, York tucked his chin in just a little bit tighter, hoping the bill of his cap would hide his face that much more.

The inspection didn't go badly, a little dirt here and there, but nothing that warranted a severe reprimand. Abraxa took it upon himself to do the shouting for Schessa. And when they were done, Abraxa walked one last time down the aisle in the middle of the bunk room. As he walked, he glanced briefly at each cadet, left then right, left then right, though he never looked for more than an instant before moving on, never even slowed his pace. But when he looked at York, he hesitated, looked a second time, and his pace faltered for a fraction of a step. He recovered with only that slight hesitation, continued on, and left the room. York breathed a sigh of relief.

Two days later, Schessa was about to conduct a formal inspection of her company, all lined up in ranks at attention on the parade ground, when Abraxa approached and spoke briefly with her. She turned from him and announced, “Commander Abraxa would like to inspect Eighth Company, a rare honor indeed.”

As Abraxa walked down the lines of men and women with Schessa beside him, looking at each, York again tucked his chin tightly to his chest. Abraxa didn't seem particularly interested in upbraiding anyone that day, he simply made a comment or recommendation here and there. When he got to York, he said, “Midshipman, your chin is a little low. Don't tuck it so tightly into your chest.”

York raised his chin, lifting the bill of his cap and exposing more of his face. Abraxa frowned and squinted. “Midshipman”—he glanced down at the name tag on York's chest—“Midshipman … Ballin, have we met before?”

“Sir, no, sir,” York said. “I don't believe I've had the honor, sir.”

Abraxa stared at him for a long moment, then continued on down the line, finishing the inspection without further incident.

York asked Tony about Abraxa.

“Oh, he graduated last year,” Tony said. “Top of his class.”

“Last year?” York asked. Something didn't add up. “That means he left here an ensign and came back a few months later a full commander.”

Tony shrugged. “He was probably assigned to one of his father's ships in Home Fleet, served a few tendays, got a promotion, and came home to complain that full commander wasn't enough.”

“But aren't all graduates supposed to serve a half-year evaluation tour on a ship-of-the-line?”

Tony laughed and shook his head sadly. “Don't be naive, York. His father wrote his evaluation, probably wrote it before he graduated. Even better, he probably wrote it before he was born.”

After midterms, there were a few empty bunks in Plebe Hall, but York was happy to see Tony, Karin, and Muldoon still present. Tony continued to demonstrate a complete lack of motivation for anything like studying, and once it became clear he would graduate at the top of his class, he decided all the stuff they were trying to learn must be quite easy. At that point, he began studying even less. Muldoon couldn't overcome his painful shyness, and York and Karin grew to be close friends. York would have been happy to allow their relationship to go beyond mere friendship had Karin shown any interest, but it was not meant to be.

Every month, Plebe Hall had another empty bed or two, and York could see that Karin and Muldoon shared his fear that one day their bunks would be prematurely vacant. For the three of them, life at the academy turned into a simple struggle for survival, while Tony just coasted.

During the second half of the first semester, they were introduced to the pilot simulator for small craft like gunboats. York recalled his lessons with Rodma, and to make sure he didn't give away his past, he carefully repeated all the mistakes of his first time in the cockpit. It turned out Karin had learned to pilot small craft at an early age on her father's estate, and was appointed as an assistant instructor. After their first few lessons, she pulled York aside and quietly said, “Why are you faking it, Ballin?”

He stuttered and said, “Uh … what do you mean?”

“I mean you clearly know how to fly, and are very carefully pretending that it's all new to you.”

“Please,” he said. “Don't say anything.”

She frowned and gave him an appraising look. “Okay. … But someday you have to tell me the truth.”

He nodded. “Before we graduate, I will.”

York sweated his way through the semester finals and was certain he'd flunked out. But when the results were announced, he learned he'd just squeezed his way into the top 30 percent of the plebe class. Again, Laski called him into his office and congratulated him for doing so well, with the unwritten message that Laski was pleased he wasn't as stupid as
his kind
.

With the stress of first-semester finals behind them, Commandant Martinson issued an invitation to all cadets, a semi-casual reception to congratulate the plebes who'd made it that far. They were instructed that proper attire was service dress whites, and that attendance was mandatory for plebes, and all battalion, company, and cadet officers. Attendance was optional for upperclassmen, and for that one evening the sniping of plebes would be suspended. The invitation finished with,
Alcohol will be served, though moderation is required of all attendees.

“A party!” Karin said. “With no upperclassmen harassing us.”

Muldoon said, “I bet we still better not have anything wrong with our uniforms.”

Even Tony took that seriously, and when the four of them were ready to leave for the event, they carefully inspected one another, doffed their hats, and walked as a group to the reception. Tony and Karin seemed at home, holding a drink, standing and casually chatting with other cadets and officers. York's experience was limited to dockside bars and brothels, so for the most part he just kept his mouth shut and listened. When Abraxa approached him, he almost snapped to attention out of pure reflex.

“Ballin, are you sure we haven't met somewhere?”

“Perhaps just in passing, sir,” York said, hoping desperately to get away from that subject. “But I don't believe we've actually truly met or spoken.”

When Tony and Karin joined them, York was glad to see Abraxa turn his attention on them. “Tony, old boy, how long has it been since we last met, a year or more? And how's your father?”

“He's doing well,” Tony said. “Probably outlive us both.”

Abraxa turned to Karin. “And I know I've not been introduced to this lovely creature.”

Tony introduced Karin. Abraxa took her hand and kissed it with a flourish. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

Karin said, “The pleasure is mine, Your Lordship.”

“Perhaps the next time Tony and I get together, you might join him.”