Valor's Cost

by Kal Spriggs

  It was over in seconds as the two surviving squadrons dropped their bombs, the battleship and two destroyers vanishing in fireballs, the almost-untouched squadrons slicing away from the expanding clouds of superheated gas.

  On the control monitor, I could see twelve blue diamonds wink out all at once. Hughes had passed the exam... he’d only had to kill twelve pilots to do it. Thirteen, I noted, they hit one of his second wave Firebolts.

  It was a small thing, but even Commander Siebert’s protege hadn’t quite pulled off a “perfect” attack run. I filed that away, glancing at the officer, but she stood silently, not commenting as she typed in notes on her datapad. “Passing grade, ninety percent,” she said as Hughes climbed out of the simulator. “Thorpe, you’re up.”

  I could see Hughes’s expression sour a bit at that. Ninety percent wasn’t bad exactly, but those last ten points would be almost impossible to get. Especially if we were all expected to sacrifice some of our ships. The way she’d set things up, the way Commander Siebert had tallied points, she’d used her star pupil to set the grade... and everyone else would be going against that grade. A ninety percent wasn’t bad, in theory, but when a half a percent grade difference could change someone’s class ranking by ten or more spots...

  Hodges knew all that and I could see it on his face. He’d played by Commander Siebert’s rules and he hadn’t come out ahead, or at least, not like he had hoped. For doing things her way, he wasn’t going to gain ground against those of us who were in the top ranks of the class. Then again, anyone who didn’t do things her way would probably lose points.

  Thorpe had settled into his simulator and gave a thumbs up to show he was ready. The low, sleek pod, designed to feel like the cockpit of a Firebolt, barely fit the broad-shouldered boy.

  Thorpe started things out the same way as Hodges, lining up all of his squadrons for an attack, with one squadron darting ahead at the last moment to bait the enemy fire. Thorpe, though, wasn’t as practiced at it as Hodges. He waited just a fraction too long and the enemy’s ripple fire swept into his follow-on squadrons as they dropped their bombs.

  A few people in the class groaned, but I sat frozen, staring at the slowed replay of the final attack run. I wasn’t looking at Thorpe’s fighters and his slight failure, though, I was watching how the enemy ships ripple fired at his inbound fighters. They used the exact same targeting pattern between Hodges’s attack and Thorpe’s.

  I looked over at Commander Siebert, who had just finished checking off her score sheet, Thorpe’s score populating on the display next to her. I noted that Thorpe, even using her tactics, had only received an eighty percent. With most other classes, that was almost a failure. He’d lost half of his other two squadrons and had barely managed a ‘mobility’ kill on the battleship, which meant he’d damaged it enough to knock it out of the fight and prevent it from moving on the planet.

  She looked up, her dark eyes focusing on me. “Cadet Armstrong, you’re up.” Her fish-like lips drew back a bit, exposing her jagged teeth. She knew I wasn’t a fan of her tactics, she expected me to try it my way and possibly fail or maybe to try it her way and validate it to the rest of the class. I realized that this was the point of all this. It was theater, it was her showing that she was in charge and that we, as cadets, had to follow her whims.

  It was so petty, so unfair, that it struck a nerve. My best friend had nearly failed out because of this woman. I was struggling to keep my grades up, I was spending almost as much time on her class as I was on all my other classes combined... all because she was a petty tyrant.

  I felt a bit light-headed as I walked over and settled into the simulator. The holographic projectors activated along with noise dampeners. I couldn’t see or hear anything outside of the pod.

  I lined up the initial attack run much like Hodges and Thorpe. But my mind kept going to the ripple fire pattern that the programmed enemy had taken. The same ripple pattern. Identical priorities and start and end points. If Commander Siebert had loaded an algorithm, then the pattern should have been different.

  My fingers flew across my panel as I plotted courses and coordinates. A whispering voice in the back of my head told me that I shouldn’t risk it. This wasn’t just my grade on the line. I squashed that voice as all my anger over the past few months boiled up inside me. This wasn’t just about Commander Siebert, not anymore. This was about Ashiri being setback, about Rear Admiral Fischer throwing my school upside-down, about Charterer Beckman using her power to her own advantage.

  This was about my family.

  I typed in the last commands to the squadrons just before my digital forces went in on their final attack runs. The attack itself flashed past so quickly that it didn’t even register, my Mark Five Firebolt whipping past the battleship in a corkscrew maneuver and dropping its payload of antimatter bombs and then wheeling away, all at speeds that the un-augmented human brain couldn’t register.

  The simulator turned off and I climbed out. The room was dead silent. I looked over at the replay, noting that my plan had worked perfectly. As the enemy had started their pre-programmed defensive fire, all three of my squadrons had whipped through the gaps in timing with the enemy fire. It was an impossible attack, or at least a highly improbable one, as no one should have the knowledge of where their enemy would shoot... but I had.

  All three of my squadrons had deployed their antimatter bombs and then veered away, avoiding the enemy fire, dodging where the enemy didn’t shoot. When the bombs detonated, all three enemy ships winked out.

  I looked at Commander Siebert. The officer stood, her fingers locked around her datapad, her eyes wide, her fingers clenched so hard they were white.

  On her display, I saw she’d tallied in kills versus losses, but she hadn’t written in a final score, she was frozen, her expression so filled with rage that I wondered if she were going to have a stroke.

  I spoke, my voice almost seeming to come from a distance, “I believe, ma’am, that would be a hundred percent?”

  ***

  “I want the little hingara up on charges,” Commander Siebert hissed. “Not only did she manipulate the conditions of my test, but she taunted me about it afterwards! Then she had half the class do the same thing afterward! It’s insubordinate and I want to hit her with conspiracy charges as well!”

  We both stood in the Superintendant’s office. Rear Admiral Fischer sat behind his desk, looking rather irritable at just past five in the morning. He looked between Commander Siebert, her arms flailing and her pale face splotched red with anger, and me, standing at parade rest, my expression outwardly serene.

  Inside I was quivering with fear. I hadn’t expected her to drag me into Rear Admiral Fischer’s office. Nor had I expected her to talk about formal charges. My anger and rage had evaporated. All that kept me going was sheer stubbornness and an unwillingness to let anyone see how afraid I was. I was only eighteen years old, I wasn’t ready to be browbeaten by two senior officers.

  Rear Admiral Fischer sighed, “Commander Siebert, I might remind you that terms such as ‘hingara’ are derogatory and unbecoming of an officer to use of a subordinate, particularly in their presence.”

  Commander Siebert’s mouth snapped shut and she shot me a look, almost as if she’d forgotten that she had pretty much dragged me into the office.

  “Additionally, from what I understand, she exploited the conditions of your exam, but not in a way you prohibited. She didn’t disobey any direct or indirect orders. I watched your recording, Commander,” he sighed and rubbed at his temples, “she didn’t even say anything insubordinate.”

  “She had the gall to tell me that she deserved a hundred!” Commander Siebert hissed.

  “By your grading scheme, yes, she did,” Rear Admiral Fischer shrugged. “You may not like how she did it, but she did.”

  “She didn’t use the tactics I’d been teaching. She didn’t even use tactics that might really work!” Commander Siebert jabbed a thin, bony arm in my direction, her
finger pointing at me like a claw.

  Rear Admiral Fischer’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Might I remind you, Commander, that while we suggest and recommend tactics, we teach doctrine because the principles of war don’t change while technology, techniques, and capabilities do change... which makes our tactics change.” He gazed levelly at her, “I know that you are one of Admiral Drien’s followers in the Krendel School of tactics. I will assume you’ve been recommending them... but I’ll remind you that Academy Policy does not allow us to test based upon tactical preferences, only upon doctrine.”

  Commander Siebert swallowed and her arm fell at her side. “Well, no, I didn’t make my tactical methods a requirement.” She put emphasis on that word, and I knew why. She’d made those tactics the central part of what was supposed to be our final training before we were licensed to fly warp-drive vessels.

  “Then if she passed the test, whatever tactics she used, that means she passed your test,” Rear Admiral Fischer seemed annoyed that he had to spell it out.

  “But she, she cheated.” She said the words in a rising whine.

  “That’s rid--” Rear Admiral Fischer froze. His head cocked and he looked between Commander Siebert and me once more. Something flashed behind his eyes and somehow I knew that whatever he’d been about to say had just changed.

  “Commander Siebert, the charge of cheating is a serious accusation,” Rear Admiral Fischer’s voice took on a formal tone. “Do you have reason to believe that Cadet Second Class Armstrong had an unfair advantage in your midterm exam?”

  Commander Siebert smirked as she realized that she’d somehow said something right. “Yes, yes I do. She shouldn’t have been able to do what she did.”

  Rear Admiral Fischer looked back at me. “Well, Cadet Armstrong, I’m afraid that you’ve just been accused of an Honor Code Violation. By Academy protocol, I’m required to advise you that we’ll begin a formal investigation.”

  My stomach dropped and I stared at him in shock. Somehow, this had gone from bad to worse.

  ***

  Chapter 10: I'm Guilty Until I Prove I'm Innocent

  Cadet Lieutenant Wingren was a big, broad-shouldered young man. He rubbed at his face as he sat down across from me. “I’ve got to say, Armstrong, this is a bit of a mess.”

  I was at a loss for words. I’d been up for almost thirty hours straight at this point. I’d left Rear Admiral Fischer’s offices just in time to go to my first class of the day. I’d barely been able to think, much less focus on my classes. I hadn’t cheated. I’d used --possibly even abused-- the conditions of the scenario to win. Yet, clearly Fischer and Siebert both thought they had grounds to pursue this.

  I didn’t see a way out, not without being thrown out of the school. What was I going to do?

  Wingren sighed, “So I’ve reviewed everything here, twice now. That’s part of why we’re meeting so late tonight.” He slid the file over to me. A paper file seemed archaic, but I knew there were reasons, among them being a trail of evidence. “Commander Siebert has accused you of cheating, saying that you should not have been able to do what you did. She didn’t specify how she thought you were cheating, only that she thought you were.”

  I frowned at that, “But, wouldn’t that need to be investigated? I mean, not to quibble, but isn’t there the idea that I'm innocent until proven guilty?”

  Wingren sighed again. It seemed like he did that a lot. He was Sand Dragon’s Company Honor Board Representative. “Normally, yes. Although I’d clarify that it’s proven within reasonable doubt, which means if there’s enough evidence that you may have done something, they don’t have to prove it.”

  I wasn’t sure I understood that, but I didn’t argue. Cadet Lieutenant Wingren went on, “In this case, though, Rear Admiral Fischer wrote an official memorandum. It’s in the file there. It says that while the specifics cannot be released due to nondisclosure statements and subject to classification, you may have had the ability to use an advantage that other cadets didn’t have. He specifies that this could have allowed you to either hack into Commander Siebert’s files and see the conditions of the exam ahead of time or to somehow manipulate the scenario while you took the test.”

  I stared at him in shock. “But I didn’t!”

  “For what it is worth, I believe you,” Wingren shrugged. His broad shoulders made that even more of a statement. “But Rear Admiral Fischer jumped the investigation proceedings forward. The Honor Board investigator doesn’t need to prove that you were capable and the memo expressly forbids investigation into how because of the secrecy of... whatever it is.”

  “Wait, but I didn’t use my...” I caught myself from saying implant, “I didn’t cheat, I should be allowed to prove that!”

  “The Superintendent’s official memorandum basically says that you had an advantage,” Wingren shook his head, “Now, instead of the investigator having to prove that you could have cheated, we have to instead prove that you didn’t use your advantage to cheat. We have to do that without violating the Official Secrets Act or any nondisclosure agreements you may have signed.” He got up from his desk and stretched. “The worst part is, they’ve got a pretty darned good case. Commander Siebert’s class is the only one you’re not doing great on, so there’s motive. The other two cadets in your section who went up before you didn’t do as well, so there’s an indicator that you had an advantage...”

  “But all I did was see how the ships fired!” I protested.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Wingren waved a hand. “That’s what all the other cadets did after you, to lesser or similar results. I watched the video of the exam and, I’ll be honest, if I was smart enough to realize that she’d left the default defensive fire mode on with no variation, I would have done it too... but by our regulations, that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that whether or not you could have done what you did without an unfair advantage, you’re accused of doing it with an unfair advantage... and Rear Admiral Fischer has established that you have an unfair advantage, so now we need to prove that you didn’t use it.”

  My head hurt. This didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense. “I have to prove a negative? I have to prove that I didn’t do something? Shouldn’t they have to prove that I did it?”

  “That’s how it should work,” Wingren nodded. “But with the Superintendent’s memorandum on file, it’s shifted the burden of proof onto you.”

  I felt like we’d been talking in circles. “What do I do?”

  “You’ll write a sworn statement with exactly what you did,” Cadet Lieutenant Wingren answered, starting to pace his broad frame barely fitting in the tight space behind his desk. “Then, sometime next week, there will be an initial Honor Board Hearing. That’s going to be the Regimental Honor Board Investigator, the Regimental Honor Board Chairman, and the Vice Chair. The three of them will review the footage, review your sworn statement and Commander Siebert’s, and then...” He shrugged, “They’ll probably interview you. They’ll review the footage. You’ve got a good reputation and everyone knows what you’ve been through. I’d say this wouldn’t go any further than that, except...”

  “Except what?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  Wingren stopped his pacing and turned to face me, his expression solemn, “Except Rear Admiral Fischer has already jumped things ahead once. He has override authority. If he decides that this needs to go to full trial, then it will.”

  ***

  I stumbled into the Regimental Command Center feeling groggy, light-headed, and dull.

  Cadet Lieutenant Commander Aguilera was at her position, scanning through reports as I came over. She glanced up at me. “Armstrong,” she gave me a nod and went back to it.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected differently. I guess I’d assumed the entire school already knew about my pending Honor Board investigation. I felt like I wore a sign around my neck. Even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, even though I hadn’t cheated, I felt like people I’d talked to
had already made assumptions. I’d been accused... that in itself meant something, right?

  I couldn’t help but shoot a look up at the balcony that overlooked the command center. Rear Admiral Fischer stood there, his thin, hawkish face observing us all. I didn’t miss it this time, his gaze fell on me and for a moment, his eyes and mine met. I had to fight down a sudden surge of hate. Hadn’t I been through enough? Hadn’t I worked hard enough for everything I had? What right did this man have to take it all away, to tarnish everything I’d worked for with an accusation of cheating?

  It was Rear Admiral Fischer who looked away, his eyes almost flinching from me. I wondered at that. I wondered if he saw some measure of my anger and frustration... and I wondered if he felt any guilt.

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I could do anything about it. I took my seat, turning my attention to the numerous feeds coming in and bringing up an operational plan to review. Yet I stared at the display without seeing it. I hadn’t slept at all. I was exhausted, but I’d laid awake in bed. Sashi had tried to talk to me but I hadn’t answered, I’d closed my eyes and laid there until she went to bed.

  Thoughts about the accusation of cheating, about the unfairness of Commander Siebert’s exam, about how Ashiri had left, and about my family had raced through my head. Sometime around two or three in the morning I’d got up and gone for a run, just in the hopes that I’d wear myself out and be able to sleep.

  Kyle had messaged me three times and I hadn’t answered. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to drag him into this. I didn’t want him or my friends to think less of me. I wanted this all to be over. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to cry. Most of all, I wanted to throw in the towel and quit.

  “Cadet Second Class Armstrong?” One of the other cadets asked.

  I looked up, blinking stupidly at her. “Yes?”

  “We’ve got an incoming priority call, it’s, uh, not exercise related,” she said.

  The only reason for a call like that was if there was either real danger or the expectation of real danger for somewhere on the planet. All my worries, fears, and uncertainties vanished. I brought up the message. It was from Militia Headquarters in Duncan City.