Valor's Cost

by Kal Spriggs

  “Um,” Sashi looked at me strangely, “I hate to bring this up, Jiden, but you’ve killed some of these people. Those smugglers. Commander Scarpitti. Doctor Aisling. Don’t you think that would make them hesitate if it was possible?”

  “Maybe,” I shrugged, “but that was when they came at me directly. And the details of a lot of that hasn’t exactly gone public. I don’t think the Admiral released details on anything with Doctor Aisling or Commander Scarpitti. And I know the Enforcers were pretty quiet on the smugglers I killed who were trying to kill me.”

  “How do we do this?” Kyle asked.

  “If they come at us with regulations and rules, we use those right back at them,” I began to grin. “And I know just where to start.”

  ***

  Chapter 12: I Don't Pull Any Punches

  It turned out that Ashiri wasn't the only one to take a setback. In my section on Monday, Martinez and Naghi were missing, but none of the instructors commented on it. When Duchan asked, Hughes spoke up and said that Naghi, at least, had taken a setback. Later that day, I heard that Senacal and Dominguez had also taken setbacks. When I looked up their publicly available rankings, there was one trend that I recognized. All of them had over thirty hours a week logged in Commander Siebert's simulator and all of them had class and drill grades that had dropped.

  Needless to say, I was more than a little angry with Commander Siebert when I got to her class that afternoon.

  She waited as she came in the door, for someone to call us to attention. Then, while we stood there, she walked over to the podium. Her gaunt face was drawn back in a pinched expression and even before she opened her mouth, I set my implant to record her. “After reviewing test performances, I've updated your test scores based upon your performance with the added corollary of using the approved tactical methods,” she said.

  I queried the class server and I could tell I wasn't the only one. There were two passing grades for the midterm. Thorpe and Hughes. No one else had used her method. She'd failed pretty much the entire class.

  My arm shot up of it's own volition, “Ma'am,” I asked, lowering my hand as she looked at me, “I thought we were to learn doctrine rather than practicing tactics.”

  Commander Siebert's lips went in a hard, flat line. “Please wait until you are called upon to ask any questions, Cadet Armstrong.” She took a breath and spoke, her voice adopting a rehearsed tone, “I judged your performance based upon proven tactics, which represent approved doctrine. You will all be given the opportunity to remediate your failing grade, however, those of you who failed will have a notation added to your permanent flight record...”

  My arm went up again.

  “Cadet Armstrong,” Commander Siebert snapped.

  I lowered my hand. “Ma'am, what do tactics have to do with our flight records?” I kept my voice respectful and deliberately light.

  “Your flight records are a method of continuity to pass along to your unit after graduation. I believe it is important that your unit know that you failed to follow the recommended tactical doctrine...”

  My arm went up again.

  “Cadet Armstrong,” Commander Siebert hissed.

  “Ma'am,” I asked, lowering my hand once more, “is this recommended tactical doctrine the only approved method throughout the Century Planetary Militia? Or is this a personal standard?”

  Commander Siebert's lips drew back, exposing her jagged teeth. “These are the best tactics to ensure victory and minimal losses among your warp fighter pilots. There are no 'approved' tactics, but I am required to sign off on your competency or lack thereof, and I will not sign off on a pass unless I feel the methods you use are tactically sound...”

  My arm went up again.

  This time she ignored me and continued to speak, “... therefore, I will make official note of it in your flight record so that your future commanding officers will be able to make your assignments accordingly.”

  I kept my arm raised.

  “Are there any questions?” She looked around the room, ignoring my raised arm.

  Kyle raised his hand.

  “Cadet Regan?” Commander Siebert asked.

  “Ma'am, I believe that Cadet Armstrong had a question,” Kyle noted.

  Commander Siebert's pale face flushed, red splotches appearing on her pale skin. “So I see. Cadet Armstrong?”

  “Ma'am, it's less a question and more of an official statement. According to regulation three three five of Flight Regulations, an Official Flight Record is to record flight hours, accidents, flight examinations, and evaluations. It also states that tactical and doctrinal training, while counting as flight hours, is not pertinent to our official flight records and specifies that it should be included in officer and cadet evaluations, but not in the Official Flight Records.”

  Commander Siebert stared at me. She didn't say anything for a long moment, her expression hard and her dark eyes glittering. “I am aware of what the regulations say, Cadet.” she practically spat the words at me.

  “Ma’am, I believe you’re knowingly violating Academy and Militia regulations,” I said.

  Commander Siebert’s jaw dropped in surprise. She didn’t seem to know what to say. I found myself almost hoping that she would say something more. I uploaded the recording and the full statement of complaint to the Academics Department. But I kept recording.

  “Cadet Armstrong, I don’t care what you think,” she snapped, finally seeming to find words. “In fact, that you’re questioning me at all tells me that you’re dangerously insubordinate. It’s officers like you who will hesitate to take the actions necessary, to pay the cost that victory requires. I promise you this, I will do everything in my power to make certain that not only do you not graduate or commission as an officer, but that you find difficulty getting a job of any kind!”

  She stalked forward around her podium. “And she’ll be an object lesson to the rest of you. The Century Planetary Militia needs officers who follow orders and do as their told. We don’t need individuals. Those of you who followed her example on the exam are getting your wake-up calls and--”

  The door to the classroom opened and Commander Barber stepped in, his face grave, “Commander Siebert, Rear Admiral Fischer asked me to step over from my classroom...”

  “I’ve just begun a lesson,” Commander Siebert spit the words, her attention focused on all of us, rather than the other teacher. “One I don’t care to have interrupted.”

  “Yes, but, Rear Admiral Fischer asked that I get you. I understand there’s been an official complaint about your class.” Barber sounded almost pleading.

  That was quick. I thought to myself

  Commander Siebert’s head snapped around and she stared at Commander Barber. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m afraid that I am, and the Inspector General is already involved. It seems that there’s a recording to substantiate it,” Barber almost seemed to whither as he said it, clearly not wanting to be the one to tell her.

  Her gaze snapped back to me and her eyes widened. Her face first flushed, red splotches appearing, “You little hingara...” she hissed. Then she seemed to realize that she stood in front of twenty cadets and a fellow instructor. Her face went pale and her mouth snapped shut. She turned on her heel and stalked past Commander Barber and out the door without saying another word.

  Commander Barber stared around at the class, clearly at a loss for words. “Uh, class dismissed,” he turned and hurried out.

  ***

  I wasn’t very surprised to be called to the Office of the Superintendent that afternoon. The harried looking Lieutenant who sat me down across from his desk seemed almost resigned as he took his seat. “Cadet Second Class Armstrong, we’ve begun reviewing the Official Complaints against Commander Siebert, your Flight Operations Instructor. As a note, because Commander Siebert has also registered an Honor Code Violation Report against you, this investigation is under some additional scrutiny.”

  “I understand, s
ir,” I replied, my expression calm. I felt almost light-headed and more than a little detached, but I also felt anger burning in the pit of my stomach. I was done with being pushed around.

  “Now, Rear Admiral Fischer takes all these complaints seriously,” Lieutenant Olivares went on. “He asked me to bring up the possibility of mediation between yourself and Commander Siebert.”

  “Mediation?” I asked as neutrally as I could manage. Somehow I knew I wasn’t going to like what that entailed.

  “He feels that this is a case where personalities have clashed. Commander Siebert is a strong-willed officer possessed of very strong opinions. You are clearly under a number of pressures with what happened to your family and you may have said or done things that you otherwise would not have done.” Lieutenant Olivares had to force the last words out, almost as if saying them made him feel uncomfortable, “Rear Admiral Fischer asked me to offer you the opportunity to drop your Official Complaint and in return, he’d speak with Commander Siebert about her Honor Board Violation Report.”

  I stared at him, clenching my hands into fists as I realized what he meant. The Superintendent was offering me a ‘deal’ in which I made my complaint go away and he’d make my Honor Board report go away. “No,” I snapped. It would have solved my immediate problem, but it wouldn’t help anyone else. Not only that, but it was immoral and unethical.

  Lieutenant Olivares flinched a bit at my tone, but he gave me a slight nod, “I understand. If you wish to continue your formal complaint, the Office of the Inspector General will be involved from this point forward. Do you have any additional details you would like them to consider?”

  I transferred him the rest of the recording from class as well as the meeting between Commander Siebert and Rear Admiral Fischer I’d been dragged into “That’s all I have to add,” I said as his datapad pinged to show receipt.

  Lieutenant Olivares stood up from his desk, “Very well, Cadet, you can return to your duties.”

  As I turned and walked out the door, I knew that I’d made the right decision.

  ***

  My classes were very, very strange after that. Commander Siebert didn’t return to class. Instead, Lieutenant Commander Darling filled in. He didn’t seem to care about tactics at all. He pulled out a canned set of flight evaluation scenarios and had us run those, monitoring and grading based entirely off of our performance against the approved standards.

  Commander Drien was even more reserved with us. He pretty much ignored my presence and that of his niece, and taught straight out of the book. It was almost a relief, I didn’t have to think about whether he was like Sashi’s father in thinking women were sub-human. I didn’t have to wonder what would have happened if he and my mom had shaken the family rivalry. I just did my homework, took the tests, and went on with things.

  Commander Troyer didn’t seem to treat me any differently, but we were so busy learning electronic wiring at that point that there wasn’t a lot of time for talking, anyway. I finished the books he’d given me as “extra” work and he gave me a few more.

  Commander Barber’s class became even more of an embarrassment. Cadets were giving presentations where everyone knew that they hadn’t actually read the material. Commander Barber didn’t seem to want to call anyone on it, though. While Commander Bonnadonna’s weekly papers had been a grind, at least those papers and the class discussions had felt like we accomplished things. As I gave my thirty seconds of a presentation once a week and then waited for my group to wrap up, I felt like this class had just become a waste of time.

  My drills, over the next few weeks, were every bit as intensive as I could have asked. Twice I had to plan contingency deployments for actual movements of cadets. Those were both to training areas and part of the drill, but one of them I had only thirty minutes from the initial notification to the actual departure. That time I had to physically run orders out to Dust Company’s Cadet Commander to make sure he got them prior to departure.

  We also did combat drills in the Regimental Command Center, repelling a ground attack and then recovering from simulated chemical and aerial attacks. Having ‘simulator’ rounds go off inside the bunker, complete with detonation and smoke was twice as disorienting as receiving one outside. Having to direct return fire from the office-like setting was surreal. Instead of ducking into a trench or jumping out of the side doors of a combat skimmer, we were ducking down behind desks and firing past tactical displays.

  Of course, the somewhat normality could only continue for so long. Almost a full month after the initial accusation, I stepped into the Honor Board Chambers for my initial hearing. I wore my formal dress uniform, my small cluster of awards, including the one for bravery that I couldn’t talk about.

  The room was somber and quiet. There were only three lights in it, one back-lit the three Honor Board chairs on a raised platform, the other was directly over the long, trapezoidal table, and the third was directly over my seat. As I took my seat, I realized that the table, the whole room, seemed to neck inwards at me.

  The Regimental Honor Board Chairman sat at the center of the platform. I didn’t know him, Cadet Commander Flynn was a tall, fair-haired young man. He had an earnest, intent expression as he stared at me. “Cadet Armstrong, please tell the Board, in your own words, what happened the night in which you are accused of an honor board violation, specifically of cheating.”

  I spoke concisely, detailing the layout of the simulator lab as well as the fact that Commander Siebert had multiple displays showing the scenario as it played out.

  At one point, one of the Honor Board members stopped me, “Wait, I’m sorry, you’re saying that she actually had a slow motion repeater display showing pilot and ship movements and firing patterns?” Her voice was incredulous.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered.

  She sat back, shaking her head, “I’m sorry, go on.”

  I finished detailing what I’d seen and then how I’d based my plan of attack on that. At the end of it, Cadet Commander Flynn cocked his head, “As for the Official Memorandum, you state that... whatever this advantage is, you didn’t knowingly use it to do what you did?”

  “I didn’t have to,” I answered. “I could have, but I decided last year that using my...” I trailed off, careful not to say “implant.” “I decided that even though I had been given something to help me, I wasn’t going to use it to get ahead in classes.”

  “Were you ever specifically told not to use it for classes?” the same girl who’d asked me a question earlier leaned forward. Her hair was pulled back in a severe knot and her expression was hard, her jaw set forward in an argumentative expression. I caught the glimmer of her nametag, Alameda.

  “I had an encounter with Rear Admiral Fischer at the start of this year where he instructed me that I wasn’t allowed to use it for classes,” I answered.

  “And you swear that you haven’t?” Alameda demanded.

  “Not in a way that provides me any real advantage over any other Cadet as far as classes or drill, but there have been occasions where its use was necessary. I can tell you that it is every much a part of me as breathing, I can’t entirely turn it off or ignore it, but I have not used it in any situation where its use was unwarranted or against regulations.” I met her gaze. “I can’t go into specifics any more than that.”

  Alameda sat back, her face hidden in shadows once more.

  “Does anyone else have any questions?” Cadet Commander Flynn asked, his tone formal.

  “This is dumb,” Alameda muttered, her voice carrying in the room more than she might have realized. “The instructor practically put the answers to her test in front of her class, then targeted her for using them. And you saw her statement, the rest of the class did the same thing. If you ask me--”

  “We’ll finish deliberations after we have reviewed all the evidence,” Cadet Commander Flynn spoke up quickly, his gaze going to the side. I followed his look and I blinked in surprise as I noticed a shadowed form, seated in
the corner. The short, stoop-shouldered man had officer epaulets, but I couldn’t make out his rank and I couldn't see enough of his form or features to recognize him. “That concludes what we need from you, Cadet Armstrong, you may go. You will be informed of our conclusions when we’ve completed our discussions.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said as I rose, my attention still on the man in the corner. It wasn’t proper protocol for someone to sit in on this board, I knew. This was a Regimental Honor Board Hearing, which meant it was supposed to be decided by the Regiment of Cadets without interference by a commissioned officer. I stood and left the room.

  Kyle and Cadet Lieutenant Wingren were waiting for me. Kyle gave me a hug while the Sand Dragon Honor Board Rep stood there, his expression outwardly calm. I gently pushed Kyle back and looked at Wingren. “It’s not normal for an officer to sit in on the board, is it?”

  He looked uncomfortable, “No... though I’ve heard of it happening on occasion. In the regulations, the Superintendent is authorized to observe the Board’s deliberations and to hear their official findings. He also has final right of approval on any decisions made if this goes to a full Honor Board Hearing, instead of just an investigatory one.”

  “I see,” my stomach sank. It sounded like while Rear Admiral Fischer wasn’t supposed to influence the board, he could. “Well--”

  I didn’t have the chance to finish. The door opened behind me. “Cadet Second Class Armstrong, we’re ready for you.”

  This time, Kyle and Wingren came with me. I stood, waiting as the Honor Board stared down the table at me. My heart was in my throat and my hands quivered a little behind my back as I stood at parade rest.