by Jean Johnson
She almost replied flippantly. Almost, except at the last second, the timestreams turned cold in her mind. As cold as the dread she had experienced over the Friendly Fire incident. Her subconscious doused her veins with ice-cold warning. Squaring her shoulders, Ia answered plainly instead.
“No, sir, Vladistad, salut does not exempt me from examination, sir. Two other words did that, sir,” she stated, clasping her hands behind her back to hide their trembling. If she wasn’t careful in the next few minutes…“It’s good to see you again, General.”
“Which two words would those be, then?” the other Army general asked her, his brow lifted skeptically.
“Carte blanche, sir. Two words that have been backed by my scrupulous filing of daily reports.” She looked at Myang. “Everything I have done, everything I have shared with you, Admiral-General, I have conducted myself and guided my crew with the strict scruples and ethics required by the Terran laws regarding psychics and their abilities.” Ia held her gaze for a moment more, then nodded at the information flickering on the screens. “Pick anything I have done and question me about it. I will give you the exact duty reports that cover each incident.”
“You’re a good enough electrokinetic, you could have tampered with those recordings at any point in time,” Mercea countered wryly.
“But I’m not a good enough telepath to have tampered with the reports of your spies,” Ia stated. She tipped her head to her right. “You’ve had plenty of reports from them corroborating everything I’ve officially sent. You’ve heard from me time and again in my reports explaining why this battle had to be fought instead of that battle. I’ve given you headcounts and ident files of the soldiers and citizens we’ve saved.
“My Company and I have filed more paperwork than a ship with nine times the crew complement, with our moves and our motives constantly displayed for you…and my crew has fought for you with so little free time in our schedule, we haven’t had more than six days’ worth of Leave in the last two years, sirs, because there hasn’t been time for anything else.” Ia shook her head. “What else could I do but keep fighting?”
“You were required to be examined anyway!” General Phong countered.
“If I had stopped to disembark long enough for an essentially redundant examination, sir, I would’ve risked thousands of lives being slaughtered because my crew wasn’t in the right place at the right time.” Ia looked at Myang. “Or should I have permitted unauthorized personnel on board my ship, sir, an act which by your own command would be considered an act of Grand High Treason? The only time I’ve had free that was long enough for an ethics review has been while my ship was in transit between battle zones—and the few times my ship has been in dock long enough for me to undergo an ethics review, I still had work to do.
“When would I have had time, without risking too many lives, sirs? My only recourse is to conduct my actions openly. Ethically and morally, openly. Word, thought, and deed are all one within me. How else can I prove myself to you yet still continue to save all these desperately needed lives?”
She surveyed each high-ranked officer in turn. None of them looked away, but most didn’t look comfortable. Only Myang met her gaze without changing her expression. Then again, the Admiral-General was an expert at displaying that flatly neutral look.
“I serve—I act—because I am here to save lives to the best of my abilities. And I have done so,” Ia argued. “If you cannot see for yourselves the truth in my deeds, the ethics inherent in my actions, then unless you are a psychic yourself, and one strong enough to conduct a probe, then there is nothing I can do or say to convince you. So what can I do, given the constraints of my orders and of Time itself, that I have not already done?”
“Alright, I’ll bite,” one of the two Navy admirals stated, her voice as crisp as her blue-striped black uniform and her silvered crew-cut hair. “How about you explain to us how you can justify working for a foreign government? Your very first act was to haul cargo for some branch of the government back on your homeworld. Yes, by contract the military can deliver cargo to a colonyworld under our protection, such as I.C. Sanctuary, but those contracts must undergo military review for the best allocation of our limited freighting resources.
“And don’t give me any shakk about that cargo being ‘emergency military supplies,’” Admiral Nadine Nachoyev added dryly, slanting Ia a dark look. “We’ve received complaints from the Sanctuarian government that those supplies vanished the very day you left the planet, and that despite great efforts by said government, they have never been found in the two years subsequent. The only conclusion that can be drawn is that you were smuggling in supplies under the orders of subversive elements on your homeworld. That you were taking orders from a foreign power to do so. Fatalities Two and Six would therefore apply to you.”
“My actions were neither a case of Treason nor of Subversion, Admiral,” Ia returned calmly. This, she could handle. She had anticipated it among the possibilities of questions thrown at her in this session and come prepared with her answer. “Yes, I lied about the nature of those supposed military emergency supplies to the officials logging that complaint, but I am permitted to do so. That option exists under the rules and regulations stating that no Terran military officer may allow a foreign power to confiscate cargo under our protection, whether or not that cargo is of a Space-Force-assigned nature.”
“So who did you transport the cargo to, if not to the government of Sanctuary?” General Sranna asked her, frowning softly.
“The Free World Colony, sir. It is its own, separate government from the Church-controlled elements currently running the rest of Sanctuary. They requested that the cargo be kept secret from those elements,” Ia stated quietly.
Admiral Wroughtman-Mankiller pounced on that. “Then you did take orders from a foreign government!”
“No, sir, I didn’t do that,” Ia replied, tucking her hands behind her back. She looked over at the Special Forces admiral. “You see, I am not taking orders from them, and I never have.”
That earned her several snorts. Freeing one hand, she snapped her fingers. Text appeared on the main screen behind her, with the top line enlarged so that the words were easily seen from all nine seats. The image zoomed to display the pertinent sections as Ia explained what they were now viewing.
“Before you is the Alliance-registered Charter for the Free World Colony of the Zenobian Empire…also known as the other half of Independent Colonyworld Sanctuary. As you can see for yourselves, Article I, Section A, paragraph 1—the very first law of the Free World Colony—clearly states: The duly verified commands, precognitive missives, and orders of the Sanctuarian-born woman known as Ia, Prophet of a Thousand Years and soldier of the Terran Empire, supersede, supplant, and overrule all laws of the Free World Colony, its citizens, descendants, and successors, without exception to this rule, save by her own command.
“Legally, meioas, they take their orders from me,” she stated, defending herself neatly. “Which means I am not violating Space Force law because I am not under the influence of any foreign power.”
“Yet you still are working for a foreign power,” Admiral Nachoyev argued. “Your own crew members claim that you have admitted to not only using technology borrowed from the future, but that you have refused to share the results of that technology with anyone outside your own ship and have forbidden them to share it as well.”
“That would be covered under Vladistad, salut, Admiral,” Ia told the older woman, returning her hands to the small of her back in modified Parade Rest. “By its very nature as precognitively extracted information, that information is protected by the Johns and Mishka statute sheltering all precognitives within the Terran Government, and by extension the Al-liance.
“Considering how much precognitively based information I have given to this military and its government, and the accuracy of all my various predictions, a court of law would rule that I do have the right to withhold that information, based on the fac
t that it would damage the future. And it would, sirs,” Ia told them.
“Enough.” The solitary word silenced the others. Unclasping her hands, the Admiral-General studied Ia. “I think I am beginning to understand why your Priestess Leona used a modified format during your ethical scans. I suspect if we tried to dissect each and every one of your many actions over the last two-plus years, we’d be stuck in here for ten years at this rate.”
“We don’t have ten years, sir. I’m sorry,” Ia apologized. “Mars will be attacked in three more days. You’ll be busy with the system’s defense, and my ship will be needed in the defense of one of the Solarican heavyworld colonies approximately three hundred light-years from here.”
“Thank you for finally telling us about that,” Admiral Nachoyev muttered darkly. “You could’ve done it sooner.”
Ia tried to restrain her tongue. She knew she had to tread carefully, but Nachoyev’s antagonism was rubbing her sense of patience raw. “I knew it would come up in here, and that three days is plenty of time to prepare. When else should I have told you? Five years ago, when I was still a lance corporal in the Marines? You wouldn’t have paid attention to me back then. Three days is plenty of time to prepare.”
“Enough!” Lifting a hand to her forehead, Myang rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “I will accept your constant stream—your barrage—of visual and written reports on all of your activities as your version of an ongoing ethical review. But understand this: if we do have doubts as to your actions, you will be called into a much more formal review, Captain. A tribunal review.”
“Yes, sir. I know that, sir. It’ll happen in a few more years—but not for the reason you’re thinking,” Ia confessed. Myang blinked at her. “It will be instigated by the Alliance Council, not the Terran Space Force. As Admiral Viega will attest, I did warn the Salik that engaging in this war with us would lead to their destruction and advised them to abandon their ambitions.
“They chose to ignore my warning, and will eventually reap the seeds that they have sown. I already knew that I will be held accountable for that because I have not told anyone what those seeds are,” Ia told the men and women before her. “I have been very careful to make sure there is no way the Salik can use that information against us, which would be an extreme case of Fatality Thirty-Five: Sabotage.
“Having had a taste this last year of the corporal punishments administered for Fatalities Five and Thirteen, I have no intention of enduring any greater penalties,” she finished dryly. “Particularly not during a war when I myself as a precog could foresee and prevent them.”
“I am quite sure,” Myang murmured, studying her. “Ship’s Captain Ia, I find you to be arrogant, boastful, irritating, and borderline subordinate more times than I’d care to count. You are the single biggest headache in this war next to the Salik themselves. You are a problem for me.”
Her tone, mostly quiet and calm, now dripped with barely checked vehemence. Ia tried not to swallow visibly. She clung to her foresight-based faith that she would make it through this interview more or less intact, and waited stoically for the other boot to drop.
“Unfortunately, that borderline you tread is found within the edges of your carte blanche…and you have pulled off multiple miracles time and again despite your many abuses of it,” Admiral-General Myang allowed grimly. “You look and talk like a loose cannon on a seafaring ship, but somehow you have managed to be the right loose cannon every damn time.
“Don’t let the fact that we do still need you go to your head, though,” she warned Ia. “There are some edges to your carte blanche out there, and if you cross over them, you will fall a very, very long way. And you will hit bottom, soldier.”
“Whatever you may think of me, sir, arrogant or irreverent or…or mad with poetry and prophecy, as is your right, I do respect you and your authority,” Ia murmured, holding the older woman’s gaze. “So far, you have given me what I need to save lives. I will not forget how much I owe you for that.”
Myang stared back for a long moment, then nodded slightly, blinking her dark brown eyes. “Alright. Before we move on to the subject you raised regarding Mercea’s supposed, inadvertent contamination by outside forces, is there anything else you’d like to share with the Command Staff? One of your infamous ‘one more thing’ moments?”
Nodding, Ia fished out the datachip stored in her pocket. She floated it off her palm telekinetically, rather than tossing it, and set it gently on the table in front of Myang. “There’s all the latest precognitive data I can give you for the next year—some of it becomes a little fuzzy on the Dabin question in half a year, but the rest of it’s good for other parts of known space. I’ll do whatever I personally can to help correct the Dabin issue. Is that all, sir?”
“No,” Myang stated, picking up the chip and pocketing it. “I have one last thing. This meeting has also been called to review your performance as an officer. The DoI thinks you could handle a higher rank. They are also wondering, in the face of all the fantastical reports filed by your Company with us, why we haven’t seen fit to grant you any awards or commendations. Do you know why that is, Ship’s Captain?”
“I can make an educated guess, sir,” Ia said.
“Go on,” Myang ordered Ia, sitting back in her seat. “Enlighten me.”
“It’s because I don’t give a damn about medals, or ranks, or commendations, and you know it,” Ia said flatly. “I could finish out this war and the coming Grey War, remaining a mere Ship’s Captain for the whole of it, and not care, so long as my goal of saving lives would still be met, and I’d be more than happy with that. I have no ambitions for anything higher.”
“No. You don’t,” Myang stated dryly. Too dryly. Ia wanted to peek at the timestreams to see what that comment was about, but knew such a subtle thing would take more time—even accelerated on the timeplains—than she could spare right now.
Instead, she boldly stated, “Admiral-General, while we’re on the subject of elevations in rank, I’d like to personally commend Lieutenant Commander Harper, and recommend that he be granted the rank of Commander. He’s kept my ship and crew alive, and kept it repaired with the absolute minimum of supplies.”
Admiral-General Myang rolled her eyes. Ia hadn’t said “one more thing” but the implication was still there.
“At the moment, he is currently doing a series of sweeps across the Hellfire to remove excess supplies that we do not need but which will be needed elsewhere,” Ia added. She did not mention, given Admiral Wroughtman-Mankiller’s compromised presence, that Myang already knew those supplies were being packed off to her next ship in advance of its deployment. Instead, she kept the focus on Harper’s readiness for promotion. “He has earned the complete confidence of my crew, and I feel he can handle the increase in rank to Commander.”
“Didn’t you tell the DoI you wanted him permanently assigned to you, the same as the rest of your crew?” General Phong asked, eyeing Ia. “What would be the point of elevating his rank if he’s still assigned to you? Or do you mean to have him reassigned?”
“I do still need his ability to organize the repair of my ships, sir, throughout both the Salik and the Grey Wars,” Ia admitted. “But at some point, those two wars will end, and he’ll be free to move on to other posts. I believe—not just foresee, but believe—he will be capable of achieving even higher rank as time moves on, if that is what he chooses to do with his life once he is released from my crew. His presence at my side doesn’t negate the fact that he has already worked hard enough to have earned it.”
“We will consider your recommendation, Ship’s Captain. But we will not make up our minds tonight,” Myang stated. “Since the discussion of anything else would be a waste of your time,” again, that odd, dry tone to the older woman’s voice, “we might as well let you go. I do expect you to continue to act with the high level of effort and ethics you have displayed so far, if not more. If we find any discrepancies, understand that we reserve the right to haul you bef
ore a tribunal for breaking the law. Now, seeing how we have only three days to prepare for the next wave of attacks, you are dismissed, Ship’s Captain.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Saluting her crisply, Ia turned on her heel as soon as Myang saluted back and left the room.
And that is that. Once Mercea has her and her lover’s minds purged and warded against further Meddling, Miklinn is going to be very upset with me. Which means everything is right on track…provided I can keep clearing the Hellfire of “unnecessary” supplies so they can be shipped over to await being loaded onto the Damnation.
In the meantime, she had only so many hours left before her current ship had to leave dock. They had already been here for almost two days, giving her crew a rare chance at a full day’s worth of unrestricted Leave, with free boarding tickets to head down to the Red Planet and priority seating for coming back. It was a mild abuse of her carte-blanche powers, and one which could have been contested during this little interview, but her soldiers had definitely earned it.
The Solarican colony that was their next destination was just that, the next in a long line of engagements. As much as her crew needed this break, Ia herself couldn’t take any. Her crew could take a day off, but she couldn’t afford to slack off.
JANUARY 29, 2498 T.S.
SIC TRANSIT
The officers’ mess wasn’t always used because there weren’t more than a handful of officers on board, spread out over three duty watches. But rank had its privileges when it came to requesting special birthday dinners. With a meal of her favorite foods—pasta, salad, and pastries—prepared by the talented Private First Class Philadelphia Benjamin, one would have expected the doctor’s mood to be good.
Except the birthday girl, Jesselle Mishka, entered the cabin in the company of Glen Spyder, both of them arguing vehemently.
“—an’ I say y’ got yer ’ead on wrong!” Lieutenant Spyder snorted, glaring at her.
