Morganen looked up, the prominent knob in his throat rising and falling convulsively as he swallowed. "I... uh..."
Out of line of the console's pick-up, Kendric held Morganen's eyes with his own and nodded vigorously. Agree, he silently mouthed.
"I... I...Yes, my Lord. At your command!" His eyes begged questions of Kendric, until he tore them back to face the Overlord on the display monitor. "At once, my Lord! Gael Warrior, out!"
The connection was broken, and Morganen's eyebrows clashed above the bridge of his nose. "What in the bloody blue hell...?"
"Sorry, Number One," Kendric said easily. "Or rather, Captain. I'm under arrest now."
"And just like that, you've dropped this problem in my lap? Thanks for god-damned nothing! I didn't want anything to do with the damned Empire, and now...!" Morganen's voice had risen to a shout, and the low murmur of conversation on the bridge became a deathly silence. Every face on the bridge, it seemed, had turned to watch the tableau on the raised dais of the command console.
Kendric gestured to the Marine standing guard at the doorway that connected the bridge to the main passageway aft. "Sentry!" Kendric snapped. His voice was sharp with an authority at odds with the wild look in his eye.
The Marine stopped two paces away and saluted. Kendric returned the salute, then held out his hand. "Sentry, your sidearm, please!"
The Marine hesitated, confused. He'd obviously heard the shouted exchange between the ship's Captain and her First Officer, but could have heard nothing of the conversation with Gracchi. The cant of his heavy, visored helmet showed that he was weighing the sanity behind Kendric's order.
"Now, Marine! Your weapon! That's an order!"
Almost reluctantly, the Marine drew the sidearm, a standard-issue Mark XXIV laser pistol.
Kendric reached out and snatched it from the man's grasp. The pistol was old and worn, its checkered grip heavy in the palm of his hand. He reached up with his free hand and opened his throat mike. "Munro, this is Kendric Fraser. By my order, you will seal the bridge. Now."
The door to the passageway hissed shut, and the slight popping sound that followed told Kendric that the door had been pressure-sealed. It would take a marine squad armed with hand flamers and cutting torches an hour to burn through the massive armor that protected the bridge in combat.
"Good. Now put me on the bridge speakers." When he spoke again, Kendric could hear his words echoing across the bridge. "This is Fraser. I have been relieved of command. The Exec has been put in charge. However, I have taken command of the bridge... with this." He waggled the pistol in his hand, its black muzzle directed up toward the bridge's overhead. "You will wait, and do nothing, until I tell you. Lieutenant Munro, will you please make an entry in the bridge log. Note the time, and the fact that I have taken the Gael Warrior's bridge by force."
He glanced around the bridge, and was met everywhere by expressions of surprise and perplexity. Thank God, the bridge crew is usually unarmed, he thought. Or I couldn't even try this.
He glanced again at the chronometer. Seconds dwindled away as he looked. By fleet time, it was 1700 hours.
On the bridge viewer, darkness was replaced by white radiance, as ship upon ship upon Imperial ship opened fire in a bombardment that seemed to claw at the fabric of space with the fulgurating brilliance of its raw power.
"Munro! Status of the other ships in the squadron!"
"They are requesting orders, sir! Your last order to them was to wait for your order."
"O.K. Pass the word to all ships in the Gael Squadron. Hold your fire. Form on Gael Warrior, and prepare for maneuver. All ships, disregard all radio traffic from any source other than Gael Warrior, by order Navarchos Kendric Fraser. Log the orders.. .and add, 'Delivered at gunpoint.'"
Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, Kendric brought the pistol down and around to cover the Marine sentry, who was carefully allowing the power rifle slung on his back to slide down his arm to a more accessible position. "Let it go, on the deck," he ordered. "Now step away...over there. Number...I mean, Captain, I suggest you stay in the command chair. You are the Captain, after all."
Morganen shook his head slowly. "I sure hope to hell you know what you're doing," he said.
"So do I, Lenard. Helm! Bring us onto a new course. Take us out of the fleet, slow speed." The rumble of the Warrior's drive thuttered gently beneath the bridge deck. Slowly, majestically, the battleship canted to starboard and began drawing apart from the fleet. The other nine ships of the squadron slipped after her in a long and ragged formation.
Kendric was expecting a call from the Overlord, but it was nearly twenty minutes before Munro reported that the Overlord wanted to talk to him. He leaned across Morganen's shoulder into the comm pickup when Gracchi's dark features came into focus.
"You're sealing the death warrant for you and your men, Fraser," Gracchi said.
"With respect, my Lord, no." He held the laser pistol up, its muzzle near Morganen's temple. "As you can see, I have taken control of the Gael Warrior... and I have issued orders to keep the rest of the squadron out of action."
"You are going to die for this, Fraser." The words were stated simply, matter-of-factly, with only the deadly glitter in the man's eyes revealing any emotion.
"Perhaps. As you say, my Lord, that is for a court-martial to decide. But you won't be able to accuse my men of mutiny." He gestured again with the pistol. "Only me."
Gracchi cut the connection without another word, and Kendric was left staring at a blank screen.
He passed additional orders. He halfway feared that Gracchi would order the weapons of the fleet turned on the Gael Squadron. If that happened, their only hope would be to flee, though where in the Galaxy they could run and hide for long was a question with no easy answer.
That particular order never came, and so the Gael Squadron withdrew to the vicinity of Trothas V-c. Behind them, the rest of the fleet was carrying out the massacre with a savage, methodical, unquestioning ferocity that Kendric Fraser would never have dreamed possible.
The Imperial fleet allowed them to go. Those ships had other business than the maneuvers of a single, renegade squadron. Hour upon hour, the massed ranks of the fleet's ships circled Trothas V, their beams blasting through the world's upper atmosphere with gigajoule upon gigajoule of radiant energy. The cities of Trothas V had vanished within the first few moments of the assault as thermonuclear warheads detonated. Shockwaves and fireballs swept aside the fragile vestments of civilization, leaving behind flaming horror and death.
Clouds boiled across the skies, blotting out the sun and the massed glare from the orbiting fleet. Forests burned...and those houses far enough from the cities to escape their destruction. On Trothas's night side, the sky burned day-bright.
It was probable that no Human life remained anywhere on the planet after the first two hours of the bombardment. After four hours more, it was statistically unlikely that life of any kind remained anywhere on the world, save in the depths of the seas, which had not yet begun to boil.
Overlord Magnan Domitius Gracchi continued the bombardment for the full, prescribed fourteen hours. At the end of that time, Trothas V was almost entirely barren rock under an impenetrable blanket of roiling black clouds. There was still liquid water on the surface in places where once there had been seas, and there still was an atmosphere, of a kind, but the entire surface of the world had been scoured to sterility with brutal thoroughness. In many places, the rocks glowed sullen red, and molten rock still flowed in sluggish rivers where the beams had concentrated their assaults. Craters lay where cities had once stood. Aglow with eerie, living light across the planet's night side, they seemed deceptively clean and empty in the midst of new deserts across the dayside. Had the attack continued for another day or two, the last of the planet's seas would have boiled away, and the atmosphere itself would have been driven into space.
But Overlord Gracchi was satisfied. His point had been made, and the mission was a s
uccess.
A complete success, in every particular. When the bombardment was over and he had turned his attention again to the ten ships orbiting Trothas's major moon, he learned that Kendric Fraser had returned the pistol he had taken hours ago from the Marine guard and submitted himself to close arrest.
Yes, the mission had proven to be a complete success after all!
The traditions of the military general court-martial have survived more or less unchanged across at least five thousand years of military history. The accused stands before a board of five officers who hear his testimony and the testimony of witnesses called for and against him. The court can be called by an Imperial legal officer, the commanding officer of a fleet or squadron, or by an Imperial Overlord acting on behalf of Caesar himself. In many ways, it is traditions such as this one that bind the Empire of Man together.
—The Imperial Navy: Tradition and Honor, Dr. Horace H. Jablon-ski, University of New Rome Press, Terra, A. I. 6758
The pomp and ceremonial majesty of a naval court-martial invoked Naval traditions millennia old. In a revival of one of the most venerable traditions of the ceremony, the accused surrendered his dress sword at the beginning of the trial. When he returned to the courtroom at the end of the court's deliberations, the position of his sword told him at a glance whether the decision had gone for him or against him. If the board had found the accused to be innocent, the sword would lie on the table before the presiding officers with its hilt turned toward him as he entered the room. Kendric did not own a dress sword, but one had been found for him before the proceedings, that he might surrender it according to form.
The Imperatrix's Number Three conference room was a long, low-ceilinged chamber that had been hastily converted to a courtroom by arranging chairs behind a broad table. Though Kendric had little doubt of the outcome of his trial, his eyes widened slightly as he stepped through the door. His sword lay on the table with its blade pointed straight at him. They had found him guilty.
Somehow he controlled his step and rendered the proper salute. "Ave, Imperatori!"
Vice Admiral Graffen and four other flag officers that Kendric had not met before this day sat behind the table, impassive and impersonal. Overlord Gracchi stood at the far end of the table, returning Kendric's salute with a casual motion of his hand. The red of his cloak and uniform contrasted sharply with the formal black and silver of the naval officers in the room.
Gracchi picked up a tiny metal hammer and tapped a bell to commence the session, the chimes sounding three times, as prescribed by regulation. "This court is now in session," Gracchi said, the words slow and measured. His eyes met Kendric's, but showed no emotion that the Alban could detect. "Navarchos Kendric Ramsay Fraser. You stand before this court accused on ten specific points of Imperial Military law. The court has heard witnesses, both for and against you."
That statement was stretching the truth a bit, for it could not be said that any of the witnesses called before the court had testified in Kendric's favor. Many—even Lenard Morganen—had tried to support Kendric with their statements, suggesting that it would have been wrong to join in with the bombardment of Trothas V. The questions had been put to them so cleverly, however, that there was little room for argument in Kendric's favor. Had Kendric disobeyed the orders to open fire on Trothas V? Yes. Had he drawn a sidearm and seized control of the bridge? Yes. Had he ordered the Gael Squadron to withdraw from the rest of the fleet? Yes.
There could be no doubt what the verdict would be.
"Are you now ready to hear the verdict of this court?"
Kendric found his voice with some difficulty. "I am, my Lord."
"Very well." Gracchi looked down at a small computer display held in his right hand and began to read in a slow-paced monotone. "Kendric Fraser, the court finds you, on the charge of deliberate disobedience of the direct orders of a representative of Caesar Julianus, at a time when the Imperial fleet with which you served was in combat with the enemy...Guilty.
"On the charge of interfering with the lawful orders of said representative of Caesar Julianus to elements of the Imperial fleet, said fleet then being in contact with the enemy.. .Guilty.
"On the charge of issuing unlawful orders to elements of the Imperial fleet, said elements then being in contact with the enemy...
Guilty.
"On the charge of willfully and recklessly endangering the lives of the officers on the bridge of the Imperial battleship Gael Warrior with a deadly weapon, said battleship then being in contact with the enemy...Guilty.
"On the charge of armed assault against the person of Marine Sergeant Malory Gustav, said person then being in pursuance of his lawful duty...Guilty.
"On the charge of armed assault against the person of Imperial Pluiarchos Lenard Morganen, said person then being in pursuance of his lawful duties as Captain of the Imperial battleship Gael Warrior, at a time when said battleship was in contact with the enemy.. .Guilty.
"On the charge of conduct unbecoming an Imperial officer and Ship Captain.. .Guilty.
"On the charge of conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline ...Guilty.
"On the charge of cowardice in the face of the enemy.. .Guilty.
"On the charge of mutiny...Guilty."
The multiple recitations of the word "guilty" hung in the air, unseen but terrible. Kendric's fists closed at his sides, but he remained at attention. He had, after all, chosen this route. His alternatives had been to take his officers and crew down with him, in death or in court martial...or to join in the bombardment of Trothas V from the start.
The thought nagged. Would joining in the bombardment have been so bad, after all? Trothas V had been doomed anyway, no matter what choice he made.
No. That would have been no answer. This way, at least, the blame was falling on him alone.
Gracchi looked up from the computer display, and set it gently on the table. "In all my years as an Overlord in His Imperial Majesty's service, I have never seen such a blatant and treasonous act of mutiny. Your actions, Mr. Fraser, have blackened the honor of every officer in the Terran fleet. I needn't add that your actions have reflected unfavorably especially on those provincial officers and ship captains serving with the fleet. You, by your acts of mutiny and treachery, have done more to set back the trust their brother officers had in the abilities and loyalty of provincial officers than any number of defeats in open combat could possibly have done. In particular, you have disgraced the people of the worlds of that star cluster from which you come...a people, I might add, who only recently petitioned TOG for full rights as Imperial citizens.
"You, Mr. Fraser, held a most special, a sacred position in the
Empire's eyes. As an Imperial Naval officer, you held the trust of Caesar himself. He entrusted you with the command of the Gael Squadron, which, by the terms of the Treaty of Kinkaid, was both an Imperial Naval squadron and a provincial contingent, an arrangement designed to allow those men to prove themselves worthy of full citizenship within the TOG Imperium.
"Your despicable actions at the Battle of Trothas, Mr. Fraser, have cast a shadow over all of the Gael Cluster's relations with the Terran Imperium for some time to come."
"My Lord, I'd like to say..."
"You have had your say, Mister!" For the first time, Gracchi' s eyes flashed emotion. "Your claim...your defense, as you called it, that I was not acting in TOG's interests was nothing less than a counter-accusation against Caesar himself! I don't know what the military customs within the Gael Cluster are, but in the Terran Imperium, officers—even ship Captains and Squadron Commanders—do not question or second-guess the orders of their superiors! And when given orders, they most certainly do not resort to base and cowardly terrorist acts to circumvent them!"
He paused a moment, catching his breath. When Gracchi spoke again, however, his voice was even and emotionless once more. "Kendric Fraser, you have been found guilty as charged on all ten counts and specifications against you. You will now attend to th
e judgement of this general court.
"The maximum penalty for any one of the charges of which you have been found guilty is death." Gracchi paused, the tip of his tongue appearing briefly against his upper lip. His eyes flicked to the others with him at the table.
"This court recognizes, however, the contribution the accused has made in his past service to TOG, notably at the recent Battle of Tallifiero. For this reason, the maximum penalty of death is rescinded. Instead, Navarchos Kendric Fraser, you are hereby sentenced to the following, according to the mercy of His Imperial Highness, Caesar Julianus of Terra.
"You will immediately forfeit your Imperial rank of Navarchos, your commission as an Imperial Naval officer, and all pay and privileges due you as a member of the Imperial Navy.
"You will immediately forfeit all rights as a plebeian under the laws of the jus gentium. Under special terms of the Treaty of Kinkaid, you will forfeit your rights as a citizen of the Gael Cluster, and all right to trial or appeal to the Gael Parliament. Henceforth, disposition of your person and your effects will be according to Imperial laws governing
property.
"You will be held in close arrest aboard this vessel, until transport can be arranged aboard another, suitable TOG naval vessel.
"You will be transported, at the earliest convenient opportunity, directly to the Imperial colony on Haetai-Aleph. There you will spend the rest of your natural life as a slave, laboring for the Empire in the crystal mines of Haetai-Aleph." Gracchi's hand snaked out to take up the tiny hammer once more, and again the twin chimes sounded three times in the still chamber. "This is the will of Caesar Julianus. This general court-martial is closed."
Hands closed on Kendric's arms from left and right, and he felt manacles closing over his wrists as they were roughly chained behind his back. Without a word, a pair of burly marine guards turned him about and walked him from the room.
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