Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason

by Christopher Nuttall

  The Senior Chief smiled. “Maybe more than that,” he said. “There are worlds out there that are far less peaceful than Terra Nova, and worlds that would cheerfully attack their neighbours if they were given half a chance. There are groups on Earth that would commit genocide if we allowed them to try. The Peace Force can’t keep a peace that doesn’t exist, but we can try and stop it from getting out of hand. If not…”

  His eyes met mine for a long moment. “It’s quite possible to wipe out the entire population on a planet, you know,” he said, slowly. “We might be all that stands between the human race and destruction.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, without thinking. He shrugged and let it past, even though I suspected he saw it as something of an insult. “What about…”

  I broke off, and then took the plunge. “What is really going on back on Terra Nova?”

  The Senior Chief shrugged. “Back when the Jump Drive was first invented, no one knew how many worlds there were out there waiting to be claimed, so when Terra Nova was discovered, everyone wanted in. There were hundreds of nations or factions who wanted to set up their own colony world. The UN ended up arbitrating between the factions and used it as a chance to push forward their own position. To cut a long story short, they moved out tens of thousands in the first year, with berths shared out on an equal basis.

  “The sociologists believed that a new culture would form in the melting pot,” he continued. “They might have been right if there had been pressure to make people melt together, but they also forbade the use of such pressure. It wasn't such a problem in the first few years, but when the hard work of making the planet liveable was completed, everyone looked at each other and realised how different they were. It didn’t help that hundreds of other planets had been discovered and claimed by different nations, which meant that Terra Nova was suddenly a backwater. There were even people starting to leave. To add to the chaos, the UN decided that prisoners should be exiled to Terra Nova and dumped among the general population. They included thousands of rebels and radicals…

  “To cut a long story short, civil unrest began quickly and mutated into civil war,” he concluded. “The UN decided to put a stop to this and moved in a few companies of infantry. On a ship, that’s enough manpower to subdue a battleship’s crew easily. On a planet, it’s tiny. The peacekeepers rapidly found themselves under attack by the rebels, or insurgents, or whatever you want to call them and ended up trying to defend themselves instead of keeping the peace. Reinforcements were poured in, but the UN desperately needed a political victory, so there was no attempt to crush the enemy decisively. It didn’t help that the diplomats kept getting their wires crossed so that different factions in the UN would back different factions on the planet.”

  He sighed. “And it all went downhill from there,” he said. “Do you think that the forces you saw on the planet can put the genie of ethnic conflict back in the bottle?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t seen much of the infantry down on the surface, but there had been an undeniable…sloppiness to their arrangements. “Probably not, no,” the Senior Chief agreed. “The UN breaks things and when it does, it’s our task to keep the peace, somehow.”

  He grinned at me. “You’re one day older, kid,” he said. “Welcome to the real world.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d been taught all my life that ethnic groups could get along fine, but I’d seen plenty to suggest otherwise, even though there had been no way to express it. Back home, whites and blacks, Chinese and Native American and others had all gone around in their own groups. The religious sects had kept themselves separate from us non-believers, or fought us whenever they saw a chance. The schools had told us that racism had been eradicated, but it had been alive and well on the city streets.

  “Thanks,” I said, dryly. “What do I do now?”

  “You remember what I told you,” he said. “It’ll keep you alive.”

  Chapter Eight

  The UNPF promotion system, put simply, is a mess. Officers are promoted after what is supposed to be a careful reading of their service record, followed by interviews with their commanding officers, but it is quite common for complete incompetents to be promoted to quite senior positions. Every service record must praise the officer to the skies. A single blemish in the wrong place can utterly destroy a career. The political officers assigned to starships, rather than commanding officers, make the final recommendations. These are almost always acted upon. Competence is a leaf when weighed against the stone of political reliability.

  -Thomas Anderson. An Unbiased Look at the UNPF. Baen Historical Press, 2500.

  “So,” Jason Montgomerie said, over a cup of synthesised coffee, “how do you feel about your first year on active service?”

  I tensed, despite myself. It had been a year since I had boarded the Jacques Delors for the first time and in some ways I wished I had never known what it would be like to serve on a starship. There hadn’t been another interception of people trying to escape the UN’s insatiable demands for their service, but there had been enough other incidents to leave me in no doubt what I served. Part of me was tempted to tell the Political Officer the truth, knowing that I would never be allowed to serve on a starship again, but the rest of me held fast. I didn’t dare speak the truth.

  “I think it went fairly well,” I said, carefully. I’d seen the Political Officer from time to time – we were meant to have regular indoctrination sessions as young officers, but most of them had been skipped under the pressure of the starship’s patrol route – but never on my own. Up close, he looked more of a harmless sot than anything else, like one of the Persons of No Residence from home. They drank to forget their woes. It had occurred to me, not for the first time, that Jason Montgomerie might have more in common with them than either would have cared to admit. “It was an adventure, sir.”

  My enthusiasm wasn’t quite feigned. The Senior Chief had been right. I had never been fully tested until I’d boarded the starship and discovered that the universe didn’t care how politically reliable you were. I hadn’t been worthy to wear Ensign’s rank, or even a Crewman’s uniform, but now I felt much more confident in myself. The Senior Chief, the Marines and even the Captain himself had taught me far more than the Academy, even if I hadn’t ended up First Ensign. That honour had gone to Roger and, despite his family connections, I had to admit that he’d earned it.

  “Excellent,” the Political Officer said. He took another sip of his own coffee. I caught a whiff of the smell and realised that it was spiked with something else. There was supposed to be only one still on board – under the care of the Senior Chief – but I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that there was another one. The Political Officer drank far more than anyone else. “And your adventure with the fleeing criminals? How do you feel about that?”

  I kept my face blank. “I felt as if I’d caught fugitives from justice,” I said, untruthfully. I still wanted to throw up every time I thought of it. The mere thought of what I’d been party to, if only by accident…it was disgusting. The Senior Chief had briefed me carefully, however; I was to pretend to be delighted at my own work. “They fled lawful orders from Earth and had to be detained.”

  “Of course,” the Political Officer agreed. He smiled down into his coffee for a long moment. “And your own career has benefited because of it. Your name is on the list for promotion at the end of this voyage.”

  I blinked. The Senior Chief had hinted at the possibility, but it hadn’t really sunk in, not when I still felt like an incompetent jackass half the time. I’d learned more about how the Peace Force really worked than when I’d been a young Cadet, but I couldn’t quite believe that the Promotion Board would consider me a serious prospect for higher rank. Roger, perhaps, or Muna…but not me.

  “Ah…thank you, sir,” I said, tightly. The Senior Chief had made one thing very clear. If promotion was being offered, I was not to decline it. They would never offer to promote me again. “May I ask w
hy…?”

  “Certainly,” the Political Officer said. “The reports from the Lieutenants have all been very favourable about you, John. You have mastered the requirements of an Ensign’s role and studied the basic requirements for a Lieutenant, including logistics and crew support. They were very impressed with you. You may never make a Security Officer, or a Doctor, but you’re certainly on the command track.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Unless, of course, you don’t want it?”

  “I do,” I said, quickly. I wanted to be a commanding officer, like Captain Harriman, not a pen-pusher on a base somewhere or a Lieutenant who would never rise above Lieutenant. I’d met both types now on the cruise, and on the handful of bases we had been allowed shore leave – thankfully, none as bad as Terra Nova – and I didn’t want to be either. A Lieutenant without career prospects became embittered very quickly. “Sir, I’m flattered that…”

  “Think nothing of it,” the Political Officer said, waving one hand in the air dismissively. My promotion clearly meant nothing to him. “A Harriman-trained officer is always welcome on the other starships and you come with the Captain’s recommendation. You’ve really reached the limits of what you can do on this ship, my dear John. Unless the Promotion Board sees fit to reverse the decision, you’re going to become a Lieutenant within a week.”

  The thought didn’t give me as much pleasure as I would have liked. It wasn't UNPF policy that crewmen should serve on the same starship for their entire lives, certainly not junior officers like me. The Jacques Delors had become home for me, and the other Ensigns, but if we were promoted, we’d be reassigned to other starships. I had thought that that was to give us a chance to experience life on other ships and carry out a wide variety of duties, but the Senior Chief had explained that the real purpose was to stop us developing enduring friendships. I didn’t understand why, but in any case…there could only be one Captain on the Jacques Delors.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, seriously. I felt conflicted, but proud, even though I suspected that I had few grounds for that pride. “I’ll try and make the Captain proud of me.”

  The Jacques Delors had returned to the Solar System three days ago, but instead of travelling through a wormhole directly to Earth, the Captain had decided to take us on a brief sweep through the outer planets before we returned home. The popular conception of the outermost reaches of the solar system had it ringed with clouds of dust and comets, but while there were hundreds of comets, there was nothing that posed a serious threat to the starship. There were videos that suggested that any starship racing through the asteroid belt would certainly crash into an asteroid – with huge loss of life if the asteroid was a populated one – but that wouldn’t happen unless someone intended it to happen. Even so, it would be tricky…

  It was another day before I was called into the Captain’s office and I was surprised to discover that Roger and Muna were already there. They looked at me, puzzled, and I realised that they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them. The Captain’s office was tiny, compared to some of the classrooms at the Academy, but it was massive compared to our wardroom. It was neat and tidy, but there were a handful of pictures on the bulkheads. The image of the current Secretary-General was pretty much obligatory, but the other images were different. A dark-haired girl, smiling into the camera, and a pair of children. The thought of the Captain having a family surprised me, even though I knew now that he was in his late forties, and I felt an odd flash of guilt for prying into his private life in such a manner.

  We straightened to attention as the Captain strode in. There was no longer any nonsense about having forgotten how to stand to attention, or salute; indeed, I wished that I had had the foresight to put on my dress uniform instead of basic ship’s outfit. Roger looked even worse – he’d been in the Engineering Section when the summons had arrived and he was covered in oil stains – and Muna looked tired. It would have been her sleeping time, I remembered. It had to have been important for the Captain to summon anyone from their bunk. He wasn't an inconsiderate sadist, unlike some instructors I could name.

  “At ease,” he ordered, tightly. There was an expression in his face I couldn’t recognise at first…and then I realised that it was pride. “We will be docking at Orbit Nine in two days, as you know. The Jacques Delors will be replenishing her supplies there and preparing to embark on another patrol, unless Admiral Hoover decides that he requires the presence of another cruiser. You three, however, will not be remaining on this ship.”

  I tensed, despite myself, before he smiled. “The Promotions Board has accepted my recommendation and accepted that the three of you will be promoted to Lieutenant,” he continued. He held up a hand before any of us could speak, as if we would have dared. We’d probably all been warned in advance – I knew that I had – but it hadn’t been real until the Captain had confirmed it. “Do not question this, or wonder why you were chosen when others, seemingly better qualified, were passed over in your favour. Accept this and make me proud of you when you take your posts on your next starship.”

  Muna let out a quiet noise and I suspect that I joined her. None of us wanted to leave. “I do understand,” the Captain said, and in that moment he sounded much older and tired, too tired, than any of us had heard him before. “There is nothing quite like the starship you served on first, unless it’s your first command. You might just want to decline this promotion, or perhaps even request that you replace one of the Lieutenants on this starship, but that cannot be granted. The UNPF is going to need young men and women like you in positions of responsibility. I would not have pushed for your promotion if I didn’t feel that you could handle it.

  “You all had a taste of a Lieutenant’s duties,” he added, “but you will discover that you never even scratched the surface. It depends on where you go after this ship, but you may discover that you will have harder work to do than you have ever faced before, or perhaps you’ll find that you are unable to face up to the challenge. I think that you can handle it. Do you want to try and prove me wrong?”

  “No, sir,” we said, together. I was confused and conflicted, excited and terrified, all at the same time. I couldn’t have explained it, but somehow I was rooted to the spot, unable to move.

  “Good,” the Captain said. He picked a folder up from his desk. “Roger Williamson?”

  “Yes, sir?” Roger said.

  “By the power vested in me as Captain of this vessel and the United Nations General Assembly, I hereby promote you to Lieutenant,” the Captain said. He stepped up to Roger and carefully removed the Ensign’s rank bars he wore, replacing them with a silver pair of stars. A moment later, he pulled away the pins Roger wore to mark his time in grade; as a Lieutenant, his seniority would return to zero. He was the most junior Lieutenant in the service. “Muna Mohammad?”

  “Yes, sir?” Muna said.

  “By the power vested in me as Captain of this vessel and the United Nations General Assembly, I hereby promote you to Lieutenant,” the Captain said. He altered her rank bars as well and then turned to me. “John Walker?”

  I was as tense as a bridegroom on his big day, but the Captain didn’t seem to notice. I barely felt his touch as he removed my rank bars and replaced them with something new. I felt as if I could walk on air, all of a sudden; I was no longer an Ensign!

  “You will be spending the last two days in your Wardroom, I’m afraid,” the Captain said. His lips twitched into a faint smile. “I should warn you not to use your new rank too much in the first few days, until you get used to it. You’re not secure in your rank until you set foot on your next ship.”

  I understood the subtext. If we bullied the other Ensigns – the Ensigns, now – we might be demoted on the spot. I wasn't sure if the Captain had the power to do that, but I wouldn’t have bet against it. We left the Captain’s cabin with our orders and didn’t burst into cheers until we were well away from Officer Country. It was absurd, in a way, but I felt silly wearing my new rank ba
rs. They didn’t feel quite real, yet.

  Roger opened his orders and peered at them. “Kofi Annan,” he said. “A battleship. What about you two?”

  “Lover,” Muna said, puzzled. She frowned at her orders. “That’s not a standard name, is it?”

  “It could be a specialist research platform,” Roger suggested. “John?”

  “Devastator,” I said, almost as puzzled as Muna. “A Monitor. What’s a Monitor?”

  Roger laughed at me. “It’s a planet-bombarding ship,” he said, amused. “They’re supposed to be a new class of ship; they only entered service a few years ago. No one likes to talk about them, for some reason.”

  “I see,” I said, finally. We had reached the Observation Blister. “I’ll catch up with you later, all right?”

  They waved goodbye and I stepped into the blister. The Senior Chief was standing there, waiting for me. “John,” he said, gravely. “Congratulations.”

  I scowled at him. “Do I deserve them?”

  “Perhaps,” the Senior Chief said. He waved a hand towards the unblinking stars. “Do you think that they care for a second if you deserve what you get or not?”