A Choice of Treasons

by J. L. Doty

  He shrugged. “Certainly not just so he could rub elbows with rich kids. Andow believes it’s because I was the youngest survivor of the Andor Vincent.”

  “And you don’t believe that?”

  “I don’t disbelieve it.”

  “Have you ever wondered about your parents?”

  He finished the trate, wanted more. “I know my father’s name was Collier Maczek—”

  If he hadn’t been watching her at that moment he would have missed it, the most important moment in his life would have slipped right past him. She flinched at the name, hesitated for an instant, then regained her composure without losing her stride, though she gave him one quick look to see if he’d noticed. She knew the name! She knew the son-of-a-bitch! “My stepmother recently told me his name. But she knew nothing about my true mother.”

  He wanted to ask a hundred questions, was certain she knew something, but he was just as certain she’d reveal nothing. “What do you want from me?”

  She looked into her cup, swirled the liquid there for a moment before speaking. “Why haven’t you taken command of this ship already? Your marines want you to, most of the officers want you to, I want you to. Sierka is patently incompetent, and has betrayed you time and again. He doesn’t deserve your loyalty, so why do you insist on giving it to him?”

  He had to make her understand. “I’m not loyal to him. I’m loyal to the position he holds. And some day when he’s not holding it, I’m going to kill him. But for now he’s in command of this ship, and a ship is made of discipline, and tradition, and custom. If I take command from him illegally, then all of that’s gone and we no longer have a ship. We only have a mob, and a mob won’t get us out of this.”

  Her brow wrinkled thoughtfully and she nodded. “After you left my cabin Miss Votak and Commander Rame said something similar.”

  “Why were you out here in the first place?” he demanded bluntly, trying to shock a reaction from her.

  He watched her consider her answer carefully, consider lying to him, but she said, “Wouldn’t you like to see this war end?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “It does? Why? It’s just the war. It’s there. It’s always been there. We fight it. That’s all.”

  “But it’s destroying us. Don’t you see that?”

  He shrugged. “Right now they’re winning and we’re losing. Maybe in ten or twenty years we’ll be winning.”

  She shook her head violently. “But they’re not winning. They’re in worse shape than we are. All of our intelligence indicates their borders are shrinking faster than ours, that their warships are having even more difficulty getting supplies. This war is destroying us both. Don’t you hate it? All the killing, the waste?”

  “I don’t know. When I’m out here it’s all so clear. I know what’s to be done, and how to do it, and I’m good at it.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

  He had to consider that for a moment. “I think I’m more afraid of dying wrong.”

  Oddly enough, trying to recall what he hated about a fire-fight, also recalled what he liked. “It’s funny,” he said, “but I feel most alive when someone’s trying to kill me.” He laughed. “As long as they don’t succeed.”

  He turned toward her, made a point of looking at her carefully. “So you think you know how to end this war?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And you want me to help you?”

  “I want you to get us back to Luna. Leave the rest to me.”

  She put her cup down on his desk, crossed the room and stopped in front of his console, touched a switch and activated it. She tapped at the keys for a moment, then said, “Come here, Captain.”

  He ignored the mistake about his rank, looked over her shoulder at the screen she’d brought to life. On it was a warrant promotion to the rank of captain and the orders giving him command of Cinesstar. Both were issued by her hand, and under her seal. She nodded at the screens with satisfaction. “Miss Votak told me this was what I’d have to do if I wanted to give you any chance of success. I sought Mister Harshaw’s advice to be certain of its legality. All I need to do is enter these in the ship’s log for transmission back to Fleet, and you’ll be in command of this ship.”

  He didn’t want such a command. “You’ll regret that. I’ll do things you won’t understand, and you’ll want to intervene, and I won’t let you. You’ll think I’m cruel, and brutal, and thoughtless. You may even want to rescind those orders, put someone else in command, and I won’t let you do that either. These orders, at least until we’re back at Luna, or dead, are irrevocable.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, and for just an instant he saw beneath the mask. She didn’t know what she was doing any more than he did. “Well, I thank you for being honest with me. And so I’ll be honest with you. I have no choice. You’re my last hope.”

  She turned back to the console and reached toward it, but his hand shot out instinctively and caught her wrist. “Don’t,” he said. “Not yet. Who knows about this?”

  “Only Mister Harshaw.”

  York looked at the two screens. “The moment you enter this into the log Sierka’ll know about it. And I’d like to make certain preparations before that moment comes.”

  She smiled. “My confidence in you, Captain, is growing.”

  York keyed his implants. “Sergeant Palevi, please assemble all officers and NCO’s in my office immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  It seemed only mere seconds before his office door opened and Elkiss, Palevi, Tathit, Hyer, Hackla, Notay, Yagell, Cleaver and Simorka filed into the room. They all bowed rather clumsily to the empress, then stood stiffly at attention, waiting for York to say something. “At ease and relax,” he said, and pointed at the screen on his console. “Each of you file past those screens, read them, read every word on them.”

  Palevi stepped up first, and as he read the promotion and orders his face broke into that grin York hated, though this time it mirrored his own feelings. And when they’d each taken their turn there were a number of grins present. York picked on Cleaver. “What are you grinning about, Corporal?”

  The grins disappeared. “Nothing, sir.”

  “That’s better,” York said. “Her Majesty has chosen not to log this until a more opportune moment. So keep your mouths shut until I say so.” He looked at Palevi. “Sergeant, I want all actives in light harness with riot gear and sidearms. For back up put two squads in full combat armor, keep them out of sight, and have them carry some of that AP gas just in case, though it and they will be used only as a last resort. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And as soon as you’re in harness, I’d like you and three of your best to accompany me to the bridge. That is all.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Palevi barked orders at the rest of them and they marched out of the office. York blanked the screen on his console, and by the time he and the empress left his office Palevi was waiting for them.

  Sierka had sealed off access to the bridge in case the anticipated mutiny actually came about. But there was only a skeleton crew on duty at the moment with Frank at the com. At the empress’ request he cleared the lock on the lift. Frank was surprised to see York, Palevi and the three marines accompanying Her Majesty. “York,” he hissed. “I didn’t know you were . . . I called Sierka as soon as Her Majesty . . . He’s on his way up. He won’t like this.”

  York edged his way around fire control to the com, retrieved the screen containing his promotion and orders. He pointed at it. “Read that.”

  Frank skimmed it quickly, and like the marines his face broke into a grin. York gave him a moment, then said, “Mister Stara. Her Majesty would like to register those orders into the log. Please set it up.”

  Frank couldn’t get rid of his grin as he said, “Aye, aye, sir.” Frank worked at his console for a moment, then stepped away and bowed to the e
mpress. “You’ll have to log it yourself, Your Majesty.”

  She stepped up to the console, tapped in her own private command code.

  The lift doors popped open and Sierka called out, “What’s going on here?” as he stepped around the fire control console. He was wearing a gun, and when he saw York put his hand on it. The marines behind him tensed. He looked back and thought better of it. “It’s mutiny now, eh?”

  The empress shook her head. “Captain Ballin is obeying my orders, Commander. I’ve put him in command of this ship.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Of course I can.”

  For a moment Sierka looked as if he might do something desperate. “Sergeant,” York said. “Relieved Commander Sierka of his weapon.”

  Sierka froze while Palevi stepped up behind him and carefully pulled the sidearm from his holster.

  “Commander Sierka will also be taking new quarters on the officer’s deck. Please find him something appropriate, and have two of your people escort him there immediately. And for his own protection, have them remain as bodyguards.”

  Sierka’s eyes pinched together with undisguised hatred. “You’re going to regret this, Ballin.”

  York ignored him, turned to Frank, “Mister Stara. Sound general quarters.”

  Frank frowned and hesitated for a moment. But then he nodded and said, “Aye, aye, sir.” He sat down at the com console and a moment later the alert klaxon began blaring throughout the ship.

  York sat down at the captain’s console, brought a station status summary up on a screen and waited. The marine ready-room green lighted in less than a minute, but it was more than three minutes before the next station checked in. Someone had at least assigned a crew to the forward main turret, though York was not ready to assume they were any good just because of that. During the next five minutes several officers showed up on the bridge, but York didn’t look up to see who, and a jumbled mix of stations green-lighted sporadically, until the status readout showed about twenty percent active. As the klaxon blared on, Soladin stopped next to the captain’s console and demanded. “See here, Ballin. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Apparently, every officer on board had decided to report to the bridge, as well as Andow, the queen mother, the d’Hart woman, Aeya, Fithwallen, and just about anyone else of any consequence. They were all crowded in and around the bridge’s consoles and instrument clusters.

  “Mister Stara. Cut the alert klaxon and put a copy of our new orders on every screen on this ship.”

  The silence that descended was eerie. While Frank went to work, York looked at Soladin. “Commander Soladin, Her Majesty has put me in command of this ship.”

  Soladin looked stricken. He turned to the empress. “Your Majesty, that’s a horrible mistake. This man can’t—”

  York interrupted him. “Be that as it may, Commander, I’m now this ship’s lawful captain. You may debate the subject at your leisure, but not here on the bridge.”

  York picked out the officers he wanted. “Commanders . . . Rame and Gant, Lieutenants Stara, Votak, Jondee, and Temerek, and Sergeant Palevi, please remain here with me. The rest of you, please report to your cabins and remain there until further notice.”

  Soladin shouted, “This is an outrage. I won’t—”

  “Lord Soladin,” the empress snapped, cutting him off sharply. York had never heard her speak with the sharp edge of command before, and it had a dramatic effect on Soladin. “I have asked Captain Ballin to take command of this ship. And now it would behoove us all to obey his orders.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, they left the bridge in groups small enough to fit in the lift. But long before they were gone York was organizing his bridge crew. Rame would make a good first officer. And with Gant in charge of the scan console, Maggie at the helm, Frank at fire control, Jondee at com, and Temerek in charge of Hangar Deck, he had the skeleton of a command. Straegga had been among those on the bridge a few moments ago, and no doubt she was quite competent. But he didn’t know her so he’d integrate her into the crew once he had a basic organization put together.

  York sent Temerek down to Hangar Deck to evaluate the situation there, then contacted Cappik down in Engineering for a quick status report. Besides sporadic fluctuations in the output of the damaged chamber, there was nothing out of the ordinary there.

  York knew he had to take control decisively. “Mister Stara, close off all air tight seals.”

  Cinesstar’s hull echoed repeatedly as Frank sealed off each station on the ship, limiting everyone’s movement. “Sergeant.”

  Palevi materialized beside his console, snapped a rigid salute. “Sir.”

  York threw a casual salute at him. “I want you to search this ship from stem to stern and confiscate all weapons. Also, I want you to take a census of everyone aboard her: name, rank or civilian occupation, present location on the ship, anything else you can think of. Lock anyone who resists you in the brig. And if there’s anyone wandering about aimlessly, lock them up too. And Lock up the AI regulars, and put guards on the empress, Aeya, the d’Hart woman, Andow, the queen mother, Rhijn, McGeahn, Soladin and his piece of fluff, Armbruster, Juessik, Cienyey, Harshaw, Fithwallen and her bodyguard, Dulell, Dubye, Omasin . . . Did I miss anyone?”

  “No, sir. I don’t believe so, sir.”

  “Good. They’re all confined to their quarters until further notice. You have four hours. Dismissed.”

  Palevi disappeared, but York called after him, “And I want no violence. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. No violence, sir.”

  York put his bridge crew to work checking Cinesstar’s systems while he dug into the damage log. But damage reports had not been properly logged, if they’d been logged at all.

  “Mister Stara, get me Sergeant Palevi, Commander Straegga, and her first officer . . . what’s his name?”

  “Lieutenant Jakobee, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mister Stara. Miss Gant, I want a complete navigational report soonest, with a proposed transition plan for Aagerbanne.”

  Frank was quick. “Sir, I’ve got Palevi, Straegga, and Jakobee.”

  York switched on his com. “Commander Straegga and Lieutenant Jakobee, our damage log is incomplete. Sergeant Palevi is making a sweep of the ship. I’d like both of you to accompany him and prepare detailed damage control reports on anything you find. Sergeant, have your people keep their eyes open and report anything they find to the commander and the lieutenant. Any questions?”

  “None, sir,” Palevi barked. Straegga and Jakobee probably had a dozen questions but they were smart enough to save them for later.

  It took Palevi more than six hours to complete the sweep of the ship. But long before then York took the ship off alert, pulled everyone but Frank off the bridge into the captain’s office, which served as a decent, but cramped, conference room. Palevi was feeding names and the pertinent data concerning them into the computer. At the same time York and his officers were assigning each person appropriate quarters and a duty station. When they were finished they had a basic command structure and better than eighty percent of what constituted a full crew.

  York, Maggie, Rame, Gant, Jondee, Straegga, Jakobee and Palevi were enough to nearly fill the captain’s office. But now he needed a much larger place. He put a call in to Frank on the bridge. “Mister Stara. Contact all station commanders and tell them to report to the officer’s mess immediately. Miss Votak will contact you from there and pipe the meeting up to your console so you can be part of it.”

  Through years of conditioning York hesitated, waiting for the ranking officer to move first, but they were all waiting for him. He stood slowly and marched to the door. Gant got there before him, opened it for him, held it, waiting for him to pass, and they all filed into the corridor behind him.

  The maître d’ at the officer’s mess brought him up short, stepped in front of him and blocked the entrance, curled his lips upward in an oily smile. “Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a re
servation?”

  “No,” York said, trying to contain his anger.

  “Must have a reservation, sir.”

  York turned slowly about and sought out Rame. “Commander Rame. We’ll meet this time in the officer’s mess. But please see to it that it’s completely shut down immediately afterwards. And until further notice everyone will dine in the main mess.”

  Rame nodded. “As you wish, sir.”

  Rame stepped around him, took the maître d’ by the arm and politely pulled him aside. York stepped past them into the dim lighting of the mess hall. “Someone bring up the lights. And clear these tables out of the way. We can stand.”

  The officers that accompanied York moved quickly to obey while York looked the place over. The atmosphere of a secluded restaurant disappeared as he stood there. He watched them toss the impeccable, white tablecloths into a pile and stack the tables and chairs to one side.

  Palevi appeared in the entrance a bit out of breath and carrying a small bundle. He jogged across the room to Maggie, saluted and handed her the package. “Sorry it took so long, ma’am. Had to convince a few crewmembers things have changed.”

  Maggie took the package, stuffed it under one arm and marched over to York. She saluted him. “Sir. I need to speak with you privately. It won’t take but a minute, and it’s a matter of utmost importance.”

  Maggie was up to something. They stepped into the kitchen, startled a few civilian cooks. Maggie hooked a thumb over her shoulder and said, “Get out.”

  One of them started to argue, but she turned on the man, spoke in a flat tone. “I said get out, and I’m not willing to debate the matter. Now get out, or I’ll have the marines get you out the hard way.”

  The cooks disappeared like so much air released into vacuum. Maggie tore open the package and handed York a flight suit with captain’s stripes on it. “Please put this on, sir.”

  York brushed her off. “I don’t need that bullshit.”

  “God damn it, yes you do! You’re the one who did all the shouting about tradition and custom. And you know as well as I do you can’t pull this crew together just by giving the right orders. You can’t just walk, talk and act like the captain, you have to look like him too. Now put it on.”