The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  The commodore's steely gaze softened. “Mister Saunders, take your middies outside while we consider the disposition of this hearing.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.” When the hatch shut behind them, Waugh turned a dark eye onto the supply officer.

  “Lieutenant Tivendale, you are new to Monitor Corps so perhaps you do not fully appreciate the seriousness of requesting a captain's mast.”

  “But captain,” he whined, “they do not show me respect. They are all plotting against me.”

  “If, for the moment, I accept your proposition, why do you think this group of middies would act in this fashion?”

  “Why? They are ill-disciplined children is why. These academy types think they are so special. But they are the most junior officers aboard and I am a full grade lieutenant. I deserve the respect due to my rank. Perhaps you disagree with this most basic principle of military discipline, captain.”

  “I don't care for your tone, lieutenant. But your disrespect aside, let us ask ourselves why you have had so much trouble with the middies.” She glanced at the readouts flowing across the comp pad in front of her. “Within two hours of the middies reporting aboard you confined Midshipman Telford to his quarters. You kept him there throughout mess then had him stand outside the mess awaiting your arrival. Correct?”

  “If he was one of the enlisted drones I would have placed the impudent boy on report,” Tivendale growled. “I caught him playing around in the drop shafts. I disciplined him accordingly. As MTO, is it not my job … captain?”

  “Once again, lieutenant, your tone is doing your cause no good.” Tivendale examined his fingernails. “Certainly as MTO you are responsible for the fair maintenance of discipline with regard to the middies. However, confining Telford to quarters for showing the initiative to acquaint himself with the layout of the boat does not serve that purpose. Browbeating the middies at every possible turn does not serve – ”

  “I never did that. Who said I did? I have always treated them with more respect than they deserved. Captain I protest in the strongest measure to your assertion that – ”

  “Lieutenant Tivendale.” Waugh fixed him with a searing glare. “I will not warn you again about your attitude. And don't ever interrupt me again. Are you reading me?”

  Tivendale's jaw hardened but he managed to nod.

  “Excuse me?”

  He snapped upright in his chair. “Aye-aye, captain.”

  “Intimidation is something I will never tolerate aboard my boat. Don't even think about protesting your innocence. Unlike those big ANS ships, on a monitor we record everything. Including all internal communications.”

  Tivendale's shoulders sagged.

  “Yes, I know everything that happens aboard my command. So perhaps you would care to explain to me what you were hoping to achieve by this exercise. Or do you prefer to be questioned under Aletheia verification when we return to base?”

  Tivendale blanched at the notion. The Aletheia Verification Unit had an irrefutable reputation for exposing liars. “They needed to be shown discipline. They should have learned their lesson but they kept disrespecting me. Damn arrogant academy brats.”

  “I wish you would refrain from referring to those who have attended the academy in such unflattering terms, lieutenant. All of the senior officers, including the D-O and myself are academy graduates.” She turned a lazy eye on Demianski. “Doesn't that sort of talk hurt your feelings, D-O?”

  “If only I had operational tear ducts, captain,” Luis drawled.

  ***

  Nathan adopted the slanted way of leaning against a bulkhead, his feet angled from his body and his back flush against the wall. Within the tight confines of the corridor his friends took up the same stance. Nathan sighed. What have I done to them?

  “What do you think the commodore will do to us?” Ozzie asked.

  Immersed in his own thoughts Nathan shrugged. It could go either way.

  “We did what we had to, in order to protect ourselves from that idiot,” Meta growled. “This isn't fair.” Her tone became a little more reserved as she asked no one in particular, “You don't think they'll kick us out, do you?”

  Nathan shrugged. If they do, it’s my fault. You just couldn’t let it go could you Telford?

  “I bet the skipper is chewing a big chunk out of Tivendale's backside.” Moe tried to sound upbeat but fell short of achieving the effect.

  Nathan never wanted to get Leo involved in his mess. Leo knew what had been going on and had ordered Nathan to join him when he approached the D-O. Under the commander's gaze and no-nonsense interrogation he could do nothing but recite the truth. Even with the commander onside the serious nature of a captain's mast could not be ignored. Their collective fates still hung in the balance.

  The hatch opened and Tivendale tripped over the coaming into the corridor. His shoulders slumped as if carrying a heavy burden. He did not make eye contact as he passed.

  Cmdr Demianski poked his head out. “Lieutenant Tivendale has withdrawn his charges.” The middies sighed in a combination of relief and satisfaction. “You will report to the wardroom in twenty minutes for an update to your running sheets. Carry on.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” they said and turned to leave.

  “Not you, Mister Telford.”

  Here it comes.

  Back in the briefing room he took the offered chair. Nathan had instigated the counterattack against Tivendale and involved Leo and the D-O in it. If he had gone too far, he would be the one to pay the price.

  “I suppose you’re pretty pleased with yourself, mister?” the commodore said.

  “I did what I thought best for all concerned, ma’am.”

  “Yes, according to your record you make a habit out of doing what you believe to be right and damn the consequences. Any more of these childish vendettas and you will be looking down the barrel of career suicide. Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “It has been my experience that every time someone backs away from a bully, their position is weakened and the bully’s is strengthened.”

  “A sound point but not one that will save a promising career.” Waugh sighed and shook her head. “There will always be someone in a position of authority who is less than fair or reasonable. That’s the way life works. You’d better learn to deal differently with the Tivendale's of the world. If you continue these outrageous frontal attacks on those whose opinion you disagree with, your luck will eventually run out.” Waugh paused for a moment and stared at him. “What are your long-term military ambitions, Nathan?”

  “I want to be a boat jockey, ma’am.” This conversation was sounding all too familiar to Nathan.

  “Well I'm here to tell you, young Mister Telford, considering your recent actions that will never happen. It takes more than talent and guts to rate a command. A monitor captain must be a leader who possesses sufficient political savvy to use force as a last resort. Captains do not indulge in this type of disgraceful schoolboy vendetta. They find ways around confrontations wherever possible.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Allowing yourself to be goaded into brawling with a senior officer. What did they used to say about that sort of confrontation, Luis?”

  Cmdr Demianski’s eyes remained focused on his comp pad. “It is not considered sporting to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.”

  “That's the one. Now-hear-this, Telford. You will cease all harassment of Lieutenant Tivendale. I don't care what he does to you and your friends you will grit your teeth and take it. Do I make myself clear, Midshipman Telford?”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.”

  The captain tapped her epaulet. “Tivendale may be a poor excuse for an officer but he is also a person with friends in high places. If you are to survive and prosper in the Corps you need to consider such factors. And it wouldn't kill you to call him sir now and again. Remember, it’s the rank you acknowledge not the man.”

/>   “I shall take all of your advice onboard, ma’am.”

  “See that you do,” she scolded. “I shall expect to hear no more reports of such outrageous behavior. Now, get out of here.”

  As Nathan slipped into the drop shaft he wondered if the commodore actually said what he thought she said. Perhaps he had misinterpreted her meaning. His mind still worked the problem when he entered the wardroom.

  Urgent appeals assaulted him. “What happened?” “Did you get in the shit?” “What happened to Tivendale?” “Are we in the clear?”

  Their chatter died when the hatch opened. Leo Saunders stepped into the wardroom. He nodded amiably to the middies as he poured himself a cup of cold lemon juice from the dispenser. Taking a seat next to Nathan he ran his gaze over the middies.

  “You miserable lumps of bovine droppings,” he said, his lips tightening. “For those unacquainted with the vernacular, I believe the colonial equivalent to the expression is turds.” His mouth turned grimace-like when his teeth locked together. “You turds have dropped me right in it, haven't you?”

  In the six weeks Nathan and Leo had shared quarters he had never heard Leo curse, even mildly. He rounded on Nathan.

  “I suppose you are the ringleader of this insolent, mutinous mob who so vilely tormented poor Lieutenant Tivendale?”

  “I care to think of it as a team effort.”

  Leo snorted. “Well thank you so very much. You really shorted Tivendale out, didn't you? And guess who’s been appointed as the new midshipman training officer?” All four middies grinned at the news. “Yes, well you might smile. Starting right now there will be changes to your training schedules. Tivendale let you four pirates get away with murder. That ends, right now. And don't even think about contacting me during downtime unless the boat is on fire. Now get out your comp pads. We have much to review.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Date: 20th July, 320 ASC.

  Location: Monitor Truculent.

  Status: Marine orientation.

  The day following the captain's mast, Nathan reported to the marine detachment. For some reason, known only to the former MTO, none of the middies had cycled through marine orientation. Nathan wondered if Tivendale harbored a prejudice against marines as well as those from the academy.

  There were very few marines who survived the ninety-day ordeal known as Marine Special Forces training. Their reward came when they affixed to their left shoulder the patch with the black five on a grey background, denoting the elite Fifth Marine Division. Spartans. Although small in number, their reputation for being the masters of bedlam was unequaled.

  Nathan stepped through the pressure hatch into the marine section. Both marines sat on short stools examining a 'droid that lay face down on the two-meter-long bench. Sergeant Redpath made fine adjustments to a long narrow probe he had inserted into the CPU at the back of the 'droid's head. Lt Jakovich monitored the variations on a screen.

  “That's got it Rusty. Button him up.”

  Redpath grunted a confirmation.

  Nathan browsed the marine's quarters, failing to find a space not occupied by some form of marine accoutrements. 'Droids, suits of armor and masses of weapons lockers were packed deck to overhead.

  Nathan had been so fascinated by the marine's lair he forgot the etiquette. Lt Jakovich glanced at him.

  “Reporting for orientation, Mister Telford?”

  He snapped back from his inspection. “Aye-aye, ma’am.”

  “Take a seat.”

  Nathan looked around the room. The other twenty-three 'droids ranged around the walls, laying on horizontal platforms stacked four high. Finding a chair in a nearby corner he took his place beside the marine officer. Her strong jaw and attentive eyes marked her as someone who took control of the moment.

  “What do you know about the inner workings of the type K 14 combat 'droid, Mister Telford?”

  “Only the basics, ma’am.”

  “And I dare say a young man like you with his eyes set on a future of combat flying has little interest in such mundane activities.”

  “Everything that happens aboard a monitor is of interest to me, ma’am.”

  “Good to hear.” Redpath finished fitting the armored cover plate to the back of the ‘droid’s head. The marines wrestled the machine onto its back. The eyes stared lifelessly at the overhead. Although manufactured to approximate the veneer of their human masters, 'droids were not equipped with the luxury of eyelids.

  “'Droid eight, sit up.” The huge machine complied, its head barely clearing the overhead. “Rotate head right. Rotate head left.” The 'droid responded. “I think your nimble fingers have once again sorted out the bug, Rusty. ‘Droid eight, return to your station.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am,” the machine voice said. It slid off the workbench, doubled over and moved to a vacant berth.

  “So Mister Telford, you have a rudimentary knowledge of 'droids?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  Nathan massaged the bump above his right eyebrow. “They are extremely strong and fast. They are assigned to duties considered too high risk for humans. They have multitasking abilities but they are primarily at their best deployment as combat units. Their programmable adaptability, combined with no requirement for bunk time or consumables make them ideally suited to a boat of this size.” For a moment he paused to consider anything he may have forgotten. They were an integral part of a monitor's makeup but as the lieutenant pointed out his interests lay elsewhere.

  “Considering the advances in AI technology,” the LT said, “why do you think 'droids operate with such limited mental capabilities?”

  “Superstition, ma’am.”

  “Explain.”

  “'Droids could be designed and manufactured to incorporate thought processes closely equaling human beings. They could, but they are not. During the technology explosion on Earth during their late 20th century there was an almost paranoid fear, in some ways justified, that machines would take the jobs of human beings. The economic and technological realities of the time precluded such an eventuality but still the fear remained. That same apprehension has lingered within human beings ever since. As they used to say, machines make fine servants but poor masters.

  “Although I don't advocate creating artificial sentience, I believe 'droids could reach their full potential by fitting them with a rudimentary AI brain. Even though the benefits would be great, the old fears lock the 'droids within these painfully tight parameters. It is my belief that, so-called moral issues aside, the ancient superstitions with regard to the rise of the machine haunts the process of fully utilizing what could be an extraordinarily useful asset.”

  “So why don't we do as you suggest and program 'droids to do all the work for us while we sit back on the beach?”

  “You cannot program instinct into a machine, no matter how sophisticated it is. If you could do so you would probably be giving birth to a sentient machine. Something I do not advocate, as I said, ma’am.”

  “Do you believe instincts separate us from machines?”

  “I believe a range of special qualities separate us from machines. But in so far as our occupations go, a soldier without superior instincts may as well be a machine for all the good he can do. As a Spartan I'm sure I don't need to tell you, ma’am.” He felt the corners of his mouth tuck in. Nathan contained his amazement when Redpath snorted. Until that moment he had been all but invisible. I didn't know the old troll had facial muscles. .

  “I think we've got a live one here, Rusty.”

  “If you say so, LT,” Redpath mumbled.

  “So, Mister Telford,” the marine continued in an easy tone, “now you have elucidated your sterling knowledge on the morality of 'droid sentience and your obviously strong views regarding their utilization, perhaps you would care to learn how they work?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Rusty, roll out numb
er twelve. Let's see if Telford can figure out how to fix that gyro problem.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Date: 27th July, 320 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Truculent.

  Status: Ambivalent.

  Nathan fully appreciated that Leo Saunders did not possess a hidden capricious side to his nature. However, someone had to be the first into the fire and Nathan's name was next on the roster.

  Nathan exited the drop shaft on deck three and made his way to the supply department. He caught himself dragging his feet and corrected his pace. Nathan took several deep breaths, hit the hatch chime and after a lengthy delay the hatch opened. After stepping over the coaming he stood to attention before the desk.

  “Midshipman Telford reporting for supply orientation … sir.”

  Tivendale's head snapped up from his screen, his eyes narrowing.

  “Sir? You are calling me sir?” The high tone of his voice held an incredulous lilt. “I suppose the commodore ordered you to say that, eh? Oh, forgive me, midshipman, please, stand at ease. I do not wish you complaining to the commodore that I brutalized you by expecting you to show respect for a senior boat's officer. Please, feel free to lounge about my office in any manner you like.”

  Nathan had not expected a 'hail and well met my hearty', so the tirade washed harmlessly over him. However he did not expect to see the lieutenant in his current miserable condition. On closer scrutiny Tivendale’s overall body language showed as beaten an individual as Nathan had ever seen.

  “I presume you are quite proud of yourself?” Tivendale whined. “I tried to instill some proper discipline into you and your associates and this is what I get for my trouble.”

  Although truly delusional, Nathan found the bitterness of his recrimination to be pitiful. Despite his natural dislike of the man, he felt an obscure sense of remorse.

  “I thought I would be, but is hasn't worked out as I expected.”

  “Oh? The mighty superstar of the academy is admitting to a mistake? I do not believe my ears.”