Article 23

by William R. Forstchen

  "Ship's company attenshun"

  Justin snapped to attention, making sure to keep both feet on the floor. The room was silent, expectant. The door forward, which led up to the flight controls, combat information center, and the distant stratosphere of officers quarters opened. First out was an elderly officer, face florid, hair nearly white, wearing the green tabs of a flight surgeon. Two more officers followed, one of them male, short, rotund, and dark-faced, the other a tall young woman who appeared to be barely out of the Academy. Both of them wore the coveted gold wings above their left breast pockets that designated them as fully qualified pilots. They cleared the door, stepped to the right of the entry and came to attention.

  Last through was a stone-faced man, black hair going gray at the temples. His eyes, which were nearly as dark as his hair, darted from side to side as if taking in every detail of the forty plebes, one upperclassman and half a dozen enlisted personnel lined up before him. He moved with the casual ease of someone who had spent years in zero gravity. His walk was rigid, erect, as if by some miracle full gravity held him in place. Justin watched him with a slight sense of awe. This was, after all, Captain Ian MacKenzie. He remembered his father speaking of him with deep respect.

  On the way back up from their Skyhook jump Brian had filled them in on "Old Mack." He was a notorious taskmaster, a stickler for regulations; an old line officer dating back to the beginnings of the

  USMC, having come into the service from the old British Royal Aerospace Command.

  MacKenzie stood silent for a moment surveying the cadets, his eyes sweeping back and forth, his head moving in a jerky manner like an eagle looking down on its prey. Justin sensed that here was something different. Aboard the Academy the officers might be tough, unforgiving, but down deep there was always a certain nurturing. In spite of their toughness he could always sense the hand of Thorsson guiding things. The personnel on the Academy were teachers in addition to being regular officers. MacKenzie was a different breed of cat, a straight line officer of the fleet, and for an instant Justin wondered why Thorsson had thrown forty plebes into his care. Reality lesson, he thought, as Thorsson had warned him.

  "Ship's company, attention to orders," MacKenzie announced. His voice was deceptively quiet, a high tenor, seeming not to match his towering frame.

  "Articles of the Fleet," he began and for die next ten minutes, reciting from memory, he ticked off all twenty-five articles, as any Captain would go through the ritual aboard any ship about to embark. Once done he paused for a moment, scanning his crew.

  "By order of United Space Military Command, I, Ian MacKenzie, Captain, do hereby assert command of this ship Somers, registry number 112A. By order of United Space Military Command I shall pilot this ship to rendezvous with Mars orbital base Delta for transfer of supplies and personnel. While on voyage I will assert the authority of the United Space Military Command and all aboard will, by the articles of the Fleet, comply with all lawful orders issued by me or my designated officers."

  He fell silent. The first pilot stepped forward and saluted MacKenzie. She turned and faced the company.

  "Ships company, stand at ease."

  Justin relaxed, spreading his feet apart. He gave a sidelong glance over at Matt, who rolled his eyes slightly.

  MacKenzie, still standing rigidly, cleared his throat.

  "I will tell you now that until last week this flight was not slated to carry cadets."

  He paused for a moment, looking slightly awkward as if speaking spontaneously was a troublesome chore that he'd rather avoid.

  "Be that as it may, you are Fleet personnel. I have been requested to oversee your training. The ship's computer will be linked at all times back to the Academy. For the first day or two you should be able to interact directly with your classes until the time lag for signal makes that impossible. All of you will stand duty shifts in the cockpit, galley, engine room, and hydroponics room, and perform general ship's maintenance. I will provide daily Astro-Navigation problems along with running a class on fleet law."

  He paused for a moment as he organized his thoughts.

  "You will indeed serve as the crew of this vessel and be treated as such. Senior Cadet Petronovich will act as your platoon commander. All queries to me must first be directed through him."

  He fell silent again and started to turn as if in dismissal, then stopped and looked back.

  "I want to make this clear. You are duly sworn personnel of this fleet. This is not the Academy, where officers more fit for a classroom than for command are in control. Given the fact that this ship was designed for patrol and is fully combat-capable, I shall expect instant obedience without question. As you know, this ship carries a full compliment of weapons, including twenty Valkyrie space-to-space and space-to-surface nuclear warheads. The power to use them is in my hands if the situation warrants it."

  Justin stared at the Captain. It was a curious statement. The USMC did indeed have control over humanity's stockpile of nuclear weapons. Part of its reason for existing was to serve as a deterrent to any nation on Earth that might secretly attempt to develop nuclear weapons and then threaten a neighbor with them. He wondered why MacKenzie felt it necessary to mention this power and the fact that he controlled it.

  "Those of you from Mars or the outer colonies, raise your hand."

  Justin looked over at Matt, who put his hand up along with half a dozen other cadets.

  MacKenzie's gaze slowly swept the room. Justin watched the Captain while he stared intently at Matt for several seconds, as if memorizing every detail about his friend.

  "If we should be called upon to react to certain elements in this solar system, I will expect instant obedience to my orders or you shall face the consequences."

  The room was silent, Justin wondering if a threat had just been issued.

  "You will find this ship to be very different."

  MacKenzie said with a smile. He then turned away and disappeared through the door.

  "Prepare for departure in ten minutes," the senior pilot announced. "Acceleration chairs will be found in your rooms fold them down from the wall and strap in. Once clear of the Academy, burn time at four gees will be twenty-two minutes, then one gee for three hours and eighteen minutes, so if you need to hit the head better do so now. Ship's company dismissed."

  Justin looked over at Matt.

  "What do you think that was all about?"

  "Shoot, I thought he'd burn a hole in me with his eyeballs," Matt replied, shaking his head. "Darned if I know but I don't feel good about it, old buddy, not one bit good."

  Matt moved easily about the tiny galley, accompanying Ship's Cook Kelly O'Brian in the last stanza of "Gerty of Ganymede" while slipping a container full of chopped beef into the rehydrator.

  Justin looked at the two in surprise as they finished the words, glad that Tanya and Madison had not pulled kitchen detail this first night out. On such matters he was still decidedly old-fashioned and wondered if Matt would have joined so lustily in the song about an overly friendly tavern owner if females had been present. Somehow he suspected that O'Brian would have kept on with his unending stream of invective and songs no matter who was present, including Thor Thorsson himself.

  "You know a zero-gee galley like the back of your hand," O'Brian announced in his strange lilting lisp. "Serve aboard ship before?"

  "My Uncle Dan owns a solar sailing ship, grew up on it."

  "Which one?"

  "Corona Wind, six-master, twenty-nine hundred square klicks of sail and out of Ceres."

  "Not Dan Everett?"

  "The same."

  "So that's how you know the songs. We tangled lines a few times. Beat the tar out of me once and that's somethin' I don't normally admit, but being his kin and such I tell you he's a friend to have in a scrape. So you're a sailor then."

  "That I am and proud of it," Matt announced. "Why, I'd been to near every asteroid mining camp in the system before I was twelve. Even did a Mars to Jupiter run on
ce in eleven months twenty-three days, and not many been that far and that fast. Ol' Dan navigated among them moons by dead reckoning, and not a single burst of thruster."

  O'Brian whistled good-naturedly at Mart's boasting.

  "And you're an Earthsider," he said, looking over at Justin.

  "Indiana."

  "Never been there. Hey, watch them potatoes."

  Kelly shouldered past Justin and snatched several hot potatoes that had drifted out of their container. Cursing soundly, he pushed them back in and snapped the lid shut.

  "You ain't no galley rat yet, that's for certain. Quick way to get burned if you don't pay attention in here."

  "All hands, all hands, starboard watch prepare for chow in fifteen minutes."

  The loudspeaker momentarily interrupted Kelly's tirade about clumsy midshipmen and, worst of all, first-year plebes. Justin just listened; he was fascinated by the man's command of vocabulary.

  "Sergeant O'Brian."

  O'Brian shot a quick glance at the loudspeaker.

  "Here, sir."

  "I'll have my dinner now."

  "Aye, sir."

  O'Brian looked over at Justin and Matt. His gaze shifted from Matt and then focused on Justin.

  "Bell, you'll have to take His Worship's dinner forward."

  "His Worship?"

  Kelly casually reached over to the wall and turned up the music coming from the computer so that the sound all but drowned out their conversation.

  " Ice' MacKenzie, the 'Ice Man.' "

  Justin, a bit startled by O'Brian's disdainful tone, said nothing.

  "Now listen here, you young idiot. Just mind your P's and Q's in front of the Old Cuss. Don't speak unless spoken to. Lay his dinner out and for heaven's sake don't spill anything or let anything get loose. If you're lucky he'll just dismiss you, then scurry back here and help me set the spread."

  Brian hesitated.

  "And another thing, young sir. If he starts asking you questions just tread careful-like. Don't just go giving the first answer that comes to your mind, think it all through."

  "Why?"

  "Just do as I tell you. He's a strange bird. Something about youngsters sets him off at times. For the life of me I can't understand why Thorsson sent you kiddies on this trip. MacKenzie had a fit when the orders came in."

  "Thought he'd like the extra hands to command," Matt interjected. "This ship seems empty without us."

  "Designed a long time back, thirty years ago," Kelly replied. "Needed a lot more hands to run her then than we do now. She's an old one, she is, but a beaut. At least empty there wasn't much to stir MacKenzie up. So just be careful something seemed to be troubling him right after we shipped out from the Academy."

  O'Brian snapped a container of soup into a carry tray, followed by a container of beef hash and a cup of hot black coffee.

  "Don't spill anything."

  With an almost fatherly gesture O'Brian straightened the collar on Justin's jump suit, buttoned a breast pocket and finally nodded his approval.

  "Now get."

  O'Brian opened the door and ushered Justin out into the corridor.

  Justin wove his way down the corridor, stepping cautiously. Cadets of the starboard watch were starting to drift out into the main corridor, some walking with sticky-bottom boots, others floating along.

  "Gangway," Justin cried, using the ancient term that announced he was on official business aboard ship and thus others had to clear the way. He crossed the small assembly room and stopped before the cadet guarding the doorway leading forward.

  "Captain's dinner," Justin announced.

  The cadet opened the door and Justin stepped through. For a moment he looked around, confused. Steps led upward towards the flight control center and cockpit. A narrow corridor turned to his left and at the end of it he saw a handrail leading down. That must he the stairway leading to the lower deck where weapons storage, combat control and the hydroponics tanks were located, he thought.

  He tried straight ahead, passing small doorways on either side. At the end of the narrow corridor a door confronted him, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Captain Ian MacKenzie" was emblazoned on a gold plaque set at eye level. Holding the tray with one hand, he knocked.

  "Enter."

  Justin unlatched the door and stepped in.

  "Sir, die Captain's dinner," Justin announced, not quite sure what the procedure for this all was.

  MacKenzie, hunched over a computer screen, looked up.

  "Set it on the table."

  Justin went over to the table in the middle of the room and set the tray down, clipping hold-down snaps to the four corners. He stepped back and decided that it was best to come to attention.

  MacKenzie's attention went back to the screen as he read a report bearing the letterhead of USMC Headquarters. The image flickered and rolled for a moment, as if a glitch were running through the system. He sat for several minutes, attention fixed. Justin wondered if the man simply read slowly or if he was thinking about the contents of the message. An image flashed on the screen of a USMC ship, one similar to the Somers, with a smaller ship docked to its entry port. A strike frigate drifted in front of the camera, its forward turret guns aimed straight at the two ships.

  It was a curious image and Justin stared at it intently. The audio was turned down and the screen was too far away for him to read the text scrolling across the bottom. The image again flickered and rolled, turning wavy as if a magnet were being held to the side of the monitor.

  Finally MacKenzie looked back at the table.

  "You still here?"

  "Ah, yes, sir. I wasn't dismissed."

  MacKenzie flicked the screen off.

  "Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Mister" he hesitated, leaning forward to read Justin's name tag, "Mister Bell. Do you understand me? Whether I dismiss you or not is not yours to question."

  "Sir, yes, sir."

  Mackenzie's cold gaze studied Justin's face.

  "You were standing next to that red-haired cadet, the one who raised his hand."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What is his name?"

  "Cadet Matt Everett, sir."

  "He a friend of yours?"

  "Yes, sir, he is."

  "I could see that by the way you looked over at him. At least you are honest, Bell. Tell me, are you honest?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "In all things?"

  "I try to be."

  "Most boys aren't. Most are deceitful, given to vile practices, vile thoughts. Don't you agree, Mr. Bell?"

  Justin hesitated for a second. How should he answer? Kelly had warned him about this. As he looked at MacKenzie he knew there was only one answer.

  "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

  "And therefore, Mr. Bell, haven't you contradicted yourself? You say you are honest, therefore implying goodness, yet you agree with me that most boys are deceitful."

  "Most boys, sir, as you said."

  "And your friend, this Mr. Everett?"

  "He is honest, sir."

  "Somehow I doubt that," MacKenzie declared. "I could see it in his eyes. The eyes, Mr. Bell, they are the windows of the soul as the philosophers once said. Yes, but a momentary glance can reveal much. For example, Mr. Bell, your eyes speak much."

  He fell silent staring at Justin. Though the strain was terrible Justin realized that even a momentary glance away might be construed as an attempt to hide something. He stared straight back at MacKenzie. If what MacKenzie said was true, Justin thought, then the man before him was dead. His eyes revealed nothing; they were emptiness as deep as space itself.

  He remembered his grandfather talking about the long years in space, especially in the early years. The endless boring watches, the silence, the months upon months trapped within a tiny speck crawling across the endless sea could drain life itself, leaving a man or woman an empty shell.

  MacKenzie finally broke contact, looking down. Justin wondered if some sort of powe
r game had just been played out, in which he should have broken eye contact first to acknowledge MacKenzie's superior power.

  "You pass, Mr. Bell."

  "Sir?"

  "Just that you pass. You are guileless. Perhaps even a naive fool. I think you can be trusted."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Ever read Moby Dick?"

  Surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, Justin shook his head.

  "No, sir."

  " 'And this drama between thee and me was planned a million years before the sea ever rolled'," MacKenzie said, his voice distant.

  "Read the book by this time next week," MacKenzie ordered. "It's in the ship's computer library."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Fine. You are dismissed, Mr. Bell."

  "Yes, sir." Justin braced himself and started to turn.

  "And Mr. Bell avoid disreputable company. It is the cause of moral decline."

  "Yes, sir, I will."

  "This Everett, he is rooming with you."

  "Yes, sir."

  "That is bad," MacKenzie sighed and then his gaze locked on Justin. "But then again, if there is anything inappropriate I expect an instant report. Instant, do you understand me, Bell?"

  "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

  "Fine, now get out."

  Justin backed to the door, sensing that if he turned his back it might be taken as skulking away. He closed the door and exhaled noisily.

  Now what the hell was that all about? he wondered. Suddenly feeling as if he were being watched, he straightened up and headed aft. He reached the galley and ducked inside. O'Brian looked up at him.

  "Well?"

  Justin hesitated. Though O'Brian was nearly old enough to be his grandfather, Justin realized that in the most technical of senses he himself was defined as an officer, even if he was only a first-year plebe, while O'Brian was an enlisted man. The Code said that one should never reveal what happened between two officers to enlisted personnel or civilians.

  "It was OK."

  O'Brian smiled grimly and nodded.

  "Good for you, lad. Now grab a tray and help your friend."

  Justin took up a tray-load of meal containers and stepped out into the mess hall. He saw Matt leaning against a table, talking with a blond female cadet; the others around the table were grinning while Matt obviously spun a yarn to impress her. Justin saw the second flight officer, the younger pilot, come into the galley and take a seat. Going over to her table, he set a tray down. She looked up, smiled and thanked him,