An Officer’s Duty (55 page)

That base just moved up from “unnecessary” to “vital” on the confrontation list. Someone needs to figure out
what
that mind-blocking effect was. Find it, and put a stop to it. Psychic abilities, and not just mine, are what will help us win the coming wars.
The possibilities for many more blank-bubbles still existed in the timestreams, now that she knew what to look for, and the very real probabilities that their sheer presence would disrupt her work. But now there were viable streams that would connect to those blank-point whatsits.
And…yes, I think some of those streams will be mine to pursue. I’ll have to readjust for the other ones, too.

“Everyone on the
Murphy
is still alive, sir,” Sikmah reported, recapturing Ia’s attention. “Private Gundrich has a concussion and a broken arm, but otherwise they all survived. They have no thrusters and are in a tumble that’s faster than ours, but they do have one functional laser pod, and they do have gravity.”

“I’m glad. Tell them they can rig the escape pod to fire its thrusters for stabilization,” Ia instructed her comm tech. “If they time it right, they can slow their spin and have some minor maneuvering capability—have them check their deadhead direction for obstacles and use the pod to miss whatever might be in their way. Other than that, they’ll just need to hang on and wait, the same as us.

“After you do that, try your best to raise the cavalry, Sikmah,” she ordered him, pushing back from Culpepper’s chair. She twisted as she drifted so that she could catch herself on her own station and not bruise anything further. “The faster
we can get hold of the Fleet, the faster we can expect a rescue. Freefall is only fun up until you have to go to the bathroom.”

Her dry quip made him smile, raising his and the others’ morale a point or two. “Aye, sir.”

MARCH 16, 2495 T.S.
BATTLE PLATFORM
MAD JACK
SIC TRANSIT

Commodore Deng sighed and gave the woman standing At Attention before him a hard look. Lifting his hand, he pinched thumb and forefinger half a centimeter apart. His words were pitched too low for the pickups to broadcast his warning across the auditorium. “You know, you came
this
close to getting flogged for insubordination, Lieutenant Ia.”

“I know, sir,” Ia returned crisply, if quietly. “As I told the Board of Inquiry, I do accept full responsibility for the consequences of my actions, sir. But every Human has at bare minimum a baseline level of gut instincts, sir, and my guts were
screaming
about the dreams I had, and where I come from, you pay attention to dreams that are that strong, sir. Particularly when they repeat. Prophetic visions plague everyone on Sanctuary, sir, as I’m sure you’ve heard about in the news Nets recently.”

The watching audience of soldiers and attached civilian personnel waited patiently for the two of them to speak loudly enough to be heard. So did the viewing membership of the Terran Space Force attuned to the Commendations and Corporal Punishments channel of the military news Nets. Commodore Deng continued to speak quietly to her.

“Well, your hunch did pay off. If you didn’t have such a long-standing record of your hunches paying off, you’d be flogged. As it is, you do
not
have a record of reckless behavior… and given how that balances your actions in this matter,” he stated, raising his voice so that his next words were picked up and broadcast, “it is the policy of the modern Space Force to reward good gut instincts and innovations which lead to outstanding successes.”

Picking up the first of the boxes on the salver carried by an aide, he flicked open the lid.

“It is therefore my duty to present to you the Screaming Eagle, for the extraordinary act of piloting a ship with such skill that you
missed
an OTL hyperrift, sparking two of them on the bow and stern of an enemy capital ship, and for successfully escaping most of the subsequent blast.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ia accepted the award with a salute. It wasn’t her first Screaming Eagle, but it would probably become one of her most famous.

He picked up the next box. “It is also my duty to present you with the Compass Rose, for an absolutely outstanding, extraordinary act of engineering. It takes brains to realize that there
are
options for success even when you are so heavily outmatched that it would be like…like a
fly
looking at a horse and deciding to kill it, not just land on it and try for a bite. It took brains to realize you
could
kill the enemy’s ship, and do so with the one means, however dangerous, at your disposal. And it took brains to realize that one rifting might not be enough…though our tech meioas have grumbled to no end that you barely left them enough rubble to sift through.”

“I couldn’t take the chance the aft cannons would stay intact long enough to shoot us down, sir,” Ia confessed. “With the enemy ship too close to escape, I knew I had one chance to get myself and my crew away from death’s door.”

“Well, you chose wisely. And you piloted well enough to
keep
your crew and yourself alive.” He handed over the box, returned her salute, and reached for the next. “To accompany these, your superiors bestow upon you the Target Star, for successfully shooting down an enemy ship…since there’s no doubt who pulled the trigger on this kill.”

Another exchange of salutes and commendations.

Deng picked up the next two. “However…for the awarding of the Skull and the Crossbones, just like your crew, you get only one of each. We have no idea just how many enemy officers and noncoms were on board, so that’s the bare minimum we can rightfully hand out. You didn’t leave all that much intact, Lieutenant.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Ia apologized again.

“You should be,” he stated blandly. “I could use a hundred more officers like you, and a hundred thousand soldiers. Hell, we could use a million. Though if you go off-patrol again without advanced warning, you
will
be flogged.”

“Understood, sir.” Accepting the last two boxes, she balanced the lot in the curve of her left arm and saluted him one last time. “Thank you, sir.”

“Thank
you
,” he acknowledged. “You and your crew are on a full week’s Leave,” Commodore Deng added, lifting his chin at the members of the
Audie-Murphy
, who were bruised but beaming, having received their own awards for their participation in the short but effective battle. He returned his attention to Ia. “Hopefully by then, the TUPSF
Audie-Murphy
will be fully repaired. Try not to scuff the polish the second you leave this Platform on your next patrol, soldier, or I’ll take it out of your pay.”

“I’ll do my best not to, sir,” she promised. “I’ll leave that up to the enemy, and take it out of their hides.”

MAY 29, 2495 T.S.
K’KATTA MINING SHIP
NN K’K’TIKUTT T’WII
ATTENBOROUGH EPSILON 14 SYSTEM

The call came when Ia was in the forward cargo hold, examining the bars of refined minerals strapped into their carrying cradles.

“Lieutenant! This is Private Myang—Private Culpepper’s going crazy, sir!”

Ia touched her arm unit. Private Adriene Myang—no relation to the more famous Admiral-General Christine Myang—was the newest member of her crew.
“Acknowledged, Private. What’s your location?”

The K’kattan captain chittered. His translator box rendered the clicks and whistles into Terranglo, since his race could not physically form over half the sounds the other sentient races could. “Is something wrong, Meioa Guardian?”

“I’m not sure, sir,”
Private Myang returned in Ia’s ear, forcing her to concentrate through the alien’s chitterings. “Ah…
here’s my transponder—I’m not used to the layout on these ships, yet.
Holy—
Private Culpepper, put your weapon down! I said, put your weapon
down!
I’m recording this, sir!”

Flicking open her arm unit, Ia tapped in the command that placed Myang’s transponder overlaid on a map of the K’kattan vessel and turned her arm toward the alien. “We need to get from here to
there
, fast.”

“This way, Guardian!” the captain chittered, and scrambled for an oval opening high up in the hold. Not much on a K’kattan ship was designed for the convenience of Humans and other bipeds, but there were handholds and footholds, and the captain had thoughtfully lowered the gravity to 1G Alliance Standard to comply with and ease the inspection process. That made climbing after him a lot easier for Ia. It also helped that she wore only body armor, and not the bulk of a mechsuit, which wouldn’t have been able to maneuver in such tight quarters.

Scrambling through the tunnel-like corridor after him was much more difficult, since they were barely a meter and a half high, forcing Ia to crouch or risk smacking her head on the claw-hold grips. From there, it was another climb, this time straight up, then a side tunnel to one of the crew’s private quarters. They could hear a
skreeling
sound, the piercing cry of a K’katta in pain, and shouting in Terranglo.

“I
said
, put your weapon
down
, Private!” Myang snapped, her voice high and tight. Laserfire hissed, and the K’katta screech-yelled again.
“Private!”

Ia ducked inside and straightened. The ceiling was comfortably higher in here, mainly because the alcoves of the crew nests were stacked three high. Private Culpepper had aimed his HK-70 rifle into the middle alcove, where one of the aliens huddled. It—she, from the paler coloring of her chiton-fur—was missing part of one limb. The grin on Culpepper’s face was not a pleasant one.

“Sir!” Myang protested. Her own rifle was pointed at her teammate’s back. “He won’t put his weapon down!”

“This
bug
is holding out on us!” Culpepper growled through his grin. “It’s got a sack of contraband in its hidey-hole, sir, and it won’t let go!”

“Private Myang, lower your weapon,” Ia ordered, her voice loud but her tone calm. Her hand dropped to her laser pistol, flicking the safety switch as the weapon rested in her holster. The faint whine of the e-clip warming up was lost under the noises being made by the injured alien in her bunk-like nest.

The black and ceristeel muzzle in the private’s hands dropped, but more out of surprise than compliance. Myang blinked at her. “
Me
, sir?”

“Guardian, I must protest!” the captain chittered at Ia, while
his crewmate shuddered and keened, a thin trickle of blood seeping from the edges of its cauterized wound.

Ia ignored him. She flicked her hand at Myang, motioning the private back. “Private Myang, you never draw a weapon on a fellow soldier unless you are prepared to follow through. Private Culpepper!” she snapped, catching the other soldier’s attention. “You are in
violation
of Blockade protocols. Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head. You have five seconds to comply.
Mark.
”

“
I’m
not doing anything wrong, sir!” Culpepper retorted, gun still trained on the quivering alien trapped in its nest. “
This
piece of filth wouldn’t—”

Ia, silently counting down during his protest, pulled her pistol from its holster and pulled the trigger. Dark red seared a smoking hole in his left buttock, just below the ceristeel plating of his body armor. Culpepper screamed and whirled to face her, hopping a little from the pain.

“You…you
shot
me!” he protested, eyes wide.

She flicked the muzzle of her laser pistol up, pointing it straight at his face. “Yes. I did. This is
not
a negotiation, Private, nor is it a discussion. You did
not
comply with a direct order from your superior, and have violated one of the Fifty Fatalities because of it, Private Culpepper. You will now drop your weapon and place your hands on top of your head. Be advised, my next shot is aimed to
kill
.

“You have five seconds to comply.
Mark.
”

He wasted three of them gaping at Ia. Her gun and her gaze never wavered. Blinking, he hastily tossed the rifle on the ground and clasped his hands over his helmeted head. Private Myang quickly stooped and dragged the rifle away from his feet, slinging it by its strap over her left shoulder.

“Strip,” she ordered, weapon and attention still focused on him. Hesitantly, he shifted his hands to the chin-strap of his helm. Ia lifted her chin, clarifying her order. “You will strip
completely
, and submit to being zip-bound, or you will be shot in the head, soldier. If you do comply, you will be taken back to the
Audie-Murphy
and placed in the brig for the remainder of our patrol. You will face a Board of Inquiry regarding your actions, and submit to thorough psychological examination. And if you are
lucky
, you will be dishonorably discharged and
fined for the cost of the reparations both to regenerate this meioa’s injuries and to recompense her suffering.”

“But, sir! That bug has a bag of contraband wrapped up in that…cocoon thing!” he protested, starting to point into the nest alcove.

“You will return to stripping, Private, or by the laws of the Blockade, I will shoot you until you are dead!” Ia snapped, her gun arm still aimed at his face. “You have
thirty
seconds to completely strip to nothing but your skin. Mark!”

He blinked, eyes widening, then began struggling out of his body armor. She gave him three extra seconds, since he was trying to comply, then lifted her chin to the side, at Myang.

“Private Myang, zip the prisoner and haul him back to the brig. I’ll take the rifle and secure his other belongings.”

“Uh, sir…we kind of had to
climb
to get up here? If I zip his hands behind his back, he won’t be able to get back down, and I can’t carry him,” Myang pointed out.

Ia had forgotten about that. She had only dipped into the timestreams far enough to ensure that Culpepper would comply, once she shot him the first time. Rolling her eyes, she shrugged. “Fine,
I’ll
take him back. Zip his hands behind his back, bind his ankles together, and add four more around his waist. I’ll need a handle.” She turned back to the K’katta at her side. “Captain, I acknowledge that it is the responsibility of the Terran Space Force to make reparations. On behalf of the Space Force, I apologize for the gross misconduct of this soldier.