Of Treasons Born (19 page)

Karin smiled. “That would be wonderful, Your Lordship.”

York now knew Karin well enough to see that her smile was forced. A few moments later, with Tony and Abraxa occupied catching up on the past year, York leaned close to Karin and whispered, “What's wrong?”

She whispered, “When he talks to me, he talks to my boobs. He never looks me in the eye, and it gives me the creeps.”

“Mr. Ballin. Miss Toletskva.”

Both York and Karin stiffened and turned at the sound of Commandant Martinson's voice. “Sir,” they said in unison.

Martinson was no less rigid standing than sitting, and York wondered if he had a plast girder clamped to his back. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes, sir,” they said.

Abraxa and Tony joined them at that moment. Martinson said, “Good. You deserve it. You've both done well. But …”

Martinson carefully looked York over from head to foot. “Mr. Ballin, I believe you're out of uniform.”

“Sir,” York said, trying not to stammer. He'd done all he could to make sure his uniform would pass the most meticulous inspection. “I don't understand, sir.”

Martinson gave York a predatory smile. “Your service ribbons. You're not wearing a single one, and I know you have quite a few.”

York couldn't believe what he was hearing. Both Karin's and Tony's mouths dropped open, their jaws slack. Muldoon stood behind them looking unsure of himself. Abraxa frowned and looked closely at York, as if by doing so he might recognize him.

“Mr. Ballin,” Martinson said. “Please return to your barracks immediately and correct the matter, then report back here to me.”

York snapped to attention. “Sir, yes, sir.”

As York left the reception hall, all eyes were on him. But what bothered him most was the frown on Abraxa's face. All the way back to Plebe Hall, he wondered if he could simply not return, but that might make it even worse. At his locker, he considered putting on only a few of his ribbons, the least of them, simple good conduct, stuff like that. But he realized Martinson wasn't going to let him get away with that.

Why had Martinson done this? He'd promised that if York worked hard and did well, he'd not add to his difficulties. Surely, he knew that this would be catastrophic.

He pulled off his coat and carefully attached all of his ribbons, paying close attention to the order of precedence. Only after everything was exactly correct did he slip the coat back on and walk back to the reception. When he entered the hall, he walked straight to Martinson, and he noticed that he wore more chest candy than some of the commissioned officers present. He stopped and saluted, saying simply, “Sir.”

Abraxa joined them immediately. Tony, Karin, Muldoon, and some of the other cadets gathered around.

“That's better, Mr. Ballin,” Martinson said. “And please relax. This is supposed to be a casual affair.”

Tony asked, “Where'd you get all the ribbons?”

Muldoon pointed at one and said, “That's a combat commendation. What are all the others?”

Karin grinned. York came to the slow realization he really had no choice, so he pointed at one and said, “Arman'Tigh.” He pointed to another. “Turnham's Cluster.” And another. “Trefallin.”

Tony said, “Holy shit!”

Martinson said, “Mr. Simma, watch your language.”

Karin pointed at a ribbon and said, “What's the dead black one?”

Martinson said, “That would be Sirius Night Star.”

Abraxa frowned. “No one came back from that.”

Martinson grinned. “A few did.” He glanced down at the service ribbons on Abraxa's chest. “Do I see a ribbon there for the Aquila Campaign?”

Abraxa seemed at a loss for words. “Why … I …”

“No,” Martinson said. “It couldn't be. I must be wrong. Aquila was before you were born.” He turned and walked away.

Abraxa looked at York, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth hardened into a flat, straight line. “Well, Mr. Ballin—or should I say Spacer Ballin? Spacer First Class, as I recall.” He spun about and walked in the opposite direction of Martinson.

Tony looked about conspiratorially and whispered, “I'll say it again: Holy shit.”

Karin said, “So, Ballin, you're not Mr. Nothing. Tony is power, Muldoon is influence, I'm money, and you … you're experience. We have a hardened combat veteran among us.”

Chapter 20:

Karin

York would not have believed that life at the academy could ever be worse than his first semester, but as the second semester dawned, he quickly learned how wrong he could be. His first clue was a surprise white-glove, black-sock inspection of the entire Eighth Company, upperclassmen included, and personally conducted by Abraxa. His Lordship let nothing slip past him and made life miserable for the entire company that day. York also suspected that he planted some infractions. When Abraxa ran a white glove underneath York's bunk, it came up with a heavily discolored brown stain. York would be the first to admit that his bunk and locker might not always be perfect, but he was much too meticulous for it to have ever been that bad. As Abraxa ripped into York, even Tony looked doubtfully at the stain on the glove.

It wasn't just Abraxa. York learned that when the man in charge made it clear he was not happy with an individual, even if done subtly, it filtered down through the entire organization. Certain cadets just avoided him, even some who had been friendly before, possibly worried about guilt by association. Many joined in the harassment but seemed to do so reluctantly, perhaps worried that if they didn't contribute something to York's torment, Abraxa might assume they sympathized with York. And then there were those members of the company who were angry that York had brought the wrath of the battalion officer down upon them all. But the worst were the few who participated actively and enjoyed doing so, taking some strange satisfaction from seeing another person under their thumb. At least Tony, Muldoon, and Karin stood by York and seemed immune to Abraxa's influence.

York was now certain Martinson had purposefully played the service-ribbon gambit at the reception to expose him to Abraxa, but why had the commandant done that?

“Hey, Mr. Experience.”

York looked up from his reader as Karin sauntered across the main reading hall in the library. With just a locker and bunk, plebes were forced to use the tables in the library to study. He looked again at the face of the reader to recall what he'd supposedly been reading, when in fact he'd been musing on the new difficulties facing him.

Karin sat down opposite him, leaned close, and whispered, “Abraxa
was
wearing the Aquila Campaign ribbon at the reception. I looked it up. And it
was
before he was born, so he couldn't have earned it. And from the look on his face, I don't think he even knew what ribbon it was, probably just purchased a handful of chest candy and plastered them on his coat. That pretentious phony!”

York said, “You really don't like him, do you?”

“He's creepy,” she said. “I don't think he's ever looked into my face. Yesterday, when he did that inspection, he didn't inspect anything but my boobs.”

York knew nothing would ever happen between them, but he couldn't resist the temptation. “Well, Toletskva, in his defense, you're really not bad to look at.”

Her nose wrinkled up and she snapped, “I've seen you look at me and I don't mind that. And I guess I wouldn't mind it if he looked at
me
, and not just my boobs. I tell you what, I'll give them each separate names, then you and he can have individual conversations with them and leave me out of it.”

That had backfired badly. “Sorry.”

She frowned, leaned back, and looked at York carefully. “Why so glum?”

He sighed and said, “He's making it harder every day.”

“Ya, he is making your life kind of hellish.”

“Kind of?” York asked.

She stood. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

She didn't wait for him to answer, but turned and walked away. He shut down the reader, stood, and followed her. The library had quite a large collection of real books printed on synthetic paper. She led him down to the lower floors where they were stored in row after row of shelves. She said, “There's an old text I want you to see. I think you'll find it quite interesting.”

She turned down an aisle between shelves and walked to the end of it, then stopped and pointed upward. “Up there.”

He stopped next to her and looked where she was pointing, squinting, seeing a lot of book spines, with nothing to distinguish any one from the others. He turned around to face her. “Which one?”

She stepped forward, reaching for a book over his head, closed the distance between them completely, and her breasts pressed against his chest. They both froze that way and she looked into his eyes.

After a few seconds, she said, “You know, Ballin, when a girl is leaning this close to you with an inviting smile on her face, and purposefully pressing her breasts against your chest, you do realize it's an invitation to kiss her, don't you?”

Somewhere York had heard that these empty rows of bookshelves were sometimes used as a place for couples to meet for a few minutes alone, though not for anything extreme. “Same company,” he said, “same platoon, even same squad; that would be against regulations.”

She put her arms around his neck. “I know you've always wanted to, and now I'm throwing myself at you. Not very gentlemanly of you to make me do that.”

“Oh, fuck it,” he said, and he kissed her. She pressed the entire length of her body against him, and the kiss lasted until they both were forced to come up for air.

“Whoa,” she said. “That was much better than I thought it would be.” She ran a finger along the line of his jaw. “We've both got town liberty at the end of the tenday. Let's get off this campus and continue this then.”

“Why now?” he asked. “After all this time?”

She brushed her lips against his cheek and whispered, “I just have a kinky fetish for you men of action, you experienced combat types.”

It occurred to him that Karin thought she was joking, but she'd never shown that much interest in him before, so it was quite possible she was attracted to him because of his background and just didn't realize it. Or perhaps she was slumming. He thought about that for a moment, and he didn't care. He kissed her again, and they both started to enjoy it a bit too much. When the kiss ended, she pressed her hand to the middle of his chest and pushed herself away from him. Breathlessly, she said, “We'd better stop this now, or we're going to end up violating all sorts of regulations.” As York followed her out of the tall shelves of books, his legs felt a little unsteady.

His relationship with her was the only bright spot in his life that semester. They agreed that nothing could ever come of it, that neither of them was interested in falling in love, so there was no danger of that. But, for both of them, it did cut through the loneliness a bit.

Even with all the added pressure from Abraxa, York thought he did reasonably well on his second-semester midterms. As always, Laski called him to his office to review his results, but this time Abraxa was present, standing to one side and slightly behind Laski's desk.

York followed the traditional formula, stood at attention, and saluted Laski. The commander returned the salute, but this time did not tell York to stand at ease. York stood there rigid as a post for a good ten minutes, sweat dripping down his back inside his shirt, before Laski finally acknowledged him.

“So, Mr. Ballin, you falsified your record.”

York said, “No, sir, I—”

“Don't speak,” Laski shouted, rising up out of his chair, his hands flat on the desk in front of him, “unless you're invited to.”

Laski took a deep breath to calm himself, then sat down. “Nathan tells me …” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Abraxa, who smiled back at him. “Nathan tells me he encountered you on a passenger liner on your way here, tells me you were wearing a spacer's uniform. Is that true?”

York opened his mouth, but Laski didn't let him speak.

“Of course it's true, since His Lordship says it is. So you're a liar and a cheat. You've been cheating all along, haven't you?”

York had to say something in his defense. “No, sir, I haven't.”

“You expect me to believe you got these scores on your own?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Impossible.”

“Why is that impossible, sir?”

Laski shook his head, turned slightly and said to Abraxa, “He just doesn't understand, does he?”

Abraxa said, “I suppose that's to be expected.”

Laski looked at York as if he were something distasteful that had been scraped off the bottom of someone's boot. “It's impossible because your kind is just not capable of performing at the level required by the academy. Again, with the benefit of your cheating, it appears that you scored in the upper thirty percent of the class on these midterms. But we know better, don't we, Mr. Ballin?”

“And how do you know that, sir?”

“As I told you, you're just not capable of scoring well on these tests. So I'm lowering your score to what I'm certain you would have done had you not cheated.”

“But I—”

“Don't speak, Mr. Ballin. If it were up to me, we'd expel you immediately. But Commandant Martinson won't allow it, says I must have hard evidence, doesn't realize that you yourself are the only hard evidence we need. But then he's fundamentally one of you anyway.”

The new scores Laski applied to York's midterm results put him in the bottom 10 percent of the class, which meant York's enrollment would come under review and he might possibly flunk out.

At the end of his plebe year, after finals, Laski called York into his office to tell him what a piece of shit he was. Again Laski was certain York had cheated because his exam scores were higher than possible for
his kind
, so Laski adjusted his scores accordingly. York finished the year in the lowest 10 percent of the class, and was called before an academic review board. At the appointed hour, he knocked on the door to a conference room in the Administration Building, popped the door a crack, and said, “Midshipman Ballin reporting as ordered.”

Someone inside said, “Enter.”

He opened the door, stepped through, closed it, and marched forward to stand before a table behind which sat Martinson, Abraxa, Murtaugh, and two other company officers he vaguely recognized. York glanced briefly at the two men's name tags: Storch and Prescott. Laski sat in a chair to one side, and York wondered if that meant he wasn't part of the review board.

York squared his shoulders and saluted. Martinson returned the salute with a crisp snap of his hand and said, “Let's bring this meeting to order. We're here to review the academic performance of Midshipman Fourth Class York Ballin.”

He looked to Laski. “Commander, as Mr. Ballin's academic adviser, would you care to begin?”

Laski stood. “Certainly, sir.” He took a dramatic breath, then continued, “I feel sorry for Mr. Ballin. It's not his fault that the academic rigors of the academy are simply beyond his abilities. I think we should show leniency upon his expulsion, perhaps allow him to take a position in the lower ranks.”

Abraxa said, “As his battalion officer, I am, of course, familiar with his performance, but perhaps you could summarize it for us all, Commander.”

Laski gave Abraxa a smarmy smile. “Certainly, Your Lordship. I should say that Mr. Ballin has performed poorly from the beginning, always in the bottom ten percent of his class. He tries hard, but he struggles. I even asked Midshipman Lord Simma if he could help Mr. Ballin by tutoring him, and he was kind enough to do so. But unfortunately, this young man is just not up to academy standards. As I say, it's not really his fault; his kind is just not up to the task.”

With those words, Storch and Prescott both frowned.

Abraxa said, “Yes, that's clear to us all.”

Prescott's frown deepened.

Laski continued. “Part of the problem is that Mr. Ballin does not understand or accept his own limitations. He thinks he is as capable as any of the rest of us. In fact, if you were to ask him, I wouldn't be surprised if he believes that he did better on his exams than the scores indicate. He might even have some paranoid delusion that his scores have been changed after the fact, as if that were possible.”

“Yes,” Abraxa said. “It's always easier to credit some conspiracy with one's problems than to accept one's own failings.”

Clearly, Abraxa and Laski must have feared that York might accuse them of tampering with his scores. But while he'd briefly considered doing so, they'd anticipated him and effectively countered any allegations he might make. He couldn't prove anything, and it would only make him sound like a petty whiner.

Abraxa and Laski went back and forth with what appeared to be a carefully rehearsed dialogue. They dissected York's personality, parentage, intelligence, and moral character, establishing that all were clearly not up to academy standards. And while they had tried desperately to help the poor, dumb fool, it saddened them that they had failed.

Laski finished with, “I almost feel it's my fault that Mr. Ballin has done so poorly.”

“Not at all, Commander,” Abraxa said. “Don't even consider the possibility.”

York was never offered the opportunity to say anything in his own defense, and he dare not speak without permission. He could only stand there and seethe.

Abraxa finished by thanking Laski, who sat down. Abraxa then said, “It's sad, but it's clear we have no choice. I recommend we offer Mr. Ballin an opportunity to resign his commission.” He looked at Captain Martinson. “Shall we vote on it now, sir?”

Martinson smiled. “Yes, in a moment, but first I have one question. As I recall, his first-semester scores were reasonably good”—he looked Laski's way—“and yet you say his performance has been terrible throughout the year.”

Laski stood again. “Oh … sir … those earlier scores were incorrect. … A glitch in the computer. We found the error and corrected it.”