Despite her quarantine, a sickness overwhelmed us all from the new biotic vector. Diarrhea spread out of the women’s enlisted area with fevers and chills as soon as Detkarn moved in. I was one of the last to catch the illness. I watched as others spent the day in medical, waiting out the infection with fluid lines in their arms. I hoped that I would be strong enough to avoid infection. When I was hit, it was worse than the early victims’ illness. I spent a week laid up in medical, reading approved media, and writing letters home to Earth that would be queued into the ansible for some far future delivery. The admiral returned while I was laid up, and came in to medical with the same infection just after I was starting to feel better. He lost consciousness for a little while. He was pale and sweating bullets, shivering cold for days. The med tech put him on an IV, and he came out of his fever enough to lean over and scowl at me.
“Ensign,” he said. “If you don’t stop staring at me, I will put you on latrine pipe cleaning duty for a month.”
I looked away. I had not thought I was staring.
Private Detkarn was assigned to my nominal supervision, along with two other techs, Sergeant Germaine Hobarth and Private Andre Khan. Our new job was to construct a new shipping vessel from the parts we had, to replace what had been badly damaged.
My trio and I were assigned one corner of the quartermaster’s chamber, presumably so I could be watched with my minor hint of meaningful command.
I made a checklist of things we needed to accomplish. I assigned duties. I gave myself the most technical ones. Private Detkarn was assigned to work with Hobarth, an older and experienced crewman, on the skeletal frame that held the whole shell together from the inside. I observed their work from the cockpit area, assignating wires to wires like lovers twisting. Khan was to work on propulsion lines and engines, which I was made to understand was his specialty. I trusted him to work fairly unsupervised with his personnel records. I observed aging, balding Sergeant Hobarth attempting to seduce Detkarn repeatedly with his long smiles, his gentle, too-friendly mannerisms. I observed her cold to such advances, focused on her work, as if he did not exist, at all.
After Hobarth pushed her for something she would not give, I called her over.
“Sir? Is anything wrong?”
“I am asking you that. Is anything wrong?”
“No, sir.”
“Hobarth giving you any trouble?”
“I can handle dirty old men, Ensign.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle them. Go see if Private Khan can teach you any of his tricks with engines.”
Hobarth was watching us, pretending to tighten a bolt.
I looked over at him. “You’re distracted. You can get someone killed.”
“You would know, sir.”
“What was that, Sergeant?”
“Sorry, sir. Nevermind. I spoke out of turn.”
“You sure did. Why don’t you go see if the quartermaster has any latrine pipes that need cleaning. I hear there’s always buildup in the damn latrines. Be back here tomorrow ready to work quietly and respectfully.”
The old soldier went pale and turned toward me.
“You heard me, Sergeant,” I said. I realized that I was much smaller than this man. “Latrine duty. Now. I was not at fault. It was an accident. I will not have you insinuate anything else to my face or behind it.”
His bald head reddened with his anger, but he saluted at attention and left for the quartermaster, who was elbow deep in broken drones on another side of the facility, and did not appear to be in the mood to take anyone’s side in a personnel matter. He looked up, and heard the sergeant request latrine duty. He looked over at me, with an eyebrow raised. I dragged a thumb across my neck. Kill him, I was saying. Put him to work on the nastiest pipe. Q shrugged and took Hobarth over to the supply closet for a face mask and some scrubbers.
I still had to keep our ship on the timeline, and Hobarth’s work was critical to the next layer of the hull. I realized I was going to have to get his job done without him, but I trusted the young man to be more appropriate to the new girl, considering that I had just made an example of Sergeant Hobarth. Khan was, apparently, worse than the dirty old man. Detkarn came around the side of the engine shaking, near tears, within the hour.
She asked to speak with me in private.
I took her to the quartermaster’s desk and heard what happened, with recording devices on, and the quartermaster sitting and listening in while he was observing his own crews at the side of his attention from his desktop terminal.
She spoke quickly and precisely.
“Wait here,” I said, after I heard it.
I walked over to where Khan was working, like nothing has happened.
“Private Khan,” I said. “What did you do?”
“Nothing, sir. She say I did anything?”
“Yes. Put down your tools and go stand in the corner. I need to review the tapes.”
The quartermaster was watching me closely now. He looked over from the drones he was repairing. He huffed at me, exasperated. I gestured to him to speak in private.
“Can’t you keep control of your people?” he said. “I won’t have you sending them all to me when you have a personnel issue.”
“Detkarn is accusing Khan of groping her sexually,” I said, quietly.
“That’s all?”
“What do you mean, ‘That’s all? We need to review the tapes.”
“What is the severity here? Are we to pull Khan into Wong’s holding tank over a passing gesture? Or, should I just get your crew ready for latrine duty instead of building a damn ship.”
“Until I review the tapes, we don’t know what we’re talking about. We might need Wong. You can’t be telling me to let it go, sir.”
He rubbed his temples. “I am telling you that there are . . . what is it now? Four women here, and something like thirty, thirty-five men, depending on accidents and suicides. It happens. Ask any of them. Maybe have one of them speak with Private Detkarn. Coporal Jensen is just back from repairing. I could call Corporal Anderson, if you want the one with the most seniority. She’s going to be a full sergeant as soon as my recommendation clears HR, but Jensen’s closer and mostly done for the day.”
“First, the tapes. Isn’t that the procedure?”
“Procedure demands a woman be present. I don’t need to be there. Khan is not in my command line. Have Jensen with you when you review,” he said. He picked up a tablet and flipped it over to the camera eye on his crewman. She was doing a double-check on her exosuit after her repair walk. “Jensen! Put down the scanner and come to my office with Ensign Aldo. We need a woman’s eye.”
In the quartermaster’s office, I asked Detkarn to show me the tapes. It took a few minutes. Jensen saw her fellow soldier trembling and crying, trying to get the system to work.
“Take your time,” I said. “Come on, Private Detkarn. We need to see the evidence against Khan before we can decide to pursue.”
“I don’t know which camera is which.”
Jensen took over the controls, switching from one view of the hangar bay to another until she had the angle for that side of the hull. I saw the quartermaster chatting with both Hobarth and Khan, and I resisted the urge to turn the sound on.
We rewound until we found the incident. Khan was showing her how to weld two gas lines together with a hand clamp and small lathe. He placed the tools in her hands, then wrapped around her to place his hands on hers, to guide her movements. She started to panic. He leaned in and licked her neck. “We could do it right here, and no one would notice as long as we were quiet,” he whispered.
Horrified, she began to protest, but Khan planted his mouth over her mouth, in a grotesque mockery of kissing. He slowly ran his other hand over her uniform, touching her stomach. He chuckled and let her go where she stood horrified and trembling with rage.
“It’s not the worst I’ve experienced,” said Jensen, to my great horror. She turned to me. “Ensign, this is all on yo
u. Never send a woman off by herself with a man where others can’t see them. Never leave a woman alone with just one man. In your command, maybe you will find there are men who can’t be trusted no matter who is around, and maybe two or three of them together are worse for the woman. Do a better job, goddamnit.”
“He should never do that!” shouted Detkarn. “I did nothing to provoke him.”
Jensen looked sadly upon Detkarn, barely twenty and so newly made, so innocent looking, and Jensen nearly thirty, looking for her early out. “Let it go,” she said, to both of us.
“I cannot,” I said.
“No one will care,” said Jensen. “The rules and regulation are very clear. It isn’t sexual abuse unless there is evidence of contact with a sexual organ. He was careful not to do that.”
“It was sexual abuse!” shouted Detkarn.
“It was,” I said. “Absolutely, it was. That is without question. And Khan will be punished. He must be. But, Jensen, you don’t think the other officers will support my verdict?”
“The quartermaster did worse to Mrs. Anderson before she started fighting back. She did a month in the brig for breaking his nose, and Sergeant Anderson gets to fly his way to an early out because of it. Tech Private Detkarn, I understand completely what you feel right now. I’ve been there. Khan must be punished. Ensign, let the women take care of the women.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, Ensign. Mrs. Anderson and I will take care of this.”
“What do you have planned?”
“Ultraviolence is a very effective deterrent to men like Khan. She is in charge of maintaining and replacing cameras. Stay out of the way.”
I turned over to Detkarn. “I see you have developed quite a fever, over there. You are on medical leave for the next two days. If you aren’t ready for duty, check with med tech and let me know, and I’ll see what I can do. No rush to head back to the dormitories.”
Jensen looked over at me. “Bad idea. Thanks, but it’s a bad idea. Private Detkarn, compose yourself, and strengthen your resolve. If they think you are weak, they will do it again. You have to be strong. Fight back. Give as good as you get.”
“Goddamnit, there’s nothing I can do? What’s the point of being an officer if I can’t handle the personnel? Who does it?” I asked. “I want you to give me a list of the men that have done things. I want to know who does it. I can help with a more permanent solution, eventually.”
“It’s kind of a long list, and there’s two officers on it.”
“I can’t help you with anyone who outranks me. Leave the officers off the list.” The quartermaster was one. The admiral was the other.
“What could you possibly do?”
“Have faith in me, Corporal Jensen. I can’t make any promises, but I can pull some strings. Our posting is very long, and there are no transfers. I will do what I can when I can.”
Private Detkarn cried awhile, then straightened her uniform. She set her jaw like a boxer, and wiped away all her pains. Then, she returned to duty, with Jensen, like nothing had ever happened.
The quartermaster came in and consulted with me, privately. He watched the tape. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Of course it’s assault, and we can prosecute him for that. But it is not clearly, legally sexual. She’s new. She’s going to be hazed, Ensign.”
“I wasn’t hazed.”
“You’re an officer. Your recertification was your hazing. And losing poker.”
“Are men hazed differently than women?”
He smirked. “You’re not thinking of getting involved in justice, are you? This is a military ship, and the chain of command is the only justice you need.”
“I’m only asking questions,” I said. “I agree with your assessment that no criminal proceedings should be brought against the man in question. Khan’s a good tech. We shouldn’t ruin his career over some stupid stunt. The real question is one of consequences. Actions should have consequences. Bad actions should have bad consequences. What do you and I do to send the message that hazing is unacceptable, Commander?”
“Is it unacceptable?” he said. He was surprised at me, and confused. “There’s not a lot to do up here, Ensign. No one was hurt. The mission wasn’t impacted. The new private is going to need thicker skin to make a go of her life here. That’s all.”
“I see,” I said. I did not see. Part of the code of conduct was clearly designed to discourage the kind of behavior I just saw. I left the meeting and called Khan over.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said.
“You did do something. You absolutely did. I saw it on the tapes.”
“It was just a joke,” he said.
“Some joke, Private. Nobody was laughing. Nobody.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Are you? Build me an engine. Build it fast and build it now. You want me to cover your ass against Wong, you had better build the best damn engine in the known universe.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Private Khan, you will never, ever touch a woman again. For the rest of your military career, you are a monk. Do you understand?”
He mumbled assent, but he looked at me with daggers in his eyes. My relationship with the enlisted was not something I thought much about until right then.
I did not observe Khan’s punishment, personally, but he was bruised badly the next day, and walked with a limp. He had a black eye, and bruises along his arms. He was quiet about it. “What happened to you, Private Khan?”
“Volleyball practice, sir,” he said. “My team lost.”
“I see that. How’s my engine?”
“Getting there,” he said. He scratched what seemed to be a solid lump in his skull. “I know what I’m doing.”
I had an idea when I got the list of troublesome enlisted men. I reached out to Obasanjo, whom I thought might be sympathetic to the plight of the female enlisted, considering his suggested preferences. I asked if it was possible to cycle out all of these men for some reason or another, as quickly as possible. We could flag them for anything, declare them unfit, and cycle them off to the planet.
Let me see if I understand your logic. The only thing anyone wants is a free early retirement, and you want to make it as easy as possible for someone to escape upon the molested bodies of our female enlisted? Is that what you want?
—Captain Obasanjo
Okay, I understand, but is there any way we can isolate the offenders? Can we shuffle them off to some special work crew that throws them off-cycle?
—Ensign Aldo
No. I’m sending you on your vacation, though. The plague threw you off schedule, but there’s plenty of time for your performance review when you get back. You’re trying to do the right thing, and I respect that, and I also happen to know doing the right thing is a huge mistake. You’ve had a rough year. You lost a crewmember. Don’t let it get to your head. You need to see what we’re fighting for, and get your head a new perspective. I gave you the person to contact, didn’t I?
—Captain Obasanjo
The question I ask of you, my confessor, is this: I took the side of justice and righteousness, with the oppressed women, and this was another step in the diminishment of my career. This should have been rewarded by God. Instead, the men looked upon me as if I were not worthy of my uniform, as if the guilt I felt for one woman’s death was enough to make me lose sight of the accepted gender-imbalanced realities of our posting. Why was I diminished for trying to be just? Unless my ultimate reward was my crime against the universe, and it was no sin, then what else could it mean?
At least the women on the station had some respect for me. Jensen and I ended up on the same cycle down to the planet, and she was kinder to me than before, when she should have been furious. At the time, I interpreted it to my foolish sense of justice.
* * *
Sergeant Anderson, at least, was kind enough to let me take the con
trols for part of the journey down. He didn’t go far from the controls, and there was very little to do with them on simple planetary runs. Until the troposphere, nothing even rattles in the hull, and there is no question about our destination trajectory with the huge, golden planet right there before us. “You all right, Sergeant?”
“Everything is fine, sir. I just get anxious if I am not close to the controls.”
“That sounds like a personal problem, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
I gently coaxed the ship out of dock and turned toward the planet surface, where an autopilot would take us most of the way on such a simple trajectory.
“You should be the last one of the officers, and you’re down even before Nguyen. He’s not going to like that. How did you get a downcycle early?”
“Captain Obasanjo likes me,” I said.
“Huh,” he said.
“What?”
“Nothing. Nice takeoff, Ensign. Very smooth.”
Takeoff is easy. The ship decouples from magnetic lock, and starts to float. Air jets push away from the station over our heads at the same rotation as the station. I had gone through the whole checklist before taking the controls, even after Sergeant Anderson went through it all. I checked the drones in hold. I double-checked them. I ran a biotic sweep, myself, early this morning. Takeoff was a seamless drift. My instructors would be pleased to see how smooth and clean my spiral was. Sergeant Anderson was not pleased. He was gruff and polite, but I could sense his discomfort like a storm on my radar screen.
We had a short flight to the ground, only twelve hours. The station was set to orbit the planet, but there were changes to the distances based on orbital variations, and the precise placement of the station on the ground.
The Planet Citadel was golden sand in the black, like a false oasis in the bleak void of darkness and space. The oxygen in the atmosphere and the thin shell of ozone that shielded the planet surface was partially artificially generated by repurposed wreckage turned into algae tanks. Before it was stable, no one was able to walk outside safely without a helmet and a personal tank. When it became stable, the algae tanks were dumped into one of the few bodies of water that had been cultivated from the first ice comet. This first lake became water recycling facilities, and no one could travel too far upon the dry desert plain away from the lake. The monastery built up out of the native granite rock, like a medieval fortress on a desert plain, with the lake walled off on the other side of the mountain from the town. The worship hall was modeled after the Great Mosque of Kairouan in ancient Tunisia. The huge minaret holds the bell that rings the hours, where the call to prayer sings out across the courtyard. Food is sold at a market inside the courtyard daily, brought in from across the planet, wherever enough water accumulated to permit the growth of crops of some sort, often in underground hydroponic systems. It is a sparse world. There are groves of jujube trees where pumps and sand shields keep them alive, in vast thickets of thorns and flowers, slurping water and producing the annual crop of red dates. Desert amaranth grows in fields shielded on all sides by jujubes, pollinated by the winds that tear through the groves. Vegetable patches are often kept in underground tubs, fertilized through fish tanks that house the only livestock on the planet surface: tilapia. Tiny drones handle pollination. Many of our best repairmen retire to build and maintain the fertilization drones.
The Fortress at the End of Time Page 10