by J. L. Doty
The inspection didn’t go badly, a little dirt here and there, but nothing that warranted a severe reprimand. Abraxa took it upon himself to do the shouting for Schessa. And when they were done, Abraxa walked one last time down the aisle in the middle of the bunk room. As he walked, he glanced briefly at each cadet, left then right, left then right, though he never looked for more than an instant before moving on, never even slowed his pace. But when he looked at York, he hesitated, looked a second time, and his pace faltered for a fraction of a step. He recovered with only that slight hesitation, continued on, and left the room. York breathed a sigh of relief.
Two days later, Schessa was about to conduct a formal inspection of her company, all lined up in ranks at attention on the parade ground, when Abraxa approached and spoke briefly with her. She turned from him and announced, “Commander Abraxa would like to inspect Eighth Company, a rare honor indeed.”
As Abraxa walked down the lines of men and women with Schessa beside him, looking at each, York again tucked his chin tightly to his chest. Abraxa didn’t seem particularly interested in upbraiding anyone that day, he simply made a comment or recommendation here and there. When he got to York, he said, “Midshipman, your chin is a little low. Don’t tuck it so tightly into your chest.”
York raised his chin, lifting the bill of his cap and exposing more of his face. Abraxa frowned and squinted. “Midshipman”—he glanced down at the name tag on York’s chest—“Midshipman … Ballin, have we met before?”
“Sir, no, sir,” York said. “I don’t believe I’ve had the honor, sir.”
Abraxa stared at him for a long moment, then continued on down the line, finishing the inspection without further incident.
York asked Tony about Abraxa.
“Oh, he graduated last year,” Tony said. “Top of his class.”
“Last year?” York asked. Something didn’t add up. “That means he left here an ensign and came back a few months later a full commander.”
Tony shrugged. “He was probably assigned to one of his father’s ships in Home Fleet, served a few tendays, got a promotion, and came home to complain that full commander wasn’t enough.”
“But aren’t all graduates supposed to serve a half-year evaluation tour on a ship-of-the-line?”
Tony laughed and shook his head sadly. “Don’t be naive, York. His father wrote his evaluation, probably wrote it before he graduated. Even better, he probably wrote it before he was born.”
After midterms, there were a few empty bunks in Plebe Hall, but York was happy to see Tony, Karin, and Muldoon still present. Tony continued to demonstrate a complete lack of motivation for anything like studying, and once it became clear he would graduate at the top of his class, he decided all the stuff they were trying to learn must be quite easy. At that point, he began studying even less. Muldoon couldn’t overcome his painful shyness, and York and Karin grew to be close friends. York would have been happy to allow their relationship to go beyond mere friendship had Karin shown any interest, but it was not meant to be.
Every month, Plebe Hall had another empty bed or two, and York could see that Karin and Muldoon shared his fear that one day their bunks would be prematurely vacant. For the three of them, life at the academy turned into a simple struggle for survival, while Tony just coasted.
During the second half of the first semester, they were introduced to the pilot simulator for small craft like gunboats. York recalled his lessons with Rodma, and to make sure he didn’t give away his past, he carefully repeated all the mistakes of his first time in the cockpit. It turned out Karin had learned to pilot small craft at an early age on her father’s estate, and was appointed as an assistant instructor. After their first few lessons, she pulled York aside and quietly said, “Why are you faking it, Ballin?”
He stuttered and said, “Uh … what do you mean?”
“I mean you clearly know how to fly, and are very carefully pretending that it’s all new to you.”
“Please,” he said. “Don’t say anything.”
She frowned and gave him an appraising look. “Okay. … But someday you have to tell me the truth.”
He nodded. “Before we graduate, I will.”
York sweated his way through the semester finals and was certain he’d flunked out. But when the results were announced, he learned he’d just squeezed his way into the top 30 percent of the plebe class. Again, Laski called him into his office and congratulated him for doing so well, with the unwritten message that Laski was pleased he wasn’t as stupid as his kind.
With the stress of first-semester finals behind them, Commandant Martinson issued an invitation to all cadets, a semi-casual reception to congratulate the plebes who’d made it that far. They were instructed that proper attire was service dress whites, and that attendance was mandatory for plebes, and all battalion, company, and cadet officers. Attendance was optional for upperclassmen, and for that one evening the sniping of plebes would be suspended. The invitation finished with, Alcohol will be served, though moderation is required of all attendees.
“A party!” Karin said. “With no upperclassmen harassing us.”
Muldoon said, “I bet we still better not have anything wrong with our uniforms.”
Even Tony took that seriously, and when the four of them were ready to leave for the event, they carefully inspected one another, doffed their hats, and walked as a group to the reception. Tony and Karin seemed at home, holding a drink, standing and casually chatting with other cadets and officers. York’s experience was limited to dockside bars and brothels, so for the most part he just kept his mouth shut and listened. When Abraxa approached him, he almost snapped to attention out of pure reflex.
“Ballin, are you sure we haven’t met somewhere?”
“Perhaps just in passing, sir,” York said, hoping desperately to get away from that subject. “But I don’t believe we’ve actually truly met or spoken.”
When Tony and Karin joined them, York was glad to see Abraxa turn his attention on them. “Tony, old boy, how long has it been since we last met, a year or more? And how’s your father?”
“He’s doing well,” Tony said. “Probably outlive us both.”
Abraxa turned to Karin. “And I know I’ve not been introduced to this lovely creature.”
Tony introduced Karin. Abraxa took her hand and kissed it with a flourish. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear.”
Karin said, “The pleasure is mine, Your Lordship.”
“Perhaps the next time Tony and I get together, you might join him.”
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 somet
imes 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.