Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason

by Christopher Nuttall

  I watched as she swept out, having thrown me to creatures that were worse than lions. “This is our manifesto,” one of the male reporters said, thrusting a sheet of paper into my hands. I was surprised that they didn’t use datapads, but perhaps reporters were exempt from the strict limits on how much paper people could use. It was a valuable resource, after all. “I expect that all of it will be here or I will be forced to talk to Admiral Hoover, a very dear friend of mine.”

  “Certainly, sir,” I said. I actually suspected that Admiral Hoover had never heard of him, but I didn’t want to risk finding out the hard way. I scanned the sheet of paper quickly, shaking my head. It seemed that some of the reporters had supporting staff who would be travelling on a converted assault carrier, but some of their supplies were travelling with us. It was an odd list too, odder than some of the Captain’s requests; they had alcohol and hard drugs. “I’ll see to it at once, shall I?”

  “And be back here quickly,” one of the women added. She gave me a smile that had absolutely no humour in it whatsoever. “We will have more tasks for you.”

  I slipped outside and used my terminal to call the crewmen who were in the pool, waiting for someone to give them orders. I told them to pick up the luggage that the reporters had left out in the airlock and transport it to their quarters. I guessed that the reporters would be spending the entire trip stoned out of their minds. I just hoped they wouldn’t start selling it to the crew. Once I had finished issuing orders, I went back inside, only to discover that an argument was going on.

  “The food on these ships is terrible,” another female reporter snapped. She wore a dress that showed off all of her breasts, apart from her nipples, but somehow I couldn’t find her attractive. “I want you to ensure that we get the best food from quality dealers.”

  “I shall do my best,” I promised. Everyone on the ship, apart from the Captain, was supposed to eat in the mess with the rest of the crew. I’d have to check with Anna if the reporters were allowed to eat in their own stateroom. I couldn’t see the Captain agreeing, but it didn’t seem fair to expose the rest of the crew to the seven reporters and their endless complaints. “And…”

  There was another deluge of complaints. I wished that the Academy had taught more diplomacy, instead of just Non-Violent Conflict Resolution, but Gandhi himself would have sworn off non-violence after meeting the reporters. When I’d been chewed out on the Jacques Delors, I had thoroughly deserved it. The reporters seemed to expect me to have more authority than the Captain and the ability to snap my fingers and make things happen. That didn’t work, even on a properly-run starship.

  “That crewman was leering at me,” one of the women – the one exposing her breasts – protested, when the crewmen finally delivered the luggage and left. Her voice rose to a pitch that hurt my ears. “I demand you have him punished at once!”

  It looked to me as if I should ask the Ship’s Doctor to check his eyes, or perhaps his sanity, instead, but I didn’t say that out loud. “I shall see to it,” I promised. Some kind of reward seemed to be in order. “Do you want a tour of the vessel once you have finished unpacking?”

  It was nearly an hour before I could escape and report back to Ellen that the reporters had started to settle into the stateroom. She seemed pleased about it, although I still didn’t understand why we were putting up with them in the first place. Why couldn’t they have travelled on an assault carrier along with their support staff?

  But a good thing did come out of it. I had forgotten all about the logistics bureaucrats. When I returned to that task, it was almost a relief.

  Chapter Twelve

  Heinlein was founded by a group of colonists intent on developing a society based on the teachings of Robert Anson Heinlein (banned on Earth since the UN took control), particularly those exposed in Starship Troopers. Heinlein, unlike Earth or many other worlds, only granted the electoral franchise to military veterans, who signed up for a two-year period of service in the military. Although the system wasn't perfect, it did lead to the development of a society that stood in stark contrast to the UN, which granted a meaningless vote to every citizen. This meant that Heinlein, along with the purchased vote system of Williamson’s World and the Dual Monarchy of Nova Britannia, was a threat to the UN by the mere fact of its existence.

  -Thomas Anderson. An Unbiased Look at the UNPF. Baen Historical Press, 2500.

  “You did well,” Captain Shalenko said, gravely. “I only needed to intervene once.”

  I nodded, too tired to speak. I’d finally managed to convince the Supply Department that we actually needed the items on the Captain’s list – all, but one. I’d kept playing the game until one day before our departure date, but then I’d had to admit defeat and ask the Captain to handle it. I don’t know what he said to the Supply Department, but suddenly all the obstacles melted away and we got everything we wanted, quickly. It almost made working with the reporters worthwhile.

  “As a special reward,” the Captain continued, “you are to escort Miss Johnston with us when we go onboard Admiral Hoover’s flagship for the briefing.”

  I blinked. “Captain…is that wise?”

  “The Admiral wants a reporter there for the briefing,” Captain Shalenko said. He didn’t chew me out for my remark, which I took to mean that he privately questioned the Admiral’s wisdom as well. “You will find her and bring her to the Captain’s Boat for 1400.”

  “Aye, sir,” I said, and went to the reporters stateroom. They had already exhausted most of the pleasures on the starship – which were few and far between – and had been driving me crazy with their incessant demands. Two of the reporters seemed to have fallen out with the other five and weren’t speaking to them, while the other five seemed to be drafting the victory proclamation already. Given that no one on the starship, but them, seemed to know the fleet’s target, I couldn’t help, but wonder if they were being premature.

  But I had to admit that Lillian Johnston was the best of a bad bunch. She wore tight clothes that revealed everything while showing nothing, but she actually seemed to have a brain in her head. It just wasn't one that was focused on surviving in space. She’d already asked me a whole series of silly questions – she even asked me if she could go outside the starship without a spacesuit – and I didn’t want to read any of her work. It actually turned out, when I questioned her, that she was actually paid to present the news, rather than dig it up. The Admiral might have been smarter than I’d thought. She certainly wouldn’t notice anything amiss.

  “The Captain wants me to come?” She asked, for all the world as if she got requests like that every day. “I’d love to, darling.”

  I managed to duck the other reporters, who were shouting demands that they be allowed to come as well, and led her out of the stateroom. I saw her nose tighten slightly as she took in the lower decks, obviously comparing it to a pleasure liner she’d travelled on years ago. I’d already heard enough about the White Swan to feel that I knew it perfectly, apparently, the crew were respectful and the food was divine. It never seemed to cross their minds that the passenger liner was designed for the idle rich and that real starships were much more cramped. If half of what they said was true, the liner had to be making a loss with each passage.

  “This is the Captain’s Boat,” I explained, when we reached the shuttlebay. Unlike a more workable shuttle, or tug, the Captain’s Boat looked surprisingly pretty. I’d heard that they were actually constructed somewhere on one of the colonies, which wasn't something to put my mind at rest. The engineers had been all over it, but a competent engineer could have probably rigged the boat to blow at will. “She can hold nine passengers in reasonable comfort.”

  “This isn’t comfort, darling,” Lillian trilled, as soon as she saw the interior of the tiny ship. “This is barely large enough to swing a cat.”

  “It was large enough for four First Lieutenants,” the Captain said, gravely. Anna followed him into the boat and took the helm. “We were on s
hore leave at Tropicana and decided to see how many First Lieutenants we could fit into the ship.”

  I swallowed the bait. “But, sir…surely you could have fitted in five more…”

  “Oh, at that point we ran out of First Lieutenants,” Captain Shalenko said, with a flickering grin. “We had to make up the difference with some of the locals.” He winked at me. “Not quite regulation, but close enough for government work.”

  I blushed. “Yes, sir,” I agreed. “Close enough.”

  Anna was a skilled pilot, I realised, as we flew out of the shuttlebay and orientated ourselves on Orbit Nine, before racing past it to the battleship looming up in the distance. It was large enough to be visible with the naked eye almost before we passed Orbit Nine, a single white craft that seemed to dominate the surrounding area. It was surprisingly elegant, in a way, shaped like a long oval. The drive blisters at the rear seemed only to mar its perfection.

  “She’s beautiful,” I breathed. Suddenly, I envied Roger and his service on a battleship. “Sir, why don’t we have more like her?”

  Captain Shalenko snorted. “She cost the same price as ten light cruisers and took five years to build,” he said. “If old Admiral Picard hadn’t wanted a proper flagship, she and her twins wouldn’t have been built at all. She handles like a wallowing elephant and is the easiest target this side of a planet. We should have built the cruisers instead and then we would have had more flexibility. Instead…”

  Lillian spoke into the silence. “Do you think that she’s not beautiful?”

  “Beauty only takes a person so far,” Captain Shalenko said, crossly. I caught his gaze and winced inwardly. “If she wasn't such a big target, I might admire the designers, but as it is…she’s nothing more than a glorified pleasure yacht for the Admiral and his staff. If she gets hit and taken out of action, the entire fleet will be decapitated.”

  “Coming in to dock now,” Anna said, breaking into the conversation. “The Command Deck has cleared Docking Twelve for us.”

  “Closer to the conference room,” the Captain commented, as we swept closer. “They must be in a hurry.”

  As we came in to dock, I realised that a dozen other shuttles and smaller craft were also docked to the battleship, studding her white hull like so many limpets. The Captain had mentioned that it was a briefing, but I hadn’t realised that it was for so many officers and men. It looked as if every starship in Earth’s solar system had sent representatives. We docked, with nary a bump, and I smiled inwardly. If nothing else, I was looking forward to seeing the interior of the battleship.

  “Welcome onboard the Kofi Annan,” a very familiar voice said. It was Roger, wearing his dress uniform. I was surprised by how much I missed him and the others. I was also surprised that I hadn’t been ordered to get into my own dress uniform, but perhaps the Captain hadn’t cared. “I am to escort you to the conference room.”

  “Of course,” Captain Shalenko said. “Lead on.”

  I wanted to exchange comments with Roger, but we both had to be businesslike. The starship’s corridors were almost completely empty, apart from a handful of officers wearing more braid than I ever expected to be wearing in my lifetime. I saw seven Captains, two Commodores and the Port Admiral; Roger and I, of course, were beneath their notice. Captain Shalenko exchanged comments with a few of his contemporaries, while I lurked behind him and tried not to be noticed. It took nearly ten minutes to get into the conference room…and it was heaving. There were nearly two hundred people in the compartment.

  “Take Lillian and go to the rear,” Captain Shalenko ordered, tightly. Roger had vanished into the crowd, perhaps to round up some more strays. “Report back to me once we’re dismissed.”

  “Admiral on the deck,” a voice cracked out. The entire room rose, apart from the reporters, who looked unimpressed. Lillian was far from the only reporter in the room and I found myself wondering why the Admiral had wanted her. Some of the reporters actually looked intelligent.

  “At least,” Admiral Hoover said, gravely. His voice seemed to hang in the air. I realised that he was using a sound-effect producer to be heard throughout the room. “You may be seated.”

  I found myself studying the Admiral as the room sat down. He wore a white uniform covered in enough gold braid to feed a thousand starving families. His uniform seemed to distract from his face, which was slightly overweight; he was, in fat, a surprisingly fat man. His uniform, I saw after a moment, was carefully tailored to avoid showing his bulk. It had probably cost him more than I made in a year.

  “This task force has been gathered together in accordance with UN Resolution #46537,” the Admiral said, without preamble. Now I could hear him properly, it sounded as if he had something caught in his throat. Despite himself, I wasn't particularly impressed with what I saw. “By order of the United Nations General Assembly, summoned as of two months ago, we are empowered to do whatever is necessary to restore the Heinlein System to the jurisdiction of united humanity and punish those who have chosen to rebel against the system. Gordon?”

  Another man stood up. He wore only a black jumpsuit, but I fancied that I had made him at once. He was an intelligence officer. “Heinlein’s government was fundamentally opposed to the United Nations and the Rights of Man ever since it was founded two hundred and forty years ago,” he said. He had a droll factual voice that wouldn’t have been out of place on a librarian or a teacher. “In accordance with various United Nations resolutions, a Peace Force garrison was moved into the system to begin the process of bringing Heinlein fully into the United Nations. Their mission has not been altogether successful.”

  He paused. “Heinlein’s corrupt government restricts the franchise in a distinctly fascist manner,” he continued. “The local leadership, deeply unpopular with many of the planet’s residents, had no motive to assist us in bringing Heinlein into the United Nations and manufactured crisis after crisis to slow the process down. Eventually, there was a major confrontation between the garrison and the local authorities and the garrison was forced to retreat to the spaceport. As of last report, they were under permanent siege and were not expecting to hold out until relieved.”

  I scowled. There was no way to send a signal faster than the speed of light. The only way to send messages from star to star was to transport it on a starship, and starships were always in short supply. If the last report was a month old, it was quite possible that the garrison had either been taken by storm or starved out already, or would fall before we arrived to save it. I also wasn't sure if I believed everything he was saying. The Senior Chief, wherever he was now, had warned me that the higher ranks always lied to their juniors, and somehow I suspected that the garrison hadn’t behaved itself. There was no way to know.

  “We have links with various friendly parties down on the planet’s surface,” Gordon concluded. “Our mission is to liberate the planet from their corrupt government, install a new government and complete the task of bringing Heinlein into the United Nations. Ideally, we also want to preserve the considerable orbital and asteroid belt infrastructure that the inhabitants have built up. Admiral?”

  “Thank you,” Admiral Hoover said. He gazed around the room. “Heinlein possesses a considerable deep-space industry and various installations that may be used to develop weapons. It is also possible that they are one of the major sources for equipment and weapons for the rebel factions, including pirates and freebooters. It is therefore likely that our entry into the system will be opposed, but only on the level of converted freighters and small gunships. Heinlein never developed a space fleet of its own.”

  “Are we sure of that?” Someone said, from the rear of the room. I realised with a moment of amusement that it was one of the reporters. “I was on the Balkans Campaign and they had all kinds of weapons and tech they weren't supposed to have.”

  “Intelligence checked everything in their records before the garrison was established,” Gordon said, tightly. I had the feeling that that reporter wasn't going
to be coming with us any longer. “They produced several dozen freighters, but mainly concentrated on mining ships for the asteroids and the gas giants. They have not produced any warships, although weapons are a very real possibility.”

  I felt cold. I hadn’t forgotten the pirate we’d encountered back at Terra Nova, over a year ago. It had taken the Senior Chief to point it out to me, but it was clear that the pirate ship had risked itself in combat against a cruiser, without actually having to do anything of the sort. The Senior Chief had concluded that the pirate was actually a raider, showing off weapons that were more advanced than anything in the UN’s arsenal. It had been the one thing he couldn’t understand. Why had the raiders shown off their weapons…for nothing? They could have saved them for an unpleasant surprise later.

  Admiral Hoover took centre stage again. “The fleet will depart tomorrow at 1300 precisely,” he said. I felt a faint murmuring passing through the audience. Most UN ships and units would be unable to make that time, and so the Admiral would probably be planning to leave later, which in turn meant that they had no incentive to be on time. “We will proceed as a group to the Heinlein system and rendezvous one light year from their star. Coordinates will be transmitted later. When the fleet has linked up again, we will advance at once into their system and secure the low orbitals.”