The Price of Freedom

by William R. Forstchen

  Eisen took his position in front of the ship's officers and faced towards the empty landing bay. He dipped his head fractionally towards Lieutenant Naismith, who stood to one side. The flight officer spoke softly into his headset. Blair watched as a single shuttle angled in towards the flight deck and made a glass-smooth landing on the furthest magnetic trap plate. He shifted his weight slightly to take the pressure off his ankles. He was loath to admit he'd fallen out of the habit of standing in formation.

  The shuttle taxied towards the embarkation area.

  "Atten—," Eisen said, turning his head to issue the command over his shoulder.

  "Atten—," Blair echoed, along with the division officers.

  "—Tion," Eisen completed. The officers and crew representatives came to attention in a rather scattershot fashion. Eisen, Blair knew, wasn't one for spit and polish when there was work to be done. He just hoped the VIP coming on board understood that, too. The Lex's crew may have been one of the best in space, but their formations looked like hell.

  The shuttle completed its taxi roll and stopped. The side portal opened and a solitary officer stepped out. The bosun, standing closest to the shuttle, began to pipe him aboard. Blair, his shoulders and ankles stiffening under his brace, looked sidelong at the man. The visitor was tall and athletic-looking, with Fleet captain's pips on his glove-tight dress blues. He looked to Blair to be in his mid-forties, with a stern, no-nonsense expression on his handsome face. Blair thought he looked like a holo-vid director's version of the dashing carrier skipper.

  A dozen hard-eyed men and women wearing Marine powder-gray battle fatigues filed off the shuttle behind him and fanned out in a loose circle. Blair noticed that all carried wicked looking machine pistols with sound-and flash-suppressing barrel shrouds. They were the sort of weapons intended for close shipboard work— old fashioned low-velocity, heavy-caliber, bullet-firing guns.

  The officer stepped up to Eisen, came to ramrod stiff attention, and snapped off a crisp salute. "Captain Hugh Paulson requesting permission to come aboard, sir," he said, his voice crisp and melodic.

  "Granted, sir," Eisen replied, his own casual salute looking sloppy by comparison, "and welcome aboard." He paused. "To what do we owe this honor?"

  "I'm carrying orders from Regional Command and Commander, Third Fleet," Paulson said self-importantly.

  Blair could just see the corner of Eisen's mouth twitch upward in a smile. "Those must be important orders for you to have personally carried them so far."

  Captain Paulson reached into his tunic and pulled out an official-looking envelope. "All orders are important, Captain," he replied.

  Eisen assumed a neutral expression. "Ahh… of course."

  Paulson used one hand to deftly break the envelopes seal and remove the documents. He snapped the pages open and began to read in a loud, carrying voice.

  "Captain William Eisen," he said, "by authority of the Commander, Third Fleet, you are hereby relieved of command of the TCS Lexington. By the authority of Rear Admiral Elsa Harnett of the Admiralty Court

  , you will consider yourself confined to quarters pending transfer to Jupiter Station. There you will undergo investigation pertaining alleged violations of the Security Acts and Section 212 of the Admiralty Court Directives."

  Paulson folded the papers and extended them towards Eisen, who slowly raised his hand and took the documents. "Sir," Paulson said formally, "I relieve you."

  Eisen unfolded the papers and looked down, reading the orders for himself. He raised his head, his expression unreadable. "Sir," he said softly, "I stand relieved."

  Blair stood, appalled, as Paulson took a sidestep, allowing Eisen to step forward. The Lexington's former captain vacated his place of command, exchanging places with Paulson. The ritual was over in a moment, yet Blair felt his whole world turn upside down. He could tell, from the quiet susurrus of whispers and the shifting behind him, that the news took the officers by unpleasant surprise as well.

  Paulson turned, his cool gaze surveying the assembled officers. "I wish the circumstances of my command were different. However, I have every confidence that Captain Eisen will be cleared of the allegations and that he will return to duty soon." Paulson smiled warmly, a politician's smile. Blair noticed that his eyes remained cool and detached. "The Lexington is a proud ship, with a proud reputation, and I have every confidence that together we will continue to enhance that reputation."

  Blairs knees were beginning to ache. He flexed them slightly, trying to restore the circulation. Eisen, he thought grimly, would have put the ship's company at ease before beginning a speech. Paulson might have missed that small piece of diplomacy, but he was mercifully brief.

  "I will be hosting a reception for the division chiefs and senior officers this evening in my quarters. I trust you will all attend." He nodded for the bosun to release the formation, then walked toward the lift. The Marines formed up around him, their eyes flicking over the angry crewpeople as they passed.

  Officers broke ranks and clustered around Eisen as soon as the lift doors closed. The captain seemed at once gratified and embarrassed by the support. Blair joined the queue, pressing close to extend his regrets.

  Eisen looked at him. "See me later, Chris," he said, "we have to talk."

  "Aye, sir," he said, and turned away from the crowd. He almost blundered into his crew chief. He tried for the dozenth time to remember her name, and failed.

  "Sir," the woman said, "I finished locking down that problem on your Arrows portside stabilizer. I'm having the bird brought up here to the landing bay so you can do a systems run before you sign off on the repairs."

  Blair nodded. "Thank you…" he waited, hoping the woman would fill in her name for him. She didn't take the bait. "You're welcome, sir," she replied, and walked away. Blair turned away and saw Maniac looking at him.

  Marshall glanced after the departing tech. "What is it with you and female crew chiefs, Colonel?" He laughed unpleasantly. "As I recall, you were hot-bunking with that grease monkey on the Victory, as well as that lieutenant. You seem to take the notion of women serving under you literally."

  Blair made no effort to contain his anger. "That, Major," he snapped, "will be quite enough of that."

  "I suppose," Maniac said, "but it would be nice if you'd stop playing with women who're young enough to be your daughters."

  Blair felt his temper slip a notch. "You're one to talk."

  Maniac gave him a lazy grin. "Well, Colonel," he said, "I never made a pretense of virtue." He laughed again. He glanced towards the still-open shuttle. "Paulson looks like a real stickler for the rules." He looked at Blair. "Eisen may have made allowances for your fraternizing with the troops, but I don't think Paulson will." He tapped his skull. "So, try to do your thinking up here."

  He turned and walked away before Blair could mount a counterattack. Blair gritted his teeth, angry at himself for letting Maniac get under his skin. He wished spacing was still a legal punishment. Maniac, he thought acidly, was long past due for a whiff of hard vacuum.

  He turned back towards the cluster around Eisen. The Lexingtons captain was not acting like a man who had just been relieved in disgrace. The captain laughed and joked with the assembled officers, seemingly unaffected by his ouster. Blair watched as he worked his way through the cluster of well-wishers and walked towards the personnel lift, his head held high and with a surprising spring in his step.

  Blair waited a few moments for the captain to get a good head start, then followed him back to his day cabin. He paused a moment outside the door, then thumbed the door chime. Eisen, in his shirt sleeves and with a glass in his hand, opened the door to Blair's second ring.

  "Come in, Chris," he said, his voice warm and casual.

  Blair followed him into the main room. He hemmed and hawed, uncertain which of the dozen-odd questions he wanted to ask first. He tried a joke. "I heard you were under arrest. I umm… thought you'd have a guard outside."

  Eisen smiled. "Actually
, I did. The Marine detachments commander rather reluctantly sent one up, a very unhappy corporal. I sent him down to the chow hall to get something to eat." He laughed. "The boy kept trying to apologize to

  .me."

  Blair made a polite noise, then abandoned his forced good humor. "Hell, Bill," he said angrily, "this is nonsense. You're one of the best captains in the fleet—you even wrote the Academy text on carrier ops. Now, out of the blue—you get relieved. What the hells going on?"

  Eisen shrugged, his face impassive. "Between us fossils," he said, "this wasn't a complete surprise." He turned away from Blair to examine the half-dozen holo-stills of the Lexington hanging on the wall. "In its own way, its actually rather a relief."

  He4ooked at Blair and laughed. "Sit down and close your mouth, Chris, you look like a fish." He paused to swirl the dark amber liquid in the glass. "The Confederations changing… and so's the Fleet. It's not like during the war, when all you had to do was run your ship and win battles that were real battles and not headquarters maneuvering games." He drained his glass, ice cubes clinking together. "It's different now, more ambiguous." He grinned at Blair. "I like things straightforward."

  Blair nodded. "I know the crew is behind you, sir. They aren't happy about the situation."

  Eisen smiled. "I appreciate their concern, Chris. Tell them that the old man's going to be fine."

  Blair rubbed his hands together. "So, what happens next?"

  Eisen looked at his empty glass, then fished a cube of ice out of it. He crunched it, chewing it into water as he spoke. "I'll be shipping out soon. I'd like to make sure it's kept quiet. No send-offs, no teary good-byes."

  Blair nodded in understanding. "Understood, sir. Will there be anything else?"

  "Yes," Eisen said. He looked uncomfortable. "Captain Paulson was saved from being terribly embarrassed today," he said, "because of the tendency of combat officers not to wear their decorations." He waved at Blairs chest. "We've both got enough junk to cover our undershirts, as well as our tunics."

  Blair nodded. He had a sinking feeling that he knew where Eisen was headed. He closed his eyes as Eisen continued. "Captain Paulson doesn't have that problem."

  Blair shook his head in disbelief. "Are you telling me he has no line experience?"

  "None," Eisen replied. "Nada. Zip. Zero." He rolled his glass in his hands. "Paulson's made a career out of polishing desk chairs. He was a program manager down at BuWeaps. Apparently he shepherded the Mark V torpedo and the third generation mass drivers through their development, for which he's received promotions and commendations aplenty." He smiled. "An old friend in BuPers heard some rumors Paulson was coming to relieve me. He's sending me Paulson's service record. Apparently, the guy last saw action on the Potemkin as a junior lieutenant."

  Blair blew out his breath in surprised exasperation. "How'd he pull off staying out of the war?"

  "Paulson's well connected," Eisen answered. "His family was part of the Reming-Krug weapons consortium. He kept his cushy job through looks, connections, and his willingness to play slightly dirtier politics than those around him." Eisen laughed. "He may look the part of the dashing, honorable Fleet captain, but don't let that fool you. The man is a snake."

  Eisen picked up his glass. "Most of the R-Krug facilities got wiped out when the Kilrathi pasted Earth. Paulson landed on his feet. He's been doing R&D liaison work since the war."

  "An armchair pilot's been given this ship? In this touchy situation?"

  Eisen took a sip of his own drink. "Well, Chris, that armchair pilot is now your skipper." He shrugged. "And it isn't as though we're at war right now. Paulson's got to get his ticket punched to get promoted. He needs a combat command, preferably one with an enemy body count. This little fracas isn't much," Eisen concluded, sounding a little sad, "but it's the only war we've got right now."

  Blair snarled an oath.

  Eisen looked up at him, his expression unreadable. "I take it you don't approve."

  Blair gave him a long look, then elected for complete candor. "No, sir, I don't like it. Not one damn bit. This whole mission stinks."

  Eisen stepped over to the wet bar and poured Blair a generous drink. He poised the bottle over his own empty glass paused, then refilled it halfway. "Go on."

  Blair set his glass on the end table by his chair and rubbed his hands together. "Everything I've seen since I got involved in this is supposed to point towards the Border Worlds." He took a deep breath, uncertain as to how to make his case. "It doesn't wash. I mean, the Colonies were our allies during the war. They were loyal. Many of the best people in the Fleet were Border Worlders. Remember it was Kruger and the Landreich Sector Fleet that pulled the flanking action which helped save Earth. Gutsy fliers. Hell, I'd fly with them any day."

  Blair noticed Eisen's eyebrow arc up. "Past performance is no guarantee of future performance. You should know that."

  "Speaking of past performance," Blair continued, "none of the Border Worlds ever signed the Articles of Confederation. Technically, they're sovereign nations— free to do as they please."

  Eisen smiled. "Well, the fact that they accepted regular commissions in our Fleet and permitted themselves to be fully integrated into our supply network argues otherwise. They acted as though they were members of the Confederation, and that was enough. The feet that they never signed the Articles of Confederation becomes a moot point." He paused to take a sip of whiskey. "Consider it to be the diplomatic equivalent of the common-law marriage."

  He looked at Blair. "When viewed from that standpoint, the Articles become a minor technicality, one of those little details that got overlooked during the war."

  Blair shook his head. "Since when did the constitutional issues become a 'detail'? As I understand it, they didn't sign the Articles, so they aren't bound by them."

  "The Confederation can play it either way," Eisen answered, "it can count the Border Worlds as renegade provinces, and move to put down the rebellion, or it can agree that the Colonies are free and independent, and therefore responsible for the raids. They can then claim Colonial aggression and go to war. Either way, the Border Worlds get screwed."

  "All I know," Blair said stubbornly, "is that this whole thing seems fundamentally wrong. The frigate we hit at Hellespont could have been Border Worlds, or maybe not. Caernavens're as common as dirt. The Tyr raid was…" He paused, uncertain about what to say about Maniac's recording. He couldn't prove the conversation had happened, and had no desire to discuss what he'd heard about biological weapons without hard evidence. "… full of hidden agendas. The operation those Marines ran was not in my briefing book." He stopped, surprised at how angry he sounded. He took another sip as he tried to calm himself.

  Eisen looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled. "Everybody has an agenda, Chris. We all have to decide which ones we can live with." He stretched his shoulders. "Pretty soon we'll all have to choose."

  Blair, troubled and upset, looked at Eisen.

  "You'd better go," Eisen said, "you don't want to be late to Paulson's little party."

  Blair laughed. "Ha!" he replied dryly, "I'm underwhelmed, I'm going to inspect some repairs to my Arrow."

  Eisen escorted him to the door. "I don't know how long

  I'll be on board, Chris," he said, "but as long as I am, my door is open." They shook hands warmly. "Colonel, it's been a privilege to command you."

  Blair released his hand. "I'll drop by later, sir." This good man was a prisoner on the ship he had commanded less than an hour ago. That thought continued to nag at Chris as he departed Eisen's day cabin for the landing bay.

  Seether angled the long-range shuttle towards the Lexington. The copilot, who was actually the shuttle's regular pilot, watched him work the controls with the attentiveness of a jealous lover. Seether couldn't fault him for his attitude. He, like most pilots, hated to sit and watch someone else fly. That was doubly true when the observer was the one who'd actually signed for the bird.

  He made a few lazy loops wh
ile waiting for permission from the flight officer to enter the landing cycle. The brief delay gave him the opportunity to mull over just how they'd gotten themselves into their current mess with Captain Eisen.

  The Lexingtons former commander should have been easy to recruit. His personality was a perfect match with PsyOps' profile. He was a decorated combat veteran with a reputation for doing what was needed, no matter how grim. The process of coaxing him into the project should have been, in Seether's opinion, a straightforward affair— just show him the imperative and leave him alone to draw his own conclusions.

  Seether wasn't the only one who had thought Eisen would be a sure thing. The old man had been so certain he would join "The Project" that he'd arranged for Eisen to take command of the Lexington before securing his allegiance. In hindsight, that had been a grave mistake, one of the very few the old man had made.

  Seether didn't know what had gone wrong, but suspected that the recruitment had been botched from the outset He guessed that the so-called experts had tried some kind

  of complicated mind game when all that was called for was some soldierly common sense. Their initial approaches had either been rebuffed or ignored and Eisen's closely monitored communications had quickly shown that he would not, could not, support their cause.

  Eisen's rejection had come as a nasty surprise, and had left them scrambling to cover for his sudden liability. The Lexington was simply too critical to The Projects success to be commanded by a non-believer. Her captain had to be one of them, body and soul. Eisen wasn't, and therefore had to be replaced as quickly as possible.

  Paulson's only advantages were that he had the nominal command rank needed for the Lexington, that he had been a member of The Project from the time the Kilrathi had reduced the majority of his family's factories to smoking, irradiated glass, and that he was available. Paulson had lobbied incessantly for a command that would secure his promotion to rear admiral. Seether shook his head. The pimple had simply been at the right place at the right time when Eisen's head had gone on the chopping block.