The Service of the Sword

"It's up to us to set an example, Boats," Zemet said, snatching the square of cloth out of his resisting hand. "PREPARE FOR A DEMONSTRATION OF HOW TO RIDE A POTATO SACK!" the captain yelled. "PREPARE TO WATCH . . . A PROFESSIONAL!"

"Well, Astro is pretty sure we're on course for Grayson, but we got so well lost first that it's a four day run." Doc dropped into his chair and pulled out his bladder of whiskey, holding it away from his mouth and taking a hard squirt out of the neck. "How's the Captain?" he coughed.

"He's breathing," Sean replied. "Just looks like a standard coma, no evidence of subdural cerebral hematoma."

"Can you just say 'brain bruise' for Tester's Sake?" the warrant grunted. "Four days under the Exec."

There didn't seem to be much else to be said.

"Bosun," the XO said, standing on the bridge looking at the navigational readouts, "we have a problem."

"Yes, Sir?" the Bosun said, faintly.

"That problem," the XO intoned, "is slackness."

"Yes, Sir."

"The Captain scheduled his little game in the interests of jollying people up, but the root problem was slackness. They've all been slacking. Well, we're not going to have any slackness when I'm in command."

"No, Sir."

"I've got a work-up schedule," the XO continued, turning to face the NCO. Deep in his eyes, a little fire seemed to burn. As far as the Bosun was concerned, it was burning his retirement papers. "And we're all going to follow it. To the letter." He turned back to contemplating the Astro display.

"Yes, Sir," the Bosun replied.

"We're not going to have any slackness," the XO repeated. "We'll show the fleet that slackness doesn't happen on the Francis Mueller. Whatever it takes."

"But, Sir," the bosun said, regretting the words even before they left his mouth, "we don't have any thumbscrews."

"That, Bosun," the XO replied in a low, mad whisper, "is why they give us machine shops!"

"Tester, spare us this day from your Tests. It's been nearly a day, Tester, with the Captain in a coma, and the Exec is preparing capital charges for a quarter of the crew. Based on simple statistics, Tester, no one is going to be alive when we reach Grayson. The ship will be a tomb, drifting helplessly in the grip of gravity wells and the solar wind . . ." 

"Doc, I've got a problem," the bosun said, slipping into the sickbay after a cautious look around.

"Don't we all," the medic snapped, looking up from the captain's recumbent figure.

"I don't suppose the dwarf's come around yet?"

"No," Kearns replied.

The bosun looked up as Tyler slid through the door.

"I'm not going out there," Tyler said. "It's a zoo."

"The crew's ready to mutiny," the bosun went on. "They agree with the Chaplain; if we let the Exec get away with spacing a quarter of us every day, there won't be any of us left by the time we get to Grayson."

"That's an ugly word," Doc said. "Mutiny."

"Yeah, but it's better than 'explosive decompression,' " Sean pointed out.

"That's not a word, it's a phrase," Doc replied.

"They're both going to be phrases we'll all get accustomed to if we don't figure something out!" the bosun muttered.

"Well, Manticore doesn't generally use the death penalty," Tyler pointed out, rubbing his chin in thought. "And if they do, they generally wait until the ship gets to a major port where a court-martial can take place with due process. Why not try to . . . Never mind."

"Yeah, he'd never go for that," the bosun said. "If we even brought it up we'd be added to the list."

"Is he talking about just spacing them?" Kearns asked. "I mean, not even a bullet in the back of the head or anything?"

"No," the Bosun replied with a grimace. "He wants to either shoot them or give them a lethal shot and then . . . Hey!"

"Yeah," Kearns said with a narrowed glance. "Now all we have to do is convince him not to space the bodies."

"Decent burial," Tyler said after a moment. "I mean, you're all religious nuts, right? Surely it would only be proper to return them to the cool green hills of Grayson or something."

The warrant looked at the senior NCO and the SBA for a moment and then narrowed his eyes.

"Okay, what we're talking about here is conspiracy to mutiny by circumventing direct orders of a superior." He looked them both in the eye. "And the penalty for that is death."

"I'll take my chance on a court-martial on Grayson," the bosun responded.

"Me too," Tyler said. "Hell, I'd prefer Peep justice to this friggin' nut-case."

CHAPTER FIVE

The Quick and the Dead

The XO stomped down the deserted corridors of the crew compartment, looking around in delight at the near pristine conditions. With none of the pesky crew cluttering things up, it was possible to have a truly efficiently run ship. Suddenly he slid to a stop.

"BOSUNNN!" he shouted, pointing at the floor. "What is that??!"

"Gum, sir," the bosun replied.

"Who is in charge of this area?" the XO asked, furiously.

"Cooper," the bosun replied. It was getting easier and easier to remember as the number of crew dropped precipitously.

"Well, space him!" the XO said. "Gum on the floor is just slackness."

"Yes, Sir," the bosun replied. "You'll remember that we're returning them to their families . . ."

"Very well," the XO said, continuing on his survey. "Send him to the medics."

"No, no!" Cooper yelled, hopping up and down in the grip from two men-at-arms and winking for all he was worth. "Don't kill me, Doc!"

"Oh, shut up and take it like a man," Tyler replied tiredly. He rolled up Cooper's sleeve and injected the engineering tech with a sedative. "Take him to the forecastle."

"I bet he dropped that gum on the floor on purpose," one of the men-at-arms grumped. "I could do with a three day vacation at this point."

"If we lose many more engineering techs, we're never going to make it," Sean replied darkly.

Captain Zemet opened his eyes and stared blearily into the face of Admiral Judah Yanakov. A quick glance to the side showed the two medics, the engineering officer and the astrogator lined up against one wall of what was apparently a hospital room.

"Captain, would you kindly tell me what in the Tester's name was going on up there?" the admiral said furiously. "I would especially like to know how you came to be in a coma and left that Masadan of an XO in charge. The one hundred and twenty-three perso

"Well, Sir," the captain said, not even glancing at the figures against the wall, "we were drilling on compensator adjustments in movement. The ship went right and I went left and that's all I remember."

"Warrant Officer Kearns?"Admiral Yanakov asked. "Corpsman Tyler? Is that an accurate report?"

"He's our Captain, Sir," Kearns replied. "What he says is what happened."

"Hmmmph." The admiral peered at the captain for a moment then shook his head. "That's not quite the same as saying 'It happened like he said.' I don't have anywhere more out of the way to put you, Zemet, except Blackbird Base and I already stashed your XO there. So I guess I'll have to leave you in command. The rest of you are dismissed."

"That's it?" Tyler asked, collapsing into the sickbay chair. The flight back from Grayson had been made in total silence.