Dark Space (11 page)

    Shawn’s head fell back to
bed in relief.

   “To be honest, Shawn, I’d
have done the same thing.”

   “Meaning what?”

   “Commandeered a fighter,
short-circuited the launch bay doors, gone after and … killed Santorum myself.”

   “That wasn’t my intent,” Shawn
defended.

   “It doesn’t matter. What
matters is that, man to man, I think you did the right thing in bringing
Santorum to justice. True justice. At least, the only true justice that matters
between pilots.”

   “I just wanted to talk to
him … to reason with him. I needed to know his motives.”

   “It’ll all come out in the
trial. I’m sure of it. Until then, you’ll need to get your rest.” Krif turned
to walk away, but pivoted back a few steps later. “I just wanted you to know,
I’ll do what I can to make sure your sentence is … tolerable.”

“That wasn’t justice. That
was a lynching … and I helped them.”

-Trent
Maddox

Speaking
about the court-martial of Commander Shawn Kestrel

Angels,
Demons, and the Void: 100 Years of Interstellar Warfare

   Once Captain Krif had left
sickbay, Doctor Finly reappeared to give Shawn a sedative. The next thing he
remembered was opening his eyes to see two uniformed Marines standing near his
bedside. Their short-sleeved light gray shirts were immaculately pressed, their
decorations and accoutrements shining brightly in the otherwise dim space. The
shorter of the two, a dark-skinned human, wore the rank of sergeant. The other,
a muscular green-skinned Parusian, was a corporal. Both were armed, their
pistols hanging in glassy holsters at their side as they stood at parade rest
overlooking his bed.

   “I don’t suppose either of
you brought breakfast?” Shawn asked groggily. Neither of the two men moved so
much as a millimeter.    

   “They’re here to escort you
to your quarters, Commander,” a voice said from the other side of the bed.
Shawn turned to see the
Duchess
’s executive officer, Commander Jeannie
Bates.

   “So I’m considered a flight
risk?”

   She cocked an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say that Captain Ramos wants to be sure you get to where you’re
supposed to be going without taking any unnecessary detours.”

   Shawn nodded slowly, then
turned to stare overhead. “Time to face the music.”

   “You’ve gotten yourself
into quite a fix, Shawn,” she said.

  
That’s the
understatement of the year.
“Yeah.”

   “I understand Captain Krif
was here yesterday.”

   Shawn nodded slowly while
pursing his lips.

   “Did you discuss anything
about this incident with him?” she asked in an unusually professional tone.

   “No.”

   “Did you discuss it with
anyone at all? Doctor Finly, perhaps?”

  Shawn turned to her. “I
haven’t had much time to do anything, Jeannie.” There was a faraway look in his
friend’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”

   “This case … this
incident
… is considered a classified matter, Commander. You are under strict orders
not to discuss it with anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

   Shawn jerked his head in
the direction of the Marine guards. “I don’t see how I could, not with these
two around.”

   Unmoved by his attempt at
humor, she stared at him intently. “Do I make myself clear, Commander?” she
repeated.

   There was something
troubling the normally jovial Commander Bates. However, with the two men at his
bedside, Shawn knew that she was following orders that couldn’t possibly be
questioned by him at this time. “Yes, I understand.”

   “The hearing will commence
in two hours. You have that long to prepare yourself.”

   “To be perfectly honest,”
he said, his side still irritated from the rather large chunk of debris
Santorum had stabbed him with, “I’m not exactly feeling at the top of my game.”

   “I’m afraid any discomfort
you’re feeling is not going to be sufficient to postpone this, Commander.
Doctor Finly has given you a clean bill of health.”

   “Clean?” he repeated
defiantly, causing the two Marines to twitch nervously. “I got the crap beat
out me, not to mention I was stabbed. Then I nearly froze to death out there.
Now, I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that entitles me to a little more
rest.”

   “Damn it, Shawn! It’s out
of my hands.”

   It was easy to see that
this entire matter was not sitting well with the executive officer. Shawn
sighed, as much from exhaustion as from frustration. “And my defense council?
When will I meet with them?”

   “You have no council.”

   Shawn’s head cocked back in
confusion. “Say again?”

   “You have no council,
Commander, as none has been assigned to you.”

   He could tell by her tone
that this, too, was a major thorn in her side.  “Article 38 of Unified Sector
Command Military Law states that I have the right to—”

   “Article 38 has been
suspended for this case, Commander,” Bates interjected, “per the orders of
Admiral Hansen, and sanctioned by the special envoy to the secretary of Sector
Command, Captain O’Connell.”

  
O’Connell? What the hell
does he have to do with any of this?
Shawn was aghast. “That’s unheard of,
Jeannie. I have the right to—”

   “No, Commander. You don’t.
Not this time.” She then turned to the Marines. “Sergeant, please see that the commander
is ready and at the assigned compartment on time.”

   The Marine snapped a
salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

   Saluting in return, Jeannie
left sickbay without another word.

%%%

   Donning his gray dress
uniform, Shawn exited his stateroom to find the two Marine escorts still
standing outside. The expressions on their faces were dead serious as they
stared at a point on the far bulkhead. The rest of the corridor, normally
bustling with activity, was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic humming of the
Duchess
’s mechanicals.

   “Ready when you are,
gentlemen.”

   The sergeant stepped forward,
with Shawn falling in behind him and the corporal assuming the rear guard. They
traversed several empty passages devoid of onlookers before coming to a lift
that brought them up five decks. Exiting, they made their way to the starboard
side of the carrier where they finally arrived at their destination, one of the
handful of assembly rooms on board the ship. The sergeant opened the left side
of the large double doors, which Shawn entered, followed by the two men.   

   The room was square,
perhaps fifty feet on each side. Built into the far wall, about three feet from
the deck, was an alcove with seating for three. This was where the presiding
officials would enter the room. On the right wall was a large view screen, with
an empty chair to its left and a stenographer’s desk to the right of it. There
was a single metal table in the center of the room, with a single chair behind
it; no doubt Shawn’s place. Against the rear wall, beside the door through
which he had come, was a single row of six chairs for witnesses or general
audience members. Save for himself and the two Marines, the room was completely
vacant.

   Knowing his place, Shawn
stepped up to the central table and took a seat. As soon as he was in his
chair, the side door opened, and a uniformed lieutenant entered the room,
silently standing at attention before the alcove.

   “The accused will rise to
attention,” the lieutenant said formally.

   As soon as Shawn was
standing, Admiral Hansen entered, followed by Captains Ramos and O’Connell. The
three senior officers took their seats in behind the long desk, with Hansen
taking the center seat.

   A series of three simulated
bells were rung and the lieutenant spoke again. “Commanding Officer, 2nd Fleet,
Salus Hansen, Admiral, Unified Sector Command presiding.” This was followed by
another ring of bells.

   “Be seated,” Hansen said,
and everyone took their seats.

   The lieutenant took a
measured step forward, turned and saluted the assembled officers. “So begins
the court-martial hearing of Commander Shawn Jason Kestrel, Carrier Wing
Commander, U.S.C.S.
Duchess of York
, on this date.”

   “Very well, Lieutenant
Branson,” Hansen said, then looked at Shawn. “Good morning. Due to our distance
from Unified Space, I’m reluctantly forced to take charge of the case now being
levied against you, Commander. It is with a heavy heart that I do so,
considering your otherwise stellar record in service to the Unified
government.”

   “Yes, sir,” Shawn said
formally.

   Hansen nodded slowly.
“Lieutenant Branson, will you please read the charges against the commander.”

   Branson held up a computer
tablet. “The charges against the accused are as follows: tampering with Sector
Command hardware and materials. Unauthorized use of Unified Collaboration of
Systems property. Unsanctioned use of a jump gate. Intentional destruction of
Unified Collaboration of Systems property. Deliberately disobeying the direct
orders of a superior Sector Command officer. And finally, the results of these
actions leading to the final charge: that of the commander being instrumental
in, and fully responsible for, the death of a fellow Sector Command officer.”

   When Branson lowered his
computer, Hansen looked at Shawn. “Commander Kestrel, do you understand the
charges as they have been indicated against you?

   What could he say? They
were all, in one way or another, absolutely true. Without hesitation, Shawn
nodded once. “I do, sir.”

   “Very well. Lieutenant
Branson, call your first witness.”

   “The court calls Captain
Richard Krif.”

  
This is not starting off
well.

   Krif, dressed in full
military regalia, entered the compartment from the left to stand beside
Branson.

   “Captain Krif,” Branson
began, “do you understand the charges as they have been levied against
Commander Kestrel?”

   “I do.”

   “And do you further attest
that your testimony will be truthful and honest, to the best of your abilities
and your knowledge?”

   “I do.”

   “Very well. Please be
seated.”

   Krif moved to sit in the
empty chair beside the view screen. 

   “Captain Krif, as succinctly
as possible, describe your relationship with Commander Kestrel.”

   Krif, never turning to look
at Shawn, addressed only Branson. “I would say it was professional, but not
without its difficulties.”

   “Could you be more specific
about these difficulties?”

   “The commander can be, at
times … argumentative.”

   Branson hummed in
consideration. “He questions your orders?”

   Krif nodded. “At times.”

   “Would you say more often
than not?”

   Krif shifted slightly in
his chair, almost imperceptibly. “In my opinion, the commander believes that
his way of doing things is often the best course of action. At times, that
comes into conflict with prescribed standard procedures.”

   “I see,” Branson nodded.
“But would you say this is more often the case?”

   There was a pause. “Yes, I
would agree with that.”

   “Has the commander ever
openly questioned your orders in front of others?”

   There was no pause. “Yes.”

   “Has the commander ever
become combative during your discussions?”

   “Yes.” This was hesitant … almost
drawn out.
What was Dick up to?

   “Has this ever happened in
front of others?”

   Krif’s head wagged
slightly. “At times.”

   “Has the commander ever, in
the past, directly disobeyed your orders?”

   To this, Krif seemed
visibly flustered. “He has. Yes.”

   Branson looked at Shawn,
then to Admiral Hansen, then finally back to Krif. “That doesn’t sound very
professional at all to me, Captain. In fact, it sounds quite subversive,
wouldn’t you agree?”

   Krif regarded the question
a moment before speaking. “When taken at a macroscopic level, I can see how the
commander’s actions
could
be perceived in that manner. However, that’s
not to say he still isn’t a fine officer.”

   “Would you agree that one
of the fundamental principles of a well-performing officer is to obey the
orders as he has been given them by his superior officer?”

   Krif pursed his lips and
nodded. “I would.”

   “Yet here you say that
Commander Kestrel has a habit of disobeying those orders as he sees fit.”

   Krif nodded. “Yes. And
often times he produces favorable results. Sometimes even stellar.”

   It was plain to see that
Krif was staying true to what he’d told Shawn in sickbay. Shawn was just
wondering
why
Krif was trying to help him. There’d never been any lack
of contempt between the two, before or after Sylvia’s death. Why should Krif
care what happened to Shawn at all?

   “Often,” Branson
acknowledged Krif’s statement. “But not always.”

   “No, not in my opinion.”

   “And, in those times when
advantageous results are not forthcoming, you feel that it is precisely because
the commander failed to obey orders?”

   “That’s my
opinion
,
yes. But it’s just that.”

   “I see.” Branson paced to
the opposite side of the room. The lieutenant brought a hand to his chin in
contemplation as he stepped back toward Krif. “Captain, what is the current
status of Commander Kestrel’s wife?”