Battlespace. Ian Douglas
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of an actual court-martial. It was more commonly called “captain’s mast,” from the ancient practice of holding these proceedings in front of the mast on board old-time sailing ships at sea.
But when Warhurst had said they were going up “before the man,” they hadn’t realized that “the man” would be Warhurst himself. Captain Warhurst must know what had really happened that night. …
“Liberty, as you all have heard many times since you enlisted, is a privilege, not a right. I know that was the first liberty in some years subjective, but that is no excuse! Do you read me?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“What happened?”
“Sir,” Garroway said. “First of all, we didn’t smash up anything. And besides, they started it. …”
“Excuses are like assholes, Marine. Everyone has one, and they all stink.”
“But someone grabbed Anna … I mean, Corporal Garcia. All she did was break the hold. Some guy started to rush her, then, and I took him down … pretty gently, I thought.”
“Pretty gently? Martial arts as adapted for close-quarters battle tactics are not gentle. You dislocated his knee cap and tore some tendons. The medical report says he is not seriously injured. He’ll be walking again after a few days of medinano treatment. But you are very fortunate, Marine, that that man is not pressing charges. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You said they started it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Well, they were on about Garcia being Aztlanista.”
“Start from the beginning. What were you doing at a private party in the first place, Garroway?”
And so he began describing that evening, starting with his calling up Tegan and getting her invitation to the sensethete … or was that the name of the room, rather than the party? He wasn’t sure.
Warhurst heard him out, asking questions from time to time to flesh out the picture. When he was done, Warhurst leaned back again in his chair. “Very well. There are extenuating circumstances—including one hell of a high-voltage bit of culture shock. That, however, is no excuse for attacking civilians … even if you thought it to be in self-defense.
“Lobowski, Womicki, Vinton, and Eagleton. I’m dropping all charges against you. You went to the aid of your fellow Marines, but you did not strike or assault civilian personnel in any way. Downloads from your implant recorders supports this assessment. A record will be sent to the civilian authorities, with my recommendation that no further action be taken against you.
“Garcia, you struck a civilian, but both Garroway’s testimony and implant recordings show that you did so only to break her hold on your uniform. Fourteen days’ restriction to base.
“Garroway. Your testimony and the download record show that you kicked a civilian in the knee, injuring him. It is clear you did so because you felt he was about to attack a fellow Marine. The next time you find yourself in a similar situation, I recommend that you consider tripping him, rather than crippling him with CQB tactics. Thirty days’ restriction to base, and five hundred newdollars’ fine, to be deducted from your pay in equal installments over the next five months. A record of these proceedings will be uploaded to the civilian authority with jurisdiction in this case. Should further civilian complaints be filed, you will be subject to further charges, but I have been given to understand that this disciplinary hearing should end the matter here and now. Understood? Any of you have problems with my decision?”
There were none.
“Very well. You are dismissed.”
Thirty days’ restriction and five hundred newdollars? A bit steep, Garroway reflected … but not a serious hit. There was no way he was going to mingle with civilians ashore any longer … so the restriction and even the fine didn’t hurt him that much.
The principle of the thing still burned. He and his friends had been insulted and attacked. Worse, the damned watchdog nano had then incapacitated them, rendering them helpless.
At least they hadn’t also been fined for the loss of their uniforms. Those were cheap enough—they were grown right on the spot from raw synthewool to spec—but they’d expected to be gigged for the thefts as well.
Mostly, he kept remembering his conversations at that party … his difficulty even understanding what was being discussed. Oh, sure, there were translation programs that could be run in his implant, but the attitudes he’d seen seemed as alien as the language, or more so.
It was a bit disconcerting to know that he’d come home … and not to feel at home after all. …
10 NOVEMBER 2159
Alpha Company Barracks Star Marine Force Center Twentynine Palms, California 1420 hours, PST
“All right, Marines. Listen up!”
Garroway looked up from his LR-2120, partially disassembled on the table before him, to hear what Staff Sergeant Dunne had to say. Around him, the steady buzz of conversation among other Marines in the company died away.
“Gentlemen, ladies,” Dunne went on, “first off … happy fucking birthday!”
The announcement was met with cheers and shouts of Ooh-rah! and fists pounding on tables. The tenth of November was the anniversary of the creation of the U.S. Marines—originally the Continental Marines—by an act of Congress in 1775, a date celebrated by Marines around the world and far, far beyond.
“Festivities begin at 1900 hours tonight at the mess hall. Cake, ice cream, and pogey bait will be the order of the day.”
He waited for a fresh round of cheers to die down. “Okay, okay, simmer down. Next order of business. The waiting is over. The Nergs are going to war.”
That raised a low-voiced murmur of excitement. Nergs was a new battlename for the Marines, another in the long list of nom d’guerres bestowed by enemies and friends alike—devil dogs, leathernecks, jarheads, gyrines. Nerg, or Nergal may-I, was from the phrase, identical in both An and in ancient Sumerian, nir-gál-mè-a, which meant something like “respected in battle.” The Fighting Forty-fourth had won that accolade from the Ahannu warriors on Ishtar immediately after the desperately fought action that had ended in Ramsey’s Peace.
“Now,” Dunne went on, “the really good news. Authorization has come through for promotions for all personnel who were on the Ishtar op. You have all received an automatic advancement by one pay grade. Personnel advancing to sergeant or higher will still be expected to take the test for your new rank, but the time-in-grade requirement has been satisfied.”
There was some more cheering and a rattle of applause at that. Garroway grinned. He’d just made corporal. Decent!
“A new download is available,” Dunne went on, “coded White Star-one-one. Please open it up and take a look.”
Garroway brought up the code phrase and thought-clicked it. Immediately, he was in a noumenal space. …
Visual: Star-strewn night, gas clouds, a pair of intensely brilliant pinpoint-stars, and the vast and enigmatic loom of a ring-shaped structure, obviously huge. …
“The ring is our objective,” Dunne went on, his voice sounding in their thoughts as they studied the alien construct. “It is located in the Sirius