Esmay closed her mouth on the comment that security was not supposed to be helpful, but thorough. She had no more desire to sit on a bench for hours than anyone else.
“What you do,” the man said, “is just go along here, and then out the door at the end, and straight across the Sif Memorial Garden to the side door of Corvey. Don’t go in the front; they’ll make you go back through security. Go in that side door; I’m calling Bev, and she’ll be expecting you.”
“Thank you,” Brun said.
The Sif Memorial Garden was only a small courtyard with a plinth in the middle, two straggly trees, four flowerbeds, and two benches. Straight across—with a detour around the plinth—brought them to the side door of the Corvey Building, where a woman let them in.
“Sera Meager! I’m so glad to meet you! And you, of course, Sera Suiza. Although I should know your rank; I just don’t remember—”
“Sera’s fine,” Esmay said. She could see, in the corridor ahead, figures moving about in the familiar uniform.
“I have temporary tags for all of you,” the woman said. She pulled out four violently pink tags, with little clips attached. “These are only day passes; I believe your permanent passes will be ready this evening or tomorrow.”
After all this confusion, Esmay was prepared for almost anything, she thought. Except for the discovery that her discharge hadn’t yet been transmitted to Headquarters and therefore they couldn’t reinstate her.
“Why not?” she asked. “Can’t you at least take my application, and the proof that I’m no longer a Landbride, so when it comes in—”
“Well, we could, if it weren’t for the mutiny. See, we have to run everything like that past the Judge Advocate General’s office, and right now they’re having some kind of snitfit because the admiral in charge disappeared, and they think he’s part of the mutiny.”
“And that means—?”
“It means they won’t take anything from us without a complete file. For the complete file, we’d need a copy of the discharge order, with the file number an’ everything, and your PR-S-87, your personnel file—”
“Isn’t there a copy of that here?”
“Yes, of course. But it may not be complete, because your most recent evaluations may not have been forwarded yet. I can’t think why the discharge wasn’t, unless it was cancelled—”
“Cancelled?”
“Well—if someone overruled whoever signed it, when they got it, then they might have sat on it until you showed up and they could tell you. Let’s see, where were you discharged?”
“Trinidad Station,” Esmay said.
“Oh, dear.”
“What?”
“You haven’t heard? Trinidad was sacked by the mutineers several weeks ago. We can’t get any records out of them. Do you have a discharge order?”
“Yes . . .” Esmay took it out and handed it over.
“Umph. Some people can’t even sign their names legibly . . . I’ll call up your file, and we’ll see how out-of-date it is . . .”
Her file was up-to-date only as far as the ill-fated leave to visit Barin and his family. “Nothing here about a discharge,” the clerk said. “The emergency orders that sent you from there to your next ship are here, but no more.” He paused, looked thoughtful, then said. “If the discharge hasn’t gone through, Lieutenant, you may actually be down as AWOL. You’d better go check with Personnel Assignment; I can’t access their server from this station. That’s in 2345. In the meantime, I’ll ask what we’d better do about clearing this discharge up when we don’t actually have it. Our CO’s in a meeting, but he’ll be back in the office any time now.”
Trailed by her support group, Esmay headed off for 2345—up a lift and down another long corridor. Once in Personnel Assignment, she gave her name to the clerk and explained briefly that she was trying to straighten out her records. He called up her name, and let out a long whistle.
“You’re in trouble, Lieutenant. You overstayed your leave, and we have you listed as a deserter. I’m going to have to call this in to the Judge Advocate General’s office; please do not try to leave. Here—you were notified twice—” He turned the screen so she could read it. First there was a message addressed to her on the transport Rosa Gloria, pointing out that she had not reported for duty as ordered at Harrican and warning that she would be considered AWOL if she did not report in within 24 hours and a deserter if she had not reported within seven (7) days. A second message to the same address informed her that she was now considered a deserter and should turn herself in to the nearest Fleet facility or face pursuit and arrest. Both time limits had long since expired.
“Great,” Esmay muttered as she read it. “Now I can be prosecuted for desertion after being thrown out on my ear . . .” Then, to the clerk, “I never got those notices; I wasn’t on that ship because I’d been discharged.”
“Do you have proof of discharge that predates this notice?” the clerk asked, as if he were sure she did not. “We should have had any such discharge in our records, which would have automatically cancelled this notice.”
“Good thing we made those certified copies of your discharge certificate,” Brun said. “Maybe we should have made more.”
Esmay handed over one of the copies, and the clerk compared the dates and consulted a graphic of relative dates. Sure enough, she had been discharged at Trinidad well before she was supposed to have reported at Harrican. The clerk nodded. “Well, then, you’re cleared of these charges presumptively, but I’ll have to get it signed off . . . just wait right here. If you leave, I’ll have to assume you’re deserting again.” He disappeared with all the documentation.
“I didn’t desert the first time,” Esmay muttered to the floor.
“This is stupid!” Brun said.
“No, it’s the military,” General Suiza said. “I hate to admit it, but even in Altiplano, we have mixups like this. Of course, there I can usually cut through it in less time, but even generals—and admirals, obviously—are at the mercy of clerks at times.” He looked around the office. “I’m going to get us some chairs; we may be here awhile.” He left before Esmay could say anything.
“He reminds me of my father in some ways,” Brun said. “Pretty much unflappable.”
Esmay did not mention that Brun’s father had been capable of flapping quite a lot when Brun was in danger. In a few minutes, her father returned with two chairs.
“Here. Have a seat. This is actually a magic trick, because if we get at all comfortable, they’ll be back to tell us to go somewhere else.”
Sure enough, Esmay and Brun had only just relaxed with a sigh when the clerk bustled back in.
“There you are—where’d you get those chairs? There aren’t supposed to be any chairs in here—”
“I brought them,” General Suiza said. “I’ll take them back.”
“You shouldn’t have,” the clerk said. “Lieutenant—or Sera, since you’re not a lieutenant now—Major Tenerif is trying to access your personnel record to see if that discharge certificate is genuine—it’s not the original, you know.”
“They have the original down in 1118,” Esmay said. “I left it with them, because they hadn’t received anything on the discharge yet.” She wondered just how soon after she’d left the mutineers had hit Trinidad Station.
“It’s most irregular,” the clerk said. “You’ll need to speak to Major Tenerif.”
“Is he free?”
“Well, not now—he’s on the horn trying to get your records.”
But at that moment, a major emerged from behind a screen. “Suiza?”
“I’m Esmay Suiza,” Esmay said.
“Damnedest thing I ever heard of,” the major said. “I’ve called JAG, and they’re willing to agree that you are not, at present, a deserter, but that still leaves a mess. Either the discharge was valid or it wasn’t. If it was, you’re completely clear of charges of desertion, and you’re a civilian. You’d have to apply to enter Fleet as a civilian, with a lapse in service and a considerable blot on your record. If the discharge wasn’t valid, or was cancelled somewhere in the process of completion, then it’s worse. You could be reinstated, of course. If you’re reinstated as of the date of discharge, which would be normal if the discharge were shown to be a fake, then you were actually on active duty when the notices of AWOL and desertion were sent, and the defense that you’d been discharged prior to that is no longer valid. You’d have to stand at least a judicial inquiry to ensure that you were not at fault, that you had reason to believe you’d been legitimately discharged, that it wasn’t some plot you’d cooked up to avoid duty in time of war.”