“Cape Town, this is Emily Tuttle, Acting Captain of the New Zealand. We are returning from a raid on enemy supply ships. I have seven ships of the Coldstream Guards and three stragglers from Second Fleet, the Yorkshire, Kent and Galway. We have many wounded on board and request emergency docking at Atlas.”
“Where is Captain Grey?” A hint of suspicion there.
Emily hesitated. “Captain Grey died five hours ago from injuries sustained when we attacked the first supply ships.”
There was a long moment of silence, then: “Stand down all weapons systems and slow to two hundred KPM. Deactivate computer security and prepare for C2C communication.” Which meant that they were to go dead slow and open up their computer for a full scan from the Queen’s Own ships. Standard precautions for verifying someone’s identity if there was any suspicion they might be a Trojan horse.
“Understood, Cape Town and we will comply, but please hurry. Also, be advised that we’ve seen Dominion ships moving in a wide arc toward the Refuge wormhole. I think they are running around your flanks to get to the wormhole first and take up blocking positions.”
“Could you tell how many, New Zealand?”
Alex Rudd tapped his tablet and put it in front of Emily. “Cape Town, they were at the edge of our passive sensor range, but we put it at fifteen destroyers, thirty ships of cruiser size, some twenty smaller ships, frigate size or smaller, plus one very large ship of unknown type. We did not — repeat, did not — see any Hedgehogs or anything that looked to be a supply ship.”
“Understood, New Zealand, prepare to receive our boarding party.”
Five hours later, the battered remnants of the Coldstream Guards docked at Atlas. After the medics had hurriedly removed the wounded and the remains of the dead, and Emily had talked to the yard dogs about the list of needed repairs, she joined Alex Rudd and Chief Gibson and walked into the main concourse. Standing there, smiling broadly, was Hiram Brill. Emily blinked once when she saw his insignia of rank, then smiled. She stood to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant Tuttle reporting, Commander Brill.”
Hiram laughed and stepped forward, looking like he was going to give her a hug, but shook her hand instead. “Sweet Gods, Emily, we all thought you were dead, or at best, captured.” He shook his head. “The last word we had from you was when you were under attack. It sounded, well, hopeless.”
“It was pretty grim,” she admitted. “Hiram, you’re a Commander! Did they skip you over Lieutenant Commander? Gods of Our Mothers, I’m gone for two days and they make you a Commander!”
Then a voice behind her said: “Are you Lieutenant Emily Tuttle?”
Emily turned to see five Military Police standing in a semi-circle around her, led by a weather beaten, no-nonsense Major. They all carried nerve induction batons and side arms. They looked very serious. Alex Rudd took a step closer to her on one side, and Chief Gibson on the other. Suddenly it seemed as if the entire concourse had gone silent as everyone stopped and watched. And in that moment, Emily knew what it was.
“Yes, I am Lieutenant Tuttle of the New Zealand. What can I do for you, sir?”
“Lieutenant Tuttle, I am Major Patrick Donaldson, Home Fleet Military Police. I have orders to arrest you and take you immediately to detention pending further proceedings.”
That weasel, Wicklow! Emily struggled to keep her voice calm. “And the charges?” she asked.
“You are charged with refusal to obey a lawful order of a superior officer, cowardness in the face of the enemy, treason and inciting treason,” Major Donaldson replied. He motioned abruptly to the other MPs and two of them stepped forward to take Emily by either arm. Rudd and Gibson stepped forward reflexively. In a moment the other MPs had their batons pushed against their chests.
“Sirs!” Donaldson said harshly. “You will stand down right now or so help me I will put you on the deck and then I will arrest you for interfering with a military police officer in the line of his duty. Now stand back!”
“Lieutenant Commander Rudd, Chief Gibson, stand back, please.” Hiram Brill put his tablet back in his pocket and stepped forward. “Do as I say, everything will be all right.” Rudd and Gibson exchanged a glance.
“Please,” Emily said softly. “I don’t want either of you hurt.” And reluctantly, they stepped back, glowering at the MPs.
“Thank you, Commander,” Major Donaldson said. Then, to one of his men, “Cuff her.”
“One moment,” Hiram said. He peered at the MP’s name tag. “Major Donaldson, I believe you are here on the orders of Captain Joseph Wicklow of the Gloucester, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And out of curiosity, where are you to deliver Lieutenant Tuttle?”
Donaldson hesitated. “To Captain Wicklow on the Gloucester, sir.”
“Hmmm…on the Gloucester, not to the Fleet Detention Facility for processing?”
Donaldson hesitated, his mouth opening and closing.
“I asked you a question, Major,” Hiram said, with just a little touch of authority in it.
Donaldson’s ruddy complexion grew a shade redder. “Captain Wicklow gave me specific instructions, sir.”
“And did he also give you specific instructions about the New Zealand’s log?”
Donaldson nodded reluctantly. He couldn’t see where this was going, but he didn’t like it. “Yes, sir. I am to remove the log from each of the Coldstream Guard ships and deliver them personally to Captain Wicklow.”
Hiram put on a puzzled frown. “Really, Major Donaldson? In the case of charges this serious, wouldn’t you normally deliver the logs to the Fleet’s Judge Advocate Corp for analysis and use at the courts martial?”
Donaldson shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir, that would be normal procedure.”
“And Major Donaldson, how is it that you came to be taking orders from Captain Wicklow in the first place? He’s not in the MPs, as I recall. And you have a superior officer in the MPs, do you not?”
Emily’s head had been swiveling back and forth, trying to see where Hiram was going with all of this. Major Donaldson looked increasingly unhappy.
“Sir, my superior office is Colonel Wesseling. He gave me specific orders to do what Captain Wicklow told me to do. I am following his orders, sir.”
As he spoke, a group of ten Marines trotted up the main concourse and formed a circle around them. They were dressed in full battle gear, body armor and battle helmet, and each carried a sonic assault rifle or pistol. But what really got everyone’s attention was the Model T7 Military Assault Robotic Vehicle, Infantry Node. Or, as the troops called it, ‘Marvin.’ It walked, or rather, scuttled, on eight spider legs, had twelve sonic blasters sprouting from its hide, three grenade launchers, and a small anti-aircraft missile launcher. It was five feet tall and six feet long. Its multiple sensors had been designed to look like large, red eyes, and some mischievous engineer had designed them to slowly blink, creating the unpleasant sensation that it was a living, breathing thing staring right at you.
The MPs looked at each other in alarm.
“Marvin, guard!” ordered one of the Marines, and the robot’s sonic blasters each moved to aim at one of the MPs.
“Ah, good,” Hiram said warmly. “Major Donaldson, may I introduce you to Lieutenant Hunter and Sergeant Nici of the 4th Marine Regiment. They have been assigned to protect the Queen while she is our guest on Atlas.”
Donaldson looked carefully around, taking in the battle-ready Marines and the menacing Marvin. “Commander, you are interfering with a Military Police Officer in the performance of his duties. I must ask you to stand down and I will take the prisoner-”