Ro-Lecton jumped to his feet. “You can’t talk to me like that! You have no right…”
Kas keyed the intercom, interrupting the man’s tirade. “Rom, would you come to my cabin, please? Bring a sidearm.” He turned back to the small man. “Now, I don’t know if this pompous ass routine is just an act you use to intimidate subordinates, or if you are really as stupid and fatuous as you seem. But either way it will not be tolerated here. You are under military authority out here — mine. And that means that I will enforce military ideas of discipline. Is that clear?”
The little med tech sputtered in speechless outrage. “How dare you talk to me in such a fashion? I’ll have you cashiered for this!” Kas let him continue his tirade until there was a knock at the door. At Kas’ growled “Come in”, Rom stepped through.
Kas nodded and winked at Rom before roaring, “Silence!” at the still-complaining Ro-Lecton.
“Doctor,” he resumed when the man fell silent, “You obviously have no concept of the meaning or extent of military discipline. Rom, aim your weapon at Doctor Ro-Lecton.” Suddenly the doctor was staring openmouthed at the belled muzzle of a blaster only centimeters from his nose.
“Now kill him.” Kas continued.
Ro-Lecton’s head jerked to stare at Kas, then back to Rom’s finger, slowly tensing on the firing stud of the blaster. He snorted derisively, but there was an edge of fear in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare harm me!” He exclaimed. But his eyes were glued to Rom’s trigger finger as it continued taking up slack in the trigger stud. “No!” He suddenly bleated. He slipped from his chair to his knees, a dark stain spreading at the crotch of his shipsuit. “Please!” he begged.
“Stop, Rom,” Kas said softly. Rom’s finger relaxed but the blaster remained sighted on the civilian’s head. Kas felt a flood of pity, shame, and embarrassment for the man’s obvious terror. Rom’s expression mirrored his own feelings.
Ro-Lecton slumped in relief. Then he raised his head to stare at Rom. “You were really going to kill me!” he said in an accusing tone.
Rom shrugged. “Of course. The Commodore ordered it.” His tone was offhand.
Kas sighed. “Put it away, Rom. And get Doctor Re-Lecton a clean shipsuit, will you?” Rom nodded, then threw Kas a quick grin and wink behind the civilian’s back and slipped out.
“Now, Doctor,” Kas said as the man shakily resumed his seat. “I didn’t do this to humiliate you. It was obvious that you had absolutely no idea what you’d gotten into, and that you weren’t prepared for explanations. Oh, I could have spent the next several hours trying to explain it to you but you wouldn’t have been listening, and I didn’t have the time to pander to a pompous fool.”
“But now, perhaps you understand the difference between a civilian director and a military commander. I ordered Rom to kill you. If I hadn’t stopped him he’d have done it. If he’d refused, I could have had him shot for dereliction of duty. If he had done it, he would not have been held responsible; I would. But I would have been responsible to my superiors only insofar as justifying the need for your death. It would not be considered murder as long as I could provide a reasonable explanation of its necessity in terms of my mission.”
He sighed. “Now. If we’re quite finished playing games and you finally understand who’s in charge, we can get down to business. Despite the fact that we got off on the wrong foot I’m depending on you. If your people can’t complete their part of the mission, we’ll have to push an Empire warship into this system’s sun. That will not please the Emperor. A battle cruiser costs billions of crowns and takes years to build.
“It wouldn’t please me, either. I didn’t bring this ship and these people all the way out here, and kill a hundred and fifty people just to push the Rekesh into the sun and return home.”
Ro-Lecton looked stunned. “A hundred and fifty…”
Kas nodded and interrupted him. “Yes, a hundred and fifty people. It was necessary for me to destroy a Glory corvette in order to get you out here.”
The med tech was regaining his equilibrium. “Oh. Well, they were only…”
Kas interrupted again. “Only what, Doctor? Only military people? Or only Glories? Either way they were people, Doctor. People trying to do their duty. I might not have liked them personally, or liked their ideas of duty, or liked what they believed in. But they were people, Doctor. Military people just like me. They threatened my mission, and I did my duty.”
He sighed. “Now, Doctor, it’s time for you to do your duty.”
Ro-Lecton looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I didn’t realize how that sounded. And I apologize for my manner.”
Kas nodded and relaxed slightly. “It’s ‘Commodore’, not ‘Admiral’.” He sighed again. “Look, Doctor. I’m going to be brutally honest with you. In my experience, scientific and medical types who become ‘directors’ and ‘administrators’ and ‘chairmen’ fall into two categories.
“First, there’s the man who is very good at what he does. He becomes so good that he is promoted frequently, and honored and respected by his peers. At some point he is offered an administrative position as a ‘Director’ or ‘Chairman’ or something. It’s generally sold as being an honor, recognition of his standing in his profession. It’s only after he accepts that he learns it’s really a trap — that he is no longer permitted to actively do what he has loved. Instead, his life now consists of bullying and wheedling and cajoling politicians and fat cats in pursuit of funding. That type is not usually very happy, but they feel that they can’t resign. For them Administration is a tragedy.”
“The second type is completely different. Generally they’re only mediocre-to-competent in their chosen field. They recognize this fairly early on, and do their best to move from direct pursuit of their specialty into some sort of administrative position. These are the people who quickly move into positions such as ‘Assistant to the Deputy Administrator’ or some other glorified clerical position. Since they’re better at administration and politicking than science or medicine, they progress up that ladder instead of the technical side.”
Kas shrugged. “I sincerely hope that you’re the first type, Doctor. We can’t afford the second. The Rekesh had a full complement of medical staff, and they were completely unable to isolate or cure whatever was killing the crew — and them.”
Ro-Lecton relaxed slightly. But there was something in his eyes that told Kas that the little doctor would neither forgive nor forget the terror and humiliation he’d endured. “You may be assured, Commodore,” he said in a patient, condescending tone, “that my skills are neither ‘mediocre’ nor merely ‘competent’. At the risk of sounding immodest, had you bothered to consult any of the many sources available you’d have found that I am considered the Empire’s premier Epidemiologist. I was sent a letter signed by His Imperial Highness himself asking me to head this mission!” He paused for a moment. The pride in his tone had been unmistakable.
“Now,” He resumed in a businesslike voice, “How soon can we begin work? When can you have my team resuscitated? When can we move to the
… whatever it was… the big ship…”
Kas frowned. “There seems to be a misunderstanding, Doctor. You won’t be going aboard Rekesh for some time. Until you’ve finished your work, in fact. We have what I have been told is a complete portable bio lab aboard. The lab is being set up in the cargo bay as we speak. It will have its own atmosphere supply and an airlock with full decontam built in. Once it’s set up, we’ll be evacuating the hold. That means that you and your people will have to wear suits to and from the lab. I’m taking no chances with this thing.”
Ro-Lecton frowned. “I doubt my people have much, if any, experience with spacesuits. Of course, we’re all skilled at working in isolation suits, so perhaps it won’t be much different. What I don’t understand, Commodore, is why we can’t just work aboard the… Rekesh? I was told that she had a fully equipped bio lab.”