A copy of Form 666 had, according to regulation, to be filled out to account for each and every replaced part on the starship. A supervising crewman — like Nix — was responsible for filling in the forms for his department, adding them to the database in the ship’s computers and allowing his commanding officer to learn, with the touch of a button, the exact condition of his ship. Or maybe not; it was far from unknown for junior officers or crewmen to fill out fake 666 forms, knowing that the risk of detection was minimal. How many Captains would crawl through the tubes connecting one part of the ship to another, knowing that it would smudge their fancy uniforms? Colin had even heard rumours that entire superdreadnaught squadrons had been allowed to rust, while their commanders filled out fake forms verifying that they existed and pocketing the pay for the crew.
“I read your 666 very carefully,” Colin said, when Nix declined to reply. “It told me that the atmosphere scrubbers in your section had been replaced on time, right when you were helping to manhandle missiles through the tubes and out into space. And then it told me that you and your crews replaced the scrubbers all the way back to the day we took these ships off Commodore Roosevelt. And yet, when I had the scrubber examined, it had clearly been in place longer than six months. No wonder those poor recruits complained about the smell!”
His nostrils twitched as he contemplated the issue. The scrubber had been installed in a tube connecting two compartments, one used to house crewmen and the other used to house recruits from the various asteroid colonies out past the Rim. The crewmen had ignored it — they were used to having their interests and concerns dismissed by their superiors — but the recruits, all hailing from various asteroid colonies, had taken their concerns to the NCOs, who in turn had taken them to the engineers. The scrubber had been located and, when the engineers had seen it, they’d called Colin and handed the issue over to him.
There were times when a scrubber would break, even without being in place for far longer than regulations permitted. Even the finest ships in the Imperial Navy ended up with infestations of mice, rats or even cockroaches, who left their dead bodies on the scrubbers with alarming regularity. Colin wouldn’t have been angry at Nix if a scrubber had failed in such a way, but Nix had done something incredibly stupid and dangerous. He had also done something that, in the Imperial Navy, could carry a death sentence.
“And then I checked the numbers,” Colin said, watching Nix wilt under his gaze. “The number on your 666 documents didn’t match the serial number on the scrubber. I checked with the database and the number on the scrubber, it seems, was assigned to one that should have been withdrawn over two years ago. And, needless to say, you didn’t even have that number on your 666 forms at all!”
He controlled himself with an effort. “Nix, you are in violation of Imperial Navy Regulations,” he stated, flatly. The formal charge could wait until Colin had a chance to do the paperwork. His lips twitched. He’d led his comrades into rebellion and he was still worrying about paperwork! “Do you wish to face Captain’s Mast or the judgement of your fellow crewmates?”
Nix blanched, his face turning even paler. Colin — or an Imperial Navy Captain, seeing that Colin had effectively resigned from the service — could legally issue any punishment he liked on his ship, up to and including execution. And his crewmates wouldn’t be any kinder. They would know that he’d put their lives in danger and wouldn’t hesitate to issue harsh punishment. His life wouldn’t be worth living until he quit — as if he could quit now — or someone managed to kill him and make it look like an accident. Yet, by long tradition, Captain’s Mast was inviolate. If Colin didn’t kill him, his crewmates wouldn’t kill him either.
But then, Colin knew, tradition was increasingly worthless these days.
“I choose Captain’s Mast,” Nix said, finally. He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I will submit to your judgement.”
You’re going to regret that, Colin thought, coldly. “Very well,” Colin said. “Crewman Nix, you are demoted to Crewman Fourth Class, with all the attendant reduction in pay and rights. Your work will be monitored by the NCOs who will not hesitate to administer punishment should you make additional… mistakes. In addition, you will receive ten lashes in front of the crew tomorrow after First Quarter. Do you accept the punishment?”
Nix swallowed hard. Technically, he could try to refuse, but the thought was absurd. Colin had let him off lightly and they both knew it. “Yes, sir,” he said. Lashing was rare in the Imperial Navy and almost always reserved for gross incompetence or misjudgement. “I will accept the punishment.”
Colin looked up at the Marines. “Take him back to his sleeping quarters and have him organise his possessions,” he ordered. “He is to be transferred to the Fourth Class quarters and assigned a bunk there until further notice.”
“Yes, sir,” the lead Marine said. Unlike Nix, his voice was brisk and focused. Marines normally served as police onboard warships, breaking up fights between the crew and maintaining discipline. If the reports were accurate, Percival had replaced the Marines on his ships with Blackshirts. Colin smiled at the thought. Percival could hardly have encouraged the rebels — and mutinous tendencies among his crews — more if he’d ordered them to gun down their own families. “Come along, you.”
Colin watched as Nix was marched out of the compartment and then closed his eyes, cursing his luck. Nix was one of the crewmen who just sought to wander through life, uncaring about any higher cause, not even focused on possible promotion. It wasn’t an uncommon type, yet Colin couldn’t afford them on his ships. It wasn’t as if he had the might of the Imperial Navy and Imperial Intelligence behind him. He might act like a Captain in the Imperial Navy, yet Nix could point out — quite rightly — that he’d walked away from the service and therefore had no command rights.
But then, Nix had never been taught to think. The Imperial Navy recruited its lower decks crewmen from poorer worlds, gave them a little rote training and sent them out to pick up the rest on the job. Nix knew nothing, Colin suspected, about how the starship he was serving on actually worked, perhaps not even why an air scrubber was so important. The NCOs worked overtime to keep the new recruits from killing themselves, knowing that they would be blamed if one of the newcomers accidentally blew up the ship. The senior officers, who had been through the Academy as cadets of rare promise (or so Colin had been told) rarely understood what happened below decks.
There were ships where a good cadre of NCOs and a caring commanding officer ensured that they were a joy to serve on… and ships that were hellish nightmares for young crewmen, or even junior officers. The lower decks were dominated by thuggish crewmen, who bullied recruits out of their pay, created stills for illegal consumption of alcohol and — often — far worse. Colin knew all about the abuse of power practiced by Admiral Percival, Stacy Roosevelt and their twisted kin, but the lower decks could match their sadism, if not their sophistication. He wondered absently if Stacy Roosevelt had known about the powder keg under her feet, before realising that it was unlikely. She wouldn’t have cared if she had.
Back when Colin had been promoted to Commander and serving as the XO of HMS Shadow, he had made it his business to understand and tame the lower decks. It was ironic, but his exile at Percival’s hands had introduced him to a whole new side of the Imperial Navy, one he had never realised existed. And he’d won; he’d cleaned out the bullies and convinced the NCOs to support him. After the war, once the Empire had started to reform, Colin intended to ensure that the lower decks became safe places to work. The bullies could take a short trip out of the airlock in their underwear.