Christopher Nuttall: Patriotic Treason

“You may pass,” one of the Marines said, finally. He seemed to exchange a glance with his comrade. When he spoke, it was in a grave voice that somehow seemed to hold a vast amount of amusement. “I hope you enjoy your time on the ship.”

I didn’t understand why, but I could have sworn I felt a chill run down my neck as he spoke. Roger ignored it, if he noticed it, and led us down the long docking tube towards the starship’s main airlock. I felt myself tensing again and not just because of the fact we were about to set foot on a starship for the first time. The docking tubes were supposed to be perfectly safe, but I had heard whispers of accidents that had left unprotected victims dumped into space, killed almost instantly before they could save themselves. The course on surviving in a vacuum at the Academy had been almost painfully blunt.

“This assumes that you will be near a set of emergency supplies,” Instructor Patel had informed us, glaring around the class with his single eye. No one knew how he’d lost the other one. “If not, you’re dead. Bend over and kiss your ass goodbye.”

We hadn’t taken the time to study the diagrams of the starship that had been included with our orders, but we weren’t surprised when the docking tube opened into a small reception area, with a single UN flag at the rear of the chamber. I barely noticed it. All of my attention was taken, at once, by the woman waiting for us at the end of the docking tube. I took one look at her and knew, exactly, what the Marines had found so funny. They’d known that the dragon was waiting for us.

“And what time,” she demanded, “do you call this?”

She looked tough. She might have been attractive when she had been younger, but years of living and working in space had evidently taken a toll. I met her blue eyes for a long moment and then found myself looking away. I couldn’t bear to look at her. She was looking at us as if we were something she’d scraped off her shoes, or perhaps a mess a dog had left on her clean floors… and no one had ever looked at us like that before. I felt about a centimetre tall, perhaps smaller. I hadn’t felt so small since my grandfather had caught me with a girl I’d known when I’d been fourteen.

“Ah… 1309,” Roger stammered. He was clearly as caught out as I was. “We were ordered to report onboard and…”

“You were ordered to report onboard at 1300,” the woman said. Her voice suddenly became a commanding bark. “Stand to attention, now!”

We jumped and tried hastily to form a line, standing to attention. It took us nearly a minute to get into position. We hadn’t practiced it since the first week at the Academy, two years ago. I cursed our mistake under my breath, not daring to speak aloud; we should have practiced more. Standing to attention means standing absolutely still and I was suddenly very shaky on my feet.

“That is pathetic,” the woman said. She glared at Ellen, who was the first in line. “That’s a dress uniform, isn’t it?” Ellen nodded, too terrified to speak. “Answer me when I ask you a direct question, Ensign!”

“Yes… ah, Lieutenant,” Ellen said. “It’s a dress uniform with…”

“A simple yes is sufficient,” the Lieutenant thundered. “Why are you not wearing a jacket? Why do you have a stain on your shirt?”

Ellen gulped twice. “Because I didn’t wash the shirt, Lieutenant,” she explained, looking as if she was staring into the face of Medusa herself. “I didn’t have the time…”

“You should have made the time,” the Lieutenant informed her. She looked Ellen up and down, and then dismissed her with one flick of her eyebrows. “One demerit for untidiness while wearing a dress uniform. A second demerit for not taking care of your issued uniform.”

She paused and glared at us. “The dress uniform is a sacred uniform,” she informed us. We’d been told that at the Academy, but it somehow hadn’t sunk in. “You wear the dress uniform, you represent the honour of the Peace Force itself. You” — she pointed a long finger at Roger — “what is that?”

“My coming-of-age badge,” Roger said. It was a silver talisman that had been presented to him on his sixteenth birthday, just before he had joined the Academy as a cadet. “It’s from my…”

“Get rid of it,” the Lieutenant snapped. She eyed him up and down icily. “The dress uniform is worn according to regulations and there are no additions, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Roger said. He looked pale, but at least he managed to keep his voice steady. “I understand.”

“You,” the Lieutenant said, pointing to Muna. “What is that?”

“My headscarf,” Muna said, somehow standing her ground. Like most people from a very religious background, Muna had permission to wear a symbol of her religion, even if she didn’t want to wear it. It was blue and went surprisingly well with the dress uniform, but the Lieutenant wasn’t impressed.

“You put someone else in danger wearing that thing, you get put in front of the Captain’s desk,” she thundered. I was starting to think that thundering was all that she did. “I…suggest that you wear it only as part of your dress uniform, understand?”

Her gaze locked onto me. I’d felt less threatened back when I’d been trying to escape the neighbourhood gangs and bullies back home. “Your shirt isn’t tucked into your trousers,” she informed me, her eyes never leaving mine. “Your hair is also longer than regulation length. Have it cut on your next off-duty period, understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” I said. I wouldn’t have dared object. The Academy hadn’t cared about hair length or many other things, but it was clear that things were slightly different here. This was a real starship, when all was said and done. “I understand.”

“Excellent,” the Lieutenant said, sardonically, when she had finished. All of us had earned at least two demerits. “I see that we have a right set of geniuses here. Every year, without fail, the quality of Academy graduates grows worse and worse. Every year, I find myself having to teach young men and women who are unworthy of Cadet Rank how to survive on a starship.” Her gaze moved from face to face. “The worst that can happen to you at the Academy is being expelled for gross misconduct. The worst that can happen to you here is that you get your silly ass killed, understand? If you’re really unlucky, you’ll take the rest of us with you.”

She stood back and smiled thinly. “Attention to detail is the first thing they should have taught you at the Academy,” she added. “You may find all of these little rituals silly and wasteful, but they help to keep your lives safe. If you have a problem with any of them, you may leave the ship now. Are there any takers?”

There weren’t. None of us were stupid enough to take her up on her offer. We had all joined the UNPF to explore the galaxy, not to spend the rest of our lives flying desks on Luna Base, or Mars, or one of the other UNPF bases scattered around the ever-expanding human sphere. Even if the Lieutenant was a Medusa and the Captain was the Devil himself, we would have stayed on the ship. Nothing would have induced us to leave.

“Good,” the Lieutenant said, finally. “Perhaps we can make something of you yet.” She pointed one long finger towards the UN flag. “I believe that you have forgotten something…?”

As one, we turned and saluted the flag. “Good,” she said, again. “At ease.”

We relaxed, just slightly. None of us dared slouch. “My name is Lieutenant Deborah Hatchet, First Lieutenant Deborah Hatchet,” she said. The name fitted her perfectly, I decided. As the First Lieutenant, she was effectively the second-in-command of the starship. “You will address me as Lieutenant, nothing else. I am, for my sins, the officer charged with breaking you down and rebuilding you into useful and productive crewmembers. Work with me, listen and learn from me, and you will go far in the Peace Force. Don’t listen to me and you will probably end up being discharged at the end of your first five-year term, assuming I let you live.”