FWSS Ishaq, Paderborn Reef
“Now, get out! Get out, Goddamn it!”
“Sir!”
The door to Captain Constanza’s day cabin hissed shut behind Commander Morrissen. For a moment he could not move. He felt sick. He wiped a forehead greasy with sweat. What a mess. Ishaq was a ship in all sorts of trouble. And what was he doing? Trying to get his captain to see that no matter how much she ranted, how much she raved, nothing would change the fact that the charges of conspiracy to mutiny against Fellsworth and Helfort would not stand up. Never, ever. Why could she not see that?
If that wasn’t bad enough, now she was threatening to have him arrested as well. Christ, he thought as he set off back to his office, what a bloody joke. He was the executive officer of a FedWorld heavy cruiser, for God’s sake, and he couldn’t even talk to his captain without being accused of treachery. So much for the fearless provision of advice so heavily stressed in his training. One thing was for sure: His career was over, so none of it mattered. Constanza could rant and rave all she liked; he was finished. Not that he cared anymore; any organization that tolerated people like Constanza was not an organization he wanted to work for. The bitch would have his resignation on her desk as soon as he could find the time to write it.
But that would have to wait. Somehow-he had no idea how-he was going to have to find a way to undo some of the damage Constanza had done. He owed Fellsworth and Helfort that much. And, as much as he hated the idea, that meant another confrontation with Constanza.
“I’m warning you, Commander. One step out of line and I’m charging you.”
“I understand, sir.”
“All right, then. Continue.”
“Right, sir. Clearly, Lieutenant Armstrong no longer has your confidence.”
“That’s an understatement,” Constanza muttered.
“So I think the best thing to do would be to pinchcomm a summary of the brief of evidence to the Fleet provost marshal. If Fleet agrees with you, then we can off-load the two officers at our next driver mass replenishment for transfer back to Terranova. Fleet can hold them until a court-martial can be convened. It would be good to put the problem behind us, to allow Ishaq to move on.”
Morrissen held his breath as Constanza, eyes narrowed, considered his suggestion. If she agreed, Fleet would see exactly what was going on on board poor old Ishaq. That meant there was a chance-a slim chance-that they would do something about Ishaq’s crisis of command.
It took a while, but eventually, much to Morrissen’s relief, Constanza nodded her agreement.
“Right, Commander,” she said. “For once, you’ve done the right thing. It’s a good suggestion. When can you get the draft pinchcomm to me?”
“Give me an hour, sir, if that’s okay.”
“Make it so, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir.” Morrissen started toward the door but stopped. “Oh, sir. One thing. Since we’re in effect passing this matter on to Fleet, I would like to put Fellsworth and Helfort under open arrest. We can manage, of course, but close arrest is a serious drain on-”
Constanza’s hand went up. “Say no more, Commander. I know where you’re going, and I agree,” she said expansively. “Open arrest it is. They won’t be with us for long.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll take it from here.”
“You do that. Get that report to me. Now go; I’ve got work to do.”
“Thank you, sir,” Morrissen said to the top of Constanza’s head.
You’re a damn fool, Captain Constanza, if you think for one second that Fleet’s going to back you up on this one, Morrissen thought as he left. The beauty of it all was that the facts-or, more accurately, the lack of facts-would speak for themselves. Fleet would throw the whole pathetic business out the window, of that he was absolutely sure. He would bet what little was left of his career on it.