For Paranoia (working title)
© 1994 Lorne Laliberte
"The answer, Jorginson," said the commander stiffly, "is no."
"Sir," Flank replied. "With all due respect - "
The commander's eyes lifted from the file folder and bore into Flank's steadily. "There's no way in hell you're going over my head, Jorginson. You know what Cusitar's response to this would be."
Flank knew. He'd already received the Admiral's response that morning in writing. "I only have one year of Mandatory left, sir."
"And is there a new definition of Mandatory Service the Navy hasn't heard of? How silly of me to think your Mandatory Service wasn't optional."
"I'm non-essential personnel."
"Fly piss! The 'secondary' in your title only exists so long as everything on this base actually works. Did you think we've been paying you these past six years for non-essential duties? You're not going to win that way, Jorginson. Think of what you're up against here. One well-aimed virus and this base doesn't know if it's shitting or standing except from you."
"The Gatekeepers have never attacked this far coreward," Flank said. "And they haven't attacked anything in two years. The war's over."
The commander tossed Flank's file onto the large, simulated-oak desk, and stood up. Without saying a word he stepped across the room and touched a panel set in the wall. The wall shimmered and became transparent, permitting a view of the south end of the base. A dart-shaped stratojet was struggling to lift itself into the sky along the longest runway; in the distance, a heavy lifter stood tower-like as it awaited clearance for a vertical launch. "I don't know, Jorginson. I have a feeling the Gatekeepers are planning something. They could have had us by now, you know. If they'd pressed on, we would have fallen in months." The commander lifted his hand to the panel, and the viewing wall grew darker until it was once again just a wall. "The only reason they didn't reach this far is they didn't try to."
Flank tried to remember the reports that had passed through his department at the end of the fighting. There hadn't seemed to be any reason for the Gatekeepers' withdrawal. They'd just stopped attacking, as strangely and as suddenly as they had started. It struck him that he should remember something of the speculation that had ensued, but he couldn't - everything had been overshadowed by the news that the fighting was over.
The commander's afraid, he thought. He's afraid, and his fear is going to keep me on this base. "I have three weeks leave stored up," Flank said, slowly, so his meaning would be understood.
"Where are you going to get to in three weeks, Jorginson? You wouldn't make it off the planet."
"Sir, I'm not asking your permission."
"Are you an idiot? Are you begging me to court martial? If not me, then the people in Intelligence who refuse to take back the little electronic gifts they keep hiding in this office. You should know," the commander said, with a wave of his hand. "You're one of them."
"That's not my department, sir," Flank said.
The commander stared at Flank for a moment as if to argue - no, Flank thought, don't bother saying it. I would have said the same thing if I were a spy.
"Jorginson, if you so much as looked at a flight leaving Tarantan you'd be arrested." The commander ran his fingers along the polished desk, and tapped sharply on Flank's file. "There might be a way, though."
Flank held his tongue on his next argument. "Sir?"
"I wouldn't do this if it wasn't for your wife," the commander said. "Hell, I shouldn't be doing this at all."
My wife, Flank thought. You say that so easily, commander, but it shouldn't be easy. It shouldn't be any easier for you to say it than it is for me to sit here and listen to you tell me how you'll bend the rules for me, just because my wife is dying. How easily would you sit here if it was your wife who was dying? Do you even remember your marriage, commander? Do you still miss your wife and mean it when you wake up every morning?
The commander seemed to be waiting for Flank to say something.
"Sir," Flank said, trying hard not to add: you don't deserve what you have.
The commander keyed something into the terminal suspended almost out of sight beneath his desktop, pausing after a moment to refer to Flank's file, which he opened with a long look at Flank that was indecipherable. The air before Flank wavered a little as though heat waves were rising from the desk.
He's probably checking my file against the computer records, Flank thought. Go ahead. I don't have time to alter the reports my department prints out, and if you're so afraid of Intelligence snooping on you, why do you use a distortion projector instead of a shielded monitor? Flank made a mental note to check the commander's personal file for some hint of leverage. Someone this paranoid had to have something to hide.
"This is the best I can do," the commander said, and Flank heard the soft hiss of a printer operating somewhere beneath the desktop. "It's the best anyone can do."
Flank said nothing, just waited for the commander to reach beneath the desk and produce a military transfer order, complete with the commander's signature and the Admiral's authorization. He took the transfer order from the commander and stared at it blankly for a moment.
"I doubt the defense fleet at Ouranos have need for more intelligence officers, so I've recommended you for space duty." The commander sounded pleased with himself. "I also had your leave transferred so you can use it when you get back home."
"Thank you, sir," Flank said, carefully reading through the transfer order. Something wasn't right. Retraining...no, the man couldn't be serious. "Sir, I can't wait for retraining, my wife might not..." he started to say it, but couldn't. "'Six months.' Six months!"
"More like eight," the commander said. "You have to transfer to Portico, and defense training doesn't resume there for another seven weeks."
Flank tore the transfer order in half, and tossed the pieces at the commander. "There's no way I'm going to Portico for eight months!"
The commander stood up, red-faced. "Lieutenant Jorginson, I have had enough of your refusal to cooperate. There are more important things in life than even your family. If I may be frank your wife wouldn't live to see you again if you left for home tomorrow morning. I'm not about to jeopordize the safety of the entire human race to send a husband home to a grave."
"Then don't send me," Flank said. With forced calm he turned and walked to the door.
"Just a moment, Lieutenant," the commander said. Flank stopped in the doorway; as he hesitated, he heard the ping of a message being sent through the commnet. "I don't want you to do anything you'd regret. You'll wait here to be escorted back to your quarters."
"You can go to hell," Flank said, as the door closed behind him. "Sir."
He felt a rush at having told off the commander, as though it were the entire Navy he'd just confronted, the entire Navy he'd just paid back for five long years of his life. He waited for the door to open, for the commander to call out and say something, anything, so Flank could turn back and say: my family is more important. It's more important and the whole damn human race can't stop me from going back.
But the door didn't open, and the elation he felt quickly turned to panic as he realized what he'd done. He looked around nervously, expecting military police to leap from the shadows that suddenly all seemed man-sized. The commander's aide was staring wide-eyed at him, her fear so evident that Flank wanted to shout at her his harmlessness.
"Lieut-tenant," she said warily, her dark uniform reflecting alarm red in flashes from the flatscreen before her. "You can't leave, you have to - "
"Shhhh!" Flank hissed, and the aide gripped the sides of her terminal with trembling hands. He held her in his gaze for a moment, insulted to the point of anger by her fear of him. He tried to think of some way to quickly prove his character.
"You won't get away," she said.
No, he thought, agreeing with her. But he started walking, slowly, as though only by determined effort could he convince his legs to take him forward. He was terribly conscious of the long corridor that lay ahead, a canyon between the rows of dividers that made the warehouse-sized room into a maze of pseudo-offices. Desparately he retook control of his limbs and hurried his steps.
He wanted to run. But running would make him stand out, and right now he needed to blend in, to disappear. The clerks and aides to his left and right kept right on with their duties, some acknowledging his presence with a nod or a smile, most not bothering to look up. Flank wondered how many of them were armed.
He felt naked in the open corridor - how many security cameras were tracking him? Calmly, calmly he turned in to the maze of dividers, trying to look for all the world like he knew where he was going so no one would offer him directions. He avoided the elevators - they were monitored and could be sealed by security - and wondered if he should risk opening the emergency exits.
Not until he knew what was waiting for him at ground level. Flank needed to access the computer system.
A clerk stood up from her desk nearby; Flank returned her smile as realistically as possible and waited for her to leave. Once certain she was gone, and making sure that no one was watching, he sat down at the vacant terminal and keyed in an access code. It was the first of thirteen he'd memorized that morning, from the list he'd made three weeks ago. This is where it becomes serious, he thought. This is where I cross the line from bad soldier to criminal.
The palm reader lit green beside the terminal. Flank ignored it.
Three weeks, since he'd discovered the system error that printed fleet dispatches without deleting the codes from them first. The code he'd entered could have changed twenty times since then. Or worse, it could be in use somewhere else.
He keyed the code's short glove sequence and held his breath.
Nothing happened.
How long could it take to verify a fleet commander's access code? Maybe I entered it wrong, he thought. Maybe the system error wasn't an accident. They had been trying to test his integrity, and now they would catch him when he needed the codes to work.
The palm reader winked off and a list of options appeared on the terminal screen.
Good, he thought; now let's hope this access is high enough.
It was. Within moments he knew the location of every MP within three kilometers of the building. None were anywhere near enough to pose a threat, and not a single officer had orders to retrieve him.
Flank stared at the map on the screen in disbelief. Had they detected his access and altered the data? And if so, why hadn't they just kicked him from the system?
He checked the headquarters' own security system, careful not to use his full name when cross referencing the standing orders. There were only two associated with Flank - one local to the commander's aide to have Flank wait for police escort, and a second to have the commander alerted once Flank's access was used anywhere on the base.
So why were there no military police with orders to escort Flank from the building? And why hadn't the commander's aide notified security when Flank walked away?
Unless the commander changed his mind...Flank checked the log of messages leaving the commander's terminal in the past twenty minutes. Yes, there was a message to the commander's aide after Flank left, telling her to let him go.
It didn't make sense. Unless, Flank thought. Unless it's a trap.
But why go to so much trouble?
What did they think he was?
He remembered the commander's remark about intelligence bugging his office. As if I knew all about it, Flank thought. As if I were a spy.
A spy.
God, what do they think I'm trying to do? I just want to go home.
There was another message from the commander's office in the log. Flank tried to read it but the terminal flashed an error message at him. "Message Corrupt." Not likely, Flank thought. Whatever was in that message, it was being protected from even a fleet commander's eyes.
It didn't take much time for the significance of that to sink in. Numbly, Flank logged out of the terminal, then switched it off to erase any record of his entry. He had to get off the base. But first he had to get out of the building.
He made his way indirectly to the nearest emergency exit, opened the door, and rushed down the stairs. On the way down he formulated his escape plan: he'd go straight to the spaceport, change out of uniform, and buy passage off the planet and onto one of the orbiting transfer stations. He decided against going to his quarters first - it was too risky, and in any case he couldn't get inside without using his own access code. It hurt to leave some of the memories behind - the picture of Leanna with Tyler before Kristin was born, and all the letters they'd sent him by gatemail. But it was better to lose that than to risk losing his chance to see them again. Or his life.
No, Flank thought...no, that's not what's at stake here. They wouldn't kill a man for trying to get home. They couldn't.
[Here's a melodramatic scene I hadn't written into the story yet:]
Don't try to stop me, Flank thought, and was surprised by how much he meant it. I might have to kill to get free, he realized. I might have to kill.
But could I? Even if forced to, could I kill someone just because they're in my way?
If I answer yes to that, is there any point in going back to be a father to my children?
He thought of Leanna, in the hospital, with Kristin and Tyler...in his mind she looked at him and said "I just want you home." Her eyes said "do what you must" and "I love you."
No, Flank decided. Don't try to stop me.