2953-04-02 – Tales from the Service: The Fiddlehead Three
This week we have a curious story. I am not aware of any other outlet covering it, but Naval Intelligence has seen fit to let us publish it. Deserters are a part of nearly every conflict, including this one, but this may be a case of accidental desertion.
The accused, a trio of enlisted spacers from the light cruiser Vincennes, claim that they did not desert deliberately – indeed, that they have no memory or record of the intervening days in which they were missing, during which their vessel departed the supply depot it had been berthed at - and there are some curious facts of the case that seem to back this up.
Commander Gunther Lund felt every eye in the room on him as he eased his not inconsiderable bulk into the chair at the end of the long table. His assistant placed a slate in front of him, and he made a show of reading it, though it contained nothing he hadn’t read the day before. When it came to this sort of thing, it was generally beneficial to make the culprits sweat for as long as possible. They could imagine far more creative punishments than a station commander could ever mete out.
The trio of station security officers standing behind the chairs of each of the three detainees had seen this treatment before, but they still managed to look uneasy and shift around nervously every time, as if this were new. Gunther appreciated that of them, but he didn’t know whether they were somehow nervously expectant every time, or if they’d figured out the game long ago and were playing along. It seemed inappropriate to ask.
Fiddlehead Station was, as military outposts went, a tiny speck on a big map, little more than a hollowed-out asteroid. It had been built as forward resupply depot for patrols which the high command didn’t want to route all the way back to Sagittarius Gate, and it had gained few comforts in its two years of existence. Its permanent population was barely a hundred souls, and its recreation facilities were best described as bare-bones, though with capacity to entertain perhaps four times the normal population when a pair of large ships occupied the only two docking berths that had been built out from the asteroid surface. When there was gossip-worthy trouble on board, everyone knew of it in minutes.
In the case of the trio shifting uncomfortably in their seats at the other end of the table, Gunther had heard the first rumor of their miscreancy more than an hour before the case documents had arrived on his desk, and that too had been nearly a full shift ago. Presumably, they’d been cooling their frenetic energy in the brig’s drunk tank since then. Gunther never bothered to ask about detention details; that wasn’t his job.
After several long, silent minutes, one of the trio cleared her throat. “Our crew advocate isn’t present. According to Section 6-B of the Discipline Code-”
“The Navy Code will be followed to the letter, Technician Visscher.” Gunther tried to look and sound bored, but really, he rather liked this part. “We needn’t be worried about anything in Section 6 today.”
Visscher and her nearest neighbor, a rotund gunner by the name of McCormick, looked relieved in an instant. By contrast, the third member of their little group, a thin, hawk-nosed technician whose name was apparently Bodinsen, proved himself to be a little bit smarter; his concerned frown only deepened.
Gunther was only too happy to let silence descend on the room again if the trio did not start talking on their own soon. When they realized this, they exchanged uneasy glances. Visscher, evidently, was their chosen spokesperson. “If this isn’t a disciplinary hearing, then can we go?”
“Not a disciplinary hearing?” Gunther frowned and pretended surprised. “Why, I suppose technically it isn’t. But no, you may not go.”
“Vincennes is due to undock in a couple of hours.” The smart one, Bodinsen, had a reedy voice matching his appearance. “Your toughs took our comms, but I’m sure the shift chief is screaming-”
“Oh, I do hope he has calmed down somewhat by now.” Gunther shuddered. “Lieutenant Sparks was clearly under a lot of stress when we last spoke.” He wondered if he could play this game out any longer without impacting the rest of the day’s schedule. Probably not; it was time to play the other card. “That was nearly two standard days ago, though. When Vincennes headed back out on patrol.”
“Two days?” McCormick tried to start to his feet, only for the security officer behind him to force him back down. “You had us in that hole for more than two days? They went on without us?”
“Feigned outrage is no defense for desertion, you know.” Gunther tapped his pudgy fingers on the slate. “Under Section Eight, Subsection D, of the Navy discipline code, I am required to inform you that you are facing capital charges.”
In the moment of shocked silence that ensued, all three faces paled visibly. Then they were all talking at once – Bodinsen was holding up his hands and trying to say something about how this must be a joke, McCormick was struggling to stand with fists balled and voice raised, and Visscher was shaking her head and muttering some sort of denial. Their associated security officers kept them all in their chairs – barely, in the case of McCormick – until all three protests subsided once again into silence.
“In addition to the top-line charge, you are facing rather minor court martial charges for destruction of Navy property.” Gunther smiled slightly as he said this, as if smashing a packed strike frame worth nearly fifty thousand credits to worthless bits was a minor thing. “But this will obviously be dropped if capital punishment is applied to your case.”
“That’s impossible.” Visscher’s voice was barely a whisper. “We’ve only been on this station a day, at most.”
“In total, yes.” Gunther nodded sagely. “Station monitor systems reported that you came aboard for perhaps ten or twelve hours after Vincennes arrived, but you went off the monitors after that until they flagged you this morning in storage number nine.”
“Wait.” Bodinsen held up his hand, struggling against the pressure of his guard. “Around what time did we... leave the station?”
“The monitors last detected you on board at about four-fifteen, second shift.” Gunther tried to make this seem like a dull detail; in point of fact, it was something about which he had been quite interested in his reading about this case. “If you would like to get this inquiry started, you can tell me what you were doing around that time.”