"But surely," I said, "a significant culture of sentients would be detectable from orbit. Towns, irrigation canals, campfires…"
"Don't lecture me on exploring, cadet — I teach that crap," Tobit snapped. "Melaquin breaks the rules, all right? Melaquin breaks all the rules."
He fell silent as if he had spoken a truth deserving long contemplation. When he began to snore a minute later, Jelca and I tiptoed out.
Melaquin — Yarrun's Story
"I had a friend in the Academy," Yarrun said. Several minutes had passed, the medical team had persuaded the admiral to undergo a physical, and Yarrun and I slouched against a bulkhead outside the infirmary. The time was 04:50 and the entire ship seemed deserted.
Yarrun kept his voice low. His face muscles hurt if he went too long without sleep, and he was ashamed when his diction degenerated. "My friend's name was Plebon. Did you know him? He would have been a freshman when you were a senior."
I shook my head.
"His face was like mine. Mirror images, we called ourselves, though he was African and I South Slav. We couldn't help but be close."
"Of course."
"When we graduated, he was assigned to the Tamarack, a frigate doing search and rescue in the Dipper Group. Only one Landing in his first year."
"Easy service."
"His letters said it was boring… but I think he was grateful. In the middle of his second year, the Tamarack secretly took aboard one Admiral O'Hara — over 140 years old and no longer helped by YouthBoost. Plebon said the man had begun a mental decline."
"A suspiciously familiar situation," I commented.
"Plebon and his partner were ordered to take the admiral to Melaquin. They'd heard of the planet's deadly reputation so they pulled some strings to demand a Mission Justification Statement."
"And?"
"The Council claimed that a Landing led by someone with an admiral's experience would have a better chance of success than a normal Explorer party."
I gaped at him, speechless. An admiral couldn't possibly contribute to a Landing. Outward Fleet policy manuals claimed that admirals could rise from any branch of the service — but admirals weren't deformed, were they? I was sure they were all pampered vac-captains like Prope, without the tiniest particle of planet-down experience. A freshman ECM cadet would know more by first midterms than an admiral learned in a lifetime.
Yarrun continued. "A few hours before the Landing on Melaquin, Plebon sent me a message telling me the whole story. He was afraid he wouldn't come back."
"Did he?"
"The party went no-comm in less than ten minutes."
"That's what 'expendable' means."
It was a phrase we Expendable Crew Members used among ourselves: That's what "expendable" means. It was better than "I'm sorry to hear that" or "I understand your loss." Those were things people said to distance themselves. And no Explorer was distant enough.
Melaquin — A Theory
"So," I said, "your friend was sent to Melaquin with an admiral who was going senile. And here we are, with the same kind of mission. You think the Admiralty might be using Melaquin to get rid of embarrassments?"
Yarrun shrugged. "When YouthBoost fails, mental decline can be rapid. Some admirals may become children overnight… and as children, they may refuse to resign voluntarily."
"They could be discharged with a competency hearing."
"The press always has a field day over competency hearings," Yarrun replied. "So do lawyers. It's unhealthy for Fleet morale."
"So to avoid bad publicity, the High Council assigns unwanted admirals to suicide missions? And who cares if they kill a few Explorers at the same time?"
Yarrun gave another shrug and a sigh. "That's what 'expendable' means."
Part III
PLANS
Planning (Part 1)
After a long while, Yarrun asked, "How do you want to try the Landing?"
I had been pondering the same question — self-pity could only hold my interest so long, and then training took over. "Thylar Tobit claimed Melaquin was more like Earth than Earth," I said. "If he was right, we won't need extreme heat or cold equipment."
"Suppose there's some natural phenomenon that produces bursts of extreme heat or cold."
I shook my head. "It's possible… but the drop-ship would be watching from orbit, and anything like that would be picked up by sensors."
"Of course. But would they tell us?"
"What?"
Yarrun didn't look at me. "Even if the High Council knows what is deadly about Melaquin, would they tell us? They don't want a successful mission. They want the admiral to die."
"Oh shit."
"Precisely."
A Possible Out
Harque and Prope came through a hatch halfway down the hall, saw us, nodded, and dropped their eyes. The captain asked my chest, "Is Admiral Chee still with the doctor?"
"Yes."
"Isn't that a long time for a simple examination?"
"No doubt Dr. Veresian wants to be thorough," Yarrun answered. "One doesn't like to misdiagnose an admiral. And this particular admiral is unlikely to be a cooperative patient."
"True." Prope looked at her watch. "It would still be nice to get some sleep."
Harque produced a smarmy expression and an unctuous voice. "Perhaps, captain, you could ask the doctor to hurry things along. The examination is just a formality, after all. Isn't it?"
He smiled more at us than at Prope, to see if we understood what he meant. We understood indeed. At least Prope had the decency to be uncomfortable that this was all a sham. She muttered, "I'll speak to the doctor," and entered the infirmary with Harque on her heels.
"Before the Landing, I'd like to kick Harque's teeth out," I said. "What could they do about it?"
Yarrun closed his eyes a moment, searching through the vast fund of regulations stored in his brain. "Maximum penalty for striking a subordinate officer is six months imprisonment, plus demotion."
"Hmmm." I tapped my fingers on the bulkhead behind me. "That's a lot better than landing on Melaquin."
Yarrun's eyes narrowed in thought, then he shook his head. "It's a secondary offense — punishment can be deferred if the offender has duties of overriding importance."
"Like accompanying an admiral to his execution."
"Mmm."
I considered the possibilities a little longer. "Of course, punishment can't be deferred for a primary offense."
"No…"
"Primary offenses: treason, mutiny, desertion, homicide, possession of a deadly weapon on an interstellar vessel… anything else?"
"Assaulting a superior officer."
I contemplated the options. "Pity. I'd have to attack Prope instead of Harque. You could do Harque, though. A knee in the testicles would be appropriate, don't you think?"
"Dislocating his shoulder would be better — I'd like the crew to admire my restraint."
"Black both his eyes," I suggested, "and the crew will pay you a bounty."
"Where would I spend it? Melaquin?"
The joking died. We were ourselves again, in the night-lit corridor of a silent ship.
Still… I was appalled at the thought of dying stupidly.
"What's the penalty for a primary offense?" I asked quietly, though I knew the answer.