Breaking Ranks

Samantha: The Deserter

Deck 14

Aft Security VR Room of the Tranquility

"Deserters will be shot," Sergeant Gunnarson proclaimed, as if the very idea pleased him.

"Deserters," muttered Potter beside me. "Former comrades, more like."

"Afraid you can't pull the trigger?" I asked in amusement. I was stupid then.

He gave some sort of shrug. Potter was our squad's sharpshooter and so he occupied the position I had spent so much time training for. I could have hated the man, but he didn't deserve it. I had always wanted to be a sharpshooter, but after the hours we had spent at the range in training I had to admit he was a better shot.

"The squad only needs one sharpshooter," the sergeant had grumbled all those months ago. "And he's better."

By the Twelve, how that had gnawed at me. I had been pushed into herbology then, learning what poultices and remedies I could make from the Agricultural Section. I was to be a medic. Not a task I had sought but I had learned long ago not to make a fuss. Bridge Security told you what to do, it did not ask. If I couldn't make the grade for squad sharpshooter I had to make myself useful in some other way.

Seraphim Suppression Squads were elite units and it was a miracle I had even made it this far, especially since they rarely selected female candidates. It was a struggle to heft the heavy weapons platforms that Kaltran used. I couldn't shoot as well with the sniper rifle as Potter - not yet, anyway. I could operate drones and robotic weaponry well enough, but not nearly as well as Henderson. I had trained all my life to get in one of these squads, but I was not good enough to replace any of these veterans. They needed a medic, though, so a medic is what I became.

But I was a security officer first and foremost, and the ship's justice was being done right here and now.

The deserter was trussed up; right there in our firing range. He looked at us with such a pitiful expression that I had to laugh. "Mercy," I heard him mutter as if to himself.

Mercy? I didn't see why. He had tried to buy himself passage into the Agricultural Section as part of a trader's entourage. Which didn't make a lot of sense to me, especially as he'd been born and berthed in Astrology, as cushy a place as any. Who would choose to live that sort of life? Well, I suppose you might do well enough with a rifle and ammunition, but it isn't as though that would last forever. And what if you got sick? I shook my head at the thought.

They were barbarians down there, pure and simple. And I had signed up to keep a watch on them.

"A blooding, Sara! A blooding to start your first Seraphim mission with. What an omen," Kaltran said, smiling down at me. The man was huge.

"Omen?" Potter snorted. "You sound like a damn passenger."

Kaltran chuckled. "Perhaps I will blend in down there."

We all laughed at this. Ever since the Mutinies food was prioritized for the Upper Decks, and the passengers were generally shorter and more malnourished than even those we blockaded in hostile upperdecker sections during the riots. Kaltran would have stuck out like a sore thumb, even if he wasn't decked in the artfully designed black Seraphim armor that was intended to strike awe and submission among the passengers. With just a few elevators separating the Agricultural Section from the Upper Decks we had long made use of superstitions, and Seraphim Suppression Squads would ensure the Regulations were kept to and the produce kept flowing abovedecks.

Even the factions we fought with saw the logic with this arrangement, and it wasn't as though the passengers could do much to complain. We had the guns after all, and it was a death sentence for any but Seraphim to bring a gun to the Agricultural Section. This man had been one of the few to try it, apparently figuring since he planned on deserting he might as well bring his rifle and ammo. Well, he might have kept his life if desertion was his only crime, but this merited a firing squad.

"What do you think, Henderson?" Sergeant Gunnarson asked as he shifted a dial on the screen beside the range. Around us the background flickered, changing from one scene to another almost before I had time to process it. Arboreal forest. Swamp. The replicated image of an upperdecker dormitory in disarray, lights flickering, bullet holes gouged into the walls. The computer was very good at these simulations. I supposed it had the data to back it up, after all. The First Mutiny must have been like this, generations ago. Though the mutinies had never really ended.

The sergeant turned to the frozen tundra; the scene so very familiar to us all. Regulations dictate that Bridge Security train for the terrain we are to land on. Never mind the fact that for generations we've fought in rat tunnels and cargo bays, hab blocks and instrument labs, cramped battlegrounds of gray and white and black from deck to deck. Never mind that the planet isn't that cold on most of its surface, and is indeed a close match to Earth, back when it was habitable at least.

Never mind that control of the ship was lost centuries ago and there is little chance of us ever landing now. If the Book of Regulations says we do a thing then we do it.

"The American West, Sergeant?" Henderson asked, our squad's tech specialist standing beside the sergeant at the room's console. "It seems fitting."

Sergeant Gunnarson grunted and the room materialized into a wide, open red background, with large green spiky plants and twisted rock features. The ceiling was a faded teal, with an enormous artificial light blazing above, and I had to grit down the sudden fear that I would float up into nothingness. The Ancient designers of the VR rooms must have striven for accuracy but it was bizarre to see so much open space.

Sergeant Gunnarson stared at the scenery for a moment. "The Twelve only know what it looks like now." He grunted, and looked over us. "Seraphim Suppression Squad 4! Form up!"

The sergeant's order broke the stillness. It was followed by the clatter of weapons readied for use, and our footfalls on the metal flooring of the range. The deserter rasped as his hands twisted around in desperation. In his faded gray jumpsuit he made a strange contrast with the artificial scenery around him.

"Now hold on," the deserter said as we formed into a line twenty meters away. "Can't I get a blindfold?"

"No. Face your death like a man," Sergeant Gunnarson said with a pompous sneer. He seemed pleased with this declaration.

"A drink, then? Don't I..."

"Raise your weapons!" the sergeant called out, and as one our four barrels raised to face the man.

"Wait. Now hold on just a... I got rights, don't I?"

"You gave up your rights when you abandoned your Mission Commander," the sergeant stated.

The deserter shuffled as much as his fastenings would allow him. He was a bare twenty meters away, as easy a shot as any. We could have placed our rounds in his chest at two hundred meters all day any day, but I guess that wasn't the way executions were done. This was my first but I knew that it would certainly not be my last. We enforced the Mission Commander's will and there would always be Regulation-breakers.

The deserter shifted again. "Now come on, Sergeant, you don't know my reasoning. At least let me explain."

"Ready!"

"Can't I-"

"Aim!"

"Now wait-"

"Fire!"

The man's body jerked as our rounds took him in the chest. A burst from each rifle was sufficient, and we all lowered our rifles. The sergeant had not fired or even looked at the corpse other than giving it a brief glance. I realized that he had been watching us. I kept my face cold and stoic. Indeed, I saw now that he had been staring right at me.

Well, I was the rookie of the squad after all.

He gave a slight nod. "We'll leave him up here for Deck 14's garrison to see when they practice tomorrow." A thin smile curled on his lips. "That should give them a fright."

I chuckled dutifully along with the others, but felt guilty all the same. I had served in my own sub-section's garrison for a time before formally enlisting in Bridge Security. After years of hard training and soldiering through the Upper Decks, I had finally won a spot in a Seraphim Suppression Squad. Now I would see what life was like down below.

"Seraphim Suppression Squad 4, get your gear ready. We're moving out."