Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) Read Online Free Page B

raised, indeed, and discussed in open Senate, though Senator Dorthang had been on the spot for that one, as chair of the Fleet Sub-Committee.  He had stood by them absolutely, confirming the facts of the matter just as Dix had in his meeting with the president and asserting that there were no grounds for any of the allegations being made about the scheme. 
    This, as he had stressed, was a matter of military discipline.  The unfortunate Ordinary Star Higgs, had he punched someone in the face in the course of an argument in the street, would not have been sent to prison at all for that as a first offence causing no serious injury.  He would have been far more likely to be sentenced to a period of probation and community service.  It was only the fact that it had been an officer he’d struck, on duty, which had made it so serious that he had been given a custodial sentence.  The determination had already been made at his appeal that he would be offered the opportunity to resume service with the Fleet upon his release.  O/S Higgs might have had some minor incidents of refractory behaviour on his record, but he had never been violent; the circumstances of that incident had been extreme and were highly unlikely to occur again.
    Those who had an axe to grind, however, had not paid the slightest attention to that and as the days had gone on, those attempting to deal with it had encountered a curious and incredibly frustrating phenomenon.  It did not seem to matter at all what they said.  People either just flat out didn’t believe them and yelled ‘cover up!’ and ‘conspiracy!’ or they picked out the one bit of what was said which could be twisted for their own purposes.
    Even publishing the Fourth Irregulars’ constitution hadn’t helped.  The ‘lock up em up and throw away the key’ brigade shouted about the part which gave parolees the same shoreleave rights as any other member of the crew, ranting about the menace to society of these criminals allowed to go about in public.  The victim-action lot shouted over the part that said that good conduct would be rewarded with treats.  And, of course, the prisoner rights crowd railed on relentlessly that it was wrong to use prisoners in front line military, on principle, full stop.
    Today, with the hysteria rising to even greater heights with the arrival of the liner from Cestus expected the following day, Dix had made what he’d felt to be a last ditch effort to address those concerns.  He had arranged for the leadership of all but the most rabid protest groups to be invited to a special meeting at the Admiralty, promising them the opportunity to put their concerns and questions to Skipper von Strada in person.
    That had been a faint hope, he knew.  Alex von Strada’s gifts did not lie in public oratory.  He was Novaterran, for a start, a world with a very strong culture of public dignity.  That stone-faced public manner was actually an asset to Alex in the Fleet, where formality and dignity were highly prized, but it did not always work for him very well in circumstances where a degree of personal charm would help, as when facing a conference room full of angry activists.  Dix had tried to get him to approach it as a professional exercise, advising him on body language, eye contact, and keeping to straightforward civilian language.  And he had, too, just before they’d gone in, told him, ‘And for pity’s sake smile .’
    He’d regretted that, later.  Alex had certainly done his best, Dix knew that, unflinching even under the barrage of furious yells.  His impersonal military authority had not gone down at all well with the activists, however, and when he had suddenly remembered his orders and attempted a smile even Dix had felt alarmed.  Alex’s mouth had pinned into a shark-like rictus but his eyes had remained ice cold, a look so menacing it was almost psychotic. 
    That had been the point at which the activists had gone berserk.  Alex had