Free Mercenary by Piers Anthony Page B

relations suffered, exactly as Smith had warned.
    There was an investigation. Smith was found guilty of gross negligence, reduced four grades in rank, from master sergeant E7 to private first class E3, and reassigned to the lowest form of supervisory labor: the training of recruits. That had been four years ago; he now had won back two of his lost stripes and might eventually recover the rest if he kept his nose clean.
    “But it was the captain who should have paid!” I exclaimed.
    “Officers don't pay,” Smith said. “Appearances must be preserved. They needed a scapegoat, and I was the one.”
    “But you were right and he was wrong!”
    “Right way, wrong way, Navy way,” he reminded me.
    I shook my head, confused. “You accepted wrongful punishment to support the military way?”
    “You accepted it to protect your sister.”
    “Yes, I suppose. But—”
    “When you are ready to do the same for the Jupiter Navy, you will be a true military man.”
    “I'll never be that sort of man!” I declared.
    He smiled, somewhat grimly. “Hubris, when you finish Basic, I want you to put in for retesting, and then for Officer's Training School. I believe you would make a better officer than the captain I served.”
    “You are going to all this trouble, just to get me to try to be an officer?” I asked incredulously. “ Why? ”
    "I owe it to the Navy to do my job the best way I know how and to produce the best fighting men I can.
    You have real potential. I want to straighten you out and set you on the right course. Hubris, you have a real future in the Navy—once you make up your mind to pursue it."
    “A future in the Navy? I'm a mercenary, and I'm not even of age!”
    "I know that. But irregularities in the induction are excused if the rest is in order. As a resident alien you are eligible for any position in the Navy, which is more than can be said for your civilian opportunities.
    You have a clean record, Hubris; keep it that way."
    “A clean record? But I—”
    “There was no court-martial. You accepted unit punishment. No officer was involved. It is off the record. Remember that: In the Navy, souls can be bought and sold for a clean record.”
    Probably true. “You expect me to be the sort of careerist you are? A scapegoat?”
    “I think you can do better, Hubris. Get your house in order, become an officer, and I will be proud to call you 'sir.' ”
    “I can't do it,” I protested. “My first priority is to rescue my sister.”
    “I will help you do that.”
    Again I was amazed. “How? You can't break the regulations either.”
    “I don't have to break regs. I just have to enforce them.”
    I raised an eyebrow.
    “The transsex feelies are unauthorized,” he explained. “It is Navy policy to tolerate them as long as they don't cause mischief. It is the prerogative of the Platoon or Company Commander to determine what constitutes mischief; in practice it's left to the noncoms. If I raise an objection, I'll get to the source quickly enough. They'll figure I'm bucking for a bribe; they'll be glad to settle for information.”
    I smiled. “Sergeant, if you do that for me, I'll be the best soldier I can be. And the day I get my sister back, I'll put in for Officer's School.”
    “Deal,” he said. “But it'll take awhile to trace the supply route, because these people are cagey, understandably. They've been stepped on before. And I don't dare check with the officer who pays for the chips out of general funds; he's twice as cagey as the pirates are.”
    “I understand.” We shook hands, and that was that. It was a great relief to me, in several senses.
    Nothing more was said in the following days. But the next week, when the assignments for trainee squad leaders were posted, I was the one for my squad. I had no real authority; all it meant was that I got an armband, marched at the head of my column of ten men, and had to relay minor directives and items of information. I also had to select the men for