Free Starhunt: A Star Wolf Novel by David Gerrold Page A

hard for you, but think how hard it is for me. My burden is already heavy. Please don’t make it any heavier.
    With regrets
    Joe
    Abruptly, Brandt crumples the letters and shoves them into the disposal incinerator reserved for the burning of confidential documents.

FIVE
    Morality and practicality should be congruent. If they’re not, then there’s something wrong with either one or the other.
    —SOLOMON SHORT
    Korie knocks gently on the captain’s door. After a minute, he knocks again. A pause, then a muffled voice asks, “Who is it?”
    “Korie, sir.”
    “Just a minute.” Another pause, then the door slides open.
    Inside, Brandt is just buttoning the top button of his tunic. His iron-gray hair is mussed; he brushes a hand stiffly through it. “Yes, what is it?” He sits down on one of his precious wooden chairs. He does not offer his first officer a seat.
    The captain’s cabin has a stale smell. Somewhat uneasily, Korie begins, “Sir, I was wondering what we were going to do about Wolfe.”
    “Wolfe?” A slight frown accompanies this echo.
    “The crewman who was negligent on the bridge.”
    “Oh, yes. Him. Mmm. . . .” Brandt’s voice trails off; he focuses thoughtfully on the dark mahogany surface of the table. Idly, he brushes at a speck of dirt. “What would you suggest, Mr. Korie?”
    Korie hesitates. (All right, if you won’t say it, I will.) “Bust him.” After an almost imperceptible beat, he adds, “Sir.”
    Still not looking at him, Brandt shakes his head, “Uh-uh. I don’t see it.”
    “Sir—?”
    “It’s not necessary, Mr. Korie.” He glances up. “Just confine him to quarters for a week and dock his pay for the time off duty.”
    “Sir!” Korie is outraged. “Negligence is an offense requiring court-martial. And—it would demonstrate to the crew that we mean business.”
    “I’m familiar with the regulations,” Brandt sighs. He wipes at his nose. “But in this case, we might find it very difficult to prove.”
    Korie allows himself the luxury of an oath—a single sharp syllable.
    The captain raises a shaggy eyebrow. “Mr. Korie!” he says in mock horror. “Such language from an officer and gentleman?”
    Korie ignores the jibe. “It’s pretty obvious, sir, that Wolfe was negligent in not showing Rogers the complete setup on the G-control board.”
    “Can you prove it?”
    “Of course—”
    “If I were Wolfe’s counsel,” the captain puts in, “I’d plead that it was Wolfe’s every intention to complete Rogers’ training at a more opportune time in the immediate future.”
    “That’s an awfully thin thread to hang a case on.”
    “Strong enough,” Brandt counters. “After all, he doesn’t have to prove it. But we—as prosecutors—would have to disprove it.
    “Besides, Mr. Korie—and you’d better learn this now if you ever hope to have a ship of your own—convening a court is a headache. And the resultant upheaval in morale is an even bigger one.” He cuts off the other’s objection with a brief gesture and adds thoughtfully, once more staring into the table top, “So, rather than reach for a possibly untenable position, this gives us instead an opportunity to show that we are both just and merciful. The man saves face and we save ourselves one competent crewman.”
    “Competent?” Korie snorts.
    “Relatively speaking,” Brandt concedes. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how bad the replacement situation is. We’re at war. Everything has to be stretched a little, even regulations.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Ah, there’s always the ‘yes, but—’ isn’t there, Mr. Korie?” A hint of a smile starts to flicker across the captain’s face, but it dies before it has a chance to be realized. “Give him a chance, give him a chance. If he’s smart enough to take it, we all benefit. And if not—if he turns out to be as big a wobblehead as you seem to feel . . . well, then we’ll only be giving him enough rope to hang