Free Rogue Powers by Roger MacBride Allen Page A

witness I would call, if I could, would be a naval commander—a Guardian naval commander. We must assume they have their spies here on Kennedy, watching us. The Guardians, on their hidden planet, Capital, perhaps have already viewed the recording we have just seen. If I could put a Guardian naval officer on the stand, under oath, I would ask him: Did Commander Larson's statements reveal weaknesses of which the Guardians were unaware? Did he make their forces more confident? Was what he said good for their morale?
    "We have heard a great deal about duty today. We have been told that Commander Larson felt it his duty to speak, a higher duty than that he had to Navy regulations. Was it not a higher duty still to keep silent? He has hurt our perception of our strength, our morale—and aided that of the enemy? He has told us of a danger that it seems only he can see. Assuming the danger exists at all, has he not made that danger greater by pointing it out to the enemy? But speaking out on this 'danger,' has he not increased all our other dangers?
    "This man has displayed courage, enormous courage, both in battle and in coming forward to say what he has said. But has he displayed good judgment? I think not. Your honors, I ask you to demonstrate your own judgment and find for the prosecution. In the old days, the wet navy days, they said that 'loose lips sink ships.' In our present day,   loose lips might serve to vaporize ships.   Do not encourage the practice of loose talk by letting this man go free. Yes, he is a hero. But heroism is no excuse for making a terrible mistake of judgment.
    "Your honors, the prosecution rests."
    Leventhal banged down his gavel. "Very well. This court-martial is adjourned. The court will withdraw to reach a verdict. This court-martial will reconvene at 0900 hours tomorrow morning."
    Mac might have been confined to quarters in the Navy Castle, but at least he was confined to comfortable, if not downright imposing quarters on a high floor of the Tower. The rough-hewn walls of the semi-circular room were hung with paintings of great ships and admirals, the furniture was from the captain's cabin of an old U.S. wet Navy battle cruiser, the floor was covered in a rich, solemn burgundy carpet. Pete was pleased by the room. They only put high-class prisoners here.
    The Navy Castle had not been built by some romantic architect to look like a fortress—it was a fortress, with stone walls three meters thick at the base, internally reinforced with steel and modern graphite composites. The walls would defend against mobs and most conventional attacks, and the bomb shelters drilled into bedrock a kilometer below could hold out long after the Castle proper had been vaporized. The Castle was designed to do more than just survive an attack, of course. It could fight back, with an armory full of rifles and side arms and supplies for a siege. There were other weapons tucked away inside the great building, which no one talked about much.
    The Navy Castle had been built seventy-five years before, in quiet and peaceful days—at least they had been peaceful days on Kennedy. The ROK Navy was busy back then, as it was now, frequently being dispatched in answer to League requests: police actions, rescue missions, and even the transportation of riot police from one star system to another. The League had been formed largely in reaction to the economic and political disarray on far too many
    of the settled worlds, and it fell to the navies of the strongest powers to effect and enforce the League's decisions. The ROK Navy had been there in the evacuation of New Antarctica, literally on day one of the League's existence. The Navy had flown relief supplies, bombed one side or another in the midst of revolts, arrested arms runners and drug smugglers, done too many dangerous things to trust much to days of peace. Only now, in the fight against the Guardians, did the ROK Navy find itself in its first war, but it had experience