Matters of Discipline
#5 of SLASH Patrol
All content copyright Veritas, 2007. Any resemblance to other persons or situations, real or fictional, is purely coincidental.
Matters of Discipline
The pistol was heavy in the ferret's hand, black and sleek. Centuries of design had distilled it into the very essence of lethality.
Drevin Targe let out a sigh as he slid a flechette pod into place and latched the magazine tight. One pull on the feed lever, and the display confirmed that a cluster of five needles was in the chamber, waiting to be launched out in a spray that was totally ineffective against even the thin metal covering his computer terminal, but would be utterly lethal on flesh with only duty fatigues to cover it.
He made sure the safety was firmly engaged, and slid the weapon into the holster at his hip. On his flight suit, that simple gesture had seemed so natural - just part of the routine. Wearing it in his own office, though...
The ferret looked up at his guest, trying to get what he knew to be a stricken look off his face. "When I first got handed this job, I thought the paperwork was going to be my least favourite part," he confided. "But I haven't even started this thing, and I already hate it worse than the past two months of reports."
Slick, shiny black composite met his gaze. Only when he turned his head up a little higher was it possible to tell that his guest was even alive, much less an otter. Weary eyes gazed back at him, the faceplate open for the time being. The burly male - not that he would've been any less imposing if he were slim as a switch, with that armour - bore the insignia of a Marine lieutenant on his shoulder, and though his gaze commiserated, it was unsympathetic. Of course; Marines dealt with this sort of thing as a large part of their duties.
After all, in the Star Lane Authority, as in the Merchant Marine and even the Navy, they served as military police.
Drevin shook his head. "He's a good pilot, and a good man," he said, all too aware that it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "I don't want him to wind up in the brig."
"If I need to get involved, there won't be any avoiding that, Commander," Lieutenant Rekker replied.
Drevin bowed his head, acknowledging the necessity. "Just give me a chance. So long as he doesn't disarm me, I'll be able to handle things. Don't jump in as soon as things just look like they're turning ugly - that's all I ask. Give me a chance."
Rekker grimaced. "My superiors will not be happy if I let you get turned into a corpse, Commander."
"Neither will I," was Drevin's wry retort. "But I'm not that much of a weakling. I want to at least give him a graceful out."
The Marine saluted. "I'll defer to your judgement as far as I can, Commander. But I'll also have to use my own."
Drevin returned the salute, with a fair bit more parade precision, given that his dress uniform left him with more freedom of movement. "Understood."
The Marine lumbered into the back section of Drevin's suite, checking over his massive carbine, and the partition slid shut between them. From this side, it presented a featureless black surface; from the other, Drevin knew, it could be seen through quite clearly.
The ferret sighed again, settling behind his terminal and pulling up another report.
Presently, the door chime sounded. Drevin leaned his thumb on the intercom. "Enter."
Sub-Lieutenant Erril Chakra was a fine figure of a wolf, by any reasonable estimate. Tall, broad-shouldered, with lively, intelligent eyes of deep amber, his white fur was well-groomed, though, as expected, he was wearing plain grey duty clothes rather than Drevin's crisp black parade uniform. On seeing that dress uniform, though, he stiffened, worry crossing his features. Automatically, he came to attention and saluted. "Reporting as ordered, Sir."
Drevin returned the salute, and reached over to stab the door-lock button. It glowed a truly evil shade of red as he leaned back in his seat. "Sit down, Sub-Lieutenant," he instructed. He was able to keep his voice steady and soft, but nothing he did could make it casual, and that showed in the way Chakra gulped as he was settling into place.
"Believe me when I say that this is not pleasant for me," Drevin went on. "On the other hand, you're not on formal report, so you don't need to look quite so nervous. I'm hoping it can stay that way."
The wolf's chin jerked up. "Y-yes, sir."
He sounded worried, yes, but more puzzled than resigned. Could he honestly not know what this was about?
"I've received some rather disturbing reports," said Drevin. "I realise that by and large, this squadron is a fairly freewheeling group of people. I've encouraged it, and not just because it's involved me. However, that comes at a price: Discretion. Not in that we have to hide anything - but I do expect that everyone's boundaries be respected." He sat up straighter. "I've never been fond of people playing hard-to-get, pretending to not be interested when in fact they are - because getting used to such things is what lead to this conversation before. I'll be frank, Erril. Someone has informed me that you've continued making advances after they have repeatedly informed you, in clear terms, that they're not interested."
Seconds passed. Chakra's eyes widened in what really did seem to be honest surprise. Drevin wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.
"But, Sir," he finally protested, "everyone does that! It -"
Drevin's upraised hand cut him off. "That," the ferret declared, "is exactly why I've been imploring that people be up front on whether or not there could be any real possibility of things happening. So that there wouldn't be the need to distinguish between playful teasing - and real protest."
Chakra was shaking his head. "It's not fair, Sir!" He was getting more strident, now, and lurched up from his chair, leaning over the desk. "I'm just trying to have a little fun, just like anyone else here!" He leaned in closer, a snarl twisting his muzzle. "If someone doesn't want to crawl into my bunk, can't he at least take it... as... a joke...?"
The reason for that sudden halt was painfully clear. Drevin didn't even remember reaching for his sidearm, but there it was, heavy in his hand, his fingers tight around the grip, the muzzle of the needler a bare finger's width from Chakra's temple. He felt the tension in himself, knew he was trembling, but somehow his hand was steady. His finger was inside the trigger guard, his thumb resting right beside the safety. In a fraction of a second - one quick, practised motion - he could remove the safety and fire.
The shock broke through to Chakra at last. The faint flush that was normally visible in his ears and cheeks paled, his eyes going wide. He straightened, then fell back into his seat, jaw falling as the muzzle followed him.
Drevin knew, now, that he wouldn't have to use it, that the wolf's anger had been broken, that now he truly realised what was going on. His voice was soft and surprisingly even as he said, "You came on to a heterosexual male, Sub-lieutenant. Even after he informed you of this, you persisted to the point that he was genuinely uncomfortable being around you. You are going one of two places once you leave this office, and neither of them is your usual berth. You can submit yourself to the infirmary for the psych team to look at, or you can be taken to the brig. Don't make me choose the second."
"Oh, gods," Chakra moaned, burying his face in his hands. "Wh-what in all the hells have I become...?"
Drevin bit his lip. He remembered now, with striking clarity, that Chakra's file had mentioned he was a past victim of harrassment and abuse - all too common in the Authority; for many, that was what drove them to join. For him to suddenly realise what he'd been doing - it must be like seeing his nightmares come back to life in his own mirror.
Very deliberately, he removed his finger from the trigger. His left hand gripped the barrel of his sidearm, and his right relinquished the grip to seize the back of the chamber, giving the eject mechanism a sharp tug. A slim wedge of hard, white plastic popped out of the weapon, clattering onto the desk.
"I can't have you looked at by the psychologists without your consent," he said into the ensuing silence. "Let me help you, Erril - or I'll have no choice but to hand you to the Marines. I cannot let you back on the roster until I know this is done." He returned his hand to the pistol's grip, though he kept his finger outside the trigger guard and left the chamber empty. "Which will it be, Erril Chakra? The infirmary, or the brig?"
Erril swallowed. "Th-the infirmary, Sir."
Drevin reached into his desk, pulling out a datapad he'd prepared. "I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you. The way you're shaking, I'm not going to ask you to fill out a great deal of paperwork. Just give your thumbprint and iris scan here, and it'll let me submit the necessary forms on your behalf. You will then take this pad and go directly to the infirmary, where some very capable people will help to bring you some peace of mind. If you need something from your belongings here, tell the medics, and they'll send it on to me; I'll take care of it."
He winced at seeing the wolf's broken, haunted face, at the way he fumbled to even get his thumb in the right place and his eye over the reader. The pad beeped its acceptance, and Drevin reached over to take Chakra's other hand, folding his fingers around the slim device. "Get better, Erril," he murmured. "You're a good pilot, and a good man."
"If you say so, S-Sir." The wolf swallowed, rising up to his feet. Drevin got up and swung around his desk, pulling Erril against his side, giving the man something to lean on. Fortunately, there weren't many people in the squadron barracks at this time of day; the few people present looked up, but didn't need Drevin's stern gaze to know to turn their attention back to what they'd been doing.
Out in the corridor, Drevin paused. "Will you be all right from here, Erril?"
"I don't know, Sir." A sigh, then a crooked smile. "But I can walk to the infirmary on my own, if that's what you're asking."
"Get well, Erril," Drevin repeated, and smiled back at him, more steadily. "We'll all miss you - even him."
Chakra's muzzle quirked into a grimace of disbelief. But when he spoke, it was only to say, "Thank you, Sir."
Drevin watched him start down the corridor, then went back into his office. Lieutenant Rekker was waiting in the main section, his carbine safely holstered now. "Thought he was going to reach over and throttle you for a moment, there," the otter admitted.
Drevin shook his head. "May all the good spirits save me," he prayed, "from the day I might have to stand there like that and pull the trigger."
"You and me both." One armoured hand came to rest on Drevin's shoulder, giving what was, for the power-armoured Marine, a surprisingly gentle squeeze.
The ferret looked down at his desk, at the discarded wedge of plastic. "Can I ask you to return this to the armoury, Lieutenant?" he asked, pulling his sidearm gingerly out of his holster. Right now, having it even against his side was distasteful; holding it filled him with revulsion. "I'll file the proper reports, but for now I... think I need to stay in the back room for a little."
The otter's brows arched. Even if he hadn't already known Drevin, the time he'd just spent in that room himself would have told him that the bed there was practically unused. He gave another gentle squeeze. "Drevin, I..."
He trailed off, but Drevin knew what he meant. The only times he used Drevin's given name... he wanted to offer to share that so-unused bed. But he knew full well what the ferret was going to say next.
"Sal, I came this close to shooting him," Drevin breathed, thumb and forefinger held up and nearly touching. "I thought he was going to strangle me - you said it yourself. I was ready to shoot him - to kill him, a friend - to keep that from happening." He sighed shaking his head. "I'll survive, but... I need to be alone for a while."
The otter bowed his head, snout dipping out of view beneath the rim of his helmet. "I'll take care of the weapon," he promised, moving the conversation back to something relatively comfortable. "I'll forward the paperwork to you to sign off on. And I'll direct attention away from you for the next few hours." He gave the ferret one more pat on the shoulder. "You follow your own advice, hey? Get better."
"I will," Drevin promised. "I just need time."
Once the Marine had gone, a bit of fumbling with the door control set the lock and the intercom to Do-Not-Disturb mode. He reached up to his shoulder, loosening the pins of his rank insignia, and set them down on the black surface of the desk, beside the unfired flechette cluster that still lay there. And then he retreated to the back room, and hung up his tunic, and stripped out of the uniform that seemed to weigh like lead upon him.
He sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. Not for the first time, he wondered if Commander Sahl had been right to push for his promotion. To face matters like this on a regular basis - he just didn't know if he could take it.
But if he bowed out, if he refused to handle them - who would? On whose shoulders would he set that burden?
He couldn't cheat his duty like that. He just couldn't.
Sighing, he wiggled under the sheets, still crisp from the laundry despite being in place for weeks. He expected several restless hours ahead of him - but mercifully, sleep claimed him quickly.