"Knavery and flattery are blood relations."
—Abraham Lincoln
Sergeant Davis left the unit the following week. He had orders to the factory ship Force. Things were a bit hectic for the week after that, Kendra performing both his and her duties. Then his replacement arrived.
Her first impression of Sergeant Jim Wayland was a good one. He was outgoing, cheerful and imposingly big. He towered over her by a good ten centimeters. He shook hands and greeted everyone while cracking jokes.
"Kendra, glad to meet you," he said. "I'm looking forward to working with you."
"Jim," she said. He was brawny, with a craggy face and a goofy grin.
He immediately turned to Sirkot and didn't say another word to her. She figured he'd need some time to settle in and said nothing. He left shortly to finish inprocessing and she finished the workload for the day, although it took her an extra half-div.
Her perception changed as the week wore on. Jim seemed to find numerous excuses to miss appointments. He did good work, but only the bare minimum, leaving Kendra to pick up the slack. He missed PT completely on Ashday, claiming inprocessing incomplete. She sighed and ignored it. There was one in every shop.
Private Jackson did not get along well with him, either. Jackson was an arrogant twelve-year-old, but a damned good worker. He just had a bit more individualism than was good for him, a fairly common trait among Freeholders. It was still awkward to deal with in a military environment. She overheard one exchange.
"You don't understand, Jackson," Wayland was saying, condescension dripping from his voice. "You're a private, so you do the work. I'm an NCO, so I supervise."
"Sirkot told us both to do it," Jackson replied, "and it's a two person job. We'll be here all day if you sit on your ass."
"You'll bark like a dog if I tell you to," Wayland replied, laughing. It clearly wasn't intended to be derogatory, it was just a badly phrased attempt at humor. He seemed to need to make a joke of everything.
Shortly, Wayland left and was gone the rest of the day. He didn't inform anyone, and left invoices incomplete again. She exchanged looks with Sirkot.
The following week, Wayland loudly announced his intention to put in an application for an instructor slot at NCO Leadership School. Sirkot diplomatically replied, "While technically a sergeant can apply, no matter how good your fitreps are, you'll take second to any senior who applies."
Wayland nodded and acted as if he didn't hear. "It's all in who you blow. If they want someone, the rank doesn't matter."
"There is work you could do here, Jim," Kendra suggested.
"I'll get to it," he promised. He'd been promising that since he arrived. "Or I could make it worth your while to cover me, er, cover for me," he grinned, nodding with his whole upper body. Again, it clearly was intended as his necessary joke in every exchange. Kendra sighed and stared at her hand for a second.
"Please do not make sexual innuendoes, Sergeant," she said.
Nodding again, he replied, "Sorry." His face said he really wasn't. "Just think, though, if this works out I could be one of your instructors at NCOLS."
She didn't express her opinion of that idea.
They had a spaceside exercise the following week. Wayland actually did do all his prep work and the lift was smooth. Kendra hoped things were finally shaping up. An abrasive personality she could deal with, if the work was being done. She ignored his posturing and attempts at popularity as they lifted. It was going to be a long week.
The shuttle docked with a training ship. Rather than the usual cruiser, it was an antiquated frigate. The gangtube clanked into place and they swarmed across into the ugly, smelly little tub. They were crammed in like insects in a nest and were going to stay that way all week. The only good part was that she, Sirkot and Wayland were each on different shifts. Her fears had included being assigned under the loud jerk or sharing a battle station with him. His continued innuendoes had made her uncomfortable with the idea of being naked in front of him. She knew it was silly, but he brought out all her old hang-ups. "Naked" equaled "defenseless" in her mind.
They commenced combat simulations immediately, including an attempted boarding complete to a "blown" bulkhead. It was at shift change, and Kendra was quite close to the blast. She slapped her facemask against possible vacuum, grabbed a stanchion while snapping a quick-release line to it and shouldered her weapon. She braced a foot to prevent being twisted from recoil in the microgravity and waited.
It was only a harassing attack, designed to deprive one shift of sleep and make chow late. She recovered and headed back to her bunkroom. Wayland was just coming down the hall and nodded to her. He was talking enthusiastically to Warrant Leader Shemanski, the 3rd MAR's enlisted staffing chief. No doubt bucking for his leadership school slot that he wasn't going to get. And he wasn't wearing a secondary oxy bottle. Typical. That gave him five divs of breathing in the exercise bottle and no backup in case of a malfunction. He could be dead of suffocation before anyone could respond. That was a serious violation of the exercise rules, as well as lethally stupid.
At the end of her next shift, Jackson straggled into her cramped cubicle as she got ready to try to sleep. She found emgee disorienting and didn't enjoy it as some did. To make it worse, Wayland had come over from his bunkroom and was cracking loud jokes, trying to be the center of attention yet again. "Nice ass, Gorman," he snickered, flexing at the waist for his usual nodding accompaniment. "Wanna shower?"
She looked over, exasperated, as Gorman replied and Wayland retaliated again with, "But you get me hotter than a two-peckered billygoat!" She caught Jackson trying to catch her eye surreptitiously and nodded acknowledgment. She shimmied out of her sleeping bag and grabbed her mask and bottles. She was wearing nothing but a dull gray briefer and when Wayland saw the movement he shouted, "You look better in blue, Kendra. Maybe something lacy and tight?"
"Jim, just blow it out your ass," she snapped.
Looking offended, he replied, "Crap, lady, it's just a joke." His grin was condescending, as if he had no idea why she was offended. He probably didn't.
She swam into the passage behind Jackson and hunched into a corner to get some privacy. "What's up?" she prompted.
"It's Sergeant Wayland," he said.
She'd already figured that out and prompted him, "What now?"
"He is really bugging me with his gay humor, for one. His jokes cross the line from funny to . . . discomforting," he said. She nodded. While no one cared and private lives were kept strictly private, she'd figured out that Jackson was gay and shy about it. As unpleasant as she found the humor, he had to hate it worse.
"I'll mention it to Sirkot again and insist on counseling," she promised. "He's an utter creep. In your case, he's joking to annoy you. In my case, he wants me sexually." She shivered at the image, then shivered again. She hadn't realized it before, but it was a power game for him.
Jackson glanced around, clearly bothered, "But if you have him counseled, he'll take it out on me," he said.
Shrugging was awkward in emgee. "I don't know what else to do," she said. "He won't take hints. I've tried."
"Okay, Corporal," Jackson agreed. "And I want to change shifts. Please. He keeps plowing his work off on me and claiming he's 'supervising' while he licks the ass of the nearest officer. I almost dragged off and hit him yesterday," he admitted.
"Okay," she said, fingers rubbing her eyes, "if you get to that point again, immediately come and see me. If he asks, tell him you have an appointment with Sirkot. Apologize for forgetting and get out of there. I'll cover for you." This was bad. "I'll see if Beker can be persuaded to switch. She'll rip his head off if he says anything and with her father being a colonel, he won't do anything except complain," she offered.
"Thanks, Corporal," he sighed in relief. "I'll try to deal with one more shift."
Once back on the ground and at the compound, Naumann gave his usual postmortem. "Outstanding exercise," he yelled, looking impressed. "Tight, smooth and with all objectives accomplished, which gave battle staff the chance to improvise additional activity. See you at the club," he finished.
Kendra didn't feel enthused. Two of her six troops were on edge, since Beker had had a shouting match with Wayland. She'd dressed him down but good, too. Jackson was still a bundle of nerves and Kendra wanted to scream in frustration. Sirkot had noted her complaints and promised to get some action, but pointed out that not only was logistics a critical slot, but one of Naumann's areas of high demand, and there were very few NCOs available for the slot. There wasn't much to be done officially without making them all pay.
Then Sirkot dropped another bomb. "The commander noted some discrepancies on Jackson's final shift. He signed all boxes as inspected and three of them were not sealed. Two helmet modules were missing, but were turned in, fortunately. He wants a reprimand issued."
Sighing, Kendra said, "It wasn't Jackson. That had to be Wayland goofing off again. He's great at impressing visiting officers, but no good at actually doing any work."
"I know," he agreed. "But we can't document it and Jackson signed for it." Wayland walked in at that moment.
"What's up with Jackson?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. After Sirkot explained, without mentioning Wayland's role, the man nodded. "I told him they were done, but I hadn't banded them. That was my fault," he admitted.
Kendra was confused by the man. If he'd stop acting so immaturely, he had definite potential. As it was, she didn't want to be in the same system with him.
"Alright, I'll straighten it out," Sirkot promised. He looked as tired as Kendra felt.
She went home to Marta's that night after a brief appearance at the party. Both her lovers were expecting her to be tired, but eagerly romantic. One look at her and Marta stripped her, dunked her into the hot tub and proceeded to massage her shoulders. "Goddess, love, you're as stiff as a board," Marta said. Rob handed her a drink and jumped in across from her. He began rubbing her calves.
After a few segs of relaxation, she described the situation to them. Marta sounded angry. Rob just nodded. "I've seen the type before," he said. "They tear a unit apart, generally drive about five people into resigning, then get sent elsewhere because no one can prove anything worthwhile. They suck too much cock to be properly nailed," he swore.
"So you're the officer, how do I handle it?" she asked.
"Keep on it. Of course, you may get sucked in yourself. He's good at passing the blame, I'll bet," he mused.
Marta complained, "Rob, you're making her tense again. Now I have to start over!"
"Sorry," he said.
Getting back on track, Kendra said, "Nothing sticks to him. He rides right on the edge of allowable behavior and never quite crosses it!"
"Which is more annoying than a bona fide insubordinate," Rob nodded agreement.
"Yes," she said and explained Wayland's admission of error and her surprise at it.
Rob looked thoughtful, "Well, that's not unusual. He doesn't mean to be an asshole, he's just insecure and sociopathic. He'd do well in Earth politics," he half joked. "Do you want me to talk to Naumann? As a reservist and an officer, I can say things you can't," he suggested.
"I don't want to pull favorites," she replied, "but thanks."
She was far too wound up to do anything romantic and lay in the bed in sleepless frustration, listening jealously to Mar moan and pant in impassioned fury through an allegedly soundproof wall. She waited for sleep to come.
Jackson managed to avoid trouble over the incident. Kendra found herself in Naumann's office with Sirkot, promising to counsel her troop to double-check anything handed to him.
"I apologize for having teams split across shifts," Sirkot said. "I was trying to balance experience levels. No harm was done and I don't want you feeling responsible for an error that wasn't under your control."
"Yes, sir, thank you," she said. "There's one more item I need to address," she added to Naumann.
She told him of Wayland's lack of an emergency oxy bottle. "I thought it was just an accident," she said, "but he did it at least three times and also wasn't carrying a basic load for his weapon. He said if he fired it, he'd have to clean it."
Naumann ran his hand through his hair. "Right. Warrant Sirkot? I'll take it from here, if you don't mind?" he said rather than asked. Sirkot agreed, looking grateful. Kendra saluted and left in a hurry.
Back at the shop, there was more trouble. Someone had posted a sign on the wall that read,
Why Jim Wayland is like a fart:
He's loud
He stinks
He rose above his point of origin
No one knows where he came from
He won't go back there
We never wanted him in the first place
Any asshole could produce another one.
It was obviously Jackson's work. Sirkot was over talking to Naumann, which left Wayland in charge. He was out back, berating Jackson quietly. As she approached, he said, "Kendra, would you come here please?"
She sighed and nodded. He continued, "This is for the record." He turned back to Jackson, who looked like a dog that had been kicked. "Private Jackson, I don't like doing this, but I don't have any choice. From now on, you will address me as 'Sergeant' at all times. You will not use any terms of familiarity. You will not make any comments. You will follow my orders to the letter and you will address any concerns through the chain of command. Do you understand?"
Eyes almost tearing, Jackson replied, "Yes, Sergeant Wayland."
"Good," Wayland replied, sounding sad. "I'm sorry it's come down to this, but I don't have any choice. I've tried to be friendly and there's one or two people who just can't deal with it. So we'll just be formal and avoid any trouble."
Kendra was furious. She turned, looked up at him and said, "Then may I suggest, Sergeant Wayland, that you address issues with my troops through me or the squad leader. That is what the chain of command is for. And you can immediately cease any comments of a sexual nature, no matter how funny you think they might be, to either Private Jackson or myself, since we have asked you repeatedly to stop."
He looked stunned. Then he came back with, "I don't know how they do things in the UN, Pacelli, but this is the Freehold. You have to learn to joke. They aren't issued from the government here." He grinned the stupid grin she wanted to hit.
Jackson suddenly cut in. "Look, you conceited piece of shit," he shouted. A couple of the loading crew and drivers turned their heads at that. "If you can't take it, you better not dish it out in the first place. You're an obnoxious bigot, utterly incompetent and a disgrace to the uniform!"
Kendra hadn't known he had it in him. She applauded inside, while sighing. "Be sure of your language, Jackson," she said, knowing it was too late.
Wayland got an angry gleam in his eyes. "All right, asshole, if that's how you want to play it," he said. "I will be filing formal charges of insubordination. Since you seem to be the only person here who can't tell a joke when you hear one and can't seem to keep a military bearing, we'll just see where we go. First, you stand at attention when I am talking to you," he stormed. His voice was much louder. The loaders looked over again. Jackson tiredly stiffened to attention. Wayland strutted back and forth as he continued, "You haven't been able to act in a proper military fashion since the day I got here, you keep sneaking behind my back, trying to ignore my authority," he stopped pacing and stared down at the young troop, "trying to write up every little infraction you think you've found, posting insults in public . . ." He went on, but Kendra tuned him out. She'd flipped her comm to record and was letting it hear all this for later.
It was just then that Naumann appeared, Sirkot behind him. He silently approached, directly behind Wayland, and stopped to listen to the monologue.
"Attention," he said.
Wayland turned and threw a quick salute. "Oh, hello, Commander. Getting things ready for the rescue exercise?" The change in manner was instantaneous and amazing. His posture and body language immediately became open and friendly.
"I said 'attention,' " the commander repeated, raising his voice just barely, his expression blank.
Wayland slid into a belated brace and looked down at the far shorter officer. He looked confused and a bit worried. Almost as if discipline was a foreign concept to him. Well, it was.
Naumann paced around the trio as he said, "I spoke to Commander Lewis at First Legion. He warned me that you like to suck up."
He indicated Kendra and Jackson should back out of his way with a glance and walked through the space they'd occupied then turned around in front of Wayland again. Sirkot simply watched. "Not that I need such a warning. I've seen your type before. You crawl under the desk and try to blow the commander's ego."
He was behind Wayland now, who looked very confused. It might be the first time he'd ever been dressed down publicly. Naumann leaned to speak up toward his ear. "I already have a big enough ego without your help," he said.
"I've given you several chances and I know Warrant Leader Sirkot has mentioned it to you. In fact, I have complaints from several sources, including at least two outside the unit. Also a few blind idiots who think you are the greatest leader since Napoleon. But they're all young and impressionable or layabouts going nowhere.
"So, we'll make this easy. You'll sign a resignation and get out. I understand they usually reassign you. I don't want to be embarrassed by passing you off on anyone else."
"Sir, if there's a misunderstanding, I—" Wayland said and was cut off.
"I may be the first commander you've had who actually has understood you," Naumann said. "You moved into a smooth unit and turned everything upside down. You're not even a BTB clown," he said, using the acronym for "by the book." "You use the regs to hurt anyone who won't kiss your hairy ass and ignore them when they get in your way. I won't argue with you. I'm just kicking you out."
"I'm not aware of any violations, sir. I think I'll have to insist on formal charges," Wayland replied. He sounded a lot meeker, his voice thinner and less sure.
Naumann spoke without looking up. "Pacelli."
"Sir."
"You can provide documentation of Sergeant Wayland's actions?" It wasn't really a question.
"Yes, sir!" she agreed. She was enjoying seeing him nail the jerk. A grin kept trying to cross her face.
Naumann continued to his victim, "I can easily support charges of conduct prejudicial to good order, conduct unbecoming an NCO, abuse of authority for personal gain, provocative speech or actions, sexual harassment . . ." He glanced at Kendra and Jackson. Yes, they'd been jokes, and the Freehold gave much more leeway along those lines, but the intent of them was to establish control. That made them technically actionable. Kendra wondered how he'd heard? Or was he assuming based on available evidence? " . . . Violation of safety regulations in a hazardous environment for your stunts in orbit and your platoon leader's report of your inability to accomplish assigned tasks in a timely manner."
Wayland opened his mouth, but Naumann continued, more loudly, "All of which are utter bullshit charges. Which is no reflection on the charges. It is a reflection on you. I prefer not to smear the unit with that kind of crap, which is why I want your resignation. I don't give a damn about you. You've abused my good graces."
Wayland's eyes were actually damp. Clearly he'd never been called out before. His whole mock-friendly manner and size intimidated people into giving him what he asked for or charmed then into willingly going along with his schemes. "Yes, sir," he whispered. He looked stunned.
Naumann flipped his comm open and said, "Security."
"Yes, Commander Naumann?" came the reply.
"Mister Wayland is to be escorted from the base. All his personal effects and he are to be out the gate by five. And I need an escort for him now."
"Yes, Commander," was the acknowledgment.
There was a pregnant silence for the long seconds until a private from security jogged over. Naumann said, "Escort Mister Wayland to the orderly room to resign. Observe but do not help as he gathers his personal gear and see him out the gate by five. And get him out of that uniform." He didn't bother to wait for acknowledgment.
Finally turning to the others, he said, "Private Jackson."
"Yes, sir!" Jackson snapped. He might be cocky, but Kendra had to admit he was earnest.
"Did you use inappropriate language to an NCO?" He stared levelly at the young man.
"Yes, sir," Jackson admitted.
"You will serve three divs extra duty this week. Since Corporal Pacelli has to cover additional work, you can do whatever grunt labor she has. In future, address complaints through your chain of command."
"Yes, sir," he agreed, obviously relieved.
Naumann continued, "Pacelli."
"Yes, sir?" she asked.
"We do not have another NCO lined up for that slot. You have been doing the NCO's work. I will be asking Warrant Sirkot to move you into that slot. That's an additional pay grade," he said.
"Yes, sir," she acknowledged. That was fast. She was now the number two person in the logistics front office.
"You will not be coming on the search exercise," he said. "I will be sending you to NCOLS. Don't screw up. I need you back here ASAP. We'll borrow a reservist or two for the time being."
"Yes, sir!" she agreed.