Free Will

Oct 07, 2024

Article voiceover

0:00

-8:08

The best interpreter of the law is custom.
Marcus Tullius Cicero

Illoia followed Tom into the dorm at exactly 1000 hours. The dorm seemed very crowded, with every single bunk sporting at least two soldiers, and in several cases lasses as well. At the end of the dorm two families stood near their housing. Everyone stared straight ahead, except for the smaller children, who stared at Tom and Illoia. Tom walked down the aisle, stopping at the bunk with the accused.

“It has been reported to me that, at approximately 0630 this morning, you performed an action which was not in accord with the best understanding of Article 1. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir!” the lad said, stiffening.

“After this act you came to me of your own free will for punishment?”

“Sir? Oh, ummm, yes Sir!” the lad said, casting a glance down the dorm toward one of the Mid Rankers, who had nodded at him.

“And you have waived your Article 4 rights? And do waive them, in front of these witnesses?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very well. And who witnessed this act?”

“Sir!” the other lad, who was standing by a bunk near the door. But Tom made no move toward him, he just stood and looked around the room.

After a full minute he said, “There were no other witnesses? I was told that this act happened in a fresher, with a good dozen other lads around. Where are the other witnesses?”

Again there was silence and Tom frowned, sternly. His humming changed in tone and… tune. “I am afraid that some of the new draftees here do not understand their position. I am prepared to hold a private punishment, but I am not prepared to be disobeyed. If anyone in this room was a witness to this incident, I am prepared to order you to come forward. However, before I do so, I will leave the room for a minute. Perhaps wiser heads will prevail.”

Tom stalked out of the room and Illoia was caught flat footed. Should she leave with him? But before she could move the door had closed and a Mid Ranker, at the other side of the room, was already speaking. “You blasted fools! It’s all very well to ‘not notice’ an infraction. I’m not saying it’s right, but it happens. But you can’t just stand there like schooladss hoping not to get a pal in trouble. Your superior officer asked you a question. If he doesn’t get the answer he wants, he will call for a full trial… and you’ll get more than you would here. Now, if you were in the fresher at the time, or one of the lads told you about it later, or you just forgot to freshen this morning… stand forward!!”

Eight lads stepped forward, and the Mid Ranker frowned. “That’s all?”

“The others were from a different dorm, Sir. Honest. We didn’t know…”

“Very well. I don’t think the leader will want lads from other dorms here, but we’ll see. Now you stand ready to answer any question the leader throws at you, and honest, do you hear?”

“Yes, Sir,” the lad said, almost crying.

“Ma’am,” the Mid Ranker said, looking at Illoia, “If you could ask your husband to step back in, please?”

Illoia nodded and stepped out into the hallway where Tom stood, humming quietly, “Are they ready?” he asked.

Illoia didn’t trust herself to speak, but nodded and Tom stepped in with her. He didn’t spare a glance for the lads standing forward but began to pace up and down the length of the dorm. “The Almighty has blessed us with a dicatorship,” he said. “Other, previous, societies have not been so blessed. The dictator, may he serve well, has brought our society order and protection. He has cast down the old walls of prejudice and has given us seventeen articles to guide our justice.”

“Today one of our own stands accused of violating the most basic, the most fundamental, of all of those articles. The Almighty, His worship and His honor, stands as the foundation of everything we are as a society. An act of blasphemy, even an inadvertent act of blasphemy, threatens everything that we are.”

“I am disappointed in the one we will be punishing today. But I am more disappointed in others. Are you such servile worms as to rely on mere authority and power? Have you no sense of civic duty? How is it that I was even allowed to hear of such an incident? Was there no one to take action? What cowards!”

“Well, we are here to train cowards, to train them into being men of action. The first step in action is understanding. Some here,” he said, with a glance at the lad who had reported the issue, “come from parts of our society which are well regulated and ordered. But the lad we punish today did not. He came from an urban environment, surrounded by citizens with no sense of civic duty, no sense of proper behaviors, citizens for whom todays incident would be commonplace.”

“Understanding this should not, must not, lead to complacency, but action. As soldiers and future officers you must always be prepared to take action… Middy?” he asked, turning to the Mid Ranker who had nodded, “If one or more of the lads here had come back from the fresher with bruises, would you have seen any need to inquire?”

“Sir!” the Mid Ranker said, stepping forward. “As long as the incident seemed to have been appropriately handled, I would have seen no need.”

“So… a case of bullying and…”

“Sir! I would recommend a change in their training regime,” the Mid Ranker said, and Tom grinned.

“Ah, yes, I’ve seen that type of training. Very effective… if rather painful for all concerned. Or, as in this case, if several lads had ‘reasoned with’ a young man whose tongue had bad habits?”

“Sir, I would have seen no need to intervene. Good for dorm morale.”

“Aye, just so. The second step in action, my young friends, is identification. I see that several of you have volunteered to administer punishment. That will be good for you, for your soul.”

“The third step is the action itself. Son, if you will come over here and hold the rails.”

The young man to be punished gulped and came to the end of the room near the door where, nervously, he gripped two handles set into the wall.

“Now, if you, the accuser, will disrobe him.”

This draftee came forward almost as nervously and, with two quick swipes of a finger, caused the suit and undersuit of the victim to fall open in the back.

“Very good. Now, you others, two lashes each.”

The lads who had come forward looked at each other nervously and then, finally, the one nearest the door, and the victim, came forward and took the whip that Tom handed him. He looked at the ground of the whip, made sure it was touching the floor, set his feet, and struck out at the victim.

The blessing of a neural whip is that, as long as it is properly grounded and the victim is holding the rails, you cannot make a mistake. Well, as long as you actually hit the person, which he did, the lash landing directly on the lad's backside. The whip has a preset charge that it delivers causing, as we all knew, an extremely painful charge which left a welt, some blood, but no permanent damage. And it was ‘self-cauterizing’ so there was never any infection.

The lad yelped and jerked but as soon as he set himself the witness hit him again, a little higher.

Illoia always hated watching a whipping, although not as much as she hated getting one. Most lads tried to be macho and not yell, but they pretty much all failed. There was something about the whipping that seemed to just open your mouth for you.

The other lads quickly finished and Illoia relaxed, thinking it was over. But Tom had other ideas. As the first lad closed the victim’s suit back up and started to turn away, Tom stopped him. “Middy, please bring me the shepherd tape.”

The Mid Ranker, with a bit of a grin, came forward with a roll of tape. The lads watched, shocked, as Tom taped their wrists together. “Given that our friend here comes from a rough background, and given how you are better trained, you two can spend a week or so together. Being taped to you should remind him not to break one, and in your spare time you can deliver him lectures on deportment.

With these words Tom left and, this time, Illoia left with him.

Thank you for reading Von’s Substack. I would love it if you commented! I love hearing from readers, especially critical comments. I would love to start more letter exchanges, so if there’s a subject you’re interested in, get writing and tag me!

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Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,

Von

Links

Article 17

Article 17 is a military science fiction story with aliens and romance. It is set in a future reminiscent of Napoleon era Britain. The war was going very poorly until the military installed a dictator. This story follows one of the dictator’s great men: Cladin Tomirosh, Leader, and thrice decorated hero.

Intro // Podcast Version

She was pretty, popular, snobby, and a planetary governor’s daughter. He was the son of shopkeepers, a social misfit, and a decorated hero. She thought she was there to dance. He had other ideas.

A Dance // Podcast Version

As a governor’s daughter, Illoia usually avoided such events, but when the captain made the announcement that there was to be an Article 17 dance, she, too, was forced to attend. If only the scum hadn’t been there too.