We five stumbled in, with shackles preventing the instinctive salutes. Vice Admiral Visanthe sat flanked by one-stars. I didn’t know either of them, but the man on his left was tall and the woman sported a nasty scar down her cheek.

 

The swabby holding our chains sat us in a row: Captain Smith, Doc Garcia, myself, Ensign Dumont, and Captain Smith. Dumont was shaking in fear. I knew I was probably screwed but I hoped he’d be okay.

 

Admiral Scar read the charges in a bored monotone. It started with “Abandoning command of the SFSS Hyperion, refusing lawful commands, …” and ended over a minute later with “… usurpation of command, and mutiny.”

 

Admiral Visanthe stroked his mustache. It was thin, and his smile even more so. “I have never seen the entire command of a starship up for court martial at the same time. Shall we begin with Captain Smith?”

 

The captain on each end of my line attempted to rise, foiled by their manacles. Both barked, “Yes, Sir!” and then stared daggers at each other.

 

Visanthe sighed. “Perhaps the Lieutenant instead.” He nodded at me. “Lieutenant Eriksen, please tell the court the events of August seventh, 2312.”

 

I swallowed. “Yessir.”

 

* * *

 

Over my pounding heart, I could still hear the roar of the rockslide. The ship came into view and with the last of my energy I collapsed into the airlock. I staggered to Sick Bay and the comforting presence of Commander “Doc” Garcia.

 

“The mine tunnel collapsed! Captain Smith pushed me out just before it all came down.” I was babbling. “What do we do? The Captain’s buried under tons of rock.”

 

The crusty doctor stiffened. “Then you’re the ranking officer. Get your ass to the bridge and relieve the kid.”

 

We all loved Ensign Dumont. He was going to make a fine captain someday.

 

“You could pull rank, Commander?”

 

Doc scoffed. “I’m staff, not command. You’re not afraid of assuming control, are you, Lieutenant?”

 

I swallowed. “No...” Afraid wasn’t the exact word. But it would take months to return to our base and I had only been promoted a year ago. “—wait! Captain had a clone aboard. When was his last imprint taken?”

 

Garcia was nonplussed. “Last week. But regulations clearly state a clone should be activated only in time of war or with no remaining line officers on the ship.”

I thought about that all the way to the bridge.

 

* * *

 

Ensign Dumont scrambled to his feet and saluted. “Sir!” Tears welled as he asked, “Is it true? Is Captain Smith really dead?”

 

I smiled crookedly. “For the moment.”

 

Ignoring his quizzical look, I snapped on the ship’s speakers. “Now hear this. Captain Smith was lost in the recent expedition and is presumed dead. As ranking officer, I, Lieutenant Carl Eriksen, assume command of the Hyperion.” I took a deep breath. “Due to the suspicious nature of the mine collapse and our presence in the Disputed Colonies, I order the ship to wartime footing. That is all.”

 

I thumbed the comm to Sick Bay. “Doc, we’re now at war. Under the Hostilities Command Succession Act, I order that Captain Smith’s clone be stimulated and imprinted with his final personality matrix.”

 

Dumont tried to talk me out of it. He quoted sections of the Solar Federation manual. I found countering clauses to each, and finally had to forbid further mention of the topic.

 

Doc tried to talk me out of it. I confess it got heated, and after ordering him to proceed, stormed out of his office.

 

* * *

 

It took two days to stimulate it to maturity. The funny thing about clones is that we can only promote cellular growth to a point. Cap had been in his fifties: this clone was biologically about twenty years old. It was odd to salute a younger man, but Captain Smith took the oath and I was relieved, in more than one way.

 

And then everything went haywire.

 

There came a pounding on the airlock door. A dirty, bloody, broken — but most definitely alive — Captain Smith was admitted. We all convened in Sick Bay.

 

“Left arm, shattered ulna; right fibula broken; multiple cracked ribs. Everything else is superficial. You’ll be fine after casting,” was Doc’s prognosis.

 

“Pain meds are nice after two days of dragging myself around,” Captain Smith allowed. He looked around the group. “What’ll it take to decommission the clone?”

 

Captain Smith (the Younger) coughed. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have duly taken command of this ship under the correct protocols. You must obviously stand down until we return to HQ.

 

“The hell I will! This is my ship. I never resigned — I am Captain!”

 

“Nevertheless, I am current Captain of the Hyperion."

 

I looked around at Doc and Dumont in horror. What had I done?

 

* * *

 

Admiral Visanthe questioned the rest in turn, but there wasn’t much else to tell. Neither Captain would yield, insisting they were the legal captain. Each ordered me to arrest the other, then told Dumont to brig me for not complying, which he refused to do. They fought, and Doc ended up sedating both captains. Then he invoked Section 54.2i on me as being unfit for duty, leaving Ensign Dumont in command for the voyage home.

 

Admirals Tall and Scar voted to vacate most of the charges for four of us.

 

Visanthe concurred, and presented the following judgments:

 

Captains Smith and Smith were held blameless and within regulations in every action. They were each assigned new ships.

 

Doc, reprimanded for sedating the second captain, was docked a month’s pay.

 

I was given the choice of resigning my commission or being busted down to ensign. I have to say, life is both more fun and less stressful as an art teacher.

 

But I do feel awful about Dumont. He was found guilty of disobeying a direct order during time of war and summarily executed.