“Sir.” The man said again, pleading and frustration in the single syllable. “There is a strict dress code for the board floor and he—“ A finger was jabbed at Benson, who kept his eye resolutely forward.

“This is most unfortunate.” Neerson said without inflection. “Because he is key and primary in my testimony.”

“No.” The man shook his head. “I’m sorry. He’ll have to retrieve a uniform approved for the hearing and have it set within standards. That’s the word I’ve been given, and I have the backing of the board.” Then the man straightened, as though that were that.

Neerson nodded once. “Very well.” And he turned to leave, Martin and Benson turning as one to go with him. They hadn’t made it a full count of three before a spluttering sound came from behind them. “Admiral Neerson! Where are you going, sir?”

Neerson turned. “To fetch Captain Benson a new uniform. That shouldn’t take much time for me, perhaps an hour or so, depending on how cooperative the staff are. After that it’s a matter of hunting down his ranks, awards, the such, to ensure that the approved uniform is within standard. That should be done by tomorrow.”

“But you’re still required at the hearing sir! You and Commander Ziggenbor both…” The man wilted as Neerson turned to face him in full.

“Sir,” Neerson said, his tone taking on that smooth but frigid tone, like ice. “You are a civilian, and one manning a door, so perhaps there are matters that you are ignorant of. I will make two of them abundantly clear now, the first being that Captain Benson is a key and primary member of my testimonial, and he will be with me when I enter the hearing floor. This is non negotiable, and if you would deny him entry so would you me. I will be more than happy to wait while you inform whatever bureaucrat and officer who chose to make a comfortable career of it beyond those doors. The second,” Neerson was not so much taller than the man, but it may as well have been an old knobby grandfather looming over a child.

“I am a Fleet Admiral in the Republic Navy, Commander of the Tenth Fleet and its armada. There are nine individuals to whom I am am bound under the Uniformed Doctrine of Military Punishment who can require me to be anywhere and you are not one of them.” Neerson stared down at the man for five seconds. “Have I made those matters clear to you.”

The man shook, very slightly. “Sir,” He squeaked. “If you would… if it would be convenient to wait… sir, I mean to say—“

“Go.” Neerson said, and the man scurried off, shutting the door behind him with a snap.

“I,” Benson said, very quietly. “Will pray to whatever god is out there listening that you never speak that way to me, because I will absolutely shit myself bloody.”

“Be quiet, Benson.”

Benson returned to that stoic, stony thing that Martin had become accustomed to walking the corridors of the Venator with him. Another minute or so passed before a naval officer with a single star on his chest emerged from the room, took in the scene, and shook his head. “Christ, sir, I thought I was going to have to call security. The way he was sniveling and going on I thought there had to be at least a team armed to the teeth out here but,” he made a gesture. “This explains it.”

“Hello Admiral Timothy.” Neerson said with a nod.

“What was he babbling about anyway?”

“Some nonsense about my key and primary not being allowed onto the floor because of his uniform.”

Timothy rolled his eyes. “Stupid man. Come on, you need to be briefed before we take seats anyway, and Greer is beside himself to get this going. Seems to think it’s a full on tribunal that will result in you losing your rank and command.”

“What a dreadful man. Commander, Captain.” He beckoned and together they went through the door that had been so carefully kept.

Martin kept his bearing, but only just. He had been witness to some of the finest engineer that the Cluster had ever produced, and some of the most impressive warships ever constructed, but rarely had he seen true beauty in a military setting. The hearing floor was a combination of glass, matted steel and synthetic wood, all used together to grand effect in the stadium style seating that stepped down nine layers to the raised dais, two smaller ones on either side of it. The room bore, Martin noticed, striking resemblances to a courtroom and the Senate floor, the later of which he had only been inside of once.

Together they were led by Admiral Timothy around the outer perimeter of the room to a small chamber.

“About damn time,” General Greer snarled, shifting in his seat as they entered. “You’re cutting it right down to the wire, Neerson.” The General shifted his glare from Neerson to Martin and Benson, on his left and right. “I see you’ve brought someone to do your talking for you.”

Neerson regarded the man silently, then turned to the woman seated next to him. Her uniform was adorned with three stars, and she shook her head wearily and gestured to a single chair. Neerson sat.

“Admiral Neerson,” she said. “Thank you for making this briefing a priority.”

“General Franklin.” Neerson inclined his head. “As the commander of the operational detachment, I deemed it proper.”

She nodded. “These proceedings are largely to do with protocol. I’m sure you three are already well aware of the situation, and may have had some involvement in it.”

Martin processed that. Sometimes it was easy for him to forget, out there in the fleets where everything was so carefully monitored and disseminated, that it sometimes took some time for the details of engagements and operations to reach their way back to the Cluster. It was possible, he thought with realization, and even likely,that those present didn’t know of the involvement that he and Benson had with the operation. It certainly seemed that way given General Franklin’s comments.

“I feel the need to inform you, General,” Greer said. “That with this being a matter of protocol you’ll have trouble keeping Neerson’s attention for long.”

Martin saw Benson shift slightly.

“Thank you, General Greer,” Franklin said. “The briefing.” She held out her hand, and the angry man passed it to her.

From it, General Franklin read: “The following proceedings will be to establish the happenings on the Martian surface, 3 March, concerning the Second and Seventh Fielding establishments and the battalions deployed there…”

Martian listened to the long winded words, reflecting that he did indeed know most of what was being said. It was the typical jargon saying ‘we want to know what happened here, and who we can hang it on’ in as many words as possible. As he listened, he noticed the look on General Greer’s face. The man was almost smiling as he looked at Neerson, and when the reading concluded, said, “Think you can handle that, Neerson? You, Ziggenbor, and Benson.”

“Captain.” The word snapped out over the room, and Martin looked around along with everyone else to look at Benson.

“Mind yourself, Ben—“

“I am here under official request from a Fleet Admiral of the Republic Navy and am both bound and protected under Amendment 6 and Section 12-55 of the Article of Military Law.” Benson cut across the General’s words. He was no longer the thing carved from stone, but carved out of the same block of ice as Neerson’s words so often were. “And I am here as an official witness deemed to be both key and primary to the hearings to take place. This position, is protected under paragraph 73, and states that I will be addressed by my rank by any involved in said hearings. Do I make myself, and my position understood General?”

Martin gaped, he couldn’t help himself. This was the wise cracking hotshot pilot turned, what? Military prosecutor?

In fact he was not the only one staring. Everyone in the room seemed surprised and off put by the sudden revelation, except Neerson, predictably. And General Greer’s face was very, very red.

“General?” The black jump-suited Benson prompted in that same voice.

“Yes.” Greer snarled. “Captain. You have made your position understood.”

Benson took a step back and lapsed back into silence.

“Ok.” General Franklin said, her eyes still on Benson. “Admiral Neerson. We should have a conversation when all this is over.”

“Perhaps.” Neerson said.

“We will begin preliminary hearings in twenty minutes.” She said, rising. “Your seats have been assigned. I can send someone to show you to them.”

“I am aware of my position.” Neerson said. “I will look for our seats in the appropriate sections. If they are not there, I will wait for the error to be corrected.”

For a moment Franklin looked like she might argue the situation. Then she thought better of it, and they filed out of the room.

When they were seated, Martin turned again to Benson. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What was that about?”

“I studied military law when I was tired of reading flight manuals, so what?.” Benson said.

“I’m going to guess you didn’t wash out of the RAE Corps then.”

“I did. There’s a difference in what we do.”

“Commander, please, let the Captain focus.” Neerson said. “Your time will come very shortly, and you are the ten.”

The ten.

Martin’s mind raced as the other true wild cards of the Blind Man’s Gambit rushed in front of his mind’s eye as the other officials and military brass in the room began taking their seats.

“Think, Commander,” Neerson said calmly. “Of the roles that Captain Benson and myself have played so far. And then think of yours.”

The first interaction at the door. Neerson had used his position to discard protocol and gain Benson entry to the hearing, despite being outside the standard. This had brought Benson, the lowest ranking in a room full of stars and ties, to a place where he had reset the expectations of everyone in the most important positions. It had been a gamble, but even if it hadn’t paid off, with Neerson asserting his dominant position…

“They will call you first.” Neerson said, some urgency in his voice. “They will want to know why the cost of a single soldier's life merited the destruction of one of the most skilled squads in the army.”

The ten burned the deck.

Neerson had set the engagement standards to make Benson a viable asset.

Benson had then made it clear that the lowest ranking man in the room knew what was going on better than most present. He had shown then that though their rank far out matched his own, due to who he was and the knowledge he carried with him, he was their equal.

“Be ready.” Neerson hissed, as General Franklin took her seat on the high dais.

And the ten truly equaled the playing field, where the other two bought time

As the general began speaking more jargon that Martin was familiar with but didn’t quite follow through the lense of the lense of the law, he thought of his brother. Martin thought of how Neil had been blown nearly in half, and the fear, the helplessness he had felt. Looking around the room, he saw the faces. Weathered soldiers and naval brass, seasoned politicians, nearly every one of them having been in life threatening situations…

And more than likely everyone of them with someone near to them that had as well.

“Commander Martin Ziggenbor, of the Tenth Fleet, Bridge Commander of the Vindicator.” Franklin called. “Please approach and be heard.

Martin stood and made the long walk, thinking about how Neerson had used the reality of his position, and Benson had used the reality of knowledge. He took his seat to the right of the dais.

The mic in front of him clicked on.

The ten eliminated the accumulated risk.

“The first question agreed upon is a simple one,” General Franklin began. “Why do you think that the Operation, called Red Savior, was a failure?”

Martin considered this for a moment. “It wasn’t.”

“All personnel slated to be extracted were fatal casualties.” General Franklin said. “The entirety of First Squad, Second Platoon, Bravo Company, 3d battalion, with the lone exception of Sergeant First Class Jackson Valentine were also killed in action. The objective was lost. The parameters of the mission were not fulfilled. This, in the army, Commander Ziggenbor, is known as a failure.”

“I understand, General, but your information is incomplete.” Martin said. “Sergeant First Class Ziggnebor, by brother, also survived.”