Lieutenant Halima Ke-Qyan closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  It had been a long day of training new recruits for security detail aboard the starship Calibur.  Halima had only recently attained her new rank and the responsibility of training new recruits, but she had taken to it well - she saw the strengths in people and encouraged them.  But it had been a long day and she was tired.

With a tired sigh, she closed up the armory, bid goodnight to the few lagging recruits, and went to her quarters where a hot shower and a change into soft night shirt completed her day.

~*~

Halima was woken by an unexpected sound.  The door to her quarters had been opened.  She had locked the door; very few had the authority to bypass the locks on personal quarters on a starship.

Adrenaline pumping, she rolled off her bed, pulling the blaster she kept in a holster on the headboard.  She was on her feet, pointing the weapon at the door to her small bedroom when the door slid into the wall with a faint whoosh.  Only then did she realize that there was no red alarm - the only ones who could bypass her locks would be the highest-ranking officers on the ship.

~*~

They hadn't even given her time to dress; she was in nothing but an old nightshirt.  Halima marched through the halls of the Calibur.  The hall lights were muted, as it was still the middle of the "night" and there were few in the hall to witness her humiliation.  She kept her eyes forward, on the back of her security escort, and looked at no one.  She soon found herself in the internal affairs adjudication chamber.

Halima stood at attention before chief security officer Jonathon Colcannon, trying to pretend she was in full uniform.  She watched while a second lieutenant played a security video showing her as the last one out of the armory after training - and that she'd forgotten to lock the door.  Halima remembered lecturing the recruits days before about armory safety.

"Lieutenant Ke-Qyan, have you anything to say?" Colcannon demanded.

Halima wanted to explain about the long day, how tired she had been, that it was an accident, but they were just excuses.

"I should be whipped, sir."

Halima thought she saw a faint smile of approval before Colcannon nodded once.

Two lieutenants stripped her of her shirt and she was led by a firm grip at either elbow to a thinly cushioned bench that molded itself to her body as she laid face down.  Then the bench shifted so that she bent in the middle, bottom high.  Smooth straps made from nylon and computer-chip-weave secured her writs and ankles before a long mechanical arm positioned itself above her.  At its end were half a dozen long, think paddles, like old time yardsticks.

The first blow landed across both bottom cheeks, making her grunt and sending an itching fire along her spin and thighs.

Halima vowed not to cry.