Breach of Peace

by Daniel Gibbs

  The grin disappeared from Kepper's face. Fury filled him. Not just at Li's decision to kill him— that could be the way of business in this line of work—but how he went about it. The insult he'd offered by trying to trick him, and thus making it clear he thought Kepper was stupid enough to fall for it.

  Before, his desire to kill Li had just been a fancy. Now? Now it was earned retribution.

  Kepper felt a shudder of anticipation at getting to finally drop his defenses and fulfill his urges. Chantavit Li was going to die, and die slowly, and it was going to be fun.

  Being both Trade Minister and Culture Minister meant perks for Vitorino. Perks he greatly enjoyed. They included contacts in the business world, the import and export trades so important to integrated interstellar economies like those of the Trifid Region's worlds, while the latter got him invited to all sorts of dinner parties and galas to celebrate the fine arts.

  Tonight was a bit of both for him, as he enjoyed the company of the elite of Gamavilla in welcoming the Tal'mayan Director of Cultural Exchange from that species' homeworld and unified government. As aliens went, the Tal'mayan were at the sweet spot of humanoid shape with alien features, given their colorations and slanted ears and the usual facial shapes, plus broadly belonging to the same mammalian kingdom as Humanity did. The same was seen in their art. The school of art currently in vogue on Tal'pera had some aesthetic similarities to the 22nd Century Romanticists of Sagittarian humanity's first generation, including Vitorino's personal favorite, Miguel Hakkaoui. He enjoyed the shapes and colors of the Tal'mayan artists. Beside him, the cerulean-skinned Tal'mayan minister, Drol Seja, was standing with his wife Uwi. Her hair was a verdant green in tone while Drol's was almost pearl white, but richer in color than a human's natural white would be, given it was not a result of old age and the damages it wrought. "I truly enjoy seeing how our species' aesthetics can match," Drol said. "I hope the people of Lusitania enjoy these pieces as greatly as my people do."

  "They will, Minister, I guarantee it," Vitorino promised. "Just as they enjoy the njita fruit you so graciously export."

  "Well, we can hardly let people believe that sweet smoke is our only product!" the alien guffawed. His voice had a slight timbre to it that was inhuman, the product of physiological difference in Tal'mayan vocal cords. "We are fortunate our species have compatible gastronomical systems."

  "Very fortunate," Vitorino said, pondering the elegant taste of njita brandy, or how well the fruit worked in a number of his favorite dessert dishes. "Did you enjoy the port?"

  "Quite so!"

  Their conversation continued amiably for a time before Vitorino eased himself away. He noticed Raoul approaching and moved to avoid any further conversation. "Yes?" he asked.

  "I thought you should know that Speaker Acosta will be calling the session tomorrow."

  "Ah. Good." Vitorino noticed the look on Raoul. "This worries you? It's just a new trade treaty with the League."

  "The Democratic parties have already protested and are trying to convince some of our people to reject it,” Raoul said. “I don’t doubt they’ll disobey the Whip, but with how much Caetano’s been provoking them lately, I’m worried this might push them over the edge.”

  “The Democratic parties protest everything,” Vitorino scoffed. “But they don’t do violence. They don’t have the stomach for it. They know it’ll just lead to them being rounded up by Caetano’s people.”

  Raoul shuddered visibly. Under Caetano, the police and security services were having all restrictions removed, at least when it came to "preserving state security" and "anti-constitutional activities". "I've heard the hardest criminals get treated better in prison than democrats," he said.

  "Ah, but criminals are just criminals, democrats are threats to the Estado Novo," Vitorino remarked sardonically, already hearing Caetano say the same in his head as a defense to the remark.

  Raoul noted the wryness in his voice. "Either way, I sometimes worry about the future of our nation."

  "The future will tend to itself, Raoul." Vitorino clapped his man on the back. "Come now, there are lovely young ladies of society here, and your mother wants grandchildren, eh? Let's go meet some of them and get your mind on something other than work."

  In the offices of the Lusitanian Defense Ministry, Caetano sat at her desk reading quietly from a government-issued digital tablet. The daily reports from the security services and the military were always of high priority to her. Cravalho met her at the door with the secured digital tablet assigned to his use. "Admiral Fayed reports the fleet is ready for any trouble," he said. "Although the Beja remains docked for her computer issues."

  "So long as the engineers are fixing it," she remarked. "It does us little good to have a capital battleship in the fleet if it is not available. We paid exorbitantly for it and we must get our money's worth."

  "Agreed." Cravalho noted his pad. "The year's army call-ups are not matching census estimates."

  "Draft dodgers." Caetano eased herself into the seat behind her desk. "Have the recruitment and intake offices coordinate with State Security. Draft dodging is a serious offense against the State, whether from cowardice or anti-constitutional ideology. I want examples made."

  "Of course, Minister," he said. "I can coordinate with the Justice Ministry to ensure the sentences are firm."

  "We'll also run a new public campaign on the need to respond to draft calls," Caetano continued. She picked up her secured pad from her desk. "Appeal to the patriotism of the population in honoring the draft and refusing aid to draft dodgers." Her eyes didn't meet Cravalho's as she spoke, as she was focused on the reports her pad was downloading from his.

  "I'll send the orders out," he assured her. "But I'm sure there will be trouble. The democratic parties—"

  "—are irrelevant, and they will be more so when the next elections are held," she finished contemptuously. A small smile came to her face. "Perhaps the people of Zalain will even vote for someone other than that intemperate zealot Ascaro."

  Cravalho flashed a smile in return. "Speaking of, her speech last night had several incendiary remarks that our people flagged as potentially subversive. Director Travada wanted me to give you his assurance he stands ready to arrest every Assembly member from the Democratic parties upon your orders. We can easily charge them with anti-constitutional activity given their rhetoric."

  For a moment, Caetano seemed to consider the thought. Ultimately, she shook her head. "No. Her remarks are little different from her usual in the message, simply stronger in language. To arrest her now would confirm to others the truth of her accusations. That could destabilize our position in the government. For now, we watch and observe."

  "If the party faithful take matters into their own hands?"

  That won him a glance. Cravalho had a barely perceptible grin on his face, anticipating the idea of having the rank and file attack their opponents again.

  When Caetano spoke, it was with her usual control. "Demonstrations are welcome, obviously, to remind the populace that the PdDN is the best choice for their future. And we may be lenient in some cases of excessive zeal. But not all." Her words became harsh. "Such actions directed at government figures and their families, including Assembly members, will not be overlooked," she said sternly. "It would undermine the State."

  Cravalho stroked his chin. He wouldn't say out loud that he'd relay the message, but he didn't need to. Whether he recognized Caetano's reasoning or not, he would obey. When he spoke up, it was on a different matter. "Speaker Acosta is calling the Cabinet to tomorrow's session for the final reading of the trade treaty Minister al-Idrisi signed with Ambassador Salinas last month."

  "I will be there, of course," Caetano said, although she seemed to care little for the news. "Vitorino will undoubtedly be beside himself at yet more opportunities to enrich himself with his office."

  Cravalho snorted at the remark. The corruption of the Trade Minister was nearly an open secret in the ministries. After catching
himself from laughing more, he continued with another report. "The surveillance of the Faith Outreach Mission is continuing. Inspector Travada is requesting permission for another search. His people identified local Lusitanians suspected of anti-constitutional activity entering the premises."

  "For now, they will continue to observe the Reverend Rothbard's mission," Caetano said. "He is to remain unmolested for now."

  "Understood."

  Caetano listened as Cravalho continued on to other matters, but her mind went to the question of the Reverend and his use to her. I grow impatient, Captain Henry. Your witness may be the key I've been waiting for, and I want her. For the sake of your friend, I hope you are not getting comfortable on Trinidad.

  31

  The numbers stared Henry in the face and brought a scowl to it. "Three million credits," he sighed.

  "The best I could do," Khánh said apologetically. She sat behind her desk with a clear look of sympathy on her face. The desk itself was a plain white plastic board on four gray legs with a holoprojector along one side to display the number that made Henry livid. "The materials’ costs and parts, I couldn't shave off as much as I wanted. And the labor costs are fixed by the dockworker guild."

  "I know." He cradled his hands in his head. This wasn't going to bankrupt the ship necessarily, but it left them at risk of bankruptcy if he didn't get paid once they arrived at Lusitania. At least he'd collect from Caetano, even if a part of him still balked at working with her over Vitorino or al-Lahim.

  With a heavy sigh, Henry took out his digital pad and accessed his account through the station's GalNet connection. Khánh helpfully sent the official payment request to him, and he used the thumbprint and voiceprint authorization, with a typed PIN number, to approve the transaction. He watched the number showing his account balance steadily drop.

  "Thank you, Jim," Khánh said. She smiled softly. "Just to help out, I cut my labor cost. My personal cost, I mean."

  Henry realized Khánh was saying she didn't get paid for the hours of overseeing the critical hull repairs her people handled, or the several hours she'd spent triple-checking the fusion drive system to ensure they hadn't damaged anything with their intense use of it during the Tash'vakal ambush. Compared to materials costs, it didn't add up to much of the total, but the gesture was welcome. "Thank you," he said, forcing gratitude in his voice.

  Khánh's smile turned melancholy. "I know I say this every so often, but I'll say it again: you saved Tia's life when you took her into your crew. If you hadn't, she'd have gotten herself killed by now. Or straight-up committed suicide."

  "She's tough," Henry replied. "Don't sell her short."

  "I don't. But I know her. And being tough doesn't save someone from a crushed spirit." Khánh stood. "Your repairs, as ordered, should be done tonight. Will you be leaving then?"

  "Yeah. We've got a run to complete."

  "I'll see if anyone's got a safe cargo heading for Lusitania," she said. "Maybe it'll get you a little something extra for the trip. To keep you flying."

  "Maybe. Either way, thanks again." Henry gave her a parting smile before walking out of her office.

  Leaving Khánh's office took him by a break room for the dockworkers and the path leading to their shower and changing room. Further on, the door swished open and let him into the Docking Arm 3 concourse. It wasn't as bustling as other space stations could be, since Trinidad was on the border of being a pirate station instead of a legitimate one and didn't get the same level of traffic. But there were still a fair number of examples of Humanity and other alien species milling about, going to and from the lifts to the central station. He followed the path away from the lifts and toward the repair dock where the Shadow Wolf was located.

  The inside of the Shadow Wolf was looking better than when she'd left. Most of the visible hull breaches were closed up, and Khánh's people were working on the last few. The damaged holds were intact again. It was clear the ship had been hurt, but she was at least getting her wounds closed.

  Yanik stood just inside of the port airlock, his massive form visible as Henry approached the hatch into the ship. His Saurian Second Mate was observing the repairs carefully. "We're due to finish tomorrow," Henry said. "How's Pieter and the new girl doing?"

  "They have finished repairs to the Lawrence drive," Yanik replied. "I am told the sublight drives will be ready by tonight."

  "Good." Henry stepped into the airlock. "Interior repairs?"

  "Mostly done. We await the completion of the remaining breach repairs to continue our work."

  "Good." Henry continued into the vessel while Yanik remained outside. He checked on the galley and rec room before heading to the empty quarters where their guest was located.

  Miri sat alone, staring at the wall with a look Henry sometimes saw in his mirror. She quietly turned her head to face him. "Captain."

  "Ms. Gaon." Since she was seated on the bed in the room, he took up the desk chair. "We need to talk. There's been a development."

  "What kind?"

  "New Cornish authorities want Karla Lupa arrested. Apparently, she's a pirate agent under an assumed name."

  Surprise flashed across her face. Her expression turned thoughtful a moment later. She was considering the ramifications. "They're discrediting me," she finally said. "Because they don't like my testimony. Patricia Odon wouldn't need much to show I'm a legend. From there, it's easy to insist I'm a pirate agent and not a spacer looking for a new start."

  "Apparently so," Henry said. "It's why I figure Caetano, and maybe Vitorino still want to talk to you; they don't find the case convincing," he said. "While al-Lahim just wants to ensure nobody thinks you're Karla Lupa."

  "Once I'm in his care, he'll put me in a safehouse and get me a ship back to Canaan or New Israel," she said. "The CIS doesn't want me to fall into League hands any more than I do."

  "You're okay with going home?"

  She shrugged. "The danger's the same in either place. There are League agents back home too, after all."

  "But you're less likely to get taken back by them," Henry pointed out. "Honestly, that's what's confused me the most about you, Miri. Why'd you bother coming out to neutral space? The League could grab you out here. Back home, the best they might manage is an assassination."

  "Are you confused by this? Really?" Miri stared at him. "Your ship could have easily made its way working in Coalition space. You're still a Coalition citizen, after all. Instead, you came to neutral space, where half of the planets see our people as threats to their independence. As far as they're concerned, we're moralistic busybodies and religious zealots little better than the League."

  "I'm not a heroic special agent who caused the League one of its most severe defeats, apparently," he replied. "I'm the disgraced commander who got people killed while testing a new engine. It's not as easy for me to find work in Coalition space as you think."

  "I suppose not. But that's not why you left, is it?"

  Their eyes met. Henry could see the calculation in her eyes. Miri Gaon, the expert infiltrator, was gauging him. Testing him for responses, for emotional weaknesses she could utilize. He didn't like that, as much as he understood her interest in it. "I had my reasons," he said. That was all he'd be saying.

  "As did I," she replied. "Among other things, a moving target is harder to hit." A wry look came over her face. "HaShem has now reminded me that a moving target can blunder into the hands of her hunter without either knowing it."

  "They say God works in mysterious ways."

  "You say that with a tone of a man who doesn't believe in God."

  Henry chuckled. "You might say I've become a bit agnostic. I asked for God's help, and I didn't get a response. So either there's no God or He's not listening or otherwise doesn't care. I admit I tend toward thinking the latter."

  "Why?" Miri asked.

  "You have to ask?" Henry feigned bemusement. "Look at the state of our species. Why would God want anything to do with us while we kill and torture
each other over ideology? I mean, the League's not some spawn of Satan; it's born of Human arrogance and conceit, and the Coalition's got its bad side that's got a big stink. And the neutral worlds aren't any better. Crime and corruption and oppression, it's all out here." He sighed. "Vidia thinks I'm just carrying a spiritual wound, and when it heals, I'll rediscover my faith, but honestly, I've seen too much to have any delusions about a divine plan being carried out."

  Miri nodded in agreement. "I understand you," she said. "I assume you were Christian?"

  "Yes. Methodist."

  "As a Jew, I was raised Orthodox," Miri said. "For a time, I became an atheist after my successful socialization. To keep my cover."

  Henry nodded. "We hear stories about the camps. People being worked to death as slave labor, executed for being believers."

  "In some cases, yes," Miri said, trying not to think of Christopher and Annette. "The slave labor isn't just for the labor. It's a… part of the method. They believe we need to learn to work as members of Society. To not expect an individual reward for individual effort, but to work solely for the joy of working for the good of all."

  "Oskar and Brigitte have their own stories about being raised in that system," Henry said. "Oskar makes Earth sound like some socialist paradise. People get whatever they want or need regardless of the work they do. Despite everything, sometimes I think he misses it."

  "It is. Earth and Mars get the first pick of resources in the League. And Earth itself mostly exists to support the League government. The planetary economy outside of government operation is mostly things like state-protected cottage industries for cultural value. Mars is… well, these days, its importance as a founding component of the League of Sol is vestigial mostly, but it's still the site of their most advanced military research bureau."