The Shattered Stars: Breach of Contract

by Vance Huxley

  “Then there seem to be a lot of dead Supers involved before that. Being close to you isn’t healthy for your superiors.”

  Bobby looked shocked, he’d practiced. “The only Supers I killed were Frog Supers and I only killed two. I got my first metal for that.”

  “So it says here. Regardless of that, no Super or Line Supervisor in the Justice Department will attempt to defend you which is why I’ve been dragged out of my office.” The Manager glared at Bobby. “Which I don’t appreciate but it might be a good thing for you.” Bobby decided against pointing out that he hadn’t dragged anyone anywhere. “Because now I’m wondering if someone has been trying a bit too hard to make this case open and shut.”

  “Why? I was given orders. We killed a shitload of Plebs, saved the armour and brought a score of Troopers home. Why does anyone want me charged?” Bobby shut up because he could hear a bit of a whine creeping into his voice.

  “At least you are consistent; no plea for leniency or excuses and you haven’t varied an inch so far. Either you’re a good actor or a good liar, or Control have been…” The Manager stopped. “The Supervisor who sent you back in should have rolled the armour once he knew the Plebs had the Supervisor trapped, especially considering the man’s family connections.”

  Bobby kept quiet because the man wasn’t talking to a Trooper. He was thinking out loud but it would be on the tape that recorded the meeting and anything might help. Then the Manager came back from wherever his mind had been and looked straight at Bobby. “His defence is that if you hadn’t deserted the Super, the plan would have worked. It’s hard to dispute that since over a score of Troopers got out. The medics are saying they last saw the Supervisor gut-shot and dying, but none of them will commit to a real opinion on how fast.”

  Bobby jumped a mile when the Manager slapped the file closed. “I need to look at all the evidence again, personally. Even if you are guilty, there’s a few others who should be answering questions.” He stood up and Bobby heard the door locks open.

  “What about me, sir?”

  “You are in the stockade on charges, and that means you sit in a cell until the court martial.” The Manager left and then the guards unclipped Bobby’s shackles so he could stand and shuffle back to the cell.

  * * *

  Ten days later Bobby still sat in his cell though the drunks had left. A new neighbour arrived but Corporal Ellis wouldn’t be supplying any conversation. The black eye and swollen nose were intriguing, but Ellis didn’t want to discuss the injuries. One of the guards curled a lip and looked at Ellis and then Bobby. “I don’t know what sort of unit your old Super ran. We’ve a Sergeant on charges for getting a Super killed, and a Corporal on charges for attempted rape of a Pleb woman. The rest are on lockdown because of the fighting.”

  “Fighting?”

  “No discipline. Fighting each other and won’t say why. In my opinion 3914 SSAB-Tata should be split up and transferred out, then the whole unit can be rebuilt from scratch.”

  “Fourteen ST are veterans and if they’re fighting each other, someone should find out why.”

  “Who? You’re the only sergeant left, one Corporal is in here, and there’s only two other Corporals. One was in the fighting and isn’t even in your Unit, and the other is away getting new feet.” The guard shook his head and walked away.

  Bobby had a good idea what the fighting would be about if Ellis had been beaten up, especially if the attempted rape back in the flat had come up. Unless Ellis had found out about Magpie and tried again though Bobby thought Siflis or Bells would have knifed the Corporal in that case. Bells had stopped hinting about pooching and become more protective as Magpie learned to fight, treating her more like a trainee man. That Corporal from another unit could be Sandman, which meant the rescued Troopers from the 659th Armoured were still being kept with the survivors of 14-ST. Someone had kept this all contained in the barracks until…. A chill went up Bobby’s back. Until a certain acting-Sergeant had been safely dropped into an unmarked grave. Actually Troopers shot by firing squad went into the furnaces, but it worked out the same.

  Ellis refused to talk to either Bobby or the guards. The following day the Corp went off with a Super wearing justice office’s unit markings, who had to be Ellis’s lawyer. When the Corporal came back he gave Bobby a grin full of malice and as soon as the Super had gone he had to spill it. “It’s you or me, smartarse. Guess who it’ll be once I give my evidence, and then I walk.”

  Bobby sneered. “Perjury, especially to stitch up another Trooper, will get you a Gaza Taxi. Don’t do it, Elli.”

  “Don’t need to make anything up, just confirm that I didn’t hear what you and the Super said and you were the last to see him. They’ve got you anyway even if I say nothing.” Ellis smirked. “Then my charges will be dropped. There’ll be no witnesses since I’ll be the senior Corporal left and I’ll get those stripes.”

  Bells or Siflis would make sure that didn’t last but Bobby said nothing because the cells would be bugged, electronic versions as well as the little biting basteds in the bedding. He’d tried to get Ellis to say something incriminating, but it wasn’t happening and the Corporal had it right. Without the records of his orders, Bobby would be thoroughly pooched anyway.

  The first hearing three days later confirmed that. The opening speech took all of about five minutes and four of them were the Area Manager judge spouting his bit about impartial justice. The prosecutor submitted a sheaf of paper and discs of statements about who had said what, making it clear the whole trial would be a formality. Bobby’s defence council submitted nothing but asked for the trial to be put off for another three weeks. The judge didn’t want that since it all looked open and shut, and for the first time Bobby really began to be pleased he’d got a Manager in his corner.

  The judge quite obviously didn’t want to be rude to someone of Manager rank, even one inferior to his, and eventually allowed the delay. Though reluctantly, which meant that discussion took longer than the rest of the proceedings. Bobby started getting curious about his Super, the dead one. The Manager finally persuaded the judge by referring to family connections and their expectations, or bullied the judge from the tone of the exchange. The Manager went on about how the relatives would be determined to get all the details, and it would be best if their wishes were honoured. From the glare he received from the judge, Bobby wouldn’t expect much mercy in the sentencing.

  * * *

  The three weeks were incredibly boring. The guards allowed Bobby to work out in the small gym attached to the stockade for the purpose, and he went through combat exercises in the cell. Bobby even raised a smile from one by asking if he could use the firing ranges. At least Bobby knew his squad were all intact and now had confirmation that the remnants of 659th Armoured involved in the rescue were still here. One of the women who came in to clean the cells left a message under his pillow, not signed and very short but in the squad code. Bobby read it surreptitiously before eating the slip of paper.

  Four days later he had another message. Ellis’s three friends were in the hospital. No details but despite the lockdown and the cameras in the corridors, somebody must have got into their quarters. The rest of the message told him Magpie kept training and Hood could walk better. Very sparse but the contact cheered up Bobby. He’d been worried that his squad had been moved away or split up, possibly even locked up elsewhere as accomplices or some such shite.

  * * *

  This time the morning of his trial meant a lot of cleaning and polishing in the cell block. After their shave and shower both Bobby and Ellis were given haircuts and clean uniforms instead of prison onesies. The guards wore their best uniforms, parade style with everything polished which seemed a bit over the top because most of them didn’t go into the courtroom. Their Supervisor turned up, the first time Bobby had seen the man, looking very smart but harassed. After a thorough inspection and some ass-kicking over flecks of dust, the Super left. Ten minutes later he came back and waited,
obviously expecting visitors.

  The Manager, Bobby’s defence, came through the door and he received a salute of course. A feeble excuse of a salute compared to the ramrod straight, quivering attention and salute for the next person in. A someone without any uniform or rank markings, and who definitely wasn’t a member of the Army. A woman for starters, one who had been a truly sleek Diva in her day as far as Bobby could judge. Her smile still stunned at twenty paces.

  A smile aimed straight at Bobby who wasn’t stupid and regardless of the lack of uniform he threw her his best salute. From her lip twitch his salute hadn’t got any better, especially compared to those from the guards. Bobby tried really hard to work out what she might be. Not Royalty, because she didn’t wear any diamonds on her head, but her clothes made Bobby think of Royalty. Long, flowing and silky, and the cost would probably pay the entire Unit’s bar bill for a year. A black armband struck the only jarring note.

  “You are the last man to see my son alive?” Bobby blinked and tried to work out who she meant and the frantic mouthings from the Manager weren’t helping. Luckily the woman seemed to realise, and took mercy on him. “Supervisor Lord Alaine Bertram Curen of the Fourteen ST Troopers?”

  Lord? Alaine? Bertram? Bobby had only ever heard Curen three times but that meant the Super all right. This was his mother? Bobby rallied. “Yes. Er. Ma’am?”

  “Excellent. Would you mind telling me about it?” Bobby cast his eyes desperately at the Manager and the guard Super. She expected him to talk about it here? He’d been warned not to discuss the case with anyone. His frantic looks were noticed. “Oh, not here of course.” The woman looked over at the Super. “I’m sure you can find us somewhere private and comfortable.” Bobby didn’t think she’d consider the interrogation room comfortable but the Super started nodding.

  “Of course Duchess. One moment please.” The Super almost strained something exiting at speed while trying to stay at attention. Bobby tried to remember where Duchess fitted into the hierarchy, not something he usually paid attention to. The top people in each major corporate body had titles. Duchess wasn’t Royal but she probably had a beer with them or whatever they did to socialise.

  “Perhaps you could take the young man out of his cell, so we aren’t delayed?” The guards were there in an instant, keys in hand. They started to fasten the manacles and chains to Bobby’s wrists, waist and ankles, passing them through the bars before opening the door. “Are all those necessary?”

  “But he is a suspected murderer, ma’am.” Bobby knew how the guard felt as those eyes zeroed in. Those eyes didn’t expect a “but” from anyone, let alone a Trooper.

  Then she relaxed a little. “Oh yes, of course. Perhaps just the wrist ones?” Bobby wanted to smile at that, because splitting the chains from the wrist manacles would be a bitch of a job and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance of the guards refusing. A guard ruined his fun by heading for the desk and bringing back a pair of handcuffs. By the time Bobby had been handcuffed and let out of the cage the Super arrived back.

  * * *

  As Bobby shuffled down the corridor his defence Manager brushed past near enough to murmur “Belinda, Duchess of Ironhills. Behave.”

  Bobby stared after him, because Ironhills had to mean her family owned huge iron ore deposits somewhere in the United Kingdoms, or maybe all the iron deposits. He didn’t have long to wonder. The room the Super escorted them to had to be his own, for relaxation, not his office because there were comfortable chairs. The Duchess took the big luxurious swing chair while the Manager took a smaller armchair, probably dragged in here sharpish because the colours clashed even to Bobby. The Super headed for a straight backed chair with a padded seat but stopped at a raised Duchess finger.

  “This is a private discussion between a bereaved mother and the last person to see her son. I don’t believe we need witnesses. Manager Bryant will be here to defend my frail bones if necessary, as he is a friend of the family.” That seemed news to the Manager from his expression. “Since this will take some time, please remove the sergeant’s handcuffs and arrange some refreshments.”

  The Super tried. Bobby could see the man gather himself to object at least three times and abandon the idea in the face of those implacable eyes. “Yes Duchess. Of course. Do you have a preference?” Snapped fingers brought the guard with keys while the other scarpered to round up the preferences. Bobby couldn’t even identity some of the food, though the smell that arrived included caff. Strong caff without that sharp tang from the usual cheap shite Troopers could get. Bobby only knew the difference because he’d looted some real beans from a drug dealer.

  “Please sit, sergeant.” Bobby sat in the only remaining chair and managed to keep his face straight despite the expression on the Super’s face. A hint of a curve on the Duchess’s lips showed again, was she flickin the Super deliberately? Bobby knew he’d be the one to suffer once she’d gone but just now he didn’t care. “That will be all.” The casual wave of a hand to include the Super and the guards left no room for manoeuvre, though the Super made one last attempt to keep some sort of control.

  “The judge will be starting in five minutes, Duchess. The case? To try alleged Trooper Sergeant One Bobby B?”

  “Well you had better go and tell him to wait.” So casual and yet the Super would be slow-roasted for delivering the message, mainly because even an Area Manager couldn’t roast a Duchess. At least Bobby assumed that from her casual, dismissive tone and the Duchess hadn’t mentioned asking the judge. Bobby sympathised with Manager Bryant’s attempt to keep a straight face, because he wanted to laugh as well. Usually Bobby really hated the bledrin nobility on the odd occasion he thought of them, because after all they owned the world. The same world that regularly dropped shite on Bobby and his ilk from a great height, ably assisted by the Managers and Supervisors. Right now this Pleb wanted to wave flags and cheer for the Ironhills, because he’d never had any personal grief from a Duchess but plenty from Managers and Supers.

  “Caff, tea or wine?” The Duchess looked at Bobby with her hand over the tray of drinks.

  Bobby had never tasted wine, the usual tea tasted of dust, but that caff smelled rich and pure. “Caff please. Duchess?”

  “Belinda when we are alone. Manager Bryant will not mind using Jakkob for this occasion, and if you don’t mind I prefer to call you Bobby. Though I am curious about the B after Bobby. What does that stand for?”

  Bobby tried looking away and shuffled a bit, but her eyes stayed looking at him. Calmly, with no impatience at all, though they held a total certainty that he’d tell her. Then she smiled slightly. “Ah.” The Duchess looked up and around the room, and raised her voice a little. “Should even one word of this private conversation be recorded or passed on by any other means, I will be very annoyed. That applies even if someone listens and then says something in their sleep. Please consider that I not only know who The Horseman is, but I also know where he lives.” The Duchess turned her eyes back onto Bobby. “Now, you were going to tell me what B stood for.”

  Bobby sighed. “Baby,” he whispered. Then cleared his throat. “Baby, because I was Ma’s first, and last. She shortened it to B when I got older and it stuck.” Bobby tensed, ready to punch Jakkob if he laughed, but the Manager looked elsewhere.

  “So why did you keep it when you joined the army?” Bobby tried to find an answer he could tell her but she saved him after a few moments. “Ah, not really a question to ask a man, especially a Trooper. From your record I would not have expected that.” The Duchess actually seemed lost for words for a moment. Not for long. “Now, Bobby B, I would like you to tell me about my son. Lord Alaine Bertram Curen, or Super to you, or possibly dick.”

  “Not dick, or at least not often. The Super was hit bad when we arrived.”

  “No. Not yet. First I want to hear about his life.” The Duchess tapped her handbag. “He wrote about his men and their missions so I know something of you, and of Hood, Siflis and Bells. I know the names of
many of his unit, and what he thought of them. Now tell me what he seemed like to his men.”

  Over thirty minutes and two cups of caff later Bobby came back to that final meeting with the Super. He talked through it all, the promotion and the breakout right up until the armour rolled into the barracks, though he did miss out Margaret turning into Magpie. Finally her questions stopped, followed by a short silence. “What you have said matches what Alaine told me about you and his men. I will speak to the judge now.” The Duchess tapped her wrist and spoke to it. “We are ready now.”

  * * *

  The three men who came in the doorway were definitely not Troopers. All three had the look of Squaddies but dressed in suits without any hint of rank, though the cut and cloth should have meant Manager at least. “This sergeant is apparently a dangerous desperado, so don’t lose him on the way.” Her tone sounded amused, but the look the men gave Bobby wasn’t. He raised both hands a little to let them know he wasn’t going to cause trouble and one rewarded him with a small nod.

  The walk to the courtroom didn’t take long without the shackles, but it wasn’t long enough for Bobby. He kept trying to work out if he was deeper in the shite or not. The judge had been angry enough about the delay in trying the case, and now he’d been kept waiting in his own court. Bobby fervently hoped that the Duchess intended speaking up on his behalf, some sort of character reference, because that should have some weight and possible lighten the sentence. Against that the bledrin judge couldn’t get at the Duchess, but he would be fixing the punishment for all charges and shite flowed downhill.

  His squad, sitting outside the court along with Corporals Ellis and Sandman and a dozen other Troopers, came as a hell of a surprise. Bobby started worrying about Magpie being here, because he didn’t think she could pass for a Trooper on the stand. Though with all this lot to work through Magpie wouldn’t be on the stand for long. Bobby hoped that caff had been as strong as it tasted because this would be a long trial and falling asleep would look bad.