by Eric Thomson
“And then it’s an all-expenses paid trip to Parth?”
“There’s a good chance of that, yes.” Buell examined Zack through half-closed eyelids. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem overly concerned. As your defense attorney, is there anything I should know?”
“Maybe I consider exile a small enough sacrifice after experiencing the sheer joy of wiping out a filthy mob and leaving the universe a better place.”
Buell cocked an eyebrow at him.
“I’ve just decided I won’t call on you to testify in your own defense, Major. You may think you’re amusing, but the panel won’t even crack a smile. Since I don’t see how you might walk away from these charges, I’d rather not send my reputation thundering into the abyss along with yours.”
Decker raised a hand, palm facing outward.
“I promise to behave in the courtroom, Commander, and I do understand how serious this is. But if the Fleet is determined to rid itself of me for having done my duty with too much zeal, then I might as well go down smirking.”
Before Buell could reply, his communicator pinged for attention. The lawyer checked his messages and then said, “Looks like they found five officers with the right security clearance for your panel. The trial begins in forty-eight hours.”
*
“All rise,” the court clerk, an army warrant officer, announced in a parade ground voice.
A door opened behind the panel’s row of seats and five Marine officers in dress uniform, each wearing gold Pathfinder wings, filed in and stood behind their chairs. They had been carefully selected from those who didn’t know Zack personally. But inevitably, they knew him by reputation, just as Decker knew of them through others in the Pathfinder community.
Another door, behind the bench, slid aside, and a black robed military judge entered.
“In the matter of the Commonwealth versus Major Zachary Thomas Decker,” the clerk continued, “this general court-martial is now in session, Captain Leitis Harmer presiding.”
The judge greeted the assembly with a formal nod, and then turned to his clerk.
“Please administer the oaths.”
“Yes, sir.” The warrant officer marched up to Captain Harmer and held out a copy of the Commonwealth Armed Services Code of Discipline. Harmer placed his left hand on the book and raised his right hand.
“I, Leitis Harmer, solemnly and sincerely promise and swear that I will impartially, honestly and faithfully, and to the best of my skill and knowledge, execute the powers and trusts reposed in me as a military judge.”
Then, each of the five panel members, in turn, swore to carry out their duties according to the law, without partiality, favor or affection, and make true findings based on the evidence.
With the oaths administered, Captain Harmer said, “Be seated. The prosecution may now make opening arguments.”
In the end, it took less than two days for the panel to return a guilty verdict.
*
The military policemen took Decker to detention cells on the far side of the Fleet HQ complex. There, he surrendered the rest of his dress uniform and put on a prisoner’s gray coveralls. It, along with calf-high boots, a change of clothes and some toiletries, now made up the sum of his possessions.
A physician’s assistant gave him the once-over, then inserted a tracking microchip the size of a grain of wheat under his right shoulder blade. The chip allowed anyone using the right equipment and working on the right frequency, to track him from great distances.
Then, they took him to a cell no different from that in a ship’s brig and left him to contemplate his future in the eerie silence of an otherwise empty prison wing. Throughout, the MPs had acted with professional detachment, as if disgraced field grade officers passed through their hands on the way to a life sentence every day.
Decker’s stomach had barely begun rumbling a few hours later when a slot opened in the door, and a meal tray appeared. Supper, prepared in and delivered by the base kitchen. He might as well enjoy his last few meals on Caledonia.
Aboard the transport, he’d be eating reheated food packs and once on Parth, who knew? He wolfed everything down and emptied the bottle of water that accompanied it. Then, with nothing else to do, he stretched out on the bunk and fell asleep.
The next morning, shortly after breakfast, one of the MPs opened his cell.
“You have a visitor, Decker.” Zack stood and held out his wrists for shackling, but the man shook his head.
“No need for that here. Try anything, and you’ll enjoy a shocking experience.” He held up his nightstick, which doubled as a stun gun.
The MP led him to a small interview room with a metal table bolted to the floor and a chair on either side. Hera Talyn already sat in one of them. She scrutinized him as he took the other one and Decker could swear he saw a peculiar glint of concern in her eyes.
“How are you?” She asked in a soft tone. Her fingers danced in their secret sign language indicating that she was jamming any listening devices so they could speak freely.
He shrugged.
“About how you’d expect. Don’t forget I have plenty of experience being locked up, hauled halfway across the Orion Arm, and kicked out of the Corps, not to mention other fun stuff.”
“Birkenhead dropped out of FTL a few hours ago. She’s a day and a half early, meaning you’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
“No sense in waiting, is there?” He gave her a weak smile, a private admission he wasn’t quite as sanguine about the plan as he seemed. It was the least he could do for a partner who let him see her concern. “And you?”
“I’m booked on a liner and should be on Parth shortly after your scheduled arrival.”
“You know it could take weeks, months even, right?”
“It’ll take whatever time it needs,” she replied, studying him again. “We can still pull the plug on this, Zack. You needn’t go through with it.”
“I don’t see that there’s much choice, honey. It’s the best and only thread we found to unravel this mess. Besides, I’ve survived worse. I’ll be fine.”
“Then why has there been a sick feeling in my stomach ever since the judge pronounced your sentence?”
“Because you’re developing a smidgen of empathy for others in your old age? Perhaps sociopathy can be cured.”
Talyn didn’t rise to the bait. She merely shook her head.
“No, it’s not that. Something’s been bothering me, and I can’t help think that perhaps this isn’t such a good idea. If things go pear-shaped, you could be stuck on Desolation Island forever. Or you escape but never regain your good name and career.”
“Or we could make it work and take a few heads in the bargain.” He watched her through narrowed eyes. “I’ve never seen you so glum about a mission.”
“That’s because this is likely the riskiest one ever and we’re coming off three failed operations in a row.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your worry about my fate springs from deeper emotions than mere comradeship.”
The right corner of his lips twisted up in a wry half grin.
Talyn snorted.
“I hope you’re not under the mistaken impression I’ve developed feelings for you, big boy. Breaking in a new partner is hard work. It’s taken me long enough to get you the way I want and life’s too short for another do-over.”
“Bullshit, Commander.”
“Believe what you want. But make sure you take care of yourself, okay? I may have said this before, but the universe would be a dull place without you.” She glanced at her timepiece. “I think I’d better be on my way, Zack, considering you’re not one for long farewells.”
“Give the boss and Manny my best. And now that we have a verdict, make sure Ulrich gets everything in place to clear my record automatically in a few weeks. You know, in case whoever’s after us knocks off the only people who know the truth.”
Nine
Early the next morning, two Cor
rectional Service officers, escorted by a military police noncom, entered Decker’s cell. One of them scanned Zack’s tracking microchip, adding him to the federally administered inmate population.
Then, they handed him a standard prison-issue duffel bag with an added change of clothes, a jacket, and rations to tide him over until he joined a settlement. Finally, they offered him a choice of holy books.
Figuring he might as well take what he could, Decker asked for an Orthodox Catholic bible. His parents had raised him as such but he lapsed long ago. If nothing else, it would offer reading material during the passage aboard Birkenhead, his next destination.
The last formalities completed, his guards shackled him once more and escorted him to the HQ shuttle pad. There, he boarded last, after those traveling to the orbital station had taken their seats. Most avoided his eyes as he and his minders took their seats. But a few of them knew who Zack was, or at least knew of his disgrace. They watched him with obvious discomfort, if not outright disgust.
Once in orbit, his transfer from the station’s shuttle hangar to Birkenhead’s brig was swift. He soon found himself in a cell that resembled the earlier one in most respects, but for a significant difference — the wall facing the guard station. Aboard the ship, it was transparent, meaning he would have no privacy whatsoever.
“Decker, Zachary Thomas.” The transport’s master-at-arms glanced up from his tablet and examined Zack. “Condemned to exile on Desolation Island. Welcome to your last starship ride, inmate. Whether it’ll be comfortable or not depends on your behavior. Are you going to give me any trouble?”
“No, Chief,” Zack barked out, snapping to attention.
“Good.” A cruel smile tugged at the noncom’s lips. “I like things nice and quiet. People who don’t cooperate, they learn real fast what it costs. You’re the only jailbird on this run so I can give you my full attention if necessary.”
He pointed at a touch screen inside the cell.
“I suggest you read the standing orders. We run this brig using detention barracks protocols, even if Birkenhead’s a Fleet Auxiliary ship. So make sure you’re familiar with them. You won’t get any second chances. Questions?”
When Zack didn’t reply, the chief petty officer’s smile broadened.
“I guess you’re already familiar with a prisoner’s lifestyle. You may speak, inmate.”
“This inmate has no questions for the chief.”
“Good. Enjoy the trip.”
After discovering that the touch screen also provided access to a limited entertainment library, Decker kept himself amused through the rest of the day. He vaguely knew of Birkenhead’s departure from Caledonia a few hours later, after a surprisingly short layover. One of several Fleet Auxiliaries with the mission to move personnel and material between military and naval installations throughout the Commonwealth, she wasted little time in port.
Twenty-four hours later, he experienced the brief nausea heralding their transition to hyperspace, and an unexpected cloak of despondency settled over him. He knew Talyn would be on a starship headed for Parth in a matter of days, perhaps even hours. Yet, for the first time in a long time, Decker felt utterly alone and disconnected. His first night aboard Birkenhead was as restless as it was uncomfortable.
He kept time by the transitions from and to FTL, growing increasingly edgy in the confines of the brig, even though they let him out for several hours a day to exercise. Decker was contemplating a life among the Mendicant Priests of the Void after this mission when the master-at-arms entered the brig accompanied by a bosun’s mate who carried the now familiar wrist restraints.
“We’re here, Decker. Say farewell to the space-faring life. You’re about to step a thousand years into the past and learn all about farming by hand.”
When the gibe, accompanied by a mocking grin didn’t provoke a reaction, he continued.
“You’ll be flown straight to the island by one of the ship’s officers. Usually, we send prisoners to the Correctional Service’s clearing center in Harambee. But since you’re a one-off, they told us to make the delivery straight to your final destination, lucky you. Maybe tonight, you’ll sleep in the arms of some prematurely aged serial killer who likes big boys with a long rap sheet.”
The chief petty officer laughed at his own humor, then gestured at the spacer to shackle Zack. They led him through a maze of corridors and down a spiral staircase until they reached Birkenhead’s large shuttle hangar.
There, the master-at-arms took him to a craft with an open aft ramp. A blond, hawk-faced man wearing Fleet Auxiliary Service fifth officer stripes waited nearby, arms crossed. As they approached, he studied Zack with greater interest than his status as Desolation Island’s newest exile warranted. When they came within earshot, the officer made a hand gesture, indicating the ramp.
“Settle him in, Chief. He’s getting special VIP treatment, so no need for an escort.”
Zack wanted to ask what that meant, but it would have earned him instant and brutal retaliation. Until he set foot on Parth, he remained under the strict discipline reserved for military convicts.
After securing him to one of the bench seats, the chief and his assistant left. The officer, presumably the crafts’s pilot, entered the passenger compartment with a small instrument in his right hand. Before Zack could react, the officer pressed it against his neck, and Decker’s universe vanished down a dark hole.
*
He woke with a splitting headache, his lungs breathing in thick, moist air, redolent with putrefaction. The tops of tall, feathery trees swam into focus as his eyes adjusted to the late afternoon twilight of a subtropical jungle.
Decker lay on a thick bed of rotting vegetation, near the edge of a clearing carpeted with Parth’s bright green fern-analogs. The surrounding forest seemed dark and impenetrable, menacing even. Rustling sounds, not all of which stemmed from the light breeze, filled his ears and he imagined hundreds of tiny eyes hidden among the underbrush examining the intruder.
As his body flushed the last of the drug from his nervous system, Decker understood that the pilot had not dropped him by one of the settlements, but somewhere in the island’s interior. He might even have left Zack deliberately on the central plateau where the Marine had seen evidence of human encampments on the satellite imagery.
Whoever ordered this wouldn’t have done so for Decker’s welfare. That meant either his mission had been compromised from the get-go or whoever was killing covert operatives had taken advantage of the situation.
Decker sat up and took stock. His bag lay beside him, its contents intact, and he was wearing his convict coveralls and boots. After a moment he felt an itch beneath his right shoulder blade and gingerly touched the spot. A small scab greeted his fingertips. The officer, or someone working with him, had removed the microchip, meaning the Correctional Service could no longer track him.
More importantly, Talyn could no longer monitor his progress by patching into the Correctional Service’s network. He touched the base of his skull but found no evidence that the transmitter implant had also been excised. Unfortunately, it was a single use item.
Talyn had tested him before his arrest, and although Decker proved able to activate the transmitter via his thoughts, he could not turn it off again. That meant saving it for the right moment. Talyn would just have to wait without knowing whether he still lived.
Decker climbed to his feet, fighting off a burst of dizziness and nausea, then tried to gauge the direction of Parth’s reddish sun to orient himself. His goal remained to reach the coastal plains where he hoped to find Ariane Redmon.
After establishing the right bearing, Decker took one last look at the clearing. Then, determined to eke as much distance out of the remaining daylight as he could, he pushed his way through the undergrowth and into the triple canopy jungle.
After several exhausting hours, he realized it was time to stop. The darkness would overcome even a finely honed sense of orientation such as his.
&n
bsp; He cast about for a suitable refuge, knowing the island boasted few predators capable of harming a human being, except perhaps another human being. Snuggling into a crevice between the oversized roots of a native tree whose girth would have challenged the largest automatic harvesters, he let his mind wander.
Why leave him in a clearing far from any village rather than at the intended spot? It couldn’t merely be the idea of letting him lose his way and thus fail in finding Redmon. Surely whoever ordered this knew Decker was too highly trained and too experienced for it to work.
No, there was another reason, something out here able to make him vanish. Logically, that could only be the hunter-gatherer groups he’d seen in the imagery. His last thought before falling into a light and restive sleep was ensuring he avoided any contact.
Something woke Decker with a start several hours later. He took a moment before realizing the continuous background noise of the jungle’s nightlife had faded away. Only the soft whisper of a breeze high among the black fronds remained.
On most planets, it meant outsiders invading the local fauna’s territory, sending creatures into hiding. Parth wouldn’t be any different.
Without a night vision device to penetrate the stygian darkness, Zack concentrated on listening for anything that might sound out of place, or to be more precise, of human origin.
A minute ticked by in silence, then another before he heard the soft sounds of someone — several someones — making their way through the undergrowth, moving with the practiced stealth of hunters.
But the middle of the night seemed like an odd time for a hunting party. The ecosystem survey mentioned no nocturnal prey apt to attract a human’s attention. The sick sensation he was the prey twisted Zack’s gut.
Then, Decker thought he heard someone sniffing the air, a sound that came ever closer. He almost jumped out of his skin when a small voice, somewhere to his right, lilting with amusement, asked, “Where are you, my precious little newcomer? Daddy’s hungry.”
