by John Bowers
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“So where does that leave us?” She smiled.
Bridge lowered his head for a moment and chewed his lip. He looked up.
“It still sounds like a suicide mission. If anyone can pull it off, Nick probably can, but I would hate to risk his life on such thin odds. And if he gets caught, it seems to me that would drive the BCs straight into the Sirians’ arms.”
The President nodded. “It is a calculated risk.”
She turned to Nick.
“Obviously I can’t order you to take this mission. Even if you were still in the military, I would never do that. And the truth is, you’ve already served the Federation well as both a Star Marine and a U.F. Marshal; you have no further obligation to risk your life.”
Nick held eye contact with her and waited. He was sure there was a “but” coming. He was wrong.
“So…I leave it up to you. This mission, if it succeeds, could push the possibility of war a century into the future; if we can ally with Beta C, it might prevent a war altogether. It could also get you killed, with disastrous diplomatic repercussions. None of us will likely live to see the final result, whichever way it goes. We can’t see the future, but we can take steps to direct it. That’s all I’m trying to do.
“Marshal Walker…it’s your call.”
Suzanne Norgaard Park, Trimmer Springs – Alpha Centauri 2
“How’s your new law practice working out?” Kristina asked Victoria.
Victoria held out her hand, palm down, and wobbled it.
“So-so. I’ve been appointed by the court to defend a robbery suspect next week.”
“Victoria, that’s wonderful!” Kristina gave her a quick hug. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks. It’s not exactly a rainmaker, but I have to start somewhere.”
“Absolutely. To tell you the truth, after all the publicity that went with Nick’s case, I’m surprised that clients aren’t beating your door down.”
Victoria laughed. “Maybe they would have, except I dropped out of sight for a couple of years trying to track Nick down. I’m just now catching my breath.”
“Well, once the word gets out that you’re back in business, I’m betting you’ll need to hire a staff to handle all the cases.”
“I hope you’re right. Court appointments don’t pay very much.”
“Like you said, you have to start somewhere. Is this robbery trial in Federation court?”
Victoria shook her head. “Colonial court. Which is both good and bad—the burden of proof is not as high for the prosecution, but the rules of evidence are more lenient for the defense, so it balances out. Colonial cases generally move a lot faster than Federation cases. The biggest shift is going to be in my mental process, thinking acquittal rather than conviction.”
“You’ll do fine.”
They walked for a moment in silence.
“I’m sorry Nick got called back,” Victoria said. “I was looking forward to spending a day with all of us together.”
Kristina nodded as they strolled past a badly depleted food table.
“Me, too. I wanted to surprise him.”
“Surprise him?”
Kristina smiled. “I’m dying to tell him. I was waiting for today.”
“Tell him what?”
Kristina stopped walking and glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting holo-news cameras to be hovering behind her.
“You have to promise you won’t tell him.”
Victoria, captivated by Kristina’s demeanor, shivered with expectation.
“Okay, I promise. What is it?”
Kristina lowered her head, grinning. Almost giggling.
“Kevin asked me to marry him.”
“Kevin? Kevin Dougherty, the cop?”
“Yes! Can you believe it?”
Kristina pulled a small jewelry box out of her pocket and popped it open. Inside was a sparkling engagement ring. She removed the ring and placed it on her finger.
“I’ve been hiding this until I got a chance to tell you guys. But since Nick isn’t here…”
She held up her left hand for Victoria to inspect. Victoria took her hand and gazed at it.
“It’s beautiful! I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!”
She kissed the younger woman on the cheek.
“When did this happen?”
“About a week ago. At first I was reluctant, because…well, it seemed too soon, but—”
“It isn’t too soon. You’ve had a lot of tragedy in your life, Kristina. You deserve a break. You deserve to be happy.”
“That’s what Mildred told me.” Mildred Trimmer was Kristina’s business partner.
“Mildred is right.” Victoria squeezed her hand and giggled. “Nick is going to be so excited!”
“Do you think so? I was almost afraid to tell him, but…”
“He will be thrilled. Trust me.”
They hugged each other. It had been thirty months since Kristina’s mother and husband were gunned down by terrorists, leaving her orphaned and widowed literally overnight. She had been shattered, had grieved, but possessed a strong will and a stronger heart. She pulled out of it within a year, took over her mother’s interest in a local boutique, and got her life moving forward again. But she hadn’t dated for another year, and only then because Kevin Dougherty, a Trimmer Springs police officer, had hovered over her like a guardian angel. He had never made a single advance or asked her out, but was clearly interested. Finally she decided it was time to start living again, and she asked him on a date.
The rest had come naturally.
“Who is Mijo talking to?” Victoria asked. “Do you recognize that woman?”
Kristina turned to look. Mijo, still twelve years old but already infatuated with the girls, was smiling happily as he chatted with a short, petite woman in a blue dress. The woman was standing with her back to them, but whatever she was saying seemed to charm the boy. She was only an inch taller than he and had long, coal-black hair that gleamed in the afternoon rays of twin suns.
“Do you recognize her?” Victoria asked.
“No.”
Victoria waved and Mijo caught the motion. He took a step to the side, said something to the woman, then trotted toward them. The woman glanced around and for a brief instant the two blondes got a look at her face. She was Asian, extremely pretty, but before they could determine more than that, she began walking toward the street. By the time Mijo reached them, she had disappeared behind some parked surface cars.
Mijo loped up to them and stopped, grinning.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“We were just wondering where you were. Wanted to make sure nobody stole you.”
Victoria smiled.
“I’m fine! Having fun. Can’t wait for the fireworks.”
“Who’s your friend?” Kristina asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen her before.”
“Oh, that’s Kiko.” Mijo looked around, then his eyes narrowed when he could no longer see the woman. “Where’d she go?”
“She headed for the street as soon as she saw us. How do you know her? Who is she?”
“I never saw her before. She said she’s new in town.”
“Okay. That’s kind of odd—people don’t move here very often.”
Victoria felt a squirm of concern.
“What did you guys talk about?”
“All kinds of stuff. She was asking me about school and stuff.”
Victoria and Kristina exchanged glances. Why would an adult woman, just arrived in town, single out an adolescent boy for personal information?
But Mijo was oblivious to their concern.
“She’s hot, huh? ¡Muy caliente!”
“Why was she talking to you?” Kristina asked. “She looks a little old for you.”
Mijo shrugged. “I think she’s a friend of Nick’s. She was asking a lot of questions about him. She said they had a mutual friend.”
Victoria leaned slightly forward and
pinned him with her blue eyes.
“Mijo, what did you tell her?”
“Nothing much. Just that he don’t live here no more.”
“What did she say to that?”
Mijo frowned. “Hey, why all the questions? Did I do something wrong?”
Kristina put a hand on his shoulder.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, but Nick has a lot of enemies. Since we don’t know who she is, we have to be careful what we tell people.”
“Oh. I never thought of that.”
“What else did you tell her?”
“She asked where he was and I told her he had to go back to work, in Lucaston. That’s all.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter 5
Cachet Hotel, Lucaston – Alpha Centauri 2
Nick stared at President White Wolf, his face feeling numb. He had expected a lot more discussion before a final decision was required, and was now on the spot. He sucked a deep breath and let it out in a rush.
“How long do I have to decide?”
“The next diplomatic visit is scheduled for April 18, three weeks from now. I need an answer no later than tomorrow, if possible.”
He chewed his lip and glanced at Bridge. Bridge looked more troubled than ever, as if waiting for a life-or-death verdict from a jury. His return gaze offered no comfort whatsoever.
Nick looked at diGasse, whose eyes had narrowed in anticipation of his decision. He looked at the President again.
“I assume that your staff, or the FIA, or someone, has worked out some kind of operational plan?”
“We have.”
“Maybe I could be briefed before I say yea or nay?”
Vivian White Wolf smiled.
“Of course you can.” She bent forward and touched a button on a communication console on the coffee table. It was answered instantly.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Send in Agent Valentin.”
Nick sat forward with elbows on his knees as one of the doors on the right slid open and a man stepped through. He was short and dapper, with thin black hair, a round face, and pencil mustache—what the Star Marines called a “pussy ‘stache”. His blue suit, pinstriped white shirt, and blood-red tie were immaculate, giving him every inch the look of a two-bit bureaucrat.
Agent Valentin flashed the President a quick smile as he approached the step-down area carrying a stack of printed handouts. She waved a hand toward the coffee table and he sat down facing it, spread his materials on its surface, then sat up and waited for instructions.
“Agent Valentin,” White Wolf said, “I would like you to go ahead with the briefing we prepared. You are cleared to answer any questions Marshal Walker may have, even if they are classified. Am I clear?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Valentin stared at Nick with unrelenting black eyes.
Marshal Bridge raised his hand.
“Mrs. President, if this material is classified, should I step out?”
“No. As Marshal Walker’s superior, you may also have questions. All the rules of confidentiality obviously apply, but I don’t want any dark shadows in either of your minds over this information. Agent Valentin, please go ahead.”
Valentin nodded. He picked up the stack of printed material and distributed a copy to each person in the room, then sat down again. When he spoke, it was with the faintest of accents, barely detectable. Nick, upon hearing it, pegged him immediately as a Rukranian…as if the name weren’t already a dead giveaway.
“To avoid confusion and misunderstanding,” Valentin began, “I am going to proceed as if you never heard of Beta Centauri, so forgive me if I give you information that you already know.
“Please reference Page 1 on the handout.
“‘Beta Centauri’ is actually a misnomer. The star system is actually Alpha Centauri B, the same star you can see from here, which provides your second sun. Early settlers confused it with the real Beta Centauri, which has no habitable planets. They assumed that if this was Alpha Centauri, the companion star must be Beta Centauri. The error went unchecked for generations and got perpetuated, but nobody cared enough to clear it up.
“Beta Centauri—Centauri B, if you prefer—is home to a single habitable planet, which is mostly an ocean world. It has one continent and numerous island chains, the total land mass taking up about eleven percent of the surface. The population is ninety percent composed of people who migrated from Eastern Europe on Terra—primarily Russia, the Baltic States, and the Ukraine—hence the slang term ‘Rukranian’. The language is basically Russian, with a mix of the others thrown in, but like the inhabitants of every other star system, they also speak Standard English. At present, the population of Beta C is approximately a hundred million people.
“The city in question, Periscope Harbor, is also the capital city. The name is atypical of other cities on the planet, and derives from the rather unique and extremely entertaining periscope seals that inhabit the harbor and offshore islands.
“So much for geography.”
He turned a page in the briefing document. Nick and the others did the same. Page 2 displayed a chart of organization, which Valentin explained.
“Beta Centauri has a semi-democratic central government—”
“Excuse me…” Nick was frowning. “What do you mean by ‘semi-democratic’?”
“I’m coming to that. The planet is ruled by an executive branch and a Chamber of Deputies. The executive branch is composed of a Prime Minister and what is called the Council of Five, who act as a sort of cabinet to the PM. The Council has no legal authority, but only advise the PM, who makes all decisions and enacts all the laws.
“The Chamber of Deputies, composed of fifty elected members, supposedly represents the interests of the people, but also has no real power. It is merely an advisory board, giving the people a voice.
“When I said ‘semi-democratic’—what I mean is that the Chamber of Deputies is elected by the people, but the Prime Minister is not. The PM is appointed by the Council of Five, with appointments every five years. While in office, the PM has absolute power, but can be replaced at the end of his term if the Council is unhappy with him.”
“They don’t have a High Court system?”
“No. They have no constitution and no checks and balances as we think of them.”
“So the Council has the real power.”
Valentin nodded. “As far as the legal government goes, yes. But the real power on Beta Centauri lies elsewhere.”
He turned another page.
“To Federation eyes, the government structure on Beta C seems flimsy and inadequate, but it served them well enough for many decades. The problem is that the structure is ripe for corruption, and of course, it became corrupt. The Council of Five is not elected by anyone, nor appointed by anyone. It’s sort of like the popular concept of God—it always existed. Except, of course, it didn’t.
“The Council elects its own members, if that makes any sense. If one member falls out of favor, the other four can replace him. And anyone with enough money can bribe his way onto the Council, which is where the corruption comes in.”
“You keep saying ‘he’. Are there no women in the BC government?”
“Not a single one. BC society is one hundred percent misogynistic.”
Nick let out his breath with a puff of the cheeks.
“No wonder the Sirians are courting them. Sounds like a perfect match.”
Valentin’s lips curved in the ghost of a smile.
“What about the Prime Minister? Is he corrupt, too?”
“We’re not sure. Ivan Federov looks good in public, sounds good when he speaks, and we don’t have a single bit of evidence that he’s anything more than a dedicated public servant. However, if he wants to keep his job, he has to keep the Council happy, which leaves the question open.”
Valentin turned another page.
“On Page 4, you will find the real power on Beta Centauri.”
Nick turned the page and
frowned.
“The Bratva?”
“Bratva, the Rukranian word for ‘brotherhood’. Bratva is a criminal organization, what some call a mafia. It also existed a few centuries back on Terra, and may still have some splinters there, but these days it’s concentrated on Beta Centauri. As I said, Bratva constitutes the real power on the planet.
“‘Bratva’ is an inclusive term that includes several families, like the old Mafia on Terra. The most powerful is the Petreykin family. A double irony is that the word Bratva means ‘brotherhood’, and the family is run by two literal brothers, Egor and Georgy Petreykin. They are the most powerful men on the planet, and as long as they maintain their power, Beta Centauri will shift in whatever direction they choose. The government has very little say in the matter.”
“How does that work?” Marshal Bridge asked.
Valentin’s cheek twitched.
“We have reliable information that sixteen of the fifty Deputies are Bratva members. If that isn’t bad enough, we believe—but haven’t yet confirmed—that one of the Council of Five is also Bratva. That isn’t a majority in either case, but Bratva doesn’t need a majority. They have enough muscle that a few words of warning is all it takes to get something done. Anyone who opposes them might well end up as periscope seal shit…” Valentin glanced at the President and flushed. “Sorry, Mrs. President.”
Vivian White Wolf smiled and shook her head.
“No problem. Back on the reservation, we used to call it gomagoo, a slang term that refers to buffalo droppings.”
Valentin twitched again and returned to the briefing.
“Back to Bratva—Egor Petreykin is the older brother and therefore the head of the family. His younger brother is number two, but I’m told that Egor doesn’t make a move without consulting Georgy first.
