by Jim Rudnick
Bram felt he’d taken the right road in this argument. He knew the judge was on the fence, but surely cutting off the Issians from even attending the court as visitors would be a bad thing.
“Further, your Honor,” Alpert said as he rose, “is the standing precedent that is followed by all courts in the RIM Confederacy that no Issian—in fact no one of any faith, color, race, gender, or religion—be barred from any court proceedings. Surely, Your Honor, this last prosecution motion seeks to break with court tradition. And then there’s the whole issue of appeals and what that motion, if successful, would do for the judge who found it fitting to enact same,” he said.
The judge looked at him. His face was stern and showed that he didn’t fear appeals. Yet he did, Bram could see, and that argument from Gia’s lawyer seemed to win the judge over.
Bram sat and as he did, he could still see Gia looking at him, measuring him somehow, her brain was saying. He smiled at her—a small smile—and got the same back as she turned to face the judge who was about to rule.
“Motion denied, Mister Prosecutor. Clerk, record same, please, and issue the docs soonest to both sides. Is that all for the prosecution?” he asked.
Bram thought the prosecutor looked a bit flustered as he sat, and then as the man agreed with the judge, the defense lawyer stood and took his place at the lectern.
“Your Honor, we have only one motion at this time,” the defense lawyer said as the courtroom grew quiet.
“We make the motion of habeas corpus at this time, Your Honor. We know that the defendant is currently being held in the Neen County Jail in solitary and as such enjoys little time for counsel and working with us on her defense. What we would like to ask is that the courts allow the defendant—innocent until proven guilty, mind you—to take up residence within the ducal palace. Fully guarded by the Duchy d’Avigdor Navy Provost core—a collateral force within the duchy court system. She would be chipped, and she would be able to help greatly with her own case. We ask, Your Honor, as we all know that this woman here today is innocent.”
The prosecutor was up on his feet in less than a second and waved an arm up and down as if he was a traffic officer stopping vehicles during rush hour.
The judge interrupted him before a full word left his mouth. “Wait, before your objection, Mister Prosecutor—are you aware that the defendant is being held in full solitary confinement in the Neen County Jail?”
“I am conversant with those facts, Your Honor,” he said as he stood at the prosecution table.
“Are you also aware that there is a shortage—quite a sizable shortage, I understand—with the COs there—the correctional officers,” the judge said, now looking down at the tablet in front of him, “and that gives her only two hours a day for visitors—lawyer included?”
The prosecutor was waving furiously at his assistant attorney who was rummaging through folder after folder looking for paperwork to perhaps refute that statement.
“And are you aware that the defendant is—like all defendants are—presumed to be innocent until proven guilty?” the judge asked.
Bram smiled.
The defense lawyer in front of him and to his left smiled too—well, he couldn’t see the lawyer’s face, but he knew a smile when he saw it in a brain within reach.
“Clerk, I’m going to grant this defense motion. The defendant is hereby remanded, in house arrest, let’s call it, to the duchy palace; rooms et cetera to be decided upon by the Duchy Navy Provost guard. They are charged with the duty of keeping her at that location, subject to changes that the courts might deem necessary until trial.
“They are to chip the defendant and remove all ID papers, passports, any and all kinds of travel documents. They are also to issue daily reports to the clerk of this court on the verified whereabouts of the defendant at all times. No exceptions. No mistakes.
“I want the duke notified of this—and the admiral of the Duchy Navy as well as the commandant of the Duchy Navy Provost Guard.
“No mistakes, Miss—do you read me?” the judge said, addressing Gia for the first time.
Bram looked toward Gia who nodded and said, “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Good, Clerk, issue docs to all—don’t forget the duke et al. either,” he said as he rose.
The bailiff hustled back up to the front and yelled, “All rise for the superior court judge,” as the judge left the courtroom
Bram stayed standing, and as he turned to the aisle down the row of seats, he looked over at Gia. She stared at him, and he received one thought, beamed over to him like she was trying to send him a message. “Who are you...” was the only thought he received.
#####
Hunting Guide Master Koenig bowed fully from the waist, stepped forward, and grinned at Tanner as he clasped the duke’s forearm in his hand. He gripped it as if it was a lifesaver ring to a drowning man. “Duke—so, so good to see you again,” he said as he released that half-crushed forearm and then bowed once more.
Tanner grinned and said, “No, no, Guide Master, no bowing to this duke ...” He reached out to try to straighten up the man, and that was a hardship he’d not encountered before.
The man was at least fifteen years older than Tanner, but what he grabbed was all muscle, tendon, and bone. Not an ounce of fat, Tanner thought, Koenig is more in shape than men half his age. Tanner led the guide master over to the seating area, and they settled on the facing divans in the palace salon.
Since he’d been the duke—only about a month—Tanner felt the seating in the salon was too formalized, too comfortable, and much too soft. Not surprisingly, he heard about it right away.
“This is a bit of a soft room, eh, Duke?” Koenig said as he pushed down on the seat cushion beside where he sat. The springs below made no sound, but the cushion went down at least a foot.
“Agreed, Guide Master,” Tanner said, but he waved off any follow-up comment and got right to the point. “I have decided that—well, that my groomsmen from my wedding of more than a year ago need something more. What happened,” he said as they both nodded to each other, “was a tragedy, and yet I think that my friends will need some kind of closure, I think they call it. Something else to remember rather than the deaths of the Master Adept and Duke David.”
The guide master nodded but did not interrupt. Wearing the traditional browns and greens, the forest shades of Anulet, he was dressed as he always was. Tanner noted that his holster on his side was empty, but that didn’t mean Koenig was at anyone’s mercy—the reputation that this Anulet citizen carried was that he was as deadly unarmed as armed.
“So, what I’m planning is a hunt for us all—on Anulet, of course, and for Oved. Those bigger than elk huge beasts should be in their rut in the next few weeks, and that kind of mating fire makes for a great hunt, right?”
The guide master nodded and then answered his duke. “Yes, this is prime Oved hunting season for about the next month. Glad to see you know that—but a caution, Duke? Summer season has been tough on Anulet. We had some pretty severe drought conditions, which made the Oved forage areas smaller.
“Compacted them really, especially near the canyons that you might remember. So that made them easy pickings for the Jaels who decided that they too like Oved meat. Numbers are down somewhat, and few young will make it to their first birthdays but that shouldn’t affect our hunt at all. Mounted, Sir?” he asked.
Tanner had used Gallipedia to look up more on Anulet than he thought he’d ever want to know—but mounted on what was not a part of what he’d read.
“Your advice there, guide master?” he asked. Royals who don’t know pretend to know, he reasoned as he cocked his head as if ready to accept counsel and consider same.
“Duke, yes, mounted is perhaps best in the best of times—but as the hard summer has concentrated the Oveds into fewer square miles, we can easily hunt on foot. Dogs though could be used to help move the Oved toward us in some cases, but yes, I would say we do not need horses this time,” he sai
d.
Tanner now remembered they called the mounts horses, but the creatures were solid purple with six legs; they were definitely not the horses he thought he knew.
“Agreed, Guide Master. Let’s choose some dates, shall we?” he asked as he reached for his tablet on the coffee table in front of him. He noted the guide master didn’t have a tablet and asked, “Do you want to perhaps delay the choice of dates, Guide Master, until you have your schedule handy?”
Koenig tapped the side of his head and grinned. “Duke, when the head of state decides on a date—all others get moved or canceled. That I know, so what dates have you considered, Sir?”
Tanner recognized that was another Royal trait he’d need to brush up on. “In two weeks, let’s say—arrival and orientation day one, hunt days two and three, and depart after a final banquet on day three. Will that work for you?” he asked.
“We will make it work for you, the Duke d’Avigdor. Might I ask—will there be needs to arm all the guests, or shall that be done here from the ducal armory?”
“Here is good,” Tanner said, and that alone would be a fun afternoon, he knew.
“Then we will look for you then, Duke—fourteen days from today. I will ensure the main lodge has rooms ready and our best fare for your guests, Sir,” he said as he rose and bowed once again from the waist.
Watching the guide master stride out of the salon, Tanner was struck once again with the power in the man’s step and the hope that he might be just as fit when he was at that age.
He looked down at the tablet, made some additions to the notes, and then said, “Ayla, could you come in, please?”
It hadn’t taken but one EYES ONLY to ask his aide Ayla to join him. He had asked her to leave the Barony Navy and accept the same rank in the Duchy Navy. Helena had prompted him to at least ask.
Tanner felt a slight twinge of guilt that he was always “poaching” staff from wherever he had just left. But his wife had pointed out that those who knew him wanted to be on the “Tanner bandwagon,” and if that meant they left their old position to take a new one with him, so be it.
Ayla came into the salon and nodded before he could even say a word to her. “Your Grace, yes, I was monitoring from the side anteroom and will make the needed calls and arrange for the Sword to make the milk-run to go and get all the groomsmen who can attend the hunt two weeks less a day from today.
“I will also schedule the armorer to be in attendance down in the armory to help your guests choose weapons as well, Your Grace. And I will make sure to double-check with the Grand Hunting Lodge on Anulet about numbers as well. Do you as yet have any choices for the final night’s banquet menu?” she asked.
Tanner grunted. She should be the duke, he thought as he shook his head negatively. “Not in the least—other than perhaps it should be something traditionally Anulet in style and substance, Ayla?”
She nodded “Excellent choice, Your Grace. I will get back to you later today with a list of items, and I’ll include some Gallipedia links too for background should there be something that might not be apparent with the recipes and ingredients, Your Grace.”
He nodded and she left him alone. As he sat there, he realized that not only was he poaching people—people whom he liked and had formed relationships with—but the Sword, too, was his once again. His minister in charge of—Something. What was it, he thought. Ah, never mind. The man had been able to get a great deal from the Barony Navy on the big shuttle, and so the Sword had become the newest addition to the Duchy Navy.
He rose and went over to the small butler’s pantry on the side of the room opposite the enormous formal windows. Reaching into the cold cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of water and took a big sip. He walked toward the windows and looked outside even though Helena was up on the top floor of the palace, waiting for him. There were probably many ways to reach that floor, but he knew of only the one. Out the door, turn left, go all the way down the hallway, and then take the stairs, two at a time, up to the third floor. On the third floor, go past the stationed Provost guard who saluted each and every time and down the long corridor to the final stairs up to the residential suites above.
“Gotta be more ways than that,” he said to himself as he sipped the water and looked out across the palace grounds toward Neen City, the capital of the Duchy d’Avigdor. While hard to see, if he squinted just a bit, he could barely make out the streams of flying cars well above the streets below. Once in awhile, a car would dive off on an angle as it began to descend and the big front headlights shone his way for an instant, and he smiled once more.
It was the end almost of the evening rush hour as citizens left their workplaces to return home.
“Me too,” he said to himself, promising to ask the palace AI to give him a working model of the palace corridors and hallways and put it on his PDA. Makes me more of a duke, he thought, and he grinned as he turned away from the rush hour and toward his own residence.
#####
Captain Magnusson was impressed—no two ways about it. He’d been met at a private doorway to the Barony Palace by an EliteGuard—a major, in fact—and escorted through seven different rooms, down four more hallways, and up three escalators and down yet another to end up here—in a meeting with the Baroness.
It was supposed to be a meeting, but so far, he sat alone on the divan the Elite Guard had directed him to. The major now stood over on the far side of the spacious receiving room, at attention, and Captain Magnusson continued to wait.
Wall hangings were plentiful. Old tapestry type of welted weaving, he thought, and they showed everything from the moons over Eons to the hunt of a Jael on Anulet. Impressive, he thought as his eyes drifted to the right, and in doing so, he must have missed the entry of the Baroness because she was now sitting down opposite him on her own chocolate divan.
He jumped up, went to attention, and said, “My Lady, Captain Mel Magnusson, reporting as ordered.”
She nodded and waved for him to sit on the couch again. “Yes, yes, Captain. Please, sit yourself—refreshments, please, AI,” she said.
From somewhere behind him, he could hear a door open, and in came a steward with a cart. On it were many kinds of pastries, muffins, and tarts; there were also pitchers of juices and a thermos of coffee. But like all non-Royals, he waited until his Baroness had spoken first.
“I’ll have a nice Bundi juice, please—with one of those butter tarts with the raisins,” she said as she looked at him.
He said, “Coffee, black, please,” and the cup appeared on the table in front of him, a silver spoon still nestled in the saucer. He didn’t pick it up until she reached for her tall, misted glass of bright blue juice and smiled at him.
She wore an outfit in unique colors, but like everyone else, he had no real idea what colors the Baroness wore. Chartreuse came to mind, but that was too yellow to describe her top and leggings. The boots might have been chartreuse, but the clothing had a touch of violet mixed in.
Her long locks had been pulled back tautly, and two long tresses had a matching ribbon of the same color as her boots wrapped around them. He knew little about makeup, but she looked like she could go right to a state dinner. She was about as impressive a beauty as he’d ever seen.
He knew he had to watch himself around women, and adding in the beauty of this one, and he would need to be on guard at all times. He considered trying to make small talk, but the Baroness leaned forward, put down the now half-empty glass of juice, and picked up the butter tart on a small side plate in front of her. She nibbled a bit on one edge and then pointed at him with the same hand holding the tart, one forefinger outstretched.
“You, Captain Magnusson, are the Barony Navy captain who took it upon himself to take our yet-to-be-launched Barony Drive out for a shakedown test cruise—more than a thousand lights, I understand—with no permission from anyone,” she said calmly,.
He was surprised but she did have the goods on him. He had done just that—taken the BN Exeter to Branto
n, the home world of Duke d’Avigdor—then an admiral in the Barony Navy—on a lark. The Barony Drive had worked perfectly, and after positioning the satellite around that world’s sun, the trip home too was a success.
“Had it not worked, you’d have faced a trip for, what, three-and-some years to come home. But it did work,” she said.
She took another bite of the tart, which was now almost gone. Captain Magnusson opened his mouth to speak to that, but she held up her hand holding the tart once again.
“Congratulations, Captain. I like navy officers who show gumption, and you certainly did that,” she said as she popped the last of that tart into her mouth and reached for the juice to wash it all down. She dusted her lips with the small square napkin that had accompanied the tart, and she brushed any crumbs off her hands.
Time, he thought, to answer her.
But again she went on, and he bit his tongue to stop.
“I like that action—which means that I like you, Captain. And, as you are what I’d call a navy man with ambition—I have a special mission for you. A confidential mission—one that might be fraught with danger but might not too. I have no idea, but it involves Pentyaan space. Is that something you might consider, Captain?”
He nodded and finally got to speak. “Yes, Ma’am! The trip to Branton was a test, really, of the capacity of the Barony Drive—and it worked out fine. You might remember that months later, it was the Exeter and my crew that were sent to test the range of the drive, and we established that the Barony Drive worked perfectly as it was supposed to for up to at least ten thousand lights, Ma’am. So, with Pentyaan space being only about fifty lights from Neres, I have no problem at all, Ma’am,” he said.
She nodded but held up a hand, palm facing him. “Yes, but this is not a simple test. In fact, you and your crew will know about this mission, as will I—but no one else.
