by J. L. Doty
Everyone looked at Abraxa, who sat back in his chair and let a sly smile form on his lips. “Very good, Johan,” Abraxa said. “Very good. Not just the detective work, the presentation was also quite impressive. How long have you known?”
Again angry shouts, demands and general chaos. “Silence,” Schessa shouted, raising her voice for the first time. York had heard that, next to Abraxa, Schessa was a power to contend with all her own. And the obedient silence that answered her spoke volumes for the respect, or awe, or more likely fear, with which the others regarded her. “Bargan,” she said, “Have you betrayed us?”
“Come now, Andralla,” Abraxa said, shaking his head impatiently. “Let’s not overreact here. Many years ago I came across an opportunity and I took it. I’ve done nothing with the whore’s brat other than keep him alive and out of the way, waiting to see if some opportunity presented itself. I did no more, nor no less, than any of you would have done.” Abraxa looked slyly at Soladin. “In fact, it’s obvious Johan has known about this for some time. So why didn’t he reveal it when he first learned of it—because like me he was waiting for an opportune moment to make use of it. And apparently he’s found it.”
“And the result,” Schessa continued, “is that you’ve put us all in danger. There’s no telling how the public would react to this information, or the military, or the senate. At least we have the royal family under our control at the moment . . .” As she spoke she reached out and closed a fist tightly in front of her, as if crushing something within her palm. “. . . but if this news were to get out there’s no telling what could happen.”
“My people know we betrayed Ballin at Sarasan,” Leonavich added, “and I’m having trouble with my junior officers.”
Degaas said, “Having trouble with your senior officers too, if we gage by the mutiny you had to put down.”
“Nevertheless,” Leonavich growled angrily, “There’s a lot of potential for popular support for this man in the officer corps, if the truth got out.”
Soladin spoke up. “Might I make a suggestion?”
York got the feeling that, between Schessa and Abraxa, there was a constant power struggle for supremacy over the Admiralty Council. At this moment, Schessa was temporarily top dog, and trying to consolidate her position. She nodded at Soladin.
“First,” Soladin said. “Let’s try Ballin in a military court, broadcast it and make it public. We’ll make sure Ballin completely discredits himself, comes off as a megalomaniac, a half mad renegade with a renegade crew. Ballin gets the death sentence, then after the trial he escapes, takes his ship and makes a run for it. In fact, we’ll keep his entire crew on Cinesstar under lock and key, use our own skeleton crew to stage the escape and do something a little spectacular. We’ll drive the ship out a few light-years from here, put a big warhead into it, then turn the propaganda people loose with a story about a pitched battle between our loyal troops and the mad renegade.”
They answered him with a long silence, which Abraxa finally broke. “It’s trite, sounds like a story on the vids.”
Soladin nodded and smiled. “But it’ll work.”
Again silence, this time broken by Leonavich. “Ballin and his crew deserve better than this.”
There was only a little more discussion, then the nine admirals voted, and unanimously sentenced York and his crew to death.
The scene on the reader card flickered suddenly, then switched to the courtroom, to York’s court-martial. But this wasn’t the prepared, edited, carefully massaged vid that had been broadcast to the public as a live trial. This was the raw footage. York watched them drag him into the courtroom, a beaten, broken man. Seeing it clearly now, even he was surprised at how brutal they’d been. He watched their first attempts at orchestrating the trial, watched the vid director interrupt and give orders to have him cleaned up. There were a few scenes of witnesses being called, scenes showing the vid director instructing them in the lies they were supposed to tell, instructing them in the punishment they would receive if they didn’t lie convincingly. Then there were the scenes when they brought York back, all cleaned up and healthy. York watched as he broke the vid-tech’s neck, watched the med-tech trying to calibrate the neural probe under the vid director’s instructions. And then there were scenes where they played him like a marionette, made him angry, made him sad, turned him on, turned him off.
The reader finished with more words from Palevi. “You just give the word, Cap’em, and we’ll get you out of there. Just let the next marine you see know, and we’ll take it from there.”
York withdrew the card from the reader, put it in a pocket, stood, went to the window and looked out at the lush, green countryside. That was clever of them. What a clever way to orchestrate the escape attempt Soladin wanted! Make him think he was escaping from the orchestrated escape attempt, escaping for real. If he gave Palevi the word he’d play right into their hands.
They’d won. He knew that now. He just wasn’t good enough at this game, and he didn’t want to play any longer. All he wanted now was to get some sleep, sleep with no nightmares.
CHAPTER 36: PARTY TIME
York watched the sun rise outside the window. He’d been up for some hours, awakened by one of his nightmares, could still remember the visions of body bags and body parts. It was a beautiful day, with a clear, blue sky like nothing he’d ever seen.
One of the AI goons brought his breakfast, did a good job of pretending to be a marine and asked him, “If there’s anything else the cap’em wants, anything at all, just let me know, sir.”
He had more of an appetite that morning, managed to eat something, then spent the morning staring out the window.
The AI goon that brought his lunch was rather transparent, picked up another reader card she’d brought with the food, shook the card at him and told him, “Real interesting news this morning, Cap’em.”
York was curious enough to take a look at the card. Like the other it was a normal vid broadcast, and at a certain point Palevi’s voice overrode the vid announcer’s. “Shit, Cap’em. Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but we can’t keep these people in place forever. We got to move quick. Just give us the word.”
After lunch York returned to the window. He didn’t know how long he stood there when there came a knock at the door.
No one ever knocked, they just came in, so he crossed the room and opened the door, found Andralla Schessa standing there.
It occurred to him that a condemned man didn’t have to bow to anyone, but there was no reason to be uncivil. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing and stepping aside. “Come in, please. I doubt I can go out.”
She smiled at that as she stepped past him. “Thank you, Captain. Or should I call you lieutenant, or . . . cap’em.”
“Does it really matter?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
York looked down the corridor outside before closing the door, saw no one, saw only wood paneling and carpet and other doors. He wondered for a moment if he should try to make a break for it, realized everything here was an illusion so he closed the door carefully. When he turned around Schessa stood there studying him. “Why didn’t you try for it?” she asked.
He thought about admitting he was beaten, decided he’d rather keep her misled. “I doubt I’d have been allowed to open the door if the appropriate precautions hadn’t been taken.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re a smart man, Captain. For a man who’s kept alive all these years, how did you get yourself into this mess?”
He almost said, It was Abraxa who kept me alive all these years, but he wasn’t supposed to know about that. “Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“No loyalties?” she asked. “No bitterness?”
He shook his head, walked past her to the bar, poured a strong drink and offered it to her. She took it, so he poured himself another. He looked at the drink, realized he hadn’t drunk anything for several days. “The loyalties I had are gone, and
I can’t be bitter at anyone because I was the fool.” He tossed the drink down in a gulp.
She hesitated for a moment. “You know . . . there is a way out.”
He walked over to the window, looked out at the green countryside and took the bait. “And that is?”
She joined him at the window. “Join me. Come to work for me. I’ll make you one of my closest advisors.”
York looked at her carefully—she was serious. “I assume your colleagues on the Admiralty Council wouldn’t approve of my continued existence.”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head at him. “A new face, a new name, a new identity, a carefully staged death, a body with your face and build, and a properly altered DNA report—these things can be arranged.”
“And my crew?”
“What crew?”
“Cinesstar.”
“Oh, that crew. I’m sorry, Captain. You must be realistic. We can’t save everyone.”
York nodded, continued to stare out the window and realized she was trying to do the same thing to him Abraxa had done for so many years, keep a prince of the royal blood on ice and wait for an opportune moment to make use of him. He thought of the pretty, young spacer he’d sat next to at gunner’s blood. She had looked at him with such admiration, expected so much of him. She was probably still on Cinesstar, waiting for him to do something miraculous, if she was still alive. “Let me think about it,” he lied.
“Very well, Captain. But don’t take too long.”
He didn’t escort her to the door, continued to stare out the window and heard the door close softly as she left.
No, he wouldn’t take Schessa’s offer. But unfortunately for that pretty, young gunner, he didn’t know any miracles either.
Another polite knock on the door. York answered it, ready to tell Schessa he couldn’t be her pawn, but found Palevi standing there dressed in an AI sergeant’s uniform. Palevi stepped quickly into the room; four of his people followed him, also in AI uniforms. He closed the door and said nervously, “Cap’em. We gotta move, now. We got the vids and monitors covered, and that’ll hold for maybe two hours, then they’ll know you’re gone.”
York shook his head. “We can’t. It’s what they want us to do, make a break for it like this.”
Palevi frowned and looked at him oddly. Then he grinned that grin. “Right, Cap’em.” He turned, scanned the room and barked orders at his people. Two of them started pulling at York’s clothes, undressing him, while the medic Kalee pulled out her kit and went to work on the scars on his face. She sprayed something on the skin there, did something with some chemicals, then pealed back his eyelid and said, “Try not to blink, sir.” She inserted a large lens over the face of the chrome eyeball while someone else guided his legs into a new set of pants. It was much like the drill they’d rehearsed to get him into his armor in a hurry. But this time, when they stood him up in front of a mirror, the man who looked back at him was a middle aged, lower rank AI noncom with no chrome eye and scars.
“Hustle it up, boys and girls,” Palevi barked. They stepped into the corridor, and Palevi set a careful pace. They were just a group of AI going somewhere on some business, two noncoms and four enlisted, not likely to be questioned by anyone except other AI. And York didn’t doubt Palevi’s people were ready for a nasty fight, if it came to that.
There were few military personnel present, though they passed quite a number of servants and civilians, all of whom avoided eye-contact the group of AI. Palevi led them through a large kitchen, then out into the open air across a wide, grassy lawn and into a garage where a number of vehicles were parked. He chose one, and the six of them climbed into it, then Palevi lifted it up on its grav fields and arced them slowly up into the sky.
It was that simple, too simple York realized. They had to be playing right into the Admiralty Council’s hands, giving them exactly what they wanted. But why not, he thought. They were going to execute them all anyway. At least this way they could all go out clean, go out thinking they were doing something, rather than just sitting there waiting for the inevitable.
Palevi drove the grav car to a small, but well equipped, shuttle port. They parked the car in a neat row of other vehicles, walked openly into the shuttle terminal, where Yagell and three other marines, also in AI uniforms, waited for them. York recognized Stacy and Dakkart among them. Security waived them right through.
“How’d you manage this?” York asked Palevi.
“The d’Hart woman set it up, passed around some rather hefty bribes, though the people she paid off don’t realize what we’re really doing. But she got us legit AI credentials with reasonably high-level clearances, so for a few hours we got quite a bit of freedom.”
York couldn’t hide his anger. “And why’s the d’Hart woman want to help us?”
“Apparently they double-crossed her some way, Cap’em.”
They hustled York into a shuttle where the d’Hart woman waited. “Good day, Captain,” she said.
York nodded politely, turned away from her and found a seat, sat down and closed his eyes tiredly. The Council had thought of everything, even to having her keep a close eye on them while they acted out this little charade.
“My personal yacht is waiting for us up at Luna Prime, Captain. It’s small, but transition worthy, and fast, and quite comfortable. We should be able to have you well out of reach before the day is out.”
York opened his eyes and looked at her closely. There was something hidden behind her eyes, some kind of pain, or sorrow, not the right emotion for someone so faithless. He wondered then if she knew how much of a pawn she was. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
The young AI lieutenant on the screen was quite nervous. She was pretty, and Juessik wondered how much she might want to advance her career. “Lady d’Hart’s shuttle lifted off Terr about an hour ago, sir. It should be docking with Prime shortly. Shall I issue an intercept order?”
Juessik shook his head. “No. This is the fun part. Let’s watch them run a little. They’ll squirm even harder when we close the trap.”
She nodded respectfully. “As you wish, colonel. Shall I notify the Admiralty Council?”
“Not yet.” Juessik didn’t want that fat old fart Abraxa stealing his fun. “There’ll be time for that later. Just keep me informed.”
Juessik cut the circuit.
“What was that, Torrin?” Dulell asked, stepping into the bedroom with two cold drinks.
“Nothing really,” Juessik said. “A little surprise for the Admiralty Council, when they find out their little bastard prince has escaped.”
Juessik took his drink from Dulell, pulled Dulell close, kissed him on the cheek. “I like surprises,” he said. “Especially when I get to give them.”
The d’Hart woman’s shuttle docked in a small service bay on Luna Prime without incident. She led them through busy corridors, with York and Palevi and the marines an apparent AI escort. York just coasted and let them lead him where they chose. It was easier that way, simpler not to think about what was coming.
There was some sort of snag gaining access to her yacht, some problem with their clearances. She told the ten of them to wait up in the Service Controller’s office while she made a call to clear the matter up, then left them waiting for the lift. When the lift doors opened Palevi grabbed York’s arm, held him back as his people stepped into it. He grumbled at them, “The cap’em and me, we’ll follow in a second.”
Standing in the open lift Yagell looked at him oddly, then shrugged, voiced commands at the lift and the doors cycled shut, leaving York and Palevi standing alone in the corridor.
Palevi grabbed York by the lapels of his AI uniform and slammed him up against the corridor wall. “God damn it, Cap’em,” he growled, his nose only inches from York’s. Palevi was shaking as he spit words in York’s face. “Don’t give up on us like this. We’ll follow you to hell and back, as long as you lead us. God damn it, we’ll follow you to hell even if we don’t get back. Jus
t don’t give up like this. You’re a marine, damn it, so act like one.”
On the tip of York’s tongue were the words, I ain’t no fuckin’ marine, but he let it go, just stared into Palevi’s eyes.
“Damn it, Cap’em. You once asked me to make sure you went out clean, no tanks. Well that’s what I’m askin’ you now. We want to go out clean, and you’re the only one who can give us that.”
York opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t give Palevi what he wanted so he shut his mouth carefully.
“Shit,” Palevi cursed as the lift doors opened again.
The Service Controller wasn’t at all happy to have ten AI troopers using his office as a waiting room. He was busy, tried to ignore them, concentrated on his screens and his work.
