Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe)

by Britt Ringel

“When am I testifying?” Heskan asked as he fished through his bag for his datapad.

  “First available slot,” Miller answered. “Most likely tomorrow morning given that most of the legal bigwigs from AmyraCorp and IaCom will be out of the courtroom. That’ll open up some slots that the judges will insist upon filling. I’ll ping you when I’m certain or if we actually settle the cases before you’re due up.” Miller sat back into his seat as the capital raced by the windows. “In the meantime, just relax and enjoy the city.”

  * * *

  The frenetic pace of the city only increased once inside the judicial compound. The entry process was as thorough as it was efficient. Entrants simply stood in line on a gravity walkway that sped them through eight different security stations. The final station flashed an expiring visa to their datapads that would answer all electronic interrogations the visitors would be subjected to while inside the complex. Vernay read from the Nessus tour guide that they would be electronically interrogated, on average, two hundred times each day. Once past the imposing perimeter security, Heskan’s party flew over three kilometers of immaculately manicured gardens to the working portion of the judicial sector. The heights of this part of the capital gave Heskan vertigo. Centered around a space elevator, the compound was a fully realized city within a city. Buildings extended for kilometers both outward and upward. He had heard rumors that the breadth and height of the judicial compound of Rättvisa disrupted the planet’s local weather patterns but had scarcely believed them. He believed them now as he stared in awe at one of humanity’s greatest accomplishments.

  “No wonder this system is off-limits to corporate conflict,” Vernay uttered in marvel as she stood in front of their hotel. Even from a kilometer away, the space elevator towered over them, upward into eternity.

  “How many resources did building this city consume?” Selvaggio wondered.

  Truesworth set to work on his datapad and answered after a beat, “They picked the fourth moon of the first gas giant in the system nearly clean.”

  “I thought none of Nessus’ moons were inhabitable,” Selvaggio stated.

  “They aren’t anymore.”

  Heskan forced himself to look away from the sights of the city. Miller had remained inside their taxi, returning to the judicial building. “Let’s get settled into our rooms and then meet for dinner.” They had checked in during their ride only to discover that, remarkably, their deployment bags were waiting for them at the facility.

  Guided by his datapad, Heskan found his room on the 244th floor. His entire group had received rooms on the same level although the convenience was dubious given the floor stretched across four city blocks. By the time Heskan explored his three-room accommodation and freshened up, his datapad confirmed that he had gained an additional visa permitting him access inside the Madison Judicial Complex’s primary courtroom at 0800 the next morning. An attendant note from Miller urged him to arrive at least an hour early and accompanied detailed instructions for how to enter the building and where Miller’s paralegal would meet him before his scheduled testimony.

  The news spiked Heskan’s stress levels. Despite the assurances as to the banality of his testimony, he could not help but fear the worst. The prospect of being trapped on the witness stand, forced to answer questions that divulged his Republic origins in public court, made him long for simple, open combat. Paranoia over a process he did not fully understand gave him a dread far deeper than facing gigawatts of energy focused at him in the vacuum of space.

  Dinner inside the hotel’s largest restaurant proved entertaining. Nguyen and Tannault told stories about the rise of Nessus, some of which may have been true. Free of any possibility of testifying, Selvaggio and Truesworth allowed themselves to behave like star-crossed lovers in an exotic port of call. Although they amiably shared conversation with the Seshafians, it was clear that their mutual attentions threatened to drag the couple into a world all their own. By the time dessert arrived, both were quite tipsy from consuming their fair share of an imported Commonwealth bourbon Vernay had spied on the menu and recommended.

  Heskan learned two things about the lieutenants over the course of the dinner. First, it was clear that the couple’s affections had manifested long before he became aware of them and second, both company-grade officers were hilarious when in the bag. The pair’s carefree attitude and optimism about the future helped ease the ball of tension growing inside his own stomach.

  After the desserts were finished, only Vernay remained at the table with Heskan. The rest of the party excused themselves to either sample the nightlife outside the hotel or, in the case of Selvaggio and Truesworth, retire early to their lodgings.

  Vernay clumsily poured the final remnants of the bourbon bottle between their glasses. Some of the auburn liquid dribbled onto the table. Each glass was composed of a transparent igneous rock that, when placed on top of the table’s beverage strip circling near its center, regulated the temperature of its contents according to the drinker’s whim. Vernay had started her glass near the freezing point but gradually increased it to room temperature as the flavor of the beverage became more appealing.

  “You’re gonna do fine, Captain,” she said lazily, reading his mind.

  Heskan stared at his glass, assessing the bourbon’s depth of color. Unlike the rest of the table, he had imbibed frugally because of his appointment the next morning. “I know. It’s silly but it’s hard not to think about it,” he admitted.

  She blew out loudly and gave a haphazard wave. “IaCom’s lead counsel won’t even be in the courtroom; they’ll be busy with Wilder. It sounds to me like you’ll just stroll on up to the stand, say the holo-log is good and be on your merry way.” She carelessly rotated the glass in her hand while watching the liquid ride up its sides, stopping narrowly before it splashed over the edge. “Y-you know, I’m going to watch though, just in case, and I’ll be recording the whole thing.”

  Heskan slowly brought a hand to the bridge of his nose and squeezed tightly between his eyes. “What in the world for, Stacy?”

  Her lips curled upward in a sloppy smile. Lifting the rim of the glass to them, she knocked her head back and killed off the drink. With a shudder, she rocked her entire body forward and brought the glass down hard onto the table. Golden hair had fallen forward, hiding a majority of her face until she swiped a hand at the unruly locks. “Oh captain, my captain, because you look positively scrumptious in Shashafian shervice dress and I so rarely get to see you in it.” She brought a hand up to cover her mouth and giggled. “Seshafian,” she enunciated quietly.

  Heskan burst out laughing at the absurdity of her comment. The sight of his inebriated and carefree first officer lifted his spirits. After recovering his composure, he smiled warmly at his friend and proclaimed, “Commander, I do believe you’re drunk.”

  Vernay blinked several times at the allegation before answering. “That would explain why the table appears to be leaning at such an acute angle.” She peered into her empty glass and then looked across the table in a jaunty daze. “Captain, my captain, I regret to report that inertial compensators are down.” The winsome commander evaporated into another fit of laughter as she blurted, “We’re listing to port.”

  Heskan rolled his eyes but his own smile grew wider. “Let’s get you out of here. Can you stand?”

  “Of course!” Vernay insisted before pushing herself from the table and attempting to rise. Her delicate hands clutched for the table’s edge as she teetered. “Oh my. Maybe I should have tried to stand before finishing that last round.” She lifted her head to look across at Heskan, nearly losing her balance. “I think I’m going to need some help sailing to safe harbor.”

  Heskan came around the table and wrapped a supportive arm around her slim waist. She returned the gesture and rested her head against the side of his chest. Heskan found the supple warmth of her body upsetting.

  Vernay drew her other hand up to Heskan’s chest and purred, “You smell nice, my Captain.”r />
  The growl of her voice stirred feelings Heskan thought he had left behind in the Commonwealth. He mentally shook himself and made way, silently, for the hotel hallway that would contain the lifts to their floor.

  They weaved through the restaurant and lobby in their own personal solitudes for quite some time before Vernay murmured with eyes glazing, “My captain does not answer; his lips are still and pale.” She glided her hand up from Heskan’s chest slowly but stopped when it reached his shoulder, using it as support to better aid her balance as they staggered into an empty lift.

  Heskan bypassed voice command and slid his free hand up the control panel to the proper floor. Once the lift began its ascent, he asked, “What are you quoting? I find it difficult to believe anyone could be this spontaneously lyrical after single-handing nearly a third of a bottle of bourbon that size.”

  Vernay looked distantly up at him with azure eyes and hiccupped loudly. Just when it seemed obvious to Heskan that she was swimming in a sea of bliss, the haunted veteran appeared to return. “An old poem,” she answered quietly. “I can’t get it out of my mind.” Her head wobbled slightly before metered words passed over ruby lips. “‘Oh captain, my captain; our fearful trip is done. The ship has weather’d every rack; the prize we sought is won.’”

  The lift continued upward, the floors passing between eye blinks. Heskan readjusted his grip around Vernay’s narrow waist. She was leaning heavily into him now and her small stature kept making his arm ride embarrassingly higher up her torso. “That sounds like something we should be shooting for. What was ‘the prize?’”

  Vernay’s head drooped again, pressing against his side. Her voice was nearly breathless when she finally responded. “The prize was an entire nation on Terra, saved by that captain through battle. It mirrors what’s happening to you so closely, it terrifies me.” She whispered eerily, “‘The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; from fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won.’”

  Heskan squeezed her waist reassuringly. “I don’t know. That’s sounds pretty good to me. I’d weather a few, rough seas for victory.”

  Vernay lifted her head a final time, locking sodden eyes onto his. He was uncertain whether the disturbing wave that shuddered its way through him was more from her foreboding words or the mournful appearance of the woman in his arms.

  Expression grim, she finished the verse. “‘Exult, O’ shores, and ring, O’ bells. But I, with mournful tread, walk the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead.’”

  Chapter 17

  Commander Joseph Tannault saluted respectfully to the admiral standing in front of him before wrapping his arms tightly around the man next to the flag officer. “Peter, it’s good to see you.”

  Peter Tannault clapped his brother on the back before releasing the embrace. “You too, Joseph. I was worried. I heard rumors there was trouble during your trip to Nessus.”

  The Seshafian officer once again faced Admiral Wallace to offer his hand. “An honor as always, Viscount. Thank you for extending this invitation.”

  Wallace grasped the man’s hand and shook firmly. “Of course, Joseph. It is a pleasure to host Peter’s brother, even at this late hour. Would you care to sit? Perhaps a drink?” He gestured casually to a waiting attendant.

  Once seated, Peter Tannault persisted, “Were the rumors true? Was there an attack on your transport?”

  His brother nodded. “Pirates ambushed our ship. Thank God we had a brig.” He shivered. “There was no parlay, no ransom demand… they just attacked us out of the black!”

  “Why?”

  The Seshafian commander shook his head. “I’m not completely sure but I believe it had something to do with—,” he cast an eye toward Wallace briefly, “—Captain Heskan’s origin.”

  “He knows, brother.”

  The line of Joseph Tannault’s mouth twisted slightly. “Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time. It’s obvious enough that the man is Brevic by the dishonorable way he fights.” A moment later, his head collapsed into his hands while muttering, “What has become of us?”

  Wallace leaned forward from his chair to grasp the Seshafian’s knee in support. He spoke with a warm, comforting voice. “Joseph, I assure you that I had no part in the underhanded ambush perpetrated against you.” He sat back and lectured, “Unfortunately, when the bed you choose is riddled with lice, you inevitably rise covered in them. Further, you must understand that this man has impugned my honor and I cannot allow that to stand. I shall, of course, act within the realm of gentlemanly conduct but I will vanquish this man as honor dictates.” Wallace’s brow furrowed sympathetically. “I regret that I cannot guarantee the safety of the sailors who willingly stand with him.”

  The younger man’s shoulders slumped at the insinuation and his expression became entreating. “Viscount, I beg you to understand. My oath is to Seshafi and my home corporation. It’s not to this outlander. But…”

  Peter Tannault glanced anxiously at Wallace before wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Big brother, AmyraCorp has changed. You haven’t seen it because they’ve kept you blinded from the truth but if you could see the things I have from outside the influence of the corporation… your new leader is only a manifestation of Seshafi’s abandonment of its values.”

  “He’s not my leader.”

  “You answer to him,” the younger Tannault pressed. “You willingly subjugate yourself to his authority, and hence, you adopt his values.”

  His brother looked away as the indictment struck true.

  “Come now, Peter,” Wallace eased. “The military man before us is an honorable one. I hold Commander Tannault in the highest regard and it’s not his fault that his leaders have discarded all we hold sacred out of pure expediency.”

  Head still hung low, the Seshafian mumbled, “Thank you, Viscount.”

  “That said,” Wallace continued, “you always have a choice, Joseph, about how and who you serve. There is little difference between a black-hearted ruffian and an honorable man who pushes his values to the side to serve that ruffian.”

  “But I have nowhere to go…”

  Wallace smiled. “Untrue, Joseph. Archduke Dunmore will always welcome men of honor, men willing to stand up for the old ways.”

  Peter Tannault bounced excitedly next to his brother. “You could transfer, Joseph! We could stand together, fighting for what we believe in and against the man who would lead your home system into immorality.”

  The Seshafian’s eyes looked hopefully into Wallace’s. “The archduke would accept my PCC request?”

  Wallace looked at the man intently. “I believe so, Joseph. The archduke and I have both followed your career. You would have several, high-level petitioners on your behalf.”

  Tannault took a moment to consider and nodded to himself. “Then I formally submit my request for a permanent change of corporation, Viscount. Effective immediately.” His words picked up speed as his excitement grew. “I could send Captain Heskan the notice right now and if you accept me, provisionally, I could even ride back from Nessus with Peter!”

  Wallace smiled grandly but then regained a more pensive demeanor. “Perhaps this is too hasty, Joseph. I don’t want to pressure you into something you may not be ready for. It’s a big decision and a transfer approval is always difficult to justify.” The Red Admiral gazed thoughtfully away for a moment. “Wearing that blue uniform, perhaps there is some good you could do not only for yourself but also for IaCom. Not only would such actions validate your decision internally, it would demonstrate to all in IaCom your willingness to embrace a new corporation and the net worth you’d bring.”

  “Anything, Viscount.”

  * * *

  Heskan arrived at the Madison Judicial Complex customarily early. He paced for thirty minutes, alone in the waiting room, unable to enjoy the extravagant chamber or its spectacular view on the window-mode wall screens.

  Finally, a suited man entered the
room and broke his spell. “Captain Heskan, I’m Jason Morgan, assistant to Mr. Miller. Do you have any questions about your testimony?”

  Heskan shook his head. “No, I can use the exact answer he prepared for me.”

  “Great,” Morgan replied as he gestured for Heskan to follow him. “If defense counsel cross-examines you, be sure to wait a second before you answer to give us time to object. That’s especially true if they ask you about your time as a privateer.”

  Heskan balked. “Mr. Miller said they couldn’t ask—”

  Morgan nodded as he interrupted. “They can’t but that may not stop them from at least trying. We’ll object, the archjudge will sustain our objection and then they’ll say ‘No further questions,’ and that will be it.”

  “Okay,” Heskan replied nervously. He was certain his answer sounded more like it had come from a frightened child than a fleet commander.

  They walked down a narrow hallway, past the portal Heskan had been escorted through on his way to the waiting room. The legal assistant opened the double doors at the end of the hall and waited at the threshold.

  From inside the expansive chamber, Heskan heard Miller’s voice. “AmyraCorp calls Captain Garrett Heskan.”

  He took that as his cue to enter the sprawling room. The scene before him was one of meticulously polished wood and oiled leather. Heskan saw he had entered the courtroom through a side entrance. To his left was an impressive panel of distinguished-looking judges draped in black gowns and powdered, white wigs. To his right, a smattering of attorneys populated two large tables. Heskan recognized Miller standing behind the table farthest from him. A striking, blonde woman was standing at the opposite table. The counselors had but a single assistant standing next to them.

  This boosted Heskan’s spirits greatly. If they were going to try anything, they’d have a lot more people here, orchestrating things. Another woman, garbed in a black, flowing skirt and exquisitely decorated doublet moved to Heskan and escorted him to a wooden chair at the far side of the judicial bench. The bailiff’s gleaming, ceremonial sword hung at her hip and seemed viciously functional to Heskan.