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

by Britt Ringel

  “How’s Hawk?” Vernay asked.

  Covington tapped quickly at the datapad as the door to the nearest lift retracted. “As good as she can be, ma’am. I’m flashing you her latest status report. We’ll easily make it home but I certainly want to avoid combat. The problem is if we choose an alternate course home, we add eighteen days to our voyage at the minimum.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Tannault advised while entering the lift.

  The trip to the main courtroom was short. The media presence outside the chamber was triple the coverage that Heskan had encountered the day he testified. Covington and Tannault bid their farewells and joined the long queue in hopes of finding an available seat for the ruling. As a participating witness, seating for Heskan and a guest waited in the reserved section of the room.

  After a few confounding moments trying to find their proper seats, Heskan and Vernay sat back to watch the spectacle. Thomas Wilder and his entire legion of AmyraCorp attorneys packed around the plaintiff’s table. The advocates for IaCom crowded their station. Joining them was Viscount Wallace, looking resplendent in his blood-red service uniform. The dignified defendant could have easily passed for a judge had he been garbed in a gown and wig.

  After several minutes, the bailiff called the room to order and beckoned all to stand. The panel of eleven judges entered and promptly took their seats. Without preamble, the archjudge announced her ruling.

  “We, the highest court of Nessus, in the matter of procedural misconduct in the resolution of corporate conflicts, find in favor of the defendant, IaCom, on all counts.”

  Heskan heard excited chattering throughout the watching crowd. Ahead of him, Wilder was the essence of stoicism except for a barely perceptible head shake.

  “We, the highest court of Nessus, in the matter of personal misconduct in the resolution of corporate conflicts, find in favor of the defendant, Viscount Oliver Wallace, on all counts.”

  The archjudge rapped her gavel loudly over the growing noise without attempting to establish order. “This court is adjourned.”

  Before the clamor became deafening, the bailiff cried out, “All rise!” The words commanded everyone into silence as the judges stood from their perches and exited the room. After the last judge left, the chamber exploded into chaos.

  “Damn,” Vernay summarized succinctly as she dropped her datapad to her side and pocketed it.

  Heskan shrugged and lifted his briefcase. He shot her a wink and said, “It will make this even more fun.”

  Vernay grinned mischievously. “You and the archduke are evil geniuses.” She looked behind her toward the exit. “Let’s get into the hall so we don’t miss him.”

  If the courtroom was chaos, the grand hall outside it was pure bedlam. The enormous cavern was elbow-to-elbow with reporters and commentators shouting excitedly into cameras pointed in every direction. Other media teams were jockeying for position near the doors where Wilder and his counterpart would emerge. When the doors finally opened, the intensity of volume inside the hall increased threefold.

  Vernay latched onto Heskan’s arm as he pushed his way rudely toward the front. Insincere apologies tumbled from his mouth as he used his briefcase as a wedge to clear his path.

  After several minutes of struggle, Heskan could hear Wallace’s voice. The viscount was lamenting the sad days they lived in when a company as distinguished as AmyraCorp would debase itself and the high court with such a frivolous lawsuit.

  It may have been the numerous lights shining into the viscount’s eyes or perhaps he was dazzled by the brilliance of his own rhetoric, but he did not see Heskan coming.

  Heskan reached Wallace and transferred the briefcase to Vernay’s outstretched arms. He opened it and withdrew an immense stack of papers. Over the media din, he shouted at the Red Admiral. “I must confess that it is my greatest pleasure in presenting you, gentle Admiral, with Seshafi’s proper and righteous response to your casus bellum!” He shoved the large collection of papers at Wallace, ramming the bundle hard enough into the imposing man’s chest to knock him back a half step.

  The tight circle of reporters immediately gave way around Heskan, even as the fervor of their reporting intensified.

  Wallace reflexively accepted the stack. His initial, shocked expression turned into a divine outrage as he processed Heskan’s statement. Looking down at AmyraCorp’s interminable response, his reddened face twisted further. “At least give me a digital version of this travesty of a response, you cretin.”

  Heskan shrugged playfully. “Terribly sorry, Viscount, but I don’t have one. I guess you’ll have to convert it yourself.”

  Wallace flipped through the multitude of papers over what seemed like an eternity. “You must have listed every spaceworthy ship in Seshafi for your order of battle. This is preposterous! How will we make heads or tails of this?”

  “You’ll just have to pull your heads out of your tails,” Vernay quipped with a winning smile.

  Heskan heard Covington bark out a short laugh at her retort. During the theatrics, Hawk’s captain and Commander Tannault had come up behind him. Wallace’s preliminary assessment of AmyraCorp’s order of battle was correct. Typically, such documents were a single sheet; this portion of Seshafi’s total response to Sade’s casus bellum was twenty-two pages long. It was purely smoke and mirrors, Heskan knew. Whereas Sade’s order of battle included a fearsome array of corporate warships totaling more than thirty, Seshafi, in reality, could not fill out two complete sections with warships. Making matters worse, Commander McDaniel of the Iron Brigade had regretfully informed Seshafi that Jinete, heavily damaged in Sade, would not be repaired in time to participate and, therefore, he could offer only three ships in support of their defense. Heskan’s fleet would be grossly outmatched, yet again, facing over two-to-one odds. This time he had nowhere to run. Disguising his fleet among a laundry list of other ships in the Seshafian order of battle, even temporarily, helped ease the ugly truism. “It’s all in accordance with the customs and procedures of corporate warfare, Viscount,” Heskan said with false bravado. “I can assure you of that.”

  Wallace seemed ready to erupt. As the Saden noble struggled for composure, Heskan thought, We’ve done it. He’s going to throw our response up in the air and explode in a bright, red mist of fury.

  The area around them grew eerily quiet, waiting for the response. Only the hushed whine of the larger recording devices filled the void.

  To Heskan’s surprise, Wallace collected himself and avoided combustion. “Very well. So be it. You shall receive our updated order of battle… a real order of battle, shortly before the banquet, Sir Heskan.” He turned toward the media. “Let it never be said that Sade and her subjects have failed to comply not only with the letter of the law but its spirit.”

  “We won’t be attending any banquet, Viscount,” Heskan stated coldly. “Given the, how did your attorneys phrase it, ‘terrible tragedy resulting from Seshafi’s porous security,’ we’ve decided placing every noble and ship captain together in the same room is an unnecessary security risk.” He turned toward the cameras and smiled while announcing, “Let it never be said that Seshafi and her subjects don’t hold the security of her guests above all else.”

  A cold fire burned in Wallace’s eyes. “This is the path you’d have our people travel? You’ll not rest until you’ve destroyed every facet of our culture, will you?” His next words came out more as an oath than an observation. “You must be stopped; at any cost.” Disdainful eyes turned upon Tannault briefly before Wallace spun dramatically in place and stomped away. The Red Admiral’s tangible anger tossed aside the throng of media ahead of him like the strongest of gales.

  Chapter 20

  The outlander stepped off the ramp of the Seshafian transport that had shuttled him from the main planet’s orbital to its capital city. He paused as his feet touched solid ground and took a purposeful look all around him. Closing his eyes, he instinctively noted the number and position of uniformed secur
ity and the locations of egress from the terminal.

  “This way,” a press attendant urged as she approached him. She swept her hand toward an archway of sophisticated sniffer arrays. “Once again, please accept our sincerest apologies. We had no idea we sent your news outlet inaccurate information.”

  “One shouldn’t let the past haunt you, just teach you,” he offered with a curt nod as he stepped through the sensors and continued toward an official wearing a customs uniform. The man held out his hand and swiped an instrument over the offered datapad. Moments later, the text on the official’s computer screen shaded to green, validating the news reporter’s credentials.

  The customs official smiled as he looked up from his screen. “Welcome to Seshafi, Mr. Jensen.”

  * * *

  The whine of his taxi’s engines faded as it flew north through the darkening sky. To the east, the red sun dipping below the watery horizon made for a spectacular view of the beach. A kilometer off the coast, an enormous clipper sliced through the water on a broad reach.

  Heskan stood at the newly constructed residential landing pad beside his house with his luggage resting on the cobblestone. The pad, a ten-meter circle at the front of his house, still smelled faintly of the gel the builders had used to secure the stone to its foundation. Blue lights on the pad dimmed as their sensors lost the signal of the taxi. A narrow driveway branched off from the landing pad to circle near the front doors before following the side of the two-story structure to an attached carport. Heskan stared at the house. His house.

  The Spanish Colonial residence that started as a humble abode had grown with Vernay’s suggestions. He did not need a swimming pool but it made sense to have one since he had already insisted upon a deck with a real grilling station. The sauna, built as an attachment to the house at the deck, might rarely be used but it might be nice after a rigorous workout. Vernay’s proposal to add an elaborate exercise room also seemed destined to be a useful one. He was not exactly sure what equipment he would buy for the room but, at the minimum, he wanted a virtual rower. I’m going to finish that trip to Dione’s moon, he promised himself. He even knew exactly how far he had left to complete it. Maybe I’ll buy a good Pedi-Sim, too, along with a nice weightlifting machine.

  The equipment would cost a small fortune and Heskan was mindful that his entire Brevic savings had been spent freeing Isabella, but the money AmyraCorp paid him during his time as a privateer, including compensation for the loss of Elathra, ensured a comfortable retirement. Samanta De Luca had, essentially, given him and his crew a starship worth billions of credits in exchange for the life of her niece.

  “I would have saved her for nothing,” Heskan muttered to himself as he picked up his bags, slipped the straps over his shoulders and carried them toward the front door. His heart still suffered when he thought of Isabella. It seemed unreal that he would never see her again but he knew it was truth he would have to accept.

  He shouldered the weight well and shifted the bags when he reached the front doors. Once the house security protocols were set, the doors would open for him automatically, but this time he fished out his datapad and swiped it over the panel near the entryway.

  He was entering his new life, on a planet far from where he grew up. Inside that newborn life were new people he had met and would yet meet, even as some from his old life faded into the horizon like a ship slipping away in the sea. The doors swung noiselessly open and revealed a large, stone-tiled foyer. Running up the right side was a curved staircase ending at a balcony that looked over the living room on the first floor. The engineers had designed the supports to the balcony to form a graceful arch on the ground level. The dim, natural light from the setting sun vaguely illuminated an open kitchen past the foyer and living room. Adjacent to the kitchen, inside the living room, were enormous glass windows and wide portals to the outside deck. The portals could be set open with weak containment fields keeping out unwanted pests and the day’s heat. Tonight, they were closed tight.

  “Lights,” Heskan said quietly. The command echoed off the stone floor. The foyer lights flared into action providing him with a better view of the vacant interior. Everything was pristine. Tiled floors shone. Carpet was blindingly white. Walls were completely unmarred and empty.

  Heskan stepped into this blank canvas and realized how utterly alone he was. He was isolated from Port Crown. He was isolated from his past, both good and bad. He dropped his bags onto the floor and walked through the living room, toward the back of the house. “Lights, Kitchen,” he ordered as he went. He whispered the command instinctively, unwilling to break the preternatural silence shrouding the place. It’s like a tomb, he thought morosely. Why did I let Stacy talk me into building two extra bedrooms upstairs? This house is going to feel so lonely. Heskan had wanted privacy but this new feeling of solitude threatened to overwhelm him.

  He turned the corner to enter the kitchen and nearly bumped into a large bouquet of flowers resting on the kitchen island. The burst of color at the room’s center breathed fresh, vibrant life into the barren house. There were strains of plumeria, magnolia and hydrangea along with at least five other species Heskan did not recognize. The dazzling array of color and aroma transformed the sterile house into a warm, welcoming home.

  Heskan leaned in close to smell the magnolias and found a small card nestled in the arrangement. He read its face:

  Congratulations, Garrett! May the first steps in your new, beautiful home be the first steps in your new, beautiful life.

  –Stacy

  * * *

  Two days after his return home, Heskan substituted the languid calm of his estate for the frenetic pace of Port Crown. He arrived at Joshua Covington’s office at the same time as Captain Nguyen. “Welcome back, gentlemen,” Archduke Covington said with a smile but winced painfully as he rose from behind his desk.

  Heskan moved away from Nguyen and quickly toward the patrician to halve the man’s journey. He shook hands while saying, “Thank you, sir. I assume word from Nessus beat us home?”

  Covington nodded as he continued on his way to the comfortable couch by the wet bar. “Yes, it’s nearly impossible to outrun the information wave, as you know.” He reached the couch and rotated slowly in place around his cane. Once facing away from the leather-crafted sanctuary, he started the sluggish process of easing down onto it.

  “Then you’re aware of the outcome,” Nguyen surmised.

  “Indeed.” Covington grunted slightly as he sat and then issued a sigh of relief. He recited the court’s findings by rote. “The nobility of IaCom shall suffer no culpability over a murderous act perpetrated by native Seshafians.” The elder clasped both hands on top of his cane and sighed, this time, in fatal acceptance. “In truth, the court’s opinion is probably more accurate than not. Perhaps, even, the judges have done us a favor by denying us a reason to despise IaCom further.” He looked thoughtfully at Nguyen and said, “I long for the day this war will be over so we can put this ugliness to bed and return to more amiable dealings with our neighbors.”

  “We’re certainly stronger united with them than opposed,” Nguyen agreed.

  The notion of eagerly embracing one’s enemy seemed outlandish to Heskan. Rather than highlight his difference of opinion, he changed the subject. “We were ambushed on our way to Nessus,” he stated plainly.

  “I heard of that as well; remember who commands Hawk.” A wry smile emerged from the CEO. “I suppose we must do a better job of keeping you in-system, Garrett. At least until you’re subpoenaed to Nessus again.”

  Captain Nguyen walked casually to the wet bar while asking, “Archduke, do you really think that will happen?”

  “I believe it shall depend on the outcome of our upcoming battle. If we are victorious, I suspect Wallace will petition Archduke Dunmore to seek a court rebuke over the manner of how we intend to fight. Wallace, if left unchecked, will be forced by honor into seeking absolution from any defeat as some of our methods will certainly be… unconve
ntional.”

  “It’s necessary, Archduke,” Nguyen stated resolutely. “We simply don’t have the warships to match him squarely. We must adapt to new tactics if we wish to survive.”

  Nguyen’s base acknowledgment surprised Heskan. Over the last half-year, the Seshafian had proven reliable but chained to scriptures of the old corporate ways. To hear Seshafi’s second highest ranking naval official admit that AmyraCorp could only win if she turned to innovative tactics gave Heskan hope that all in the star system might embrace them. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Garrett. We have to win first.

  Covington exhaled remorsefully. “I, unfortunately, agree with you, Yon.” The man’s sad eyes stared into the distance. “I suppose this is how the founders felt almost a century ago when corporate warfare evolved into what it is now.” The friendly smile returned but only slowly. “Well, times change and you either move forward or you move backward. There is no third direction.” He lifted his cane from the floor slightly and thrust it toward Heskan. “At least we still have our best hope for success available to us. That was quite a nasty surprise Sade threw at us in Nessus and certainly unconventional as well.” He shrugged and reflected, “I guess, in a sense, they started down the path of changing corporate methodology and we’re both merely adapting as best we can to the shift.”

  Nguyen poured a dark liquid into a glass and added chilled, stone cubes with tongs. The stones would keep the liquid cool without diluting its flavor. Heskan took a seat next to the archduke. He looked around Covington’s office and was amazed by the orderliness of it all. For a man who ran a star system, his desk was remarkably clear. On a wall screen, a byzantine spreadsheet extended along three axes. Heskan felt the archduke’s hand clasp over his knee.