Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Marcus stepped close and hugged her. She stood stiffly for a moment then returned the embrace. They held each other tightly.
When her breathing slowed Marcus leaned back to look in her eyes. “Hey. Can I talk now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re right. I promised you’d work with me on something you’d be good at. Instead, I’m bouncing from job to job. This isn’t just the difference between Fiera and Corwynt. This isn’t normal for Fiera.”
At least, not common, but that wasn’t a distinction he wanted to get into now.
He went on firmly. “This is the war. When we’re at war we have to make sacrifices. We have to do what’s best for winning the war. What’s best for people and for families has to wait until peacetime.”
Wynny started to cry again. “Oh, Harold. The war isn’t over. Who knows when it will ever be over?”
Marcus hugged her again. “We’ve had wars in the Bubble. They didn’t last many years. They hurt so much neither side can keep it up very long.”
She laughed. “You didn’t have the Censorate’s who knows how many worlds building ships for one side. This war could last forever.”
“Not forever. We hurt them badly enough they’ll stop. And we have Corwyntis building ships for us now.”
That earned a “hmph” from her.
“Yes,” he said. “The war will last a long time. I may be transferred from one unit to another, wherever the Concord thinks I’ll do the best.”
He drew a long breath. Let it out.
“I promise you this. If I have a choice, I will always talk to you before making it. I will always make sure I take care of you and Niko. And if something happens to me you will be provided for.”
A Concord Navy lieutenant’s survivors’ pension wasn’t much, but combined with his share of Azure Tarn they wouldn’t starve.
“If something happens to you?” Wynny asked. “You’ve fought in space and on the ground. Haven’t you fought enough? Isn’t it someone else’s turn?”
Marcus opened his mouth. Closed it. He couldn’t find a way to answer that.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Never mind. If I wanted a peaceful life I should have married a coward. Too late now.”
He chuckled and hugged her.
***
Niko preferred chewing on Marcus’ index finger. The new father wasn’t sure if that was driven by taste or size or the angle it went into the baby’s mouth. Niko was happiest lying in Marcus’ left arm, sucking on the tip of the paternal right index finger.
Wynny was enjoying the relative freedom of doing chores without an infant strapped to her. A call interrupted. “Hello? Yes, I am. I’m willing to consider it. What kind?”
She was speaking the local dialect, so this wasn’t one of the Provisional Government people Marcus had been talking up her skills to.
“I’ve only done an investigation, not a trial,” she told the caller. “Oh. Yes, that does make me the obvious choice. Where’s your clanhome?”
After jotting down some notes Wynny ended the call with the usual polite noises.
“What’s up?” asked Marcus.
“I’ve been asked to judge a trial. Some Fieran pissed off Clan Gething. They were vague about it. Embarrassed, likely.”
Marcus sat up. Niko fussed as the finger came loose, then clamped on again. “Judge? When did you take up law?” She’d told him about being a detective after the embassy was expelled, but hadn’t mentioned any formal training in it.
She shrugged. “Comes with the death creditor thing. If you solve one crime, they think you can solve them all.”
One of the cabinets produced the battered hat she’d acquired during the murder investigation last year. It gave her a raffish air, even with the dressy suit she donned.
The last part of her outfit was the baby sling. “Pass him over.”
Marcus tucked their son into the sling. “Shouldn’t you have someone watch him while we’re both working?”
“If he was fussy like my niece I would, but Niko’s no trouble. Besides, this might go on long enough I’d have to feed him.”
Then Marcus was alone in the apartment. He headed straight out to work. Being in the apartment by himself was too painful a reminder of their involuntary separation.
Work wasn’t going to be fun today, though. The Provisional Government was wrapped up in arguments over whether Naval Intelligence had screwed up in decrypting the old government’s data, or if the Censorate was so incompetent that different agencies used different estimates of the planet’s population.
Marcus hadn’t won friends with either faction by pointing out that, “How many people are in your clan?” was something Corwyntis only answered when considering marriage or at gunpoint. (If he’d realized what Wynny had meant by telling him that data, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time on his first visit to Corwynt.)
The terminal on his desk informed him that most of the Provisional Government staff, lacking families on planet, had continued the argument late into the night. Marcus sighed and started to catch up.
***
Clan Gething lived in a third level ardal. They manufactured electronic subsystems for liftvans and other vehicles. The clan had called on Vychan Goch a few times to resolve supply shortages. They’d struck Wynny as straightforward in all their interactions. In her father’s words, “Too honest for their own good.”
The clan’s main hall was set up for a trial. A wide box supported the judge’s chair, giving her an extra foot of height. Plain chairs to the left and right awaited the representatives of the complaining and accused clans. Or in this case, the clan and the Fieran.
Wynny wondered if the accused had a partner or employer who’d want to participate in the trial.
He was easy to spot. There was only one off-worlder in the crowd of Corwyntis. His height, blond hair, and fair skin stood out against the dark haired, tan skinned Corwyntis.
As people greeted Wynny as “Judge,” the Fieran turned to see. His face was blindingly handsome, or it would be when a few bruises and a swollen lip healed. He gave Wynny a smile so charming she became deeply suspicious.
After introductions Wynny called the trial to order. A few husky young men steered the Fieran to his seat. Clan Gething was represented not by its matriarch, Efa, but by a woman about Wynny’s age.
“I am Sian Gething,” she began. “I am here to ask the Fieran Thomas Richardson to make restitution for the crime of rape.”
“Hey, no, no, I never did!” exclaimed Richardson.
“You’ll get your turn,” said Wynny coldly.
He subsided.
Sian continued, “When I first met him Thomas seemed the kind of man I should be looking to inmarry. Grandmother said we had plenty who could design and build boxes, we needed smooth tongued men to sell them.”
She described meeting at a dance club, a few days of fancy meals and strolls in Bundoran’s parks, and a rushed proposal. “I’d want to know him better, but he had only seven days of leave and I didn’t want to miss my chance. He said he couldn’t inmarry because of the Navy’s rules. He asked me to outmarry. I was scared to leave the clan, but I said yes.”
Clan Gething held a wedding and gave them a cushy bedroom for the two-night honeymoon. Then his leave was up and they headed for the lander to go to his ship.
“This man said, ‘No civilians,’ and wouldn’t let me on. I said, ‘Thomas, tell him I’m your wife.’ He just smiled and shrugged. Sat down. Didn’t say anything. The man pushed me out the hatch and Thomas didn’t say anything!”
Sian broke down in tears.
Wynny studied the accused’s reaction. He was certainly sad and uncomfortable. He wouldn’t look at Sian. His feet shuffled on the floor.
When Sian caught her breath, she said, “I had to go back to the clan. My sister had already moved into my room. We sent him a letter, but he never answered. Finally, I realized,” she sobbed again, “he
lied to me.”
Efa Gething laid her thin hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders. “Clan Gething demands restitution for this crime.”
“I have heard Clan Gething’s testimony,” said Wynny. “Spacer Richardson, you may give your testimony now.”
“Your Honor, I’m confused,” said Richardson. “What’s the crime?”
Wynny raised an eyebrow. “The rape Sian Gething accused you of in her testimony just now.”
“Your Honor, I’m not claiming to be a good person, and I don’t deny I could have handled things better. But there weren’t any crimes.”
Over a hundred members of Clan Gething were watching the trial. None of them were rude enough to speak, but the throat clearings, growls, and other noises at this were enough to put a worried look on Richardson’s face. Wynny didn’t chastise them.
“I am married to a Fieran,” said Wynny. “We’ve found many words that are spelled the same but mean different things on each world. That may be the problem we’re having here. I will define the word in question. Rape is when someone obtains sexual access to another by improper means. What does ‘rape’ mean on Fiera?”
“Your Honor, it means—”
“Address me as Judge or ma’am.”
“Uh, uh, yes, ma’am. Rape means taking ‘sexual access’ by physical force or with someone who can’t consent because they’re intoxicated or too young.”
Wynny asked, “Lying to someone to induce them to consent to sex is not a crime on Fiera?”
The Fieran started to answer, stopped. Thought a moment. Said, “I want a lawyer.”
“You are welcome to hire any lawyer you like,” said Wynny. “I can make suggestions if you need me to.”
Richardson flushed. “I can’t afford to hire one. I’m broke. I spent every penny I had showing Sian a good time.”
“I know you don’t have a clan as we know it. Is there some group you belong to that would help you?”
He laughed. “I belong to PKS Chesapeake. They’re not going to pay for a local lawyer for me.”
It took Wynny a moment to remember the acronym. “Peace Keeping Ship” declared the vessel part of the Concord Navy, dedicated to keeping Fiera’s nations from waging war against each other or oppressing their own people too much. She wondered if they were going to change it—but that was a distraction.
“Will they pay the bloodprice for you?” she asked. This trial was getting worse with every word the man said. Wynny’s role here was to see justice done. She needed to do that in a way that would not end with Corwyntis and Fierans at each other’s throats.
“Ma’am, I don’t even know what a bloodprice is.”
That caused enough noise to make Wynny say, “The witnesses will be silent.”
She turned back to Richardson. “My understanding is that when someone is hurt on Fiera the criminal is locked in a cage for a number of years depending on the severity of the injury.”
Richardson nodded.
“Here, the criminal compensates the victim’s clan. For murder, the full bloodprice is paid. Someone crippled receives half the bloodprice. Rape, quarter bloodprice. And so on.”
Thomas Richardson had started the trial with a cheerful expression, seemingly convinced that he’d come out all right in the end no matter what problems he had. That was gone.
“What if—ma’am, what if someone doesn’t have the money to pay the bloodprice?” Richardson’s normally carrying voice came out barely loud enough for Wynny to hear.
“There were times when clans would hide their money to escape paying bloodprice. To deter that blood for blood is paid fivefold. If you cut off a finger, your whole hand would be taken.”
Wynny didn’t bother explaining how that worked for rape. He seemed to be doing the math himself.
His smile reappeared. “Wait. I know you’re bluffing now. You can’t kill me. I don’t see a single weapon here.”
Cold entered her voice. “My last case was a murder. He was punched until he fell down. Then they kicked him until he died. I solved the case by finding a shoe with his blood on it.”
That was the official story of her first case. It left out a lot. Including a moment when she was lying on the floor, being kicked by men who intended to keep going until she was dead.
Would she have to sentence Richardson to that fate? Could she do it, even if it was the right thing to do?
The Fieran seemed determined to earn that sentence unless he smartened up. Or someone smarter found a way out.
At least he’d stopped making it worse. Richardson was looking at the front row of witness seats, filled with Sian’s brothers and cousins. Many wore boots.
“I’ll see if someone can find you a lawyer willing to work for free,” Wynny tapped out a message on her tablet. “Now I want to hear your testimony. Starting with how you speak our dialect so well.”
Richardson swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve always been good with languages. I speak Russian, Spanish, passable Mandarin, and, anyway, there was an online class. ‘Welly Smat’s How to Talk to Corwyntis.’ I took it and practiced. When I went on shore leave, I was good enough to chat with girls.”
His version of the whirlwind romance was close to Sian’s. The big difference was that his acceptance of her proposal, recital of the marriage vows, and subsequent lies slash misunderstandings, were all caused by his being too softhearted to say no or wait to Sian about anything.
“When I was back aboard, I asked my Chief Petty Officer about bringing a wife on board. He said civilians aren’t allowed on warships. So, it’s not my fault, it’s the Navy’s fault. And I was going to answer the letter, I just hadn’t figured out how to say it yet.”
Wynny sighed. If he came up with anything worse, she’d have to put in a couple of kicks herself.
“Clan Gething, please give me your estimate for Sian’s bloodprice.”
***
Marcus was always happy to receive a message from his wife during the workday. When she interrupted an analysis on why the maximum and minimum estimates of the Jaaphisii population differed by a factor of a hundred, he was ecstatic.
Ecstasy did not survive reading the message.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
His office was part of a ring surrounding a wide room of those who just had desks to work at. He ran over to the transportation coordinator. “Chief, I need a floater to take me and one other to third level, right now. Emergency. I’ll explain later.”
The bemused NCO’s “aye-aye, sir” was said to Marcus’ back as he ran down the hall.
There were four Judge Advocate General officers assigned to the Provisional Government. One of them was at his desk.
“Grab your hat,” said Marcus. “It’s an emergency. Locals are trying a Fieran on a death penalty case.”
Lieutenant Commander Weiss liked Marcus enough to put up with being towed down the corridor by his arm. He still protested, “I don’t do felony trials, dammit. I do contract law.”
“Good,” answered Marcus. “Corwynti clan law is closer to contract law than criminal.”
The chief had a cargo truck waiting for them, with a Marine driver surprised to be taking passengers. But it was an antigravity vehicle and it delivered them to Clan Gething’s ardal.
“How do they calculate bloodprice? Can we just buy our way out of this?” asked Weiss.
“Victim’s expected lifetime earnings,” said Marcus.
He’d received a detailed explanation when Wynny told him their family was now rich. The bloodprice for both Wynny and Niko had added up.
“Ah. No, we’re not going to do that out of petty cash. Would they take a ship to ship missile?” The grin probably meant that Weiss was joking.
Marcus was feeling serious. “Given how careless they’ve been with all those captured Censy rifles, I wouldn’t want to make the offer.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Marcus gave him a look. He’d already had enough adventures for one lifetime.
Wynny interrupted. “The representatives of the accused’s clan are here. We will have a recess while I catch them up.”
Niko woke from his nap with a mild squawk. Wynny sniffed. “I think I need a recess anyway.”
A teenage girl approached. “Judge, I can change the baby for you.”
“All right. Thank you.”
Marcus eyed the knot of teenage girls and supervising aunts forming around Niko. “Everybody loves babies here.”
Wynny greeted him with a hug. “This isn’t fair. A judge’s first case should be a broken nose.”
“You might get your wish,” he said.
He pointed at where Sian was approaching Richardson.
The accused took a step back, but menacing cousins blocked his retreat.
“All those lies, just for two nights in my bed,” she snarled. “In a few hours you’ll be fish food. What do you have to say for yourself?”
The charming smile reappeared. “Worth it.”
A snort of laughter escaped her. She turned and walked away.
“No broken noses yet,” said Wynny.
They were shown into a room the elders used for private meetings. Wynny summarized the testimony and the applicable points of clan law. “Isn’t there some way to raise the bloodprice? At least as a loan?”
Weiss frowned. “The Provisional Government took over the Censorate’s assets and tax collections. It has the cash. But paying it would set a precedent that the PG is subject to clan law. I don’t like that.”
Wynny shook her head. “Oh, no. The whole government, subject to claims from any clan? That would never work.”
“What if we court martialed him for it?” asked Marcus. “Would that satisfy them?”
“I think it may,” said Wynny. “This is about lies and humiliation, not money or damage.”
Weiss said, “Rape by fraud isn’t a violation of Concord law. Some member nations prosecute it, but we can’t do a court martial for that. We might be able to give him a court on some other charge. For that matter, why is he here? Shouldn’t he be on his ship?”
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