by M. D. Cooper
He’d been surprised to see the woman escorted to the temporary lockup area at headquarters rather than to medical when they’d arrived. Truth be told, he’d rather assumed that the moment they returned to base, she’d be sent directly into one of their autodocs, in order to extract whatever tech they could mine from her. At the very least, to scan her more thoroughly than he’d been able to do on the maglev.
Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t acknowledged his citizen lieutenant’s order, and hastily added a “yes, sir” into the silence.
His superior stared at him with an expression that caused his balls to shrivel a bit before she continued with her instructions.
“Try to force her into requesting better representation than what you can provide. Get a holo of it that we can use if Enfield balks at handing over the stasis tech. We’ll use it to claim that our hands are tied by the prisoner’s own words when we ship her to Barat.” The citizen lieutenant’s chuckle was more of a sinister cackle as she added, “Our generosity in extending the same rights to an obvious criminal that we do to our own citizens will make a nice sound bite for the news nets.”
He turned obediently at her dismissive wave with a brief salute, and then spun and headed down toward the cell block where their prisoner awaited his interrogation.
* * * * *
Calista stood and once more began pacing the confines of her holding cell. She’d been doing so off and on ever since she’d been politely but firmly escorted there hours earlier. The drab four-by-four-meter plascrete room she’d been ushered into held all the charm of a military brig, down to the stained floor and the lumpy mattress on the single bunk.
She’d spotted an armed guard stationed in the hallway across from her cell the one time the door had slid open to admit her single visitor. That individual had conducted a second, more thorough scan. The soldier had refused to answer any of the questions Calista had rained down upon the woman; she’d merely grunted—once as the unit beeped when it located her Link, and then again when it had revealed the nano Jason had laced through her hair.
When ordered to strip for the scan, Calista had carelessly tossed her boots to one side but made a fuss over her jacket, reluctantly allowing it out of her possession. With any luck, Calista hoped the woman would assume it was something of value.
As she’d hoped, the jacket worked beautifully as a deflection, focusing the soldier away from the thing of real value. The boots—well-worn, scuffed, looking as if they’d seen better days at least a decade or so earlier—were returned to her after a cursory scan indicated they were comprised of nothing but inert materials.
Bless Jonesy for his brilliant engineering mind.
The soles of those shoes were comprised of a material patented by Enfield Holdings, and on the list of highly-marketable items the company intended to bring to market to the people of Little River: Elastene. Inside the shielded compartment was additional nano she could use to break out of her prison. Nano not likely to be detected and neutralized by her captors. She just needed to bide her time and wait for an opportunity to present itself.
She turned at the sound of the door sliding open. Standing in its entrance was the soldier who had taken her into custody in the bazaar earlier, and had then scanned her. She lifted a brow and waited imperiously for him to speak. Oddly enough, the man appeared uncomfortable. She filed that away, in case it might prove useful against him in the future.
After an awkwardly long pause, the man said in a heavily accented voice, “You asked for a lawyer; I am here to represent you.”
A short, incredulous laugh escaped before she could stop it. “You’re kidding, right? You? You’re the one who planted those stolen goods on me in the first place.” Calista lifted her arms in a wide gesture, then let them drop to her sides with a loud slap.
The man had the decency to look down as she glared accusingly at him, but then he straightened and stiffly informed her, “The Barat Procuratorate states that every individual has the right to plead their case with the citizen’s court. That includes foreigners such as you.”
“Procura—” Calista had never heard of such a word, but her embedded database supplied the term ‘prosecutor general’s office’ at her subconscious query.
As she gawped at him, he gestured for her to take a seat on her bunk. He pulled over the one chair, crossed his leg, and unpocketed a hyfilm, which he then proceeded to scroll through as he cleared his throat.
“Now then. You claim you did not steal the very valuable and high-quality handwoven tszatzkots found in your possession—”
“I have no idea what the hell a tszatzkots is, for star’s sake,” she snarled at him as she stalked toward him and wrenched the hyfilm from his grasp and tossed it aside, “and I certainly didn’t steal one of them.”
“No, you stole three of them,” the man said, and if she’d wondered if her cell was being monitored, the entrance of the guard, weapon pointed at her as she loomed over her seated ‘lawyer’ confirmed it.
She slowly settled onto the mattress as the man waved the guard back out and bent to retrieve the hyfilm.
Raising it again, he swiped until he found what he’d been looking for and nodded in satisfaction. Looking up once more, he made eye contact as he shook his head sadly.
“I must inform you that the evidence is not at all in your favor, and you will most likely be found guilty—that is, unless we can find a way to settle out of court….” The man lowered his hyfilm and studied her, brow raised in an unspoken question.
Ahhh, there it is.
“You’re holding me hostage.” Her voice was flat, accusing.
The man shrugged. “If you were to offer up something of value to the Republic—a novel new technology, for instance. Something that might benefit our way of life. Perhaps the Procuratorate could see fit to issue a pardon, as this is your first infraction.”
“And if I refuse?”
He checked a date on the hyfilm. “Well then, let’s see. Ah, yes. Your trial is scheduled to be held in a week’s time. Until then—”
“Wait,” Calista protested. “Is there no system of bail here on the station? Surely you don’t plan to keep me locked up here for an entire week.”
The man shrugged eloquently. “For robbery, Barat’s justice system requires that the defendant be held without bail until such time as the case comes to trial.”
“That’s—! Surely there’s some way I can appeal this. Let me talk to your superior.”
The man’s face shuttered, and he shrugged once more. “If you wish, you can appeal the decision and it will be remanded to a higher court. But you would have to officially request such a thing.”
“Hell yes,” she muttered, glaring at the man. “I don’t want some soldier who was responsible for framing me in the first place representing me on a bunch of trumped-up charges.”
The man leant forward, his gaze intent. “Is that an official request? Are you asking me to put you in contact with someone who has greater legal authority than I do? Someone, perhaps, better suited to represent your case?”
“Yes!”
Something about the man’s demeanor warned Calista. She had the distinct impression she’d somehow been manipulated into saying exactly what he’d wanted her to say. Her gaze rested on the man’s collar and she saw the telltale pip indicating a recording device embedded into it.
The man sat back with an air of satisfaction. “Done,” the soldier said, one hand slapping the empty holster of his sidearm to emphasize the word, as if they’d sealed some sort of deal.
His eyes glinted in triumph as he nodded and rose to exit the room in which she was being held.
Calista groaned. Dammit, I just played right into his hands!
HOLDING ALL THE CARDS
STELLAR DATE: 03.09.3272 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: ESS Avon Vale, Slip 512, Godel Trade Marina
REGION: Phaethon Duty Station, Little River
Khela
’s words caused Terrance to slow his stride and glance down at her. She tucked her arm through his and melted into his side, looking up at him with a smile.
Her attitude and demeanor were nothing like they’d been yesterday when he’d set out to meet the trade commissioner. But then again, today’s meet was covert; yesterday’s hadn’t been.
Kodi snickered as Terrance sent back a mental groan. Ignoring the AI, he sent a wave of apology to his wife.
Damn, his wife in espionage mode was one sexy package. Almost as sexy as when she went full-on Marine, and that was saying something.
Glancing casually around the marina as if to get his bearings, he leant over and made a point to gesture toward the exit that led to the entertainment district as they reviewed the token Deb Weir had sent him.
Khela nodded in response to his gesture, and they began to stroll casually toward the district’s large, reinforced archway, hand-in-hand. As they passed through, Terrance received notification that Phaethon had scanned them, acknowledging their presence in that sector.
Pulling up the token Weir had given him, he overlaid it on top of the station’s map, then set out on a meandering path that would eventually lead them to their destination. Khela kept up a running commentary as they strolled the streets. She window shopped, pausing at a patisserie to exclaim over the pastries. She gestured at the ornamental trees in planters lining the walkway, wondering audibly about their varieties and if they were native to the system.
A few blocks up ahead, he could see a strand of local breweries. Most of them were named after various rivers back on Old Terra—Ganges, Danube, Yangtze. The one they were after was not.
It had a sign above its entrance that proclaimed it The Broken Hart, although he could see nothing broken about the holo of the stag’s head that hovered above its name.
As they approached, he tilted his head toward its entrance.
“Thirsty, love?” Terrance knew his easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he saw Khela nod as she leaned into him.
“Sounds good,” she said aloud, tipping her head back to meet his gaze with a smile of her own.
The interior was dimly lit, as opposed to the daylight that currently illuminated Phaethon. Terrance noted that it was just nearing seventeen-hundred station time, as he was greeted by a human waiter. They were a few minutes early, by design.
The man smiled amiably as Terrance used the code phrase.
“Our cherry stout is a favorite among locals. Follow me, and I’ll get you set up.” He turned and led Terrance and Khela along the outer wall of the establishment, skirting a crowd of milling people who’d gathered at the end of their workday to toss back a few brews.
Terrance noticed the lighting was dimmer in this corner, the entrance the man stopping at almost indistinguishable from the dark wall surrounding it. With a nod, he left them to retrace his steps as a door slid open in front of them.
Khela immediately ducked inside. After a moment’s hesitation and a quick glance around, Terrance followed. The moment the doors slid shut behind him, a second set of doors on the opposing side slid open, and two individuals entered.
As the door slid shut behind them, the room shimmered faintly. The air quality shifted, and an anechoic silence filled the space, indicating jamming had been employed and security measures emplaced.
Terrance wasn’t sure whether to be amused or offended when his wife silently interposed her petite form between him and the newcomers as a warning icon appeared inside his head, confirming they were cut off from the outside.
“I apologize for the cloak and dagger,” Commissioner Weir began, “but this was the most expedient way I could think of to get you to a secured location where we could talk—and be certain we weren’t overheard.”
Her mouth twisted in chagrin. “As you probably suspect, the trade commission has a spy in its midst that we’ve been unable to identify as of yet.”
Khela grunted once but Terrance knew her well; that single sound carried an abundance of opinion—none of it flattering. His lips twitched as he suppressed a smile, then he shifted her slightly to one side as he gestured from her to Deb.
“Commissioner, I’d like for you to meet Khela Sakai. She’s—”
“—charged with ensuring Mister Enfield’s safety while on Phaethon Station,” Khela interjected smoothly.
‘Do not introduce me as your wife.’ Message received loud and clear. Professional it is.
Deb nodded politely and then gestured to the individual accompanying her. “Mister Enfield, Kodi, and Miss Sakai,” she said, smiling and glancing from Terrance to Khela and then back again, “I would like for you to meet Simone.” She gestured to the AI standing quietly next to her, clad in a tunic and leggings of a chameleonlike material.
The AI bowed her head slightly in greeting, then motioned toward one of the three small tables scattered about the room before moving to take a seat.
“Shall we?” she said with a smile, pulling out a chair as the three humans joined her.
As she sank into her own chair, Khela leant forward, her gaze direct. “The security protocols in this room are more suited to an intelligence office than a trade commission.” She didn’t mince words.
Deb nodded. “You’re right, of course.” Gesturing toward Simone, she ceded the conversation to the AI, who promptly dropped a token to both him and Khela.
As Terrance reviewed it, Kodi made a sound like a low whistle.
“You’d win that bet,” Simone confirmed, crossing her forearms on the table and leaning toward them as she exchanged glances with Deb. “Commissioner Weir told me about your ship’s captain,” she continued, her expression pleasant but unreadable. “Unfortunately, this has happened with our own people on more than one occasion.”
Terrance nodded but fell silent as a servitor trundled in, a pitcher of ale and four glasses brandished on the flat tray that was the top of its head.
They exchanged small talk until the unit disappeared and the room was once more sealed and warded against intrusive probes.
“You were saying that this has happened to your own people in the past,” Terrance prompted, and Simone nodded.
“It has. In fact, they’re currently holding a very important military advisor of ours that we’d like to have back,” the AI said, reaching for a glass and filling it from the pitcher.
It registered in the back of Terrance’s brain that Simone was pouring it properly, too—glass tilted so as to minimize the head of foam at the top.
Handing it to Terrance, she added, “We thought we might be able to pool our resources and, together, launch a rescue mission to retrieve both our people.”
Khela’s eyes narrowed as he reached to accept the glass. “What makes you think a civilian ship like ours would have the capacity—”
She stopped abruptly as Kodi yelled,
Terrance froze as his wife flowed out of her chair, laser
-dagger activated and inserted protectively between him and the Godel natives across from him.
Carefully, he set the glass down, but not before Kodi had wrapped a buffer around the nano Simone had dropped on the outside of the glass and screened it for harmful viruses.
Terrance waited for Kodi’s analysis, his gaze shifting between Deb and her companion. Simone looked guarded but expectant. Deb looked hopeful.
Her lips compressed, but she gave a reluctant nod.
With a mental tap, he accessed the nano. And then rocked back in his seat, utterly nonplussed.
The token Simone had embedded in the nano on the glass contained an official government seal. A familiar one. The seal of the office of the Prime Minister of El Dorado, back in Alpha Centauri.
Lysander’s seal—the AI who had formed Phantom Blade.
“Might I suggest that we resume this conversation where you can more easily confirm our identities?” The AI smiled crookedly and with a little tilt to her head toward Khela, asked, “Do you think your guardian would mind too terribly if you invited us to tour your ship?”
BIG REVEAL
STELLAR DATE: 03.09.3272 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: ESS Avon Vale, Slip 512, Godel Trade Marina
REGION: Phaethon Duty Station, Little River
After Terrance and Khela passed through the umbilical, through the Avon Vale’s airlock, and into the ship, Simone and Deb were cleared to follow, and entered the Vale’s airlock.
The Godel representatives had been told that the only way they’d be allowed aboard was if they agreed to undergo a thorough scan. All parties understood that this was happening in a place that could be easily secured should the scan reveal anything untoward.
When Logan was satisfied the two posed no existential threat to the ship, Terrance escorted their guests up to the command deck and into the ready room.