Breach of Peace

by Daniel Gibbs

  "It took some doing, but I think I can get Caetano to leave you alone. Your preacher friend, maybe not. But right now, the important thing is your cargo. We have a steady contract with a high-ranking nobleman on Harron to provide him with fine wines and liquors from Lusitania," Vitorino said. "He has a taste for our finer drink."

  "Aren't the Harr'al even more susceptible to alcohol than Humans?"

  "So I'm told. It is a status thing, mostly. And, a trade envoy told me, a way to test the loyalty of his household. For all I know, he may even execute people by drowning them in it." Vitorino shook his head before indicating the digital pad on the desk. "The contract is a lucrative one, regardless, and you'll get your usual commission."

  "Fine enough." Henry sat at the desk and reached for the pad. The contract language was the standard, although he continued to read each line just for safety's sake. "So, the Calnin, which of the enclaves do they do their business through?"

  "Sektatsh," answered Vitorino. "It is one of the nicer enclaves on that wretched planet. Although you may wish to be careful outside of the alien zone. Human slaves typically fetch high prices in Harr'al society." There was evident disgust on the Lusitanian man's face at expressing that fact. He practically spat the word "barbarians."

  "Lots of those around."

  "But few as wealthy. And the Harr'al rulers are quite capable of playing us against our neighbors to prevent anyone from conquering them as they richly deserve."

  "Yeah. Bad people aren't always dumb, unfortunately." Henry gave the last lines of the transport contract a final read and signed his name. He presented the digital pad back to Vitorino. "There you go, Minister. A pleasure to do business with you as always."

  "A pleasure indeed, Captain." Vitorino pocketed the device and stood. "And now that you have signed on for the run," he said, walking over to the door as he spoke in measured tones. He waited until he'd quietly shut the door before continuing. "I would like to discuss an off-the-books mission."

  Henry fought to keep a neutral expression, even as suspicion filled him at Vitorino's real angle. "Oh?"

  "I admit I have three motives in sending you to Harron." Vitorino folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Obviously, my wines and liquors do need to be delivered. Secondly, I want to keep you off of Minister Caetano's scanners for a while, until I can make arrangements to keep her from acting against you again. And finally, have you heard about the loss of the Kensington Star?"

  With his suspicion about Vitorino confirmed, Henry's fight to keep his expression neutral became hard-pressed. "Not about that ship," he lied, remember Caetano's terms. "Another missing ship already?"

  "Not far from Harron," Vitorino confided. "I have friends on New Cornwall."

  Henry nodded. Of course, you do.

  "Including in their business community and government. They inform me that the owning company of the Kensington Star has initiated an investigation into the loss."

  "Obviously, but I doubt they'll do any better."

  "They might." Vitorino's voice softened to nearly a whisper, as if he were afraid that someone outside might still hear them. "Because they have a survivor."

  It took every iota of control Henry had to feign surprise. "A survivor?" He drew in a breath, taking on a thoughtful look he hoped would fool Vitorino.

  "A crewmember of the Kensington Star. Alleged, I hasten to add. Currently on Harron, in Sektatsh."

  "You want me to look into it?"

  "Discreetly. Report to me about what you find. If you can convince her to come with you, so much the better." Vitorino's expression was earnestly serious. "As Lusitania's Trade Minister, this situation is my direct concern. The escalation of the ship disappearances must be stopped. The increase costs to interstellar trade will harm our economy. The spending to raise an interstellar fleet capable of patrolling all of the spacelanes would not only strain our coffers, they might excite an arms race with our neighboring worlds. Which would bring undesired attention from the Coalition and the League."

  "With bigger fleets, your participation in the war would be all the more valuable," Henry noted. "Alright, I'll look into it when I get there."

  "Thank you, Captain. As always, you will be amply rewarded."

  Knowing very much he wouldn't be, Henry smiled and nodded. "As always."

  The loading was nearly complete when Vitorino departed. Henry waited until he was gone before boarding the ship and heading to the galley. He found Oskar and Cera present with their guest at one of the two tables. Neither looked very comfortable.

  The visitor was dressed like any other Lusitanian and his skin tone was a light brown and his hair dark. To anyone looking at him, it would be presumed he was from the Moroccan portion of Lusitania.

  Henry knew better. A true headache was coming on. "Major al-Lahim," he sighed.

  "Captain." Major Abdul Rahman al-Lahim nodded and offered his hand. "You've had a busy day. I was afraid Caetano might arrest you."

  Henry grudgingly took it. The major was the local intelligence officer for the Coalition, working out of the embassy in a covered job. On occasion, he paid for small transport jobs. Operatives going to other worlds and the like. When Henry needed the money, he took them. "She almost did," Henry finally said. "So you're the potential client. Sorry, Major, but I've already got a job right now."

  "I noticed," al-Lahim said. "But you independent spacers can always use more cash, right? I'm offering you a pretty credit for it." He pointedly glanced at the others in the room.

  Not in the mood for yet more conspiring and secrecy, Henry nevertheless relented. On the occasions al-Lahim gave them jobs, they paid quite well. Too well to dismiss him. "Follow me," he instructed.

  Al-Lahim stood and did so, allowing Henry to lead him through the ship corridor to his office. Henry shut the soundproof door and started to walk around the desk, while al-Lahim found the other chair. "Where are you headed?" al-Lahim asked.

  "Harron. Sektatsh."

  "Ah." Al-Lahim smiled. "Well, how fortunate for me. That's where I want you to go."

  "What do you want?"

  "While you are present, I'd like you to make contact with someone in the city for me. She has signaled, indicating she is in potential danger." Al-Lahim pulled a digital reader from his jacket. "And if she asks, give her a ride back here so we can get her out of the region."

  Henry didn’t believe in coincidences, especially not today. "Who is she?"

  "One of yours, now," said al-Lahim. "A spacer. But she was one of ours once. She did an enormous service for the Coalition, one that has had a positive effect upon the war. She may be the person most responsible for the prospect of real peace talks, and bringing our people home."

  Henry listened and nodded quietly. An end to the war—it seemed so unreal. But the word on the Galnet was that peace talks were soon to begin, and the League was even bringing back a whole bunch of prisoners taken over the decades. How many of them will be wrecks from being “socialized,” I don't want to imagine. At the same time, a feeling of intense skepticism came to him. He'd seen enough of the League to know they wouldn't give up the war easily. They saw their expansion to rule over the entire galaxy as something of a religious writ with scientific inevitability thrown in. But then again, they might decide that a century of peace to deal with problems back "home" is useful.

  Either way, that wasn't the point. He wasn't sure al-Lahim was being completely forthright, since spies and their handlers never were, but if this ex-operative was responsible for something like that, then helping her seemed the right thing to him.

  So potentially two passengers I'll have to keep secret from each other, and from everyone else. If only he didn't pay so well. Henry gave al-Lahim a nod in reply. "Alright. I'll do it."

  There was relief from the intelligence officer at that. "Excellent. Here." He activated the reader and handed it to Henry.

  Henry looked it over. A woman of faint brown complexion and dark, chocolate-brown eyes looked back at him.
She looked Semitic to him, and the name "Miriam Gaon" at the top of the file identified her as Hebrew, probably Mizrahi or Sephardic. Her service record was entirely redacted.

  "You'll find her at the ISU Hostel in Sektatsh," al-Lahim said, standing. "You'll get payment upon her informing me of the contact, or her arrival should she need extraction."

  "Agreed," Henry said. "Understand I've got other work to see to, so I might not get results right away."

  "I will, but I urge you to make contact with her quickly. The League has an active KC order out on her."

  What am I getting myself into? Henry leaned back in his chair, seeking a more comfortable position. Oskar had the same thing from the League: "kill/capture." Regardless, having already committed, Henry went to the door to let al-Lahim out.

  Yanik was waiting. "The cargo is secure, sir," he said. "We are overseeing final fuel and launch checks. Tia estimates we can launch within the hour."

  "Alert me when we're ready, and escort Major al-Lahim off the ship."

  "Yes, sir." Yanik nodded once, in that taciturn way he did, to al-Lahim. The intelligence officer inclined his head and took the first step.

  Henry closed the door and returned to his desk. His headache was intense and he decided to numb it a bit with some of his favorite poison. After considering and rejecting using some of the remaining New Virginia bourbon from his family, he opted for the New Hebridean whiskey Felix gave him for his birthday. He poured himself a shot and gulped it down, dealing with the effects as he always did.

  After taking a second drink, he decided he might as well check Caetano's data. He took the disc and inserted it into the computer terminal on his desk. The holovid screen activated, displaying the file on Karla Lupa. Including, as expected, her profile picture.

  "Oh damn," Henry swore, examining the picture and the one on the digital reader al-Lahim left behind, thus confirming that Karla Lupa and Miriam Gaon were the same person.

  His headache got worse. Much worse.

  14

  The dim night lights of Sektatsh would’ve been visible through the window of the room rented out to “Karla Lupa” had Miri not closed the blinds and curtains on all of them. She preferred her solitude, checking the vidlink channels before going to bed to get some much-desired sleep.

  At first, there was only the gentle nothingness of slumber. But it gave way to the sensation of being somewhere. Miri found herself standing, wrists and ankles shackled, before a group of grim-faced League officers.

  "Put the traitor in," one ordered, and powerful arms grabbed her and dragged her down the ranks of League officers.

  Intense terror gripped her at the realization of what was about to happen, as ahead, the doors beyond led to the blackness of space. That was how the League punished treason, after all: spacing.

  She struggled against the grips on her arms, but they were far too strong. Inhumanly so. She couldn't escape.

  To either side of her, the figures changed. No longer was she flanked by League personnel. Now they were in prisoner outfits, the drab gray jumpsuits of a League resocialization camp. She realized she was clad in one too. Regardless, their hatred and disgust for her were more apparent than the League personnel had shown.

  "Stop. Please, just stop," she pleaded, even though Miri knew it would do her no good. "Please…"

  Angry shouts of "Traitor!" answered her pleas. Her captors opened the inner airlock door and threw her in.

  She struggled to stand in her chains but could not before the door slid to a close. She pounded on the door with her shackled hands. "Please, don't do this!"

  "It's what you deserve, traitor," a voice of the past said. She turned in the narrow confines of the airlock and faced two figures wearing camp jumpsuits, a man and a woman. Both were in their late twenties, early thirties about, in the prime of life, gaunt but determined. Just as she remembered them.

  "Chris," she said, her voice thick with guilt. "Annette."

  Their eyes, Chris's brown and Annette's blue, were cold and hostile. Their pale skin was the color of marble, save for the ring of angry purple and red around their necks and the dried blood trailing from their nostrils and lips. "You betrayed us, Miri," Annette said coldly, her Gascon-accented English from Lowery's New Girande continent. "We trusted you."

  "We could have made it if not for you," Chris said. His accent was Lowerian English, a softer accent of Australian origin. He pointed an accusing finger to Miri, whose heart quivered with guilt at the sight of them, and then directed the same finger to the ring around his neck. "It took me sixteen minutes to die!"

  "Twelve! Dangling from the gallows like an animal!"

  "You betrayed us!" Chris spat. "You killed us!"

  "No," Miri said, although it was more of a whimper. She knew, deep down, they were right. "No. You don't understand, I had to. I had to," she insisted.

  "Why did you betray us?" demanded Annette.

  "For the mission," Miri said. "I'm sorry, but my mission was to be accepted by the League, not to fight the occupation. I had to get into a place to learn their plans, their secrets. I… I had to make them think I was one of them."

  "But you didn't have to betray us," charged Annette.

  "It was the only safe thing to do," Miri insisted. "Whether or not your attempt failed, if they found out I knew and said nothing, they'd never let me anywhere important. I had to make them think I was loyal!"

  Chris shook his head furiously. "You could have said you were ignorant of our plans! We wouldn't have betrayed you!"

  "I couldn't know that! I… I had to be certain." Tears ran down Miri's eyes. "I had to be trustworthy to them!"

  "How many of us had to die for your precious mission?”

  Miri was weeping as she tried to count. How many others in the camp had she denounced? How many others afterward had she allowed to suffer, all to keep her place.

  It was a terrible job, but she'd done it, and so had positioned herself to do considerable damage to the League. That was something to be proud of.

  "You are a traitor to us, to all of the people of Lowery," said Chris' shade.

  "I… I did it to save Lowery, to save us all!"

  "And look how well you did that," he snarled back. "With all of the people you've hurt, what gives you the right to live?"

  "I…" On an instinctive level, Miri wanted to live. But the question, Chris' question, was one that had plagued her over and over. After all the people she hurt to protect her cover.

  "See?" Annette shook her head. "Even you know the truth."

  In one joint motion, the two shades slammed their fists into a control panel. The outer airlock door opened with a roar as the vacuum of the void sucked the atmosphere from the airlock. The force of the decompression sucked Miri with it. She screamed, but there was little sound to it as the vacuum violently sucked the air from her lungs. Her skin grew cold, and her sight failed as the fluid in her eyes bubbled away.

  That was when she woke up.

  Miri immediately took her head into her hands and breathed deeply, greedily, as if to reassure her lungs that they were not in a vacuum, and they had access to breathable air. In her panic, she checked the room around her. Through the dim lighting, she made out the furnishings of the rented hotel room in the ISU center.

  With time to calm from the feeling she'd been spaced, Miri laid back down. Her hand slipped under her pillow and felt the hard surface of her pulse pistol, which she drew her hand away from, reassured. Her heart still pounded from the nightmare while old guilt filled her. The blame that she always struggled with.

  Christopher Tobay and Annette Zens, those poor souls. Poor, brave souls. They'd been clever, finding the weaknesses in the League's security at the socialization camp, and quietly built up the means for a mass escape. If they'd succeeded, and they had an even chance of it, they would have formed the backbone of a viable resistance movement.

  Their main mistake had been bringing her into the plan.

  The question would alwa
ys haunt her. If she'd said nothing, if she'd let their plan go off and merely refused to leave, would that have been enough to keep her in the League's good graces? At the time, the risk seemed too high. The camp's overseer, Director Bendtsen, was not a trusting woman, and her subordinates barely more so, and given the punishment details Miri worked with Chris and Annette, she would’ve quickly fallen under suspicion. It was suspicion she couldn't afford to have. When she'd weighed the benefit to her mission for betraying them, well, the mission was everything.

  She still remembered the warm spring day when the League executed the two. They went to the noose bravely, urging the people of Lowery to resist the occupation until an infuriated Director Bendtsen ordered them dropped.

  By design, their necks did not snap, and they died slow, painful, terrible deaths, in full view of Miri and all of the others. "For those who defy Society, punishment can never be too harsh," Bendtsen informed the assembled. It had the desired effect, as no further escapes were planned.

  They were only the first denouncements Miri made until she was declared properly socialized, putting her on the track to accomplishing her mission. They were also the most painful, and had the harshest consequences.

  In the darkness of her room, Miri's guilt, now fully awakened by the nightmare, kept her awake. She kept thinking about them. About the dreams they'd had, cruelly ended by the League. About how brave they'd been. Torment filled her soul at the thought that she'd been wrong to betray them, regardless of the outcome to her mission.

  It was easy to say that their deaths were not in vain, that by doing what she did, Miri guaranteed Lowery's eventual liberation. It would be a comfort to tell them, now, that their people were free because of what happened, and hear them speak and forgive her due to that outcome.

  But that wasn't going to happen. All Miri had was the certain knowledge that she'd enabled the terrible deaths of two brave, good people, and she would carry the burden of that knowledge for the rest of her days.