Taken Liberty v5

by Steven H. Wilson

  Harl started to respond. Pallas interrupted him. "Professor, I'm not sure I can agree. I've met Aer'La on several occasions. The behavior I've witnessed indicates a mind ruled by base passions, unchallenged and unsupported by intellect. Can such a creature learn to control itself? If not, should not someone control its behavior?"

  Harl looked smug. Mors said, "Pallas, our people have accepted Reason as our absolute and limited our passions to those we can explain and understand, those which can be intellectually justified. But Phaeton followed a long road to its current destination. We evolved our intellects in at atmosphere of free thought. Could we have followed that road if we had walked it under a yolk?"

  "I don't mean to be disrespectful, sir, but not all savages evolve into higher intellects."

  "I hate to interrupt," Atal said firmly, "but this is not the time for philosophical analysis. If the rest of you will excuse us, I'll speak with Captain Harl privately."

  Mors nodded deferentially. Pallas looked annoyed at the interruption. As the others left, she hung back. "Captain Atal, might I be allowed to remain?" At Mors's look of surprise, she said, "Captain Harl's methods are of interest to me, Professor. I've had no opportunity to actually interview a Varthan. I won't interfere."

  "Very well," Atal sighed. "I suppose I owe it to your mentor. Captain Harl?"

  "The young lady is quite perceptive. I shall enjoy her company."

  Mors and Celia left, the latter rolling her eyes. Pallas seated herself in the visitor's chair opposite Atal's desk.

  Atal gestured to Harl to sit. He declined, so the Captain remained standing as well.

  "So... you claim she's not an escaped slave, but a murderer?"

  Harl smiled too confidently. "Surely you know that tales of slavery among my people are exaggerated, Captain? There are a few practitioners who remain... stubborn. The girl is not a slave. She is a custodial ward of a Varthan citizen."

  "I'm impressed. That's a very pretty euphemism. But slave-holders throughout history have claimed to be beneficent caretakers of lesser species, that the slaves must be kept in captivity for their own good."

  "These are not ordinary beings, Atal. These creatures are fit for little else – that is, they're not equipped to care for themselves. They're too wild. Not everyone is meant to be free. Some just can't handle freedom."

  Pallas spoke up. "If you'll excuse my interruption, Captain, that's quite true. Historically, our joint culture has recognized a criminal class, denied rights for the protection of others. "

  "Thank you, Dr. Pallas. I'm sure Captain Harl appreciates your support."

  "I'm merely analyzing the situation objectively, Captain. Truth does not have a political affiliation."

  "I see," Atal said testily. He could not help wishing that his young guest would keep silent. While he was aware that she and Aer'La disliked each other, he did not think that her sympathies would lie with a bounder like Harl. Her "objective" analysis, however, was not helping things. What was Mors thinking, asking that she remain?

  "Captain Harl, something stinks here. Even if I stipulated that Aer'La was dangerous and needed custodial care – which I do not! –"

  Harl sighed and said gravely, "She is a murderer, Captain, and my people do not let a murderer go unpunished for any reason."

  "She denies your charge."

  "Naturally. She may not even remember committing the crime. They're not very bright creatures, you know."

  Atal estimated that Harl's intellect could have fit into Aer'La's brain fifty times and left room for walk-in closets, but he let the point go. "Whom did she kill?"

  "A tourist. A child. Pretty young thing," he said sadly. "I'm afraid I had to examine the body. As I said, she slit the little girl's throat in order to rob her, then pushed the body, still in its death throes, in the path of a ground car. Of course, the coroner immediately noticed that the wound to her jugular had bled like that inflicted to a living person, meaning it had caused her death, not the impact. And of course we have the girl's fingerprints on the murder weapon. A shard of glass she'd foraged from somewhere. She was foolish enough to leave it at the scene.

  "Captain," Harl said with as much sympathy as he could feign, "I know you're fond of the creature. Were circumstances different, I'm sure you and I could come to, shall we say, an arrangement? But this is a capital crime, and must be dealt with. You see, you cannot deny the truth of my earlier statement. A wild animal will always be wild, and will always need to be caged. Now, I believe we were going to discuss terms?"

  "We were... until you turned this from a case of recovering property into a capital case, crossing jurisdictional lines. Now I'll have to consult the Attorney General's office, of course, and launch my own investigation."

  Harl colored, but kept his composure. "I believe your orders are clear, Captain. You are to surrender the girl."

  "My orders were clear, sir. I was to surrender an escaped slave."

  "But that –"

  " – That was a 'misunderstanding,' yes. But it was the basis of my orders. Now, it seems, I am not harboring an escaped slave. I cannot proceed on those orders. I must proceed as I would if any other member of my crew were accused of a crime."

  "You're deliberately stalling for time, Captain!"

  Atal smiled. "Why, so I am. Twenty-four hours, in fact. I'll get back to you in exactly that amount of time. Until then..." He rose, once again towering over the Varthan. "Get your sorry ass off my ship."

  To his surprise, Atal did not have to call security to enforce his unmannerly demand. Harl turned on his heel and left, with a brief but courteous salute to Pallas.

  When the hatch closed behind Harl, Atal turned to the Phaetonian girl.

  "Well, Doctor... shall I offer you a drink? Or shall we get right down to you telling me just what in hell you thought you were doing just now?"

  Pallas was unflustered by his brusqueness. She sat back in her chair and clasped her hands placidly over one raised knee.

  "I'll be happy to explain my behavior, Captain. I think you'll be fascinated to hear what I've learned..."

  * * *

  "Who was Druberj?" Metcalfe asked. They were in her cabin, where she was nominally confined, under arrest. She sprawled on the bed, while he fetched her a cup of tea.

  "Another slave," she said. "We were lovers."

  "And that's his murderer they sent?"

  She nodded. Metcalfe knelt on the bed, placing the steaming mug in her hands, not letting go until he was sure she had a firm grasp upon it. Her hands were still shaking.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Hell no. Seeing him again brings it all back."

  He reached out and pulled her back against his chest, reclining himself against the headboard of her bed. She curled up against him placidly, clearly grateful for the comforting embrace.

  "I never thought I'd see you afraid of anything," he said.

  "We're all afraid of something, aren't we?"

  "I guess."

  "He... he raped me, Navy," she said quietly. "A lot of men did, over the years, but he was the first. He was our... overseer, I guess you'd say. I was just little, and he –" Her breath caught, and the rest came out in a sob. " – he enjoyed it. I could tell."

  Metcalfe held her tighter, using one hand to stroke her hair.

  "He'll never hurt you again, Aer'La."

  "No? What are you gonna do, Navy? Kill him?"

  "I will if I have to, and I'll enjoy it."

  She shook her head, sadly. "You're not a killer."

  "There's a first time for everything. If ever a man needed killing..."

  Aer'La turned and faced him, her expression deadly serious. "Stay away from him, Navy. He's dangerous. He has dangerous friends. If he didn't someone would have killed him a long time ago. It's not worth your life –"

  "You're my friend," said Metcalfe. "It damn well is worth my life. I'd be dead by now, if it weren't for you. Besides, I think we can make Harl back down – "

 
"Trust me," she said, "you can't. He won't give up. He's never lost a slave. He's proud of that."

  "Well he's going to lose this time."

  "I want to believe that. You don't know them like I do, though."

  "No," he said, "but I know us. We don't lose. Captain Atal's brought both of us this far, hasn't he?" Metcalfe gestured around the room. "Look, Aer'La! We're on the Titan! We're officers! The Terran and the slave! Who but Captain Atal could have made that happen? You think he'll let one of us get taken into slavery?"

  She stared at him for a few moments. "How do you do it?" she asked.

  "Do what?"

  "Keep... hoping. Keep believing you'll win in the end?"

  "What else can you believe?"

  She dropped her head. "That there's no way out."

  He'd never seen her like this before. Aer'La didn't admit defeat. She spit in its eye. She was the fiercest, most determined person Metcalfe had ever met. But since Harl had shown his face, all that had changed. His presence obviously invoked all the wrong memories for her, and changed her back to what she used to be: a slave, a creature with no hope, no spirit, no sense of self.

  "My people are the joke of the galaxy," Metcalfe said. "We're the evolutionary precursors to the real human race, at least that's the way the inworlders see it. We're something they're ashamed of, especially because they know they're really not that different than we are. A lot of my people do admit defeat. They don't believe they can win. I guess... I guess, in order to be one of the ones who leaves Terra, you have to believe you can win no matter what the odds. Like now – there's no way I can think of to get through this, but I still believe we'll come through."

  "That's not very realistic, is it?"

  "I guess not," Metcalfe admitted. "It's called faith. It's not about realism. It comes from our religious heritage. I'm afraid most of my people have abandoned it."

  "I never did understand religion. What is it? No other races have it, do they?"

  "Sure they do," he said. "Reason and intellect are a religion to the Phaetons. Education is a religion to the Quintils."

  "But what is a religion?"

  "It's... I don't know if I can explain. It's a belief that there's a higher purpose than finding food and shelter and reproducing. It's a belief that someone's watching out for you."

  "Like Atal watches out for us?"

  "But he's only human. I mean a superior being."

  She looked at me strangely. "You're kidding, right? The Captain is a superior being!"

  For a minute he thought she was joking. Then he realized she meant it. "You consider some people... better than others?"

  "Of course. You and I are, well, we're lower life forms. I was bred for servitude. You weren't bred at all. How can we pretend to be equal to someone like Atal, with engineered intelligence and emotional training and bio-control –"

  "Stop it!" he said, more forcefully than he meant to. She looked guardedly at him. "I mean... my people don't see it that way. Our beliefs teach that all humans are of equal value, with equal rights."

  "That doesn't make sense," she said. "How can you believe we're equal to them? Do we have the status of a Quintil? Do we have a chance at the wealth? Well..." she grimaced at him, "...I guess you do. I don't. I'm a few levels down."

  "That's not true."

  "How do you know that? Who says some aren't better than others?"

  "Our... creators," he muttered.

  "I don't believe in any creators," said Aer'La bitterly. "Some of my people do, but I... I've fought for everything, all my life. No god ever showed up to help me. And what kind of creator would make people just to be slaves?"

  "I doubt your creator intended you to be a slave, Aer'La. That's a mortal concept, slavery."

  "Then why would someone create us at all? If so many bad things can happen?"

  "So we'll learn and grow. We'll have experiences..."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. My church said we go on after this life to eternal paradise. I find that hard to swallow. But I think, after we die, we go somewhere. This life is, well, it's sort of a testing ground, to prepare us for what comes next."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I don't. Like I said, it's about faith."

  "So..." she said thoughtfully, "you really think it's not over... when it's over. When someone dies, you haven't really lost them?"

  "I'd never have survived my sister's death unless I believed that," Metcalfe said. "If I didn't think I'd ever see her again, that she was here and then just... gone... it would all seem so pointless."

  "But... when someone dies... they're dead... They're..."

  "Their body is dead. Don't you believe in a soul, Aer'La?"

  "I... I don't know. What is a soul? I always hear about them..."

  "Everything that makes you who you are... except your body."

  "So... where does it go? The soul? Can you see it?"

  "Doc Faulkner would probably say she could, but no. I don't think so. And I don't know exactly where they go. Maybe they stay right here among us. Maybe they can see what we're doing."

  "That could mean that Druberj is watching me?"

  "Yes. I like to think Lydia watches me."

  "Maybe Druberj is with her?"

  "Maybe," he smiled.

  "Do you think they would have liked each other?"

  "Lydia liked everybody. She was so... kind."

  "So was Dru," she said, her eyes unfocused, as if she were lost in memory. "I hope... I hope they are together... somewhere... if what you say is true. Maybe they're even lovers!"

  "Uh... I don't think... that is... "

  "What, can't they have sex in the after life?" Aer'La demanded. "'Cause I'm not going unless they do!"

  "The Church says the soul is a spirit beyond physical pleasure."

  "Ick."

  "Besides," he said quietly, "Lydia never... " He couldn't bring the words out. Somehow, when talking about Lydia, who was so innocent, it didn't seem right.

  "Never?" asked Aer'La, knowing what he meant anyway. "How old was she?"

  "Twelve."

  "Well, what was she waiting for?"

  "She was only twelve! She was too young!" He saw Aer'La's surprised expression, then added, "On Terra, anyway."

  Aer'La thought it over. "Wow. Never. I hope they're lovers."

  Metcalfe decided to bring the conversation back to a serious subject. "Aer'La, how come you never mentioned Druberj before?"

  She shrugged. "I - I don't know. I guess... when he and I were together, it was a secret. We couldn't tell anyone else. Having sex with someone you picked yourself, instead of someone who paid for you... that was perverted where I come from. So Dru was my... kinda my secret life. My hiding place. I guess I just got in the habit of keeping him to myself. Even after I came to the Navy, when things were bad I'd... Well, I'd think of Druberj, sometimes. Pretend he could talk to me. Pretend he could tell me that everything was all right, and that... " She stopped, embarrassed. "This is stupid, isn't it?"

  "I don't think so. We all have some kind of mental retreat from the world."

  "I guess I should have told you about him. He deserves to be remembered. I did tell Cernaq. He reminds me of Dru."

  "That explains your amazing patience for the stubbornest member of our little clan," chuckled Metcalfe.

  "I guess maybe it does. Cern's... special."

  "I should call him to sit with you."

  "I don't need a damned babysitter, Navy."

  "Sorry. Maybe I should go."

  "I didn't say I wanted you to go either." She shifted her weight harder against him, pressing him back against the wall and the headboard. "I'm comfortable."

  "Okay... I was ordered to keep and eye on you. So, tell me more about Druberj. Would I have liked him?"

  Her face lit up as she began to recall him. "You would have been crazy about him. I remember this one time..."

  * * *

  Despite Aer'La's insistence that she not be
treated like an invalid, Cernaq showed up at her cabin not long after Metcalfe had brought her there. Knowing the Phaetonian's presence would be more helpful to her than his own, and feeling he really should report back to Atal, Metcalfe excused himself.

  A bounce tube deposited him at a junction in the corridor just short of the captain's suite. Hearing familiar voices carrying around the corner, he stopped, keeping himself invisible from the speakers. The corridor, fortunately, was not busy. The corridors near the captain's cabin rarely were. Most members of the crew did not care to be caught by the Captain unexpectedly. It might encourage him to find them work to do.

  The first voice was clearly that of Pallas. Metcalfe's pulse quickened, thinking of seeing the beautiful scientist again. Then he realized the other voice belonged to Harl. He heard Aer'La's name mentioned, and decided Pallas must be working on him for information. He waited out of sight, not wanting to interrupt if she was learning something useful.

  "– It may just be my upbringing," Pallas was saying, "Dr. Mors has told me that Phaetonians must learn tolerance when we live among other peoples. Still, she really is the antithesis of everything my people have tried to make themselves. And I'm not jumping to conclusions. I've met her on several occasions."

  "They're all like that, my dear," said Harl. "And don't judge yourself harshly. You can throw out all the philosophy you like. Me, I'm just a working man. I see it as being as simple as you being a lady with class, who's been brought up with some standard of decency. The Inihu? They're animals. Not only hasn't she been raised right, she can't be. Between you and me, that's why they're bred and trained the way they are.

  "Of course, I realize that it must repulse a fine person like yourself, you bein' Phaetonian and all. But you must admit that there are... needs which must be met, among less advanced races. And it is better to have those needs met in a planned environment, by those trained to do it, rather than having their betters sullied in the act. Don't you agree?"

  "I... suppose."

  "I mean... I've no doubt that – someday! – we'll probably follow your people's fine example and do away with these base instincts altogether. In the meantime, though, well, the demand is there. We can't disrupt the economy of countless worlds by pulling the plug, now can we?"