Taken Liberty v5

by Steven H. Wilson

  "I believe we are. There should be no stigma associated with admitting that which is supported by evidence."

  "Yes. You are... quite a superior woman."

  "Thank you, Captain. I'm glad you see that. You also see, I would think, how I might be able to... help you?"

  "Eh?"

  "Let us be honest, Harl. May I call you Harl?"

  "Milady... please."

  "We both know that there's more to this than having the girl stand trial. What she represents to your people... to her people... is a symbol of possible escape. Even though she died, she escaped your care, and successfully evaded you for some years. If you do not return her alive... her symbol remains. She is a martyr to her cause. Now other Inihu might hear of her, and also dream of escape..."

  "Yes..."

  "And – since you were unsuccessful in perpetuating the belief that no Inihu escapes – there will be those who will ... behave unjustly toward you."

  "I will be ready for them!"

  "Oh, I've no doubt you will; but couldn't a telepath be of some assistance to you?"

  "Well... now... maybe. I mean... would you... consider that?"

  "I might. You know, Phaetonians are not merely detached intellectuals. We strongly believe in the Free Market. Your business is profitable, no doubt?"

  "I could give you anything you dream of, Milady."

  "I don't want to be given things, Harl. I want to earn them. That's the way of my people. In exchange for assisting you, I'd like a share in your business. Is that possible?"

  "I would imagine..."

  "For instance, how much might Aer'La have fetched on the market, if she hadn't escaped you?"

  "Oh, that would have been a lucrative deal. You see, many of the slaves I sell, I only act as agent. Aer'La, well she was from a lot that I'd invested my own money in. Raised her myself. The syndicate still backed me, of course, but I owned sixty per cent interest in her and her sisters."

  "Stop," said Atal. Pallas paused the playback. Atal turned to Fournier. "Well, Georg? He admitted he's a slaver."

  Fournier's expression drooped. "All right... yes. He did not, however, disavow the murder charge, so our actions –"

  "Actually, Admiral, he did," said Pallas. She keyed the player again, searching for a timestamp. "I'll spare you the interim conversation..."

  "I lied, good lady. I hope that does not lessen your opinion of me? I acted with the interests of my people as my overriding priority. I manufactured the evidence that the slave had killed the girl so that your people would not take some sort of silly, moral stand. I believe in this case, how does your saying have it? Ah, the end justifies the means? You understand? Desperate times call for desperate measures."

  With a look of vague disgust, Pallas clicked the cylinder out of the playback slot. "I trust that is sufficient to prove that Aer'La was not a murderer?"

  "Not that it matters," Fournier muttered.

  Atal clasped Pallas's shoulder gently. "That couldn't have been easy for you. You did an excellent job."

  "I told you she would," Mors said, with evident pride. "You deaf mutes think that, just because we're intellectuals, we Phaetonians can't be excellent spies – we can."

  Mors delighted in calling non-Phaetonians "deaf mutes," since they could neither read nor broadcast their thoughts. For his people's purposes, they couldn't hear or speak. He knew it annoyed the hell out of Atal when he said it. At the moment, however, Atal didn't have time to play.

  "The Captain felt someone should be in Harl's confidence," Pallas explained calmly, "for the purpose of gathering information. My intent was to secure just such a confession."

  She didn't meet Metcalfe's eyes as she said it. He was watching her, though, the expression on his face one of uncertainty, and perhaps regret. Atal knew that giving Pallas this mission risked forming a breech between her and his officers. They would not take kindly to someone who appeared to line up with the Varthans against their friend. She was aware of this risk, however, and had chosen to take it. It had been Aer'La's only chance.

  Atal was particularly sorry to have seen the glow of puppy love fade in Metcalfe's eyes. Such love often didn't last anyway, but to kill it deliberately was tantamount to spraying weed killer on the first flowers of spring. He probably owed Metcalfe an apology for not cluing him in to this part of the plan, but he had to trust these two to work out their differences on their own. If they couldn't... Atal had been known to compromise his principle of live and let live.

  "Dr. Mors felt Dr. Pallas was the right candidate to get information from Harl," Atal explained to Fournier. "She played on his vanity while appearing to be above such nasty dealings as espionage."

  "I believe the art of seduction has a time-honored place in espionage," said Mors. "There was a figure in Terran history named Mata Hari, who –"

  "I would hardly claim to be versed in the art of seduction, Professor," Pallas interjected.

  "The lady doth protest too much," observed Metcalfe.

  Mors went on. "At any rate, Georg, had you allowed Harl to take the girl on this trumped-up charge, and then evidence had been found and circulated that he'd lied –"

  "And it would have circulated," Atal assured Fournier.

  " – It would have been quite embarrassing to ConfNav, and the scandal would have damaged relations with the Varthan free worlds. Now, the whole matter is a proven embarrassment, which the Varthan cartels will be only too happy to see swept under the rug."

  Fournier looked non-plussed in the extreme by the whole line of conversation. He shook his head impatiently. "But the girl is still dead!"

  The signal from Atal's outer door bleeped angrily. On Atal's desk, the miniature figure of Carson appeared. "Captain, Dr. Flynn is urgently requesting to –" it began.

  The corridor door opened, and Flynn stomped in.

  " – see you," finished the tiny holo. Having done its job, and its sender knowing that it had arrived a bit too late, it vanished.

  "Yes, Doctor," said Atal, "please come in."

  "I won't have it, Captain!" Flynn blustered.

  "And 'it' would be...?"

  "That... woman! Seizing medical supplies! Misusing my facilities! Violation of genetic protocols –"

  "Breathe, Dr. Flynn," Atal reminded him, for it truly seemed he needed reminding. "I assume by 'that woman,' you mean Dr. Faulkner?"

  "I do, sir!"

  "How has she... displeased you?"

  "She – she –"

  "She activated a brain dead clone of an individual who had not given consent for its use," said Celia Faulkner's voice, from behind Atal. She had entered through the promenade door, as Pallas had. She stepped between Flynn and the Captain and said pleasantly, "I'm perfectly willing to pay any damages the donor asks. I won't even take it to court."

  Flynn beat at sides with his hands. "You know perfectly well that the donor is dead!"

  "I'm afraid it's true, Captain. At the time I quickened the clone, the donor was dead."

  "Well, then," Flynn began, "I demand –"

  "Clinically dead," Celia interrupted.

  "What?" demanded Flynn and Fournier. Realization dawned in the eyes of the latter.

  "Clinically dead. That means no pulse. The heart had stopped. Respiration –"

  "I know what clinical death is, Doctor. It's an outmoded term, you know that. Brainwave activity is the final measure of legal death. If that hasn't ceased –" He broke off, his face going white. "Then the patient... can be revived."

  "There just might be hope for you after all, Romney," said Celia. "In this case – well, I'll let you see for yourselves. Mr. Cernaq!" she called through the open door.

  Cernaq walked in, escorting a pale and tired, but decidedly alive, Aer'La.

  "Atal," Fournier said in his most dangerous voice, "I'd... like an explanation..."

  "Naturally, Admiral." Atal nodded to Celia. "The good physician will be happy to explain. It was, after all, her brilliant handiwork."

  "Hard
ly what I'd call brilliant, Captain. Any first-year resident worth her salt can quicken a clone sans a sentient brain, stabilize it, and reproduce the symptoms of death by –"

  "You faked that?" This from Fournier.

  "On my order, of course." Atal said.

  "And you didn't tell me?"

  "Well, for one thing," said Atal, "there wasn't time. Cernaq, following his... sudden departure from his cabin, found Aer'La. She had hanged herself with a makeshift noose, as you saw. He summoned Dr. Faulkner, who intervened. He then informed Mors, who transmitted my orders. We had to act quickly to plant the fake corpse."

  "You knew I would never have allowed it!"

  "In your position, you scarcely could have allowed such an action, Georg,"said Mors. "That is why I suggested you be excluded from the list of those who knew of the plan. This was best carried out by those... less bound by their diplomatic obligations. You are, of course, free to take disciplinary action against us all, if you feel it appropriate –"

  Mors' great popularity and influence in the Navy was due in part to the fact that he could say such absurd things with a straight face. A political opportunist like Fournier would hardly take action against him. If he did, he might suddenly find himself requested to accept a special ops assignment on the Border.

  "But it would seem to me," Mors continued. "that Captain Atal and his officers have used unorthodox methods to bring about an equitable solution for all concerned. Except for Harl, of course, but nature will no doubt equalize him one way or another."

  * * *

  In fact, it was not long before Mors's prediction came true. While the assembled group was still reviewing the day's events, Pallas announced that Harl was approaching Atal's office, his mind on demanding restitution. Atal ushered Aer'La, with Cernaq, back to the promenade.

  Harl arrived, accompanied by his omnipresent first mate.

  "Atal," he announced, "I'm prepared to depart. I feel, however, that some – er – compensation is due me and my crew."

  "Really?" asked Atal politely. "How do you figure?"

  "Well, my reputation as a – er – private investigator has been compromised by the mutinous actions of your officers. My livelihood depends on credibility, y'understand, Captain." He reached into his coat pocket. "I've worked up an estimate of the lost revenue –"

  "Which, coincidentally, comes to the amount for which you believed you could have sold Aer'La," said Pallas. "Thus covering your financial losses, and saving face for you before your crew."

  Harl's jaw dropped. His mate eyed him closely.

  "Milady?" he wondered. "Surely you're forgetting –"

  "I forget very little, Captain Harl. I certainly haven't forgotten the dubious pleasure of having to be in your presence these past few days. I imagine it will take a great deal of bathing to reduce the ill effects of the experience."

  Harl was dumbstruck. "B-but... you said –"

  Pallas allowed herself a slight smile. "I lied, my good Captain. 'Desperate times call for desperate measures.'"

  Harl's mouth moved. For quite a few seconds, no sound came out to accompany the moving of his lips. Any number of profanities seemed to flit through his mind, ultimately escaping him. Then he stepped toward Pallas, his fists raised, shrieking, "You bitch!"

  Atal interposed himself between them. "Captain Harl, don't forget I can have you arrested if you become violent."

  Harl snorted. "Your security couldn't take me down, Atal."

  "I could," said a voice behind the Captain, and Harl's eyes, already livid with rage, nearly popped from their sockets.

  "Aer'La," said Atal to the new arrival in the doorway, "you were supposed to stay out of sight."

  Aer'La shook her head and stepped forward. "No," she said quietly. "I've hidden enough. I've run away enough." She leveled her gaze at Harl, who actually drew back as she advanced on him. "I won't hide anymore. I won't run anymore. I won't try to take my own life." She looked in turns at Cernaq, Celia, Atal and Metcalfe, "because it's a life worth living."

  "Now look here, girl –" Harl began.

  "No," she said, her voice trembling. "You look here, you demented fuck. I let you scare me. I let you do things to me that no one should ever," she inhaled sharply, trying hard to maintain control, "ever have done to them against their will. I let you think you owned my body. I believed you owned my body." She stepped in until her face was an inch from his. "You don't. And if you try to touch me – or anyone here – again, I'll kill you. You might be lucky enough to kill me first, but I doubt it. My life is mine. You'll never control it again."

  Harl swallowed. "Well. I don't think it'll... do any good for anyone to be... killed." He looked to his mate for reassurance. He received none. The man's eyes were cold and questioning. "Atal," he said. "Since the girl is alive..." He looked to Pallas. "Since you clearly know some of the... more expedient fictions I was forced to... well, I've lost money, haven't I? But I think payment for my loss, at double the market value, for damages, should –"

  "You expect them to pay you?" Aer'La demanded. She seized Harl's collar and lifted him off his feet, arching her back, as he was significantly taller than she.

  "I believe I deserve some compensation..."

  Aer'La closed her eyes and held her breath for a long moment. Then she said, "Yes. You do have some compensation coming."

  In an instant, her calm was gone. She lifted Harl higher and threw him bodily against the nearby wall. He lay, stunned. Aer'La allowed him no recovery time. She leapt on him and pummeled his face and chest savagely. The Varthan Captain's blood spattered her face and arms, and began to ooze on the deck beneath him.

  Once the initial shock had dissipated, it was Cernaq who came forward. He made no move to touch or restrain her. He merely called her name softly.

  Her hands now at her victim's throat, she rasped, "No, Cernaq. Don't even ask. I'm going to kill the son of a bitch! It's what he deserves!"

  "Yes," said Cernaq gently. "I believe it is. Only please, Aer'La... don't be the one to do it. They'll arrest you. They'll charge you. You'll lose your commission." He knelt beside her and held out his hand. "And we'll lose you. None of us want that."

  Aer'La paused, her hands still at Harl's throat. Tears of frustration formed in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "Cernaq, please... he murdered Druberj! I can't let him live!"

  "Then," said Cernaq quietly, "let me do it."

  "What? No!"

  "Yes. I can kill him easily. I don't even have to touch him, just stop his heart." He reached out and stroked her face with his fingertips. "Let me face the charges. Let me go to prison, or mental reconditioning. You've suffered enough."

  "I can't do that. I can't lose you, too. But I can't let him... don't you understand, Cernaq? For Dru's memory, I can't..."

  "Would you trade my life for Druberj's memory?" he asked.

  She couldn't speak. She merely shook her head.

  "Then don't ask me to trade yours. For Druberj's memory, Aer'La, do what he would want you to do. Go on living. Be loved. Live... in Freedom."

  Aer'La took her hands from Harl and brought them to her eyelids, pushing hard to staunch the tears. "Freedom," she whispered.

  "You've found it," said Cernaq. "Would Dru have wanted you to let it go? For him?"

  In answer, she fell against his chest and buried her face in the warm folds of his tunic.

  Behind them, Atal stepped up to Harl's mate. "You have five minutes to take your Captain and get off my ship."

  "There is still the matter of remuneration," said the mate.

  Before Atal could reply, Mors said, "He's right."

  "What?" Atal demanded.

  Mors looked at Harl and frowned. "There's nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal. Or a man who thinks he's been cheated of what's rightfully his. I believe it would be safer to give Harl his money and send him on his way."

  "I will take the money," said the mate. "We will decide, later, who will keep it."

  "Meaning you
'll kill him," said Pallas, nodding to Harl.

  "That's not our business," said Atal coldly.

  Fournier stepped forward. "Professor... there's sense in what you say. Sir," he said to the mate, "are you willing to let this matter drop, if they pay you?"

  "I would consider our business closed, were I paid for the slave."

  Fournier said to Atal, "It could never be known, you realize. The press would have a field day." He sighed. "But it would eliminate a very large headache for the Council and the Admiralty."

  "Yes," agreed Atal. "Pay the man."

  "What?" blurted Fournier. "Me? It was Mors's idea!"

  "Oh," said Mors, "I'll be happy to –"

  "No," said Atal firmly. "It's Fournier's headache to cure. It's his secret to keep. Let him do the deed."

  "See here, Atal –"

  "You were willing to hand Aer'La over to slavers when you thought it was expedient. What's expedient now? And it is, by the way, my condition for not talking to the media." Atal smiled.

  Fournier gritted his teeth. "You're nothing but an extortionist, Atal."

  Atal nodded. "It's probably in my genes."

  "I don't care," said the mate, "as long as I get paid."

  "Blackmail," said Fournier when the mate was given his money and had dragged the barely conscious Harl from the room, "Absolute blackmail. Of me, of the Varthan... of the whole damned Navy. You're all just a.... a pack of criminals."

  "Crime is relative, Admiral," said Mors. "After all, what is a crime, but a violation of a law? And what is a law, but that which politicians – called by some the most persistent criminal class in human society – have found to be politically expedient to introduce as a set of guidelines? There was a time when human sacrifice was legal, as was child molestation, spousal assault –"

  "We're not in one of your lectures, Professor," Fournier interrupted. "And I'm well aware that you all believe you did the right thing, but –"

  "And what do you believe, Admiral?" asked Atal.

  "I believe, Atal, that I have more pressing matters to which to attend than the supervision of a pack of delinquents. If you will have my ship readied, I will be returning to Quintil within the hour." He left the room with what failing dignity he could muster.