In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “I don’t like it either—”

  “Then why the fuck are you doing it? Highness,” he belatedly added.

  “Lieutenant, I fear at this point I have to object,” Rohan said. “This is your ruler.”

  “Then she needs to act like it.” Tracy gave Mercedes a brooding glare. “And look out for all her subjects.”

  Mercedes sighed and sat on the corner of Rohan’s desk. “Conde, I think it best if you leave us. The lieutenant and I are old friends. I know he can be a stiff-necked, self-righteous prig.” He is also the kind of man who would risk everything to prevent a genocide, she thought. “But I think we can reach an understanding if we’re not constrained by protocol.”

  “As you wish, Highness.” Rohan stood with a grunt and waddled to the office door. The formal mask broke and he gave them a brief smile. “Don’t kill each other.”

  There was a soft click as the door closed behind him. “So tell me what you really think,” Tracy snapped.

  “You are a stiff-necked, self-righteous prig. And in a more just world you’d be a hero, but if we go public there will be a backlash, maybe even violence. Humans against Cara’ot. Maybe Cara’ot against humans, which could endanger the peace. It’s better for both species if we keep this quiet. You were in the middle of the situation. I need to know we can count on you.” He opened his mouth and she rushed on to forestall the objections. “So who have you told?”

  “Just my father, but aren’t you missing a critical point? These kids, at least what’s left of them, exist. Are you going to sweep them under the rug too? Just how inconvenient are they?”

  Furious, she came to her feet and closed the gap between them. “Don’t you dare imply that I would let any harm come to these children, they’re blameless.” Only inches separated them. The scent of his aftershave swept over her. Conflicting emotions—love and anger—tore through Mercedes over their situation, what he was and what she feared she was becoming. “We weren’t able to get a commitment from the Cara’ot to take them so we’ve come up with a plan in case the Cara’ot continue to shirk their responsibilities. Resettlement.”

  “Habitable planets aren’t all that common.”

  “We’ve got one we can use. Sinope. We haven’t had a lot of luck getting League citizens to settle there, given the harsh environment and the hostility of the women. The surviving children, the humans and the Cara’ot who violated the law by taking part in this debacle will be sent there.” Mercedes shrugged. “It will beat prison.”

  “What about the settlers on Sinope? How are they going to feel about this?”

  “We took their children six years ago. Since then there have been very few births. A handful out of secret fertility labs—those children we seize and shut down the labs—and a handful from normal relationships. You would think they would start to accept a more normal society by now.” She was surprised by her querulous tone and the deflection. She forced herself back to the matter at hand. “Be that as it may, they need population. I expect these children will be welcome along with their parents. Then they can all commiserate about how awful we are, but that’s all they’ll be able to do.”

  Tracy paced away. “I don’t know. What you’re asking feels… wrong. Against our oath. Against our faith. Has the church been consulted?”

  “No. We want to limit the number of people who know.”

  “There were a shit load of soldiers taking part in that operation.”

  “They’ve been ordered to keep quiet. We’re relying on their training, good order and discipline.”

  “It was their training, good order and discipline that had them shooting kids, Mercedes. And why don’t you just order me?”

  “Because you’re the only officer to disobey. Why should I think you’d obey this order?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or if you’re slamming me.”

  “I’m not sure either.” She smiled at him, but didn’t get a response. His expression was thunderous. She sighed. “Rohan thought it might come to this. He says he knows your mettle.”

  She moved to the desk and picked up the paper she had left there, held it out to him. He hesitantly took the heavy parchment, studied the seal and ribbon.

  “The Emperor is very cognizant of your exemplary service, Captain-Lieutenant,” Mercedes said formally. “He instructed me to tell you that in recognition of that service you are to be immediately promoted to commander and made the executive officer aboard the Estrellas del Cielo.”

  “That’s a fire lance frigate,” Tracy said slowly.

  “Yes,” Mercedes said. “The first in the fleet.”

  “I’d skip a rank.”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Time seemed to slow down and it was as if he was looking at Mercedes from a great distance. He looked back down at the paper. “So instead of ordering me you’re bribing me,” he said slowly.

  The hurt in those deep brown eyes stabbed him. He tore his gaze away and stared down at the elaborate pattern on the Sidone rug. She was only asking for his silence. Such an easy thing to give.

  “Just… just be the human I think you are.” Donnel’s anguished words before he’d deployed to the surface of Dragonfly came rushing back to haunt him.

  His mind skipped wildly, unable to process the request, shying from the decision he faced. He studied his surroundings—the thick carpet under foot, bookcases lining the walls with actual paper and leather-bound books on the shelves, the heavy purple drapes sweeping gracefully over the mullioned windows, a marble-topped wet bar set off to the side. Tracy supposed the office of the man who controlled the funds of an empire would be opulent. He remembered the favors he’d done for Rohan. Acquiesce to this request and he would have the favor of the Emperor and his heir. This world of power and opulence might open to him.

  “We can’t openly acknowledge your actions, but this is a way for us to honor your heroism,” Mercedes continued.

  “…don’t make me out to be some kind of a hero.”

  “You were a hero to those children.”

  “Am I now betraying them?” Tracy murmured.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Doesn’t silence make me complicit, Mercedes? Dear God, we studied these kinds of events at the academy— My Lai, Abu Ghraib, Nairobi, Shanghai.”

  “The stakes are higher on this. We risk a war of civilizations.” She gripped his arm. “I don’t have the luxury of high-minded and, frankly, naive principles. The consequences are just too dire.”

  “And what about the consequences of a cover-up? Have you considered those?”

  She pressed her palms against her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t foresee all outcomes. The Emperor and I can only do what we think is best.”

  “And that’s all I can do.” The paper fell from his hand and fluttered to the carpet. A dead dream. “I’m sorry. I can’t do it. Epps needs to pay. The men who pulled the triggers need to face justice.”

  “We’ll have to stop you,” she called as he walked to the door.

  “You can try.”

  26

  MOSTLY WE MAKE SHIT UP

  “That’s one hell of a story,” said the enormously obese human seated behind the desk. His triple chin quivered as he talked.

  “A fucking great story,” added the Isanjo perched on the desk.

  Tracy sat in front of the desk of the owners and editors-in-chief of The Straight Dope. Randolph Culpepper was the human owner of the bottom-feeding news outlet. Tangret, the Isanjo, was lean and fit and his claws were out, adding to the scars they had previously left on the desk. His jet-black fur with gold highlights gleamed under the lights.

  It was unlike every other reaction Tracy had gotten through the day. He had started at the venerable and respected LBC, the League Broadcasting Company. Tracy had met with a slim polished man with videogenic good looks whose response had been a blunt—

  “There’s no evidence of what you’re claiming, and the palace says it
isn’t true.”

  Tracy stared at the reporter. “Is Spanish not your first language? I’m the evidence. I was fucking there. I and a few of my squad protected the half-breeds. I was on the ship that escorted Epps back to Ouranos.”

  “The governor is on Dragonfly.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “I checked with the palace. Look, Lieutenant, I can’t take just your unsubstantiated word on a story like this. You’re alleging murder and corruption and a cover-up at the highest levels of government.”

  “My battle armor. It uploads data and pictures to the servers on the Preble. It keeps a record. Also there were three estrella hombres who supported me and helped me protect the children.”

  “Fine. Then bring me the suit and those men.”

  “And then will you do something?”

  “If the evidence supports your claims.”

  Tracy left the soaring glass building that housed LBC. He had only a short time to find someone willing to run with the story. The Preble was due to leave dock in three days. He had requested leave, which had been denied. He had also requested a transfer to another ship. He had a feeling continued service on the Preble wasn’t going to be a comfortable experience. That request was still pending.

  He had called Donnel and ordered him to return to the ship and bring his armor. Calls had been placed to Mogdahtar, Brinkerhoff and Guth. A pleasant female voice informed him that those individuals were no longer listed as having scoop service. A bit of research revealed that the three hombres were no longer serving aboard the Preble and there was no indication where they had been transferred. As quickly as he had moved the crown had moved faster. Tracy’s only hope was that they had overlooked the recording in his armor, but he knew it to be a very faint hope. SEGU was notoriously efficient.

  Instead of waiting for Donnel to come back with the information that his suit was missing or the files wiped he went out to another news service in the hope they would take the story. News Corp refused to even meet with him. Planetary News suggested he write a tell-all book but maybe make it fiction, and did he know they had a publishing division? With each stop the buildings were becoming less elegant, the neighborhoods more seedy.

  Donnel called him with the news Tracy had been dreading but expecting. His suit was gone, replaced by another. By this point it was mid-afternoon and the air seemed to waver from the heat. Tracy pulled off his uniform coat even though it would reveal the sweat stains beneath his arms and down his back. He was on the border between Stick Town and Furryville when he entered the offices of The Straight Dope.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have any proof beyond my word. The cover-up has been very efficient,” Tracy said.

  “Hell, we usually don’t have any evidence. In fact we mostly make shit up,” Culpepper said.

  “This’ll be a nice change for us,” Tangret added with a chuckle.

  “The crown will try to stop publication,” Tracy warned.

  “Hell, we’re a boil on the ass of society. I doubt the crown even knows we exist,” Culpepper grunted.

  “Our readership isn’t exactly the cream of society,” the Isanjo said. “But the ordinary folk will know what you did.”

  “No, please, this isn’t about me. Or it shouldn’t be. It’s about holding those responsible accountable.”

  “Nah, kid, we gotta have a face for the hero and that’s you.”

  * * *

  Now that the story was set to go live Tracy told his father about the meeting with Mercedes, and his subsequent efforts to get the truth out into the League.

  The shock etched even deeper lines into his father’s face. “The story is hitting the Foldstream today so get ready to be mobbed by reporters, Dad.” If anything his father’s expression became even more horrified. “Hey, no such thing as bad publicity, right?” Tracy said, trying to lighten the moment. “Bet you get even more business.”

  “I can’t believe you did this. You turned down a request from the crown.”

  “I turned down a bribe.”

  Alexander waved that away. “Not the promotion. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice. No, you violated your oath to the Emperor. You shirked your duty.”

  “I did my duty. It was an illegal order.”

  “Yes, yes, on the planet that was one thing, but now… now you’ve disobeyed the explicit wishes of the Infanta and the Emperor. How could you, Tracy? I raised you better than this.”

  It wasn’t like Tracy had forgotten his father’s fawning, almost slavish dedication to the FFH and the throne. He just hadn’t thought it would lead to this.

  “Jesus Christ! I never thought your boot-licking these parasites in the FFH would lead you to take their side over me.”

  The blood that rushed into his father’s face showed the remark had stung. “I’m trying to protect you. And if you hated them this much why did you stay in the Orden de la Estrella after your five years were up? My guess is you were hoping to win a title.”

  That was also a truth that stung and Tracy felt his own face flush. “Well, it’s done now. Nothing to be done. The story goes live in…” He checked the watch set into the sleeve of his uniform. Donnel had helped him don his dress blues. He was anticipating a lot of press once the story hit. “Twenty minutes.”

  Except it didn’t. Tracy waited almost forty-five minutes in the hope it had been a technical glitch, but he finally had to accept that somehow the crown had spiked the story. He tried calling the office only to be told the number was no longer in service. He then brought up a street view of the neighborhood on his tap-pad. Donnel hovered and peered over his shoulder. Not only was there no activity around the building… there was no building. It had been demolished and salvage crews were busy removing the debris.

  “Wonder if they let the staff get out before they brought it down,” the alien said.

  “They wouldn’t just murder people.”

  “You hope,” the Cara’ot grunted.

  Fear clenched his gut. He swallowed, trying to moisten a suddenly very dry mouth. He sent a message to Mercedes’ private account. Don’t hurt my father. He’s not part of this. There was no response, and in that moment he knew he stood alone and naked against the power of the crown. The doorbell rang. A murmur of male voices. His father appeared in the door of the bedroom.

  “Tracy.” His voice quavered. “There are fusileros here.”

  Tracy stood, picked up his hat, settled it perfectly, and squared his shoulders. He touched the Distinguido Servicio Cruzar, then on sudden impulse he removed the medal from his coat and thrust it into one of Donnel’s hands. “Keep this for me.” He also tore off his ScoopRing and handed it over. “Mercedes’ private number is on this. I don’t want them to find that.”

  “Still worrying about the bitch,” Donnel growled.

  Tracy’s fist clenched and Donnel braced for the expected blow, but Tracy let it go. Maybe the alien wasn’t wrong. She had shafted him. Tracy walked into the living room. The officer in command of the four troopers didn’t bother with a salute.

  “Lieutenant Thracius Ransom Belmanor, you are under arrest for violations of article 123 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice for the unauthorized sale and disposal of property belonging to the Orden de la Estrella. You shall be brought before a general court-martial. You have—”

  “Yes, yes, I know the code. I demand my right to counsel.”

  “Tracy,” his father quavered.

  “It’ll be all right, Dad. Just the crown sending me a message.” Tracy turned back to the young officer. “Shall we?”

  “You need to be secured.” He gestured and one of the men stepped forward with force bracelets.

  “Do I look like I’m resisting?”

  The officer had the grace to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sir, we have our orders.”

  “I see. So how much press is there out on the street?” Tracy didn’t get an answer as they clasped the cuffs on his wrists.

  He glanced back once as they went out the do
or. His father seemed to have aged twenty years in an instant. One hand gripped the back of the sofa. A man needing support. And no one to provide it.

  * * *

  The military policeman in the cage was impassive as Tracy set his credit spike, a handkerchief, a tube of lip balm and his ear piece on the counter. Each was carefully logged in. The man’s eyes flicked across the combat ribbons on his jacket, and he said quietly, “You might want to leave those too.” Tracy nodded and broke the static seal that held them in place. Combat ribbons weren’t all that common and would probably bring a pretty price at one of the military memorabilia stores.

  He had hoped to be held at O-Trell Point Magu. The base was on the other continent, but at least reasonably accessible to his father. Instead he had been brought to the O-Trell Orbital Base Montero. A shuttle trip would put a severe strain on the family budget, leaving his father with the choice of never visiting his son or going bankrupt.

  From processing Tracy was taken, still in security cuffs, to a room where he was told to strip. A humiliating search followed and he was given the electric-green jumpsuit that marked him as a prisoner. The reaction set in as he watched them bag his uniform and carry it away. A hollow appeared where his stomach once resided. He had never thought it would go this far. For an instant regret washed over him. If he had just bowed the head and gone along. But he hadn’t and it was way too late for second thoughts. He was escorted to a cell.

  The caged men he passed stared at him with either empty or hungry eyes. Were there any like him? Men destroyed because they had challenged authority? But wasn’t that the very definition of dereliction of duty? He knew from his previous postings the kind of offenses that got a man court-martialed: acts of violence against fellow soldiers or civilians, insubordination. It also fell exclusively on the enlisted men. Officers were by and large members of the FFH. Their transgressions were either ignored or they were quietly removed to a different posting and then allowed to muster out early. No, there weren’t likely to be any other political prisoners at Montero. Which meant he would need to watch his back. How convenient it would be for the crown if he died in prison and they never had to hold his court-martial.