In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  * * *

  Tracy was used to close quarters. His cribs on the ships had been small, but you were only in them to sleep; the days were filled with duties, mess time, and workouts. Inside the prison the only breaks from the monotony were the meals and the one hour of exercise time. Pacing in the cell put a strain on his knees because it was three steps and turn. He took to doing sit-ups and stretching exercises on the cold metal floor. He tried to remember every book he’d ever read, song he’d learned. Each night at bed check he’d ask the guards when he was going to see his advocate. They never gave him an answer. He inquired about a library and was told that until his arraignment those privileges were off limits for him.

  As the day lighting came up on the twentieth day a guard stopped by his cell. “Get dressed, Belmanor, your lawyer’s here.”

  He scrambled into his jumpsuit, pulled on the soft shoes and allowed the guard to clasp cuffs on his wrist. They took an elevator ride up five floors and he was led into a small room with a table with a large metal hook in the middle and two chairs. Fisheye lenses from cameras were in the corners. A JAG officer was waiting in one of the chairs. He looked younger than Tracy and terribly nervous. He shot out of the chair, banging his knee on the edge of the table, and grimacing he thrust out his hand. “Lieutenant Edmund Clancy, Judge Advocate General’s office.” The man seemed confused when Tracy thrust both his hands out, then he registered the cuffs. “Oh.”

  The guard laid a hand on Tracy’s shoulder and guided him to the chair, forced him to sit down and cuffed him to the ring. He left. Tracy nodded toward the cameras. “What about attorney-client privilege?”

  “Oh, they don’t listen—”

  “So they say.”

  “No really, they just watch. To make sure you don’t do something.”

  Tracy rattled the cuffs against the ring. “Not likely.” The cold metal of the seat cut right through the thin material of his jumpsuit and chilled his buttocks. His balls tried to retreat into his abdomen.

  The young officer pulled out a tap-pad and turned it on. “Okay, well the charges against you are quite serious and they have a lot of proof—”

  “I’m exercising my right to civilian co-counsel,” Tracy interrupted.

  The young lawyer gaped at him. “Huh? Wha—”

  “I have that right. Check the Code of Military Justice.”

  “Who’s going to pay?”

  “O-Trell.”

  “What if they say no?”

  “Then you make a big deal about that.” Tracy sighed at the kid’s confusion. “In the press.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Are you my lawyer or are you working for O-Trell?” Tracy asked sweetly though it was a struggle not to snarl the words.

  “Yours, of course.”

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?”

  And there was the rub. He really didn’t. Tracy ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts whirling like startled birds. The red, round face of an older man swam into focus. “Sir Malcomb Devris. Call him. Tell him I need a criminal defense lawyer.”

  “The Flitter King?”

  “Yes.”

  The lawyer’s nose wrinkled. “He’s terribly low class.”

  “Yeah, well so am I. I know him. Went to school with his son. He’ll help.”

  “Being associated with him might not be the best thing for your reputation. He’s been quite public over his dislike of the FFH.”

  “Which is why I know he’ll help.” Tracy reached as far as his shackles would permit and grabbed Clancy’s wrist. “Please, contact him.” He looked up into the young lawyer’s face. “And for the record, I didn’t do it. Any of it.”

  “All right. I’ll call him. He can certainly afford to pay if O-Trell should refuse.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be back once I have co-counsel.”

  * * *

  “The jumped-up little intitulado never understood how the world works. Really O-Trell is better off without him.”

  Mercedes studied Boho’s face on the screen. The words and the movement of his mouth weren’t quite in sync and the Foldstream transmission flattened his features so he looked like an eerie puppet.

  She was in her office in the public wing of the palace. It had felt strange when she had first been given an official place inside the government, but in the past year she had found she used it more and more, which had required that she get staff. What had started out as only one young bureaucrat cutting his teeth by acting as her personal assistant had now grown to a team of four. As Mercedes glanced around the room she realized that bit by bit and piece by piece it had become her space rather than a space devoid of personality that oozed bureaucratic competence and nothing more. The top of a credenza was covered with family holograms, all of the nine sisters together when Mercedes had been seventeen and Carisa just five. It was time travel as her eyes moved across the images. Wedding pictures. Estella with her husband and children. Julieta with her growing family. Tanis and Izzara dressed for a ball. Tanis in her nun’s habit. Beatrisa in her uniform. The twins in their cadet uniforms. Carisa no longer a big-eyed waif but a young woman in riding clothes. Mercedes wondered how long it had taken the girl to get Constanza to agree to her learning to ride.

  As she contemplated the images she thought about all the nieces and nephews her sisters were producing, and found herself thinking about them not as children and relations but as potential problems. Multiple people with potential claims to the throne. Would any of her sisters challenge her because of her childless state? Push forward their own offspring? Turn against each other in a battle for the throne?

  Her gaze drifted to the Sidone tapestry she had bought years ago when she was at the academy. Tracy had bought a tiny piece as well. They had then gone on to have a picnic together with grass underfoot and stars just outside the observation glass. She realized Boho had been talking and she had missed most of what he said.

  “I know you never liked him, but he was very competent,” Mercedes broke in. “I just worry when O-Trell loses competent officers. We might need them some day.”

  “You shouldn’t let your father’s nerves over Sector 470 affect you, sweetling. There’s nothing to indicate there’s a real threat out there.”

  “Except seven lost ships. And if you’re so sanguine about it why don’t you take the Intrepid there and take a look.”

  He laughed and it seemed forced. “Oh, sweetheart, always teasing. I’ve got plenty to occupy me here without chasing after boogiemen. You know Belmanor’s going to try to bring up all that unpleasantness on Dragonfly rather than address the charges.”

  “Daddy and I have already spoken to the judge. He knows to exclude any testimony that touches on Dragonfly.”

  “As he should. This is about theft of government property. I wish you had shown me the list you created before you sent it to the JAG office though. Some of those items may be problematic. The generator for example, but the rest of them are perfect. Spare electronics, medical supplies, rations. I should have known you wouldn’t have missed a trick. Though I still think you should have added providing arms to the enemy.”

  “Except we’re not technically at war with any of the alien races right now, and it’s harder to fake discrepancies in weapons inventories. We do take that very seriously. Also given his class it’s more likely he would have been stealing supplies that could be sold on the open market.”

  “True. I’m glad to see you’re being so hard-nosed about this, my dear. I know you had a certain fondness for him.”

  “Don’t condescend to me, Boho. I let Dani go to her death. I’ll break Tracy before I let this turn into a crisis with the Cara’ot.”

  “I know, love. I was just concerned for you. I’m glad to know I don’t have to worry. I just wish I was there to give you at least moral support, dear heart.”

  “I’m fine, Boho. Enjoy your ship.”

  “It is
a sweet machine. Until next time, my sweet.”

  Mercedes broke the connection and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Seven fawning endearments in a single conversation. Oh yes, he’s got a mistress stashed in his cabin. She sighed and clicked on the intercom. “Jaakon, bring me those mining reports from Nephilim.”

  His voice floated out of the intercom. “Right away, ma’am.”

  27

  WOULD YOU DO IT ALL AGAIN?

  Another week passed before Tracy was pulled out of his cell at a non-scheduled time. He expected to be brought back to the interview room. Instead he was brought to the visiting area. On the other side of the glass partition were his father and Malcomb Devris. Tears pricked the back of his eyelids and his throat ached. The guard secured him in the chair and stepped away. Tracy pulled the headset off the wall and fumbled to get it into place. The handcuffs made him clumsy.

  Alexander was seated; Devris loomed up behind him, one shovel-sized hand on the slender tailor’s shoulder. Tears swam in his father’s faded blue eyes. “Tracy, Tracy. How are you, son?”

  “I’m okay, Dad. Hanging in there.”

  “Caballero Malcomb offered me a ride up on his shuttle. He’s been more than gracious.”

  Devris’s hand tightened on Alexander’s shoulder and the smaller man winced. Even through the soundproof glass Tracy could hear the rumble of the Flitter King’s voice even if he couldn’t make out the words. “He says it’s the least he could do,” Alexander passed on.

  “Tell him thank you. It means so much to get to see you.”

  Alexander repeated the words and Devris beamed. “I brought you some of that spicy Isanjo food you like. Once they search it they say you can have it.”

  “Thanks. Food is pretty basic and bland up here.”

  “What else do you need?” Alexander asked.

  “Something to read. Maybe some candy. How’s Bajit? And the shop?”

  “Bajit’s fine. Said to tell you hello. Don’t worry about me, son. You’re the only concern right now.” Based on the response, Tracy assumed that the business was probably tanking. One more calamity to add to the others he’d already chalked up. “Now, Caballero Malcomb has some things to tell you.”

  The men traded places, Devris wedging his prodigious belly into the space between chair and wall. “So how are you really?” the businessman asked.

  “Getting fucked. Uh, not literally. But the crown is sure making it clear that I’m going to prison.”

  “We’ll see about that. I’ve retained Caballero Waseem Gurion. He’s the top criminal lawyer in Hissilek. He’s already contacted that clueless kid they assigned to you.”

  The tension he had been holding in his shoulder lifted and exhaustion took its place. Tracy slumped in his chair. “Thank you, Caballero Devris—”

  “Just plain ‘mister’ is good enough for me, lad. I took the stinking title because I thought it would improve my business opportunities. Instead it ruined my life. But I keep the damn thing ’cause it gives me more leverage with these assholes.”

  “I understand, sir. Anyway, thank you and I will pay you back.”

  A meaty hand was waved. “Don’t give it a thought. You were my Hugo’s friend. O-Trell’s got its claws into my other boys and two of my girls because I took that damn knighthood. I welcome the chance to put a spoke in their wheel. I’ll give you back to your dad now.”

  Alexander squeezed past the massive businessman and slid into the chair. After the bulky Devris his father seemed shrunken and frail. “We’re going to weather this.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “You’ll be reinstated in no time.”

  “I’m not sure I really want that.” And yet when he remembered removing the uniform, the pang of loss returned. That uniform had defined him for the past eleven years of his life.

  “Well, we’ll worry about that once it’s all over.”

  The cuff bit into his wrist as Tracy stretched so he could press his palm against the glass. “You know I didn’t do this. I didn’t steal anything.”

  “I know.”

  “I was just trying to get justice for those children.”

  “I know. But forgive me, son, but I have to say this. Maybe a little of it was ego. Trying to show you were better than these sons of privilege?”

  “What? No! I did the right thing even if you think I did it for the wrong reasons.”

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to make more trouble for yourself. I made you too proud.”

  “Hardly. You did everything to convince me I was less than they were.” His father reacted as if he’d been struck. Remorse swept through Tracy. “I’m… I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it. It’s just… the situation.”

  “I understand. Well, things are going to be better now. Don’t you worry anymore.”

  The guard returned and touched his shoulder. “Time’s up.”

  Once again the glass was cold against his palm. His father mirrored the gesture. The guard unhooked the cuffs and pulled Tracy out of the chair. Back in his cell Tracy rubbed at the bruises on his wrist and tried to forget his last glimpse of his father’s anguished face.

  * * *

  “You must have antagonized someone pretty damn important to have them go to this much effort to fuck you.”

  Tracy gaped, then gave a rueful smile and nodded. “How did you know?”

  Waseem Gurion was as old as the JAG officer was young. Tracy figured he was pushing one hundred. His flyaway white hair formed a halo around his head and the dark eyes were bright in a nest of wrinkles. He laid a blue-veined hand on the tap-pad. “When I see this much evidence so perfectly assembled I’m pretty damn sure it’s a setup. Actual crime is messy and most criminals stupid. I’ve checked you out. You’re not stupid and you’re not careless. So who’d you piss off?”

  “The crown.”

  Gurion leaned back and gave a small whistle. “Well, now I know why Malcomb told me I could charge whatever I wanted. What did you do?”

  Tracy told him. He expected the tale to rock the lawyer back in his chair again, but instead the old man leaned forward, clasped his hands on the table and stared intently at Tracy. “I’ll try to bring this up, but the judge won’t allow it to come in. I may be able to get in a few hints and suggestions, enough to maybe get some intrepid journalist interested, but we can’t use it. It’s irrelevant to the charges being brought against you.”

  “So I’m fucked.”

  “Pretty much. You know they’re planning to bury you deep?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Prison.”

  A cold stone replaced his stomach. Tracy leaned forward, fighting nausea, and rested his forehead on the metal table. The cold helped, but he still felt like puking when he did straighten. Unable to sit still he stood and paced the small interview room. Thanks to Gurion he wasn’t cuffed to the table. “So what are my odds?”

  “Well, you’ve got me so…” He pondered. “Sixty/forty.”

  “For acquittal?”

  “Oh hell no, that’s to keep you out of jail. An acquittal— more like ninety/ten. So, who have you got to speak on your behalf?”

  A month ago he would have said Mercedes. Tracy mentally reviewed his friends and realized it was a short, sad list. “Come on, there must be someone? You can’t be that much of an asshole.”

  “Commander Anusanatha Sukarno, I was his adjutant. He was the XO aboard the Triunfo. Lady Cipriana Delacroix, I served with her. Maybe Marqués Ernesto Chapman-Owiti. I went to school with him.” He correctly interpreted the lawyer’s expression. “Look, I don’t fit in any world. The FFH never accepted me because I’m low-born scum, and because I went to the academy on a scholarship and became an officer I’m not trusted by the enlisted men either. Also, if I pull in some hombre it’s just going to get a raft of shit rained down on his head.”

  The quizzical look gave way to one of dawning understanding and then sympathy. Gurion stood and held out a hand. “I’ll do
my best, son, and my best is pretty damn good. Keep your chin up. You’re going to be arraigned on Monday. I’ll see you then.”

  * * *

  The arraignment had the quality of a nightmare. People seemed distant, their words muffled and faint as the charges were read out. The list of items he had supposedly stolen included a Delphi generator, medical supplies, rations, fuel cells and electronics. Tracy almost hadn’t recognized his own voice as he said, “Not guilty.” After that there had been a back and forth between the military judge, a rear admiral with a lot of cabbage on his coat, and Gurion. The young lawyer remained silent. Tracy wondered if that was deference to the older attorney or if Clancy would have remained this quiet had he been Tracy’s only defender. He suspected the latter.

  His father had been in the room looking small as he huddled in his best jacket. Malcomb, brows knitted into a fierce frown, had glared at the prosecutors. Then it was onto an elevator and back to detention on the space station. Gurion had been whispering urgently in Tracy’s ear as he had been escorted away.

  “I pushed for a speedy trial, but the judge is balking. They’re going to drag their feet on creating a panel. You’re just going to have to hang in there for a while.” Tracy had been too numb to answer.

  That had been five months ago. Malcomb had been beyond generous. He allowed Alexander the use of his shuttle to visit twice a month. Each time Tracy saw his father the man seemed older and smaller. Alexander was melting away before Tracy’s eyes. His fellow prisoners changed. They faced their court-martials and were sent on to military prison. Perhaps a few of them were even exonerated and returned to duty. Tracy remained in judicial limbo. He had seen Gurion only twice. Once to be told that Sukarno would testify, and de Vilbiss also, but he’d gotten no response from Ernesto. It was better than an outright refusal, but it still hurt. The next visit had brought a list of those testifying against him. It was an impressive list and included Mark Wilson, Gupta, Eklund and Bellard, Captain Carson, also a few names of hombres and fusileros that he didn’t recognize. When questioned about them by Gurion Tracy could only shrug helplessly. He had no idea who they were, much less what they might say.