In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Not that it matters anyway,” he muttered at the ceiling. He was spending too much time lying in his bunk and a mere hour of exercise wasn’t offsetting the starch-heavy meals that were served in the prison mess. He slid onto the floor and started doing sit-ups. A guard came by.

  “You have a visitor, Belmanor.”

  “My lawyer?”

  “Nah, some priest.”

  He almost refused, but boredom and a desperate desire to get out of his cell overrode that first impulse. He stood, ran a comb through his hair and allowed himself to be cuffed and escorted down the walkway to the visitors’ room. He wondered who would be waiting on the other side of the glass. But he wasn’t taken there. Instead he was brought to the small room where a priest celebrated mass each Sunday. A bare metal table bolted to the floor served as an altar, a crucifix bolted to the wall behind it. The scent of extinguished candles hung in the room, a miasma of lost hopes. Five rows of metal chairs.

  Waiting in one of the chairs was Father Kenneth Russell. Tracy hadn’t seen the man since his transfer off the Triunfo. The intervening years had left little trace of their passing on the still-youthful face. Russell stood and addressed the guard.

  “Neither your presence nor those,” the priest indicated the handcuffs, “are necessary.” The guard opened Tracy’s restraints and left the room. “Thracius,” Ken said softly.

  “Father.” They embraced. “How did you find out?”

  Ken indicated for Tracy to sit and he took a chair. “I was attending a Jesuit conference in Hissilek. I thought I’d look you up. I found your father’s shop and he told me what was happening. I was surprised to hear this, and… well, disappointed.”

  “I didn’t do it, Father. Any of it.”

  “It did seem out of character.”

  “But you believed it,” Tracy challenged.

  “I thought there was a chance your anger and resentment might have gotten the better of you.”

  “No, it was my other sin—pride—that brought me here.” Unable to sit still Tracy stood and paced away to the table. Stared down at the wax drips that had congealed on the metal. “That and trying to do the right fucking thing. Like they say—no good deed goes unpunished.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve told too many people already. People who I’m afraid have been hurt, and people who might get hurt. I don’t want to add you to the list.”

  “I have the seal of the confessional. I’m no threat to whoever it is that you fear.”

  Tracy dug at the wax with his thumbnail. A faint scent of frankincense replaced the stale smoke odor and left the pad of his finger feeling oily. Tracy desperately wanted someone to say he’d done the right thing. Someone other than a damn alien with a personal interest. His father had been worried and shocked, but only worried about Tracy and not thinking about the broader implications. The journalists had just wanted a juicy story with ties to the crown. Mercedes only considered the politics of the thing. The lawyers only looked at the rules of evidence, and what had happened on Dragonfly wasn’t useful and therefore they didn’t care. Maybe, Tracy thought, I could bear this and what’s to come if someone tells me I did good. He was no longer sure he believed that he had.

  Returning to the priest Tracy dropped onto his knees in front of Russell. “I did something, Father, and I’m not sure anymore if I did it for the right reasons or so I could feel superior and important.”

  A hand brushed softly through his hair. “Tell me, my son.”

  Drawing a deep breath Tracy began. When he was finished he lifted his head and looked up into Ken’s eyes begging for approval. After a long silence the priest asked, “Would you take the same actions today knowing where it would lead?” He gestured at the spartan room.

  Tracy stared down at his folded hands. Thought about all the points along the way where he could have turned aside. Thought about the eyes of that child who had clung to his leg. Finally he responded, “Yeah, I would.”

  “Then you have your answer. You don’t need to hear it from me.”

  A rueful smile touched his lips. “It would still make me feel better.”

  “All right. I could not have taken direct action against those soldiers, but I would have placed my body between their guns and those children.”

  His eyelids stung from unshed tears. Tracy whispered, “Thank you, Father.”

  28

  DIAL UP A MIRACLE

  Tracy didn’t need a law degree to know things weren’t going well. Clancy just sat in his co-counsel chair and didn’t say a word. Gurion peppered the judge with objections, most of which were overruled, and the five officers on the jury panel were stone faced. There was a plain-faced man in civilian dress watching the proceedings. A faint glow showed a ScoopRing was activated. Technically a violation of court rules, but Tracy knew how to recognize a SEGU agent. The spies were streaming the court-martial, and Tracy assumed it was going back to the palace. He pictured Mercedes watching his railroading and humiliation. Did she feel the smallest bit of guilt for destroying him? Fury and sadness warred for primacy. Sadness won.

  His father, Malcomb, and Father Ken were a constant presence, as was Donnel. Tracy was oddly touched by the creature’s loyalty, but also depressed by the fact he had no other supporters. He supposed it was normal. The friends he had made were all in the military, serving on distant ships, but it didn’t help the sense of isolation. Sukarno’s request for leave was taking forever to come through. Cipriana was serving on a distant star base, and the commander of the Estrella Avanzada was dragging his feet as well. The forces arrayed against Tracy seemed determined that he have no one to speak on his behalf.

  The only bright spot was that the trial itself was being held on Ouranos and Tracy was in the brig on the military base next to the spaceport. It meant his father could visit every day instead of twice a month.

  Thus far only the prosecution had been making their case. The prosecutor, Commander Lord Etienne, had VR-star good looks, a resonant voice and the stature to make his statements seem like holy writ. Etienne entered damning documents into evidence with the speed of a blackjack dealer. He then called a seemingly unending line of Tracy’s enemies who managed to blacken his character with every utterance. The three lieutenants from the Triunfo (now commanders) discussed his laziness and lack of readiness.

  “Thanks to them,” Tracy whispered in Gurion’s ear.

  During cross-examination the old lawyer masterfully lured them into revealing their resentment over Tracy’s assignment as adjutant to the XO, but weighed against the computer record of missing supplies and Tracy’s presence when they went missing he wasn’t sure it did much good.

  Captain Carson was next on the stand. He spoke of Tracy’s generally bad attitude and insubordination. He baldly lied saying that Tracy resented having to lead fusileros, leaving the impression that Tracy thought he was too good for such assignments and that he was too lazy to keep up with the rigorous physical demands that leading marines required. He then produced the usual faked documents showing missing supplies and Tracy’s retinal signature on the inventory lists.

  Etienne finished and Gurion rose and strolled up to the witness box. He leaned an elbow on the railing to Carson’s evident discomfort. “So, according to these records one of the items stolen was a Delphi generator.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Valuable piece of equipment.”

  “Sure as hell is.”

  “Have you ever calculated the value of the supplies Lieutenant Belmanor is accused of stealing, Captain?”

  “Not precisely, but it was a lot of Reals.”

  “Combined with the goods he stole while he was aboard the Triunfo that must be a sizable amount of merchandise that he could sell.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Probably brought a good price.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tracy couldn’t help it—he leaned over to Clancy and whispered, “What’s he doing? Why’s he making the prosecution’s c
ase for them?” The young JAG officer just shrugged and looked as confused as Tracy felt.

  Moving back to the defense table Gurion lifted a flimsy. “We offer into evidence Lieutenant Belmanor’s bank records and those of his father as well. As you can see, at the time of his arrest the lieutenant’s bank account held only 1753 Reals.” Gurion activated his ScoopRing and referred to a document. “According to Jaynes auction house the going price for a Delphi generator is 65,000 Reals.” The old man’s voice softened to a murmur. “So where’s the money?”

  Carson gaped then blustered, “How should I know?”

  “Leaving that for the moment. Where do you think Lieutenant Belmanor sold the generator?”

  Carson’s lip curled. “Probably on one of those repatriated planets. Those chiseling Hidden Worlders are always trying to get around League laws.” Carson then added, “Or he sold it to aliens. He was always an alien lover.”

  Gurion pounced. “Why would you say that, Captain? Was there some action taken by Lieutenant Belmanor that would support that belief? An action taken on Dragonfly, for example?” Gurion rushed out the final sentence as the judge drew in a breath and the prosecutor leaped to his feet.

  “I’ve warned you about this, counselor,” the judge said. “The events you are trying yet again to sneak into evidence are not relevant to the matter before us, which is the theft of government property.”

  “I would argue that the witness opened up that line of inquiry, your Honor, with his statement regarding my client’s attitude toward aliens.”

  “Well I don’t agree. Watch it or I will have you removed from the defense.”

  Gurion bowed his head in acquiescence and turned back to Carson. “So we have this Delphi generator.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much does one weigh?”

  “Huh?” Carson’s eyes flew questioningly to the prosecutor. Tracy noticed that the commander had stiffened.

  Etienne leaped to his feet. “What is the relevance of this question, your Honor?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” the admiral drawled.

  “Bear with me, your Honor. One more question will make the relevance quite clear.”

  “All right, you may proceed.”

  “How much does it weigh, Captain?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  Gurion tapped his ring and a page of specs appeared in the air. “There are the specs on a Delphi generator. They weigh 1224.699 kilograms or 2700 pounds. How did Lieutenant Belmanor move the generator?”

  “I presume he used a crane and a forklift.”

  “So let me understand. Lieutenant Belmanor used a crane to load this large and unwieldy object onto a forklift and then drove it through the corridors of your ship, with no one noticing, to a secret location where he then hid this 1224-kilo object.” Carson had the look of a rabbit caught in a spotlight. “Assuming he accomplished all that, Lieutenant Belmanor then removed the generator from its hiding place on the ship, drove the forklift carrying said generator to the shuttle bay, loaded it onto a shuttle and delivered it to a planet with no one logging the shuttle flight or noticing that a shuttle had left without an authorized co-pilot. Or perhaps your security is so lax they didn’t notice the launch?” The silence stretched on and on. “Perhaps you should have given more thought to your fabricated list of stolen items, Captain,” Gurion said softly.

  “Objection!” Etienne roared.

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Nothing further.” Gurion flapped a dismissive hand. “I won’t waste any more time on this lying witness.”

  “Objection!”

  Gurion returned to the defense table. For the first time a look of excitement lit Clancy’s face and he gave the old lawyer a buffet on the shoulder. Tracy glanced over at the panel of five officers who would decide his fate. The impassive faces of the men gave away nothing.

  “Redirect,” Etienne said. The judge nodded in acquiescence.

  “The defendant has a Cara’ot batBEM, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it’s possible that that individual might have arranged for the generator to be smuggled off the ship.”

  “Absolutely,” Carson agreed. “I mean whoever heard of an officer with a Cara’ot?”

  “This witness is excused,” the prosecutor said quickly, trying to keep Carson from helping any further. Carson left the stand and the prosecutor’s gaze swept across the panel and the judge. “The prosecution calls to the stand Commander Mark Wilson.”

  Commander, he’s a fucking commander, Tracy thought. Mark walked past the table where Tracy sat with his lawyers and gave Tracy a triumphant and venomous look.

  He took the oath with a pious air and sat down. “So, Captain Carson established the fact that the defendant has a Cara’ot batBEM. When did he acquire this particular servant, Commander?” Etienne asked.

  “When he entered the High Ground.”

  “And what was their relationship at that time?”

  Both Tracy and Gurion were surprised when Clancy took to his feet. “Objection. Is there some relevance to this line of questioning?”

  “A good question, Commander,” the admiral said.

  “Give me just a bit of leeway, your Honor. As Caballero Gurion said earlier—the relevance will soon be apparent.”

  “Very well, but it should become apparent… soon.”

  Etienne bowed his head and returned to Mark. Clancy beamed a bit as Gurion gave him an approving nod and a pat on the shoulder.

  “So back to the question, Commander. What was the relationship between Lieutenant Belmanor and this,” he glanced at his tap-pad. “This… Donnel?”

  “The Cara’ot helped Lieutenant Belmanor skirt the rules and regulations. The alien unlocked doors, interfered with security cameras, intervened when upper-class men attempted to discipline and correct Belmanor’s behavior.”

  That brought some shifting from the five men on the panel. Looks stabbed Donnel who shrank down. His lack of a neck made it look like the stubby body was trying to swallow his head.

  “So you are a procurement officer, isn’t that right, Commander?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you explain where the missing goods were sold and where the funds from those illicit sales might be held?”

  “The Cara’ot are master traders selling mostly to the other alien races. Their ships move throughout League space but because of the treaty that ended the Expansion Wars, their ships are not subject to search by League authorities. It seems logical that the batBEM arranged to have the goods transferred to Cara’ot ships, sold as legitimate and the monies have been held for Lieutenant Belmanor.”

  “In other words the perfect laundering operation?” Etienne suggested.

  “Exactly.”

  Gurion heaved to his feet. “Objection, your Honor. I could state that all these missing supplies sprouted wings and flew away and it would have as much credibility as this witness’s speculations.”

  “There’s an easy way to find the answer,” Etienne said. He pivoted on a heel and gazed at Donnel. “The creature is in the room. We could pull it into custody—”

  Gurion spun and almost ran to where Donnel was sitting. “Do you want me as your lawyer?” he demanded.

  “Oh hell yeah!” Donnel said.

  Gurion turned back and gave the judge and the prosecutor a bright, false smile. “My client may be an alien, but he does have due process rights. I want to see probable cause before you bring him in, and if you do bring him in I’ll counsel my client to say nothing.”

  Donnel made a zipping motion across his mouth with one of his four hands. Etienne looked frustrated, the judge annoyed.

  “I think it best that we take a recess. Counselors, consider your arguments. I’ll meet you in chambers in thirty minutes.”

  Tracy found himself in a room with his lawyers and Donnel. His father and Malcomb had tried to follow them into the small conference room, but Gurion had held them back w
ith an upraised hand. “Just give us a few minutes to thrash this out.” The door closed and Gurion whirled on them. “So what the fuck?”

  “The lieutenant didn’t steal anything, and I never fenced anything. However…” the alien’s voice trailed away.

  “What?”

  “It would probably be best if the League doesn’t take a close look at my personal finances. They’d get the wrong idea.”

  “Meaning what?” Gurion’s tone was low and dangerous.

  “A lot of money moves through my accounts.”

  “Accounts?” Tracy yelped. “The hells? I’ve been paying you a salary but all the time you had money?”

  “Where did it come from?” Clancy asked.

  “Cara’ot business that I can’t discuss.”

  “Well, you bloody well better discuss it and have a damn good explanation or your master is going to spend the next thirty years in Leavenworth!” Tracy was startled by Clancy’s vehemence. He’d always assumed the young man had been selected to put on the barest of defenses. It seemed he’d been either shamed or inspired by Gurion. Or perhaps he was beginning to realize Tracy was innocent.

  Donnel drooped. “I’m sorry. No one regrets this more than me, but I can’t.”

  Donnel’s four eyes slid warily toward Tracy, who raised a hand. The Cara’ot cringed and Tracy saw fear and sorrow reflected in those dark eyes. The bubble of rage that had been rising in his chest collapsed. Tracy sank into a chair and covered his face. All the times he had cuffed the creature or shouted at him came back to haunt him, especially when weighed against all the times the alien had helped and protected him. Shame lay like a bad taste on the back of the tongue. Tracy looked up and forced a smile.