by JC Cassels
A group of twenty judges, elected to the post by their peers, comprised the Tribunal. Seated in the center of the raised dais, with his colleagues in three rows behind him, the chairman of the Tribunal rose and mounted the steps to the Judgment Podium with measured, even strides. He adjusted his robes and pushed back his hood away from his face, symbolically, so Bo could face her judgment.
“My Lord Scull, esteemed assemblage. Through much deliberation, this Tribunal has reached a verdict and is now prepared to pass sentence on the accused.” The Chairman of the Tribunal noticed Royce standing beside Bo and paused. “Agent Barron, you are not on trial for any crime. Why do you stand with the accused?”
“I stand with my Chief.” Royce’s steady stare did not waver. “The Barron is the embodiment of all that the people of Mondhuoun hold dear,” he stated. “To judge The Barron is to judge all Mondhuic. As her uncle, I stand with Mondhuoun and accept the judgment and sentence for myself and my people as well.”
A murmur went up in the chamber. Bo gaped up at Royce.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
Chairs scraped behind her. Bo glanced over her shoulder to see Galen, her advisors, and every citizen of Mondhuoun in the crowd rising to their feet.
Swallowing hard, Bo shot Royce a worried look before returning her attention to the Chairman of the Tribunal. He regarded them with undisguised annoyance.
“This show of support is admirable,” he conceded. “Commander Barron is fortunate to have such loyalty. However, the findings of this Tribunal apply to the accused and to no one else. You may resume your seats.”
Royce stubbornly remained standing. A glance behind her revealed that no one else sat either.
His gaze flicked over them, then returned to the prepared statement in front of him. “As you wish.” He made a show of examining the statement, and then looked directly at Bo. His next words were clearly spoken so that all could hear, but their meaning was for her alone.
“After careful consideration of the facts of the events leading up to the bombing of the Frostfire Trade Summit, this Tribunal has reached a final decision. We find Regional Commander Bo Barron, Chief of Barron Clan, Representative of the Second Sector Council, First Minister of Mondhuoun…”
Bo held her breath. Royce gripped her hand so tightly it hurt.
“…guilty.”
At the announcement, the crowd began shouting all at once, some in protest, others in praise. The room swung crazily around her. Bo gripped her uncle’s hand tighter, trying to stay on her feet.
The voice of the chairman rose over the noise of the crowd. “We find you guilty not only of terrorist acts against the United Galactic Commonwealth and the Second Sector, but guilty also of high treason. It is the finding of this Tribunal that Commander Barron is a danger to the Commonwealth. She has disgraced the Consular Guard and the memory of her clan. The sentence is death. Three days from this, the traitor will be taken from her cell to a place of execution where she will be placed against a wall and shot until dead. Has the traitor anything to say for herself?”
“Mondhuoun kir brahay!” someone shouted.
Her clansmen in the crowd echoed the Black Wing battle cry. Suddenly afraid for her people, Bo opened her mouth to call for reason. Before she could speak, the wall behind the Tribunal erupted into flame. Panicked screams rose over the roar of the flames. Royce released her hand and grabbed the edge of the table in front of them. He ducked under it, pulling her with him a fraction of a second before the cooling unit exploded. Pieces of the ceiling collapsed, blocking off the door to the holding center. A third explosion went off, filling the room with thick black smoke.
Bo looked up into her uncle’s grim face. “What have you done?” she demanded. “Are you insane? You’ll start a war!”
“Come on, Princess.” he said. “We’re getting you out of here.”
He caught her hand once more and reached up the back of his jacket. He withdrew a wicked-looking energy pistol Bo knew well.
“That’s Papa’s Capre!”
Royce didn’t give her any time to wonder how he’d managed to smuggle the weapon past security. He pulled her to her feet and dragged her after him through the crowd. He fired the weapon once and a meter wide hole exploded in the wall to the left of the main door. Some of the flow of escapees changed course for the new escape route. He dragged Bo directly toward the main door and the two Consular Guard officers who tried to control the mob swarming past them.
Royce released her hand and pistol-whipped the officer on the left, relieving him of his weapon and handing it to her. He pulled her out of the court chamber and down the smoke-filled corridor. They rode the wave of panic-stricken spectators to the ground floor. Already more Consular Guard soldiers were arriving.
“We’ll never make it,” she warned him.
“Now you decide to be a pessimist?” he joked. “Don’t worry; some of our people are running interference for us.”
Shouldering her way through the crowd, Bo had to appreciate the easy way in which the crowd parted for them as they pushed through. However, her sense of responsibility demanded that she protest.
“Royce, they’ll be marked as traitors if they’re not killed outright!”
He glanced at her. “They volunteered. They knew the risks.”
“Galen? The advisors? We can’t leave them at the mercy…”
“They were expecting this. They were in on the planning sessions. I’m good, baby girl, but I couldn’t have orchestrated this all by myself.”
“Look, even if we get out of here, we’ve got nowhere to go but Mondhuoun. My first responsibility is to my people. Mondhuoun can’t resist the whole Second Sector Consular Guard… not even if we recalled the Black Wing.”
Just outside, a ground cruiser was waiting for them. Royce pulled open the door, shoved her in and fell in behind her. The vehicle set into motion before the door closed behind him. Panting slightly from the exertion, he cast a quick look around and then smiled with grim pleasure.
“Perfect,” he said, a mad gleam in his amber eyes.
“Royce, please be reasonable…”
“The time for reason is passed. My brother kept some secrets from you,” Royce said, overriding her protests. “He forbade anyone from telling you about your mother’s people.”
“My mother?” she echoed.
“Just shut up and listen,” Royce said. “When this mess started, Edge contacted me about setting up an escape. I’m sending you to him for protection.”
“You just took a call…? And you’re doing all of this based on that? Have you lost your wits?”
“Dammit, Bo, he’s your brother!” Royce glanced around, and then continued in a calmer tone. “When Bhruic married your mother, she already had a son old enough to join the Academy. After your mother left, Bhruic forbade anyone from mentioning either of them. I don’t know how he did it, but somehow, Edge managed to keep in touch with me. After Bhruic put himself in stasis, Galen didn’t think it necessary to tell you about your other family. Edge’ll tell you the whole story himself. I’m just supposed to deliver you to his ship. They’ll take you the rest of the way.”
“Royce, they’re going to execute you in my place if they catch you.”
He winked at her. “You let me worry about that. We’ve got a handful of Black Wing waiting to run the gauntlet for you on my signal. They’re all volunteers and they all know the risks. It’s past time that somebody taught Lord Scull that Mondhuoun looks after her own.”
“What about Galen and everyone else?”
“Already on their way home,” Royce told her. They’ll be grounding all Mondhuic craft thinking that we’ll be trying to smuggle you home. Every bird lifting off will have a Barron pilot. They’ll be hard-pressed to figure out which ship you’re on. But you’ll be on a ship of Altairian Third Sector registry.” He glanced at his chrono. “They’ve already received clearance for takeoff and are ready to go as soon as you board.”
&nb
sp; Bo shook her head. “You’ll have a price on your head for this,” she warned. “Who’ll run things until we can straighten this out?”
“Galen. He’s a great diplomat. He’ll keep the peace.” Royce met her eyes squarely. “Listen to me, Bo; it will be up to you to clear your name if you can. This is yours now,” he handed her father’s Capre to her. “It’s The Barron’s badge of office. I took it out of the Black Wing museum. I think you need it more. Keep it close. It’s a storied weapon. It’ll identify you and open a lot of doors for you. It’ll also mark you. Carry it with honor, Barron.”
Bo reluctantly accepted the weapon, tucking it into her belt. “You don’t have to tell me, I know what the Capre means.”
“Take care with it, sweetheart,” he warned. “This isn’t just a blaster, it’s a hand cannon. Don’t shoot yourself by accident,” he added with a grin. He glanced past her out the window. “This is it.” He said, his attention returned to her.
“Royce?”
The cruiser pulled to a smooth halt near the ship’s ramp. Royce reached past her and opened her door.
“Go on,” he urged. “There’s no time for a long good-bye.”
Wanting to say so much, and not knowing where to begin, Bo studied his face. Tears blurred her vision. Without a word, he pulled her close in a bone-crushing embrace. Then, without meeting her eyes, he released her and nudged her towards the open door.
“Royce, we are the good guys, aren’t we?”
With a lopsided smile, he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Princess. We’re the good guys.”
Bo stepped out of the cruiser and started for the ship. Behind her, she heard the cruiser’s door shut and the whine of its motor as it set into motion once more. Without a backward look, she headed towards the ship and a future that scared the hell out of her.
CHAPTER TWO
“Welcome to Altair,” Captain Dodd announced.
Bo rose from the Communications Officer’s seat behind him and peered over his shoulder at the tiny greenish blue sphere ahead of them.
“Standard gravity, human compatible atmosphere, it’s the Third Sector’s neutral ground,” he informed her. “It was used in ancient times as a spa resort. The ancient art of bathing is ritualized here. There is a very rigid caste system. Everything is about status on Altair. That’s what the Baths are for. Where you Bath is directly related to your status here. This planet is riddled with natural hot springs, that’s how it got its name. Altair is Toban for ‘bath.’ Catchy, huh?”
Bo allowed herself a smile.
“So, where’s my new home?” she asked.
Dodd pointed. “Just over there. The boss said to bring you right in.” He peered up at her. “Commander, I was told not to ask you any questions or listen to any explanations. The boss says pick you up and bring you here, and that’s good enough for me. I’ve got to be honest. I don’t like the idea of a Consular Guard Commander knowing so much about Redmaster Blue.” He shrugged. “But that’s not my decision to make. I just want to know why, after all these years of hiding the organization from anybody in a uniform, the boss suddenly wants you brought right into his office.”
Bo shook her head. “So do I.”
She wasn’t given much time to ponder the situation. Within minutes, Dodd and his co-pilot, Martel, had guided the yacht inside an enormous warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Once the ship had sighed to rest on its landing gear, Dodd powered down while Martel escorted her to the hatch.
“It’s been an interesting trip, Commander,” he said with a grin. He touched the ramp controls and opened the hatch.
“For me too, Martel.” Bo watched the ramp smoothly sink to the ground. She risked a glance at him. “Do you have any idea what I’m supposed to do now?” she asked hopefully.
A flurry of activity around the ship caught her attention. As if in answer to her question, a tall, burly Q’mann warrior stepped into view. He peered up at her, his lips curled back from sharp teeth in obvious distaste. The hard, bony protuberances on his forehead gathered in annoyance. She thought he might be working himself up to spit on her in challenge.
“I am here for the female,” the Q’mann sneered.
Any thought of civility fled Bo. According to her Academy instructors, you couldn’t be nice to a Q’mann warrior. Trusting her training, she turned and favored the Q’mann with a baleful glare. “Why?” she asked, baring her own teeth. “Can’t you find one any other way?”
The Q’mann lifted his chin. A speculative gleam lit his eyes. “You will follow me.”
Her spirits rose marginally. She met Martel’s apologetic smile with a conspiratorial wink, before descending the ramp after the Q’mann. He led her past rows of boxes and shipping crates, machine parts, starships of all descriptions -- whole and in pieces -- row after row of repair bays all bustling with activity, until finally they reached a bank of rooms that stretched up to the roof of the warehouse, dozens of floors high. He paused by a set of rickety stairs and turned to her. He pointed at her Capre.
“Give it to me.”
Bo clenched her hand into a fist to keep from covering the butt of the weapon. “No.”
The Q’mann glared at her, willing her to comply. “Give me your weapon. The boss ordered I bring it to him first.”
Bo glanced down at the Capre, suddenly understanding. He only wanted the Capre to identify his guest. Royce would never have given the weapon to anyone else. Reluctantly, she pulled the weapon from her belt and handed it to the Q’mann. He took it from her, not bothering to hide his disgust at having to take something from the hands of a female, and mounted the stairs.
“Wait here,” he growled.
After an eternity, the Q’mann returned and gestured for her to follow. Bo mounted the stairs, surprised to find them sturdier than they appeared. A set of dingy windows glowed yellow from the light in the office at the top of the stairs. A sign on the door said “Private.” When the Q’mann pushed open the door, a low, male voice filtered out. Bo couldn’t make out the words.
Ahead of her, the Q’mann paused and gestured for her to hurry. Bo complied, entering the dingy gray office. Sparsely furnished, the huge office held only a rickety chair and a beat-up desk, on top of which sat her Capre. Dust, grime and debris littered the floor. A tall, lanky human male stood near the dingy windows, surveying the activity below in the warehouse while he talked on a hand-held com-set. Bo didn’t know much about civilian tailoring, but she could tell the suit he wore was expensive, and probably made especially for him. He looked oddly out of place in the seedy setting.
He glanced toward the Q’mann and dismissed him with a nod and a wave of his free hand. He didn’t even bother to look at Bo. The Q’mann shuffled out, giving her one last warning glare before he closed the door behind him. Bo studied the man while he continued his conversation in a language she’d never heard before.
His brown hair, a shade darker than her own, was carefully groomed, cut short and, except for an unruly bit that insisted on falling over his forehead, combed away from an interesting face. A square jaw anchored his sharp features, giving him a professorial air. A light shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, destroying the illusion of well-groomed affluence created by the rest of his appearance. Royce had said her brother was twelve years her elder. That would put him in his mid-thirties. This man appeared much younger than that.
At that moment he turned and caught her studying him. He flashed her a wry smile. Abruptly, he ended the call and slipped the com-set into the inside pocket of his jacket. Turning fully to face her, he rested his hands on his hips and studied her with interest. Slowly, he stalked her, making a complete circuit around her before he stopped once more. He slowly lifted one hand and rubbed his chin. He eyed her with a dubious expression on his face and finally looked her directly in the eyes. He was standing close enough that Bo could make out their color, a deep smoky green.
“You look so much like Marissa, it’s scary,” he said at last.
Bo canted
her head. “So you’re Edge.”
Hands back on his hips once more, he nodded. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.” His hands dropped to his sides and he headed for the desk. “I knew Royce would give you the Capre before you left.” He stepped behind the desk and opened one of its drawers. “Didn’t he give you the lecture about keeping it close?”
Bo rolled her eyes, and he grinned.
“Here.” He pulled a black gunbelt from the drawer and slid the Capre into the holster. Then he offered the whole thing to her. When she took it, he sat down in the rickety chair and propped his feet on the desk. “I figured you wouldn’t be allowed to wear a gunbelt at your trial, so I had one specially made for you.”
Bo buckled the gunbelt around her hips, marveling at the fit. She eyed him warily.
He locked his fingers together behind his head and watched her in turn. His attitude was one of casual disregard, but Bo sensed a tightly leashed expectancy, as if he were waiting for some sign or signal. She fought the urge to fidget.
“You and Royce have obviously been plotting this for some time,” she observed.
He glanced at the door, before returning his attention to her. “We have,” he agreed.
“Why would you risk so much for a stranger?”
His mouth twitched in a brief display of disgust. “You’re not a stranger, you’re my baby sister.”
“A baby sister you’ve never met,” she countered.
With a sigh, he dropped his casual posture and set his feet on the floor. “I lived on Mondhuoun for five years,” he told her, switching to Gallic. “Nearly four of those years were with you. Marissa was a Joy Babe – a Companion – not a Skyhopper, and not much of a mother. Bhruic was always off playing soldier, so that left me and Royce to look after you.” The wry smile appeared once more. “You were a brat most of the time, but you were my brat.”