He heard voices outside his cell, and footsteps on the stairs that led down to this hellhole. He walked to the door of his cell, which contained a small, barred window that permitted a limited view of the corridor outside.
Prime Commander Keeler came into view, escorted by a woman wearing the uniform of Pegasus Ship’s Watch, a male ancient he did not know, Lord Tyronius, and Lady Goldenrod. “Hoy, Ranking Phil?
How are they treating you?” the Commander asked.
“Aside from accusing me of killing a man and locking me into this cell, not too indecently,” Redfire answered quietly.
Lord Tyronius leaned into the small, barred window. “There, there, my boy. I trust my accommodations are not too uncomfortable?”
“I’ve had worse,” Redfire said.
“It’s true, I’ve seen his dorm room,” Keeler said.
“When are they going to let me out of here?”
“We’re working on that, Ranking Phil.” Keeler continued to explain, trying to find a way to speak comfortably through the hole with the thick metal bars.
“This is ridiculous, Ranking Bill. You know I didn’t kill anyone.” Keeler held up a hand. “I have complete faith that you are innocent of this crime, but the Ancients insist on investigating it according to their own laws. When they have finished, they will surely have reached the same conclusion as we have.”
“Commander, They won’t even let me contact Pegasus. I can’t talk to Halo, I can’t talk to Max. I can’t coordinate a strategy for dealing with Aurelians.”
“Honeywell can handle the Aurelians. Otherwise, we’re doing everything we can. I think we should be able to arrange communication with your family, or perhaps visits.” Redfire shook his head vigorously. “Neg, don’t make them come down here. They’ll be safer on Pegasus. ”
Keeler took this in, then continued. “I have appointed Specialist Gotobed to represent you with the legal authorities of this planet.”
“Specialist Gotobed?”
“She has a grounding in law, and she’s fierce, which, from what Lady Goldenrod tells me of Winter’s legal system, is more important. Also, Executive Commander Lear is arranging for Truth Machines to be brought to the surface from Pegasus. Once they clear you, you could be out of that cage by the end of this very short day.”
Redfire sighed. “I hope so.”
Goldenrod put her own face into the frame. “Hi there, my poor little manslaughterling. You just put on a happy face and hang in there. If you’re not guilty, you have nothing to worry about.” Keeler pushed his way into the frame. “Isn’t she great?”
Redfire looked at the two happy faces pressed into the panel. His Commander had a look like he had never seen before. “Isn’t she old enough to be your… primate ancestor?”
“Hey! I totally resent that,” Goldenrod pouted.
“Can you imagine a better date for a history buff?” Keeler asked, waggling his eyebrows.
“And hasn’t she slept with every man on this planet?”
“He’s being mean. I don’t like him any more. Can I hit him?” Goldenrod huffed.
“Don’t worry, babe, I still like you,” Keeler said, and gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “And no, it isn’t every man on the planet, not by a long shot! Right snookums?” Goldenrod giggled. “Not even half. ”
Redfire glowered at them.
“We’ll, we’re off,” Keeler said, breaking the awkward silence that ensued.
“Off? Off to where?” Redfire demanded.
“Apparently, Lady Goldenrod is acquainted with some General who fought in the Ninth Crusade alongside my ancestor, Lex Keeler. She is going to take me to meet him.”
“It’s going to be ever so much fun,” Goldenrod gushed. “He’s quite mad, you know, the general I mean.”
How could you tell? Redfire thought. Indeed, anybody who is crazy by the standards of this planet is someone I definitely would not want to meet.
“You’re leaving me here?” Redfire asked. “I’m under the gun, captain. These people think I killed somebody. God knows what they’ll do to me. “
“Ranking Phil, think about what you’re saying. Do you really want me to stay and help, or would you rather have Specialist Gotobed?”
Redfire sighed. “Point taken.”
“I am extremely confident that you are going to be set free very soon, or I would not be going. I will be getting regular updates through my commlink, and I will have Lt. Honeywell work on a rescue plan in case worst comes to worst.” He leaned over and whispered to the Ancients. “You didn’t hear that.”
“We’ll be leaving you with Underlord Thunderstoker,” Keeler continued indicating the make ancient Redfire did not recognize. “And Specialist NightStalker, one of our ship’s Watchmen.” Redfire cocked his head and looked over the woman. She was a statuesque redhead, strongly built, one of those dangerously sexy women big enough to hurt you. Aside from a small mole on her cheek, she was quite flawless. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We haven’t, sir,” said NightStalker, standing upright next to the door, looking away from him.
“Then, you two should have plenty to talk about. I will check on your defense before I leave the estate.
I guess they’ll be taking you to the village for trial, but they’ll bring you back here when it’s done. Why? I don’t know. NightStalker, Underlord, take good care of him, he knows where all the bodies are buried.” A beat. “Well, maybe that was a bad choice of metaphor.”
Redfire leaned against the door and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Commander. If you were trying to make me feel better about abandoning me, you’ve succeeded.”
Redfire heard Keeler, Goldenrod, and Tyronius talking as they mounted the stairs, back to a well-lit world where people could go where they needed to go and finish the tasks they needed to finish. “I guess we’ll be off as soon as I check in with Specialist Gotobed,” he heard Keeler say.
“Perhaps, I will join you,” Tyronius answered him. “Many of your people are preparing to depart. I would like to say goodbye to your Executive Commander Lear.”
“Who wouldn’t?” said Prime Commander Keeler.
Pegasus – Flight Commandant Jordan’s Quarters
“Someone is at the door,” said Jordan’s door. Jordan stood up from her reading couch and commanded it to open. The Flight Commandant’s quarters were more open and spacious than one might have expected, trimmed in shades of teal and gray that slowly shifted patterns throughout the day. Also on the walls hung prints and holoposters from some of Sapphire’s most avant garde artists.
Beyond the door stood three people she recognized as friends of her sons. David Alkema, who had become something of an older brother figure, his girlfriend, Pieta, and the Executive Commander’s son, Trajan. All of them were dressed for for sport, in blue and orange jerseys and knee length padded shorts.
“Good Afternoon, Flight Commandant Jordan,” Alkema said brightly. “May I say, you’re looking lovely today.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“We were en route to the Meadows to play Happy Fun Ball, and we need a fourth. Is young Max available today?”
“I’ll see if he wants to go. Hoy, Flight Cadet Lear. I hope you’ve completed your required flight reviews for today.”
Trajan nodded. “My homework is completely caught up, and I have been doing extra training on the side.”
“You’ve been training with Flight Captain Driver,” she said in tones that indicated she approved of this. “He’s a very good man. What have you been doing.”
Trajan shrugged. “Just simulations today. We did fourteen simulated high altitude cargo drops.”
“You always hated repeating simulations,” Jordan said.
“I guess I don’t mind so much with Captain Driver,” Trajan said. “It’s different with him. He makes it easier.” Trajan Lear did not possess the same degree of talent for using tact with superior officers who had the power to make or break your career that came so
naturally to David Alkema.
“I’ll see if Max feels like going out,” Jordan said levelly.
Pegasus was designed with walls between quarters that could be removed to expand for growing families. Max and Sam’s rooms had once been part of an adjacent suite. They were remarkably Spartan for the rooms of young adolescents, particularly Max. They had acquired few possessions growing up on Bodicéa, and none they felt inclined to keep. Jordan rapped lightly on Max’s door. “Max, it’s mom. May I come in?”
She gave him a long time to answer. When he did not, she knocked on the door again and opened it.
His chamber was dark inside, but she knew he was not sleeping. “20% light,” she requested. Ambient light increased until she could make out Max lying on top of his bed, on top of his blankets, wearing underwear and staring at the ceiling.
“Are you all right,” she asked.
Max took several long seconds to figure out an answer. “I’m fine,” he said finally, in a very tired voice.
She made her way to the side of the bed and brushed his messy bangs from his forehead. He didn’t feel feverish. She could not sense what was going on his mind. She had never been able to. She supposed this was because he was half Bodicéan, but it always nagged at her that maybe her maternal instinct was not strong enough to forge a telepathic link, such as other women on Sapphire and Republic did with their sons. She had to verbalize, and make a guess based on his response. “Your friends are here. They want to know if you’d like to play Happy Fun Ball with them.”
Max remained impassive, expressing neither interest nor disdain. “I really don’t feel well. Could you tell them I just can’t today?”
“I’m sure they’re concerned about you. Would you like me to send them into say hoy, or anything?”
“I don’t want to talk to anybody right now.”
“Don’t you want to see your friends.”
“Neg, I don’t want to, is that okay?” Max Jordan said in a tone of voice that said he was going to be really pissed if it wasn’t okay.
Jordan sat down on the bed and brushed his head. He didn’t even look at her. “Leave me alone …
please.”
“Max…”
“I don’t want to talk to them and I don’t want to talk to you.”
He had never been like this before. Jordan did not know quite how to handle this. For lack of a better alternative, she chose to honor his request. “I’ll tell you’re friends you’re resting right now.” Max closed his eyes.
Winter – Ultima Thule
Lord Waterstone was tall by the standards of his world, although more than a head shorter than most Sapphireans. His hair was black, but flecked with gray. There were bags under his eyes, which themselves were under a thick and surprisingly animated pair of eyebrows. He wore an old-fashioned (whatever value those words had on his world) black suit with a striped gray and white tie, slightly pulled askew.
He and his assistant, a loverly young woman (She had been a child when her family came to Winter, but had spent enough time off-world to age into her mid-twenties.) named Harmony Lowell, were reviewing the case file Enforcers Lambrusco and Brickbat had compiled. They sat in overstuffed leather chairs in an imposingly large wood-paneled office in one of Lord Tyronius’s out-buildings.
“So, the search was clean?” asked Waterstone, in his gravelly voice.
Lambrusco shrugged. “He told us to look in the bag.”
“Any prints?” Harmony Lowell asked.
“Not on the candlestick,” Lambrusco conceded. “He could have worn gloves, or wiped them off.”
“Not without wiping the blood off the candlestick,” said the latest in a string of attractive, dark-haired women to serve as Lord Waterstone’s assistant. Harmony persisted. “If he was careful enough to wear gloves, why not dispose of the evidence.”
“It’s not our job to argue the defense’s case for them,” Waterstone shot, in quick, decisive tones. “If they bring it up, we’ll argue he was fleeing the planet, murder weapon in hand, ready to toss it into space.”
“What else do we have?” Harmony asked. She was taking notes of the meeting.
“His fingerprints were on the door of the Conservatory,” Brickbat said. “These newcomers, I got to tell you, have very strange fingerprints. Look like figure eights. Very distinctive though. Also, he has no alibi for the time of the murder. He claims he was walking around, exploring the castle.”
“This rubs me wrong, Jack,” said Harmony. “A well-trained officer with a tactical background, an expert in energy weapons and explosives, and he kills a man by bashing in his skull with a candlestick?”
“He also punched the guy in a ballroom in front of four hundred people the night before,” Waterstone put in. “He didn’t shoot him with a ray gun or blow him up then.”
“I thought these outsiders were supposed to be smart, Jack. Redfire didn’t make one smart move, including handing the evidence to the detectives. If I were defending him, I’d be looking to cast doubt on your whole theory of the crime.”
“People get stupid when they panic,” said Lambrusco.
There was a knock at the door. Lambrusco and Brickbat took this as a cue to exit. “Let’s try to close these holes,” Waterstone told them as he walked them to the door. “My first murder case in two thousand years, I don’t intend to lose.”
On the other side of the door, Executive TyroCommander Lear was waiting, with Specialist Gotobed.
“May I help you,” Waterstone asked.
Lear extended her hands. “Executive TyroCommander Goneril Lear of the Pathfinder Ship Pegasus. I understand you are the one’s responsible for the legal disposition of Tactical TyroCommander Redfire.”
“Are you his lawyer?”
Lear tittered. “Not at all. I am only here in a diplomatic capacity, to ensure that regardless of the outcome, relations between our worlds are not damaged.”
Waterstone brushed her aside. “I am only interested in justice, not diplomacy.” Gotobed spoke up. “I am TyroCommander Redfire’s advocate. May I come in.”
“Are you going to offer a plea,” Waterstone asked, grudgingly.
“A what?”
“A plea. The best I can offer you is murder two. He does 2,500 years.”
“2,500 years of what?”
“2,500 years in a volcanic pit with Overlord Corvus, the last man convicted of murder on the planet Winter.”
A look of rapture briefly passed Lear’s face, but she managed to reel it back in before it became obvious even to the dead and blind. “Oh, nay, nay,” she said. “I am no friend of Tactical TyroCommander Redfire, but I do believe he is innocent of this charge.”
Waterstone regained his chair, spread his arms in a vast dismissive shrug. “You will be allowed to present your defense at trial. I don’t think we have anything further to discuss.”
“A trial?” Gotobed asked. “How can we have a trial when we don’t know what the truth is yet.”
“The purpose of a trial is to find the truth,” Harmony explained cautiously. “Perhaps you are unfamiliar with our legal system.”
Gotobed nodded, and planted herself gracefully in one of the more comfortable of the available chairs.
“It must be a misunderstanding. On my planet, a trial is held only after the truth has been determined.
The purpose of the trial is to decide the appropriate punishment.”
“I don’t have time for a comprehensive course in remedial jurisprudence,” Waterstone sniffed indignantly. “If you would prefer, we can appoint someone to consult on your defense.”
“That would be very good,” said Gotobed. “However, would you be kind enough to explain to me the basics.”
“The basics?,” Waterstone huffed contemptuously. “All right, the basics are as follows. In our criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate but equally important groups; the enforcers, who investigate crimes, and the attorneys who prosecute the offenders. There will be a
trial, in front of a judge. There will be six jurors. I will make my best case that your Tactical TyroCommander Redfire murdered Clinton Manchester. You will make your best case that he did not. The jury will come to a unanimous verdict, and if he is found guilty, Mr. Redfire will be remanded to us for imprisonment.”
“Is that it?” Gotobed asked.
“Basically, yes.” Harmony continued. “You can also argue, under our system, that Redfire committed the crime, but was not responsible for his actions.”
“You mean, if he were under alien mind control, for example,” Gotobed suggested Harmony considered this. “That’s not a recognized defense on this planet. How is justice done on your world?” Harmony asked.
“We find the truth, and we punish the offender accordingly,” Gotobed told them.
“Which is what we do,” Waterstone insisted. “We may have different procedures, but the purpose of our system is to find the truth and serve justice.”
“There is a critical difference,” Gotobed argued. “Every person put on trial is either guilty or innocent, right? But, under your system, if both sides are equally matched, and they are both trying to prove their point, than either side could prevail. The man on trial is 100% guilty or innocent, but he has a 50% chance of getting either verdict. If a guilty man has a very good advocate, and a poor prosecutor, he would go free. An innocent man with a bad defender could also be punished.” Waterstone bristled. “We have to trust in our system. It may not work perfectly in all instances, but the adversarial approach has served humanity well over the centuries. We trust that our juries will be able to discern the truth.”
Gotobed thought she understood. “Ah, I see. So, ultimately, the responsibility for finding the truth rests with these juries. They must be highly trained, very experienced, extremely familiar with both the law and with the circumstances involved in the case.”
Waterstone was almost steaming. “Absolutely not.”
Harmony filled in the rest. “Under our system, we try to pick juries that know absolutely nothing about the case, so that they aren’t tainted in any way before the trial.” Gotobed snorted. “Now, I know you’re trying to confuse me, but how stupid do you think I am. A man’s life is at stake. Surely, the jurors should be the most informed people we can find.”
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