The Dragon Variation

by Sharon Lee

  "What do you mean, lacking witnesses?" the captain demanded. "The child says he told you what happened—and that you refused to listen!"

  Officer Velnik held up a hand. "Not admissible, Captain. He's underage."

  "On his home-world," came a dry voice from the port master's side, "Master Arbuthnot is of an age where his testimony is considered admissible."

  "I'm sure it is, Mr.—ah?"

  "dea'Gauss," the old man supplied, going forward. "I am the man of business for Clan Korval, of which Captain yos'Galan and, by wardship, Master Arbuthnot are members. Pray elucidate the reason for your refusal to admit testimony from a witness of sound mind and honorable character. You have yourself cast doubt by stating that Lady Mendoza spoke irrationally of subjects other than the specific mischance. It behooves you to place before a judge all interpretations of the event that are available. Justice could hardly be served in any other way."

  "See here—"

  It was time for the port master to take a hand. "Mr. dea'Gauss raises a valid point and asks a pertinent question," she drawled from the doorway. "Why is the boy forbidden to testify, Velnik? I have monitored trials where children much younger than he appears to be have spoken and been heard."

  "Thra Rominkoff, it is law that all witnesses in cases of violent crime must testify under the same drug administered to the accused. Persons under majority—nineteen Standard Years—may not be compelled to submit to the drug."

  "What drug?" the young captain asked very quietly.

  "Pimmadrene," she replied. "It's been used for many years. The ego is temporarily dissolved, which nets quite truthful answers." She considered the precinct officer. "And yet it does still seem to me that I have seen very young children testify. The law speaks of 'impel.' What if free choice is offered?"

  He moved his shoulders. "The parents gave permission for the drug in the cases you mention, Thra Rominkoff."

  "Or guardian of record?"

  He bowed.

  "But it is dangerous?" the captain asked quietly.

  "Dangerous? No. The doctor adjusts the dose to body weight and stays by to monitor. But it's unpleasant. Not the sort of thing to force on a person who can't—a child. The side effects are dizziness, stomach cramps, fever, disorientation. Some people go blind for a few days, but that's not common. Doc over there could tell you specifically."

  "I'll do it," the boy said suddenly, and tugged on the captain's sleeve. "Shan? Tell them I'll do it. I'm your ward. Grandpa told me!"

  "Acushla, think carefully. The side effects sound very bad. And the intended effect isn't good, either. I'll do what you tell me to do. It's your decision. But be sure, Gordy."

  "Shan, it's Priscilla." He grabbed on to a big hand, looking up worriedly. "They said—do you know what they're going to do to her, if the judge says she's got to be—to be rehabilitated?"

  "I know, Gordy. Hush."

  But Gordy would not be hushed. He hung on to the captain's hand and looked at Mr. dea'Gauss, making the explanation to him in a voice that washed against every wall in the room.

  "They said—since she's a murderer—she'll go to the organ bank. They'll float her in a tank and feed her through tubes and stuff until somebody maybe needs an eye. Then they'll take one of Priscilla's eyes. And she'll float some more 'til somebody needs another eye, or a kidney, or a lung, or a leg, and they'll cut her up, piece by piece . . . ."

  "Gordy!" The captain was on his knees, pulling the boy tight against his shoulder and rubbing his face in the sandy hair. "Stop it, Gordy. Please."

  There was silence.

  The boy pulled back, lifted a tentative hand to the man's stark cheek, and snuffled. "Shan, you better tell them I'll be a witness. They can't—Priscilla's good."

  "Yes," the captain murmured, coming slowly to his feet. "I know that, too."

  He bowed to the precinct officer very slightly. "It has been determined that my ward will testify at Ms. Mendoza's trial. Please tell us its time and location, as well as the proper manner in which to present ourselves."

  "There is no reason," the port master cut in, "why the trial should not be held at once. I am empowered to act as judge in affairs of the port—as soon as my robes arrive and a room is made available." She glanced at the desk officer, who hurriedly placed a call.

  The robes were heavy on her shoulders. Perhaps it was their unaccustomed weight: she rarely took part in such affairs, usually letting things run the legal course in their own time. Perhaps it was the boy's involvement, or the young captain's. They sat together by special permission, the giant, white-haired Liaden austere, and the boy with his empty, drug-toned eyes.

  She sighed heavily, rang the bell to order, and read the preliminaries without expression. Having established the identities of those present, she glanced at the monitor; she nodded satisfaction and looked back at the boy. His face was slightly damp, eyes wide open, pupils dilated black with a thin ring of brown iris.

  "What is your name, boy?"

  "Gordy." His voice was blurry, like a sleep-talker's.

  The port master consulted the card and frowned. She addressed the boy again. "All right, Gordy. What is your full, legal name?"

  "Gordon Richard Arbuthnot."

  She nodded. "What is your planet of origin?"

  "New Dublin."

  "In Standard Years, what is your age?"

  "Eleven."

  "What is your father's name?"

  Silence.

  She frowned. "Gordy, what is your father's name?"

  "His father," Mr. dea'Gauss whispered in her ear, "is dead."

  "I see." Damn this drug! It was clumsy—misleading. "Gordy, what was your father's name?"

  "Finn Gordon Arbuthnot."

  That was another match. "What is your mother's name?"

  "Katy-Rose Davis."

  And another. She turned her head. "Doctor, have we established that the drug is in force?"

  "Yes, Thra Rominkoff."

  "Excellent. We shall proceed with the testimony."

  She paused to order her thoughts, mindful of the drug's limitation. "Gordy, when did you and Priscilla Mendoza arrive on-world?"

  "First shuttle."

  First shuttle? What sort of time was that? "Approximately Regent's Hour," the young captain said softly, and she nodded her thanks. "Why were you with Priscilla Mendoza, Gordy?"

  "We were leave-partners."

  "You were assigned to each other?"

  "No."

  She sighed. "How did you become leave-partners?"

  "I asked Priscilla if she'd be partners, and she said okay."

  "Who chose where you went in town?"

  "I did."

  "You chose to be in Nietzsche Street?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "It looked interesting."

  "Did Priscilla Mendoza ask you to go down Nietzsche Street?"

  "No."

  "Did Dagmar Collier ask you to go down Nietzsche Street?"

  "No."

  "Did Priscilla Mendoza kill Dagmar Collier, Gordy?"

  "Yes."

  She swallowed a curse at that simple damnation; she heard Velnik shift beside her, and saw the young captain's lips shape one word. She gave it voice.

  "Why did Priscilla kill Dagmar, Gordy?"

  "To save me."

  On the other side, Mr. dea'Gauss leaned forward infinitesimally, his attention centered on the blurry young face.

  "Were you in danger, Gordy?"

  "Yes."

  "How did you come to be in danger?"

  "I didn't come when Priscilla said to."

  The port master made a mental note to explore drugs other than Pimmadrene for use in interrogation.

  "Gordy, I want you to tell me exactly what happened from the time you didn't go with Priscilla in Nietzsche Street to the time the arresting officer came."

  "Priscilla said the shuttle was leaving in a ship's hour and if my credit with the captain was up to being late, hers wasn't and we had to le
ave. She went two steps away and said 'Gordy?' I said 'yeah,' and she went further away and I was getting ready to go with her when I got grabbed and it was Dagmar and she yanked and held on when I tried to run and held us against a pole and held me over her knee and Priscilla was running toward us and Dagmar had a knife and she said 'Freeze, Prissy.' And Priscilla stopped." There was a tiny pause as the boy licked his lips.

  "Where did Dagmar hold the knife, Gordy?"

  "Across my throat. Under my chin."

  "All right, Gordy. Priscilla stopped. Then what?"

  "Dagmar said Priscilla had to stay there. She asked where Shan was. I tried to get away again, and she—she hurt me. She said if I was good she'd let me live for a minute or two." There was another small pause. The port master snapped her fingers, never taking her eyes from that damp face.

  "She said Priscilla had to watch. To tell Shan what it looked like." An aide arrived with a glass of water. The port master waved her to the boy.

  "Rest a minute, Gordy, and drink."

  He did, draining the glass thirstily.

  "All right, Gordy. Dagmar said Priscilla had to watch, so she could tell Shan what it looked like. Then?"

  "Priscilla started to talk. I don't remember what she said, but it made my head feel funny. She talked and walked forward a little bit and Dagmar's arm got loose and I thought about running away but then there was a noise in the next street and Dagmar's arm got tight again and she made Priscilla stop. Priscilla tried to talk some more, but Dagmar asked if Shan had bought Priscilla's things. She said she broke Priscilla's earrings into dust and then spaced the dust. She said Shan wasn't smart and that he wouldn't catch them selling the stuff.

  "Priscilla started to talk again and my head felt funny again and then there were footsteps and Dagmar tried to make me go with her 'cause it was too public, she said. But I was scared and I didn't want to go with her and I grabbed on to the pole and held on and thought about the Tree like Priscilla'd taught me and Dagmar turned on the knife. I heard it hum and I was scared and I hung on and thought about the Tree and I heard a—roar. Like a big animal. And Priscilla was running fast—faster than Shan runs and Dagmar let me go and Priscilla—it was so fast! She grabbed Dagmar and twisted and did something with her hands. I heard a snap, like a stick breaking. Dagmar fell down. Priscilla stood for a minute and then she fell down, too." He swallowed.

  "I went and kicked the knife away from Dagmar and then I tried to make Priscilla get up. It was hard and I thought she was—I thought she was dead. But she woke up and called me 'Brand' and her voice was all funny, like it hurt her to talk. Then she stood up and told me to go back to the Passage. I told her Shan wouldn't like it if I left her alone when she was in a scrape and she hugged me and threw a stone into the window of Marcel's Tailoring Emporium. Then she said she'd killed Dagmar and the cops would come in a minute and arrest her for murder. She told me to leave again, but I wouldn't. Then the cop came."

  The port master leaned back in her chair and counted to twenty-five, eyes closed. She opened her eyes.

  "Precinct Officer Velnik," she said very carefully. "I will now see the recording of Priscilla Mendoza's . . . confession."

  The woman was slim, middling tall by Terran standards, doubly dwarfed by Velnik and the arresting officer. Her hair was short and black and curly, her face dirt-smeared; her eyes were enormous, ebon—and exhausted. "Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza," she answered the precinct officer. Her voice was a ragged whisper.

  "Planet of origin?"

  "Sintia."

  "Are you employed on a trading vessel?"

  "Yes."

  "State the name of the vessel, its home port, your rank."

  "Dutiful Passage. Solcintra, Liad. Pilot, first class pending. Second mate."

  "Did you kill the woman Dagmar Collier?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you deliberately murder the woman Dagmar Collier?"

  "Yes."

  "Where did you kill Dagmar Collier?"

  "In front of Dillibee's Digital Delights in Nietzsche Street in Crown City on Theopholis."

  "When did you kill Dagmar Collier?"

  "One hour ago."

  "Did you attempt escape after you killed Dagmar Collier?"

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "There was no place to go."

  From the young captain came a wordless protest. As if cued by that slight sound, Precinct Officer Velnik asked Priscilla Mendoza, "Why didn't you return to the Dutiful Passage?"

  "No murderers are allowed on the Passage." The captain drew a sharp breath. "Your name," the precinct officer pursued, "is Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you intentionally kill the woman Dagmar Collier?"

  "Yes."

  "Describe your actions that brought the death of Dagmar Collier."

  "I called the Dragon. When it was with me, we roared and threw a fireball to distract Dagmar's attention from Gordy. Then I broke her neck."

  There was a slight pause while precinct officer and cop exchanged glances.

  "You, Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza," the precinct officer said carefully, "broke the neck of Dagmar Collier, fully intending to bring about her death?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you a native of Troit?"

  "No."

  "What is your legal name?"

  "Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza."

  "What is your planet of origin?"

  "Sintia."

  "Did you kill Dagmar Collier?"

  "Yes."

  There was a small pause. "Where is the Dragon now?"

  "Above the Tree."

  "How much is two plus two?"

  "Four."

  "Have you said any lies since you were brought here by the arresting officer?"

  "No."

  "Did the dragon kill Dagmar Collier?"

  "No."

  "Who killed Dagmar Collier?"

  "I did."

  "You see," Velnik said to the room in general as the lights came up. "Dragons, trees . . . ."

  "The Tree-and-Dragon," Mr. dea'Gauss cut him off, "is the shield of Clan Korval. It depicts a dragon, guarding a full-leafed tree. The motto is 'I Dare.' Lady Mendoza is quite familiar with the shield. It is displayed prominently on the Dutiful Passage."

  "So they had meaning for her; she was self-aware."

  "Yes," the port master snapped, coming to her feet. Velnik retreated a step. "She knew what she was doing. The boy is alive. The person he names his potential assassin is dead. Priscilla Mendoza was not asked why she willfully and intentionally killed Dagmar Collier, Precinct Officer. Your interview was less than thorough."

  Velnik licked his lips and came to rigid attention.

  "Doctor, is the serum you gave Mendoza still in force?"

  He shook his head. "It runs through the system pretty fast. She'll be on the downside by now." He glanced at the bench. "Can't give her another shot for two days. That's a medical fact. She mightn't recover."

  She nodded. "It won't be required, thank you. My ruling in this case is that Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza is found not guilty of murder. Defense of a child is not a crime here! Arresting Officer, bring Priscilla Mendoza here, so that she may be released into the care of her captain."

  Mr. dea'Gauss caught the young captain's eye. "Daxflan—"

  "My office is currently dealing with that difficulty, sirs," she said, turning back. "Granting even unheard of levels of inefficiency, it should at this moment be sealed in close orbit. And there, I think, we may all let it wait until the morrow."

  The old gentleman bowed. "It is as you have said, madam. I should mention that the feud between Lady Mendoza and Dagmar Collier is one of long standing. Dagmar Collier threatened her ladyship and Master Arbuthnot with violence once before to my certain knowledge. On Arsdred."

  "I would appreciate receiving the particulars of that event, sir. Also—Captain. I am deeply ashamed that my inefficiency has caused this circumstance. Dagmar Collier should n
ever have been in this port. I am responsible, and I am grieved. Please consider me at your disposal in the resolution of the matter."

  "You're very kind, ma'am," he replied, smiling wearily.

  "Port Master," the arresting officer said, arriving alone and looking very nervous. "Port Master, she—won't move. I open the door and call, but she just sits, Port Master."

  "I'll come." The young captain slid away from the boy, beckoning to the old gentleman. "By your kindness, sir."

  "Certainly." Mr. dea'Gauss sat carefully and slid an unaccustomed arm about young shoulders, enduring the head resting upon his chest.

  "Let's go," the captain snapped at the cop as he strode by. She had to run three steps to catch up.

  Precinct House Detention Hall

  Crown City, Theopholis

  Hour Of Fools

  The room was mercilessly bright—shadowless. In the center of the cot huddled a ragamuffin creature, legs crossed, arms hugging her waist, head leaning against left knee. She was trembling minutely and constantly.

  "Let's go, Mendoza!" the cop called briskly, unlocking the cell port.

  The bundle of misery did not stir.

  The cop licked her lips and tried again. "Come on, Mendoza! Your boss is here!"

  Nothing.

  Shan laid his hand on the cop's arm. "Leave us. I'll bring her."

  She began to shake her head, lips parting to prate some senseless law.

  "Go!" He augmented the command with a lash of fury. The cop jumped—and fled.

  The anger was blue-hot in him—Korval rage. With an effort he contained it, banked it, and shut it away until it might be used. Calmed, he went to the edge of the cot. "Priscilla."

  She flinched, and he caught his breath; he calmed himself again and hunkered down before her, his hands resting on the edge of the mattress. "Priscilla, it's Shan."

  "Shan." There was anguish like a knife in the ragged whisper. "Shan, there wasn't enough time to be sure!"