Finality

by Amy Cross

  "It's done," he whispers, enjoying each word as it leaves his lips. "Amanda Cole... is no more."

  Over on the bed, one of the women stirs and sits up.

  "She's gone," the old man continues, turning to look at the woman. "Did you hear? Do you feel it in the air? She's finally gone... After all this time, after so many false hopes and dead ends, she's finally done the decent thing and crawled out of my way!"

  The woman smiles faintly, although it's clear that she has no idea what he's talking about.

  Dropping the card and the envelope, the old man stumbles over to the bed and reaches out to roughly squeeze the woman's pendulous breasts, using them to pull her toward him so that he can shower her face with his ranced breath.

  "We should celebrate," he puffs, "or rather, I should celebrate. It's a rare day when one can say that one has finally rushed one's enemies, don't you think?" He pulls her closer and almost kisses her, before sniffing her neck. "I suppose you wouldn't know about that," he adds, whispering into her ear. "Only powerful people have enemies. Despite everything I do for them, there are still people out there who think they have better ideas when it comes to the way the worlds should work. Can you believe that?"

  He waits for an answer.

  "Can you?" he asks again.

  "No, Sir," she replies, with fear in her voice. "It must be a great day for you."

  "It's a great day for all of us," he replies. "The scourge of Supreme Command has been captured and eliminated, and now the rest of the rebels will quickly fall into place. Most people would have tried to mop up the underlings first, and pushed Amanda Cole into one final stand, but I'm a far better strategist than most people realize. I saw straight away that I needed to cut off the head of their foul organization and then wipe them all out while they're still panicking. Of course, there'll still be some blood that needs shedding, but with their leader out of the way, they'll start to panic."

  The woman smiles, hoping that he'll let her go. At the same time, she makes no move to extricate herself from the situation, since he knows full well that to displease her master would be tantamount to requesting a trip to the outer mining worlds. She knows her role.

  "There should be some kind of celebration," he continues. "A party, perhaps. I could even declare this to be a holiday across all the worlds. There has to be some way to draw attention to this glorious moment, don't you think? Parties and concerts, and of course some solemn pauses to remember all the victims of that monstrous woman. Still, we should focus on the positives. Good have triumphed over evil once again!"

  "Yes, Sir," the woman replies.

  On the other side of the bed, the other woman begins to stir.

  "First," the old man continues, pushing the first woman back down onto the bed, "we shall celebrate right here and now, just the three of us, in the only way fitting for men and women when they are together in such a state! But tonight, the whole planet will rejoice in the news that one of the most feared terrorists will never again cause pain and misery to our society!" With that, he climbs onto the bed and starts grabbing at the women, completely ignoring his assistant's arrival with coffee and medication. "Do you hear?" he roars. "I, Caleb de Montemelo declare this to be a public holiday and a very private party!"

  Ten years later

  Chapter One

  Crizz

  "Rule 25c," Sutter says, staring back at me with a surprising hint of calmness in his eyes. "Any captured prisoner, including one who is suspected of terrorist offenses, must be kept alive if there are reasonable means of doing so."

  "Rule 25c subsection nine, paragraph eight," I reply, keeping the blaster trained on him. "Decisions on the safety of securing such prisoners are to be made by the senior active member of personnel, which would be me. There is no need to contact Supreme Command if it can be reasonably assumed that the suspect poses a clear and present danger."

  "Rule 25c subsection nine, paragraph nine," he continues. "In cases where the suspect has been disarmed and subdued, the onus is on the captor to ensure that the prisoner is delivered to an appropriate venue for the dispensation of a court verdict and, if necessary, a sentence. Only extreme circumstances merit sudden termination of the suspect."

  "Rule 25c, subsection nine, paragraph eleven," I reply firmly. "In extreme circumstances, force can be justified and -" I pause as I realize that I might have mis-quoted.

  "No," he replies, clearly amused by my mistake, "that's paragraph twelve. Paragraph eleven covers the confiscation of material items. Get it right, Crizz. You're slipping. No-one's going to take you seriously if you can't remember your rules and directives when you're under pressure."

  "Fine, paragraph -"

  "Rule one," he continues, interrupting me, "subsection one, paragraph one." He pauses. "No man or woman is above the law."

  I stare at him, but I have no comeback.

  "The rules don't say anything about cold-blooded murder," he continues, "and they certainly don't legitimize the act of shooting an unarmed man in the face. You can try to twist them as much as you like, but nowhere in the rules does it say that you can take your time and casually kill a man who poses no threat and who can be easily kept alive." He pauses for a moment, as if he's waiting for me to accept that he's right. "Killing Tom was self-defense. I saw what happened; he lunged at you and tried to overpower you, and there are definitely rules to cover that. If you shoot me, though, you'll have to confess to murder. I can see in your eyes that you wouldn't be able to lie about it."

  I take a deep breath. I know he's right, but there's still a part of me that wants to end this right now.

  "Rule 27a," he continues, "subsection one, paragraph one. Evidence related to the killing of a suspect must be truthful. Methods may be used to determine the veracity of any testimony offered, and false testimony is a criminal offense under the penal code. You can bend the rules any way you like, Crizz, but one thing's clear. The way things are set up, only the government can commit murder. And that's what it would be if you shot me right now. You'd be murdering me, and eventually they'd realize that, and they'd have no choice. They'd throw the book at you, probably send you back to the academy."

  "It'd be an execution," I point out.

  "And that's all the rules are, really," he replies. "They're a way of justifying death and pain and cruelty. Murder, torture, things like that... The brutal truth is, Superme Command has wrapped itself up in rules in an attempt to legitimize its reign of terror. The whole thing has become a kind of bloated bureaucracy that operates purely as a means of putting a respectable face on the actions of murderers and despots. I'm sure Caleb de Montemelo himself will be proud of you if you stick to the rules instead of cutting me down. A show trial is such a useful propaganda tool, although I imagine they'll hand me over to S.E.A.S. first for a spot of torture." He smiles. "Wait," he adds finally, "they don't call it torture anymore, do they? They refer to it as advanced interrogation. Either way, I'm sure it'll hurt."

  "I -" I start to say, before realizing that I have to at least try to keep him alive until help gets here. He's right; I really might be praised by high level officials. After all, I'm busting a major smuggling ring. There's no way de Montemelo himself would want to meet me, but I'm sure some of the lesser rulers would be pleased with me.

  "Crizz Arnold's not a murderer," he adds. "Neither is Amanda Cole."

  "Get to your feet," I tell him, determined to retain control over the situation.

  "If you -"

  "Get to your feet!" I shout. "I won't tell you a third time!"

  Slowly, he gets up, keeping his hands behind his head. He still seems to think that in some sick way, he might actually be in charge. I guess he's so used to being the senior crew-member around here, he can't bring himself to accept that I've taken control.

  "So what's your plan?" he asks.

  I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. The truth is, I'm still trying to work out what to do next.

  "There aren't enough supplies down
here to keep me alive until back-up arrives," he says calmly. "Abandon me on the planet, and it'd be tantamount to murder, and Supreme Command would be so disappointed if they couldn't get hold of me personally. As someone who apparently follows the rules without exception, I'm sure you know that rule 31a, subsection -"

  "You don't have to quote it," I say firmly, with the blaster still trained on him. "There are means by which I can keep you incarcerated on the station. You're not the first person to try to move against Supreme Command, and you won't be the last. I'm going to have to warn you, though... If you even move one finger in a manner that I deem to be threatening, I swear to God I'll blow your head off, and that would be within the rules."

  "There are restraints on the station," he replies. "You can confine me to my bunk, and there'll be no way for me to get free."

  "I know," I say firmly. "I was already planning to do that!"

  "As long as you bring me food and water three times a day," he continues, "you'll be discharging your duties and no-one can possibly criticize you. Hell, you'll probably even get a commendation. I mean..." He turns to look down at Tom's dead body. "As much as it pains me to say it, Crizz, you played the situation perfectly so far. There's an open and shut case against both Tom and me, and this is going to look very good on your record. You used force where necessary, and you showed restraint where possible." He turns back to me, with a glint in his eye. "You're the perfect graduate, aren't you? They really trained you well. It's almost a work of art."

  "I'm going to secure the rig," I tell him, keeping the blaster trained on him while I activate a nearby screen and make some changes to the base's subroutines. "Don't think you won't face sabotage charges as well. Once I've made everything safe down here, we'll be returning to the station, but I swear to God -"

  "I know, I know," he replies wearily, turning and heading toward the door. "You'll kill me if I even breathe wrong. I understand, Crizz. You're going to do everything by the book, and all I can do in response is sit around and wait for justice to be served. I'm sure my trial will be fair."

  "You were involved in a smuggling operation," I point out, trying not to let his intransigence anger me any further. "Not only that, but you were intentionally breaking a blockade that was put in place to protect Supreme Command's wider interests. A fair trial is only ever going to find you guilty, and the punishment for treason is death."

  "Maybe I should try to make a run for it, then," he replies. "You never know, I might manage to get away, and even if I fail, it'll be a quicker end to the whole damn mess." He pauses. "If things were simple, that's probably what I'd do, but unfortunately there are much bigger issues at stake, and I still have a job to do. People are relying on me, Crizz, and I've come too far to turn back now."

  "We're going to the lander," I tell him. "You'll walk ahead at all times, and if you try anything, I'll kill you, do you understand? Get moving."

  He makes his way through the door, and I follow, keeping a safe distance behind while aiming the blaster at the back of his head. There's a part of me that thinks this would all be so much easier if I just pulled the trigger and ended the situation right now; then again, I'm not sure I can be quite so callous. Killing someone in self-defense is one thing, and it'll be hard enough to forget the moment of Tom's death, but shooting Sutter would be a very different scenario. I just need to focus and get through things, and hope that Supreme Command can get someone out here quickly.

  "By the way," Sutter adds as we head toward the main door, "I'm pretty sure my calm demeanor and hints about having a job to do would be enough to justify my immediate execution under rube 25c, subsection nine, paragraph eleven. If you really want to save yourself a lot of trouble and kill me, the rules would technically state that it's not murder at all. Self-defense can relate to threats and intimations of further action, not just -"

  "Keep moving," I say firmly, determined to avoid any more of his tricks. "There's no need for us to talk."

  The rest of the journey back to the lander takes place in silence. I don't know exactly what Sutter's thinking, but I'm certain he's trying to come up with some kind of plan. Fortunately, I already know exactly how I'm going to secure him once we get up to the station, and I'm confident I can prove my worth to Supreme Command by managing this situation effectively. In a way, I should probably be grateful to Sutter and Tom. They've given me a chance to prove that I'm made of strong stuff, and this could be the first step toward a promotion. If I'm lucky, I could be a base commander within a year, and maybe one day I'll even rise to the level of a governor.

  This could be the making of me.

  Chapter Two

  Sutter

  "Excellent job," I say, giving the handcuffs a cursory tug to make sure that I'm securely fastened to the bunk. "I couldn't have done a better job myself."

  "The regulations state that you have to be provided with three meals a day," she replies, avoiding eye contact as she finishes securing me. "Each meal will be accompanied by water. Given the state of our stockpile, I might substitute pills for some of the meals, which is my right in accordance with the rules. There's a bucket on the floor, so you can use that when you need the toilet and I'll empty it -"

  "Lucky you," I reply.

  Without replying, she heads to the door. It's clear that she's finding this difficult, which hopefully means that her real feelings are starting to break through. In an ideal situation, I'm confidence that she'd come to her senses given time, but this sure as hell isn't an ideal situation. Whatever else happens, I can't afford to let us just sit around and wait until Supreme Command gets here. If Crizz and I are still on the station at that point, it's all over.

  "I hope this won't be too difficult for you," I add. "I mean, it could be two, maybe even three weeks before anyone arrives to take me off your hands. I'll try not to disturb you too much, but I imagine it'll still be a little strange for you, knowing that I'm in here. Kind of makes you wish these rooms had doors, doesn't it? I mean, what if I start singing or calling out to you?"

  "How's your wound?" she asks as she climbs through the hatch.

  "Fine."

  "Really?"

  I nod.

  "According to rule 25c, subsection eighteen, paragraph three," she replies, "I have a duty to check every twenty-four hours to ensure that you're receiving adequate medical treatment. I figure Tom's application of the dressing counts as the first check, so I'll take another look tomorrow. I'm sure you'll appreciate that I'm not medically trained, but I can still help. In the meantime, if you experience any discomfort, let me know and I'll grab the medical kit."

  "Sure," I reply. "Thank you."

  I listen to the sound of her footsteps as she heads down to the control room. She's taking great care to do everything by the book, and I have to admit that she's doing a damn good job. For someone who's only a month or two out of the academy, she's showing a surprising propensity for this kind of thing, and there's a part of me that thinks she might have a fine future ahead of her. I've seen less able people rise to the mid-ranks of Supreme Command, sometimes even S.E.A.S., and I have absolutely no doubt that she'll receive a commendation for her work here, if not an immediate promotion. Hell, this could be the start of a glittering career, all in service of a vast and cruel empire.

  If she gets the chance, anyway.

  Once I'm sure that she's busy in the control room, I twist myself around on the bunk and slip my left boot off, before raising my leg and using my foot to dislodge a panel on the wall. Having anticipated that the situation with Crizz might turn ugly, I'd already stowed comm-link transponders in a few useful places, and although she's done a good job of restraining me, it doesn't take more than a minute or so before I've managed to get the transponder into my hands. I quickly slip my boot back on and pause for a moment, just in case Crizz is coming back.

  I wait.

  Silence.

  She's busy.

  For a moment, I'm distracted by a sharp pain in my right leg. When I told C
rizz that my wound was 'fine', I wasn't be entirely honest. The truth is, I'm starting to think I might have an infection; Tom did everything right when he patched me up, so in theory there's no way I should get sick, but there's a burning sensation running through the top of my leg and up into my chest, and I'm worried that I'm developing a temperature. I've barely had time to contemplate the events that took place down at the rig, and although I'm absolutely certain that it must have been a human who attacked me, I still can't shake the fear that there might be other people around, working with their own agenda. I don't like having gaps in my knowledge, but I figure I've got bigger problems right now.

  Once the worst of the pain has faded away, I open the comm-link transponder and use my teeth to turn the dial. It takes a moment, but finally I manage to set it to the precise frequency that was agreed upon a long time ago. I was hoping that I'd be able to send the final signal under better circumstances, but this is an emergency and I can't simply sit around and hope that Crizz is able to break her programing. They've buried her old personality deep, and it's time to switch to the back-up plan. I've tried teasing the real Amanda Cole back to life, but it didn't work. We need to rip Crizz out of there and give Amanda a chance to reassert herself.

  "For the love of all that's holy," I whisper, "you guys had better be listening."

  I press the button on the top of the transponder, and a moment later the green light starts to blink. Leaning back on the bunk, I can't help but feel a sense of relief that this mission might finally be coming to an end. The final countdown signal has been sent across the void, and hopefully help will arrive soon. By the time Supreme Command and S.E.A.S. get here, there'll be nothing left.

  Chapter Three

  Crizz

  It's there again, right on time.

  I stare at the screen and watch as the readings start to die down. Since we came back up in the lander, a series of pulses have begun to emanate from the surface of the planet, or rather from a few miles below the surface. I've tried cycling through multiple scan interfaces, but so far I haven't been able to identify either the source or content of the pulse. It's as if something down there is suddenly trying to attract attention on a very narrow frequency range. Whatever the hell is happening, I'm convinced it has to be related to Sutter's smuggling operation.