“Yes, Admiral,” Paula said. “Captain Brookes will be - officially - promoted and reassigned to a heavy cruiser. That ship will later be reported lost to enemy fire.”
And Brookes will become a martyr, Rani thought. A person we can use to encourage the war effort.
“Very good,” she said.
She could stop it, she knew. A word from her would be enough to stop the court martial in its tracks. Christopher Brookes could be rewarded for his deeds instead of being punished for daring to win. She could cover everything up, give him a bigger ship ... shoot the snotty commissioner instead or reassign him to somewhere cold and desolate. It didn't have to go so badly wrong ...
But she knew she had no choice.
“Have him convicted, then shot,” she ordered. Brookes was too dangerous to be allowed to live. Besides, his death would serve her well. “Keep me informed.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Paula said.
***
Christopher had always had a good sense of time. It was nearly an hour, by his reckoning, before the hatch was slammed open and two military policemen appeared. They caught his arms, dragged him to his feet and bundled him through the hatch, marching him down the empty corridor and into a large meeting room. He felt his heart sink as he saw the three officers waiting for him, sitting behind a table and wearing their dress uniforms. The lack of greeting, even of acknowledgement, proved he was in trouble.
The guards shoved him into a chair, cuffed his hands to an iron ring and then stood behind him. He could hear their breathing, just loud enough to be disconcerting. A subtle way of reminding him that they were there, he wondered, or were they just being rude? It was hard to think clearly with that noise in the background. Perhaps they wanted him off balance.
A fourth officer emerged from a side room and took up a position at one end of the table. Christopher felt his heart sink still further as he took in the man’s appearance, noting the neatly-trimmed beard, clean uniform and perfect bearing. A REMF, then. A man who had never seen the elephant, who had made a career of serving his superior officers ... the nasty part of Christopher’s mind wondered if the man kissed their asses or if he went further. It wouldn't be the first time someone had traded sexual favours for advancement. Admiral Singh had cracked down on it, when she’d taken command, but she hadn't managed to eradicate it either.
“Captain Christopher Brookes,” the fourth officer said. Christopher looked at him. His nametag read MCINNERNY. “You are charged with wilful defiance of orders, reckless endangerment and conduct unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman. How do you plead?”
Christopher felt his mouth drop open. It was several minutes before he was able to muster a response.
“If this is a formal court martial,” he said finally, “I should have a representative and a notification of the charges ...”
“You have just been informed of the charges,” McInnerny said. “This court martial has been summoned in accordance with the Military Jurisdiction Act. You must enter a plea.”
Christopher forced himself to think. The Military Jurisdiction Act was so long and complicated that practically anything could be justified, if one used a little imagination. It had actually been superseded by later legislation, if he recalled correctly ... coming to think of it, as a holdover from the Empire, it could probably be put aside completely. But somehow he doubted the court would accept that reasoning.
Shit, he thought, numbly.
McInnerny leaned forward. “You must enter a plea.”
Christopher ground his teeth. McInnerny had a voice that grated on the soul.
“I plead Not Guilty,” he said. He lifted his head, meeting McInnerny’s eyes. “And I will defend myself on all of these charges.”
McInnerny turned to face the other officers, the judges. “Captain Brookes was ordered to raid the Trieste System,” he said. “He had strict orders to avoid contact with enemy forces that posed a genuine threat to his command. Upon discovering such forces, Captain Brookes saw fit to ignore his orders and recklessly plunge his command into an engagement they could easily have lost ...”
“But we didn't lose,” Christopher said. He tried to keep the sneer from his voice, but he suspected it was a lost cause. “We won.”
“You had orders to avoid engagements with significant enemy forces,” McInnerny snapped, harshly. “Why did you choose to engage the enemy?”
Christopher felt his temper start to fray. “A person with genuine experience,” he said, “would realise that the two enemy ships posed only a minor threat to my command. I had a crushing advantage. Indeed, I not only obliterated two enemy ships ... I captured three freighters as well.”
McInnerny reddened. Christopher’s barb had struck its target.
“You also expended a significant number of missiles,” he pointed out. “Your ships were not in a good position to defend themselves as they withdrew from the system.”
Christopher spoke directly to the judges, ignoring McInnerny. “If I had chosen to avoid engagement on those grounds,” he said, “what would I be expected to do when this system comes under attack? There was no reason to believe that there were any significant enemy forces at Trieste - we certainly weren't attacked as we left the system. These charges are bullshit.”
The lead judge scowled. “You will comport yourself in a manner befitting your rank,” he said, sternly. “This is a court of law.”
Christopher felt cold as McInnerny bombarded him with question after question, steadily painting every one of his decisions in the worst possible light. This was no court of law. It wasn't even a proper court martial. It was a kangaroo court, one that denied due process in favour of laying the groundwork for a guilty verdict. If Admiral Singh knew what was being done in her name ... his blood turned to ice as he realised, dully, that she must know. She’d even signed off on it. He was being thrown to the dogs and he didn't even know why.
“This court finds you guilty on all charges,” the lead judge said, finally. McInnerny smirked, a smirk that made Christopher want to hit him. Again. “You will be taken from this place, allowed to write one final letter and then executed without further delay.”
“I appeal,” Christopher said. He knew it was futile - there was no appeal - but he had to try. “I did my duty and ...”
The judge raised his voice. “Remove the prisoner!”
Christopher braced himself, planning to lash out the moment they released him from the chair. But the guards knew that trick. They shackled him first, ensuring that he could barely walk without falling over. McInnerny and the judges watched as he was half-dragged out of the courtroom and back to his cell. He thought he heard a faint snigger as the door closed.
He sagged, forcing them to carry him. He’d expected to be rewarded, not ... not put in front of a kangaroo court and executed. He’d done his duty ... he’d thought he was doing the right thing. He’d thought ...
“I don’t understand,” he said. “What did I do wrong?”
The guards didn't bother to answer.
***
“It is done,” Paula said. “Captain Brookes is dead. The cover stories are firmly in place.”
Rani rubbed her forehead, tiredly. She’d gone back to her suite, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before the next crisis. She should have known better. There was always something for her to handle, something that only she could approve ... she wished she could trust her subordinates with more authority, but she knew she couldn’t. Now, more than ever, she had to keep her grip on power.
“Very good,” she said. She cut off Paula’s next words with a glower. “Go.”
She watched Paula flee, feeling bitter guilt gnawing at her soul. Christopher Brookes hadn't done anything wrong, not really. He’d shown bravery and determination, he’d scored a tiny victory that would boost morale ... but he’d also proved himself to be very good at blowing his own trumpet. She couldn't risk having a rival, not now. Too many people were plotting against her for that. Brookes might n
ot have planned to replace her, but she knew that others might have seen him as a potential figurehead. She’d had to kill him before it was too late.
He didn't deserve to die, she thought. Was she any better than Admiral Bainbridge? He'd tried to destroy Rani’s career just because she’d turned down his advances. But I had to kill him.
Rani sighed. No one knew better than she just how easy it was to mount a coup, particularly when the target was too stupid to realise the possibility. And she didn't have any real legitimacy, neither on Corinthian nor Wolfbane. Her rule was upheld by military force. Very few people gave a damn about her personally. Why should they? She hadn't been their ruler long enough for simple inertia to give her a certain legitimacy. And the corporations were already trying to limit her power.
She undressed, slowly. She’d thought herself one of the good guys, once upon a time. She’d wanted power - true - but she’d also wanted to use it for more than her own glory. She could have built a paradise, if she hadn't needed to fight to defend her position. And, somewhere along the way, she’d stopped caring about anything else. Christopher Brookes was just another sacrifice to her power, another person removed and executed because he could pose a threat. She couldn't trust anyone.
Sighing, she climbed into bed.
Alone.
Chapter Fifteen
“This planet stinks,” Meade commented.
“It’s better than breathing in the stench of dead bodies,” Jasmine pointed out, as they stepped out of the shuttle. The heat struck her like a physical blow. “Or having to empty a septic tank in the middle of a firefight.”
Meade shot her a sharp look. “Has anyone actually had to do that?”
“Probably,” Jasmine said.
She glanced around, taking a long breath. Meade was right. The atmosphere did smell foul: burning hydrocarbons, toasted rubber, the scent of too many humans in too close proximity ... and something else, something alien. Calomel was only marginally habitable - really, it should have been classed as uninhabitable and terraformed. The atmosphere was breathable, thankfully, but the planet’s biochemistry was strikingly hostile to humanity. Growing crops on Calomel was almost impossible.
And eating anything you find is a good way to put yourself in hospital, if you’re lucky, she reminded herself. The guidebooks had been very clear. Nothing was edible, even after repeated boiling. Eating one of the nicer-looking fruits would result in nerve damage at the very least. No wonder no one was interested in actually settling the world.
She glanced at the rest of the team, then led the way towards the settlement. Hundreds of shuttles roared overhead, reminding her that Calomel was a nexus for legal and semi-legal trade. Anything could be found on Calomel, apparently. She was surprised the Wolves hadn't tried to shut it down, although the briefing papers had made it clear that Calomel was useful to them as well as their enemies. No doubt the planet’s rulers, whoever they were, hoped the war would go on forever. Whoever won might take advantage of the peace to settle accounts with Calomel.
The settlement itself looked like a mess, a hundred prefabricated buildings mingled with the remains of freighter crates and military tents. Dozens of people milled around, mostly older men or women. Jasmine rather suspected that the women were actually younger than they looked, but life on Calomel had worn them down. They’d probably been kicked out of the brothels, she decided. The pimps might consider them largely worthless now they’d lost their looks. She ground her teeth, knowing it was yet another injustice she couldn't tackle.
We’ll come back here, one day, she promised herself. And we can try to make things better.
She knew, all too well, that it was a promise she wouldn't be able to keep. She'd seen too many injustices during her career, from child brides to young boys turned into eunuchs, to believe they could all be handled. The Commonwealth had written laws that cracked down on the nastiest injustices, but she suspected that some of them had merely been driven underground. People on the margins of interstellar society didn't care for its niceties. The women who’d been sold into prostitution might have been sold by their families, their parents believing that sacrificing one child would be enough to save the rest.
A man stepped out in front of them. “New in town?”
“Yes,” Jasmine said. She tried to keep her voice level, but it was hard. “Can you point us to the nearest recruitment office?”
The man gave her a long look. “Spacers?”
“From Porcupine,” Jasmine said. “We’re looking for new berths.”
“Two rows down,” the man said. “Good luck.”
He sounded as if he didn't quite believe her. Jasmine wasn't too surprised. Partnerships weren’t that uncommon in place, but six people travelling together was a little odd. She'd done her best to cover for it - their paperwork made it clear that Porcupine’s captain hadn't been able to pay them all - yet she knew it was a potential flaw in their cover story.
Jasmine nodded her thanks, then led the way down the street. It grew hotter as the sun rose in the sky, baking the dusty street and blanching everything in view. There was something oddly faded about the recruitment officers, even the Trade Federation’s verified shipping agent. She couldn't help thinking that anyone who stayed on Calomel for long would eventually be worn down by the heat and poisonous vegetation. Even fresh water was a pain in the ass.
They probably don't eat anything more than ration bars, she thought. And whoever controls the food supply has this planet in a vice.
“That’s the Wolfbane office,” Haverford said, quietly. He pointed to a small wooden building. A wolf banner flew over it, hanging limply from a flag post. “They’ll probably arrange shipping, if we manage to convince them to take us as a group.”
Jasmine nodded. They'd already agreed to go in as a group. A normal starship would probably balk at hiring all six of them, but the Wolves wouldn't care. She read the sign outside, promising good rates for trained and experienced crewmen, then opened the door and walked inside. It was mercifully cool. A tired-looking man sat at the desk, playing with his datapad. He looked up at them, his eyes widening with surprise. Jasmine guessed he didn't have many visitors.
“We’re off Porcupine,” she announced, holding out her datachip. “We hear you’re looking for trained crewmen.”
The man took the chip and plugged it into his datapad. She couldn’t help thinking that he looked as faded as the rest of the settlement, as if he’d been on Calomel too long. He’d probably pissed someone off, she decided. There was nothing on Calomel that might make his exile bearable, not down on the surface. She’d been surprised to discover that the Wolves hadn't opened an office in orbit.
More expensive, she thought, dryly. Buying a couple of compartments on a makeshift station probably costs more than they want to spend.
“Uh ... welcome,” the man stammered. He sounded as though he hadn't used his voice in a very long time. “You have ... you have certifications in starship maintenance and basic engineering?”
“I do indeed,” Jasmine said. “I took the first set of exams on Rockhole and the second on Quanta.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “And you are together? All six of you?”
“We’re a group marriage,” Jasmine lied, smoothly. It wasn't that uncommon in the Trade Federation. Group marriages ensured that children always had someone to look after them, even if their biological parents died. “We don’t want to be split up.”
“Which you would have to be, if you wanted to go to a normal freighter,” the man said. He wasn't entirely ignorant, then. “If you sign up with us, you’ll be shipped back to Wolfbane and assigned to posts there. I don’t think you’ll be split up, but there would be no promises.”
Jasmine made a show of silently consulting the others, then turned back to him. “That would be fine,” she said. “What jobs and benefits can we expect?”
The man launched into a long and tedious speech about everything they could expect, ranging from ample health b
enefits to citizenship ... if they wanted it. Jasmine doubted he had many takers, no matter how good it sounded. Spacers rarely wanted to work on a planet, not when they were used to the freedom of deep space. Anyone who went to Wolfbane might wind up trapped, if they weren't careful. It was hellishly easy to get into debt.
And please don’t throw me in the briar patch, she thought, wryly.
“An apartment will be assigned to you for the first six months,” the man concluded. “You’ll then be able to take out a loan for a more upscale apartment.”
“That sounds good,” Jasmine said. It did sound good, if one didn't care about returning to space. She’d thought she’d heard all of the tricks to trap unwary spacers, but the Wolves had clearly invented a few new ones. “When do we leave?”
The man worked his datapad for a long moment. “The Lagos is leaving for Wolfbane in two days,” he said. “I’ll arrange for you to have passage, all of you. That should give me time to check your references and certifications.”
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 15