By Blood Alone

by Dietz, William C.

  The session began with Carboda’s matter-of-fact testimony: “Yes, sir, it did seem as if the people under Captain Pardo had lost or misplaced a lot of weapons. A hundred and fifty-six thousand credits worth, to be exact.”

  Then came the more colorful comments made by an “entertainer” who called herself Crystal Sunrise. She saw nothing unusual in the large amount of money that a certain captain had to spend and hoped he’d return to Caliente.

  The media, many of whom had been dozing up till that point, ordered their hover cams to move in closer. Citizen Sunrise had enormous breasts, and metal clanged on metal as the machines fought for the best angle.

  Loy frowned when it became difficult to see the witness through the swarm of machines and ordered them withdrawn. The reporters did so, and the general glanced at his wrist term. “Time for a recess. Fifteen minutes. No excuses.”

  Clothes rustled, chairs scraped, and servos whined as the Trooper II left the stage. Major Hassan caught Booly’s eye and waved him over. “Sir, I plan to call you immediately after the recess.”

  Booly felt his heart start to pound. “Really? You made some pretty good progress. Will my testimony make any difference?”

  “It certainly will,” Hassan answered confidently. “Given the fact that Sergeant Carboda had been a supply sergeantfor less than three standard months at the time of the incident, the defense will attack the extent of her expertise.

  “Then, with Carboda on the ropes, they will proceed down the list to Ms. Sunrise, point to what she said, and the fact that Governor Pardo is wealthy. Of course Captain Pardo has extra money ... the slimy bastard is rich. Never mind the fact that he isn’t that rich. Get the picture, sir?”

  “Yeah,” Booly replied wearily. “I get the picture.”

  Hassan nodded. “Good. I’ll see you after the break. I gotta bleed my tanks.”

  “You sound like the general.”

  Hassan grinned. “Good! That’s the plan. Over and out.”

  The proceedings resumed right on time, and Major Hassan called his next witness.

  Booly stood when his name was called, walked for what felt like a hundred miles, and swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And it was then, with his hand in the air, that he remembered his father’s words.

  He’d been caught in a lie. He couldn’t remember what the incident was about ... just the way his father loomed against the sky. It would have been impossible to tell the real eye from the implant if it hadn’t been for the field of scars that surrounded it. The voice was serious but loving.

  “You can’t build anything on a foundation of lies, son. The walls will buckle and crush you in the rubble. The best thing to do is tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may.”

  “The witness may be seated,” Loy said pointedly. Booly felt blood rush to his face and and hurried to comply.

  “Thank you,” Loy said sarcastically. “Please proceed.”

  Hassan nodded, said, “Yes, sir,” and turned to Booly. “Please give the court your name and rank.”

  “William Booly, Colonel, Commanding Officer, Rim Sector 872.”

  “And the nature of the forces under your command?”

  “I command a mixed battalion consisting of two infantry companies, two platoons of sentient armor, three batteries of artillery, and a headquarters group.”

  Hassan nodded agreeably. “And for those not familiar with Rim Sector 872, where is your battalion headquartered?”

  “On Caliente.”

  “Are all of your troops stationed on Caliente?’

  Booly shook his head. “No. We have outposts as well.”

  “Outposts that can be resupplied and reinforced from your headquarters on Caliente?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Thank you,” Hassan said easily. “Now, tell the court about Captain Pardo.... Does he report to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Captain Pardo’s responsibilities?”

  “Captain Pardo commands Outpost RS 872-12.”

  “Which is located where?”

  “On a planet named Pebble.”

  “Thank you. Now, tell us about Pebble, and Captain Pardo’s specific responsibilities.”

  Booly’s mouth felt dry. He took a sip of water. “Pebble attracts all sorts of beings. In addition to thousands of law-abiding citizens, the planet is home to smugglers, thieves, and a variety of other criminals.”

  “And Pardo keeps the lid on?”

  “Yes,” Booly replied. “In a manner of speaking. There are civilian authorities as well.”

  “Of course,” Hassan said agreeably. “But Captain Pardo is the senior military officer on the planet and, as such, has the latitude to do as he sees fit.”

  “Yes. That’s correct.”

  “So, let me see if I understand,” Hassan said thoughtfully. “Captain Pardo had been given a significant amount of freedom, was assigned to a planet crawling with criminals, and suddenly wound up with a whole lot of money. Is that about the size of it?”

  Fox-Smith jumped to his feet. “I object! Leading the witness. Move to strike.”

  Loy speared Hassan with one of his darkest frowns. “Granted. Watch yourself, Major-we’ll have none of your shenanigans here.”

  Hassan looked suitably apologetic. “Yes, sir.” He turned to Booly. “So, Colonel, given the fact that you were stationed on Caliente, how could you tell whether Captain Pardo and his legionnaires were faithful to the fifty-three thousand two hundred thirty-seven regulations presently listed on the Legion’s books?”

  The question drew titters from the audience. Fox-Smith rose once again. “May I ask the relevance of this line of questioning?”

  Hassan looked to Loy. “Motive has been established. The accused spends more than he makes. The question goes to opportunity. Relevance will become obvious in a moment.”

  Loy waved a hand. “Whatever. Get on with it.”

  Hassan turned to Booly. “Answer the question, please.”

  “I hold scheduled as well as unscheduled inspections.”

  Hassan nodded as if hearing that particular piece of information for the very first time. “I see. So the men and women stationed on Pebble never knew when you might arrive.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Describe the inspection that took place on Earth date October 23, 2645.”

  Booly had been expecting the question and was ready. If his words sounded rehearsed, they were. “Sergeant Major Mueller and I landed on Pebble at approximately twenty hundred hours. It was dark.”

  Hassan nodded his encouragement. “Tell the court what happened next.”

  Booly shrugged. “We pulled our duffel bags off the transport and headed for the terminal. That’s when a hover truck passed in front of us.”

  “Was there something special about the truck?” Hassan inquired. “Something that set it apart?”

  “It had Legion markings.”

  “Please continue.”

  “I was curious, so I followed the truck across the tarmac to where a shuttle was parked.”

  “Did you note any markings on the shuttle?”

  “Sergeant Major Mueller took holos of the vessel. The name 'Rim Queen’ had been painted across her bow and the number ISV-7421-3 was stenciled on her hull.”

  Hassan turned toward Loy. “If it please the court-Sergeant Major Mueller’s holos are marked as exhibit 36-and subsequent investigation revealed that the shuttle is registered to the freighter Rim Queen. A vessel sought in connection with a variety of smuggling activities.”

  Fox-Smith came to his feet. “I move to strike counsel’s last comment as both irrelevant and prejudicial.”

  Loy waved a hand. “So noted. Strike the major’s comment.”

  Hassan remained unperturbed. An idea had been planted-and there was no way that Loy could remove it. The prosecutor turned to Booly. “What happened next?”

  “Mueller and I stood in the shadows and watched Captain Pardo approach the
shuttle.”

  “Wait a minute,” Hassan said critically. “It was dark ... how could you be sure the man was Pardo?”

  “He passed under a hover spot,” Booly said with certainty, “and registered on my wrist term.”

  Hassan mustered a look of surprise. “On your wrist term? Show the court.”

  What ensued was more for the benefit of the press than the court, since nearly every officer present wore a similar device and knew how they functioned.

  Booly went along, however, even going so far as to roll up his sleeve and display a sinewy arm. The terminal was black. He touched a button, and a holo bloomed.

  Eight miniature heads appeared and started to rotate. Seven were dark, showing they were off-line, while one glowed green. The name was there for everyone to read: “M. Pardo.”

  There was a stir as the robocams whirred in for a closer look. Booly glanced at Loy, saw a look that could only be described as venomous, and knew there was no going back. Hassan nodded for effect. “So, that particular function was activated? And confirmed the captain’s identity?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And the transmissions are secure? No one could feed false information into your terminal?”

  “Legion wrist terms are extremely well protected.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Booly described how he called Pardo’s name, how Sergeant Major Mueller felt compelled to crank a round into the chamber of his GP-4 submachine gun, and how they searched the truck. A search that turned up a large number of weapons that Pardo had reported as lost.

  Fox-Smith spent the next four hours hammering Hassan’s witnesses, and none more than Colonel William Booly.

  But the officer refused to change his testimony, and, assuming the panel was honest, there was little doubt what they would find.

  Finally, when Booly left the building, it was with a deep sense of disappointment. In Pardo, in Loy, and the Legion itself.

  The next two days passed rather slowly. In spite of the fact that he had completed his testimony, there was the possibility that Booly would be recalled. That being the case, he was free to leave the campus so long as he stayed nearby.

  An autocab carried the officer to El Centro, the heart of the old city, and the scene of many youthful adventures. The neighborhood opened gradually, like some exotic flower, complete with its own doubtful perfume.

  The legionnaire ordered the vehicle to a halt and walked the familiar streets. Many of his favorite haunts were gone, replaced by newer establishments, none of which felt the same. Here were the flophouses, cheap restaurants, and bars with names like Jericho Mary’s, the Sergeant’s Delight, and the Black Kepi.

  And here too were the legionnaires themselves, easily identifiable by their short haircuts, regimental tattoos, and flinty stares.

  Beggars who had fought under alien suns, looked death in the eye, and buried their friends. All for the stench of urine-soaked alleys, the contempt of those they had served, and the solace found in a bottle. Demobilized by the thousands, and with nothing to do, they stood in little groups.

  Booly watched a wiry little man, the emblem of the 1st RE still visible on his right forearm, approach a prosperous citizen. A civil servant, perhaps, or the owner of a store. Words were exchanged, the ex-legionnaire jerked as if slapped, and the man turned his back.

  The officer reached into his pocket, found a wad of bills, and peeled some off. “Corporal-a moment of your time, please.”

  The legionnaire turned. His face registered surprise. “Sir?”

  “I wondered if you would do me a favor. A platoon of the lst REI saved my ass on Etan IV-and I was never able to thank them. Perhaps you could host a few of the lads to dinner. I’d be grateful.”

  Tears filled the legionnaire’s eyes. “Why, bless you, sir. It would be my pleasure. I guess the tattoo is clear enough-but how did you scan my rank?”

  “From the way you carry yourself,” Booly said truthfully, “and the chevrons on your sleeve.”

  The corporal looked, saw the dark patch of fabric, and laughed. “Once a corporal, always a corporal!”

  Booly nodded and walked away.

  Other legionnaires, curious what had transpired, drifted over. The corporal showed them the money. “We’re gonna have lunch, lads ... and some beer to wash it down.”

  The men watched their benefactor cross the street. “I want you to remember that one,” the corporal said thoughtfully. “Some need killing ... and some don’t.”

  The summons came the way most military communications do, at an inconvenient time, and without prior warning.

  Booly had just stepped into the shower, and ducked his head under a blast of hot water, when his wrist term began to vibrate. The officer wiped water out of his eyes and squinted at the readout: “Report General Loy-1400 hours.” Short and not especially sweet.

  Booly sent an acknowledgment and watched the time reappear : “1326.” Not much response time. Why?

  The officer finished his shower, made his way out into the simply furnished room, and spoke to the com center. “Holo vision-news channel.”

  The all-purpose holo tank faded into life. Booly waited through the end of the sports report and was half dressed by the time the news summary came on. The computer-animated news anchor looked a lot like the people who lived in the grid that surrounded the academy. Her expression was serious.

  “This just in ... a military court found Legion Captain Matthew Pardo, son of Governor Patricia Pardo, guilty of stealing government property and sentenced the officer to twenty years hard labor at the Confederate correctional facility on Pitra II.

  “The conviction, which rested heavily on testimony provided by Pardo’s commanding officer, seems proof of the Legion’s ability to police itself. Or does it? Critics wonder if Pardo was railroaded as part of an attempt to distract the public from other problems within the Legion.

  “Now, with more from the man and woman on the street, here’s ... ”

  Booly didn’t care what the man or woman on the street had to say. He ordered the tank to turn itself off. The image collapsed.

  So, the verdict was in. The thief would get twenty on Pitra-and what would he get? Twenty on Caliente? Probably, although there were worse things, like forced retirement.

  Having already accepted his fate, Booly found himself surprisingly cheerful as he made his way across the campus and up to General Loy’s office. He knocked, heard the traditional “Enter,” and stepped inside.

  Loy was seated at his desk. He no longer needed anything from Booly ... and saw no reason to posture. His tone was neutral, and his face was impassive. “Excuse me for not inviting you to sit, Booly, but I’m late for a meeting.

  “You’re familiar with the base at Djibouti? Yes, of course you are. Home to the 13th DBLE and all that. Well, it seems that the CO, a woman named Junel, died in some sort of accident. Rough crowd out there-you might want to look into it.

  “In any case your presence is a god send. We’ll slide you into Djibouti, promote your XO into the Caliente slot, and have done with it. Questions?”

  Booly looked into the other officer’s coal-black eyes and saw they were easy to read. “Go ahead,” the look seemed to say. “Question these orders, and see what happens next.”

  Booly thought about it. Djibouti. A pesthole located on the east coast of Africa. A place to stash troublemakers. Worse than that, an assignment without purpose, where each day would stretch into a long, monotonous hell.

  But to say that, or to give even the slightest hint of it, was to lose. Booly stood ramrod straight. “Sir! Yes, sir! Will there be anything else?”

  Loy felt a slight sense of disappointment. Maybe the breed was stupid ... or one hell of an actor. Djibouti was a master stroke. A punishment from which there was no appeal-and no possible escape. He nodded. “No, that should do it. Your gear will be shipped from Caliente, and my adjutant has your orders.”

  There was no “Good luck,” no effort to ease the mom
ent, so Booly said, “Thank you, sir,” did an about-face, and marched out of the room. They never saw each other again.

  2

  If thou follow thy star, thou canst not fail of glorious heaven.

  Dante

  Divine Comedy: Purgatory

  Standard year circa 1308

  Somewhere on the Rim, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings

  The ready room had been painted orange, green, and blue over the last thirty-six years and all three layers of paint had started to peel. The names of long-gone crew members had been stenciled over empty suit racks and never removed. Not out of respect, or sentiment, but because Jorley Jepp didn’t care.

  The space armor had clocked more than ten thousand hours and was no longer covered by anything other than carefully applied patches. The warranty was little more than a memory, nobody would write a policy on it, and Jepp was broke.

  That being the case, the prospector ran the diagnostics twice, mumbled “Good girl” when the readouts came up green, and entered the Pelican’s main lock.

  The name stemmed from the way the vessel was shaped. Unlike many of the ships owned and operated by Jepp’s peers, the Pelican had actually been designed for mining asteroids, which explained the big beaklike bow.

  Farther back, roughly halfway down the hull, two pylons extended at right angles to the ship. The tractor and pressor units necessary to grab ten-ton boulders and feed them into the vessel’s enormous maw had to be mounted somewhere; hence the Pelican’s “wings.”

  Of course, the tractor-pressor units could be used to clutch other objects as well-including salvage such as the heavily damaged drifter pinned under the Pelican’s work lights. A fabulous find that could erase Jepp’s debts and fund his future.

  The spaceship was a derelict, and had been for a long time, judging from the fact that there were no signs of heat, radiation, or electrical-mechanical activity emanating from it. There was damage, the sort one would expect of something in an asteroid belt, but the hull was intact.