Anitra, or Norika Deo, as she was known in the official refugee lists, sat on a soft, plush lounge chair in the common area of the Corviniana, Gavril’s trader ship, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. She watched with amusement as Gavril and Lizet’s fifteen-year-old cousin Tamazo took Lizet on a tour of the ship. Tamazo, a slender, pale-skinned boy with glowing gold and red hair that made him look like a solar collector, took nearly as much pride as Gavril in showing off the ship’s combined engine and nav pod. Ever since Lizet had shown Tamazo the newly christened Raden Ajeng, including the damaged wing from where the military pinnace had collided with it, Lizet and Tamazo had apparently been one-upping each other with their recent experiences as pilot and navigator.
Anitra turned to Salma Youssef, sprawled on the other lounge chair. “Heard anything from your father?” asked Anitra.
“No.” Salma’s tone was calm, but Anitra knew she was worried. Chief Ferrsi was fiercely dedicated to duty, and would likely stay on Polaris-G to the bitter end. He’d sent all his children and extended family away in the refugee ships. His wife and co-husband stayed because they categorically refused to go. Anitra assumed stubbornness ran in the family. The only thing keeping Salma on Sivari Intalo was her solemn promise to her father not to return. “The rest of us have checked in, except Uncle Omar and his family. We think he might have gone to the main jump point.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The military and the CPS had initially refused all media requests for information about any events on or off Pol-G, but rising rumors had recently forced them to issue vociferous denials. It wouldn’t last. Anitra was glad that Pol-G’s people had spread far and wide. Even the CPS would be hard-pressed to find and silence a hundred thousand people, each with a similar story about innocent civilian ships being destroyed at a secret blockade.
“Me, too. They were good people.” She looked at her police-style wrist gauntlet. “Fifteen minutes!” she shouted toward the nav pod. She smiled at Anitra. “If I don’t give them a time limit, they’ll be there all day, and we need to get back to the hostel.”
“Once they have a real home, what’s next for you?” Salma had agreed to chaperone the underage Lizet and even more underage Tamazo while their great-grandfathers found a place for them, the kids, and the pets to live. Anitra privately hoped it would take Lizet’s disapproving, stifling parents a long time to come get her.
Salma shrugged and shook her head. “Short-term private enforcement gigs, until everyone is free. Then we’ll decide as a family.”
Anitra couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a family that looked out for each other and made group decisions. Her parents had seemed happy to hand her over to the CPS Academy and never look back. She’d been born to save their relationship, and instead had shattered it. By the time she graduated and accepted the CPS job, they’d each had new families that didn’t have room for her. She’d made her own family with friends and co-workers, or so she’d thought, until she discovered their lies. She planned to do her level best to create a new family with Gavril.
Salma sat up and leaned forward. “When are you leaving?”
“Soon, I think. The melee at the spaceport is finally getting sorted, and the Norika Deo identity I borrowed from the Pol-G census records won’t hold up to an authentication check. Dalgono is the type to keep that detain-and-restrain order on me open, out of spite.” Not to mention, the Sivari Intalo CPS had belatedly sent in Minder Corps personnel to help with the refugee crisis, and she wanted to be long gone by the time they got around to her.
Salma made a rude sound. “I can’t believe Dalgono convinced the Aetheres investigators his attempt to steal our cargo was all a big misunderstanding.”
“Sucks flux, doesn’t it? But at least he’s stuck on a dying planet for a while longer, until the blockade is officially lifted.” She picked up her empty cup. “Oh, sorry, the eight-month quarantine that never happened.”
“Angels of chaos, but I hate politics.” Salma blew out a sigh. “I’ll bet the settlement company gets away with their bullshit, too.”
“Probably. Settlement companies are a protected business class because the government needs them to keep the expansion going.” Anitra smiled. “Oh, I meant to tell you, the Pol-G Refugee Trust is open for business—the lawyers registered it at Concordance Prime yesterday. The settlement company won’t be able to touch one decimal of it. Gavril transferred ownership of the Diam… uh, the Raden Ajeng and all its contents to it this morning. The trustees can sell it or operate it as a freighter, whatever works best.”
After the passengers had voted on the ship’s new name, Gavril and Lizet had changed its registration IDs and put the ship in his trading company’s name, to make its records neat and clean.
“Send me the details, and I’ll forward them to my father on the family secure net. He’s probably the only one who knows where the rest of your cargo went.”
Anitra took her cup to the counter of Gavril’s well-appointed kitchen… er, galley. She had a lot to learn about Gavril’s trading business, starting with the correct names for things on ships. “Check your incoming. I already did.”
“Oh, sorry. My cousins flood my queue daily.” She worked a few seconds on her police-style gauntlet percomp. “Done.”
That evening, she and Gavril finalized their itinerary for the coming few months. The ship’s office was too small for two people, so they used percomps and a shipcomp display on the antique dining table. She might have been more tempted to jet away with him two years ago if he’d shown her his spacious and well-appointed ship back then.
The Corviniana’s living space was larger than she’d imagined, easily five times the area equivalent of her high-rise apartment on Pol-G, and had modular walls that made reconfiguration easy. He’d insisted on creating a large, high-ceilinged art studio for her, and she’d accepted. She’d had to leave all her artwork behind, since it wouldn’t fit in her recycling tub of worldly goods. She needed the physical act of painting and sculpture to keep focused, or her creative little brain would pull her in a hundred different directions, and nothing would ever get done.
He’d spent the last ten days contacting customers and arranging transport orders from businesses across Sivari Intalo to fill the Corviniana’s cargo holds. Since she couldn’t afford to be seen at the spaceport, especially once the CPS showed up, she’d holed up in the ship and put her management skills to good use inventorying cargo holds and supplies, and tracking down the best places to buy replacements. Anonymous cashflow chips, she’d discovered, had extra value on frontier planets because the settlement company couldn’t track them or take a percentage of the transaction, so she used some of hers to get deals and discounts on food, art supplies, and printer substrates for the two new parts printers that she’d found a way to transfer from the freighter into Gavril’s machine shop, as small recompense for the risks he’d taken for the refugees.
Gavril pointed to the display of their schedule. “We’ve got two free weeks between the delivery on Onaksat and the pickup at Asudel Station. Anyplace you’ve always wanted to go?” He slid his chair closer and threaded his fingers into hers. She dropped her shields to enjoy the emotional pulse of love and satisfaction he sent her way.
“Let me think about it. I mostly lived on military bases in my former career. I used to travel a lot, but I was always seeing cities and people at their worst.” She raised their joined hands and kissed his thumb. “Right now, I’m enjoying nesting here with you.”
He smiled. “Sinjin and Maruk want to give us two of Chaos Seven’s kittens, when they’re old enough, as a gift for us helping their family get off Pol-G.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That’s a handsome offer, considering what purebred, champion canlynxes are worth.” She squeezed his fingers. She knew essential things about him, like that he was a good person with a generous heart, but she knew very little about his day-to-day life. She looked forward to finding out. “Do you even like cats?”
�
��Yes. I inherited my mother’s old cat, Lopar. He lived to almost thirty, and I still miss him.” He shrugged almost apologetically. “I didn’t have a reason to find another one until I met you.”
She laughed. “Your mother named her cat ‘Lopar’? He must have been one of those reckless kittens, always getting into mischief and proud of it.”
He chuckled. “I think she named him after my father, to be perfectly honest. By the time I got him, Lopar was sedate and lazy.” He cast a glance at the kitchen and smiled. “We’ll have to do kitten-proofing for all the cabinets.”
“Not to mention my studio, or we’ll have kitten-paw-shaped paint tracks everywhere.” She loved the idea of having cats, and shared her pleasure with him. She reached across and caught a couple of his turquoise-colored braids in her fingers. “Your hair is very sexy, but these will be irresistible to kittens.” She pulled him in for a kiss. “They certainly are to me.”
He pulled her onto his padded chair so she sat on his knees, facing him. He kissed her slowly, sensuously, as if they had all the time in the galaxy. She pushed his loose tunic open so she could feel his bare skin. His hand slid under the hem of her shirt toward her breast. She held her breath in delicious anticipation of his touch.
He pulled her close for another kiss, and she felt his waves of love twine with hers. “I want a family with you, so if that includes kittens, I’ll take that trade.”
Epilogue
* Concordance Prime: Military High Command HQ * GDAT 3233.178 *
Ivar Okeanos sat straight and still in his auditorium seat as the CGC High Command Space Division military tribunal announced their findings from their investigation of the events in the Polaris-Gamma system. The tribunal’s speaker, a woman with iron-gray short hair and perfect Standard English diction, had started twenty minutes ago on the minor infractions and had saved the serious charges for the end.
“In the matter of CPS Security Officer Paderau’s unilateral order to deploy Bassilon’s pinnaces to deter the civilian Deset Diamantov from jumping at the Polaris-Zeta jump point, the tribunal finds the order within regulation, as Bassilon was not in combat at the time. There is no evidence the freighter used any weapons, or even had any to use. Considering the loss of the pinnace, however, the tribunal finds the order recklessly endangered both military personnel and the non-combatant freighter. This finding will be entered in Security Officer Paderau’s profile.”
Ivar flicked a glance at Paderau, one row up and four places to the right. Like most CPS personnel assigned to Space Div, she didn’t bother with military protocol, and was slouching in her chair with a frown. She ought to be smiling, because she’d gotten off easy. The injured pilot had survived the accident because the freighter’s captain shared their sensor data with the pinnaces that had been attacking at Paderau’s order.
“In the matter of CPS Security Officer Shailun’s unilateral order to the entire task force to open fire on civilian ships at the Polaris-Gamma jump point, the tribunal finds the order in violation, as the task force was in combat at the time. As such, the captains of the other ships that did not open fire are not in violation of a lawful command. In the matter of Security Officer Shailun’s detaining and restraining Commodore Britton and her executive staff on the flagship to prevent them from countermanding the fire order, the tribunal finds the action a flagrant violation of regulation, and in direct opposition to keeping the galactic peace. The tribunal denies the CPS’s requests for parole and remand. Security Officer Shailun will remain in High Command custody until sentencing.”
That was unexpected. That supercilious, mastermind-wannabe deserved everything he got, but Ivar suspected he was being scapegoated to protect the regular military and CPS security officers on the other blockade frigates who had acted on Shailun’s order, with or without the consent of their captains.
Sure enough, the tribunal found the other security officers had acted within regulation based on the best information they had at the time. They wouldn’t even get the negative incident flag in their profile that Paderau’s now had. He’d seen it happen too many times in his twenty-two years in the various CGC military divisions to even be surprised. Besides, Nieth Sobek had predicted as much.
Finally, the tribunal speaker got to the findings that had kept him up at night for the last three months.
“In the matter of the charges by the Citizen Protection Service that frigate captains Chesterton and Okeanos at the Polaris-Zeta jump point refused a command order to use lethal force if necessary to stop civilian ships from leaving the system, the tribunal finds the captains not guilty. The order to fire on private and commercial ships did not come from the commodore; the rules of engagement did.” The speaker looked up from her tablet, and the written words paused in the overhead display. She swept the audience with her gaze. “As a side note, the tribunal has opened a separate enquiry into the events that precipitated the blockade in the first place. During our investigation, evidence came to light that merits further investigation.”
A whispering wave of murmur washed through the auditorium. Paderau’s frown deepened. Ivar suspected the “health quarantine” excuse wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny, meaning both the CPS and Space Div were going to be engaging in major ass-covering in the near future. When they did, he hoped they’d throw the greedy, callous settlement company off the sky skimmer to lighten the load.
The speaker once again read from her tablet. “In the matter of charges by the CPS that Chesterton and Okeanos purposefully provided information to the Polaris-Gamma government regarding the existence of the Zeta jump point so their people could break quarantine, and that Okeanos knowingly provided a flawed, exploitable navigation solution to the Zeta blockade, the tribunal finds both charges completely without merit. The promulgation of current, accurate stellar navigation data is a core mission of the Space Division.”
Once again, the speaker looked up. “We are not in the business of falsifying, manipulating, or withholding such information from citizens. We are not the Central League. We are the Central Galactic Concordance, and we will behave accordingly.” Her frosty tone and precise articulation should have driven the point home, though Ivar doubted the CPS thought it applied to them. “The tribunal hereby denies the CPS’s request to order Captain Okeanos or any of his staff to submit to a telepathic interrogation to determine his motives and actions regarding the Polaris system incidents. No other evidence suggests Okeanos acted improperly; subjective suspicion is an insufficient justification.”
For the benefit of Paderau and whoever else was watching, Ivar kept his face still, as if he’d expected to be exonerated all along. As the Polaris events proved, the CPS considered their agenda more important than justice or the rule of law. The interrogation would have cratered Ivar’s career and Sobek’s. He wasn’t a minder, and had no defenses against a telepath. Sobek had more secrets than just colluding with him to avert a massacre. As it was, fifty-three civilian ships had been damaged beyond repair, and nearly two hundred lives had been lost, including one spacer who’d been trying to rescue a doomed escape pod. The skirmish had been very far from one of Space Div’s shining moments.
The speaker closed her tablet, and the auditorium displays faded to nothing. “The proceedings of this tribunal are concluded. I will once again remind you that none of the information from the investigation reports or tribunal findings is to be disclosed outside this room, or discussed, characterized, or alluded to with anyone, in person or in writing, or in any digital form.” She stood. “This tribunal is closed.” She stepped off the dais and out of the room.
Commodore Britton, seated in the front row, stood and turned to face the audience. Her expression was unreadable, but the stiffness of her posture evinced tension. “Dismissed.”
Ivar waited until others around him started to stand before he stood up himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Paderau’s contemptuous, suspicious glare directed toward him, then toward Sobek, seated on the other side of the auditor
ium.
Ivar ignored it. Sobek had already nudged Commodore Britton’s second-in-command, Yount, about the importance of having trustworthy people around. Yount would mention it to Britton, and the odds were good that she’d request all new security officers for her task force. Space Div would likely be happy to accommodate her request, since the CPS security officers had come within a nanometer of outright mutiny. Paderau would have to find a new obsession.
When he got to the aisle stairs that led up to the exit, he found himself walking next to Commander Cristhian, one of Britton’s strategy officers. Sobek suggested he treat them all with respect, and listen carefully when they spoke. Forecasters as a group more often than not canceled each other out. If they agreed on a single agenda, however, they could be very effective in getting what they wanted. The trick was to figure out what that was.
“Captain Okeanos.” Cristhian’s expression and tone reflected delighted surprise. “I hear you’re being considered for a bigger ship.” Regular body shop visits obviously kept the man looking youthfully athletic, but Ivar knew he’d been in Space Division nearly as long as Sobek had. Thanks to modern medicine and sophisticated body-makeover techniques, few people looked their age these days, but when the time came, Ivar doubted he’d elect such a deliberately young-and-earnest look.
“I go where Space Div tells me,” Ivar replied noncommittally.
“Would Sobek go with you? The commodore’s flagship will soon have an opening. Captain Ap Llew put in for a transfer.”
Ah, the ostensible point of the conversation. “I hadn’t heard that.”
Cristhian gave him a blinding smile. “Just this morning.”
“Ah, well then,” Ivar said.
They reached the top of the stairs and passed through the wide exit arch. He snapped his fingers. “Damn, I forgot my umbrella.” He turned quickly and headed back down into the auditorium before Cristhian could come up with an excuse to go with him.
Last Ship Off Polaris-G: A Central Galactic Concordance Novella Page 11