“And his tormentors?” Jayne’s voice demanded. “What happened to them?”
Sameena jumped. She hadn't even heard Jayne come into the compartment. “Dead,” she said, turning her head to see Paddy and James standing behind Jayne. There was no sign of James’s lover. “They killed them all.”
“Good,” Jayne said, darkly. Her husband took her arm and squeezed it. “And are you all right?”
“... No,” Sameena admitted, miserably. “It was all my fault.”
Captain Hamilton shook his head. “Brad knew the risks, but he was determined to make his own way,” he said, softly. “It was not your fault. And at least you avenged his death.”
And won us a new trading partner, Sameena thought. Somehow, the urge to keep building her little empire no longer seemed so strong.
She hesitated, then told them about the marriage contract. Jayne swore at her, Paddy seemed shocked ... and Ethne nodded, thoughtfully.
“Good thinking on his part,” she said. “I knew that he liked you enough to keep asking you to marry him – and it will help you immensely ...”
Jayne caught at Sameena’s shoulder, almost pulling her off the stool. “And did you fuck my brother’s dead body?” Tears were streaming down her face. She’d loved Brad, far more deeply than Sameena had ever loved Abdul. “You had to wait until he was dead, didn't you?”
“Jayne,” Ethne snapped.
“He liked you,” Jayne snapped, ignoring her mother. “He could have had his pick of girls at the Meet – God knows that there was no shortage of girls who wanted to marry him – but he stayed with you, because he liked you. And he got killed because of you!”
Sameena felt bitter tears streaming down her face. Jayne was right, she knew; Brad had liked her and given up his chance of finding another wife to be with her. God knew that a starship captain would have had no difficulty in finding a wife, not during a Meet. But he’d stayed with her instead.
“That will do,” Captain Hamilton said. His voice was quiet, but there was enough authority in his tone to penetrate Jayne’s grief. “Brad’s death was not Sameena’s fault.”
“But it feels that way,” Sameena confessed. “I ...”
“It will always feel that way,” Paddy said, softly. “People will die near you; some under your command, some merely close to you. And you will always feel that you were to blame. It never gets any easier for decent souls.”
Jayne glared at her husband. “More Marine claptrap?”
“Common sense,” Paddy said. He gently pulled his wife towards the hatch. “We’ll find a place to talk about this properly.”
Sameena watched them go, wondering if she’d just broken their marriage. Jayne had been angry, lashing out in all directions ... but would Paddy understand that? In her experience, men were rarely good at comprehending female emotions. Or vice versa, for that matter. But Paddy was a good man and old enough to be mature. Surely they wouldn't separate because of one row.
“There will have to be a funeral,” Ethne said. “Brad wanted to be buried in space. And then I ...”
“It wasn't your fault,” Captain Hamilton said. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t,” Sameena said. But she knew that it was almost a lie. Part of her would always consider herself responsible for Brad’s death. “I ... I liked him too.”
Ethne looked up at her. “Are you going to carry his child?”
Sameena hesitated. She'd done some research during the long flight from Rosa to Madagascar, reading up on legal precedents. There were injuries that could sterilise a spacer, despite the best medical technology in the Empire. All of the traders stored sperm and eggs at several different locations, ensuring that they could still have children. Jayne had even insisted that Sameena store a dozen of her eggs in a stasis tube, just to be safe. There would be no legal objection to her using her husband’s sperm to get pregnant, even if he was dead.
And she didn't even have to carry the child. A child could be brought to term in an artificial womb, where it would receive all the care it needed – without inconveniencing the mother. It was yet another reason to curse Jannah’s founders. When she thought about how much time a woman had to spend carrying a child, making it harder for her to do anything else ... it galled her. One day, she promised herself, she was going to return to Jannah and force it wide open.
“I think so,” she said. She felt an obligation to keep something of Brad alive, even if the whole concept still struck her as slightly perverse. But then, it wasn't as if they’d married after she’d become pregnant – or something else that would have marked them out as sinners on Jannah. “Should I?”
“You’re his wife,” Ethne said. “But I’d advise you to go talk to the banks first. They may have something to say about the whole affair.”
Sameena frowned. “Why would they?”
“The price of starships has been going upwards over the last six months,” Captain Hamilton said, gruffly. “So has the price of spare parts and almost everything else. There are strange rumours from the Core Worlds, hints of civil war ... and Han seems to be on the verge of flaring up again. The banks may wish to take possession of Lead Pipe and sell her for a higher price.”
“They will certainly call the marriage contract into question,” Ethne added. “You need to be prepared for that. Get a lawyer who isn't related to you on standby, just in case.”
Sameena nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “And I’m sorry.”
Ethne looked up, her eyes glistening with tears. “I have always thought of you as another daughter,” she said. “And I think that Brad would come back to haunt us if we didn't acknowledge the contract.”
Returning to Lead Pipe, Sameena found a message from Professor Sorrel inviting Barbara to apprentice with a trained and experienced doctor on Madagascar, if she passed her exams. The child seemed fascinated by her first glimpse of the asteroid, even though the exam was punishingly difficult and Sameena practically had to carry her back to the ship when it was completed. Professor Sorrel, thankfully, didn't seem to think that there would be any problems with the apprenticeship.
“She’s bright and has some experience,” he said. “She will need formal training, but her tutor can handle that. You’ll have to arrange accommodations and suchlike for her before leaving her on the asteroid.”
Sameena nodded. She'd already asked Lamina to find Barbara a room on the asteroid. She wouldn't be quite part of the refugee family, but they would take care of her. At least that would be one problem out of her hair.
The bank sued her two days later.
Chapter Twenty-Four
And yet when the outside funds were withdrawn, the company simply crashed, unable to support its own weight. The results were often worse than if the government had stepped aside.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Science That Isn’t: Economics and the Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire.
“It’s a legal issue,” Salazar Hernandez said.
Sameena scowled. Hernandez was a good lawyer – Ethne had recommended him, back when she'd founded her corporation – but he reminded her of too many of the clerics back on Jannah for her to relax in his presence. He was handsome, in a bland sort of way, old enough to look mature and responsible at all times. And he smiled too much.
“Your husband took out a quite considerable loan to pay for his ship,” he explained. He seemed to feel the urge to explain everything, as if he was being paid by the word. “If your marriage is genuine, his shares in the ship would go directly to you; if your marriage was annulled, the shares would revert to the bank. They would effectively have a controlling interest in the ship.”
His smile thinned down. “Normally, I would not expect them to raise any objection,” he added. “You would have inherited his debt too and thus the bankers would still be paid. Now, however, they might make more if they resold the ship, hence their attempt to claim it back. No long-term thinking any longer, I fear.”
Sameena couldn't disa
gree. The bankers seemed to be aware that the Empire was slowly drawing back from the sector, leaving them high and dry; they wouldn't be able to claim back their money once the Empire was gone. Making a quick profit, even at the expense of considerable goodwill, might be all they had left.
“Right,” she said. “How exactly do they intend to challenge me?”
“By claiming that the marriage contract is invalid,” Hernandez said, simply. “Given that you signed it after his death, they could make a case that the whole situation was invalid. He could no longer marry you. Alternatively, they could claim that you’re lying about him insisting that you married him – or that you even forged his signature on the marriage contract. I’m afraid that his death and the lack of consummation means that the marriage could be called into question.”
“And if the marriage is annulled, the bank gets the ship,” Sameena said. She would still have her shares, but not enough to prevent the bank selling the ship onwards. “How do we oppose them?”
“You’d have to ensure that there was no doubt over what actually happened,” Hernandez admitted. “At worst, you would have to testify while under the influence of truth drugs.”
Sameena scowled. She didn't mind testifying about Brad’s death, but there were quite a few other details she didn't want to talk about, certainly not in public.
“The banks might also push for a flat ruling that the marriage is invalid,” Hernandez added. “You need to be prepared for that too.”
The case was heard two days later by Commodore Pollock, an elderly Imperial Navy officer who had been sent to Madagascar – according to Jamie – to keep him from doing any harm elsewhere. He looked as old and doddering as some of the men in the mosque, Sameena decided, but his eyes were bright and intelligent. She rose to her feet along with everyone else in the makeshift courtroom as he entered, glancing over at the bank’s lawyers. They looked terribly shifty to her eyes.
“Please be seated,” Commodore Pollock drawled. His voice sounded as ancient as he looked. “Lieutenant Singh?”
A dark-skinned woman wearing a white Imperial Navy dress uniform stood up. “The question before us concerns the validity of the marriage contracted between Brad Hamilton and Sameena Hussein,” she said. “This court must decide if the contract should be upheld or annulled.”
“Thank you,” the Commodore said, as the Lieutenant sat down. He looked over at the bank’s lawyers. “State your case.”
The lead lawyer stood up. “Marriage is more than just a bond between two or more people who wish to live together,” he said. “In our society, it serves to create relationships that handle family matters such as children, finances, inheritances and so much else. As such, it requires a complex series of contracts to hold it together. All parties involved must understand and agree to the terms of the marriage.”
And pay you a great deal while you’re at it, Sameena thought, cynically. Brad’s contract had been relatively simple, others had been downright torturous to read. One of them had even attempted to dictate how many times the couple had sex each week. She could easily see why lawyers encouraged such detailed contracts, but it was harder to understand why everyone else put up with it.
“It is an aspect of such contracts that the people involved must be capable of understanding what they’re doing,” the lawyer continued. “A contract where one of the signers could prove that he or she was under the influence of drugs or conditioning would be rendered invalid. In this case, the male party to the marriage was quite definitely dead when the female party signed the contract. A dead man cannot enter into a marriage contract.”
There were some titters from the spectators bench. Sameena felt the back of her neck heat, but somehow managed to refrain from turning to glare at them. Captain Hamilton had come to show his support, dragging his family with him, yet they weren't the only spectators. The others had come for the show.
“Tell that to my mother-in-law,” someone muttered, loudly enough to be heard.
“Quiet,” the Commodore snapped.
The lawyer continued without missing a beat. “Had Miss Hussein signed the contract without being aware of Captain Hamilton’s death, it would be one thing,” he said. “However, she signed in the full knowledge that he was dead – and that she would inherit the ship if she was taken to be his wife, rather than surrendering it to the bank. But she could not enter into a contract with a dead man.”
He sat down, ignoring the muttered comments from the spectators.
The Commodore nodded to Hernandez. “Your response?”
Hernandez stood up. “My learned colleague is quite right; a dead man cannot enter into a marriage contract,” he said. “However, the contract was signed by Captain Hamilton prior to his death – when he was alive, should there be any doubt about that.” There were more snickers from the spectators. “He also verbally instructed my client to sign the contract before actually dying.
“Furthermore, my client does not deny that she has also assumed the responsibility for paying off the debts incurred by her husband. Had they been married for a year prior to his death, there would have been no doubt over the issue. She would have inherited the debts along with the ship. This has been proven in so many cases that I hardly feel the urge to point to specific incidents. In this case, the bank’s seeming fear that they will not be paid is groundless.”
Sameena kept her face under tight control. Hernandez had just exposed the bank’s attempt at bullying her to the crowd, threatening its reputation. It wouldn't seem like calling in a debt any longer, if indeed it ever had. But the bank had a great deal of influence. It could still go either way.
“We acknowledge that your client has assumed the responsibility for paying off the debt,” the lawyer said. “However, we do not consider the marriage as valid. Even though he did sign the contract before he died, she didn’t. Would the contract still be binding if it was signed after his death?”
“That would appear to be the legal question facing us,” Hernandez said. “However, in the case of Putney V. Rushford, it was clearly stated that a verbal agreement constituted a binding contract.”
“Which leads to a simple question,” the bank’s lawyer said. He looked over at the Commodore. “I request permission to use truth drugs to determine if such a contract can be said to exist.”
There was a long pause. “Understandable,” the Commodore said, finally. “Have you submitted a list of questions to the defence team?”
“I have,” the bank’s lawyer confirmed. “And they have raised no objections.”
Sameena couldn't help feeling nervous as the Imperial Navy’s doctor approached her, carrying a small case in one hand. She’d been carefully briefed on the whole procedure by Hernandez; the doctor would ask the questions, sticking to the script that both lawyers had agreed. There would be no other questions without the Commodore’s prior approval, which would mean delaying the trial. But she still feared that she could accidentally blurt out something she didn't want them to know.
“I need a blood sample,” the woman said. She pushed a device against Sameena’s wrist and held it there for a few seconds, then studied the results. “I confirm that there are no hints of anti-interrogation drugs in her bloodstream.”
She gave Sameena a reassuring smile, then pressed an injector against her arm. Sameena felt a faint prick, then nothing. For a long moment, she was convinced that the drug was completely worthless ... and then she started to feel almost dislocated from the universe around her, almost as if she was swimming underwater. When the questions started, she found herself answering without quite being aware of what she was saying.
It felt like hours before she felt herself falling back into her own body. “You did well,” the doctor said. “Do you require a recess to compose yourself?”
Sameena shook her head.
“Very well,” the Commodore said. “We shall continue.”
“A case could be made that there was no true contract,” the bank’s lawyer in
sisted. “She did not tell him that she would marry him. Indeed, she hesitated for a long time after his death before signing the contract.”
Sameena winced. A case could be made that she had acted very badly indeed, she knew, whatever Brad had said to her. But then, the bank couldn't come right out and accuse her of all sorts of crimes without admitting their true interest in the affair.
“But he practically begged her to sign,” Hernandez countered. “They both knew that he wasn't going to live much longer.”
The Commodore cleared his throat. “This case requires some careful thought,” he said. “I suggest that all parties take a break. Rooms have been prepared.”
“This way,” Hernandez muttered, as the spectators stood up and headed out of the courtroom. He led her into a side room that, in theory, was sealed. “Do you want to review your performance under the drug?”
Sameena shook her head. Her head felt ... funny, as if she was still partly under the influence. She wanted to go back to the ship to sleep it off, but she knew that wasn't going to happen. If the bank won the case, the ship would be sealed and she wouldn't be able to retrieve anything without their permission. And she would certainly face some charges for effectively forging a marriage contract. If she’d known how much trouble Brad’s dying wishes were going to cause ...
I would probably have carried out the first one anyway, she told herself.
Hernandez glanced down at his datapad. “The bank’s lawyers are already having words with Admiral Villeneuve,” he said. “They probably want him to put pressure on the Commodore to see things their way.”
Sameena gritted her teeth. Was her life always to be dominated by older men making deals behind the scenes?
“Right,” she said. Cold determination flowed through her. “And can we get him to see things our way?”
“Officially, I could not condone bribery,” Hernandez said. “Unofficially, it would have to be something fairly substantial. The Admiral has quite a few family connections with the Grand Senate.”
The Empire's Corps: Book 05 - The Outcast Page 23