The Coward's Option

by Adam-Troy Castro

  Cort remained cool. “So it was deliberate, then.”

  “It was a choice, Counselor. We can’t just tolerate this kind of black eye on our position here.”

  “True. However, as it happens, the Dip Corps has its own internal legal body, of which I’m a part – and if he merits further prosecution by that body, which is likely if exercising his rights according to local law can spare him a bloody execution here, then our dissatisfaction with his behavior can be addressed via established law and not by some embarrassed local ambassador just throwing her hands up and letting the locals have him without contest. That, Ambassador, is an act of gross negligence that threatens what little advancement you’ve managed, during your career.”

  Pendrake just seethed. “Go to hell.”

  Cort flashed her least pleasant smile. “Not unlikely. Will that be your defense?”

  The ambassador advanced until she and Cort were nose to nose, or as close to that position as they could get, given her superior height and mass. “You don’t want to continue this conversation right now. Look at the difference between me and you. I can break you in half.”

  Cort considered taking this further and saw no particular profit in it, not right away in any event. So she held out both palms, in a gesture she hoped the ambassador would find placating. “I’ll let myself out.”

  * * *

  The next morning Cort woke early, exercised, then sat on the edge of her bed and ate the tasteless compressed rations she always carried in her gear rather than subject herself to the discomfort she had long felt eating meals alongside other human beings. Afterward, she took an extended hot shower, as she spent most of her time on orbital environments and usually had to rely on timed sonic pulses rather than experience he feel of real water on her skin. When she was done she applied a blood-oxygenation patch to her upper arm before dressing in one of her trademark severe black suits, gathering her cold-weather gear, and proceeding down to the embassy’s skimmer bay.

  There she found one of the younger indentures, a dusky young woman she’d spotted in the embassy hallways but never spoken to before today, waiting for her in bulky cold-weather gear complete with furry hood and mittens.

  “Counselor. I’m Marys Kearn. I’ve been assigned to accompany you today.”

  Cort tossed her satchel into the skimmer. “I didn’t request a babysitter.”

  Kearn swallowed, clearly dreading what her duty now obliged her to say. “I’m sorry, Counselor, but local regulations say you need me.”

  “Oh?”

  “The ambassador wanted me to tell you that under the circumstances she would have considered it her pleasure to accompany you herself, but feels your adversarial position has rendered this impossible.”

  Cort wouldn’t have made it impossible for the ambassador, just unpleasant. But there was no reason she had to make this equally unpleasant for someone who had not yet transgressed in any way. “Very well. You can relax around me. I don’t punish Embassy personnel for the spiteful gestures of their superiors.”

  Kearn remained just as stiff as before. “Understood.”

  “If that’s actually you relaxing, we’re going to get along just fine.”

  “Yes, Counselor.”

  The two of them boarded the skimmer, taking opposite positions in the passenger bay after the pilot, a blandly handsome young man Cort found of no particular interest, took his own position at the nav console. Their flight above the wind-blasted, functional, architecturally bland Caithic city would represent a distance so miniscule that on any more temperate world more congenial to human life, Cort would have likely just gotten up a little earlier and covered the route in a brisk walk. But on this frozen, effectively airless hell, embassy personnel didn’t go for extended constitutionals unless they were survival junkies or masochists…and today, with the squat gray buildings that were the Caith’s unimaginative idea of architecture being slammed by one of those intervals of hail, sleet, and driving wind that typified this world’s demented idea of weather, Cort was not sufficiently confident that travel on foot would leave her in shape for a potentially unpleasant negotiation.

  As the open skimmer escaped through a sliding panel in the embassy roof, its invisible and intangible ionic shields maintained a toasty and oxygen-rich environment for passengers expecting a far chillier and more suffocating atmosphere at their destination.

  The relative warmth of the cabin led Marys Kearn to lower her furry hood. She was slight of build, but taller than Cort by a head. Her round face featured full lips, a squat nose, a high forehead, and brown eyes that glittered with specks of gold. She wore her wooly brown hair tied behind her neck in a thick braid, dangling to her shoulder-blades.

  Her clear discomfort with Cort prompted one of the counselor’s rare compassionate thaws. “What’s your field, bondsman?”

  Kearn replied with the stiffness of a new diplomatic indenture well-accustomed to being interrogated. “Exosociology. Still in training. Yet to receive a career grade.”

  “Is this your first posting?”

  “Yes, Counselor. I only arrived only three months ago.”

  Great Juje, she’s a baby. “Then I congratulate you in joining the great farce known as interspecies diplomacy.”

  “Thank you, Counselor. It’s been…interesting so far.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, my homeworld had a much less…uniform climate. We had places like this, but I never saw any of them. I lived in the tropics. Where it was green.”

  Cort grinned. “So naturally they thought you well-equipped for immediate assignment to a frozen wasteland.”

  Kearn needed a few seconds to decide how she was expected to respond to that one. “The…perversity of it did occur to me, Counselor.”

  “As your career continues, I think you’ll find that your postings will continue to be that perverse, indeed malicious, unless you excel enough to be able to enforce your own preferences. Otherwise, you’ll have twenty years or more of hating wherever you are, and you’ll likely end up being as nasty a person as myself. – But with that specialty, I presume you’ve already had extensive contact with the locals?”

  “Yes, Counselor.”

  “Good. I, myself, have not. My interactions with the Caith have been minimal and I therefore have little expertise in what they’re like: what they consider required protocol, while they consider simple etiquette, and so on. I’m aware that your ambassador probably believes that she’s punishing me by forcing me to have you trail about wherever I go. But if you can just feel free to share your superior knowledge on this one issue, you can justify your presence and earn a positive evaluation from me that may well shorten how long you’ll spend in purgatory before having input into your assignments. Is that clear?”

  Kearn’s lips dared the ghost of a grin. “Yes, Counselor.”

  “Don’t limit yourself to answering direct questions, either. Volunteer information when you believe it to be useful.”

  The grin broadened, and for the first time displayed a dazzlingly white set of teeth, lighting up her face and transforming her from serious young thing to beautiful woman. Then she seemed to remember herself and pulled back, to a more neutral expression. “Understood. In that case, I might actually have something for you now.”

  “Don’t make me wait.”

  “These people,” she said, “The Caith? They’re polite enough, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that they’re welcoming.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “Well…”

  “Piece of unsolicited advice,” said Cort. “Well is a hesitation word. It apologizes for your temerity in daring to share your thoughts. It implies that you’re holding back, even suggests that you might be lying. Strike it from your professional vocabulary, as I have, and people will be more inclined to value your input.”

  Kearn stumbled over her next thought, no doubt because she had almost said well again, but recovered. “They’re hard and cruel people. So direct, so unforgi
ving, that they’re almost sadistic. Not just in their execution methods, but in all their dealings. They don’t like off-worlders, any off-worlders, and they particularly don’t like human beings; something that a number of them won’t hesitate to share with you. They only accept off-world commerce at all because their environment has always been so marginal that their history has always been a series of catastrophic famines. Their civilization has fallen multiple times, and they’ve come within shouting distance of extinction on a few of them, most recently within a hundred years of their first contact.”

  “I thought they had more than one world.”

  “They have three. You’re on the most pleasant one.’

  Cort winced. “Continue.”

  “Confederate food imports have already gotten them through a few bad years…but they consider needing our help a stain on their honor, or something. They want to execute one of us, just to get some of their dignity back. It means something to them.”

  Cort chewed on her thumbnail. It was a nervous tic that she fell back on whenever she was particularly deep in thought. “Will that stop them from offering this alternative punishment Varrick talked about?”

  “I’ve heard a very little bit about it, myself. I never really believed it was real. Even if real, it’s been my impression that they don’t like it any more than being executed, and only request the option if they have life responsibilities they can’t bear to abandon. Career. Family. That kind of thing.”

  Cort’s teeth snapped together as the thumbnail parted. She was about to ask something else, but by then the skimmer was descending through the open roof of the Caithiriin government building, and it was time to see how well those oxygenation patches worked.

  * * *

  The sad answer was not very well. There were some marginal worlds with human residents who grew accustomed to wearing oxygen-concentrating patches from birth, but for Cort, who had been spent the entirety of her life on congenial planets and in an orbital environment set to optimal human conditions, it was a medical solution that failed to address actual psychological need. Her brain, reacting to data provided by her lungs, kept her fully aware that what she took in by inhaling was not enough to keep her conscious. She was at the same time prevented from actually losing consciousness by the patch that absorbed what atmospheric oxygen there was and concentrated it enough to keep her bloodstream supplied with everything it needed. The conflicting sensations – the certainty of imminent suffocation combined with the alertness of oxygen surfeit – kept her fluttering about the outer regions of panic, and fighting the natural impulse to hyperventilate, a solution that paradoxically might have caused her to pass out from breathing too much.

  Only the presence of Marys Kearn, showing no apparently difficulty with the same instinctive contradiction, staved off panic. Cort would not show weakness before her, even if every cell in her body insisted that she was drowning. So she endured, and thought, I hate planets. An old complaint.

  The Caithiriin government building was suffocating in more ways than that. It tended to low ceilings and looming narrow spaces, all lit in a manner that accentuated shadows, and all no better heated than the average tundra. Before leaving the controlled environment of the skimmer, Cort had bundled up in cold-weather gear that included her own bulky coat, furry hat and thick gloves, but deeply regretted not also bringing a face mask, because her cheeks took no time at all to go numb, and even as she followed their Caith escort through labyrinthine hallways that seemed to be more about making the journey a lengthy one than providing an efficient route to the chambers they sought, she had to frequently rub her face to restore feeling.

  It was a few minutes before the Caith escort arrived at a point not obviously different than any other, slid open a panel that was not visible until the moment he moved it, and instructed them to wait for the Xe.

  Cort’s hytex link did not translate the phrase for her, but then, she’d been warned it wouldn’t. It was simplest to just think of the official they waited for as a Judge and the specific word Xe as an honorific, giving him credit for long years of experience and wisdom. It was also useful to think of it as a term of dread and fear, as the Caith world had no use for juries and a Xe was not just the sole arbiter of guilt or innocence, but also the being personally responsible for carrying out executions. From her hurried reading of the prior night, a Xe had to study half his life to merit his lofty position, and then had to give up all family, all friendships, all sex, even his birth name, plus all of what the Caith considered luxury, to dwell in ascetic squalor in a small cell in what amounted to a basement, enjoying no recreation except for what relief he enjoyed whenever he got to ruin some unlucky bastard’s day.

  Cort was not unaware that this meant that Xe must have been sorts psychologically inclined to savage misanthropy even they gave up everything they had in exchange for whatever they got from being figures of fear.

  Mercy would not be in a Xe’s vocabulary.

  Good. That would make him easier for her to understand.

  The room where they settled in waiting for him was therefore the exact opposite of a human judge’s chambers as could possibly be imagined. There was no dark gravity, no atmosphere of ceremonial dignity: just featureless gray walls and a pair of stone blocks, low enough that some human beings might have mistaken them as places to sit. Cort’s reading had warned that using them as seats would be seen as an act of gross disrespect and another capital crime.

  Upon entering a few minutes later, the Xe did not sit. He paced. He was, like the rest of his kind, a vaguely ape-like humanoid, with stubby arms and legs and a coarse layer of yellow fur that must have made him far more comfortable in this environment than any human could possibly be. His facial features included a secondary orifice of unknown purpose above the pebble-like, barely perceptible black eyes. His clothing had been designed to cover areas other than his prominent genitals, which included a flowery object that was likely his penis. That Cort could deal with; not every species had to be modest over the same body parts. What bothered her more was the ambiguity of his expression, the way it was impossible to tell whether the scowl he seemed to affect reflected his actual mood or just the natural geography of his face; probably both.

  He did not permit any of the formalities Cort had prepared for. “Yes. Yes. All respect, all greetings. Forget that disgusting offal. It is unpleasant enough for me to be in the same room with sentients who smell the way you do. What excuse do you offer for delaying the execution now?”

  “No excuse,” Cort said. “Forgive us. We are visitors to your world and there are many aspects of your system on which we remain ignorant.”

  “Human ignorance is not the problem. Human criminality is the problem.”

  “Forgive me,” said Cort, “but I must take exception to that. We’re not dealing with the level of criminality in human beings as a class, but about the specific criminality of one individual who also happens to be a human being. The rest of us, including myself, are just doing what we can, trying to treat you and your laws with respect, and are entitled to receive the same degree of respect in return.”

  The Xe froze in mid-step, cocking his head as if noticing Cort for the first time. For several heartbeats, it was unclear whether he would laugh, attack, or banish them from his sight. Then he made a guttural noise, and muttered, “I will cede that distinction, while noting that the despicable criminal in question is not yet dead.”

  “If you will permit us the answer to this question, it remains our intention to resolve this unpleasant matter with all possible speed.”

  “Had your people been interested in resolving this matter with all possible speed, the disgusting Varrick would have been dead already.” He grunted, paced from one end of his stone room to another, scratched himself, then advanced past the stone blocks to Cort, who he subjected to a few strong sniffs before retreating. “I have met with you before today. Is your embassy so dissatisfied with my verdict that they must bring in a new human to wast
e my time?”

  “You have a point. I should have introduced myself. I’m Counselor Andrea Cort, a prosecutor for the Confederate Diplomatic Corps. My task here is not to delay justice, but to confirm that the case of the human murderer Varrick was resolved with full access to the provisions of Caithiriic law.”

  A snort. “The case was already resolved with full access to the provisions of Caithiriic law. I declared him guilty and ordered his execution. How many more delays must I tolerate before his filthy life is surrendered according to that decree?”

  “Again: just the resolution of this one issue, Xe.”

  The Xe rolled his eyes, in his most anthropomorphic expression yet. Like many alien expressions, any congruence it may have had with similar human expressions was coincidental at best, and yet Cort formed the unmistakable certainty that in this particular case, the exasperation it communicated was not just accurate but exact. “Then ask.”

  “I have been informed that your race possesses an alternative to execution: a medical treatment that preserves the criminal’s life while preventing any further offenses. This was not offered to Mr. Varrick at his sentencing. My question is whether this option is still available to him…and if not, why not.”

  The Xe grew agitated, like the ape he resembled confronted with an invasion of his territory. He began to pace in circles, a dervish driven by nervous energy. “Does the criminal Varrick have a family he wishes to support? Responsibilities he cannot bear to abandon? Legal or professional obligations that would be violated by his death?”

  “As far as I know, Xe, he just wishes to live.”

  “Then he’s a contemptible coward, with as little respect for himself as he has for others.”

  “I agree,” said Cort. “I do, however, believe it his right to be a coward.”

  “That would indeed go along with his right to be a thief and murderer.” The Xe stopped in mid-step, cocking his head as if disturbed by a sound only he could hear. “This is interesting. I do not know whether the process will work on a human being. To my knowledge, it has never been attempted with one of your species. In truth, it would have to be the decision of those educated in the procedure.”