Renegade

by Joel Shepherd

  Lisbeth stared. “Do you think that’s likely?”

  “No. This is why they’re called emergency contingencies. However, I am on the lookout for other methods of transport back to Phoenix.”

  “Well that’s not so hard,” said Lisbeth. “The family’s got shuttles. We own an entire spaceline here on Homeworld, Allied Transit. It’s got nine shuttles, we use it for a lot of cargo operations and vertical integration with various companies, and VIP transport of course.”

  “Can you authorise the use of those shuttles? On short notice?”

  “Of course.”

  “And could you keep this request a secret?”

  Lisbeth smiled. “Well I was going to say… I think I’d better keep it secret, because otherwise I’ll get questions. My father and Erik can get… protective.”

  “Well look,” said Trace. “I don’t want you to put yourself into any trouble.”

  “Oh pish,” Lisbeth said dismissively. “You’ve risked your life for soft civilians like me so many times. You all have. This is the very least I can do.”

  6

  Erik arrived at the detention level beneath the HQ towers just as his mother called.

  “Hello Erik, I just wanted to check where you were.”

  “Hello Mother, I’m just heading into HQ detention to see the Captain.” He handed his sidearm to the guard at the first secure door, and had it scanned and registered for collection upon return. Then he stepped into the body screener, arms raised.

  “So your JAG officer got you access finally?”

  “Yes, it came through this morning. Commander Huang would have gone, but apparently the Captain’s asking for me specifically. Where are you, Mother?”

  “Erik, I’m hearing a lot of noise from various quarters. Something’s going on in Fleet, and I don’t like it at all.”

  Well anyone could have made that observation, but it was a different thing if Alice Debogande made it. He’d barely seen her since that speech upon his homecoming. Given her usual schedule, he’d known better than to ask, or risk seeming miffed that she couldn’t make time for him, knowing well the lecture he’d get about responsibilities and duties above all else.

  “Mother what noise are you hearing?” The security guard waved him through, took his ID and scanned him through the outer door. A guard on the far side opened the second door, and pinned a visitor’s badge on him.

  “Just noise. Erik, I don’t think you should go to see the Captain today.”

  “Well I’m already here, Mother. Why don’t you tell me who you’ve been talking to?”

  “Darling you know I can’t do that.” This call was being routed through Fleet HQ servers, that meant. “But there are corporate troubles, and I’m not entirely sure that this whole thing isn’t aimed at our family. In which case your Captain might just be collateral.”

  Erik was not particularly surprised — it had occurred to him. A guard arrived to escort him, and he followed down the white, bare corridor. “Well I wish you’d mentioned this a few hours ago. But I’m here now, and I’m not abandoning the Captain, he’s had no outside contact for two days and he’ll be wanting to speak to someone. Plus I might finally get some answers.” About more things than just this court-martial.

  A silence on the other end. “Very well. Erik, just be careful. Love you, we’ll talk when you get out.”

  “I love you too Mother.” Damn the timing, he thought as she disconnected. He’d just been thinking about all the questions he needed to ask the Captain, and now this major distraction. It deserved a lot more thought, but discussion with the Captain on serious matters required a very sharp brain — junior officers unaccustomed were known to take stimulants and spend advance hours studying before such sessions, so formidable was the Captain’s reputation. No one wanted to be caught without an answer when he asked a pointed question.

  They passed a corridor junction, then stopped at a nondescript door along a row of nondescript doors. The guard IDed the door, and Erik went in. The cell was partitioned by a transparent wall of hard plastic. There was a chair here, opposite speaker holes, where visitors could sit and talk to inmates without contact. But Erik had been promised proper contact, and waited for someone watching via monitor to open the second door. The Captain lay on his bunk, hands folded, calmly waiting. Erik smiled. He didn’t imagine the Captain had been doing much else, other than exercising. Surely they’d let him have reading materials. He loved to read, had often passed his occasional spare time with Erik or another officer, discussing this or that amazing book, often about old, lost Earth. And then Erik had been obliged to read that book as well, if only so he could properly join the conversation. He’d lost a lot of sleep that way, catching up on the Captain’s reading list.

  The door behind closed, and the one ahead opened. Erik entered, pulled up a chair to the Captain’s bedside, and sat. “Captain. How’ve you been?” The Captain said nothing. He seemed to be sleeping, eyes closed. Erik frowned. “Captain?”

  He reached, and shook the uniformed arm. Nothing. The Captain was very still. Suddenly Erik felt fear unlike anything he’d known before. The fear that recognised a moment when a life was changed forever.

  “Captain Pantillo!” He put an ear to his mouth, but neither heard nor felt a breath. Fingers to his neck, clean shaven, but no pulse. “Oh no no no, hey!” He yelled to the room monitor. “Hey, send a medic! I need a medic right now!” He tilted Pantillo’s head, mouth open, ready to apply CPR… and saw the blood on the pillow, hidden by the previous placement of the head. So neatly done. His posture all perfect on the mattress, not a sign that anything could be wrong.

  Erik rolled the head aside, somehow knowing what he’d find, but not quite believing it. A single hole, hair matted with blood. Execution style to the back of the skull. Not heavy caliber, the damage wasn’t that great. But high enough to kill instantly. His heart thudded as the room swam with disbelief, further appeals for help frozen on his lips. He knew who’d done it. It was that obvious. But if it was that obvious to him, it would be to everyone else, so how could they think to get away with it? Unless they’d already made plans to cover their tracks.

  A low caliber weapon. Fleet didn’t use those, even sidearms did much more damage than this. This would have come from the kind of weapon that could be concealed. Slipped past security. Or planted on a person without them noticing. His hands reached for his jacket pockets, and sure enough, there was something in the right one. He pulled it out — a small plastic tube, it looked like a pen but it smelled of recent explosive discharge. And it now had his bloody fingerprints all over it. Smooth Erik. Real smooth.

  He slumped back into the chair in disbelief and shock. He felt chills and nausea, like the time he’d badly broken his arm in Academy training. Horror at the sight of the disfigured limb, the bones protruding in a nasty lump. The brain struggled to process such things. He thought he might throw up.

  The guards would be in through the door any moment, to catch him red-handed. Then a trial, and more scandal. Maybe they’d even find a way to knock him off as well… though that would be stretching it, even for these guys. Lots wouldn’t believe them, but Family Debogande was not universally popular, and lots would believe Fleet, for no better reason than ideology or spite. Possibly he’d get off, Debogande family lawyers were good, but even more likely he wouldn’t, not with Fleet HQ itself behind this stitchup, and all the resources at its disposal. Either way, scandal stuck to the politically involved, and he’d be untouchable forever. His family would be too. Possibly even Uncle Thani, and others who relied on Debogande money to get reelected.

  Then he realised that his Captain, the man he admired most in all the world, was dead. And here was poor little LC Debogande, thinking only about himself. He leaned over the body, not wanting to touch more in case bloody fingerprints only incriminated him further. The Captain looked peaceful, as though he might be sleeping. Surely he’d not given them the satisfaction of fear or begging. He wasn’t that sort
of man.

  Erik’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry Captain. I wasn’t fast enough. I thought I did everything I could. I failed you.”

  Something he’d just thought kept replaying over in his brain. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction… the Captain would have faced his death without surprise. Certainly he’d known a heck of a lot more about what caused it than Erik did. Seeing his death approaching, he would have… would have what?

  Erik quickly went through Pantillo’s uniform pockets, uncaring about fingerprints now. In the breast pocket, he found a small plastic square — a memory reader, not a commercial civilian one, but an implanted military one. It looked like it had been dug out of some other device. A smart man could keep it concealed, perhaps, in a place like this.

  The outer cell door crashed open, and armed guards rushed in. They’d strip him and confiscate everything, Erik realised. He put the chip in his mouth and swallowed. Guards crashed the second door and levelled weapons at him.

  “Lieutenant Commander Debogande, you are under arrest!” The head guard indicated to the Captain. “Check him!” Another guard rushed to do that, with genuine alarm. They didn’t know, Erik thought. They genuinely thought he’d done it. Certainly it looked pretty bad, him sitting here with the smuggled murder weapon and the Captain’s blood all over his hands. It didn’t even occur to him to protest his innocence. Against Fleet HQ, what was the point?

  “He’s gone,” said the guard examining the Captain.

  “You son of a bitch!” said the first guard, pistol levelled at Erik’s face. “Get on the floor, face down, right now!”

  * * *

  Trace was calmer than she’d expected when they came. She sat on her footstool in cross-legged meditation, and did not open the door when they knocked. If she couldn’t use weapons here, she wasn’t opening any door for armed soldiers. If they were going to make any kind of armed entry into her room, they’d find her non-confrontational and meditating with her back turned — face to face in a narrow doorway was just asking some hair-trigger fool to panic.

  As it happened they didn’t bust the door down, but came around the back and climbed onto the balcony. Seeing her there, unarmed and eyes closed, there were shouts to open the door, and raps on the glass. Ignoring them was easy. She never truly heard them in the first place. Finally one of them got the hotel key to the front door and came in sensibly. Still they did not touch her, nor force her, but told her that they were under orders to bring her, and now. None were game to be the first to lay a hand on her. That was probably wise.

  She kept them waiting for a good five minutes, while they stood around her in light armour and weapons and wondered aloud and to their commanders back at base what to do with the Kulina marine commander who refused to acknowledge their existence. Finally when she was ready, and had finished her various uplinked conversations (which the intruders had unwisely not jammed) she unfolded herself from the footstool, and informed them that she’d get changed, then accompany them.

  They took her weapons first and put a guard on the balcony outside the bedroom window, but she had no intention of running. She put on her uniform from where she had it neatly hung in the closet, collected her necessary ID and documents, then went with the armed men to one of their waiting vehicles. Half were MPs, the other half were army commandos. Evidently someone wanted her in custody very badly. She wondered what they’d have actually done if she’d resisted. But then no one would ever expect a Kulina to resist. Kulina were not only brave, but loyal. These men had not made a hard entry, and now did not put restraints on her, or point weapons at her. Partly it was respect, she thought, and partly it was fear. But mostly, it was that Kulina always did what Fleet told them, and put all other concerns aside.

  She watched the newsnets on uplink vision on the way in. She was better at that than most, having mastered the art of relaxing her mind and simply seeing the artificial image projected upon the inside of her eyelids. The newsnets told her that Lieutenant Commander Debogande was under arrest having been caught red-handed in the murder of Captain Pantillo. News had gone out very fast, she thought. It had even beaten the armed team who’d arrived at her hotel, giving her plenty of time to prepare. That was poor planning, and it spoke of haste, and perhaps desperation, from someone in HQ. Someone who wanted the Debogandes silenced as fast as possible. Or someone who was distracted with more pressing matters, and wanted this to go away fast.

  Her calm now as she considered it all in the rear seat of the MPs’ cruiser surprised her too. The Captain had been like the father she’d never truly had. But his death was not surprising. In fact, it was clarifying. She knew now what she had to do next, and suddenly all the doubt was gone. As though the Captain himself were speaking to her, with that wise and kindly smile, and showing her the path ahead. What he told her was that all choice was illusion. The things that happen, happen. To ponder these choices was to open yourself to selfish desires, to weigh possible outcomes upon the scales of want and need. Remove all choice, and both want and need went slinking back into the shadows from which they’d come. Certainty took root, and with it, peace and calm.

  It was a lesson she’d learned on Sugauli, as a young teenager climbing the Rejara Phirta Range in mask and suit, on ropes and clamps that you placed yourself in the little gaps and crevasses in the rock. They only gave you a small amount of rope, which you had to constantly recover and reuse, while the howling wind blew, and the methane squalls ripped your icy fingers from the ropes that kept you anchored to the cliff. Retreat was nearly impossible, the rope below was gone as soon as you recovered it. Ahead and upward was the only choice, and the more frightened you were, the more your hands would shake, and the slower you’d be. Control your fear, and you’d make the summit faster. Shake and tremble, and you’d still be climbing after nightfall, as the temperature plummeted and the rock turned to featureless blank slate before your eyes.

  Climb it often enough, and you came to realise that fear was itself the enemy, the thing that would truly kill you. The cliff itself was indifferent to your fate — only fear would grasp your throat with treacherous fingers and squeeze until you died. Facing such things, soon fearlessness became a habit. With meditation and training, the elders insisted, it soon became possible to forget why fear was even necessary in the first place. Too much choice was frightening. Those who were happiest were those who realised that life was like the climb — an endless effort, against wind and gravity, with no hope of return. Accept your fate, abandon all hopeful desires, and be still.

  The cruiser landed by a main tower and rolled through checkpoints into a separate carpark. Trace ignored it all, and watched the newsnets chasing various Debogandes at work and home, reporters shouting questions, then shut down by security guards. Apparently journalists were allowed to ask all the confronting and nasty questions they liked so long as they didn’t ask them of Fleet. A lawyer read a statement from Alice Debogande. ‘Innocent of all charges’, was the gist of it. The implication was not spelled out — that the whole thing was fixed. No doubt the lawyers would tell Madam Debogande that such statements were not wise at this time.

  The cruiser rolled to a halt, and Trace got out with her escort. They passed security getting into the carpark elevator, then more security when they got out at the detention level. Big double doors and body screens got them into the shiny bland corridors beyond. They’d be keeping Erik down here somewhere. As they’d been keeping the Captain before him. If HQ wished it, Erik could easily meet a similar fate.

  They took her to an interrogation room, bland and featureless, save the big one-way mirror and cameras at the ceiling. There she sat for half an hour, unmoving with her eyes closed, until an interrogator entered. He was an army Colonel, Trace saw as she opened her eyes. She didn’t recognise the name, nor cared to recall it.

  “Major,” he said, taking a seat opposite, a slate screen on the table between them. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “Yes,” said Trace.
Perhaps he was uncertain, given that she was meditating, and neither particularly cooperative, nor particularly involved. Some might view that as guilt. Possibly quite a few of these people did not know that it was all a stitchup. They believed the LC was guilty because HQ had set it up that way. But she doubted the Colonel would be so naive. HQ would make certain one of their own was sent to interrogate her, to find out the score, and how much trouble she was likely to make. If he deemed ‘a lot’, then they’d have to find a way to deal with her too. Only how did you blackmail a Kulina, who desired for herself not even safety?

  “And why are you here, Major?” pressed the Colonel. He was a big man with a big neck that swallowed his chin. Trace wondered what compromises such men made with their lives, to wear that uniform, yet to participate in this. And once begun, where those compromises would stop, if anywhere.

  “To find the answers to questions,” Trace answered honestly.

  “Which questions?”

  “My own questions.”

  The Colonel considered her for a moment. Trace wondered if he were uplinked, being fed questions from outside. Perhaps from behind the one way glass. “Look, Major,” he said, with a kinder, more conversational tone. “This is an unfortunate situation.” His pause invited her to agree. Trace just looked at him. “We all know the loyalty of Kulina officers to Fleet. But we also know the loyalties that develop between officers on the same vessel in wartime. What I’d like to do in this briefing today is establish some facts about Lieutenant Commander Debogande, and then see where you stand after that.”

  “My loyalties are absolutely clear,” said Trace.

  “Really?” said the Colonel. “Please continue.”

  “And my goals are also absolutely clear,” she added. “To me at least.”

  “And?” With the faintest trace of impatience.