Princess of Zenina

by Giselle Marks

  “I’ve things to do here, please be patient,” She said to them both as they followed to her office and were offered chairs.

  A Blue entered bearing a tray of beverages and nibbles. This was placed near Marina’s guests. Jessina helped herself to a cool drink and a handful randomly chosen from the offered selection of snacks.

  “Sexgua,” Marina said, “This is Colonel Heneran Bromarsh. He’d like to read his own files. Set the necessary translation into his language. He’ll start with the Markaban papers. Run them up on that terminal.” Marina gestured at a terminal on the desk nearest him.

  “We have a Freedom of Information Act. Anyone can read their own file. They can’t correct it, but they are entitled to append a criticism of the information contained which will be taken into account. Few bother to see their files. Some come regularly and are disappointed to find what dreary reading their lives make.”

  “The Colonel may wish to return and do further research. He is to have access to any files from his own planetary system and green clearance on all other files. Should he wish to see anything more secure, apply to me for approval. Could you take Jessina for a brief tour of the building?”

  “Certainly, it’ll be my pleasure. Come along, Jessina.”

  “Your former shipmates were brought in last night, Bromarsh. They resisted boarding and there were some casualties. They had a number of female slaves with them, including two Zeninans, a Ruby and a Green; both had their Achilles tendons cut and their vocal chords burned out. They’ll heal with assistance. They were chained and used repeatedly against their will, so they also had internal injuries. The courts will not treat the matter lightly. I’ll visit your former crew-mates now. Do you wish to see them or would you prefer to continue with your studies?”

  “I’ll stay here, if that is all right? I’ve just got to my court martial papers and it makes interesting reading. Some of this evidence, the defence was never shown.”

  “You’re likely to discover something if anyone can. Usually when someone’s been framed and it’s been covered up, it’s the omissions you spot. Names that are missing when you know they should be there; reports that look authentic, but have a couple of relevant paragraphs rewritten or omitted, images too blurred to be recognizable. We’ve examined your files and found no answers, but you may find something that jars or rings a bell. Don’t be disappointed if you find nothing that helps.”

  Chapter Forty-Six - Bromarsh’s Files

  Marina went to see the pirates as Bromarsh continued reading. He skipped through his court martial, finding mostly what he remembered from the time. He stopped skimming through, to read one of the original media reports on the massacre which had caused his downfall. A massacre he had known nothing about, until he was accused of being in charge of ordering it.

  “Reports are flooding in about a massacre of civilians in a village in Xandabal. Over three hundred men, women and children are believed to have been needlessly slaughtered by Markaban troops under the direct supervision, of the heavily decorated war hero, Major Heneran Bromarsh. An inquiry is being set up to look into the circumstances of the deaths in Xandabal. An Army spokesman said that it was too soon to confirm whether Major Bromash would be court martialled for the atrocity. The spokesman admitted army attempts to prevent the publication of articles on the massacre had been misguided…”

  Then he found another piece posted by some Markaban poet about the episode.

  Xandabal

  A quiet afternoon,

  happy children,

  noisily playing zip

  in grassy village lanes.

  Tired men returning

  from the fields

  for their scant evening meal.

  Women dashing

  to collect the washing

  as a few gentle raindrops

  start to fall.

  The distant

  ever-continuing war

  barely noticed

  in their meagre existence.

  Birds loft into the sky,

  their rest unsettled.

  The gentle tramp

  of feet in unison.

  Soldiers passing through,

  no one stops to watch.

  A muffled cry!

  An imagined thud!

  A knock at every door.

  Soldiers masked.

  No word, no struggle.

  A knife, a throat,

  another death.

  Inside, a search,

  the wife,

  the grandmother,

  the baby in its crib,

  a brief cry,

  then silence.

  A barked order,

  the soldiers form up

  and march away.

  The sound of their feet

  dies away into the night.

  No mother calls her

  children to the meal.

  No children fight

  over petty wrongs.

  No old men gossip

  and share their illicit brew.

  No hungry baby cries.

  The fires untended

  burn to ashes.

  The wind blows

  the rain through

  open doors that

  no one comes to close.

  The birds settle back

  into their nests

  to sleep the night away.

  A dog howls,

  seeking his master

  who will not come again.

  This little piece of Xandabal

  lies slashed and bloody.

  Not a soul remains

  alive in the village…

  Bromarsh, sniffed – the article and poem reminded him that he was not the only person injured by the Xandabal massacre. His anger at being framed had not allowed him to truly consider the tragic plight of innocent civilians, whose lives had been unreasonably snuffed out. It added two more questions to those that he needed to solve. Who had wiped out that village and why? The answers to those questions would be directly entwined with why he had been chosen as the scapegoat. He did not like to consider that meant some Markaban soldiers had been responsible and that he probably knew their leader. There was no point conjecturing until he had some real evidence. Then he went back to examining his files, because they made very interesting reading about his court martial.

  He had found three pieces of evidence he did not remember ever seeing. There was a damning character assessment from Captain Maurain Lammedan, whom he had thought of as a friend. Two other friends had submitted character assessments which under the circumstances were very kind. Colonel Geran Vendang had suggested that if Major Bromarsh had been responsible for the massacre, which he personally did not believe, then he must have had a temporary mental break-down brought on by the stresses of over work and an unhappy marriage. On the bottom of this report was a handwritten note. “This assessment is inadmissible as there is no supporting medical evidence,” the note was initialled, but the initials were indecipherable.

  The final character assessment was written by his ‘brother officer’ Major Robanil Poroash, known as Red. The document stated ‘Major Heneran Bromarsh is incapable of the crimes he has been accused of. Major Bromarsh is far too honourable a soldier and man to lie about being present or being responsible for the massacre.’ Red went on to cite incidents in Bromarsh’s military career that he had personal knowledge of. They were picked to show him as honest, courageous, chivalrous and just. As a fellow officer he refused to accept that Bromarsh was guilty in any way.

  Bromarsh noticed Red did not mention that Bromarsh had saved his life in battle. He supposed Red had thought that irrelevant. It slightly amused Bromarsh that his friend’s assessment concurred with his own. Red concluded that the only way, he could explain the events leading to Major Bromarsh’s court-martial, was that a person or persons unknown were deliberately trying to frame the Major, with fabricated evidence. His last sentence stated he wished to be called as a character witness.

  Bromarsh was touched
by his friend’s loyalty. “It’s nice to know he wanted to help me. At least Red believed in me… I wonder how Red is. He must be a full Colonel at least by now.”

  He called up Red’s file, flicking past his early military career. Five days after Red had written the report, he was posted to Conval. He left two days later and as far as the file indicated was still in that back water having achieved no further promotion.

  This disappointed Bromarsh, he sat and thought on. “What about Geran, how has he faired?” He called up his file and found he had died on active service less than a year after Bromarsh’s court-martial. The details of the mission he had been on at the time were not included, but the mission’s name was “Prolapse” and was given a top secret classification. A note from a Zeninan Internal Security Official was appended; the file had not been found. It was either missing or misfiled.

  Then Bromarsh wondered if the Markaban Army was aware of the Zeninan Empire’s scrutiny of their files, it might remove or hide sensitive information if it suspected they were not secure. Soldiers were sent on secret mission, equally often they did not return, they got shunted to unromantic garrison duties in distant towns, but rarely for that long without an active request for that duty on someone’s part.

  “Was it a coincidence that the two friends who had spoken up for me, had not had successful military careers? Could Geran’s death and Red’s exile be the result of someone’s malice?”

  “Logically, if I follow that thought through, then Captain Lammedan will have been promoted and have an attractive cushy posting. I’ll call up his file. Colonel Lammedan is posted to the staff of General Modin Hulavan. Hulavan rings a bell, but not a full General. The Hulavan I remember was a Major.” He looked through the General’s file, “Yes it is the same man. His rise was incredibly fast. I met him only once and didn’t like him much. I suppose women would think him handsome, but there’s something smarmy about him. I’d like to know more about this General Hulavan. Is he married? Does he have children?”

  Bromarsh scanned through the file of documents. There was an early marriage certificate, when he must have been in his twenties, followed by a divorce decree two years later on the grounds of incompatibility.

  “What does incompatibility mean? They had no children, probably a good thing if their marriage was going to be so short. Oh, here are his medical records, they are a bit basic, the usual inoculations and occasional minor sports’ injuries. He’s not had much wrong with him. Wow, they state he was sterilised a year after the wedding. Why would a young man get sterilised? Perhaps he has a genetic fault though I think he was too ambitious to waste his time on children?”

  He stopped looking at the General’s file and looked up that of Hulavan’s young ex-wife. Her first marriage was recorded, then another marriage a year after the divorce to a civilian, two children, a girl and a boy three years apart. They were happy together, he judged by reading between the lines. Her new husband had taken his full quota of paternity leave and they holidayed together as a family. He could imagine the little family. The dry bones of the data were given flesh in his mind.

  Bromarsh went back to the General’s file, not expecting to understand anything but skipping forward through his records, he noticed another marriage certificate. Bromarsh looked at it, by now becoming bored with the General and his very dull life. So he had married again. He looked at the date. Six months after his court-martial. Then the name of the woman jumped off the page and hit him hard between the eyes. For the name was his, Chloxena Aneska Bromarsh nee Hindenhan, his ex-wife. His first thoughts were ‘the creep is welcome to her. He looks like he’ll get on with her father.’

  Bromarsh had never completely understood the old man. He always had the feeling General Hindehan had wanted to tell him something, very secret, but never had. In one way Bromarsh had done well by marrying Chloxena. His own promotion rate had been incredible, but then he had been what the army called a hero. There was not much heroic in General Hulavan’s file. He had hardly seen action at all. It was strange, that her second husband should rise so unusually fast too. He hoped Hulavan had been a kind step-father to his sons. He would look up their files too.

  Kendan Bromarsh, no record matching his son’s date of birth, flashed the computer back at him. Janavime Bromarsh, also no record. He sat stumped.

  “Are my sons too insignificant to have files on the Zeninan Security computers? I’d got the impression if files were available, the Zeninans accessed them, secret or not.”

  Sexgua came in, offering to help. Jessina was no longer with her. She noted his thought, “Marina has taken her to see the pirates.”

  “I can’t find the files on my sons, should there be files or are only adults included?”

  “There should be files,” she said. “There is no age limit. If there are records of any kind on Markaba about your children, Zeninan Security should have them. We access all information available, whether it seems useful or not.”

  Sexgua accessed his ex-wife’s file, racing through at great speed. There were adoption certificates in the boys’ names. From then on they took the surname Hulavan. There was an affidavit signed by Chloxena stating their father, Heneran Bromarsh had disowned them. He had no interest in their well-being since birth. He paid no maintenance towards their upkeep and was not a fit and proper person to be a parent. The judge agreed and the adoptions went through.

  Bromarsh read the bile his ex-wife had written about him, failing to believe she could have written it.

  “I knew she was a bitch, but surely even she couldn’t write that. It must be a fabrication, yet the facsimile is in her handwriting.”

  He shook himself, “grow up,” he told himself. “Accept it’s over and done, come to terms with it.”

  “Thank you, Sexgua for your help. I think I can manage now,” he said aloud.

  His sons had been sent off planet to school. Kendan, the older boy had done well at college and was expected to get a first, he was in an officer training program. The younger boy Janavime, had also had good results in school, but dropped out at sixteen and did not live at home. There were suggestions he might support anti-establishment political movements and he had been present at demonstrations suppressed by the Government with force. That gave Bromarsh something to think about. Perhaps his sons had needed their father about. He wrote down the addresses of his sons and of Colonel Vendang’s widow. Perhaps he would get to see them. He did not know much more, but felt he knew what he needed to know. He just could not understand which bits were important.

  “It must involve Tippy and Karella and my ex father-in-law General Hindenhan retired. If it implicates him then it means this General Hulavan and probably Maurain Lammedan, are embroiled too. Both my friends suffered after my disgrace. Why did the one who wrote the milder report die and the other get sent far away? That posting had been almost immediate, to get him out of the way and stop him defending me at my court martial? The death of Geran was nine months later; it must be a coincidence?”

  He tried to believe that it was a coincidence but found that he could not.

  “No, follow the conspiracy theory through. Perhaps he might not have been considered a danger to start with, or was too high up to shunt to a dead end job. Geran’s father is a Lord, after all. Had he had too many influential friends to get rid of him straight away? Or had he found out later so they’d had to get rid of him? Perhaps Red wrote asking him to pull strings and find something out. Red would do that. His statement was angry. Red isn’t a man to leave a thing alone, once he’s got his teeth into it.”

  Red’s wife had been killed in a direct hit on Bengar. They had no children and he had not remarried. Bromarsh remembered Red was older than him - he’d be over 50 now. Checking the file he found Red’s date of birth. He would be 59, so Red was due to retire next year. What then? Bromarsh decided he must see him and stop him risking his life further to help him.

  Princess Marina entered the room with Jessina.

  “I’ve
completed my business here. Are you ready to see Tippy now?”

  “Yes thank you,” he said, switching off the terminal. Marina glanced at her own desk. There in the middle was the genetic break-down and matching of Ondiella, her son and Prince Ga’Mikkal. Especially of interest they pointed out that his semen was resistant to the Zeninan factor damage which caused infertility. He was not long off colour change and he was a perfect match to the baby. Attached by some extremely efficient minion was a security report on Ga’Mikkal. It enumerated the many women Zeninan Internal Security knew he had slept with in Kurgia and Zenina and was pages long.

  The report summarised all the Zeninan women known to have occupied his bed. There were so many names, but one leapt out. Zadina! She looked deeper into the file. Not just once, quite a fling! Her memory flicked back to the Banquet the night before.

  “I wondered why Prince Ga’Mikkal didn’t return shortly after me. I presumed he was sulking, but I saw Zadina come in not long after him, looking like an over fed alley-cat. I wondered what she’d been up to, but dismissed it as paranoia.”

  Marina ordered a security check on Zadina. “Set a team to keep an eye on her movements, record what she does and who she sees.” It is probably far too late, she thought recalling the precognitive reports. “The surveillance is to be cancelled only by myself; and on my death by Vlama or Vellina. Should anything happen to me, the report should be given to Vlama. She’ll know what to do.”

  She put the report down, but then she stopped. The expression on Bromarsh’s face was arresting.

  “What is it, Colonel?” she asked.

  “This thing, where did you get it?” he asked.

  “My sister Princess Plavina gave it to me; do you know what it is?”

  “No, but I’ve seen it before or one very like it.”

  “Where Colonel, it may be important?”

  “At my father-in-law’s, General Hindenhan’s, he had something that looked like that. The knobs were slightly different, but I remember the Kurgian writing. It was in his study, I asked him what it was. He said it was a Kurgian weapon he was adding it to his collection. He collected weapons. He seemed proud of it, but not informative. He said I mustn’t talk about it, it was valuable and he didn’t want it stolen,” Bromarsh paused to gather his thoughts, raking his fingers through his hair in a boyish gesture.