"Truth," Mladenov said soberly.
Pits threw one arm around his shoulder, the other around Sergei Izvekov's. Together, the three of them started slowly back toward Tallinn Town to let their women know they had won-this time.
The slamming of the huge, heavy front door downstairs woke ten-year-old Kyle Eng from a sound sleep. The Eng family mansion was otherwise quiet, and a gentle breeze carried the salty Pacific air into his room from the lanai. The surf broke softly, rhythmically, against the shore of Kauai, one of the Hawaiian Islands.
Kyle tensed every muscle in his arms and legs, freezing himself into position. When his father slammed the front door in the middle of the night, it meant he had come home drunk and angry again. Sometimes he just staggered into his den or off to bed; other times, he raged the house, yelling at people or demons whom no one else could see. Other times, however, he stomped up the stairs after Kyle to yell and scream insults about his mother.
Now, those footsteps were pounding clumsily up the carpeted steps toward his room.
Kyle could only hope that his father was going somewhere else up here. That wasn't likely, though. His older half-brother, Tim, slept down the hall, but their father never gave him this kind of trouble.
Tim was fifteen. His mother had died of an illness when he had been a baby, and as far as their father was concerned, Tim could do nothing wrong. He was also a very sound sleeper.
Kyle knew that his own mother had made his father very angry, probably forever. Much younger than his father, she had left them all several years ago, taking a substantial amount of the family cash and negotiable assets with her. By the time his father's private detectives had tracked her down, she had spent all the money and had taken up with another wealthy man in Florida. The elder Eng had successfully prosecuted her for theft, but he had never recovered from the felling of betrayal.
With Kyle's mother first missing and then in prison, Kyle had continued to live in his father's house.
Lying rigidly, pretending to be sound asleep, Kyle heard the crash as his door was kicked in. It banged against the wall, making him jump. He jerked the covers over his head as a shaft of bright light from the hallway slanted into the room.
"I ssee you, sson of a slut," his father slobbered drunkenly. "You're awake!"
Kyle, with his eyes closed tightly, felt the covers yanked away. Instead of just yelling at him as usual, though, his father reared back and kicked him with the hard heel of one of his expensive imported boots. Kyle cried out, surprised at the pain in his shoulder.
"Ha! Talked to your mother lately, boy?"
"No-" Kyle started, then shut his mouth as a heavy fist swung down and punched him in the back.
"It's our anniversary, y'know, your mother's and mine. Shoulda been our eleventh, today, boy!"
Kyle scrambled up on the head of the bed and tried to roll off, but this time his father's fist smashed directly into his forehead. White lights twinkled in his vision, and he momentarily lost his wits as he rolled back on his bed. When the next blow pounded against the side of his head, he barely felt it.
The youngster collapsed on the bed, blinded by tears, unable to move as the beating continued. Suddenly, vaguely through his confusion, he heard his brother's voice.
"Dad! Stop it!" Tim shouted in the doorway. He ran forward and grabbed the older man's arms from behind, pinning him. At a slender, rangy fifteen years of age, he wasn't strong enough or heavy enough to wrestle their father away by brute force. Even in his drunkenness, however, their father would not hurt Tim. The two of them struggled in an awkward dance.
"It's our anniversary," the older man repeated.
"C'mon, Dad!" Tim screamed, his voice cracking.
"Son of a sslut," their father sneered again. He stumbled, but let Tim swing him around toward the door. "Tell her I ssaid sso!"
Tim shoved their father out the door and then slammed it shut after him. Then he had to switch the light on. He stood facing it for a moment, breathing hard. Their father's footsteps shuffled uncertainly at first, then thumped back down the Stairs.
Kyle was in shock, staring teary-eyed but without really crying. His head was throbbing. He watched as Tim knelt by the bed and looked at him closely.
You're gonna have a lump or two," said Tim. He hesitated. "Kyle, can you hear me? Are you okay?"
"He'd never hit you, would he?" Kyle asked, in a voice on the verge of crying.
Tim's face hardened. "He's, uh, sick, Kyle. It's not you. And it's not me, either."
"He thinks you're perfect because your mother was good. And he hates me 'cause my mom is no good."
"Aw, Kyle." Tim looked flustered. He seemed like a grownup sometimes nowadays, but Kyle knew he really wasn't one. "Look. You want to go horseback riding with me tomorrow?"
Kyle nodded.
"You like horses, don't you? Like I do? When I grow up, I'm going to be a horse vet, a doctor, so I can be around them all the time."
"I want to be with you," said Kyle.
"Okay," Tim said gently. "But, look. I've got this poker game planned for tomorrow, too. So if you come, you have to keep this a secret. Okay?"
"Okay." In that moment, Kyle would have done anything for his older brother, even something far more difficult than just keeping a little secret.
"Are you going to be okay? Maybe I should wake up one of the servants to call a doctor far you."
"I'm okay," Kyle said meekly. "But what if he comes back?"
Tim paused. "You're coming to my room for the night. Tomorrow I'll move you in for good."
Kyle looked up, suddenly hopeful. "He wouldn't do that to you, would he?" he asked again.
"I'll never let him do that again, Kyle," Thu growled through his teeth. "Not if I can help it."
Suddenly Kyle threw his arms around his brother's neck. Finally feeling safe, he began to cry at last.
Sons of Hawaii
William F. Wu
At age twenty-four, Kyle Eng sat stiffly in his chair in the courtroom, watching the judge. He could hardly believe that Tim was in this mess, not to mention his own mild-mannered self. Kyle, after a sterling performance at the University of Hawaii to earn a B.A. in political science and then an M.A. in public policy and urban planning, had embarked on a fast-moving career as a liaison between developers and local government. Now he and Tim were on trial here in Hilo for fomenting armed rebellion. It made no sense.
"Case 972–675," droned the uniformed bailiff. Like Kyle and Tim, she was a young Asian Hawaiian, older than Kyle but not much.
"Cute, huh?" Tim whispered, elbowing Kyle. He was slightly taller and had a bony, angular frame. "Hey, loosen up, little brother. You don't accomplish anything by sitting there stiff as a board. You gotta be like a cat, loose and flexible. That way you land on your feet." He jabbed Kyle harder and grinned.
Kyle reluctantly smiled back, rubbing the spot on his ribs. He was shorter than Tim and had a medium build, Tim even resembled a cat, but Kyle didn't.
Tim was charming, charismatic, and good-looking, quick to size people up and win them over. As he had planned, education was in veterinary medicine, with a specialty in horse breeding. Their father had been dead for seven years, leaving them both a substantial inheritance in Hawaiian real estate and diversified investments.
The money had paid for their educations and had allowed Tim the luxury of investing in his own string of horses. He ran his own stable, breeding as well as riding. One of his hobbies had become reading equine history," including military developments, for relaxation.
Kyle's loyalty and admiration for him had remained absolutely firm. Their friends and colleagues supposed it was because Tim was so independent and quick-witted. The real reason was that after that night Tim had kept his promise to stay between Kyle and their father.
On a number of later occasions before Kyle had his growth, their father had started to beat Kyle again, but Tim had always been nearby. Twice, their father, farther gone into his drinking than ever, had fin
ally turned on Tim and beaten him savagely. Tim had taken the punishment instead of Kyle, who had trusted him implicitly ever since. Kyle's home life had made him passive out of caution, and devoted to his older brother.
"The defendants will rise," said the bailiff, in a shrill but bored voice.
They stood. So did their lawyer, Jake Ishihara.
"How do you plead?" Judge Southforth, a black woman with a streak of gray in her hair right in the front, stifled a yawn.
"Not guilty," said Jake firmly.
The judge was clearly surprised. She looked at Jake for a moment. "You do understand the defendants are charged under the Unlawful Assembly and Treason Act as Amended? Their followers failed to disperse a violent protest when so ordered by the authorities. By this law. that constitutes a declaration of rebellion." She frowned and read from her notes. "As the law reads, 'Failure to disperse shall be considered a declaration of rebellion.' " She looked up pointedly.
"Your Honor," said Jake, "neither of my clients was present at the riots, nor have they ever fomented armed rebellion in any form, at any time."
As they continued to talk, Kyle sat with nearly every muscle in his body tense. The problem was a wacky scheme of Tim's. Two years ago, he had started a political movement to turn Hawaii into a free-trade zone, to compete with the big Asian centers like Singapore, Macau, and Hong Kong. That part was ambitious, but understandable.
Kyle had signed up with him because the project had possibilities; besides, he had never been able to refuse Tim anything important. However, in order to attract attention and to create negotiating space, Tim had taken another step. He had suggested that Hawaii become an independent republic again, as it had been briefly long ago.
That move had not only drawn the unwanted attention of the authorities, but also a mixed following of anarchists, libertarians, entrepreneurs, fugitives, and opportunists of all kinds. Many of these followers had little use for each other, but they all understood that in a free-trade, independent Hawaii, they could have a fresh start. They had staged a number of protests on their own, several of which had turned into riots.
These incidents had clearly turned the local population against Tim's movement, despite his personal charm. As a result, Jake had convinced the brothers to waive their right to a jury trial. Jake had said he would have a better chance before a lone judge in arguing the distinction between his educated, establishment clients and the rabble who had rallied to them.
"Kyle, the younger brother," Jake was saying, "has been known as a reserved, responsible professional in many circles. Neither of my clients ever intended for Hawaii to become independent. That was a political trial balloon in the movement to make Hawaii a free-trade zone, no more."
"Considering the volume of tape of these riots," said Judge Southforth, "I had assumed you would just plead guilty."
"No, Your Honor."
"How do the people regard this?"
"Well." The prosecutor stood up, fumbling glasses onto his face. He was a pauncy, silver-haired man with a perpetual frown. "Every single one of these violent protests has been held in the name of Tim Eng for President of the Republic of Hawaii. We will introduce into evidence many media tapes of the rebellion and sworn testimony from rebels who have been granted immunity in exchange for testifying."
"That presidential campaign was a draft," said Jake smoothly. "My client had no part in that."
"You're out of order." Judge Southforth sighed, "All right. Let's get started."
Tim and Kyle were both found guilty.
They appealed, of course, and remained free on a very large bail during the process. Their family mansion and Tim's stables were all bonded. Kyle, who had never been in any kind of trouble before, was in shock.
On the other hand, Kyle was being carried along on the crest of Tim's wave. That was nothing new at all.
Maybe Kyle's biggest shock came when the appeal was denied. He had always seen his brother as being virtually unstoppable. Tim had never had any serious problems before, either. After their final court appearance, they remained free on bond, and Jake summoned them both to his office.
"I can't believe this," Kyle muttered, as they stood in front of Jake's desk. "This whole business is just insane."
"Aw, it's not that bad." Tim gave him a hearty slap on the back.
"It may be more serious than you think," said Jake gravely. He tapped a rolled document into his palm for a moment, then dropped it onto his desk. "Kyle, this is getting even more complicated. Would you excuse us for just a moment?"
"What? Uh, sure." Kyle was hurt. This was his business as much as Tim's. Still, Tim was in charge, as always. While Tim and Jake turned away and began to talk, he dipped the document unnoticed from Jake's desk, out of pique as much as any other reason.
In the waiting room, Kyle turned his back to Jake's secretary and looked at the document. He expected to see some legal jargon about why their appeal had been denied. What he found was even more of a shock than the original verdict had been.
It was a copy of a letter from the Judicial Board of Appeals to the CoDominium, Bureau of Relocation, Secretary of the North American Region. Kyle's face flushed with panic as he skimmed the letter. It referred to activities by Tim he had never heard of: bribes so large that they must have come from their trust fund; financing and purchase of actual weapons for subversive groups; recorded meetings with known subversives.
Kyle frowned and read it again, more carefully. A quote from the prosecutor told him why these matters had not arisen at the trial. The prosecution had not felt their case was strong enough to get a conviction on them, and had feared that the defense might have discredited the entire treason case by picking apart the weak spots.
However, now that the prosecution had won, these points were once again part of the larger picture. The Judicial Board of Appeals concluded with a recommendation: that the Eng brothers be sent to the planet Haven, due to Tim's threat to U.S. national security and Kyle's well-known loyalty to his brother.
With an embarrassed glance at the secretary, Kyle drew in a long, slow breath and rolled the document tightly in his hands. So his brother wasn't as innocent as Kyle had always thought. Well, that didn't matter now. What did matter was where they were going.
They would never see Earth-and particularly Hawaii-ever again.
Tim and Kyle Eng had three more weeks in the local lockup before the next transport ship left for Haven. During that time, Kyle saw that through Jake, Tim made a number of deals that he did not discuss with Kyle. That was okay. Kyle was deeply depressed and could not: escape the suspicion that his life was already over. What kind of deals could Tim make that would help them now?
They shipped out on an ore freighter called the Olathe with a number of other convicts, including many of their so-called followers. At least these had had the decency, or the stupidity, not to testify against them in exchange for immunity. Not missing any chance, Tim quickly made friends with as many of them as he could find, regaling them with stories of politics or parties with celebrities, or anything else that would entertain them. In the process, he managed to turn the immediate vicinity of the Eng brothers' bunks into a running poker game. Several of the largest deportees signed on with the Eng brothers as bodyguards.
A security guard named Rollo Henley was in charge of their section. Kyle learned soon that through Jake, Tim had bribed certain members of the crew to allow him to host the poker game. Tim was allowed to receive a modest house cut. Henley became a traffic cop, carefully limiting the number of deportees who could enjoy Tim's hospitality at any one time. It was a security measure, of course, and Tim smiled indulgently at the bribes Henley collected from eager poker players himself.
Kyle had to admit that Tim was good. He lost money, though never a large amount at one time, in exchange for goodwill and information about Haven. It was his company that both crew members and deportees really liked.
"What are those?" Kyle asked one night, just before lights out.
Tim was reading some kind of little booklet, and two more were visible in his open duffel bag. "This one's a report on Haven. Jake found it for me before we left. The others are phrase books."
"Yeah? What languages do we use in the mines?"
"We aren't going to the mines." Tim looked up and grinned. "Relax, will you? We can't change what's already happened."
"Well, I certainly know that," Kyle said sourly.
"Aw, come on. What's wrong, little brother?"
"I don't get it," Kyle said. "How can you be so light-hearted about this? We're going to one of the most horrible inhabitable planets of all."
"It's a fourteen-month trip," said Tim casually. "We might as well make the best of it. I know you don't like poker, but I think we'll land with some goodwill and some solid information, too."
"I just don't see how you can be so cheerful about this disaster. I don't think Haven is very civilized. We probably have nothing better ahead than a lifetime of hard labor."
Tim was silent a moment. "Okay, look. I had Jake do some checking around before we left, and I have a deal with Henley you don't know about. But you have to keep this a secret."
Kyle hesitated, his heart pounding with sudden hope that his brother could land them both on their feet. "You don't have to tell me," he said. "I've learned to trust your judgment."
"Let's just say it's a self-contained freezer case," said Tim. "It's heavy, but once we've landed, solar power will keep the freezer going. On Haven, it'll be worth a fortune. That means it's worth our lives if anyone finds out about it."
"Don't tell me any more details," said Kyle. "But why won't Henley steal it, if it's worth so much?"
"On Earth, it's worth a lot of money, but it's not invaluable. In space, it's totally worthless. But mainly, he won't know what the stuff is, even if he breaks his promise and opens up the case to take a look. I doubt anyone on this ship can tell at a glance. On the whole, he'll make a big profit if he keeps his word and hell be at loose ends if he steals the case."
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