Starbound (Lightship Chronicles) Read online

  “So then this man,” Poulsen pointed at me again for effect, “Peter Cochrane of Quantar, placed a charged energy weapon to your head on the bridge of Impulse, in full view of the bridge crew, did he not?”

  “He did,” said Tralfane.

  “And then he left his post, ostensibly to rescue Captain Zander, did he not?”

  Again, “He did.”

  “And during any of this time did you have any contact with my client?”

  “No,” said Tralfane. “Communications were knocked out in the attack.”

  “So there is nothing in your experience or observation then that implies in any way that my client was negligent of her official duties?”

  “No,” Tralfane said again with finality.

  “Thank you, Historian,” said Poulsen. Then he sat back down. “No further questions.”

  Commack nodded at Tralfane and the Historian exited the stand, heading directly for the door with a purposeful stride, pausing only to retrieve his cloak. I watched as he went, tracking every step, but the firm hands of the Feldjäger MPs on my shoulders prevented me from taking any irrational action. The door flew open and a mix of wind and snow invaded our ramshackle courtroom. The guards slammed the door shut behind the traitor and after a few moments of paper shuffling on the dais I heard the sound of a VTOL jet engine light up in the distance, no doubt a small aircraft lifting off and then screaming away from our desolate base. Tralfane was gone, but he was still alive, and that gave me hope, or at least something to focus on. Nothing drives a man like revenge.

  The rest of the day was taken up with a steady stream of “witnesses,” though none as dramatic as Tralfane, most of them explaining technical details about the attack, my attempted rescue, and even a viewing of the visual record of my assault on Impulse’s Historian. It was something he no doubt would have had access to from the yacht, and it conveniently had no sound, leaving the whole incident without context. In reality the only witnesses alive were myself, the rogue Historian, and Jenny Hogan, Wesley’s niece and the sole survivor from Impulse after her piracy by Tralfane. I had talked to Jenny soon after the incident, and she remembered nothing of value, no doubt due to an intentional act of memory wiping before she was left aboard the dreadnought as a “calling card” to the Union.

  By the end of the day it was looking grim for me, especially since they were treating me as an agent of a foreign government. Dobrina, though, was faring better, her reputation only sullied by her alleged dalliance with me.

  I was sanguine about it all, no doubt in denial about the depth of my real troubles. After a brief rest I was fed dinner as the early winter night closed in, a beef stew with potatoes and a few sparse vegetables. As I ate at my small wood table, under the steady gaze of my ever-present Feldjäger guards, I sifted through the day’s events in my mind. The most important, I thought, being the sound of the VTOL plane departing. If there were more of those planes at the base, then the prospect of escape was at least minimally available. But I had heard nothing before or since the plane’s departure to indicate that there were any other operational aircraft at this base. In fact, only the few officers and military police units I had seen seemed to be present. It was discouraging.

  As I poked at my stew, wondering where my appetite had gone, there was a quick knock at the door. The guards each took a step to the side and the door opened out to reveal the hallway and another guard, along with an unexpected sight, Captain Dobrina Kierkopf. They ushered her in and placed a second chair opposite me, along with another bowl of stew, some water in a cup, and a spoon. She sat silently, grim-faced, staring at her food and glancing over her shoulder as the guards left and then shut the door behind them. They were at least being minimally kind, allowing us to see each other. I tried my best to smile.

  “Well, this is an unexpected pleasure,” I said, trying to be as light as possible.

  “One last meal together, I suppose?” she replied. I nodded.

  “I highly doubt our keepers are truly allowing us to eat in private,” I said, “but the illusion is nice.”

  I watched as she picked up her spoon in resignation and scooped small bits of food into her mouth.

  “You have to eat,” I said. “You need to be strong.” She looked up at me, then ate a bit more.

  “Any chance of escape?” she whispered between bites. I shook my head, then looked to the single, tiny, barred window to the room and the dark, snowy skies beyond.

  “I doubt that’s possible. This base seems abandoned except for us and our captors. It was likely planned this way, pure isolation. If we escape, we’ll freeze in the snow. And there seems to be very little equipment here of note.”

  “Which means what?” she whispered again.

  “Which means everyone here and all the supplies were flown in just for this trial, and then the planes left. We’re alone here, and that’s likely the way our captors planned it,” I said.

  “For what purpose?”

  I looked up from my stew.

  “It seems, to blame me for Impulse, to set me up as a criminal. Use my crimes and punishment as a political tool to break up the Union.”

  Dobrina slapped her spoon down hard on the table. “They can’t,” she said, loud and more than a little angry. I shrugged.

  “It seems like a done deal,” I replied, “and you still need to eat.” I pushed the bowl closer to her.

  “I’m not interested in eating.” At that she got up and started pacing. I watched her for a minute, then got up and joined her. She stopped at the window and I came up behind her, putting my arms around her waist.

  “This is my problem, Dobrina,” I said softly. “They seem willing to go easy on you, you still seem to have value to them, but I doubt they will let you return to the Union Navy. You have to accept that.”

  “I won’t,” she said with anger, then pulled away and walked the short distance across the tiny room again. Finally she sat on my bed, her eyes darting across the floor like she was trying to drill a hole in it. After a moment I came and sat down next to her.

  “You can’t change this, Dobrina. You have to accept it. Take whatever they offer, but inside, keep fighting.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Liar. They’re going to execute you.” I contemplated that for long moment.

  “That’s a distinct possibility,” I had to admit. Absently I touched the tracker in my left arm, hoping that my being a no-show in the capital had set off some alarm bells through the system. If not . . .

  “You do what I told you, understood?” I said, putting my arm around her and giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. Then I guided her back to the table and her stew. She sat down reluctantly, but she sat. I went to the other side and finished my paltry portion, washing it down with the last of my water. Then we sat together in silence, with only the howl of the wind as company.

  “Tell me it will be all right,” she finally said, reaching out a hand to me. I took it.

  “I think it will be, for you,” I said, not really sure if it would or not. I took a deep breath then and sighed before looking into her eyes one more time.

  “As for me, it seems I’ll be needing a miracle.”

  We were back in the courtroom at 0700 hours the next morning. I had hardly slept, my mind whirling with thoughts and fears and anxieties about the court outcome and my impending punishment. Despite Dobrina’s continued presence, I felt very much alone.

  After about ninety minutes of additional “testimony” in the morning session, Commack finally nodded, half-heartedly, in my direction.

  “The accused may make a statement,” he said. I sat absolutely still. I hadn’t planned this, but my intuition told me my only chance would be to attack. After a few long moments, Commack finally looked at me and made direct eye contact for the first time. “The prisoner
has a right of statement, which you will yield in another five seconds if you do not comply,” he said sharply. At this I stood slowly before speaking to the court.

  “This case presented here is a sham, a contrived collection of non-facts and outright lies. Principal of these are the statements of Impulse’s Historian, Tralfane. The incident you saw between he and I on the bridge of Impulse occurred because he was unwilling to allow a rescue operation for Captain Zander, Ensign Poulsen, whose death I am accused of causing, and Commander Kierkopf. I was determined to mount such a rescue mission because I refused to allow my comrades to die in the cold of space. I think it likely that if Mr. Tralfane had allowed me to act as I initially intended, Claus Poulsen might have survived. Instead, Tralfane attempted to deter me at every turn, and the result was a delay which caused the loss of my friend and personal adjutant, and for that I am truly sorry,” I said the last in the direction of Karl Poulsen. He did not acknowledge me, but he stopped taking notes and Dobrina leaned in to whisper in his ear. He nodded very slightly at this. I continued.

  “In addition, it was solely Historian Tralfane who commandeered Impulse and took her to her demise. Virtually every detail he presented to this court was a lie. Impulse was in fighting shape when I left her in his hands, and her hyperdimensional drives were in no danger of collapsing. I admit to leaving my post, but as acting captain in Captain Zander’s absence it was within my purview to mount a rescue mission personally, and since I had trained for one and prepared for one, I considered it to be a low-risk operation. No one was better prepared for such a mission than I was, and I believed I was leaving Impulse and her crew in safe hands.”

  “Two minutes,” interrupted Commack. I continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

  “The charges against me are a farce, but even more so are the charges against Captain Kierkopf. She is a loyal Carinthian officer and a leader in the Union Navy. No doubt she will have a distinguished career in either service. To hold her responsible for the events of the Impulse rescue mission would be unethical of this court.

  “Lastly,” I said, “this court must consider one other question.” At this I looked to each of the tribunal members in turn. None of them looked back at me. “The unjust execution of a royal son of Quantar will bring war on Carinthia. War on your families, your children and your homes. Is this truly what you seek? Or are there other agendas at work here, and are you willing to sacrifice everything to serve those agendas?”

  At this Commack pounded the gavel a dozen times. “The accused’s right of statement has expired. This tribunal will adjourn to deliberate. All members of the court must stay in the courtroom,” he said. With that the three admirals trundled off. I hoped that my last warning had some impact, if not on Commack, then at least on the other two. It was a slim hope.

  After a few minutes Dobrina was allowed to get up. She came over to my table, accompanied by two guards. I stood to greet her, the table between us.

  “Brave words. Trying to protect me again?” she asked. I shrugged and gave her a half smile.

  “I did what I thought was best for you,” I said. “It appears they are willing to be lenient on you, for whatever reason. I just wanted to give them more reasons to do so.”

  She sighed. “They want what I have, the information in my head. That’s my only worth to them.”

  At that the doors opened and the flag officers came back in, led by Commack. Dobrina was ushered back to her table. After a minute of shuffling papers and official-sounding mumbling between the judges, Commack pounded the gavel three times.

  “Captain Dobrina Kierkopf, please stand,” he said. She did, as did Karl Poulsen next to her.

  “This tribunal finds you innocent of dereliction of duty charges in regards to the Impulse incident,” he said. That was the most serious charge. I comforted myself that at least she would likely avoid any prison sentence. “However, we do find you in contempt of the Carinthian Navy codes against fraternization with an agent of a foreign government. Your close relationship with Mr. Cochrane is a black mark on your record. Although this violation occurred in your service in the Union Navy, the oath you swore first to Carinthia takes precedence.” Legally, they couldn’t really do that, but then nothing in this court had the air of legality about it.

  Commack shuffled his papers again. “As to the penalty for this violation, your commission in the Union Navy is hereby revoked, and you are to be reduced in rank back to commander. Your post will be transferred to High Station One where you will be a staff officer until a suitable post on an active navy vessel can be assigned to you. Do you understand this tribunal’s ruling?” he said, looking directly at her. Basically, they were kidnapping her. I felt great relief though. At least she would be safe, for the moment.

  She addressed the tribunal. “I understand the ruling but I do not agree,” she said sharply. My heart raced. She was getting out with her life and her career intact. “I am a Union Navy off—” she started until Commack’s pounding of the gavel drowned out her voice and she stopped speaking.

  “This tribunal’s judgment is final,” stated Commack. With assistance from the ever-present guards she was pressed back into her seat. She glanced at me but I gave her no hint of my own emotions. Commack turned to me.

  “Mr. Cochrane,” he said, “please stand.”

  “I will not,” I said defiantly. “To do so would give this court respect which it does not deserve.”

  Commack merely nodded and my Feldjäger keepers “assisted” me to my feet. Commack then started in. “Mr. Cochrane, you are found guilty on all charges. It is you who this court holds responsible for the death of Claus Poulsen aboard the shuttle. It is you this court holds responsible for the destruction of Impulse and the loss of her crew. These actions in and of themselves would be grounds for your execution, but the fact that you are in addition to all of this an agent of our ancient and sworn enemies, the Cochrane family of Quantar, this demands swift and careful justice. You are sentenced to be executed by firing squad. You have one hour to consider your guilt before your execution takes place.”

  “No . . .” cried out Dobrina. The guards swiftly handcuffed me and took me under the arms, lifting me as they started me toward the door. I couldn’t see her, so I shouted over my shoulder, “It will be all right,” even though I knew that was a lie. In front of me the door was kicked open and I was dragged into the bitter winter’s day. Behind me I heard Commack slam down the gavel and adjourn the tribunal. I could hear Dobrina weeping, but there was nothing I could do. I looked up into the dim gray sky as tight, dry snowflakes fell stinging on my face.

  I would need that miracle after all.

  The drone of the transport VTOL planes landing at the airstrip came fifteen minutes before my scheduled execution. They were no doubt called in the moment my conviction was finalized. From their sound they were clearly larger than the personal craft I had heard Tralfane depart in earlier. It was also clear this entire court would be hustled away from the airbase and vanish as quickly as they had come once the deed was done.

  I tried to control my breathing, but found I couldn’t. The shivering I was experiencing back in my tiny shack wasn’t only due to the cold. As I contemplated my circumstances, I was riddled with anxiety. I felt totally alone. There seemed very little that could save me now.

  My ever-present Feldjäger escorts knocked promptly at five minutes to the hour. I was cuffed again and led out into the cold winter day. The snow was as unceasing as my trembling. There was a small contingent of five MPs standing in line as I was led down a short path to a single metal pole standing between two old and battered buildings. None of the court participants were there, not even Commack, though I had no doubt they were watching from the safety of the adjoining buildings. There was no sign of Dobrina or Karl Poulsen either. The duty captain said nothing to me as I went past the firing squad, the MPs dragging me to the pole, then turning me and unlocking
one of my cuffs before swiftly reattaching it around the pole behind me. My heart was pounding and my head filled with the sound of the wind, some from the cold winter weather, some from the burning engines of three VTOL transports on the airfield tarmac, and some no doubt from my own blood rushing through my veins. I stared down my firing squad as they took their positions, coil rifles at the side. The squad captain gave his first order, in German.

  “Bereit!”

  They raised their weapons to their shoulders, aiming them at me.

  “Aufladung!”

  They charged their weapons. I waited an eternity, blinking bleary eyed into the wind while the old-style single shooters filled their firing chambers with oxidized ion gas. My thoughts turned to Dobrina, and Derrick, my father and mother, all swirling through my mind in a flurry of confusing emotion. I couldn’t believe my life was about to end.

  The squad captain drew and then raised his ceremonial sword. I refused to look away. I couldn’t. These could be my last moments alive.

  The sound of rushing in my ears suddenly accelerated, I assumed from my pounding heart, fighting for its last beats in this reality. I closed my eyes and turned my head away, holding my breath, waiting for the final blow, the blast from the coil rifles. It didn’t come. Instead, I heard a roar coming from the tarmac. I opened my eyes again to see one of the VTOL transports rising behind the shooters.

  As the squad captain prepared to lower his sword a blinding flash of orange light impacted just behind the firing squad, sending them all scrambling for cover. A single firing squad man’s rifle misfired and a shot of coil laser energy singed the air over my left shoulder as I instinctively ducked away. I went into a crouch, or as close to one as I could get to chained to a pole.

  The squad captain started shouting orders in German as confusion broke loose around me; Feldjäger came scrambling out of the buildings, running past me with their weapons drawn. Soldiers in winter camouflage broke from behind the VTOL transports and started firing at the Feldjäger. The VTOL itself hovered up to about twenty meters and started slowly advancing toward me, firing coil and incendiary rounds at anything that moved, quickly taking out an electronics shack and a communications tower as it came. I turned my attention to the squad captain. He had gathered himself as his firing squad had scattered, and now his attention was on me. He came toward me, ceremonial sword drawn. I rose to my feet from the crouch as he started toward me at a full run. He raised his sword to strike and I leaned back against the pole, using my leverage to raise both of my legs and kick him in the midsection as he came, sending him tumbling off to my left. He got up quickly and with a low growl charged at me from the side. I was in no position to defend myself further.