The Szuiltan Alliance (The Szuiltan Trilogy) Page 7

  Leader Carlton paced the floor of his private cabin. He had taken the call from the Earth Controller just minutes earlier, realising that a direct communication indicated a seriousness that it would have been foolish to ignore.

  He spoke to the empty room, his voice detected and transmitted by the communicator inlaid in the desk to one side of him.

  "This raid was in direct violation of our agreement." His voice held no anger, just deep sadness. So many complications. Why couldn't everything run smoothly for once?

  "It was done without my authorisation." The Controller's voice emanated from speakers set into the walls of the cabin. "My High Priest allowed his religious fervour, rather than his common sense, dictate his actions."

  "All priests are dangerous in this. I don't have a religious advisor. Perhaps you should consider your own need for one?"

  "My Government and my Administration are no concern of yours Leader. I did not ask to speak to you so you could lecture me on the difference in our ways."

  The soft crackling of static filled the room as the Leader paused, wiping a hand over his tired face.

  "Aksians have died needlessly." It was an accusation, not a simple statement, and was recognised as such by the Controller.

  "Most such deaths are needless, that's why we need this treaty. We shouldn't allow this incident to threaten that."

  "My people will demand revenge, or at the very least justice." Leader Carlton spoke the words harshly. He felt surprisingly devoid of emotion over this incident but he could not allow that to be detected in his voice.

  "I cannot discipline the soldiers for following their orders, and Loadra is already aware of the wrongness of his actions." There was a pause. "I would hope you have enough control to suppress any thoughts of revenge."

  "I have control," the Leader snapped, his voice rising in genuine anger for the first time during the call. "It's you who don't seem to have control over those under you."

  "I apologise," said the Controller, his voice calm and soothing. "Please forgive my indelicate words. I simply wished to express my concern that we both keep a tight control on this situation. It must not be allowed to escalate."

  The Leader calmed himself, understanding the need for quiet diplomacy at such a politically delicate time.

  "I agree. Whatever happens, the treaty must be signed, for all our futures."

  He flicked the communicator 'off' without any of the traditional farewells that protocol demanded, letting the Controller know of his deep anger at the situation. In truth, he felt more sadness than anger, sadness at the complications that continually rose to block the path to peace, sadness at the misplaced energies and loyalties that caused those complications, sadness at the credibility this incident would give to those who opposed the treaty, their arguments seemingly supported by the actions of the hated enemy.

  Mayor Lane, the second most powerful man in Aksian politics, would find much to crow about in all this.

  Carlton was a believer, a faithful follower of the Larnian faith. His belief permeated his everyday life, influenced his decisions, his actions. He prayed regularly and with real passion. He read the scriptures and he believed what he read. But all of this was tempered by an intellectual, analytical mind. While he believed, he did not consider that this belief should be static or closed to new ideas. While he prayed, he knew that much of the benefit of prayer came from its therapeutic actions on the believer's own mind. While he read the scriptures, he accepted them for what they truly were, allegories, parables, stories to pass on the truth of a message rather than a factual history as historians might compose today. His belief was strong, but it was not blind.

  Mayor Lane, however, was evangelical, fanatic, an intellectual man who seemed to lose all reason when matters concerning his faith arose. His belief was in the traditional Larnian way and gave no credence to new ideas or theories. His prayer was, he believed, a direct conversation with Larn. Carlton suspected he even heard voices answering him. His reading of the scriptures was as actual events, real history. The underlying message was lost in the simple acceptance of the words as they read.

  The Mayor was not alone in this belief, this approach to his religion. There were many on Aks like him, many who had a hatred so deep of the blasphemous Earth that it blinded them to the disaster that would inevitably occur should a treaty not be signed. Many such people were in positions of power, their single-minded, simple-minded vision making them ideal for a life in politics or the military. They spoke with such passion that people were swayed to agree with them even if, later, in the contemplative quiet of their own homes, they came to a realisation that they disagreed. By then it was too late, the vote had been cast, the debate won, the position filled.

  Carlton sat at his desk and gently swivelled the chair back and forth. There would be difficult times ahead for his Administration and, more importantly, for the treaty and the future of both Earth and Aks. It was not that this one incident was so terrible, tragic though it was, but rather that it would inflame the arguments and hatreds that already existed at home and, he suspected, among his entourage here. Debates that had been won, wounds that had been soothed, if not healed, would open again. But by then it would be too late. The treaty would be signed. Nothing could prevent that. He was bound by his word and his honour to deliver this treaty to the people of Aks, and he would complete his duty. All their futures depended on it.

  Chapter 16

  Martin was led into the office by one of the Controller's bodyguards, the Military Police having been dismissed by Loadra. The High Priest now stood to one side of the Controller and three steps back, the designated place for an advisor of his stature. Martin jumped nervously as the door slid shut behind the leaving bodyguard.

  The room was luxurious in comparison to the cabin he had shared with other officers before his arrest. There was real carpet on the floor, dampening the constant vibration of the ship's engines, and the furnishings were plush and had the look of comfort about them. He felt suddenly scruffy and dirty, aware that the crumpled uniform he stood in was the same uniform he had worn for several days, aware that his military boots were still encrusted with dried mud from Milos IV, aware that he had not combed his hair, brushed his teeth, shaved. They had allowed him to wash in the brig, if splashing your face with freezing water could be called a wash, but all else had been denied. He suspected he stank, but if he did, his own senses had become acclimatised to it.

  No one else in the room seemed concerned by his appearance or his hygiene and he tried to push it from his thoughts, but it clung resolutely. Any ideas of confidently challenging the accusations he expected were now destroyed by the damaging self-image forefront in his mind. He suspected that was the intention.

  He fixed an unsure gaze on the figure seated in the chair behind the large desk opposite. He had seen the Controller before, of course, but he had never met him in person. The absurd thought that he was shorter and fatter than he seemed on the news reports pushed maliciously into his mind. He thrust it aside. His situation was too serious for such frivolous concerns.

  When the Controller spoke, however, it was with a voice Martin recognised, a voice full of confidence and command. There was no media illusion worked on the voice.

  "Lieutenant Lichfield, tell me about Milos IV."

  Martin swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He tried to speak, but at first his words came out broken and indistinguishable. He coughed, clearing his throat, and began again.

  "My Unit received orders that we were to attack and destroy an Aksian listening post on the planet of Milos IV."

  "Were you given any precise instruction on how to attack and destroy this place?"

  Martin hesitated as the words of his Commander came floating back into his mind.

  "'Quick in. Quick out. No mercy. No time for sightseeing or evaluation. If it moves, kill it.'" He repeated the words exactly as he had heard them, even down to the inflection and emphasis.

  "So..." the Controller s
teepled his fingers thoughtfully to his lips, "you were given a direct order to kill everyone, is that correct?"

  "Yes sir." Martin's voice shook as he spoke, despite his best efforts to control it. He knew he was guilty. They knew he was guilty. Why were they prolonging the inevitable this way? Why the questions? Did they need him to confirm his guilt by his own words? If so, why didn't they just ask him if he was guilty? He would say 'yes' immediately.

  The Controller leaned back in his chair and sighed. Martin had the impression that even Loadra was uncomfortable with the Controller's approach to this matter, although the High Priest did not move from his position.

  "Tell me about the girl, the Aksian girl."

  Martin closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the scene, shuddering at the clarity of his memories.

  "I found her in the rubble of the listening post after the initial firefight. She was young, maybe fourteen, fifteen at the most. She was dying. Her leg had gone. She had a stomach wound that would kill her in, perhaps, ten minutes at the most. I raised my weapon to finish her off..."

  "As you had been ordered."

  Martin stumbled over his words, hesitated, and then continued.

  "...as I had been ordered, yes. But I couldn't pull the trigger."

  "Why not? You had been ordered to kill everyone had you not?" The Controller snapped his words, the loudness making Martin jump.

  "Yes, but I..."

  "You had received a direct order to kill every Aksian on Milos IV and yet you hesitated to kill this girl. Why?"

  The Controller was standing now, leaning on the desk, glaring at Martin.

  A faint smile creased Loadra's face. He had been unsure how the Controller would handle this, unsure even as the Controller had begun to speak, but now his faith was restored. This was the Controller of old, a fierce, demanding Controller who would suffer no disobedience, no laxity in the following of his rules and those of his appointed officers.

  Martin said nothing for a moment, perspiration running down his face and his spine, pooling uncomfortably at the waistline of his uniform trousers. He trembled slightly, struggling to gain control of the muscles responsible. He knew that it didn't really matter how he answered the question, his guilt was already proven, but it was important to him that he told the truth. Important that he did not misrepresent his own beliefs and thoughts. When he spoke, his voice cracked and stuttered with the strain, but he spoke loudly and slowly and, above all, with certainty in his words.

  "She was young. She was no threat. It seemed pathetic and cruel to take such a life in cold blood."

  "She was Aksian!" shouted the Controller.

  Martin calmed himself, forced himself to stare straight at the Controller.

  "She was human," he replied.

  The Controller said nothing, sitting slowly back down into his chair. For several seconds there was complete silence in the room. Martin began to gently sway with the effort of standing to attention for so long. Even Loadra began to look slightly uncomfortable. Only the Controller seemed relaxed as he rocked back and forth in his chair.

  "Lieutenant Lichfield," said the Controller, his voice calm and so quiet that Martin had to strain to hear it. "You are accused of mutiny. What is your answer to that?"

  "My understanding of mutiny, as it applies to the military," said Martin, falling easily into the manner of his academic days, "is a traitorous action against yourself or your government. My action, or my inaction, was contrary to an order from my Commander..."

  "But your Commander was my representative, surely?" interrupted the Controller.

  Martin barely paused, the resignation to his fate calming him, taking him through fear to a point of no concern that bordered on confidence.

  "Nevertheless, what I did was in no way a threat to either yourself or your government or, for that matter, the immediate mission I had been sent on. The girl was almost dead and posed no threat. I saw no reason for me to be the instrument of an earlier death."

  "And what is your feeling towards the Trailbreaker who pulled the trigger?"

  "She was doing her job as she saw fit. I have no complaint against her. She is what she was trained to be."

  The Controller smiled, an expression that was disconcerting in the current context.

  "You speak very eruditely. Were you an academic?"

  Martin was slightly taken aback by the question but answered swiftly.

  "Yes, before I was conscripted into the military."

  The Controller studied some paper on the desk before him.

  "Tell me, Lieutenant Lichfield, why is it that, after such an outstanding tour of duty in the Terramarine Corp., you risk everything now? Was this one Aksian girl worth wiping out all your earlier achievements?"

  Martin took a deep breath and spoke the words that he was certain would seal his fate and send him to the executioner.

  "I am tired of all the unnecessary killing."

  "So am I, Lieutenant." The Controller's voice was soft and sad. "So am I."

  Loadra was visibly shocked but quickly regained his composure. It was unthinkable that the Controller should utter such words in the presence of a junior officer, particularly one accused of mutiny.

  Martin, expecting anything other than the Controller agreeing with him, was confused and no longer certain where this audience was leading.

  The Controller did not speak again for almost a full minute, the silence growing heavier with each passing second, the uncertainty now felt by both Loadra and Martin filling the room with the faint odour of nervousness and a terrible excitement.

  "I agree that you are not guilty of mutiny, Lieutenant."

  For a moment Loadra seemed about to interrupt, but a glance from the Controller stopped any action by the High Priest.

  "However, I can’t send you back to the Terramarines. Your position as an officer has been fatally undermined and to return you with a demotion would be condemning you to a life of misery and perhaps even an accidental death. It has happened before. So, what am I to do with you?"

  There was another pause and Martin struggled in vain to anticipate the Controller's next words, words that would spell out his future, at least for the short term.

  "I have a proposition for you Lieutenant. I can see by your military record that you are a good soldier, perhaps even an exceptional one. I have need for soldiers like you in my personal bodyguard."

  Loadra said nothing, but inside he fumed. This was going too far! Everyone in any position of importance knew that it was he, Loadra, who had ordered the raid on Milos IV, and that it was also he who had ordered the arrest of this Lichfield on charges of mutiny. For the Controller to offer him a place in his personal bodyguard was an insult to the High Priest, but an annoyingly subtle one. The insult was implicit in the offer, but on record it did not exist.

  Martin was confused. He knew he had been saved from execution, but he was not sure why. He also knew that he could not refuse the offer, there was no choice in this, and, indeed, he was happy to do so. He had been ready for death. To be offered not only life but an obvious and public promotion was, to say the least, incredible.

  Only the Controller seemed calm and unworried. This was of his engineering and he was pleased with the situation. He knew that Loadra was angry, that was to be expected, but the High Priest had also been left in no doubt as to the Controller's equal anger at his unsanctioned actions in ordering the raid on Milos IV. As for Lichfield? The man was a good soldier, he hadn't lied in that, and he would no doubt do well in the bodyguard. Other than that, the Controller had no interest and no feeling for the man. What he had done was foolish and unforgivable in military terms, and the only reason he was not now heading for his death was that it suited the Controller's plans to keep him alive as a constant and living reminder of his dissatisfaction with Loadra.

  He dismissed the High Priest and the Lieutenant with a wave of his hand. There were more important matters to concern him now. The Treaty was fast approaching. It would n
ot be long before the fleet reached its destination. He had much to prepare.

  Chapter 17

  The Seven Deadly Sins shuddered, seemed almost to cough, and lifted slowly away from the great launching gantry it had rested on for the past hour. As it tilted into its angle of ascent, the main motors kicked into action and it rumbled towards the stars.

  Jack Holt watched the spaceport buildings shrink beneath him. Ghost-like flashes across the viewing screen and they were through the clouds. Smiling, leaning back in the co-pilot’s seat, he enjoyed the adrenaline rush, the excitement of knowing he was back in action, an active field agent of the Trading Inner Council. It had been a long, frustrating time.

  "Feeling homesick already?"

  Steve Drake entered the control room drying his face and upper body with an old towel. He wore nothing save a pair of dark blue shorts. His feet slapped wetly on the floor.

  Jack laughed. "You took a shower while we launched?"

  "There's nothing else to do,” shrugged Steve. “The computer takes care of the ship."

  "What if there had been an emergency?"

  "You're here aren't you? If you're coming along on this trip I'm going to take every advantage of the extra hands."

  He threw the wet towel towards the washing portal where the intake tube sucked it into the bowels of the ship's automated laundry.

  "I just wish the air-dryer thing worked. It's so inconvenient and long-winded and old to use a towel."

  He sat himself in the pilot's seat, pushed it into 'recline' position and closed his eyes.

  "Tell me a bit more about this Szuilta we're going to."

  Jack smiled. One of the most comforting and reassuring things about having Steve Drake as a friend was how little he had changed over the years. He never bothered to read the detailed information supplied before a trading mission left Sellit.