Chapter 47
Jim Vassilakos
“I am so terribly sorry, your Grace.” My mouth tasted like dinner but marinated in stomach acid. “I’m terribly sorry…”
«I should have warned you, sir. Brain rapes often result in convulsive vomiting, but usually more for the subject than the psion. It’s probably due to your lack of training. Uh-oh, I think he’s gonna…»
“Blarrrgh!”
The funny thing about vomiting is that it’s a bit like yawning. I’d just gone blowy all over him, and now it was apparently his turn to go blowy all over me. I couldn’t tell if it was his reaction to me mucking around in his head or simply a vomit reflex caused by my own reaction to what I’d learned having just spent some time there.
“I don’t know what sort of drink you made me, young man,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “but whatever it was, I want the recipe.”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
I winced at his sincerity. He really did want the recipe, as he assumed the interruption in his short term memory had been caused by whatever intoxicant I’d given him, but then he touched his face, remembering my hand there when he’d opened his eyes, and he remembered I was a psion.
“Would you like to visit Medical, Your Grace?”
“Medical? Is that what you advise?”
I shrugged. I certainly wasn’t going to. I was probably leaking psi traces all over the place. I noticed a cleaning bot roll in and tried to remember if they automatically logged a report to Medical in case there was the possibility of a pathogen becoming communicable. That sounded like the Navy.
«Josafeen! Help!»
I gave in. I was hopelessly out of my depths and needed to take an entirely different plot here. It was too new, too powerful, and I did not understand what I was doing. I admitted, possibly, I had made things worse for myself.
“One question before I forget,” the Canon said. “Why were you touching my face?”
“He was picking your nose,” Josefeen replied.
“Picking my nose?”
“Well, you picked his.”
“I did?”
“The Captain tried telling you that you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose, but you begged to differ.”
“Ah,” the Canon nodded, clearly befuddled.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Josefeen continued. “You two were having one of those male-bonding moments. It was actually quite beautiful.”
The Canon smiled, and I was in awe.
«You are the absolute Queen of Crap.»
«Thank you, sir.» “I think we’ll need to wash your robes, Your Grace.”
She stepped around to the back of his chair, took the hypo-gun out of her pocket, and pressed it to the back of his neck. Nighty-night, Your Grace, she thought to herself as she pulled the trigger. A moment later, he was slumping over into my arms.
There was glint in her eyes as she leaned in, hand on one knee.
«Ready to learn the ways of the succubus?»
Jim Vassilakos
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fRwreknbpz6IVo_-vOzqlABkaMrFMCCO/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=113687616933633107445&rtpof=true&sd=true
PLEASE REMEMBER to change "EDITING" to "SUGGESTING" (near the upper right-hand corner) before doing any edits.
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
Conrad Rader
Advancing the timeline sounds like a good idea. I'm a bit busy, but I'll work on it this weekend. One question though regarding the Canon. Going into his head to do memory removal will likely create a bit of a mess, and so he'll be disoriented when he wakes up. Do you want to keep him on the ship, and if so, where do you want to stow him? Medical is an option, of course, although who knows what Dr. Willin will figure out. Or you could put him on a shuttle bound for the surface under personal military escort, assigning someone to make sure he gets home okay. If you want to see how he's doing/recuperating, it'd be preferable to keep him on board, but if you want to get him out of your hair, obviously the second option would be the way to go.
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Jim Vassilakos
I had a theory about the vomit.
«No.» Josefeen shook her head. «It had nothing to do with morality or your sense of honor.» My thoughts and feelings had been intertwined with the Canon’s, and, as far as Josefeen could tell, I simply preempted him for lack of experience with vertigo. «You aren’t as used to having your brain scrambled as he is.» I’d yanked out his memory, just pulled it out like a weed, the first among many. Technically, they were still there, but I rendered them inaccessible. Hopefully they'd emerge only in fragments or in dream. This was what Josefeen was taught at the psionic academy, and our minds were still linked, so for the moment, at least, it all made sense. «Partial mind-wipes are often accompanied with anxiety, paranoia, dizziness, and a general sense of unease.»
Partial? Did that mean there was such a thing as a non-partial mind-wipe?
Josefeen’s eyebrow arched ever so slightly. «We call it brain-rape and skull-fucking for a reason.»
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, looking at the Canon, snoring softly in my gravbed.
«I don’t know,» she silently replied.
“You don’t know?”
«We literally did psychic brain surgery, Gus, so, yeah, I don’t know what he’s going to be like when he wakes up.»
Again, I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t want this. But I’d had no choice.
We couldn’t let him go walking about with the knowledge that the Eye of God was in the Imperial Navy’s possession. Fortunately, his desire to touch it as well as his trust in me led him to seek my favor — me of all people — but it was a risk I couldn’t take. If what I’d done to his brain over the past few hours was so brutal as to change his entire personality, what might have happened if I’d allowed him to touch the psi orb?
«It would have fried him, and he would have gone mad… even more mad than he already is, which, unfortunately, is saying something.»
“I’ll be fine,” the Canon mumbled. “I’m fine.” He reached up his hands and rubbed his eyes. “Where am I?” he asked, blinking, and then he stared at me.
“Do I know you?”
“Yes.” I tried to smile.
“Captain Plankwell is a difficult man to drink under the table, Your Grace,” Josefeen said, “but we were delighted you tried.”
“Oh….” he winced. “Son, unless you have a cast iron liver, I would strongly recommend you go find a medical clinic and get your blood filtered.”
“Your Grace, can you walk?” Josefeen asked.
“Of course, I can walk.”
He could, although not terribly well. I winced as he left my quarters, Josefeen promising to escort him to the nearest shuttle and arrange for his safe conduct back to Jewell. “And by the way, Captain,” she said on the way out, “happy birthday.”
I glanced at the clock. “03:25” glared back at me. I stripped — mostly, anyway — and practically fell into bed.
<Beep> <Beep> <Beep>
My eyes snapped open, and as I glanced at the clock — it was already zero-six-hundred — there was the briefest flash I’d been in a dream. “You’re going to have to vait,” someone was saying. Nizlich? But it was already gone, evaporating so fast I couldn’t hold onto any more details. The bed’s built-in alarm clock, meanwhile, was giving me a headache, or perhaps I’d already had one while I’d been sleeping. I stabbed at the cancel button with my finger but somehow missed it, not once but twice, and finally resorted to yelling — “Jacky! Cancel alarm!” — adding another layer of pain to my apparent hangover.
Blessed silence filled my cabin, and I lay there, wondering why I’d stripped off only the bottom half of my uniform. I picked at the little holes where the stunner's barbs had hit me. Next time I’d spring for the mendware option. It could self-repair little things like this. Bullet holes too, although I supposed if I was perforated with bullets, the long-term condition of my uniform would be the least of my worries.
As I forced myself to get up, impressions of the previous evening still scampered through my consciousness. What Josefeen had called the ways of the succubus basically amounted to taking advantage of a sleeping victim. Watching her take control of the situation and seeing how little his mind meant to her, I began to realize all the rumors I’d heard about Naval Intelligence had been more truth than fiction. Crossing them or her would no doubt be, at best, career suicide. I’d apparently been given some latitude due to my recent activation, but I could imagine that might not last much longer, particularly if I gave them any resistance or became troublesome.
An image of the Canon giving a little baggie of snacks to Lt. Shepherd flashed to mind.
I sighed and pulled up my schedule and message queue.
There was a priority text from Martinsen, my chief engineer: “Are we still committed to launching in 2 days?” And my first meeting of the day was with Lt. Francine Sidara, ship’s counsel. After that, I wanted to do a review of our transferred spacers and decide the extent of their administrative punishment. But first I had to deal with this blinking item, a priority voice message from Nizlich.
I tapped it.
“Sir, I’m sorry if there’s been some misunderstanding on my part, but there’s a team here from General Products. They insist they’re authorized to replace the Exploration Pod, but sir, if I let them go ahead, this vill obviously conflict vith our departure timetable. Swapping pods takes considerable time. Again, sir, I’m sorry if there’s been a mistake on my part, but I need you to tell me vhat you vant done.”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
Oh, right. The damn pod.
And having to meet with the ship’s lawyer wasn’t exactly the birthday present I’d been hoping for. No doubt, there would be some sort of inquest relating to the interdiction. Sometimes you ride the bureaucracy wave, and sometimes you get swept beneath it.
“Jacky, record for Nizlich.”
I took a moment to try and order my thoughts. Nope, I was going to need some painkillers and maybe a few stimulants to be effective. But then, of course, I’d have to explain myself to Dr. Willin.
No thanks.
“Commander, I apologize for the confusion. Give GP whatever they need to get started, and file an amended departure plan. I half-expected GP not to be ready to start, and we could have scored a non-compliance on the contract. But they are here, and we still need the pod. Make the amendment, match the expected replacement time for the pod, and give them full expedited access. Accelerate anything remaining that can be expedited while in dock. We are the Navy, and we can change our minds when we frelling feel like it. Plankwell out.”
I went back to bed and closed my eyes, wondering about the derring-do and exploits of all the fictional Navy Captains I’d seen on the three-vee growing up, all of that ripping of shirts and wooing of local ladies. None of those shows ever depicted the hours spent filling out forms, approvals, and the various minutiae of the administrative side of a captain’s life, like when you make impulsive decisions that need to be walked back later to keep even great chaos from forming. I half wanted a Zhodani deep strike to occur so that I would have a better reason to pull in the ropes and power off into the dark.
Be careful what you wish for, a soft voice whispered somewhere within my mind.
«Josefeen, is that you?»
But there was no response. I’d been dozing. It was a dream. Nothing more.
I pulled myself up and stumbled towards the fresher, hoping a shower would get me going. Time to get a new day started. And it’s my birthday! Joy!
In the shower, I couldn’t help wondering at what point even my internal thoughts had turned sarcastic.
* * *
“Captain,” Lt. Sidara said as she entered. Don’t salute. He doesn’t like salutes.
“Have a seat.” I motioned toward the chair Reggie had been in when I more or less took scissors to his brain.
“There are a few items on the agenda,” she said, sitting down, “so what would you like to tackle first?”
An image of me flashed through her mind: me and the Snuka grappling in the Marine Pod's gym. That and the image of me standing in front of her, all flushed and sweaty, had been ping-ponging back and forth between her ears the previous night while she’d stayed up late prepping for this meeting. Likewise, she'd kept replaying a soundbite of me telling her to make an appointment through normal channels. That whole bit about how I would “be sure to give your concern the appropriate attention at the appropriate time” struck her as particularly noteworthy, given that I had just declared Martial Law a few hours previously. But then there was my final dismount: “As you were, unless you’d like to see me pummeled some more.” Rash yet self-deprecating, she’d written in her notes, wondering how that combination might manifest in front of the County’s Magisterial Court.
“The Magisterial Court,” I answered, taking in her thoughts — she was a particularly loud thinker. “That one probably takes precedence.”
She nodded, thinking, at least we’re on the same page.
“The local JAG office referred me to a High Court attorney, someone familiar with County procedure. His name is Bilem Faulk, and he’s agreed to meet with us but only in person. He’s in Silver City. Planetary airspace regulations prohibit us going directly, except with a special invitation from the Countess herself, which brings us to item number two,” she said, handing me a piece of paper. On it were written the words, “Can I gracefully get out of the summons?” She wrote the question on actual paper because paper was harder to hack, and my question was clearly sensitive enough for me to encrypt it.
“Aside from being the ship’s legal counsel,” she continued, “I’m also the acting protocol officer. So to correct your terminology, it’s not a summons; it’s clearly an invitation, and so yes, you can say no. As for the graceful part, that’s more interesting, but the question I would first ask is, why do you want to?”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“Well, for one, I am not about to expose myself to civilian authority on the planet again. Will this attorney meet with us at the starport or the Naval Base?”
“I’ll check.” She made a note on her legal slate.
“There’s another reason,” I said. “A few more, actually.”
“Go ahead.”
“Each time I’ve been invited to meet the local nobility, I’ve been saddled with… uh… local issues. Reviewing a tech replica of my ancestor, for example, or escorting a scion to a business meeting because said scion was misbehaving.”
“Oh?”
“I believe the former incident made the news.”
“I see,” she said, writing the words Prior News, which I knew not because I could see them on her slate but rather because I could see them in her mind as she was writing. She’d been watching and reading all the news broadcasts about the interdiction and the events leading up to it, but she hadn’t bothered looking at anything that happened earlier, so she didn’t really know what I was talking about.
“I had to apologize to said scion,” I explained, “for perceived harm done by said tech replica to prevent the local admiralty from losing face.” My reception seemed very long ago, even though it’d only been what… four days? “Then there's the whole matter of my being the target of potshots by someone in the civilian authority operating with or without the knowledge of said local nobility.”
“Potshots?”
Cool it, Gus. Cool it.
“I don’t know what to call it. All I know is that I don’t place much faith in the current nobles to act in a manner that befits a healthy exchange between the Imperial Navy and the Emperor’s lieges.”
I was perhaps being a little full of myself on this point. But, in my mind, at least, my oath of duty to the Emperor put me on par with the nobles, even if my own person did not warrant the same. I had been disrespected a number of times and it was wearying. Duty, however, did not care how tired you were, only that the job got done.
“Review for me what this invitation is again,” I continued, “and the possible repercussions for declining, accepting grudgingly, accepting gracefully, and accepting but accompanied by full or partial honor and/or body guards?”
“It’s an invitation to an informal sit-down with the Countess. There will no doubt be witnesses, but the press is not invited, so you’ll be able to have as private a conversation with Helena Stavelot as one is ever likely to have. Most importantly, it means she wants to talk to you, which is a good thing. At least, Mr. Faulk thought so.
“The repercussions for declining is you lose whatever favor you might have gained had you accepted her invitation. Accepting grudgingly is right out. If we were in a position to threaten the Countess, then perhaps, but I don’t see that we are, so if you accept, it should most definitely be done gracefully.
“As for being attended by a military guard, you’d have to get permission. Certainly, given what happened with the HPSS, it might be warranted if you were going to Heron. But Silver City is outside the jurisdiction of the HPSS. And their security, from what I understand, is extremely tight, so tight I’m even allowed to accompany you. The invitation is for you alone, and there’s no time to file a request for a plus one. Best case scenario is they let me wait for you in the shuttle while you get me a guest pass at the palace, so we can go together to Mr. Faulk’s office. But if you’d prefer I try to arrange a meeting at the starport, I’ll do that.
“Whatever you decide, sir, you need to decide ASAP, as Seventeas will start in around three and a half hours.”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
This is what happened when I let my schedule get in front of me.
“Acknowledge the personal invitation gracefully and with thanks, and file a flight plan. We’ll use one of our shuttles, and you will be on board, so if we manage to get a meeting with Mr. Faulk, we’ll take it.”
I considered my workday uniform and sighed. I was going to have to break out the other dress uniform I had on hand. If I needed to accept gracefully, an underhanded snub by dressing down would not work in my favor.
“Jackie, message to Lt. Abbonette: Dress uniform and report to Lt. Sidara for a trip down to Silver City. Jackie, send message. Anything else, Lieutenant?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“What?”
“Shattered windows.”
“Shattered windows?”
“Due to some sonic booms,” she said.
Ah. The percussion at the stadium. No doubt, the locals were plenty peeved.
“We’ll discuss it on the way down.”
“Aye aye, sir,” she said, then turned and left, taking that as a dismissal.
“Jackie, message to Commander Nizlich: I am afraid duty takes me down to the surface once again, an invitation from the Countess. Proceed as per usual operating stance. Jackie, send message. Jackie, message to the head of security: Can you get someone to my quarters with some low profile body armor for me suitable for a possibly contested diplomatic visit? Time is of the essence. Jackie, send message.”
I smiled at the last one. Never stop testing the crew. Maybe they had something that would be of use if things took a turn for the worse. Alternatively, I could go in with my psionic guns blazing.
I thought about the psi boosters that had formerly been in my not-so-secret stash. Did I dare?
«Josafeen? Should I re-boost for this visit?»
But there was no reply. The booster’s effect was already waning. I used my wristcom to call her.
“Sir, I just received your message.”
“Do you think, uh…” — the ship’s computer was no doubt recording the call. I could switch to encrypted mode, but that would just raise Blodder’s curiosity, and Nizlich did say she was good at her job — “do you think maybe we should bring that thing the Admiral was so interested in, just in case?”
“I’ll be sure to bring it, sir,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll bring them both.”
Both? “Very good, Lieutenant.” I closed the connection, then realized she didn’t know if I was talking about the booster or the orb.
(Gus can either call her back to clarify or just let her bring both.)
Is there anything else Gus wants to do before he departs the Jaqueline? If you’d rather we just start the next scene boarding the shuttle or arriving at Silver City, that’s fine.
As mentioned, Lt. Sidara will want to discuss the calls the Naval Base received from lawyers as well as other annoying individuals threatening to sue the Navy over damage caused mainly to windows due to the recent percussion incident at the stadium outside the starport. Just because the stadium’s dome didn’t shatter doesn’t mean every window in Heron’s starport district was so lucky. The Base helpfully forwarded these angry messages to the Jaqueline, suggesting settlements be reached on behalf of the 213th Fleet, or else it could cause the Navy bad publicity. Hence, if you decide you’d prefer to start the next scene as you guys land at Silver City, you might want to mention this in your summary of the flight and decide how Gus would have responded.
Absent instructions to the contrary, Lt. Sidara booked the winged 20-ton launch. See Chapter 12 to get a sense of its layout, although imagine it with wings for enhanced atmospheric maneuverability. This is the same one that picked Gus up at the Naval Base in the first chapter, and he’ll have the same pilot, Sublieutenant Jimenez.
Oh, and as per his request for some low profile armor, there will be a bulletproof vest he can wear under his dress uniform. It's basically equivalent to mesh but doesn't cover the neck. Anything more protective would be noticable.
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“SCTC to IN Launch. You’re authenticated and cleared to land at Iota Eight. Please turn over your flight controls.”
“Acknowledged,” Sublieutenant Jimenez replied, turning the flight console over to Silver City Traffic Control. In her mind, however, she wasn’t too happy about them not even trusting her to land.
How I knew all this from the back seat had to do with the vitamin injection Josefeen had given me. Lt. Sidara, of course, thought it strange her Captain was injecting his vitamins rather than taking them orally but understood she was too low in the pecking order to ask questions. In any case she was more concerned about the upcoming meeting with Mr. Faulk as well as the numerous calls the Naval Base had received from lawyers as well as other annoying individuals threatening to sue the Navy over damages caused due to the recent percussion incident. The Base had helpfully forwarded these messages to the Jaqueline, suggesting settlements be reached on behalf of the 213th Fleet, “or else it could cause the Navy bad publicity.”
I instructed her to send the Naval Form “Redress of Collateral Damages, Non-Combat, to Aligned Noncombatant” and to make sure we noted the exact timeframe of the percussions, as there was a subsection requiring the applicant to upload proof said damage occurred within the stated timeframe give or take five seconds.
That’s devious, Lt. Sidara thought to herself but said nothing.
“We’ll pay the damages out of the Captain’s discretionary budget for goodwill and public relations,” I told her. “Also forward notices to local building inspectors of claims paid. If the windows can’t take a little boom, then I suspect shenanigans. Fight bureaucracy with bureaucracy, I say!”
“Aye aye, sir.”
As for the armor request, security provided me with a bulletproof vest, which I now wore under my dress uniform. Made of interlaced ceramic, it was fairly light weight, but it made my tailored uniform somewhat tighter than usual, and so turning and bending felt a bit stiff.
Prior to departure, Lt. Sidara had me sign a form, letting the locals know I was bringing two assistants and requesting the appropriate number of guest passes, but she held out little hope of the request being fulfilled on such short notice. Jewell was known for its pollution and its bureaucracy, and it was arguable which of the two was more intractable. So it came as a surprise when, as we landed, Lt. Sidara looked up, eyes gleaming. Her skullcomp had just informed her that the additional guest passes had been approved.
I get to go into the Imperial Palace? And meet the Countess? Wait until I tell Mom and Dad!
“Sir,” she said, “I just received word…”
“About the guest passes?”
“Yes.” How did he know?
“I had a feeling,” I said. They must have realized it was my birthday and didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot by not letting me bring my two aides.
«I love birthday parties,» Josefeen sent with a smirk, already knowing how I felt about them.
(response?)
We filed out, allowed a security robot to fit us with visitor collars (or let me know if Gus tries to prevent this), and then headed toward the turboporters.
(You're ahead of schedule. There’s still about an hour to kill, and from past experience, you know these turboporters can get you from one place to another pretty fast, like within a minute or two, so there’s time to see Mr. Faulk, if he’s taking walk-ins. Alternatively, you could go see if Agidda is still around or drop in on Zeenye, or you could go to the Imperial Palace and see if they do tours or try to find a member of the Countess’s staff, to see if they can send that letter to save Kaz’s job/career. It’s up to you.)
Conrad Rader
“SCTC to IN Launch. You’re authenticated and cleared to land at Iota Eight. Please turn over your flight controls.”
“Acknowledged,” Sublieutenant Jimenez replied, turning the flight console over to Silver City Traffic Control. In her mind, however, she wasn’t too happy about them not even trusting her to land.
How I knew all this from the back seat had to do with the vitamin injection Josefeen had given me. Lt. Sidara, of course, thought it strange her Captain was injecting his vitamins rather than taking them orally but understood she was too low in the pecking order to ask questions. In any case she was more concerned about the upcoming meeting with Mr. Faulk as well as the numerous calls the Naval Base had received from lawyers as well as other annoying individuals threatening to sue the Navy over damages caused due to the recent percussion incident. The Base had helpfully forwarded these messages to the Jaqueline, suggesting settlements be reached on behalf of the 213th Fleet, “or else it could cause the Navy bad publicity.”
I instructed her to send the Naval Form “Redress of Collateral Damages, Non-Combat, to Aligned Noncombatant” and to make sure we noted the exact timeframe of the percussions, as there was a subsection requiring the applicant to upload proof said damage occurred within the stated timeframe give or take five seconds.
That’s devious, Lt. Sidara thought to herself but said nothing.
“We’ll pay the damages out of the Captain’s discretionary budget for goodwill and public relations,” I told her. “Also forward notices to local building inspectors of claims paid. If the windows can’t take a little boom, then I suspect shenanigans. Fight bureaucracy with bureaucracy, I say!”
“Aye aye, sir.”
As for the armor request, security provided me with a bulletproof vest, which I now wore under my dress uniform. Made of interlaced ceramic, it was fairly light weight, but it made my tailored uniform somewhat tighter than usual, and so turning and bending felt a bit stiff.
Prior to departure, Lt. Sidara had me sign a form, letting the locals know I was bringing two assistants and requesting the appropriate number of guest passes, but she held out little hope of the request being fulfilled on such short notice. Jewell was known for its pollution and its bureaucracy, and it was arguable which of the two was more intractable. So it came as a surprise when, as we landed, Lt. Sidara looked up, eyes gleaming. Her skullcomp had just informed her that the additional guest passes had been approved.
I get to go into the Imperial Palace? And meet the Countess? Wait until I tell Mom and Dad!
“Sir,” she said, “I just received word…”
“About the guest passes?”
“Yes.” How did he know?
“I had a feeling,” I said. They must have realized it was my birthday and didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot by not letting me bring my two aides.
«I love birthday parties,» Josefeen sent with a smirk, already knowing how I felt about them.
(response?)
We filed out, allowed a security robot to fit us with visitor collars (or let me know if Gus tries to prevent this), and then headed toward the turboporters.
(You're ahead of schedule. There’s still about an hour to kill, and from past experience, you know these turboporters can get you from one place to another pretty fast, like within a minute or two, so there’s time to see Mr. Faulk, if he’s taking walk-ins. Alternatively, you could go see if Agidda is still around or drop in on Zeenye, or you could go to the Imperial Palace and see if they do tours or try to find a member of the Countess’s staff, to see if they can send that letter to save Kaz’s job/career. It’s up to you.)
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Jim Vassilakos
“SCTC to IN Launch. You’re authenticated and cleared to land at Iota Eight. Please turn over your flight controls.”
“Acknowledged,” Sublieutenant Jimenez replied, turning the flight console over to Silver City Traffic Control. In her mind, however, she wasn’t too happy about them not trusting her to land.
How I knew all this from the back seat had to do with the vitamin injection Josefeen had given me. The moment the psi-enhancer hit me, I could sense everything Jimenez was hearing, seeing, and even thinking and feeling, all despite the fact she was outside my field of view. Hence, I felt her hands drop to her sides, and I could see through her own eyes as the airborne city slowly expanded from a small dot to overfilling the cockpit’s window, its multitudinous towers and domes illuminated by floodlights and gleaming against the night sky.
Lt. Sidara, of course, thought it strange her Captain was staring off into space, and injecting his vitamins rather than taking them orally was even weirder, but she understood she was too low in the pecking order to openly question such things. In any case, she was more concerned about the potential meeting with Mr. Faulk as well as the numerous calls the Naval Base had received from lawyers as well as other annoying individuals threatening to sue the Navy over damages caused by the recent percussion incident. The Base helpfully forwarded these messages to the Jaqueline, suggesting settlements be reached on behalf of the 213th Fleet, “or else it could cause the Navy bad publicity.”
I instructed her to send the Naval Form “Redress of Collateral Damages, Non-Combat, to Aligned Noncombatant” and to make sure we noted the exact timeframe of the low-altitude sonic booms, as there was a subsection requiring the applicant to upload proof said damage occurred within the stated timeframe give or take five seconds.
That’s devious, she thought to herself but said nothing.
“We’ll pay the damages out of the Captain’s discretionary budget for goodwill and public relations,” I told her. “Also forward notices to local building inspectors of claims paid. If the windows can’t take a little boom, then I suspect shenanigans. Fight bureaucracy with bureaucracy, I say!”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Prior to departure, she had me sign a form, letting the locals know I was bringing two assistants and requesting the appropriate number of guest passes, but she held out little hope of the request being fulfilled on such short notice. Jewell was known for its pollution and its bureaucracy, and it was arguable which of the two was more intractable. So it came as a surprise when, as we landed, Lt. Sidara looked up, eyes gleaming. Her skullcomp had just informed her that the additional guest passes had been approved.
I get to go into the Imperial Palace? And meet the Countess? Wait until I tell Mom and Dad!
“Sir,” she said, “I just received word…”
“About the guest passes?”
“Yes.” How did he know?
“I had a feeling,” I said. They must have realized it was my birthday and didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot by not letting me bring my two aides.
«I love birthday parties,» Josefeen sent with a smirk, already knowing how I felt about them, particularly my own.
We soon landed, and as we filed out, I again noticed how stiff turning and bending had become with this bulletproof vest under my uniform. Although made of lightweight, interlaced ceramic links, the vest was still bulky enough to make my tailored dress jacket tighter than usual. It was a small price to pay for personal safety, however, particularly since I still didn’t know if the attack in Heron was a random event or part of a larger campaign.
Once we stepped onto the landing pad, a security robot fitted us with visitor collars and then directed us toward the turboporters. Oddly enough, I had fewer worries about the metal collars and robots than I’d have had if Silver City’s security was being handled by humans. Did this mean I had more faith in automated security? It was something to ponder.
“Lt. Sidara, contact Mr. Faulk and see if he’s available on short notice. Let him know we’ve been invited to meet with the Countess and would be happy to meet with him before or after our appointment.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
While Sidara was checking in with Faulk’s office, I sent a quick message to Agidda: “Just landed in Silver City for Seventeas. If you’re here, let me know if you’d like to meet.”
Never pass on allies in the house of your antagonist.
The thought stopped me short. Did I really consider Countess Helena Stavelot my antagonist? An impediment, perhaps, but antagonist was one step from opponent and two steps from enemy. She was the representative of the Emperor, and as such, she deserved respect. That was why I was twisting through all these silly hoops.
Speaking of hoops, I reviewed the message from Kaz. I doubted I’d be in any position to help her, but if I was offered a boon for my birthday, well, that would be a useful thing to do with it.
«You’d waste a noble favor on a piece of ass?» Despite being merely in my head, the tenor of Josefeen’s voice carried a certain tartness.
(Gus’s response.)
“Sir, Mr. Faulk says we can come in now,” Sidara said.
(Gus’s response.)
Faulk’s office was high up in one of Silver City’s towers, at least as evidenced by the view from his office window. The turboporters had dislodged us on the very floor of the building in which it was located, all without giving any indication of which building we were in or even which floor we were going to. Hence, the view came as a mild surprise, but then I remembered that the thin man of middling height standing before me was a high-end lawyer, a specialist in High Justice, no less. He had gaunt features and a beard that was more white than gray, but his eyes were his most notable feature, dark and penetrating, like a predator sizing up potential prey.
“Why don’t we just start by you telling me what happened?” he said once we’d gone through the perfunctory introductions, sat down, and been offered drinks by his autoserver.
(Gus’s response.)
Conrad Rader
[[<<"There's noble favors, and then there's noble favors with obligations. I would rather firm up someone who did right by me than give this Countess another hardpoint to tug on.">> And I immediately regretted the double meaning and the mental image Josafeen projected about tugging.]]
“Sir, Mr. Faulk says we can come in now,” Sidara said.
[[<<Rescued by lawyer. It's a little dirty but I will take what I can get.>>]]
Faulk’s office was high up in one of Silver City’s towers, at least as evidenced by the view from his office window. The turboporters had dislodged us on the very floor of the building in which it was located, all without giving any indication of which building we were in or even which floor we were going to. Hence, the view came as a mild surprise, but then I remembered that the thin man of middling height standing before me was a high-end lawyer, a specialist in High Justice, no less. He had gaunt features and a beard that was more white than gray, but his eyes were his most notable feature, dark and penetrating, like a predator sizing up potential prey.
“Why don’t we just start by you telling me what happened?” he said once we’d gone through the perfunctory introductions, sat down, and been offered drinks by his autoserver.
[["To make a complicated story simple. I was accosted by Heron security, ostensibly over an incorrect entry visa. The Captain I was with attempted to intervene on my behalf, and when these security agents resorted to force whilst ignoring our comments, I called in my own forces and laid a temporary interdiction over the area. I admit there was an inconsistency in my visa approval, but I submit that the response was an order of magnitude greater than it needed to be, and, let me be clear, attempts to apply force to active duty naval officers is not tolerated. Especially when it is agents of the local government applying force. I have commended my Marines in their restraint.]]
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Jim Vassilakos
“And now that it’s all over, what do you want?” he asked.
Conrad Rader
“And now that it’s all over, what do you want?” he asked.
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Jim Vassilakos
“And now that it’s all over, what do you want?”
I felt a certain heaviness in the pit of my stomach. What did I want? (I’m basing this on your use of the word nonplussed, but you can rewrite and/or extend this bit of character introspection, if you like.)
“What I would like is an investigation into policing practices as relates to the Navy,” I finally answered.
“A local investigation or an Imperial one?”
Before I could decide, Sidara asked, “What would you recommend?”
“Well, it would be fun to attack the bastards from both sides,” Faulk said. “The problem we’ll run into is the JIPD will probably back the HPSS.”
“JIPD?” Sidara asked. She began to scroll through her notes.
“The Justice, Incarceration, and Policing Division,” Faulk replied, “a.k.a. the keepers of order. How long do you plan to be here?”
“At Jewell? It depends on how long it takes to do repairs,” I said.
Faulk nodded. “I’ll petition them and the County Court for expedited hearings.”
“We’ve already got an Expedited Adjudication Request,” Sidara said.
“Signed by?”
“The Countess’s Chief of Staff, I believe.”
“Really? How did you manage that?”
Sidara looked at me, causing Faulk to do likewise.
(How does Gus respond?)
“Nice.” Faulk nodded. “Flick me a copy of that request. Actually, when they’re signed by the palace, we call them orders.”
“It says request.”
“But it’s from the palace, which sort of makes it an order.”
Sidara glanced toward me with widening eyes. As acting protocol officer, that was something she should have known.
“Regardless,” Faulk continued, “it’ll definitely cut through the bureaucracy… like a laser scalpel through warm butter. I’ll schedule a pair of hearings, and we’ll get this show on the road. With any luck, we’ll get the County Court to order the MOJ to open an investigation. Once that happens, the JIPD will be compelled to actually do their job.”
“What about this Directorate for Ethical Reform in Policing?” Sidara asked, looking at her notes.
“They’re a Citizens Action Committee that got too big for its britches,” Faulk said with a smirk. “Ever since they were elevated to the status of a directorate, they’ve been pushing for blindness in justice.”
“Blindness in justice?” Sidara asked.
“Anti-profiling. But that’s fine. We can go talk to them, and with this Expedited Adjudication Order, they’ll have no choice but to fit us into their schedule.”
I groaned inwardly, feeling the heaviness in my stomach tighten into a knot.
“What I’m worried about,” I said, “is that at the end of all this, I’ll get an official apology, meaning a false one, and someone will make a notation in some secret file flagging me for additional screening every time I come into contact with local law enforcement.”
Faulk stared at me momentarily, his expression perfectly blank.
“Are you planning on retiring to Jewell?” he finally asked.
“No.”
He shrugged. What he was saying, albeit tacitly, was that it didn’t matter if Jewell’s labyrinthine bureaucracy were to hold a grudge. I wasn’t going to be here long enough to let it worry me.
“Something else may be going on,” I said, leaning in, “something that leaves me with an ill taste in my mouth. I can’t prove anything, but there have been enough random events connected to me and my crew to give me suspicions. My job involves keeping the Imperium safe. The Imperium has seen fit to give me the tools to do that job decisively. The Interdiction I pulled down? It could have been a lot worse if one of us had died. We are currently processing all the Intel data we scooped while we were in control, and we are looking for differences in the stories we are being told. What are the penalties for lying during court proceedings here?”
“In the Magisterial Court for the County of Jewell, perjury carries a five year sentence, but in the Jewellian courts, it’s seven.”
I leaned back again. He was nominally my representative to both.
“I am required by regulations to use local representation in these matters. But we are in a situation of overlapping jurisdictions, and decisions made in one sphere are likely to precipitate actions in another.”
“I get it,” he said, nodding. “This is political. Caution is justified, prudence an asset. But there’s something you need to understand. Legal contests at this level are like street fights, and if we mean to win, we can’t pull our punches. It’s go for the throat or walk away.”
Walk away. Now there’s something I hadn’t considered.
“What I want, Mr. Faulk, is to finish repairing my ship and continue on my mission, with the least amount of official interaction that I can get away with.”
“My understanding is you’re scheduled to appear at the Imperial Palace today.”
“Yes.”
He arched an eyebrow, probably amused at my role as the reluctant birthday boy.
“When you get in there,” he said, “somebody on the Countess’s staff will ask for your side of the story, but what they’ll really be looking to find out is how angry you are and how serious you are about getting even. If you tell them what you just told me, they’ll make a bunch of promises that will most likely be forgotten the moment you leave. Once you’re gone, this whole incident will be swept under the rug. The HPSS will keep doing whatever they want, and nothing will change.
“If you want things to change,” he continued, “we have to get under their skin. But you need to be careful what you say, because if the palace decides it’s more expedient to throw you under the bus than go to war with the HPSS, that’s what they’ll do, so you need to avoid saying anything they might be able to turn against you. So what you do is you tell them you hired me and will be speaking through me. Tell ‘em Bili’s got your back. Then they’ll stop bothering you, and they’ll start bothering me, and when they do, I’ll get them to fall in line, because like I said, this whole thing is probably going to end up local versus Imperial, and once that happens, they really have no other choice. No matter what they say to you now, they will ultimately fall in line. But you have to let me do the talking.”
(Gus’s response?)
Conrad Rader
“And now that it’s all over, what do you want?”
I felt a certain heaviness in the pit of my stomach. What did I want? (I’m basing this on your use of the word nonplussed, but you can rewrite and/or extend this bit of character introspection, if you like.)
“What I would like is an investigation into policing practices as relates to the Navy,” I finally answered.
“A local investigation or an Imperial one?”
Before I could decide, Sidara asked, “What would you recommend?”
“Well, it would be fun to attack the bastards from both sides,” Faulk said. “The problem we’ll run into is the JIPD will probably back the HPSS.”
“JIPD?” Sidara asked. She began to scroll through her notes.
“The Justice, Incarceration, and Policing Division,” Faulk replied, “a.k.a. the keepers of order. How long do you plan to be here?”
“At Jewell? It depends on how long it takes to do repairs,” I said.
Faulk nodded. “I’ll petition them and the County Court for expedited hearings.”
“We’ve already got an Expedited Adjudication Request,” Sidara said.
“Signed by?”
“The Countess’s Chief of Staff, I believe.”
“Really? How did you manage that?”
Sidara looked at me, causing Faulk to do likewise.
(How does Gus respond?)
“Nice.” Faulk nodded. “Flick me a copy of that request. Actually, when they’re signed by the palace, we call them orders.”
“It says request.”
“But it’s from the palace, which sort of makes it an order.”
Sidara glanced toward me with widening eyes. As acting protocol officer, that was something she should have known.
“Regardless,” Faulk continued, “it’ll definitely cut through the bureaucracy… like a laser scalpel through warm butter. I’ll schedule a pair of hearings, and we’ll get this show on the road. With any luck, we’ll get the County Court to order the MOJ to open an investigation. Once that happens, the JIPD will be compelled to actually do their job.”
“What about this Directorate for Ethical Reform in Policing?” Sidara asked, looking at her notes.
“They’re a Citizens Action Committee that got too big for its britches,” Faulk said with a smirk. “Ever since they were elevated to the status of a directorate, they’ve been pushing for blindness in justice.”
“Blindness in justice?” Sidara asked.
“Anti-profiling. But that’s fine. We can go talk to them, and with this Expedited Adjudication Order, they’ll have no choice but to fit us into their schedule.”
I groaned inwardly, feeling the heaviness in my stomach tighten into a knot.
“What I’m worried about,” I said, “is that at the end of all this, I’ll get an official apology, meaning a false one, and someone will make a notation in some secret file flagging me for additional screening every time I come into contact with local law enforcement.”
Faulk stared at me momentarily, his expression perfectly blank.
“Are you planning on retiring to Jewell?” he finally asked.
“No.”
He shrugged. What he was saying, albeit tacitly, was that it didn’t matter if Jewell’s labyrinthine bureaucracy were to hold a grudge. I wasn’t going to be here long enough to let it worry me.
“Something else may be going on,” I said, leaning in, “something that leaves me with an ill taste in my mouth. I can’t prove anything, but there have been enough random events connected to me and my crew to give me suspicions. My job involves keeping the Imperium safe. The Imperium has seen fit to give me the tools to do that job decisively. The Interdiction I pulled down? It could have been a lot worse if one of us had died. We are currently processing all the Intel data we scooped while we were in control, and we are looking for differences in the stories we are being told. What are the penalties for lying during court proceedings here?”
“In the Magisterial Court for the County of Jewell, perjury carries a five year sentence, but in the Jewellian courts, it’s seven.”
I leaned back again. He was nominally my representative to both.
“I am required by regulations to use local representation in these matters. But we are in a situation of overlapping jurisdictions, and decisions made in one sphere are likely to precipitate actions in another.”
“I get it,” he said, nodding. “This is political. Caution is justified, prudence an asset. But there’s something you need to understand. Legal contests at this level are like street fights, and if we mean to win, we can’t pull our punches. It’s go for the throat or walk away.”
Walk away. Now there’s something I hadn’t considered.
“What I want, Mr. Faulk, is to finish repairing my ship and continue on my mission, with the least amount of official interaction that I can get away with. [[What I would like is a healthier relationship between this world and the Navy that is not predicated on waving around my name as patriotic rabble rousing”]]
“My understanding is you’re scheduled to appear at the Imperial Palace today.”
“Yes.”
He arched an eyebrow, probably amused at my role as the reluctant birthday boy.
“When you get in there,” he said, “somebody on the Countess’s staff will ask for your side of the story, but what they’ll really be looking to find out is how angry you are and how serious you are about getting even. If you tell them what you just told me, they’ll make a bunch of promises that will most likely be forgotten the moment you leave. Once you’re gone, this whole incident will be swept under the rug. The HPSS will keep doing whatever they want, and nothing will change.
“If you want things to change,” he continued, “we have to get under their skin. But you need to be careful what you say, because if the palace decides it’s more expedient to throw you under the bus than go to war with the HPSS, that’s what they’ll do, so you need to avoid saying anything they might be able to turn against you. So what you do is you tell them you hired me and will be speaking through me. Tell ‘em Bili’s got your back. Then they’ll stop bothering you, and they’ll start bothering me, and when they do, I’ll get them to fall in line, because like I said, this whole thing is probably going to end up local versus Imperial, and once that happens, they really have no other choice. No matter what they say to you now, they will ultimately fall in line. But you have to let me do the talking.”
(Gus’s response?)
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Jim Vassilakos
“Understood. May I show them how mad I am? Or would you prefer Captain Ironface?”
“Ironface,” he replied. “The fact that you hired me will speak for itself.”
“Just so you know, I have some personal history with someone on the Countess’s staff.”
“Oh?”
“An old shipmate, Guri Maakhiriin, now of the Subsector Navy.”
“An old friend?”
“Quite the opposite. If I were them, that’s who I’d assign… to see if he can get a rise out of me. It’s what they’ve been doing so far, either that or he’s been freelancing for his own reasons.”
“What’s the beef about?”
“He thinks I ruined his career.”
“And he’s a member of the palace staff?”
“Naval Liaison.”
“Naval Liaison to an Imperial Countess. Doesn’t exactly qualify as a ruined career. What was he expecting? That he’d be Grand Admiral?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “For some people, their anger doesn’t need to make sense.”
“I’m glad you warned me about this guy. Be very careful what you say to him or in his presence.”
I nodded.
“One more thing,” I said. “I’ll be perfectly frank. If worse comes to worse, we can make a deal, and I can accept the surface platitudes and be on my way. But I can’t help but think that someone is trying to make some changes, and they’re using me as a lever. Those most affected should have an opportunity to fight back, so I think… (I’m having some trouble trying to figure out what Gus means by, “Give the Ethical Reform people the opportunity to be heard in the halls of power by a victim who was not at all what they thought I was going to be.” Can you restate this?)
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Conrad Rader
“Understood. May I show them how mad I am? Or would you prefer Captain Ironface?”
“Ironface,” he replied. “The fact that you hired me will speak for itself.”
“Just so you know, I have some personal history with someone on the Countess’s staff.”
“Oh?”
“An old shipmate, Guri Maakhiriin, now of the Subsector Navy.”
“An old friend?”
“Quite the opposite. If I were them, that’s who I’d assign… to see if he can get a rise out of me. It’s what they’ve been doing so far, either that or he’s been freelancing for his own reasons.”
“What’s the beef about?”
“He thinks I ruined his career.”
“And he’s a member of the palace staff?”
“Naval Liaison.”
“Naval Liaison to an Imperial Countess. Doesn’t exactly qualify as a ruined career. What was he expecting? That he’d be Grand Admiral?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “For some people, their anger doesn’t need to make sense.”
“I’m glad you warned me about this guy. Be very careful what you say to him or in his presence.”
I nodded.
“One more thing,” I said. “I’ll be perfectly frank. If worse comes to worse, we can make a deal, and I can accept the surface platitudes and be on my way. But I can’t help but think that someone is trying to make some changes, and they’re using me as a lever. Those most affected should have an opportunity to fight back, so I think… (I’m having some trouble trying to figure out what Gus means by, “Give the Ethical Reform people the opportunity to be heard in the halls of power by a victim who was not at all what they thought I was going to be.” Can you restate this?)
"Please keep Lt Sidona appraised of any further requirements and I will be happy to make myself available at your discretion. If there's nothing further, I believe we have a summons, sorry, invitation to accept."
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Jim Vassilakos
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RXohYke2EsEbYGb0sD9_Ob2ZBf_mjYdJ/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=113687616933633107445&rtpof=true&sd=true