Extremis (64 page)

Isn’t life strange?
Her lips quirked upward at the reflection.

“Well,” she finally said, breaking the silence, ”I suppose the first wild ride is over.”

Mags stared down into her Scotch. “What really disturbs me is the loss of one of the Kasugawa generators.”

Li Han could barely bring herself to nod. “Indeed. Our margin for error with the generators is now paper-thin. And you both heard Fleet Ops’s report on the recon drones we’ve sent ahead into the Hera system.”

“Yes.” Trevayne scowled into his Scotch. “Of the fifty or so, none have come back. I’d say that ominous silence is as articulate and telling as any sensor readout could have been.”

Li Han finished her wine. “Well, I’ll have to ask the two of you to excuse me. There’s a final set of reports I need to receive from my chief of staff.”

Trevayne met her eyes. He knew the exact nature of the grisly rite to which she referred. He tossed off the last of his Scotch and rose to his feet. “Yes. I should be getting back to
Rebuke
.” But he paused, and there was a moment of what, if it had been anyone else, would have been instantly recognizable as awkwardness. “Admiral Li…”

“I think you can call me Han by now, don’t you?”

He looked almost startled, but recovered quickly. “Yes, I suppose so. Ah, Han…History is real. It can’t be undone.”

“You mean, of course,
our
history.”

“Yes. It’s still there. But it no longer has to matter. And…you were worth having as an enemy, Han.”

“As were you, Ian,” she heard someone who sounded remarkably like herself say.

Mags looked from one living legend to another, and her expression said she wanted to look away but could not.

Trevayne tried to say something, but nothing came.

Well, I’ve lived long enough to see him speechless,
Han thought. But then his eyes met Mags’s, and this time their eyes held each other for a long moment. Then they both turned and met Han’s eyes unflinchingly.

What can I say? “Bless you, my children?” No. Impossible. Absurd.

So she said nothing. Neither did they. No words were necessary.

Li Magda went to her mother and hugged her with fierce intensity. Trevayne gave her a salute that would have done credit to the junior officer his apparent age suggested.

As she returned the salute, Li Han suddenly remembered the bearded, fiftyish version of that face. She had stood in prison garb and looked into that face with more hate than she had ever known she could feel. It had been the last time she had ever seen it. She hadn’t dreamed that she would never see it again. And now…

What am I thinking? Of course I’ll see him again.

And then they were gone. And she had to attend to that final report that every commander dreaded.

The list of ships—and crews—that had been lost.

23

Nothing More Unpleasant

Nothing is more unpleasant than a virtuous person with a mean mind.
—Bagehot

Prisoner Holding Facility, Resistance Regional Headquarters, Charybdis Islands, Bellerophon/New Ardu

Alessandro McGee insisted on being the first person into the room, but by the time Heide looked up from the desk, Lieutenant “Cap” Peters and Lieutenant Chong had already entered and come to stand in front of him. Igor Danilenko slotted into the second rank right beside McGee, and both Juan Kapinski and Roon Kelakos slipped in behind them. Thus, in a column two wide and three deep, they faced the Hider, at parade rest.

Heide had looked up when McGee entered, had returned to shuffling the papers for the hearing, then looked up again as the unprecedented parade of personnel filed into the small makeshift courtroom that had been set up for the day’s proceedings. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked just as Harry Li trotted through the door and up to Heide’s desk, where he saluted the CO and then turned smartly to look out over the six men gathered before them. Heide, evidently surprised and a bit baffled by the unexpected crowd, repeated, “What is the meaning of this? Lieutenant Peters?”

Cap Peters looked straight ahead. “Captain Heide, I have been informed by the sergeant of the guard that detainee Peitchkov has disappeared from her cell.”

Heide jumped to his feet so quickly that his chair tipped over behind him. “She is what? She has escaped?”

“Sir,” repeated Peters, “she is not in her cell.” McGee wondered when Heide would catch on to the significance implicit in Peters’s avoidance of the word
escape.
But the captain was too busy trembling with—what? Rage? Frustration? Fear? Something else? McGee wasn’t sure.

“How did this happen?” The Hider jutted his almost nonexistent chin out. “Who was the sergeant in charge?”

“Sir, that was me, sir.” Danilenko, like Peters, stared straight ahead, not meeting Heide’s quivering eyes.

“How did this happen, Sergeant?”

“I do not know, sir.”

Heide’s eyes seemed to bulge outward for a moment, while his mouth soundlessly repeated Danilenko’s answer. Then his eyes stopped quivering and his face grew expressionless. “Sergeant, that explanation is not sufficient. As you know. Recount the events leading up to her escape.”

“Sir, we have no knowledge of how she exited her room without authorization and without being seen.”

Heide stepped back, almost tripped over his fallen chair, seemed ready to kick it, then continued slowly extricating himself from behind his desk, slipping behind his special warrant officer for legal affairs, Marina Cheung, to do so. “At what point was the detainee discovered to be missing, Sergeant?”

“Just a few minutes ago, sir—when we opened her room to bring her to this hearing, sir.”

Heide now stood before his men directly. “I see. And who reported her missing?”

Roon Kelakos cleared his throat. “I did, sir.”

“And were you alone, Sergeant?”

“No, sir. As per orders, I had two guards—originally active-duty off-worlders—present as a security detachment to escort the detainee to this court. When we opened the door to the detainee’s quarters, she was nowhere to be found.”

“And these two Marines are—?”

“Right outside the door to this room, sir.”

“So, how long had you been standing guard outside detainee Peitchkov’s room, Sergeant?”

“Less than ten minutes, sir. We relieved the previous watch and waited until the time appointed to remove her from her quarters—exactly five minutes prior to the convening of this hearing.”

“And while you were waiting, did you think to check the room, Sergeant? To make sure that the detainee was present and prepared to accompany you?”

“Sir, by your order, the standing protocol was to isolate the prisoner as much as possible before this hearing. Since there is no other means of egress from her cell, it was deemed an unnecessary security risk to open her door at the change of each guard shift. Besides, we had been able to rely on fiber-optic monitors to maintain oversight on the detainee’s physical status.”

“So, then, who was guarding the room before you arrived?”

“Sir, I was, sir.” Kapinski sounded every bit as young as he looked.

“And did you have any occasion, during the course of your guard duty, to leave your post?”

“Sir, no, sir.”

“Did you ever open the door?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“For what purpose?”

“To feed the pris—the detainee, sir.”

“I see. And did she like her meal?”

“S-sir?”

“I said, Corporal”—and the Hider stalked down between the two files of his men to reach Kapinksi at the back of the room—“did she enjoy her meal?”

“Sir, I—I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know? Did she finish the food?”

“Sir, our protocols indicated we were not to open the door simply for the purpose of removing the dishes. They were to be removed at such time as another opening of her quarters was required, sir. I had no opportunity to inquire whether she enjoyed her meal, sir.”

Heide came to a halt directly before tall, lean Kapinski and stared up at the gray eyes that were staring fixedly at the far wall. “And you’re sure that’s all that happened, Corporal? If you are found to be lying now, the punishment is severe—but much less so than should any prevarication be disclosed later on.”

“Sir, I did not open the detainee’s door except to deliver her meal, sir.”

Heide turned away sharply and marched back to the head of his men. “Well, since we have a fiber-optic monitor in her room, what does the playback of her last few hours of confinement show?”

Lieutenant Chong’s voice was as cool and still and low as Kapinski’s had been high and jittery. “Sir, the video record of the detainee’s room has been compromised.”

The Hider visibly struggled to maintain an even tone. His face was almost purple as he asked, “What do you mean, ‘compromised,’ Lieutenant Chong?”

“Sir, it seems the computer dedicated to the brig’s overwatch system experienced a power spike just about fifteen minutes ago. All recent electronic security transactions—camera feed, key-card access, transponder tracking—have all been corrupted. The files are still present, but unreadable, sir.”

Heide was utterly still and silent for five whole seconds. McGee had never realized—even in combat—just how long five seconds can be. “So, the recent security-monitoring records for all the detainees are corrupted?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And have you personally checked on the status of the other detainees?”

“Yes, sir. They are no longer present in their quarters, either, sir.”

Heide looked at Chong for a very long time. “I see. And have you begun a search of this facility and beyond?”

Cap Peters, still looking at the far wall, answered. “We made inquiries throughout the facility, sir. No guard posts report spotting the detainees. And while we don’t have full reports from all sections and bays, sir, no other personnel have yet reported encountering them. And, of course, we can’t conduct an exterior search, sir.”

“And why not?”

“Sir, that would violate our security and concealment precautions, which stipulate that, to prevent detection by either satellite or local—”

“Lieutenant Peters, I know the base security OpOrds. I wrote them. But if the detainees have escaped, then they could be warning their Arduan contacts—”

Peters’s eyes shot over to lock on to Heide’s. “Captain Heide, are you saying that you have acquired evidence which proves that one or more of the detainees actually is in active, willing collaboration with the enemy?”

Heide started as though stuck with a pin, then considered. “Well, no, not exactly—”

“Sir, the wording of your last statement suggested that it was predicated on just such a presumption.”

“My last statement, Lieutenant Peters, is motivated by a desire to exercise some damage control over this unprecedented disaster.”

“And you are therefore instructing us to initiate an extensive, open-air search for the missing detainees, in broad daylight? Regardless of the possibilities of detection by the Baldies?”

McGee saw Chong’s gaze rotate quickly toward Heide as well: the captain was close to giving an order that might become grounds for charges of incompetence. Behind the Hider, Marina Cheung looked up from her briefs, her old-fashioned pencil poised to record the time and take a note.

Heide, oblivious, plowed on. “Damn it, Peters. They—the detainees—are the greater threat. They must be found. And not just to prevent them from revealing this base’s location to the Arduans, but because they are the only ones who can indicate who the other traitors are.”

Chong’s voice was very measured. “Other traitors, sir?”

“Why, of course there are other traitors involved. How else could all the detainees have escaped?” When no one responded, Heide raised his voice, staring round at the impassive faces. “Can’t you see it? They clearly had inside help—they
had
to.” And then—as McGee had known he would—the Hider stared straight at him. “After all, detainee Peitchkov’s significant other is one of our own officers.”

Chong nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s true. But in anticipation of today’s treason hearing, Lieutenant Peters and I decided that it would be prudent to confine Lieutenant McGee to quarters last night, so as to—er, disincline—him from considering any rash actions in support of Miss Peitchkov. Until we sent for him to join us here, he has been under Marine—not Resistance, but
Marine
—guard. I have the list of personnel who remained in his quarters with him, sir, should you wish to interview them.”

Heide swallowed, looked from face to face, seeking—guilt? Help? Compassion? But the only eyes that met his were McGee’s. Heide’s narrowed in response, and he brought up an accusing finger. “It’s you. You may have been confined to quarters, but you still had a hand in it, McGee. I know it. I can feel it.”

McGee did not avert his eyes. “Captain Heide, for the record, I was in my quarters from 1950 hours last night until just fifteen minutes ago.”

“But they escaped. They must have had help. How else could they have exited their rooms, and this base?”

Li cleared his throat. “Perhaps the Arduan mind powers also include teleportation, sir?”

Heide spun about, surprised—but, when he saw that Li was also looking straight out into the room, rather than meeting his eyes, he became very still. He turned slowly back to his men and looked at them, face to face to face.

And McGee thought,
Now he knows. Took him long enough.

Heide’s voice was very quiet. “This is mutiny.”

Peters, senior in the room, was the one who had to respond. “Sir?”

“You heard me, Peters. All of you heard me. This is mutiny.”

Chong cocked his head very slightly. “I’m sorry, sir, exactly
what,
in this situation, constitutes mutiny?”

Heide became purple again. “This…this charade.”

“Charade, sir?”

“You know where she is, where they all are.” He turned and screamed—finally—at Harry Li. “And you, too. You’re in on it, too! I order you—
order
you—to tell me where they are!”

Harry did not look at Heide but only said, “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

McGee thought that the Hider might fall over, but then he corrected the slight tilt that Harry Li’s denial had evidently inflicted, and he turned back upon his men. McGee saw the knowledge clearly in his eyes: he knew they were all against him. And that they had discovered that he had insufficient grounds for convening hearings of treason proceedings against any of the hostages they had extracted from Melantho. And now he had no one left to carry out his orders—at least not among his most senior and popular officers and NCOs. But he almost seemed ready to smile when he straightened up and said, “And what is the status of the infant, Alexander Peitchkov?”