Prison Planet (THE RIM CONFEDERACY Book 3) (20 page)

"If you mean Nusayr al-Rashid, the ex-head of the Olbia Council of Nine, then yes, I do know that he's your brother. Which I'd take it is why you came along with some of your other friends to settle here. Would I be correct in that thought?" Tanner asked. It did make sense, but he really didn't know how far to be questioning without trying to infringe on her privacy.

Tibah nodded and again squeezed his forearm as they began to walk again.

"Yes, Nusayr got a huge sentence for simply being at the head of the Council when students rose up and the Ramat—our secret police—quelled the uprising with what could only be called overkill, and yes, there were deaths. Then the Farmers Guilds rebelled, then the Parliament shut down, and wham—cousin Sharia thought the whole Council of Nine was at fault ... so they're here, Nusayr, Razin, and the rest. So yes, we did decide to come here, and support, and give them some kind of family presence. And as you probably know, Captain, there is no appeal within the Caliphate—Sharia is the Caliph and what he says is law," she said, sighed a bit, and strode ahead quickly enough that Tanner had to struggle to keep up. With her being over six feet tall, her stride was big to begin with, but when she was upset, she really could cover ground.

"Look, Tibah," he said as he caught up, "I didn't mean to, uh, well, in any way to upset you ..." he lamely finished off and stopped her from striding along by simply ducking in front of her. She looks upset, damn, damn, damn, he thought, why'd I have to open up this can of worms?

She looked at him, frowned for a moment, looked away for almost a minute, and then back at him. And then she smiled.

"Tanner, not to worry. I am so sorry that I got ... caught up, I'd say, in the whole mess again. It was so, so much a real travesty of justice, and my brother is over on Max Island as a result ... wonder if maybe he's even here tonight? No matter," she said, smiled at Tanner, took his hand, and resumed their walk. "I am not upset any longer. It's one of the things that we Royals must learn to get used to—justice!"

They walked for a while, shopped in a store for a bit, and then turned around to go back to their seats, still holding hands.

"See that girl over there," Tibah said, "she's the daughter of one of our group. That's Alise and she's here with her dad, Andre—that's him in the Avenger sweater beside her. The girl was animated and she was tossing her Avenger hat in the air trying to catch it on her head. That made her laugh, as she was unable to get it to seat itself on her head, and that made Andre laugh just as much. Tanner tilted his head toward them as if to ask if they should go over to say hi, but Tibah took his hand and pulled him away.

"No sense in interrupting, or in fact, sharing my captain either," she said, which made Tanner think
this was truly a great evening.

He smiled and let himself be led away, and in a large circle, they doubled back to their seats.

After that, the rest of the game was a blur to Tanner. He sat and was keenly aware of the times in the second half when Tibah leaned over to him to talk, or when her thigh touched his, or the two more times she touched his arm. The game ended with the Avengers beating the Raiders by more than nineteen points, and the crowds all rose and sang that team song as the team left the field winners.

This was an important time, he thought,
to remember that this was a date but only a date.

And no more.

The woman he was feeling so comfortable with was a Royal, yes, a farmer too, but a Countess. One he thought that had made some sacrifices to leave her planet to join her brother here on Halberd, to provide some degree of family support. He knew that as the XO had checked up on her and the group of farmers, and Tanner had to admit this kind of familial support was unusual but of the highest caliber.

And yes, still quite a woman,
he thought. It felt strange that he even cared about anything else other than the booze, but there it was right in front of him. A woman ... a woman he desired ...

#

Warden Lorenz of Max Island sat at his desk, tried to handle the paperwork on the next set of incoming convicts, and realized there would be a problem over at the Farm Camp. More than twenty new incoming prisoners had great experience as real farmers. Normally, that might be a great thing except with the camp being almost at maximum numbers, Farm Camp Warden Shavren didn’t know where he would put them, but then he realized it wasn't going to be his problem, so he clicked the submit button, and the next incoming shipment of prisoners was okayed.

At least here at Max, solitary confinement could be used if needed. It had been 200 years ago back on Juno, before the Halberd Prisons were even built. Some smart prisoner had an even smarter lawyer who'd filed a class-action suit to bring an end to "administrative segregation" and the use of the rubber stamp prison doctors to okay such punishments.

As if we needed that, and more, as if such confinement actually did cause paranoia, psychosis, depression, and even was a major contributor to self-harm and eventual suicide,
the warden thought.

Once Halberd had been built 100 years ago, the solitary confinement had been outlawed over at the Farm Camp, but not at Max Island. Not here, yet, he thought and smiled.

He tapped his white hairy fingers, one by one in order, as he waited for the arrival of the only name on his appointment list for today. She was late by an hour at least, and his fingers tapped, and tapped, and made a hollow-sounding echo on his big yellow desk, a control dashboard that didn't end up in a pod but in his office instead.

She'd be here, well, sometime. He really had no idea when, but he knew that she would get the tour, and perhaps if she was interested, go up to the Power Plant for a look, He'd even gotten the Pod Plant ready for a look-see too. One never knew, he thought, one never knew.

#

EYES ONLY are a pain—at least they used to be when I was a line officer,
Admiral Higgins thought and almost broke out into a grin. Surely, Admiral McQueen would have to agree; he posed that thought, and then agreed with himself. And this one didn't deserve that smile, either.

He toyed with the stylus on his desktop and twirled it again and again until it zoomed off his desk.

Sighing, he got up and went around his desk and over to pick up the stylus where it lay beneath the view-port on the outer wall of his office. Grabbing the pen, he stood and looked out at the scene in front of him here on Pike Station. Over on the far side, he could see four transport ships awaiting docking at the Pod port. But right now there was a Leudi freighter taking on pods as they came off the EL elevator like clockwork, and he watched them as they flew across the pod loading struts and disappeared within the freighter. Wonder how many they can take, he thought and knew he could just look it up, but he really didn't need to know that much. They were the major product that kept Halberd funded, paid for all the prison budgets, the volcano power stations and all its costs, as well as the usual upkeep of the city of Andros and its population.

Seems simple enough,
Higgins thought as his computer flashed its monitor at him, and he realized his EYES ONLY was coming in. “Not a good call coming up,” he said to himself and turned to resume his seat.

"Admiral McQueen," he said as the logo of the RIM Navy disappeared and the unlined face of the head of the Navy came on-screen, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?" He knew. He knew that McQueen knew too. But at this point, it hadn't been acknowledged.

Admiral McQueen nodded, and put down the sheaf of papers that he held in his hand, and pulled himself a bit closer to the screen.

"Admiral, yes, good to see you. We need to talk about Captain Scott. This will not be an easy chat, however, as I'm thinking that I may have to cashier him out of the Navy, and that's going to be one of the toughest decisions I've ever had to make."

He leaned back in his chair and toyed with the papers that lay in front of him. He nagged at one edge, sliding it over and back and then over again, and his eyes were downcast. He looked up a moment later.

"Admiral, can you offer up anything for me to add to my considerations?"

His tone was almost plaintive,
and Higgins thought,
he looks like he is trying to find a way to not rip those eagles from the captain's collar.

He took a moment and then spoke.

"Admiral, at this point, I can offer only the following for your edification. Captain Scott has not—as far as I know—been out in the public realm in any kind of a 'state,' Sir. He did just that when the Marwick arrived, what, six months ago. And yes, I've been careful to watch over his public persona as per your direction. But other than that single evening, I know of no indiscretions, at all. He also has been pretty discreet, I understand, on board the Marwick too, though I am unable to vouch for that other than keeping track of the scuttlebutt in the officer’s mess."

McQueen nodded.

"I thank you for that, however, my own mole on the Marwick claims that his Scotch supply is not down hardly at all. Only that he appears to not be laying drunk all over the ship, but stays to his quarters," he said as he looked up from reading from those papers on his desk.

"Sir, what a man—any man—does in his quarters are surely, well ..." Higgins said, his voice going up at the end of that sentence.

"Not a problem if the worst that can happen is he drinks himself to bed. Course, as a starship captain who is out on the RIM, he might be caught sitting in the Comm chair and being too drunk to handle the situation. That's my worry, Admiral," McQueen said sadly.

And Higgins had to agree, but that did present an answer.

"So perhaps a permanent staff officer appointment might be in order, Admiral? Take him away from the Comm to sit at a desk, pushing paper, perhaps," he said, and he did try not to sound a bit like that was his own slice of life here on Halberd.

McQueen sat back lost for a moment in thought, but then he shook his head negatively.

"Never happen, I fear, Admiral," he said.

"There is no way that Scott will ever leave the Comm. No way, and if he wasn't actually guilty of being a drunk, then he never would have accepted this current mission. He loves—and actually is damn good at—being a starship captain. He knows that and it's saved his and his crew's life—my own as well—many, many times. So for him to sit on Halberd or doing boundary buoy maintenance for the next fifty years just won’t' work for him," McQueen said, his voice steady.

Higgins could tell that he was speaking the truth, no matter what the cost. Must be tough, having a protégé who goes bad or at least has the wheels fall off his life like Scott had done, he thought.

"Sir, if I do hear anything else or if I find anything else out, I'll EYES ONLY you immediately," he said, as he knew he had nothing else to offer McQueen no matter how bad off he seemed to be.

McQueen nodded.

"Stay on this, Admiral, as a favor to me, please. And oh, if you haven't heard as yet, the 100th Anniversary event has been okayed, and it appears that the Royal who's going to be doing most of the on-site work is the Lady St. August—and she and Scott have some history. Try to be a part of any and all exchanges between them if you can, and let me know what is going on with those two, please, Admiral?"

Higgins nodded and said, "Agreed, Sir," and the EYES ONLY was done, and the screen faded to black.

A few moments later, he turned to the view-port to watch the freighter take on more and more pods, and he smiled at the Halberd economy that he could see and understood at least.
Interpersonal relations between Navy captains and Royalty were not his forte.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Provost captain was not happy.

"Yes, I know. No personnel with any kind of authority can enter one of those damned Ishtar Weapon shops. Known that for, what, 200-plus years since they came about, and yes, I too would love to know how they filter their force field to keep out us police types," he finished off, as he too firmly tapped the end of his report into the tablet at his side.

Half-smiling at him, the Andros Police lieutenant nodded.

"Assuredly, Captain, but that's for them to handle. Our job is just to report what happens without actually having access to the crime scene.

"Does it not seem odd to you," the captain said, "that this force field is only on the doorways—front and back doors, instead of also covering the windows too. And that means that this 'smash & grab' was successful. Did that manager type ever give us a record of what was stolen?" he said.

"Not yet," the lieutenant said, and they both turned to face the damaged storefront.

Someone had been passing by the weapons shop, and for a reason that had not been discovered yet, had smashed in the big glass window and grabbed some of the weapons and guns in the window. The door, of course, hadn't been affected as the glow of the blue force field still was on, and the two local authority types cooled their jets, waiting for that list. And they waited more than twenty minutes more until the blue glow ended and the door opened.

Ishtar aliens looked, well, odd. First, they had red eyes that always could be seen as their lids were made of some kind of a chitinous material. Each of their hands and feet had retractable claws that they had a habit of flexing that made a chinky-clinky sound. Of average height, they had little body hair, but all of them affected some kind of a display of facial hair—beards, goatees, Van Dykes, muttonchops, and Winnfields too.

The one that came out of the shop looked about average, the Provost captain thought. And he stepped up to introduce himself and the local Andros Police lieutenant too. Introductions made, he asked about that list, and all the Ishtarian did was hand him a single sheet of paper. He then turned tail and went back into the weapons shop, and the blue force field jumped back on a moment later.