Chapter Sixty-Seven

A Question of Loyalties

Colonel Austin Burnell

When the summons comes, it's almost a relief.

I have no idea whether the commodore knows my history – some parts of it in particular. Probably not, since I'd imagine very few people outside the Dispossessed themselves have the faintest idea of what was carried out in the name of the Empire on its own loyal personnel. But I was posted to be in command of Jupiter Station's security by General Reed in person, and while that in itself probably wasn't a recommendation in his eyes, he still saw fit to propose my name to the Empress for promotion. He'd called it serendipity – I was the right man in the right place at the right time – but I've no doubt he would have looked elsewhere if he didn't think me worthy.

When I first came here, I did my homework, and found that Reed and then-Commander Tucker went back a while, and had what you'd call a bit of history. Not the nice sort, either.

Not at all the nice sort.

This probably explained why my relationships with the rest of his senior staff never got much beyond 'amicable' either. They were as faithful to him as a set of echoes, and if he set me at a distance and kept me there, they were going to do the same.

So though I did my best to be ultra-professional at all times since my appointment, and found Tucker to be a decent enough man to work for, I never made the mistake of thinking he and I were on the same side. He undoubtedly saw me as a plant for the Triad, and he wasn't altogether wrong; Reed had given me very specific instructions, and I obeyed them to the letter.

But over the term of my appointment I saw how Tucker worked, and I have to say that for all that at first I thought he was an absolute fool, even I couldn't deny that his methods paid off. After a while, I even started trying them myself – calling myself every sort of idiot as I did so – and idiot or not, the results spoke for themselves so loudly that I have continued to use his tips and tricks in my new position as second in command of the MACOs.

So now as I come to a halt in front of the man who handled a nasty hostage situation with the aplomb of a professional, and brought everyone out of it mostly unscathed, I'll admit to feeling conflicting emotions. None of which show on my face, because if there's one thing the Dispossessed know how to do, it's mask themselves.

"Take a seat, Burnell," he says cordially, and points me to the chair in front of his desk.

"Sir." I sit down, remaining formal.

He doesn't start off at once on why he's brought me here, but sits back, his hands clasped lightly on the table, and stares at me over them. Though no stare is particularly enjoyable, I've endured far worse, and so it doesn't take so much of an effort to look back at him steadily. As I've said, he's a decent bloke, externally at least, and so far we've got along well enough.

The day that I discovered that General Reed himself had been held captive in the station's top-secret medical facility, though – for over a year, in spite of a steady series of reports that placed him anywhere but here – that was the day when the foundations of my world cracked.

Tucker had been involved in it somehow. He must have been. Nothing that momentous could possibly have happened on the Station without Tucker knowing.

But what did that make him?

And whatever it made him, where did that leave me?

"Austin, you were appointed directly by General Reed as Head of Security on Jupiter Station," he says at last. "I'd like to talk about how he came to have such a high opinion of your talents."

That's not a question I'm expecting. I don't know how much he already knows. Finding out that all this time he must have been up to his ears in the highest and most dangerous level of statecraft has pretty well blown all my preconceptions about him out of the water.

I daren't take too long composing my answer. That's what people do when they're selecting what to hide, and every second will alert Tucker more and more to the fact that he's not going to get the whole story.

Stupidly, I feel the instinctive urge to tell him the truth. That's what has me hesitating. On one side, he is apparently a decent bloke – let's be honest, the most decent bloke I've ever met, or expected to; on the other, he's an officer who's been involved in an activity that nine hundred and ninety-nine people out of a thousand would flatly refuse to believe ever happened, or even could happen.

"I was one of his senior officers from the year after he was invalided home from his post aboard Defiant, sir," I say at last, levelly. "I did my best to maintain the high standards he expected of his staff. I was glad he felt I succeeded well enough to be entrusted with the posting to Jupiter Station."

"You're English too, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. From the same county, as a matter of fact."

"Yeah. You sound pretty alike." He seems to ruminate for a while, his eyes never leaving my face; and very shrewd eyes they are, if nothing like as terrifying as bright blue coins that seemed to bore into your soul and rip it out of you in small, screaming pieces, one at a time.

"So tell me, Austin, if General Reed ordered you to take control of Jupiter Station an' hand me over as an accessory to treason – would you do it?"

It's the question I've been praying he won't ask.

I remember as though it were yesterday the summons from the then-Major Reed. The talk. The truth – the terrifying truth, which made so much sense of everything.

We ended up in bed of course; I'm gay, so that was no big deal to me, and suddenly I was in a world I could understand, with a partner I could understand. Reed was forceful, but not brutal as I'd expected; now and again he was even oddly gentle, nipping and play-fighting.

My devotion was born that night. He moved on and so did I, but he was Pack... and wherever he led, I would follow.

What, of that, can you tell to someone who's never been there?

How do you balance the harsh, simple obedience of Pack against the intangible, unsuspected strength of kindness?

I'm not even sure I'd be able to choose the commodore over the general, if I wanted to; and I'm not entirely sure I would want to. For all his brutality, deceit, and rampant cruelty toward the mainstream MACOs and the 'Fleeters, General Reed has been fiercely loyal toward the Dispossessed, almost as if he was trying to make up for the free will that was taken from us by our conditioning. I was just a corporal, a lowly non-com, when he plucked me out of the rank-and-file, showed me what I am, how I got this way, and what I could be. He gave stern advice when it could benefit me, held me rigidly to the highest standards, and entrusted me with progressively more responsibility until I was ready for Jupiter Station. He had to know he was grooming me to possibly challenge him one day, and he did it anyway; and there's really not much that can compare with that kind of loyalty and support from one's superior.

In the years after Enterprise, Reed was like a Grand Master moving pieces about on a galactic chessboard, placing his people, the Dispossessed, where they would be at the greatest advantage and earning our unwavering loyalty in return. Occasionally he would have to sacrifice a pawn, and when it had to be done he did it without compunction, but never one of us. Even when we failed him, though we might suffer harsh punishment, our lives were never forfeit. These days, there isn't a member of the Dispossessed that I know of who isn't top dog at their post; even the lowliest among us form elite squads, tasked with the dirtiest and most difficult of jobs. As MACOs, we work in conjunction with the 'Fleet CO in charge of our ship or station and follow his or her orders so long as they benefit the business of the Empire and don't interfere with our pack leader's standing orders; but ultimately, we all answer to one man, and we all know, if the 'Fleeters ever offer one of us a serious challenge, a word to General Reed will bring all Hell's fury down on them before they even know it's on its way.

But my loyalty to Reed springs from something far beyond the mentoring and career advice. There's a chemical component to it, and not just the chemistry of sex – while I wouldn't decline his invitation even now, that's all well in the past. He couldn't tell me whether it was something in the air or the water or the very earth itself of that mysterious planet (I genuinely believe he didn't know), but it has altered us all. That world made us Pack; its influence will likely rule our thinking and control our instincts as long as we live, and the only way out of the Pack is death. We all answer when Reed calls, because he is our alpha now, at least until someone rises up to challenge him.

And it is just at this very moment that it breaks over me like a thunderclap that I really am in a better position than anyone to do exactly that. I've spent the last few months unifying the two Packs, instilling order and discipline and respect for the rules in the young ones and gathering support and goodwill among the elders, all in the name of General Reed. I can't help but wonder what would happen if I just…left his name out of it. I've been telling myself all along that I'm just holding the fort, organizing things in preparation of relinquishing the reins to him when he returns to duty. But, what if he returns and I decide not to relinquish anything? What could he do about it then?

Well, it seems there is one thing that can override Pack loyalty after all.

The realisation makes my stomach turn over, a queer flip-flop of mingled terror and excitement. My pulse speeds up, but I keep my face unmoved even as the possibilities unroll before my mind's eye in a storm of calculation.

It will take me a lot of thought to get my head around this, but in the meantime I've got to pick my way carefully through this interview. One of only three people in the Empire with the authority to command me wants something from me now, and a man who can organise and keep quiet even from his then Head of Security that one of the Triad was being held prisoner basically underneath his nose for more than a year, is not someone I'm going to underestimate.

I look at Commodore Tucker, who must know by now, if only from the time I've spent cogitating, that he's not going to get the simple, adamant, unequivocal 'No!' that he'd been hoping for.

When I finally speak, my voice sounds unnaturally calm even to me, now that this whole new vista has opened up before me. "I think, sir, that my answer would depend largely on your motivation for holding him here and whether or not obeying the general would be to my best advantage."

The words taste bitter on my tongue, and I wonder if it's from the rush of adrenaline that comes with the possibility of overthrowing the pack leader or the regret of betraying him after what he's done to advance my career. Or is it, rather, the sudden shame that comes with admitting to the man I was beginning to think of as a potential friend that I can be bought, and if he meets my price I will shift my loyalty to him?

But this is Pack mentality. You obey until your chance comes, and then you take it. Strangely enough, I think that General Reed would understand that, far better than Commodore Tucker ever could. It wouldn't stop him trying to kill me with his bare hands if ever we faced off against each other, but there would be acceptance rather than blame. Sooner or later, the pack leader fails and falls, and a younger, fitter male steps up to take his place...

This is not something I can ever see myself trying to explain to the Commodore. I regret whatever distaste he may feel for my disloyalty to the man who put me where I am, but there is, indeed, no escape from the Pack except death. So I continue evenly, "Perhaps, before you give him the chance to issue that order, you might want to fill me in a little more on what you're up to?"

Tucker nods in acceptance.

"Fair enough," he agrees, then leans forward conspiratorially and surprises me with a grin. "I sure as hell hope you're easier to convince than your boss…"

=/\=

I come away from the meeting feeling bemused and befuddled and oddly relieved. If the Commodore can be believed – and though General Reed would undoubtedly call me a dozen different kinds of fool, I do believe him – I won't have to betray Tucker to remain loyal to my Pack leader, and disobeying an order from Reed to take the Commodore into custody would actually be in the general's best interest. I'm not so much a dreamer as to think there really will be (or indeed ever could be) 'peace in our time', and nor is Tucker in his head, whatever he may wish for in his heart; but if he has his way, with the two most powerful men in the Empire working together to improve life for those who live within its borders instead of expending our resources to conquer more and more territory and subjugate an ever-increasing number of hostile alien races, things will have to get better for everybody. If I hadn't seen for myself during my service aboard Jupiter Station that this approach actually works, I'd never have bought it, but it does work. Apparently General Reed is extremely resistant to the idea, which doesn't surprise me; it runs counter to everything he's built his power on, which is the theory that the only way to prevail is to keep people too scared for their lives to do anything but obey you. He's enjoyed so much success with terror that I'd imagine that the idea of people obeying you because they like you must sound like utter gibberish. That 'gibberish', however, is what Tucker has built his dream on.

All that's left for me to do is to try to determine which of them will prevail in their battle of wills. And to align myself with the one most likely to succeed.

And then – when the dust settles, as it eventually will – to assess how strong 'the leader of the pack' is now...

I have no idea how long General Reed has now been here on Jupiter Station. After the efforts I'd made after last time to make sure that I knew everyone who set foot on the place, I'm naturally both exasperated and slightly mortified to find out that once again my surveillance has been circumvented. However, I can hardly complain that my immediate superior didn't see fit to tell me he was coming; my job, now he is here, is to report to him and evaluate the situation as it now stands. Particularly as regards his fitness to hold on to his status as Pack leader now the balance of power in the Empire is trembling on a knife edge.

From our earlier interview I know that he is far less physically fit than he was. I don't know what happened to him and I doubt if I'll ever find out, but it must have been extremely serious. My first, instinctive reaction to the discovery of his unexpectedly weakened physique was to attack him, but that took a back step – for a number of reasons, most of which I haven't tried to examine too closely. We came to what you could call an understanding, of an extremely Pack kind: he understands that he can rely on my absolute loyalty right up till the instant the circumstances are right for me to take him down, and I understand that he knows that perfectly well, doesn't blame me for it in the least, and will to do his damnedest to kill me as soon as I try.

I doubt if it's the sort of arrangement the average Human would be comfortable with, but it works for us.

I know the Commodore hasn't told me everything. He'd be a fool to put all his cards on the table this early in the game, and for all the care with which he cultivates his 'good ol' boy' image, the man is no fool. Whatever else he is up to, I can bet that Rostov, Hess, and Cutler are in it up to their eyeballs, but for all the attention he's been showering on Richard Kelby, I just can't see the Commodore trusting him as far as he could spit him - at least, not yet.

I need more information before I can make a decision, and the people the Commodore has trusted with his secrets are far too smart to give it to me accidentally.

Only an idiot would try a direct interrogation. Even if someone not particularly attached to survival masked it as part of some bogus investigation, he'd more than likely find himself on the wrong side of an airlock within hours, if not minutes, of questioning a member of the Commodore's inner circle. As far as I know, the man hasn't actually killed anyone in nearly a decade, which is unheard-of for someone with his power in the Fleet; but that doesn't mean he's forgotten how or that he's lost the nerve to do it if he thinks his people are at risk. I also suspect that, if some careless investigator's questions were perceived as a threat to the Commodore himself, at least two or three of his closest allies would happily space that individual without so much as a 'by your leave' to the man himself, confident in the notion that – at least with the Commodore – it's always easier to obtain forgiveness than permission.

A minor outburst at a planning meeting some time ago was so surprising that the memory of it lodged in my mind, from where it has winked at me occasionally ever since. It was when Richard Kelby initiated the idea of a ceremony to launch the reconstruction of Sickbay – actually the start of the construction of a far bigger and more sophisticated treatment unit – and was imprudent enough to query the continued existence of a two-week 'Right of Review' period during which parties other than the investigating authority can satisfy themselves that the scene of an accident has been thoroughly and fairly investigated and the correct conclusions drawn from those investigations. Kelby reasonably queried the delay that such a period would cause before reconstruction can begin, and I understood his impatience sprang from the huge number of injured personnel that Jupiter Station handles. But the commodore reacted with a violence that was not merely unexpected but unwarranted, and I found it necessary to intervene – an intervention that, luckily, succeeded in calming him. Although he admitted he had been unreasonable, and duly apologised (an unusual habit among the empire's senior officers, but one that's part of his skill-set in creating devoted followers), he had inadvertently revealed a surprisingly sophisticated grasp of the law in that respect.

Subsequent investigations on my part – I investigate anything unexpected as a matter of routine – revealed that Commodore Tucker has a brother, Albert Tucker (Bert to his family and friends), who is not only a qualified lawyer, but who is also in a long-standing homosexual relationship with a doctor named Miguel Salazar. The doctor seems to be respectable enough, though he runs a 'charity-funded' clinic in a lowlife area, but Bert is fast acquiring an exceptionally interesting catalogue of notations in his file. At best I'd describe him as an activist, at worst a potential seditionist. To do him credit, he hasn't been accused of any financial wrongdoings (that's the one reason why he hasn't been picked up yet), but there are a significant number of incidents where he's become involved with what a sentimentalist might term 'the little guys', anyone brought up short against imperial bureaucracy or vested interests. He's good enough to have become an irritant in various quarters, and I wonder if he realises – or cares – how close to the line he's treading before somebody gets irritated enough to demand something's done about him.

Hmmm. A commodore with somewhat surprising methods, a lawyer with anti-establishment leanings, and a doctor who runs a charity clinic.

Is it me, or is there a pattern emerging here?

That leaves me with just one open line of inquiry.

As SiC of Imperial Security, I am in a unique position to watch and listen and wait. The watching and listening can be easily accomplished from my office, but I may not have much time to wait. To hurry things along a little, I'll need to focus my attention rather than sifting through everything that crosses my monitors and microphones.

I decide to start by instituting an extremely stealthy investigation into exactly what the Commodore does when he disappears into the blind spot on the northwest saucer section.

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