Chapter Forty-four
Release

Malcolm Reed

But though we're apparently to be released unharmed, and later in the evening news comes in that the lorry drop got through successfully, it's not just my freedom that Christopher leaves me with.

Shortly before we're due to set out, he comes over to where I'm stretched out on a makeshift pile of rugs that serves as a resting place, and squats down beside me. His expression is thoughtful, and strangely sad.

"You've been doing this for a while, haven't you, Malcolm?" he says.

I shrug. "A few years. Not that long."

He purses his lips. "Ever since the Empire declared you a traitor."

"More or less. I worked freelance for a while, then I made contact with a resistance cell, managed to convince them I was genuine, and the rest is history." My eyes narrow. "Why?"

The hand on my shoulder tells me I'm not going to like what he's going to say. "Because it's over for you, Malcolm."

I jerk back away from him, as best I can – they wisely haven't trusted me so much that they'd neglect to handcuff me to a nearby container that judging by the label holds some kind of corrosive liquid, though I don't recognise the name; probably some kind of industrial solvent.

The first thing that springs to mind, obviously, is that there's been a change of plan and that they're going to hand me over to the hangman. It's hardly surprising (not with those zillions of credits up for the taking, assuming they're cute enough to arrange for the handover without getting snatched themselves), but I'm not even going to pretend to be pleased about it. "I thought it was too good to be true," I spit. "Just find yourselves a decent intermediary, because you'll fucking need one. And demand cash. They can always empty the local bank."

"That's not what I mean," he responds gently. "Don't you know why you came so close to dying this afternoon?"

I give him the million-megawatt what the fuck? stare. "I trained them," I say with irony so heavy I'm surprised the floor doesn't give way. "Of course I know why they were after me."

The slow blink again. "Of course that's true," he assents – but, after a pause: "but it's not the only reason."

"Because I'm Number One on the Empire's hit list? Sounds a bit plausible?

"Because Admiral – sorry, I forgot, Magister Admiral Hernandez won't sleep quiet in her bed, preferably till she can have me taken alive and torture me to death in front of a television camera, but failing that till she's presented with an identifiable corpse that can be paraded to the world and then dropped into the nearest incineration plant?

"Because the resistance has taken heart from my joining them, and my knowledge of the Empire's weaknesses and strategies has advanced exponentially the danger we present?

"Aw, come on. I must be close. Give me a clue."

He nods sadly. "All of those are excellent reasons why you were hunted."

"So get to the bloody point," I snarl. "What have I missed?"

"You've missed the question, Malcolm. I didn't ask why you were being hunted. I asked why you were nearly killed."

I don't even have to feign the blank stare this time. He knows what they are, if not who or why they are. He knows what they do. And he's asking why I'd nearly been dog-meat?

He doesn't give me time to point out the obvious. He turns around and glances at Eric and Ciaran, who are now talking animatedly to some of our rescuers.

"We all have merciless enemies, Malcolm," he says softly. "And the most merciless of all is 'Time'."

An inkling of what he's getting at catches at my throat, making me swallow. My stomach clenches as if I'm already denying it, already fighting off what he's going to say.

"I'm not asking what happened to you. I know that something did, and for all your courage, all your determination, you're not twenty any more. Your body just doesn't have the resilience it had back then. You have the will, but you don't have the reserves.

"You've fought back magnificently, and even if people weren't cheering for you right away because they didn't quite know what you were about, you gave them hope. I really don't think you could imagine the surprise and speculation when word circulated through the underground about that first pirate encounter you had after you took over the Fortress. People had lots of opinions on why you took most of them back to their home colony for judgement, but the idea that you would give the younger ones a second chance and let them join your crew left them speechless.

"Up till Admiral Hernandez's strike, you were like a comet in the sky; we looked up, and we believed. Even we believed – saw the evidence that the tide had shifted, that law was being upheld; that General Reed was putting things into order, an order they hadn't been in for as long as most of us could remember."

"And then the comet burned up," I say bitterly.

"That happens to all comets, one day. Nothing in the Universe lasts forever." His voice is gravely kind. "But Malcolm, you gave us hope. You showed us that things could be done that way, if the right person was in power."

The full ramifications of my failure come crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. 'The right person in power' – Ha! That's a laugh.

Judging by the few things he's managed to accomplish, Austin could have been 'the right person' if I hadn't fled Jupiter Station like a scared rabbit. Without my bleeding corpse on which to stake his claim as Alpha, I'm sure many of the first few years of his reign had to be spent subduing and appeasing other high-ranking Pack members in order to avoid a war of succession that would have made the Wars of the Roses look like a simple family squabble. At least Philip Georgiou joined him early. He's a charismatic ship's captain and probably brought several of his peers along with him. Without him, I doubt Austin would have survived his first year as Emperor.

It's a relief, and most people don't know how much of a relief it is, that he thwarted Erika Hernandez in her quest for the throne – so far. I'm not sure what she's up to now. Shortly after our escape, I learned that she'd been seconded to the MACOs under Austin as his SiC of Homeworld Security and then promoted to Head of that department when he took the throne. I suppose she still had enough allies and supporters at that time that he didn't dare piss her off too much, so he had to give her a duty assignment suitable to her rank. Last I'd heard, he'd wisely taken the Revenge out from under her and reassigned it to Captain Georgiou.

I know Georgiou retains command of the Revenge,because his feats of derring-do are regularly featured in the news. I can only guess that Erika works from an office now. I haven't heard her name in a bloody long time, and last time I did, it was a rumour in connection with some prison break or other, and not one she managed to stop. I could wish it was Trip, but I've never been one to indulge in wishful thinking. More than likely, Austin is keeping her quite firmly under his thumb. Even without a ship of her own, though, Head of Homeworld Security is a very powerful position, and she's as patient as an anaconda; centimetre by centimetre, shift by shift, she'll work till she's got the whole bloody thing immobilised in her coils, and then she'll open her jaws and swallow it whole. Then, unless Burnell is damned careful, she'll turn on him, too.

If only I'd seen it coming. If only I hadn't believed in her smooth, efficient obedience, her alacrity in upholding the rule of law. She conned us all. (Well, maybe not Trip – he never had a good word to say for her, though he never talked about her much anyway, good or bad.)

I thought she believed in it.

More fool me, wouldn't you say?

Christopher leans forward; my feelings must be showing in my face, far too clearly for my comfort. "No, Malcolm," he says strongly. "It's not the end. We won't let it be the end.

"Because Admiral Hernandez, whatever else she may be, is not a fool. She and the minions she has pursuing you are fighting to preserve a system that's inherently flawed. The more you oppress people, the more they will resist you – as I'm sure you discovered for yourself when you were part of that system." He pauses, waiting for my grudging nod.

"She saw, she must have seen, that your way worked better. Others will have seen it too. It certainly seems that the Emperor did, and if he's taking his precious time in doing anything about it, I suppose it could be because he can't risk offending too many of his enemies, let alone his allies, at once. Whatever the case with him, Malcolm, good ideas take root, and once they're in they spread. Even though the open spaces may be cleared with a flamethrower, still the shoots will come up in the hidden places, and spread more roots and more hope.

"It may take decades. It may take until Emperor Burnell is in his grave and the next Emperor sits on the throne, it may take until the one after that or the one after that. But sooner or later, the reckoning will come. Sooner or later, it will be irresistible. And one day, whoever is in power, whoever it is, will have to realise that change is inevitable, and that they'll have to surrender to it or face the kind of revolution that will bring on the collapse of the Empire. If we want to continue, if Humanity itself wants to survive, we will have to do things differently. With firmness, yes, but with fairness – and, where possible, even with kindness."

God save him, wherever he is, Trip would be standing up and applauding Christopher now. Even I've got a bit of a soppy lump in my throat, hearing his philosophy brought to its ultimate and logical conclusion.

"Almost makes me wish I'd be around to see it," I manage, trying to salvage a bit of my customary flippancy.

He smiles. I do wish he wouldn't. "We'll take good care of your legacy, Malcolm."

We don't have much time for chat after that, but a couple of hours later I'm tied, blindfolded, carried through another series of tunnels and corridors, dropped into the back of a lorry and after travelling for about half an hour in various strange directions, deposited behind a heap of dustbins. Completely unharmed and, as I discover when the two other bodies beside me finally make cautious noises, complete with my fellow-spies, equally undamaged.

A knife has been left within reach (I hear the scrape of it on the ground as I move), and we manage to get hold of it and cut ourselves free, still hardly daring to believe our luck.

Old habits die hard. For well over an hour I suspect we've just been released to be followed, but eventually even I have to admit that there's no tail behind us. I don't suppose A or B were particularly overjoyed to see me go, and I'm betting D wasn't a happy bunny either, but somehow the plain-faced little preacher must have talked them round. We're free, and we can finally make the best of our escape.

I wonder if I'll ever see Christopher again.

So, it seems it might be time for Malcolm to retire. Do you think Christopher was successful in convincing him? As always, please review if you've been enjoying the story.