Chapter Seven
A Double Betrayal
Elizabeth Cutler
The desert is deceptive. It seems we've been on the road rattling along for no more than a few minutes in Grandmother's cart behind Pious (looking dapper in a gray fedora with holes cut in it for his ears) and Patience (who is prim and lovely in a similarly altered straw bonnet decorated with dried cornflowers), when the village comes into view. When I express my surprise that we've reached it so soon, Grandmother shoots me a bewildered look.
"Been traveling a couple hours already, child, 'n' we have almost an hour to go. Be nearly nine 'til we git there," she says.
It's on the tip of my tongue to accuse her of teasing me, but I think back on our conversation so far and realize she's not joking. All the while she has been identifying every item of flora and fauna along our path or crossing it and telling me about the proper uses of each thing's different parts, when to harvest them, how to preserve them, and what dangers some of them present. Considering the amount of information she's given me, we probably have been traveling as long as she says.
I'm about to comment on how quickly the time has passed when she pulls back on the reins and says gravely, "Woahhh."
Something about her tone and the way she squints at the road ahead puts me on high alert. "What?" I ask anxiously. "What is it?"
"Snake in the road," she says. "Looks like a young rattler. Gonna have to move it."
"What?" I gasp in shock. "You can't be serious."
"Well, I sure ain't sittin' here all day while it suns itself," she says in a tone of mixed disdain and amusement.
I look around, half expecting to find an alternate route, but I can tell at a glance that the road is infinitely more traversable than the desert scrub on either side. When my eyes settle back on Grandmother, she's smirking gently, and I admit that to be fair, I think I would have reached the same conclusion given a few minutes to consider my options. Really, though, what does she expect? Until very recently, I spent my entire adult life in space. The only 'wildlife' I ever had to contend with were Commander Archer's Rottweiler, a few contraband pets smuggled on board during shore leave, and some horny crewmates.
Grandmother chuckles and hands me the reins. Then she takes up her whip, a leather-wrapped wooden rod about 150 centimeters long with a three-meter leather lash at the end, which I have yet to see her use. "I'll just shoo it out of the road so we can move along."
Just as she moves to get down off the cart, a brownish-black and white bird about as long as Beans darts into the road. It circles the snake for a few moments, wings open to make itself look bigger. Then, in a flash of motion just as the snake strikes, the bird grabs it by the head and bashes it hard against the ground several times. I'm astonished by how quick and brutal the attack is, and from such an elegant, delicate-looking creature.
"Huh!" Grunts Grandmother, taking the reins back. She clicks her tongue and twitches the reins slightly, and Pious and Patience start walking again. Then she gives a slightly disappointed sigh. "Well, the desert's big an' full of critters, so I reckon there'll be another chance to teach you how to wrangle a snake without a roadrunner interferin'.
"Rattlesnake's good eatin'," she says as we rumble past the handsome little creature, who's still working on swallowing his dinner inch by scaly inch. "Skin it, dredge it in flour or dip it in batter, an' fry it up just like chicken." Though, she doesn't exactly say it tastes 'just like chicken', I notice. "But I wouldn't eat roadrunner lessn' I was dying for want of meat."
As we move along, Grandmother resumes pointing out different animals and telling me how to cook them and what parts can be saved for other uses. She makes no distinction between the furry-tailed packrat scurrying in the bushes beside the trail and the mule deer and whitetails bounding across the desert in the distance. Meat is meat and it all will sustain you, if you know how to prepare it, though apparently some animals are tastier than others. Just about everything has bones that can be turned into needles or handles and tendons that can be used to sew hides. She also makes a point of telling me which parts should not be eaten. "The meat of predators doesn't taste very good, but it will keep you alive if you're starving and you can get it," she says. "Just don't eat the liver. It'll poison you."
By the time the desert thins out and we reach the first shabby little hovels on the edge of town, the conversation has moved on to the tanning of hides. According to Grandmother, Mother Nature has proportioned all mammals in such a way that each of them has just enough brains to tan its own hide.
"Birds are different, though," she says, "Bird brains are too small to tan their hides, but you can use egg yolks instead."
I'm really not looking forward to the practical lessons, but I'm sure Malcolm will appreciate the irony.
Once upon a time, the little village was probably charming, though now it looks a bit bedraggled and woebegone; but everyone knows Grandmother and greets her with genuine warmth. At first, people just call out to her and wave, and she responds in kind. Then we pull up to the general store. A big, weathered sign across the front says
~ CAPSHAW'S MERCANTILE ~
~ feed & dry goods ~ groceries ~ housewares ~ tools ~ toys ~ appliances & more ~
~ for sale or trade ~
~ special orders accepted with pre-payment ~
~ no credit without collateral ~
A young man with twisted legs, a hunched back and a happy-go-lucky grin limps out, takes hold of Pious's bridle and guides the team up to a hitching post in front of the store. He and Grandmother make small talk as he helps her off the cart, and then I hear the words I should have been expecting.
"Evan Capshaw, Miss," he says, offering a hand to help me down. "And you are?"
"That's my granddaughter, boy!" Grandmother manages to sound crotchety enough to make his grin fade slightly. "She's here a-visitin' with her man for a while, so you'd best mind your manners, Evan Capshaw!"
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, turning toward Grandmother to excuse himself. "You know, I was only bein' polite like a gentleman should, offerin' a lady a hand down."
I don't know whether it was intentional or not, but Grandmother has given me enough time to think of a safe response to Evan's question. "Elaine," I tell him when he turns the full force of his grin back on me. "You can call me Elaine." Trip's mother's maiden name was Johnston. I'll use that if he asks for a surname.
Evan's parents own the store. While Grandmother haggles over the value of the goods she has brought to trade, I browse the aisles. The mercantile is a very old building with hardwood floors and yellow pine paneling. As I walk up one aisle and down the next, I catch the scents of coffee and spices, fresh roasted peanuts and baked goods, salted cod, pickles, perfume, sweet peaches, and rotting onions. A dusty red tricycle hangs from the rafters near one wall, and from it dangles a faded sign that says "TOYS." One corner is set up as a hardware department with various nails and screws, nuts and bolts and some hand tools. On the other side of the store, on tall shelves high up on the wall are bolts of brightly colored cloth. In the back is a sign with an arrow pointing the way out a side door to "Farm Machinery, Wagons and Buggies, for sale or rent." They're low on stock right now, but it wouldn't be hard to close one's eyes and imagine the days when the place was crammed full to bursting with everything anyone could ever dream of wanting.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone moving in the aisle several feet away from me. He has a peculiar gait, and I realize it's Evan again, now doing some sweeping with a shabby brush. Whether he's genuinely hard at work or just curious about the stranger and finding an excuse to check me out makes no difference to me, as I take great pains not to notice him. Idly I wonder whether the Capshaws were disappointed to find their son was crippled or relieved that he wasn't fit to be conscripted into military service. If he were born into a wealthier family, particularly one with military or political ambitions, he would likely have been aborted the moment prenatal imaging suggested he wasn't perfect, or if his deformities weren't revealed in utero, he would certainly have been euthanized at birth.
Suddenly an image of little Matthew flashes before my mind's eye, first his perfect, precious little face, followed by the huge blister-like sac on the back of his head that contained his externalized brain. Then the memory of all the other defects and deformities hits me, and I can hardly breathe.
I want with all my heart to save him, even knowing what he is and what it cost Malcolm to bring him into the world, but his problems are too many and too severe. No facility in the Empire can provide the care he needs. He will die and it will happen soon. It will more than likely be painful. The only question is whether it will be of malnutrition, infection, brain injury, or a buildup of toxins in his blood.
"Do you think he's in pain?" Amanda asks softly.
"Very likely," I tell her with a slight nod. "If not, he will be soon."
She requests that I take action to hasten his death to prevent his suffering and agrees that the decision is the best one for managing his condition in the most humane way possible. It's all so very cold and formal. So efficient, practical, and professional.
I rummage around in the drawers and quickly find what I need. I separate the folds of the blanket to expose the umbilical cord and loosen the clamp I had placed there earlier. The blood at the clamp site has clotted, so he doesn't even begin to bleed. The umbilical vein doesn't have any pain receptors, so he won't feel the slightest pinch of the needle that usually comes with a hypodermic injection.
After I administer the solution that will soon kill him, I sit on the floor and cradle his little face in one hand. With only his face showing, he looks flawless. Beautiful. Raised in a decent environment, with the right values, away from the influence of Em and Alpha, he could even be good. But there is no one to take care of him. The heartbreaking thing is, I know what's wrong with him and what needs to be done to fix it, but I don't know how to do it. It's bewildering to think that the best care I can give him is to kill him.
Stroking my thumb over his soft little cheek I tell him again and again what a wonderful little boy he is, how handsome and brave. He nuzzles my palm and smiles for me while the little white tip at the end of his extra limb twitches like crazy. Then he sighs deeply once, twice, and breathes no more…
I'm sitting on the floor in the canned goods aisle, my knees pulled up to my chest and my face pressed against them. Why, after all this time, I should suffer a flashback now is beyond me.
"Miss Elaine?" Evan's voice comes from above me, concerned. "You alright?"
When we entered the store, I removed my sunglasses thinking it was better to risk recognition than to draw attention to myself by walking around like some celebrity trying to hide my identity. Now, I wish I still had them on. A few tears have leaked from my eyes, and I dash them away before standing up. If I tip my head slightly downward, the broad brim of my straw hat hides enough of my face that I'm still not likely to be recognized, and I try to inject a smile into my voice when I reply.
"I – I think so," I say. "I think maybe I should have drunk more water on the way into town." I have to admit, I'm proud of my quick thinking. One look at my fair skin and soft hands would tell him I'm new to desert life, so it would make sense that I'd miss the signs of dehydration. Also, it's not the kind of lie that's likely to get woven into a story that I'll have to recall and keep straight later.
"Well, that's an easy fix," he tells me. "Come along to the lunch counter and I'll get you a drink."
With a gentle hand on my back, he guides me to a high counter with a row of bar stools along it. The furnishings are ancient but immaculately clean, and the shining stainless-steel appliances, the glass cases displaying luscious-looking cakes and pies, and the polished aluminum stools with their red vinyl cushions make the space feel charming and quaint rather than decrepit and run down. He helps me up onto a stool, and goes around the counter to pour me a glass of water.
"Would you like a snack as well?"
"I, uh, I probably shouldn't. I – didn't bring my credit chip." I suppose it's another plausible lie, though I'm not sure what I'll say if he asks me what kind of idiot travels three hours to town and forgets to bring their credit chip. Then it occurs to me that this is Grandmother's shopping trip. I'm just along for the ride.
I'm not sure how I feel to find that I can lie so easily. On the one hand, I know it's a skill I'll need in the future, but on the other hand, I always thought I was an honest person.
"No worries," Evan tells me with a genuine smile. "Your grandmother's such a good customer, we always serve her gratis. Given that you're family, I'm sure we can extend the same courtesy to you."
At this point it feels like arguing would bring more attention than I want, so I accept his offer and have a small slice of lemon meringue pie. It's deliciously sweet and tart, and the meringue is just a tiny bit overdone, which gives it a wonderfully toasty flavor. Grandmother soon joins me, and orders up an enormous slab of chocolate cake with a thick, fudgy chocolate icing.
She looks at Evan and says, "It's nearly 10:00, boy. How about putting on the news?"
The ancient television flares to life, and after some tuning and a bit of percussive maintenance, we spend the next ten minutes idly watching the talking heads discuss the weather, the local calendar of events, and the traffic in the surrounding communities of Las Vegas, Flagstaff, Phoenix, Nogales, Mexicali, and San Diego. The local traffic report – and it's amazing how far away 'local' can be in such a desolate place as this – is followed by a brief segment of some nature photographs accompanied by some charming background music and a voiceover talking about the beauty of the desert.
"And it's ten after the hour," the male host says in that smooth, soothing voice they've all perfected for the morning shows. "So, let's get back to our main studio and today's big announcement from the Imperial Palace."
Another face fills the screen. He could be the original from which the local host was copied, for he looks the same except that his eyes are bluer, his teeth are straighter and whiter, and his jaw is squarer.
"And we're back in our San Francisco studio at ten past ten in the a.m.!" he begins enthusiastically. "For those of you just joining us, the story of the day and the week, probably the year and quite possibly the decade, is the announcement from the Imperial Palace at 4:00 this morning, Pacific Time, that the Empress has chosen a consort and accepted his proposal of marriage."
"Say what?!" Evan exclaims.
I nearly drop my fork with a bite of pie on its way to my mouth. Realizing my mouth is suddenly so dry there's no way I'd be able to swallow it right now, I carefully put it back down and take a sip of my water instead. Of course, with Trip's arrest and the uproar it probably caused on Jupiter Station and throughout the Fleet at the same time that Malcolm, her Head of Imperial Security, vanished, Hoshi would have had to take some kind of action to maintain order, but marriage? I mean, I suppose we all imagined it would have to happen eventually simply because women are rarely allowed to hold power for very long in the Empire, but unless she was already secretly cultivating a relationship, I can't imagine whom she would have found so quickly that she felt she could trust and control well enough to allow him to occupy the seat just to the right of her throne. On my periphery, I'm aware of little noises of shock and surprise from other patrons in the store and sense them all drawing closer to the lunch counter and the television. Beside me, Grandmother seems oblivious as she pores over her shopping list and eats her cake.
"We'll be going to the Press Room at the Imperial Palace in just a few moments, Kate, but in the meantime, what do we know about General Austin Burnell?"
General Austin Burnell? It's a good thing I put my fork down, for I've gone numb all over now and it would surely have clattered to the counter or all the way to the floor if I was still holding it. I swallow hard and concentrate on staring at the screen and repeating in my mind every word the talking heads say. It was safe to show my surprise when the Empress announced her plans to marry because that was surprising news to everyone, but no one else is reacting to the news that she has chosen Austin Burnell for her consort or to his new title, because they don't know the politics and scheming that have been going on behind the scenes for the past two years or so. To reveal my dismay at his sudden rise in rank and social status would draw attention I definitely don't want.
"Well, John, the Empress's consort seems to be a bit of an everyman," Kate says with an air of wide-eyed confidentiality. "He comes from humble, some might even say impoverished, origins."
A montage begins to play, showing images of now-General Burnell throughout his life as a voiceover tells his story against a background of inspiring music. He was a cute little boy, but his eyes were always so serious. Apparently, he spent some time in a workhouse when he was small because his parents couldn't afford to support him and his infant brother. True or false, it will certainly help make him popular among the masses – which, I'm sure, is the only reason he'd ever release such information. The people of the Empire don't vote for their leaders, but knowing one of their own can get so close to the seat of ultimate Power will make them more docile, which will benefit Hoshi as she works to hold things together now that Trip and Malcolm are out of the picture. If it's false, I'm sure no one will ever have the courage to try to disprove it.
At seventeen he enlisted in the MACOs, and within a few years had enrolled in the Enlisted Commissioning Program. Graduating the program as a second lieutenant, he spent a few years in Special Ops before returning to regular MACO service as a captain. He had a number of different assignments over the next few years, until he was finally assigned the prestigious duty of Head of Station Security for Jupiter Station. Not surprisingly, the tale they're spinning leaves out the sexual liaison he had with then-Major Reed in the months just before his promotion to Jupiter Station.
I know his story from there, and my mind quickly turns to how I'm going to break this news to Malcolm. The problem is, I have no idea what his reaction will be.
On the one hand, I believe he and Burnell were as close to friends as any two members of the Pack could be expected to get. They were even lovers for a time, and though Malcolm wouldn't have thought twice in those days about raping anyone he fancied and then casting them aside like a used condom, it would have taken a monumental amount of affection and trust for him to enter into an actual relationship with anyone. So, the betrayal – and a betrayal it is if he let Malcolm flee the station when he could have helped him rise to power – could send Malcolm into a blind rage and start him planning a one-man assault on the Imperial Palace.
On the other hand, however, Burnell is Pack. Malcolm might be surprised he found – or made – an opportunity to get close to the throne, but having found it he would naturally be expected to take it. Moreover, Austin was once his protégé, so Malcolm might even feel a bit of paternal pride in seeing him rise to the level of Imperial Consort.
And now that I've run out of hands, I also have to consider the possibility that as Malcolm's second in command, Austin was simply in the best position to support Hoshi now that Malcolm's out of the picture. In which case, Malcolm will probably accept Austin's sudden rise to power as being necessary for the stability of the Empire, for all that it will be a bitter pill to swallow.
Whatever the case, I'm certain his reaction to the news will depend very much on his mood at the time I tell him. I make a mental note to ask Grandmother to let me broach the subject with him, and I'll wait until he seems in a cheerful frame of mind.
By the time I've finished contemplating Malcolm's possible reactions to the news that Austin has been chosen as the Imperial Consort, the montage is over and the camera has cut to a shot of the press room in the Imperial Palace. The Empress's press secretary emerges from a door in the corner of the room and goes to stand behind a podium bearing the Imperial seal.
Just as she's wrapping up her statement, a visibly nervous lackey comes out and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes go wide and, in what appears to be an unprecedented moment of Imperial transparency, she announces that the Empress and the Imperial Consort will take questions.
Fortunately, everyone around me is as taken aback as I am, otherwise, my little gasp of shock would likely have drawn far more attention than I want. But I'm not surprised by Hoshi and Austin taking questions. It's a smart political move. My reaction comes from seeing the two MACO security officers who escort them onto the podium. Of course, I would expect to see the young man. Austin's secretary, I think his name is Ian, has been with him since he was promoted to Colonel and Second in Command of the MACOs. The other one, though, stuns me. Now, finally, we know what became of Amanda Cole.
My chest physically hurts with the pain of the betrayal. We were never particularly friendly, but I'd always thought she was loyal to Trip and dedicated to his mission. It's simply terrifying to think what secrets she might have shared with Austin.
Another pair of minions dart in from the side and set up a pair of lightweight though clearly priceless antique chairs for the Empress and her Consort ready for them to take their places. The gold-leafed frames with their Imperial Red velvet cushions, plus the gem-encrusted Globe and Dagger Imperial Seal on the backrest of each chair, are clearly meant to evoke the image of a pair of thrones; but I've seen pictures of the Imperial Throne, and these seats, elegant though they may be, are probably just a pair of dining room chairs from the Imperial Palace. Hoshi's, naturally, is taller than Austin's, but only by a tiny bit.
As Ian and Amanda take their positions behind Austin and Hoshi respectively, I'm as angry as I can ever remember being at how easily Austin must have slipped into the position Malcolm had spent so many months preparing for himself. And I'm furious at the betrayal – not so much by Austin, because knowing what I do about the Pack, that was practically a given, but by Amanda Cole, who seemed so loyal and devoted to the cause. In fact, it hurts worse than Eloise's treachery, because she was never part of the team, but Amanda was essential to making our scheme work and I know Trip trusted her as utterly as he did either Mike or Anna. I'm livid at so many things: at the sacrifice Trip had to make to allow the rest of us to flee the station; at the danger and deprivation we all face living on the run; at the risk Grandmother is taking to shelter us; at the lost hope for the Empire, hope for change, for a better life, hope that none of the people around me now even knew existed. If Austin were here right now, I'd do my level best to kick him and slap him, scratch at his eyes and bite him. I think of the knife I used when I tried to kill Malcolm, and the image of it comes clearly to my mind. For the first time I don't shy away from it. If Austin were here, and unable to defend himself, I'd gut him without a second thought.
As for Amanda, I'd leave her to Malcolm and his lingchi.
I feel my nails biting into the palms of my hands, and have to consciously relax them. I must have been holding my breath to keep from shouting and cursing, because suddenly my lungs are bursting and I need to take some slow quiet breaths to restore my oxygen levels. I feel a hand on my knee, and glance to my right to see grandmother giving me an encouraging wink. Obviously, she doesn't know why I'm so upset, but she can tell that something's shaken me and knows it would be dangerous for others to notice. I reached down and take her old, gnarled hand and give it a squeeze in gratitude, and she grins back at me. Her support allows me to refocus and pay attention to what's being said on the television screen.
I honestly don't know why they even bother with the charade of competing news organizations. Everybody knows that all of the networks are subsidiaries of the same company, which is strictly supervised by the Ministry of Communications. The government has a stranglehold on the media, and the only time the truth comes out is when it benefits them. It seems to me they could save a whole lot of time and confusion by skipping the press conferences and just having an interview with one reporter. Marla Moore is pretty and popular and very earnest, so she's well-trusted. I don't think anyone would bat an eye if they simply did away with the press corps and made her the spokesperson for the Imperial Government.
A series of questions (which I'm certain are planted because they make Austin shine like a new brass button on a dirty coat) let him outline his career trajectory over the past few years. He gets to talk about how effective he was as Chief of Security on Jupiter Station, and then shows some endearing humility by telling how astonished and slightly intimidated he was the day he first got to speak to the Empress herself via a video call when she promoted him to colonel and made him SiC of the MACOs. From there the reporters pave the way for him to humbly brag about how he held the Empire together for then-General Reed during his long recovery following the explosion that killed Generals Hayes and Gomez. I sit listening to him, while I wear ten years' worth of enamel off my teeth grinding them together so I won't start yelling abuse.
Of course, there aren't ten people alive who know that Austin was actually taking his orders from Trip, who was posing as Malcolm with the help of a very clever spoofing program. And since, of those trusted few, the only ones not in hiding are Trip, who's in military prison awaiting court martial, Austin himself, and that treacherous bitch Amanda Cole, whatever story Austin chooses to tell is going to be accepted as the truth.
After practically begging Austin to sing his own praises, the press corps asks a lot of questions about relatively meaningless things that 'haven't been decided yet.' The date and location of the wedding, the wedding theme and colors, the members of the wedding party, Hoshi's dress, Austin's suit, and the guest list. Eventually, they move on to questions about things that are important, and 'still to be determined.' Who will take over as Head of Imperial Security? Will they remain posted to Jupiter Station as Austin was? Apart from the obvious responsibilities of a spouse, what other duties will Austin assume?
Finally, someone asks a question that has an actual answer. Regrettably, that someone is Hans Larsen, a reporter who might be almost as trusted as Marla Moore, though he's not nearly so well respected because he prefers to pursue titillating gossip stories over hard news that actually affects people's lives.
"Back when you were promoted to lieutenant colonel and Interim Head of Imperial Security, General, it was widely reported you were homosexual," Larsen begins, his expression guileless. "How is it that you now claim to have found true love with the most powerful woman in the Empire?"
This is probably as close as anyone will ever dare come to asking if Hoshi's grand romance isn't really a cover for a military coup. I'm not at all surprised that Larsen couches it in terms of a gossipy question about Austin's sex life. I guess he's braver than I thought, but not better.
Hoshi's face darkens instantly and she glowers at Larsen. "What business is it of yours…"
Austin reaches out and takes her hand, which elicits surprised mutterings both from the press room and from the crowd around me in the store. It's generally forbidden to touch the Empress.
However, his murmur combines just the right amount of deference and resolution. "Your Majesty, begging your pardon for interrupting, but the question was directed to me, and it's something the people would naturally ask. May I answer?"
The look of adoration she gives him is so sweet it would melt the heart and rot the teeth of almost anyone. Anyone, that is, who didn't know better. Anyone who hadn't seen how quickly she dumped Jonathan Archer when Max Forrest gave her a better offer, or how quickly she jumped back into Archer's bed after Forrest died with the Enterprise in the Tholian web to give her and the rest of us as much time as possible to get to the escape pods; anyone who didn't see her leading Travis Mayweather around by the dick in the days immediately following the capture of the Intrepid. I often wondered, at the time, what she did in bed to keep Travis loyal to her. Back then, I would never have dreamed of saying I loved Malcolm, but I'd always entertained some vague idea of finding a way to make him be kinder to me. He was protective enough – Martin Roberts found that out the hard way – but it was more out of a fierce sense of possession than any actual affection for me. Knowing Hoshi and Austin as I do, I have to think this question was planted to convince the masses that they are truly in love.
Upon getting a nod from Hoshi, Austin looks back to Larson. "Frankly, Hans, I never challenged those reports because not only were they completely irrelevant to my ability to do my job, but also, I sincerely believed them to be true. Up to that point in my life, I had never met a woman who aroused any sexual or romantic feelings in me. As for how we can claim true love, I can think of three possible explanations.
"First, I suppose it's possible that I've always been bisexual, but had simply never met a woman I found attractive. Given the number of women I've met in my life, some of them very beautiful, I don't think that explanation is likely to be true.
"The second possibility would be that Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress, somehow managed to 'turn me' heterosexual. As remarkable as the Empress is, I find it difficult to lend that theory any credence because we have over a century of research showing that one's sexuality is an essential trait and not merely a preference.
"Third, there's a saying that true love is not looking into one another's eyes and seeing one's own reflection there, but rather it's looking out in the same direction and seeing the same future."
Several of the women around me make affectionate little "aww" noises. I have to suppress the urge to gag. I know his eyes are a steely blue color, but they ought to be brown, because he's full of shit clear up to there. I know that quote, too. It's from an anthology of aviation stories in the Intrepid's database. How Austin got hold of it, I'll never know, but I do know that he's embellished it to suit his needs. It never said anything about the future.
However, he's continuing. I swallow nausea and listen – I'm going to have to report all this to Malcolm, who will want every detail I can remember. "In the two years or so that I've been working closely with the Empress, first as Interim Head of Imperial Security, then as former General Reed's SiC, and most recently as de facto Head of Imperial Security, I have often found we're both looking out in the same direction, and more recently, I've discovered we see the same future, for the Empire and for ourselves.
"So, I guess you could say, Hans, and this is what I've come to believe, that when it comes to sex, I generally prefer men, but when it comes to love, what really matters is the person inside, regardless of the form they take, and I happen to love this beautiful human being beside me more than anyone I have ever known."
He concludes this delivery of complete bullshit with a straight face and a voice that would convince anyone of his absolute sincerity – at least, anyone who didn't know he was lying through his beautifully even white teeth with every word.
The women around me and some of the reporters in the press room sigh again while the men here in the store roll their eyes. Once more I suppress the urge to vomit. If anyone ever convinces me that Hoshi and Austin are in love or even that Hoshi is capable of loving anyone, I'll eat my hat with a side of fries.
Marla Moore is next to speak.
"General, in light of today's announcement, one can't help but recall that you were promoted to major and Head of Security for Jupiter Station by General Reed and subsequently recommended for promotion to colonel and Interim Head of Imperial Security by Commodore Tucker."
This time it's Hoshi who reaches out and places a hand on Austin's arm as he takes a deep breath, even before Marla Moore goes on to ask her question. I can see his shoulders rise and fall with the effort of checking his temper, and I know it's a total act. Back on the station, you never knew exactly what Austin was thinking unless he wanted you to know. Moreover, if he really had so little control over his emotions as to broadcast them to everyone in the Empire who had access to a television, Malcolm would never have let him come within spitting distance of the security offices on Jupiter Station.
Marla, however, seems blind to the danger. "Did your close connections with these two men have any bearing on your developing relationship with the Empress? Also, General, how were you not aware of their alleged illegal activities, and how did General Reed manage to escape?"
Austin fixes her with a steely glare and holds it until the room falls deathly still. Even here in the store, it gets so quiet I can hear a fly buzzing in the window sill behind the sink in the café area.
"First of all, I'd like to clarify something. Charles Tucker III is no longer 'Commodore' Tucker," Austin's voice is now clipped and noticeably chillier as he goes on to explain the military protocol that has now stripped both Trip and Malcolm of their rank, as well as now labeling Malcolm, Anna and Mike as deserters. As a mere lieutenant, I suppose my name doesn't bear mentioning, or perhaps he assumes I'm too helpless to make it on my own and that I'll eventually be found with one or more of the others.
"Now, in answer to your first question, Miss Moore, the only influence either of those two men have ever had on my relationship to the Empress is that they made it possible for me to meet her. So, on the one hand, I can honestly say that without them our love would never have been possible. On the other hand, all they ever did was provide an introduction."
Having established that, he explains at some length why his relationship with both Trip and Malcolm – then widely believed to be harboring a long-standing hatred for each other – had precluded him from realizing that they were actually colluding with each other to keep him ignorant of the fact that they were co-conspirators, along with several other high-ranking officers, in a scheme to steal goods from the Imperial Fleet and redistribute them to the civilian population. "I was not aware of their unauthorized activities because they conspired to keep me from finding out, and I was not in any position to question them. Eventually, just as Eloise Chastain said when Tucker was arrested, I started to notice patterns around Jupiter Station, which I decided to investigate. When the opportunity presented itself, I planted an officer within the cabal and collected volumes of evidence which will be presented at the courts martial for Tucker and each of his conspirators."
My stomach ties itself in knots. On my lap, my fists are clenched so tightly my knuckles are bone-white. Amanda Cole. Had she been a spy the entire time? How could none of us have known?
"I can certainly understand Miss Chastain not coming to me when she became aware of Tucker's irregular activities," he continues smoothly. "After all, she had no way of knowing whether I was involved. However, once she had reported her observations to Admiral Hernandez, the Admiral should have made a report to the security services rather than conducting her own investigation. Star Fleet officers generally are not trained in criminal investigation. Had the appropriate people been involved in the investigation and arrest, I do not believe Reed and the other conspirators would have had the opportunity to escape."
He injects the venom so smoothly you can hardly notice his fangs sinking in. Hernandez's standing has just plummeted, but then I'm hardly going to be mourning over that.
"Are you angry with Tucker and Reed?" Marla Moore follows up before anyone else has a chance to raise a hand.
Austin looks thoughtful. It's always difficult to tell what he might be thinking or feeling, but the slight pause leads me to suspect this question might not be scripted. When he eventually does respond, his measured (and possibly even honest) answer surprises me.
"At one time, I believed both Charles Tucker and Malcolm Reed to be my friends. I believed them both to be honorable men. Tucker led his people by example and earned their respect while Reed commanded respect through sheer intimidation, but each of them had a code he lived by and rules that he would not break. I honestly don't think either of them ever meant any harm to the Empire. I believe they are both patriots whose only intentions were to help people. I certainly don't believe either man acted with treason in his heart. But disagreeing with the law is not sufficient reason to break it, and whatever their intentions, they and their co-conspirators will have to answer for their crimes."
"That Marla Moore, she just goes looking for trouble," someone in the store mutters. "One of these days, she's going to ask the wrong person the right question, and the next thing you know she'll turn up dead in a ditch somewhere."
"Not too sure of that," Grandmother replies, never looking up from her shopping list. "Look what the General done with his answer. First, he told you how the people he thought were his friends left him out when they got up to shenanigans behind his back. Then he come off as a reasonable man, faithful friend, and loyal patriot sayin' he understands how they thought they were helpin' people and he don't think they meant any harm, but that they still got to answer for the laws they broke. I kind of reckon she asked him exactly what he wanted her to."
I think it's the most I've ever heard her say at one time, and I have to admit, for all she appears to be isolated and out of step with the rest of the world, she seems to understand how politicians use the media to influence people about as well as anyone I've ever met.
In the press room, a bold young man calls out without waiting to be called upon: "Speaking of General Reed and the co-conspirators, General, how is the search going?"
Suddenly, the press room on the TV and the crowd around the lunch counter go very still again.
Grandmother chuckles softly into the silence. "Now that boy, he's in trouble."
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