Chapter Thirty-four
The Reckoning
Eloise Chastain
"It 'isn't that much of an issue'!"
I can't believe my ears.
Well, as if I'm going to waste time talking to some second-rate flunkey who has no idea what I've done, what I've contributed to the war effort. And who obviously has no idea – no idea at all – that I have influence where it counts.
I slam my finger down on the Disconnect button and stare at the deserted street.
I can't remember the last time I've seen it empty. There's always someone there, always at least one man on guard. Now there's only the soft hush of the rain blowing down the empty sidewalk, lit by the yellow streetlights.
Well, they're going to put that right pretty damn quick.
I'm so nervous as I key in the numbers that I have to dial three times before I get it right. As I finally get the soft tones of Erika's PA I breathe out a sigh of relief. "Kevin? Patch me through, will you?"
There's a pause.
Finally, "The Admiral's busy right now I'm afraid."
Is everyone on this goddamn planet crazy tonight? Erika's never too busy to take my phone calls. No matter what, she always finds the time. So, we haven't spoken much lately, but we've both been busy. This post of mine doesn't run itself you know.
"Quit fooling around, Kevin. This is important. Just put me through."
"I'm sorry, Ms Chastain. She specifically said she wasn't to be disturbed."
I blink in disbelief at the transceiver. "You did tell her it was me, right?"
"No, Ma'am. She doesn't want to take calls from anyone except urgent communiqués on military issues."
The silence stretches, become sticky.
I remember her giving out that message once, to her PA at the time. She and I were in bed together, watching the last day of Trip Tucker's farce of a trial – sorry, court martial. We'd both been in the courtroom on the first day, since we'd both been called to testify, but the second day, we'd planned to make love and watch him go down in flames. That didn't quite go the way we had planned. Of course, it was always going to end the way it was supposed to, more or less, but it sure in hell wasn't supposed to go down some of the ways it went to get there.
First, I think both Erika and I had expected my testimony to be a little more important and a lot more riveting than it was. It didn't help matters that the prosecutor didn't do anything to help me spice it up. Even when that useless lump Admiral Gardener started to snore and that self-absorbed little prick Admiral Leonard started picking at his nails, he just kept slogging ahead through the dates and times on his list.
Then, he let Tucker's lawyer make Erika look like a glory hound with no respect for the rules by getting her to admit that she could have reported Tucker's criminal activities to the Triad before the explosion in the Sick Bay and long before there was any reason to suspect Reed of being involved. The lawyer didn't have to say it aloud, but when Erika couldn't clearly explain her reasons for not going to Generals Hayes and Gomez, the panel obviously concluded that she'd carefully kept the information secret right up until she could use it to advance herself, and they more than likely suspected her of planning a coup.
The worst, though, came when that bitch Amanda Cole took the stand. She's always been confident, professional, likeable and unselfconsciously beautiful, and I've always hated her for making it look so easy. Even in her ugly MACO dress uniform, I'll bet more than one of the panel got a hard-on just watching her walk up to the dock and take her seat. By the time she started her testimony she had them all wrapped up tight around her little finger. It was bad enough that the hard data she gave them made my carefully recorded dates and times and suspicions look like the paranoid ramblings of a borderline mental case, but the stories she told them – about how she met Tucker and how he introduced her to his criminal organization, about his secret bunker and meeting his parents, and the scintillating gossip she shared about him and Reed at the Empress's Ascension Anniversary Party – made my testimony seem about as interesting as an accountant's spreadsheets.
Of course, Erika was none too pleased when Cole made her look incompetent for interfering with the undercover MACO investigation and preventing the capture of the whole network on Earth before hanging the blame for Reed and the others escaping Jupiter Station around her neck. She took her frustrations with that out on me during the break.
I'm surprised she let me back in the bed to watch the defense. I was very careful not to sniffle too loudly or let the blood from my split lip drip onto the bedding. She'd used me hard in the past, but never beaten me before. She said it was my punishment for missing the fact that Cole had been investigating for Burnell all along, and I sure as hell didn't want to do anything else to incur her wrath.
When the defense presented its case, even I found myself silently applauding some of the stuff Trip came out with. I'd never have written him down as a legal expert, but he ran rings round some of the prosecutor's arguments. Then the statement he gave while the panel was deliberating made Erika practically insane. She rushed around the room, cursing and snarling, tipping over furniture and breaking things like a rabid animal trapped in a cage. As I sat there on the bed, rigid as a marble statue, too afraid to move lest I draw her attention and invite her to tear my throat out in her animal rage, I could only make out one thing she said: "What idiot let him talk to a reporter in a private room?"
I thought the answer was obvious, but I didn't dare say a word.
When sentence was finally handed down (death, of course, to give Her Most Imperial Majesty, Hoshi Sato, by consent – and only by consent – of His Most Imperial Majesty, Austin Burnell, the chance to magnanimously commute it to life imprisonment), you could practically hear the moan of anger from all the lowlife types Tucker had pilfered valuable stuff to benefit. For weeks afterwards there were persistent rumors of civil unrest, but Erika deployed the MACOs where they were needed and stepped up Starfleet patrols in the Sol system. Out on Jupiter Station and at the other shipyards, Major Vaja instituted a sweeping crackdown on civilian ships supplying the military ports, searching each vessel thoroughly, checking every crewmember's documents, seizing all contraband no matter how insignificant, and arresting anyone who was remotely suspicious. Slowly, thanks to their combined efforts, the threat died away. Tucker was a martyr but he was an invisible one, and people have this convenient habit of forgetting things that aren't straight in front of them – 'Out of sight, out of mind' sums it up, and that was safer than putting him in front of a firing squad and making a REAL martyr of him.
It wasn't my best evening though, not by a long shot. Erika was really mad, and though she didn't call it punishment this time, what she did to me gave the term 'angry sex' a whole new dimension forever after.
I open my mouth now to demand if she's got someone with her and shut it just in time. Not only would Kevin refuse to answer, it would make me look totally pathetic. It's not like we took vows of fidelity or anything. I mean, I've taken other lovers. And since the … well, the Emperor took over, I suppose she has other things on her mind most of the time. 'Surviving' being one of them – the whispers say she's not exactly his favorite person and her being still alive isn't entirely his idea of beneficence.
Still, I'm pissed off.
And scared.
I'll admit it, I'm scared.
"Look, give the Admiral a message when she's free, right?" I make my voice cajoling. I've always been good to Kevin. I sat on his lap once and let him play with the goods, getting me warmed up for the main course.
He sounds relieved. "Of course, Ma'am."
"Well, there's been some stupid mistake. I'm supposed to have round-the-clock protection and there's–"
The line goes dead exactly as the lights go off.
Fuck! Maybe Tucker had a point when he bellyached about the crumbling infrastructure. I look outside again and all the lights in the street have gone out. It's not the first time this has happened, actually it's a pretty regular thing these days; we've all complained to the City Council and they make excuses about not having enough money to keep things properly maintained. The first time it worried me, but now it's just something the citizens have to expect; we pay our first rate taxes and get a second rate service.
(Well actually I pay third rate taxes, but hell, that's what I have an accountant for. And don't ask about me working in the Ministry of the Interior because fuck, it's not like I have time to get involved with that minor kind of thing.)
I turn the TV on. It's something to think about; maybe there'll be a game-show or something I can watch. I've ordered a Chinese takeout like I do every Friday night, and I suppose that'll arrive even if the lights are out. It's due any time now, and if they ring up complaining they can't see the numbers because it's dark I'll get someone arrested.
So, the TV doesn't work either. Of course, it wouldn't, am I stupid or something? It's just because I'm nervous. Worrying over nothing. The guard will turn up any minute. They've just been delayed, that's all.
And sure enough, the big blue flitter with the yellow stripe appears and parks up in the usual place. I breathe a sigh of relief as the guard gets out and walks to stand at the front gate. There's not much light with the street-lighting off, but a passing vehicle's headlights shows the sidearm. I haven't been forgotten after all.
I've got a few scented candle-lights, so sooner than sit around in the dark I light them. It's no big deal, I've got a few PADDs with preloaded stuff I can read, at least till the power comes back on.
For a few minutes, sitting in the window-seat, I yawn my way through the fashion pages. Then the delivery guy turns up, and I watch idly as the guard checks the bags like he always does, running a scanner over it to make sure there's nothing in there that shouldn't be.
It had taken me a few days after the trial to realize that once Erika was framed as a glory-seeking, selfish, failed usurper, I would be tarred with the same brush. If I'd been smarter and in any shape to do it, I might have made some kind of effort to distance myself from her. I could have made a statement that I'd only provided evidence of unusual activity to a superior officer and had no way of knowing the Commodore was helping the needy. I could have reminded people Erika had always had the option of looking the other way and telling me I didn't need to monitor his comings and goings. After the way she used me the night of the trial, I was sure as hell mad enough to tell the masses that Tucker's downfall was all her fault, but when you can't sit, stand, walk or use the toilet without blinding pain in your groin, you're really not concerned with what the common people might think of you.
You'd think people would have forgotten by now, and ordinarily, I couldn't give two fucks about their opinion of me, but now and again there'll be some crazy who'll put some shit on social media or spit at me in the street. They get dealt with, and nothing has happened for a while now, but you can't take chances.
I can't take chances with Erika, either. I know her interest in me is waning, partly, I suppose, because she's in such a precarious position with the Emperor right now, but mostly because I'm not physically capable of surviving the kinds of things she likes to do to her partners. She's also the jealous and vindictive type, so I don't dare take any new partners and have to handle my needs myself. On impulse, I take a candle into the bedroom and make sure I recharged my vibrator the last time I used it. I sigh with relief when it buzzes to life. With no power and no TV, it was starting to look like would be a very long and boring night, but now that I have plans for the evening, I feel better.
There's no problem! Of course there isn't. The delivery van drives away and the guard looks carefully up and down the street before he contacts me via his communicator. "May I bring your takeout up to you, Ma'am?"
This is standard practice of course; it saves me going to the door where I might be recognized. When I go out to work I make sure I'm well disguised, but I'm not going to wear it all evening, am I?
I'm famished by now. "Sure. You know the signal." If I don't get it, I don't open the door to my apartment. It's a pain in the ass, but I don't take chances.
It doesn't take two minutes before the familiar knock comes on the door. Two taps, a ring on the bell, three taps.
My mouth waters. I cross the room and peep through the spyhole. Most of the view's obscured by the takeout bag, but the guard's an oldish guy, and he's having this problem with fitting his badge back into his pocket. It's kind of funny, watching him struggle.
I open the door and reach for the bag.
Next second I'm flying backwards across the room and he's lunging after me. I crash onto my back and before I can even scream, he's on top of me, ripping an ivory knife out of his boot.
The soft light of the candles is enough to show me his face, and as I recognize it the blood freezes in my veins. It's been a few years, and seems like they've been hard years for him, but I still know him at once.
When he first came to Jupiter Station he was kept so secure I never even saw the guy. When I finally got to check him out, I'll be honest, I wondered what the fuck all the fuss had been about. Sure, he'd done that lingchi stuff a few years ago on some lowlife he had a grudge against, but what the hell, there must have been some good reason for it. He wasn't 'built', he wasn't foaming at the mouth and trying to attack anyone who looked at him; matter of fact he was just this quiet little guy with an English accent who you'd hardly notice was there till he spoke. The one time he did give me the creeps was the day he got into the boss's office when I was in the outer one, and to this day I've no idea how he did it; and I know that was what Trip meant me to remember the last time he spoke to me on the day he was arrested.
But now as I stare up at him, I finally know what all the fuss was about. By the time we closed Tucker's little operation down, he and Reed had got real close. I know Erika was more than pissed off that the little fucker got away; she'd known him back in the day, and said he was the last guy in the world you wanted to have holding a grudge against you.
I never believed her.
Until now.
Close up, his eyes are gray pits of murderous intention. "I saw you on the video feed, Ms Chastain," he breathes. "The day you earned your promotion from Jupiter Station. Very loyal. Very impressive."
I take what comfort I can from the fact that he hasn't killed me straight out; surely, I can wriggle my way out of this? I'm an important person these days, I have contacts – he wouldn't dare hurt me, not really… "It was nothing personal," I whimper. "Admiral Hernandez found out. She threatened my family…"
"Oh yes. Your family. Deceased parents and an elder brother whom you barely knew who was killed in a rebel uprising twenty years ago. Do go on." But his free hand slips around my throat and starts pressing gently.
It's hard to think straight when you're being throttled by a multi-murderer whose best friend you sold out to your lover. I try a few tears of panic, which isn't difficult. "I was just scared, okay? Can't you understand that? Haven't you ever been scared?"
The fingers press a little harder. "'Have I been scared'?" he purrs. "I'll tell you the worst fear I've ever felt in my life. The moment I switched on a recording of what happened to Trip Tucker that day after the official recording ended. The day I had to listen to him scream and there was fuck-all I could do about it."
You'd think the years on the run would have battered him; instead, they seem to have torn away all the pretense of being civilized. I feel like I'm being pinned down by some kind of animal. The memory of that night after the court martial flits through my mind, and I realize that what Erika did to me then was nothing. I draw in all the breath I can to start screaming for help.
He leans closer, and my breath stops, caught in my throat. There are wicked serrations down the side of the knife-blade and the point comes to rest right against my left eyeball. "The building around us is empty, sweetheart. Feel free."
Is this a well-deserved end for a treacherous bitch, or is she just a product of her circumstances and deserving of mercy? Could there be some kind of middle ground where she dies for her treachery but without quite so much screaming and bloodshed? Knowing that Trip doesn't support killing unless it's absolutely necessary, is Malcolm's vengeance on Eloise a betrayal? Now that he's renewed his acquaintance with the taste of blood, do you think Mal will go back to the dark side? As always, please review if you've been enjoying the story.
