Fallen Dragon

  "What the fuck..." he shouted.

  The man was quickly hustled out of the door. He was sobbing now, a wretched gulping sound that was clearly audible even after the door was shut.

  "This place is a fucking loony bin," Hal announced. "What the hell is going on here?"

  Bralow sat down, sighed, then pulled the desktop pearl toward him. The girl's face was still on its pane. "She's the... the alleged victim," he said.

  "Avril? No way, man. No goddamn way. I paid for her!"

  "That's not her name."

  Hal looked at the closed door, suddenly curious. "Who was that? The guy that went for me?"

  "Her father. The mayor of Memu Bay. And she does have a collateral necklace. Ebrey Zhang put it on her himself."

  "Oh, Jesus fuck," Hal whispered. He sat down heavily beside Bralow as real fright took hold. None of this was making any sense, goddamnit. "Lieutenant, you've got to get me out of this."

  "That might be difficult now."

  * * *

  The Norvelle was in a thousand-kilometer orbit around Thallspring, its inclination of five degrees providing it with line of sight on Durrell each time it passed through the planet's prime meridian. At ten-fifteen in the morning it rose above the capital city's horizon. As the sensors acquired the sprawl of buildings, a low-power laser was fired from one of the huge vehicle's five communications bays, seeking out the East Wing of the Eagle Manor. It was detected by a small electronic receiver unit on the roof, which immediately sent an answering laser pulse back to the starship. With the beams locked on their respective sensors, their width reduced until it was less than two centimeters at the target point, providing a link that could not be intercepted. The rooftop receiver unit was connected to a module in Simon Roderick's office by an armored fiber optic cable. Again, splicing into the cable was impossible. The system provided him with the most secure link possible to the starship. Only five people knew of its existence. Simon had been waiting for the call since he arrived at the office that morning. His usual routine of administrative work had been delegated to his assistants and personal AS. Instead, his time had been spent reviewing information filed under the generic name "The Opposition." As he ran through it all he conjured up probable attack scenarios, which grew steadily more exuberant as the morning progressed. It didn't matter how fanciful he made them, he still couldn't determine what they were actually planning. Nothing quite fit into what was clearly an impressive capability. The more he went over it, the more he was convinced they were holding back, waiting to deliver the hammer blow.

  The secure communication module chimed melodically, and a sheet screen on the wall lit up, showing one of the Norvelle's cabins. A man was sitting in front of a freefall work bench, with straps holding him down in the light gravity field. He looked into the camera and gave it a thin smile. "Good morning. It looks very sunny and warm down there today."

  Simon settled back behind his desk and looked at the face on the screen. It was his own, but fifteen years older. That particular batch of clones, the SF9s, were notorious for their phlegmatic temperament. Each generation tended to have its own quirk, which they put down to the individuality of the crèche nursing staff and the inevitable influence they exerted during the clones' formative years. The SK2 batch, to which the Simon in the study belonged, were often regarded as the more peppery of the breed. Although they were positively mild compared to the short-tempered SC5s (whose proclivity had sparked a wholesale review of crèche staff screening procedures). But whatever their behavioral nuances, they were all totally dedicated to the company that they controlled.

  "Morning," the SK2 Simon replied. "So what's the result?"

  "Well, the good news is it wasn't a bomb."

  "I never expected it would be. Far too coarse for our friends."

  "Young Braddock Raines was most thorough. The space-plane cabin was scanned and analyzed down to a molecular level. He also had the accessible systems removed and reviewed in the starship's lab. There was no detectable foreign genetic residue. However, somebody had opened an access panel. There were metal traces in the Allen screws. The alloy doesn't correspond with the tools issued to our maintenance people."

  "Thank heavens for that I was beginning to think they were almost infallible."

  "Quite. The panel gives access to several electronic components, including a major network junction. None of the components had any trace of tampering, except the junction. And that took some finding. The nuclear macroscan revealed some very peculiar stress patterns in the casing's molecular structure. Our so-called solid state physics experts are apparently baffled. They don't know what could have caused it"

  "Interesting."

  "The word is alarming. I don't like the idea of Thallspring having technologies that we don't understand. Especially when they're being used against us."

  "Their development has been very well hidden. We've run all the usual financial audits through the Treasury network. They couldn't spot any kind of government funds being diverted for clandestine technology projects in the last ten years."

  "Hardly surprising when you consider we're talking about people who can walk into our spaceplanes whenever they feel like it. Whatever they've got it's real enough."

  "Assuming whatever the intruder did to the junction gave him access to the spaceplane's network, what do our experts think he achieved?"

  "The theory they're throwing around up here is total subversion. The IT boys have dumped the spaceplane's entire AS program into a storage core for analysis. So far they can't find a single extraneous code line. The best conjecture they can come up with is a hidden command compressed into the original code."

  "In other words we don't know for certain what the hell the intruder did."

  "Absolutely."

  "Damn." The SK2 didn't waste time considering the puzzle. That was the advantage of having multiples working on the same problem: whatever solution his clone sibling came up with, it would be the same as the one he would eventually arrive at. And the SF9 had been thinking about this for over an hour already. "Recommendations?"

  "This intrusion has to have been some kind of reconnaissance mission. The interest our friends have in the space-plane demonstrates they want to get up here in one form or another, and as it's a Xianti they must be targeting the star-ships as a final destination. If they could fly up already, it would have been done. Therefore, they're still in the preparation stage. For myself, I believe he copied the AS to study our procedures."

  "I see. So what else do they need?"

  "For a hijacked flight to pass unnoticed, the only other consideration will be communications. We must hope they haven't already been there."

  "I'll make the necessary preparations. I take it you consider e-alpha to be compromised?"

  "Completely."

  "That will have to be taken into account."

  "Of course. I'll leave the details to you."

  "Thank you. Send Raines down today, please. I'll need him for implementation."

  "He'll be on the next flight." The SF9 Simon glanced at a pane, reading the text. "So what policy have you decided to apply to Memu Bay?"

  The SK2 used his DNI to consult his personal AS. The daily summaries poured into his brain, neatly tabulated in bright indigo. "Damn," he muttered as the Grabowski rape case scrolled down. He should have run the usual morning review. Problems like this should never arise in the first place. "What the hell is Zhang doing over there?"

  The SF9 smiled, content with his little victory. The Simons always enjoyed scoring points off each other. It was healthy competition.

  "I'll give it a full investigation," the SK2 said.

  "No need. They've already got an appalling asset-acquisition record. Things have to be calmed down. Sacrifice Grabowski to the mob. Then get Zhang to crack down hard."

  "Fine," he said dismissively. He was irritated at being caught short on an incident like this.

  The SF9 cut the link, chucking contentedly.

  * *
*

  When his car arrived outside the marina police station Ebrey Zhang seriously wondered if he should have put his Skin suit on. The protesters were eight or nine deep on the road and hyped up badly. He shivered as he read some of the slogans they'd sprayed on nearby buildings, saying what they wanted to do to Grabowski. Ten people in collateral necklaces were standing directly in front of the station entrance. They'd chained themselves together. Crude signs hung round their necks saying:

  Death before Rape

  So Please kill me now

  Stones, cans, bottles and what Ebrey hoped was only mud began to rain down on the car, making curiously dull thudding sounds as they dented the bodywork. Ten Skins and a batch of police in full riot armor pushed angry people aside, creating a route for the car.

  "Holy shit," Ebrey grunted. A huge brown lump hit the windshield and spread wide. Definitely a turd. The driver had to use the wipers and a whole load of cleaning fluid to smear it away.

  "This isn't getting any better," Lieutenant Bralow said. "There's at least as many here today as there were yesterday."

  "Same with the asset factories," Ebrey admitted reluctantly. "They're still on strike."

  "What does the general say?'

  "Get it over with, and quickly."

  "Easy for him."

  "He's got a point. There's more than just Grabowski to consider." Ebrey indicated the mob outside. "This whole thing has got to be defused. We can't even implement the TB vaccination program right now. How crazy is that?"

  "They should be able to move to trial in a couple of weeks."

  "Weeks? That's no damn good. Haven't they finished their investigation yet?"

  "Almost. Enough to thoroughly trash Grabowski's alibi. We've run our own checks in parallel, of course. Our AS can't find any taxi that could possibly have taken him anywhere, never mind the brothel."

  "It exists?"

  "No. We think the street he claims he went to was Minster Avenue. They're all private homes for the reasonably wealthy. There's no brothel."

  "In other words it's all bullshit."

  "Sir, he raped Francine Hazeldine. The best help I can be to him is by making a leniency plea."

  "Ah. That was the other thing that the general told me."

  "What?"

  "We don't leave anyone behind, no matter what the circumstances."

  Lieutenant Bralow gave his commander an agitated look, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

  The car made it through the station's perimeter and swooped down into the underground garage. Detective Galliani was waiting for them. He said hello politely enough and told them that Margret Reece was waiting upstairs for them.

  Ebrey Zhang kept his face composed even though he was seething. He was governor of Memu Bay; he was the one who summoned officials to him.

  Not a chance, he told himself bitterly.

  The only time Myles Hazeldine had slept at all in the last forty-eight hours was when the family doctor gave him enough sedatives to knock him out. Even those few hours had been twisted with nightmares and helpless fury. The same as his waking hours.

  He knew he must keep calm for his beloved Francine's sake. But it was so terribly terribly hard. To make matters worse, she was the one who kept apologizing to him, saying she was sorry she'd stayed out late at the club with her friends. Sorry she hadn't called him, or a taxi when she left.

  It was almost as though she was the one comforting him. Which was wrong. Another example of how bad a father he was.

  And so the hours dragged by. Pathetic helplessness alternating with utter primitive fury. He never wanted to let Francine out of his sight ever again, wanted to keep her next to him where she could be protected. He also wanted to rip that piece-of-shit alien bastard's heart out of his rib cage and hold it up to the sun, crying out in victory as scarlet blood showered down.

  Don and Jennifer had taken over the day-to-day running of the mayor's office. Actually, they'd insisted. The same as dear old Margret Reece had insisted he was never to be allowed near the suspect again. He'd managed to pull rank that first time, playing on sympathy to get into the interview. Damn, but that had been a moment of sweetness, actually getting his hands round the laughing, sneering kid's neck. However briefly.

  But no way could they keep him out of this meeting. The first time Memu Bay would be able to stand up to the invader scum and insist on things being played by the book. They wouldn't like that, their own bogus legitimacy being used against them.

  He was waiting in the marina station commissioner's office, not far from the one where they'd had the interview, as it happened. The commissioner was there, along with his boss, Margret Reece, and the police magistrate handling the case. Everybody seemed reluctant to look at him, much less talk. That didn't bother Myles. He had nothing to say. And their earnest sympathy only served to remind him what darling Francine had undergone. If he thought about that he would probably break down again.

  The door opened and Galliani showed Ebrey Zhang into the room, along with the Z-B legal officer, Bralow.

  Zhang nodded politely. "Mr. Mayor." He put his hand out.

  Myles just wanted to smash his fist into the bastard's nose. Margret Reece had warned him, but he hadn't forgotten who'd put that necklace around Francine's neck. The chief of police was watching closely, as was the precinct commissioner.

  Zhang stepped back, slightly subdued.

  "Thank you for coming, Governor Zhang," Margret Reece said. "I asked you here in your role as Halford Grabowski's senior officer."

  "I understand."

  "My officers have amassed enough evidence to formally charge him with the rape of a minor. The magistrate here has assigned a preliminary trial date. As his commanding officer, I'm asking you to sign him over into full civilian custody for the duration of the trial. I believe that is the requirement that Zantiu-Braun strategic security forces operate under."

  "That is correct," Zhang said.

  "Good." Margret Reece signaled the magistrate, who walked forward and offered a desktop pearl to the governor. Its pane scrolled a long legal script.

  "Thank you," Zhang said. He glanced at the script. "This trial date is in three weeks' time."

  "Yes," the magistrate said.

  "What is the possible maximum penalty if Grabowski is found guilty?"

  "I'm sure you already know," Margret Reece said. "But it happens to be lifetime imprisonment."

  "Of course. There is an alternative."

  "No, there isn't!" Myles snapped. "I knew it, I fucking knew they'd try and slime their way out of this."

  "Myles, please," Margret said. "What alternative?"

  "We court-martial him ourselves," Zhang said. "It will be quick, and the proceedings will be fair."

  "Are you suggesting ours aren't?"

  "Not at all. But neither you nor I want his lawyer to appeal on the grounds that he was given a biased jury. Which given the current state of affairs in this town will be a valid point."

  "In other words, you want him judged by your officers?"

  "Yes."

  "No fucking way!" Myles shouted. "You authorize that custody order. Do it."

  "Your police lawyer will be able to join our prosecution team," Zhang said. "That way, you can be assured the case will be made correctly."

  "I don't understand," Margret Reece said. "Why a different court? It will look like you're trying to load the judgment in his favor. Or..." She paused thoughtfully. "Are you considering a prison sentence that will be served on Earth? Is that it? If you find him guilty you take him home with you rather than hand him over to our prison service?"

  "That isn't actually what will happen."

  Myles sat up at that. Despite his turmoil, he was still politician enough to see a deal being offered. "What's the penalty under your court-martial laws if he's found guilty?"

  Zhang looked right at him. "Capital."

  Myles had never thought of that. The death penalty was expressly excluded from all court action by Thallspring's
constitution. How strange that he, the custodian of the founding fathers' liberalism, should now be given the opportunity to go against their original creed. He should of course refuse: it violated everything his culture stood for. "In that case," Myles said, "we agree."

  * * *

  Nearly a third of the children were missing from school that morning, which saddened Denise. It was another beautiful day, with a hot sun already high in a clear, deep blue sky. A breeze from the sea was just enough to cool Memu Bay's baking streets for people to walk down without being too uncomfortable. So it wasn't the weather keeping them away.

  Today was the day Halford Grabowski's court-martial began. The population of Memu Bay was holding its collective breath. After all the unrest and the huge emotional outpouring of anger that accompanied it, people had actually taken a step back. Perhaps they were shocked by the prospect of capital punishment—not that any protested against it. Whatever the reason, the trams were running normally, and most of the shops seemed to be open. There was no sign of any Skin patrol walking the streets. Quite a few people were down on the beach, enjoying the sand and the water. And Denise knew that the hurriedly formed workers committees at the major asset factories were meeting today to discuss going back to work.

  Even so, some parents were obviously reluctant to let their little loved ones out of their sight again so soon after days when the whole town seemed ready to explode. Ironically enough, Melanie Hazeldine had been one of those who appeared. Francine had brought her, the two of them riding in the back of a big limousine with darkened windows.

  Denise watched from the kitchen as the two sisters kissed good-bye, and Melanie raced on into the school to greet her friends with excited shrieks. She hadn't been in school for a week.

  "How are you?" Denise asked quietly when the two of them were alone together.

  "Okay." Francine managed a small, brave smile. "I'm really worried what this has done to Daddy. I didn't know he'd take it so hard."