Cosmosis

Interlude-Sentencing

(Starspeak)

“This is a nice shuttle,” Nai observed. “Seriously, no way is this interior standard.”

“I was going to ask myself,” Weith said. “Pretty sure these grips are real leather. Actually, even if they’re fake they’d still be pricey all the way out here.”

“…Win got them in—” Kemon began.

“Don’t care,” Nai cut him off.

Win’s little shuttle roared at a respectable .6G back the way they’d come. Trading messages with the civilian government on Nakrumum had seen Kemon’s arrangements cancelled, so there was no point in dragging him all the way there when he was just going to be sent back to Hakho’s neck of the woods in Askior.

Plus Caleb had asked Nai to track down Knox. It was possible he’d managed to get off planet, but it was about as likely that he was stuck in some muddy valley on Scozha running out of food.

Nai was half tempted to bring that up. Mirsus Bandee’s name would probably upset Kemon. And wasn’t that worth at least considering for its own sake?

“You asked—” their prisoner protested.

“No, I didn’t,” Nai said.

“Technically I didn’t either,” Weith mused. “I just said I was going to ask. But I didn’t.”

“You’re all determined to be antagonistic,” Kemon withered.

“Hey, the rest of us have psionic dictionaries in our heads,” Nai said. “Anyone care to start listing off synonyms of ‘antagonistic’?”

“Enmity,” Dansi proposed.

The three of them tossed around a few, waiting until Kemon opened his mouth to speak only to cut him off with yet another equivalent.

“Adversarial.”

“Belligerent.”

“Inimical!”

“Hostile,” Nai said. “Why in all the vast cosmos would we be so antagonistic toward a little [shit stain] like you?”

Speaking the English phrase tugged at Nai’s train of thought. Her mouth had made the English sounds she’d intended, but her brain had still heard them as Speropi. It was a disconcerting feeling, but she didn’t let it show.

Kemon knew English, and it would bother him.

“It certainly couldn’t be because he earned it, Nai,” Weith said.

“No, most certainly not, Weith.”

Were they being cruel to their prisoner? Maybe.

Not because of the taunts, surely. But perhaps because of the hundred kilograms that were materialized to encase his feet, or the rigid shell fused around his hands to keep them together.

Were such measures overkill for a non-Adept prisoner? Probably.

But really, Kemon so, so deserved them. He was lucky they were even keeping him conscious for transit. But Nai wanted to look the one who’d tried to kill Caleb and Jordan in the eye. Maybe win a bet in the process.

The once-lawyer was ready to oblige her too. He must love to hear himself talk.

“I can understand the Humans being immature about my plan; they can’t know any better. But the three of you are Coalition officers,” Kemon complained. “My enemies are yours.”

“You think having the same enemies makes us friends?” Nai snorted.

“[The enemy of my enemy is my friend,]” Kemon tried. He had spent months around Humans.

“[With friends like you, who needs enemies?]” Dansi replied easily. So had she.

“Hakho is too tame,” Kemon spat. “He was never going to push the Majesty out of Askior, much less take the fight to anywhere important.”

“Your home system isn’t ‘anywhere important’?” Weith snorted.

“I thought we were trying to win a war, not just battles,” Kemon fired back.

“We are trying to win a war,” Dansi said. “I flew on your ship for six months. We didn’t go after military targets. We avoided every Majesty ship in the system.”

“You can’t fight back if you’re dead,” Kemon said.

“You also can’t fight if you don’t fight,” Nai mused.

“Truly an airtight syllogism…” the lawyer balked.

“Caution as a sensibility would be a lot more defensible if not for your actual choice targets,” Dansi pointed out.

“Piracy has been gnawing at the entire system for years. The Assembly subsidizes them! There’s a line in the Majesty’s quarterly budget to bribe the pirates into attacking ships supplying Coalition planets and colonies.”

“But you picked the same civilian targets,” Dansi said. “Every time we could get away with it, you’d hold up civilian freight moving anywhere near the Majesty-controlled half of Askior. Caleb was right, we were pirates.”

“How dare you?” Kemon hissed. “Every ship we targeted was delivering supplies to occupying forces! They were all legitimate targets.”

“Mmm, you can read minds, can you? Actually, it wouldn’t even matter. If I were smuggling supplies to rebel groups in Majesty controlled space, I’d make sure my paperwork said I was delivering to the Majesty,” Nai said. “Because the biggest concern to anyone smuggling is getting caught. You know that’s what put you on Hakho’s radar in the first place, right? Which ship was it exactly, Dansi?”

“The Chax,” Dansi said. “It was smuggling food and specialized munitions to an inserted Coalition team hopping between Dai-Dai-Koahn’s moons. Admiral Hakho was so upset, he and Senior Sturgin briefed me for my undercover mission personally. They completely skipped over my commander and hers. You have no idea how pissed off command has to be for orders to skip down the chain of the command.”

“The munitions were marked on that manifest. They were being delivered to one of the Majesty’s bases,” Kemon said. “You expect me to believe—”

“We don’t care what you believe,” Dansi said. “This is more of a ‘wow Kemon is stupid’ conversation than a ‘explain the error of his ways’ one.”

“Cheap insults for a cheap argument,” he spat.

“Does this look like a courtroom?” Nai snorted. “Even if it were, we have something better than an argument: evidence. We have your confession on tape.”

“Please, Adept technology subject to the very fallible psionic skills of Caleb Hane? That’ll surely hold up in court.”

“Except the technology has nothing to do with psionics,” Dansi pointed out. “I was there when they set it up. It was a purely digital file.”

“Oh yes, a purely digital file, stored in a computer the size of your palm, oh, and the device also acts as a radio. And a camera,” Kemon scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. There isn’t a judge or jury in the cosmos that would accept that evidence. I would know.”

“Hmm. You do have a point there,” Nai conceded. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re not police, and you’re not going to jail.”

“What?” Kemon frowned. “I thought you were taking me to Mihan.”

“Ah, technically we’re taking you back to Scozha,” Dansi said. “We’ll turn you over into Coalition military custody. Then I expect Admiral Hakho will dangle you between the Majesty and Ironwill fleets. One of them will probably get you in the end.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kemon scoffed, a genuine note of fear creeping into his voice. “The navy can’t use me as a bartering chip. I can’t be a prisoner of war for my own side!”

“Bartering chip? Oh no,” Dansi smiled. “You’re going to be turned over when some Assembly lower court requests your extradition.”

“Extradition? We’re at war! The Coalition doesn’t have an extradition treaty with any Assembly worlds!”

“No, but the Coalition does have formal ambassadors to Earth,” Nai said. “And, oh what do you know? So does the Assembly. Earth, the Coalition, the Assembly, and you know what all three agree on?”

Nai pantomimed a finger gun at Kemon’s head.

Bang.

“I’m owed a trial,” he hissed. “I have rights! I can’t be extradited on no evidence, Hakho can’t—”

“I was on duty when Admiral Ketter died,” Weith said. “You remember that? You were there too. I was at the helm of the Chugo when you broke formation. I heard what you said. I was five meters away from the comm station on the bridge.”

“A witness can’t impress someone into a contract,” Kemon argued.

“Doesn’t matter,” Weith said. “The Chugo’s hull ruptured, thirty-one out of forty bulkheads were compromised. Shrapnel even took out the air barriers. Ninety-two of the aboard crew died from shrapnel spray or losing air. But do you know what part of the ship survived?”

“Surely not the computer,” Nai suggested. “Surely not the comm logs.”

“Why, as it happens, yes,” Weith said coldly. “You promised Admiral Ketter you’d follow her orders. Then you broke formation and our chatterguns couldn’t make up the coverage. There’s a record of the whole battle.”

Kemon was aghast.

“And you’d use that as the basis for rendition?”

“Actually, Admiral Laranta thought it would be the basis to consider you formally under Coalition command,” Nai said. “You won’t exactly be court martialed, see, but it’s enough for the military to strip you of non-combatant status.”

“And if I’m not technically a civilian, I’m eligible for prisoner exchanges…” Kemon said, barely keeping the anger out of his voice.

Who did he think his indignation was for? Nai wondered.

“That’s the long and short of it,” Dansi agreed. “You really thought you could keep making enemies left and right with no consequences?”

“Don’t talk to me about consequences,” Kemon spat. “Coalition leadership is an embarrassment. We’ve been fighting this war on the back foot for ten years now. They needed a wake up call—”

“Shutupshutupshutup!” Nai complained. “Who are you trying to convince here? We’re Coalition soldiers. There isn’t any complaint you could make about our leaders that we haven’t already heard. We’ve heard them all before, and clearly they weren’t convincing the first time.”

“And that doesn’t concern you? That you’re willfully ignoring good arguments in favor of…what? Satisfaction? Commitment? I stand by my aims, regardless of the unpleasant means I was left with.”

“You chose your means,” Weith said. “You were the captain of your ship, master of your own destiny. No one forced your hand.”

“Don’t talk like you know about situational ethics,” Kemon said. “You enlisted. You just follow orders. You’ve never had to give them. You’ve never had to lead.”

“Oh yes he has…” Nai said, almost under her breath.

“I’m a lower division officer,” Weith said. “More than half the Jack’s crew are, actually. Nai’s technically lower ranked than I am, but she’s still made more command decisions than everyone else on this shuttle combined.”

“So the Warlock isn’t just a living weapon, she’s also an expert ethicist?”

“You know the most intense rounds of Adept training feature situational ethics exams? Fact is, I’ve got the power to do abominable things. Command and the civilian government actually do agree on some things, and putting Adepts like me through moral dilemmas is actually one of those things, and your situation does not make for any dilemma,” Nai said. “All you had to do was exactly what you pretended to; help the abductees. Nothing more. You would have gained esteem in the Coalition, maybe even helped people see past your abandoning Admiral Ketter. But you didn’t. You found a group of helpless children, and instead of helping them like even the Vorak did, you did your damnedest to turn them into weapons and tools for your convenience.”

“Vorak puppet entire systems, manipulate Casti into hostilely occupying a system of their own brethren— my home, and I stumble across a perfect bullet…and you believe I ought to have coddled it? Spared the bullet the harm of being fired?”

“You didn’t find a bullet,” Nai snarled. “You found people.”

“People the Vorak have already tried making enemies out of! Just like they have us,” Kemon said. “How long does the war need to drag on before people start focusing on our real enemies?”

“…And that’s the Vorak?” Nai asked.

“It boggles the mind that wouldn’t be clear to you, the Warlock,” he said.

She leaned close.

“There are only four people who’ve waded through more Vorak blood than I have,” Nai said. “And you are not one of them. You presume to know our enemies best? Don’t.”

“Read between the lines,” Weith added. “We’re not friends with the Assembly or any Vorak fleet. But we’re still eager to cooperate with them. Because…?”

“You’re worse than they are,” Dansi finished.

“Caleb fought the Red Sails tooth and nail, but ultimately that was over a misunderstanding,” Nai added. “Marshal Tispas might have been a fool, but even he wasn’t intentionally malicious with the Red Sails’ First Contact proceedings. They’re even helping Humans now.”

“Half the brilliance of my plan lay in the guarantee that Humans would eschew the Vorak and Assembly as a result!” Kemon said. “The very things you decry—”

Nai waved her hand, and crystal grew to encase his jaw and mouth. He muffled for a few moments before angrily going still.

“I tried,” she said. “But Caleb was right.”

“What you bet him?” Weith asked, smiling.

“He bet Tasser I couldn’t carry a conversation with Kemon for an hour,” Nai said. “Tasser thought I could at least go that long.”

“Ah, sucker’s bet,” Weith said. “Caleb knew what you’d be hearing.”

Truthfully, Nai’d let herself be sucked into the not-really-an-argument more than she’d meant to. Everyone had at least some irrationality to them, but Kemon took a step further.

He was impossible to convince, but for a spell, Nai had mistaken that for ‘challenging’ instead. She loved a challenge.

“…Can he still breathe?” Dansi asked.

“Probably,” Nai said. “I made the crystal porous.”

“Well, ‘probably’ is good enough for me,” Dansi clicked.

·····

The handoff was brief and uneventful. And unlike his trip aboard the shuttle, none of the Coalition personnel assigned to watch him let him talk.

Even Dansi—the traitor—disappeared into the ship Hakho sent from Mihan.

Kemon was just thrown in the brig and fed crumbs and water. That didn’t change when he arrived.

Kemon languished in Hakho’s cell for the better part of…four weeks? Maybe five?

He only had his meals to count the time by, but it was unclear exactly what artificial time cycle he was being made to follow. Two meals a day or three? Hexiam ‘days’ or Nakrumum’s?

Ted and the Warlock had been thorough in scouring his mind of psionics. He’d intended to try shielding his transceiver, or at least the transmitter half. But Ted had deployed something that burnt through the firewall like it was made of paper.

It had practically been an afterthought on his part. He hadn’t even said anything. Just…noticed Kemon being put aboard the shuttle, and the next second every last construct in the lawyer’s mind had been reduced to psychic ash.

Ted.

Caleb Hane.

Unbelievable. How long had he and Win pored over the footage from Draylend? It was one thing for a mystery benefactor to lead him to a bunch of stranded Humans. But when footage emerged of a Human thrashing some of the most skilled Vorak Adepts alive?

After killing Win, he’d even changed clothes, donning the same white button-up shirt and suspenders he’d worn in his fight with the Sails’ headliners. The outfit had completed the transformation in a way the rest had failed.

Maybe because the footage was taken from so far away that the clothing was some of the most discernible detail…

There was a sick irony to the fact Ted—no, Caleb would likely find Kemon’s files. He’d made plans for when he encountered the Adept. Kemon would have cancelled the entire Fintuther operation in a heartbeat for the chance to collaborate with someone the Vorak deemed threatening enough to name.

The dira, dira, diraksi Warlock too.

She’d even said as much. All he’d needed to do was aid the abductees.

No reasonable person would anticipate being interrupted by the one person capable of interfering with his plan. Why hadn’t Caleb just told the truth? What purpose had lying served?

The things he could have done with a name like Caleb’s to throw around!

How come none of them saw it?

It was a supremely frustrating experience, to be a skilled orator, to argue cases before a court, only to be unable to explain to people what was so obvious to his eyes. The moves weren’t even complicated to identify.

“Why don’t they understand?” he whispered to himself.

To his surprise, someone answered.

“Back away from the door!” the guard outside shouted.

Highly aggressive. No deference, no respect. It was like they were trained by Vorak. There was a disturbing possibility to that. Half the reason Kemon had decided against enlisting in the Coalition in the first place was the early fleets’ adoption of several Vorak disciplinary measures.

He hadn’t wanted to be part of a group that would compromise the rules and principles at the core of its own people.

Still, there was something to be said for bluntness. Because as much as he detested his wardens, he still complied with the order.

Kemon moved to the back wall of the cell, facing it with his arms up.

“Face away from the door! Raise your arms and move your feet close together!”

Kemon was already doing those things, but such was procedure. When the door opened, the soldiers who entered were not gentle. A bag was pulled over his head, and Kemon was dragged from the cell, one person carrying each limb.

He expected more questioning.

If the Coalition really was selling him out to the Assembly fleets, then they wanted to make sure he couldn’t divulge any sensitive information.

So when the bag came off, he wasn’t expecting to see an Admiral.

Or rather, he’d expected Hakho eventually.

But not Laranta.

“…Admiral,” Kemon said. Always open amiably. Just in case.

“You and I are not going to be friends.”

Laranta’s voice was faintly amused.

“You really are impressive though. Caleb might be a teenager, but he takes his abduction seriously. For you to win over the other abductees like that, enough to make him play things slow? Beggars belief,” she said, seating herself opposite Kemon.

“Why is it so shocking?” Kemon asked.

“Because you lost?”

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Usually when people as seemingly competent as you lose, it’s because you weren’t as competent as you…”

She gestured toward him.

“Seemed?” Kemon humored her.

“Yes. And you didn’t just lose, you lost everything. Your ship, your crew, your future. All of it. You made the oldest Casti blunder of them all,” Laranta mused. “A great monster broke through your fences and let out a roar. And you…you didn’t flee.”

“You can’t win if you don’t fight,” Kemon said.

“Perhaps,” she said. “Then again, I can’t say your mistake isn’t understandable. Your monster hid itself and its roar well. You had no idea just how dangerous an enemy you’d made until it was too late.”

“Caleb Hane…” Kemon said. “I’ll say this; I never saw it coming.”

“Your allies did,” Laranta said smoothly. “They left you out to dry, didn’t they?”

“I had assurances,” Kemon said. “If Win and I could have retaken control of the situation, we would have been able to take the A-ships with us.”

A breath went out of Laranta. Relief? Perhaps sympathy.

“I know your mysterious benefactors were careful to protect their identity,” Laranta said. “Perhaps that should have been your first clue that your position was not so sturdy.”

“I tried,” Kemon said. “But their information was too good to pass up…Who are they, really? Surely you must know. Why else would you be here and not Hakho?”

“You’re going to be turned over to the Ironwill,” Laranta said. “Especially given that you can’t actually give them any information we’re jealous of.”

“You don’t know that,” Kemon said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

“I do now,” Laranta said. “I’d give you some reassurance…except you don’t really deserve any. And the Ironwill still might execute you, so I don’t think there’s any reassurances to give.”

She stood, ready to leave, and Kemon’s composure faltered.

“Please,” he begged. “Everything I did was to support the Coalition’s cause. Is that worth nothing?”

“Yes,” Laranta said. “You say your intentions were good, at least for the Coalition…but I am not convinced. Because the Jackie Robinson was not subtle in its search for abductees. You were surely aware of their mission, at least in passing. Tell me you didn’t intentionally avoid a Coalition diplomatic mission purpose built for Humans.”

“…It was for plausible deniability.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Laranta said. “Because your endgame was to sell us on your idea anyway. It’s not that you didn’t want the Coalition to know, it’s that you didn’t want any Coalition to know yet. You wanted to be in control of things. You wanted a seat at the table.”

“Doesn’t look like I’ll get one now,” he said bitterly.

“No. You won’t. But you never were going to.”

“Why?” Kemon hissed, anger slipping through. “I had a plan! Vision! And I was prepared to follow my goals through to the end!”

“Your vision is small,” Laranta scoffed. “You’re spoiled and soft. You insist we’re all fighting the wrong way, only, instead of helping, you find the one way you can make it even harder for us. You think you’re prepared for leadership? You weren’t even prepared for one Human. How could you possibly think you’re cut out to move the war’s grandest pieces? You cannot imagine the number of lives my decisions affect. You can’t comprehend the scope of the consequences that arise out of just one day of my choices.”

The Admiral leaned close, dropping her voice to an icy whisper.

“You tried to meddle in a game far, far beyond you. You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. But I doubt I’ve encountered anyone else who got so far while being so bad at it. You tried and failed to be a player at my board, Kemon,” Laranta said darkly, “and my game doesn’t tolerate amateurs.”

She turned to leave him in his cell, pausing at the door for only a moment.

“You’ll be turned over to the Ironwill in…well…what would be the point in telling you? It’ll be a surprise this way. Goodbye.”

She pulled the door shut behind her, and Kemon wanted to scream.

But there was no one who would care.

Before he was dragged away, he cursed angrily to himself. If only he could have stayed a lawyer. The rules were clear, the expectations reasonable. But martial law had come down, and Kemon…couldn’t accept being under a boot.

All he’d wanted was to push the Vorak back. How was that too much to ask? The Assembly had always been a monster, sucking the life out of colonies. How many tens of thousands of Casti had died fighting for the Coalition?

It would have only been six Human lives! Weighed against thousands!

How could anyone think there was any other correct choice?

And yet he’d lost. And now, there was nothing left but to seethe at his fortunes.

So he cursed himself bitter until the end, pining for the lost law he so cherished.