Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

City of Kórinthos

Planet Odysseus

Bellerophon System

Free Worlds Alliance

January 20, 2553


General Alaimo paced from one side of his cell to the other, executing neat about-face movements whenever the front edge of his sandal touched the wall, and his orange jumpsuit was fresh from the printers. The drones had delivered it…a while ago. With no watch, no datalink, no clock, it was hard to keep track of time.

Part of the plan, he knew. This wasn’t the way he would’ve done it, but he recognized the technique. The isolation, the sensory deprivation. They figured that by the time another human being finally deigned to speak to him again, he’d be babbling like a brook. Tell them anything they wanted to know.

They were good, though. He had to give them that. He’d already been in his first jumpsuit, already locked in this cell, before he ever regained consciousness. And he hadn’t been allowed out of it. No exercise excursions, not any visitors. Nothing, aside from endless, gray monotony, the silence, and the drones that delivered and collected his tray of bread and water at what were probably regular intervals.

His cell was inside a larger confinement area. The bars were electrified—he’d found that out the hard way, when the shock knocked him on his backside. He didn’t know if the lighting was on a timer or if they just turned it off or turned it on whenever it struck their fancy. The main door was like a bank vault’s, and it had never opened since he’d woken up. The drones came and went through a smaller door, too tiny for anyone bigger than a six-year-old to squeeze through.

Formidable. He had to admit, it was formidable. But—

Something clacked loudly, and he wheeled toward the sound as the never-opened door swung wide. A very tall, sandy-haired man in naval uniform with an admiral’s insignia walked through it, carrying a metal tube. Another man—darker and twelve centimeters shorter—followed him. Both of them had gray eyes, Alaimo noticed. Just like the Hoplon who’d captured him. The second man’s eyes glowed like gray lava with the fire of his hatred, but the admiral’s…the admiral’s were almost—almost—cool.

As they crossed the vault, Alaimo noticed two nonregulation elements of the admiral’s uniform. The first was the silver leaf worn across his left breast, above the normal medal rack. That was minor, but the other…the other not so much. The Federation shoulder flash every serving member of the Terran Federation Navy wore had been replaced with the same black shield and silver tree he’d seen on the Hoplon’s breastplate.

“Ah, Admiral Murphy.” Alaimo approached the bars. “I suppose congratulations are in order. You’ve captured the big, bad me. And President Xeneas! We meet at last. Admittedly, not in quite the way I’d intended, but better late than never. I thought you’d be taller, though.”

“Governor Ramsay never knew where to find me,” Xeneas said in a voice of flat, hammered iron. “You tortured her—and all those other people—for nothing!”

Alaimo leaned close to the bars and smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” Xeneas drew back a fist, but Murphy caught his wrist gently.

“The electricity would hurt,” he said.

“I understand you’re upset,” Alaimo said. “But you really should think this through, because the truth is, I saved all the other people on this planet through my actions.” He held out his hands. “This world—this entire star system—is out of compliance. That means Standing Order Fifteen is in effect, which means it was my duty to launch a kinetic bombardment that continued until whoever was left surrendered. My duty was clear…yet I chose magnanimity.”

“We know about Standing Order Fifteen,” Murphy said, “but we also know that wasn’t what you were actually sent out here to do.”

“Really?” Alaimo stepped back to his cot, sat on it, crossed his legs and clasped his right knee in both hands. “That’s a fascinating thought. Why else would they have sent me?”

“To make a statement,” Murphy said. “To replicate Gobelins on a far bigger scale and this time record every bit of it. I’d wondered why Steinbolt recorded every one of those judicial farces of hers, every execution. And I wondered why there was so much video, why you’d gotten every bit of it down on chip. But then it came to me: psywar. This whole atrocity was supposed to be one huge psyop. When the rest of the Fringe saw what you’d done here on Odysseus—realized it could happen to their families, their children—they’d be too terrified to ever again raise their hand against the might and majesty of the Five Hundred’s Federation. That’s what it was about, wasn’t it?”

“Well, you have to admit, the notion would have a certain appeal,” Alaimo said.

“For people with sufficiently depraved minds, I suppose,” Murphy agreed with a nod. “I really don’t think it’s going to work out the way you and Gerard Perrin had in mind, though.”

“Oh, be serious, Admiral?” Alaimo snorted. “It always works out the way the Five Hundred has in mind! It may take a while, there may be a bump or two in the road, but it’s inevitable. You’re a member of the Five Hundred, at least by marriage. By now, you have to understand how it works.”

“You’re right. I am a member of the Five Hundred, and until I reached Bellerophon, saw what you’ve done on this planet, I did think I understood how it worked. Now I realize I really didn’t. But they do say that knowledge come late is better than knowledge that never comes.”

“Bravo!” Alaimo raised his hands to clap the fingers of his right hand against the heel of his left rapidly and politely, like someone applauding an excellent golf putt. “And now that we’ve established we both know how the galaxy works, let’s show each other the respect of laying our cards on the table. You’ve got something in your hand there, I see. From my quarters in Parnassus Tower.” He quirked a smile. “That security vault I borrowed from Governor Ramsay must’ve been tougher than I thought.”

“You’re right, it was. And in addition to this—” Murphy held up the tube “—we recovered the security copy of your orders to Thirteenth Corps. I found them very interesting reading, especially Annex W. A blanket pardon for anyone assigned to your command for crimes committed against any populace that’s out of compliance anywhere in the Cyclops Sector.” He shook his head. “I wish I could say I had to wonder about the mentality of anyone who’d hand out an unlimited hunting license like that.”

Alaimo shrugged with a smile, and Murphy cocked his head.

“But the thing is, General, that I had a long talk with Lieutenant Commander Tripathi—you haven’t met; she’s my JAG. And then the two of us had an even longer conversation with Commander Anisimov, Admiral Jorgensen’s JAG.”

He paused, one eyebrow quirked, and Alaimo shrugged again.

“I’m afraid I’ve never met him, either.”

“Well, the interesting thing about our conversation, General, is that both of them agree you didn’t have the authority to write that into Thirteenth Corps orders. Which brings us to…”

Murphy waved the tube gently, and Alaimo shook his head.

“Well played, Admiral.” He leaned back on the cot. “And, in answer to your next question, I’m willing to testify to everything. After all, I’m aware that the strength of my bargaining position is…dubious.”

“I’m sure you are.” Murphy lowered the tube. “But let’s consider how that would play out. An infamous Army officer, in rebel custody, probably under duress, detailing how senior members of the Federation authorized the wholesale murder of Federation citizens. It would be rather easy for the Federation to disavow your actions, label you a rogue actor.

“But—” Murphy tapped the tube gently against his palm “—you’re not an idiot, Alaimo. Ever since Machiavelli, ‘princes’ have known it’s expedient to lay all the blame on a subordinate for committing the atrocities they want. Send him out convinced you have his back, and then punish him for the ‘excesses’ he committed without any orders from you. And then there was your experience after Gobelins. Right after it happened, there was that debate in the Five Hundred. Should they cover it up or broadcast it? And if they went public with it, did they condemn the ‘excesses’ or sneer at the Fringers and dare them to do anything about it? Went on for quite a while, didn’t it? That must have given you a lot of time to think about how tempting it would have been for them to hang you out to dry if the fire got too hot. And this one was going to be a lot more blatant. You knew going in no one would even try to hide this one the way they had Gobelins. So you wouldn’t have accepted this job without tucking an ace up your sleeve to keep the Federation from throwing all the blame on you as soon as that became convenient. Before you issued any blanket pardons to Thirteenth Corps, you already had a preemptive pardon of your own in your pocket, didn’t you?”

“There are no ‘crimes’ against out-of-compliance planets,” Alaimo said. “I just made sure no one was going to change the rules on me if I had to get a little…draconian.”

“Open this for me.” Murphy held up the tube. “O’Hanraghty tells me it’s a onetime-use data cylinder. The data in this cylinder can’t be altered, and any attempt to break into it will also delete everything.”

“Quite correct.” Alaimo nodded. “But…why would I do that?”

“You’re useless to me as a witness against the Federation…on your own. It’s too easy for the Hearts to brush aside anything you say. But if I had access to the data on this cylinder then you might just be worth taking with me to Sol. This is evidence. If I took you with me, you’d provide context and corroboration.”

“Or you can stay here on Odysseus,” Xeneas said coldly. “I think you know how that would work out.”

“Well, that’s quite an offer,” Alaimo said. “All right. I’ll be your bloody shirt. The code is One-Seven-Alpha-Niner-Six-One-One-Delta-Kilo-Niner.”

Murphy looked down at his data pad, where the code had been captured as Alaimo spoke. And then, very carefully, he entered it into the tube’s keypad. A green light blinked on its cap and a tone sounded.

“Galaxy. Chaos. Hash Tag-Delta-Charlie-One-Four-Three-Charlie. Destiny,” Alaimo said, and the cap unscrewed itself.

Murphy pulled out a smaller rod and tugged a small tab at its midpoint. A sheet of holo paper stretched from the rod, and he looked at it.

“It’s all here,” he said softly, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. “Prime Minister Schleibaum. Admiral Fokaides. Every member of Schleibaum’s Cabinet. And Chief Justice Claremont. All of them signed this.”

He handed it to Xeneas.

“You seem surprised.” Alaimo leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “It wasn’t too big a stretch to get it preemptively instead of after the fact.” He shrugged. “It’s pretty much the same pardon I got after Gobelins. Just a little earlier in the process.”

“The Federation excused the slaughter of its own people before you ever arrived here.” Murphy crossed his arms. “Every branch of government—the Executive, the Legislative, and the Judiciary…and the Military. Every single one of them.”

“Of course they did,” Alaimo said. “The Five Hundred needs control. That’s how the Federation works, Murphy. What? You thought it was supposed to be about justice and freedom?” He shook his head, his expression almost pitying. “I was sent to bring Odysseus back into compliance so it can continue producing for the Five Hundred. And a few extra deaths here and there on Odysseus would probably have meant fewer deaths in the rest of the Cyclops Sector. Eventually, I would’ve been reinforced and gone on to the sector’s other systems, and they would’ve come back into compliance without a fight. Sure, the ringleaders would’ve had to die, but everyone else would’ve survived, and Cyclops would be back to its proper place.”

“We should’ve left the Federation after Gobelins,” Xeneas said, and handed the data rod back to Murphy.

“The Free Worlds Alliance has adopted an expedited legal system for war crimes,” Murphy said, “so let’s go ahead and get this out of the way, shall we? General Alaimo, you stand accused of nearly eight million homicides, of torture, of—”

“I did it all.” Alaimo waved his hand at Murphy. “No need for the complete catalog. Yes, I did it. But I committed no crimes. See the document in your hand.”

“I’m not the Federation,” Murphy slipped the inner rod into his uniform pocket, “and neither is Bellerophon.” He looked at Xeneas. “Guilty?”

“By his own admission,” Xeneas said, and smiled at Alaimo.

“Hold on.” Something like genuine alarm flashed in Alaimo’s eyes for the first time. “You just said you need me to validate the evidence!”

“No, I said you might be worth taking along to do that, not that I had any intention of doing so.” Murphy smiled thinly. “Sorry if you misinterpreted a mere hypothetical observation on my part. Thank you for opening the rod for me, though.” He tapped his comm. “Sergeant Major Logan?”

The vault door opened again, and Anniston Logan stepped through it in light powered armor.

“Take the condemned to the field and carry out sentence,” Murphy said as he turned toward the door.

“Wait, let Odysseus have its due,” Xeneas said. “I can arrange a firing squad in a heartbeat.”

“He’s in my custody. He’s my problem,” Murphy said.

Alaimo shot to his feet, his body tense.

“Wait. Wait!” He reached for the bars only to snatch his hands back as the electricity hit them with a sharp, clear snap. “We had a deal!”

“No,” Murphy said. “You thought we had a deal.”

He and Xeneas left the cell, and Logan approached the bars, holding up a pair of cuffs.

“Turn around and be restrained,” he said.

“Is this…This is all some sort of game, isn’t it?” Alaimo smiled. “Fake executions are part of good detainee interrogations, yes? Ha! You think you’re being clever, don’t you? Thought I wouldn’t see through your little ruse. Come on, then. Let’s be about it.”

Alaimo turned and put his hands behind his back. Logan deactivated the electric bars, reached past them and cuffed his wrists together. Then he opened the door and Alaimo stepped through it.

“I know why they picked you after that little drama of yours in the chalet,” he said.

They walked out the vault door and down a bare ceramacrete hallway.

“Of course Murphy wants me to think he’ll have me killed by the bleeding heart who didn’t want to spare me at the point of capture,” Alaimo sneered. “It must irk you to know this is all show for my benefit. To know I’m not going to be executed for anything. That’s always the way things are when you work for the right people.”

He looked over his shoulder at Logan and winked.

“And I do work for the right people. So, what’s the script? How does this ‘Free Worlds Alliance’ of yours execute people? Hanging? Spacing? Seems like a bit of wasted time and effort to take me all the way up to orbit to convince me you really, truly intend to kill me.”

Logan held up a hand and bolts unlocked in a heavy door. He opened it for Alaimo, who kept his head high and his chin raised as he stepped into a small exercise yard. A dozen long boxes were stacked against the back wall, and there were several dark blotches on the dirt.

A pair of Marines with holstered pistols flanked the doorway.

“Those all sound a bit fancy for the Free Worlds Alliance,” Logan said. “We use lethal injection.”

“Really? What injection is that? Berinium flesh decay? Something dull, like Pancuronium bromide?” Alaimo chuckled, looking around the yard. “Something to keep my face pristine for pictures?”

Logan accepted a pistol from one of the Marines and leveled it at the base of Alaimo’s skull.

“Tungsten,” he said, and squeezed the trigger.



Back | Next
Framed