The Shadow of Cincinnatus Page 9

  But cutting off their supply lines will tell them we know what they’re doing, he mused. And they might do something stupid – or dangerous...

  He tapped a switch, bringing up a star chart of the Rim. A number of worlds were tagged as having been catalogued, but not officially brought into the Federation; beyond them, there were no tags, apart from a handful of question marks. The Survey Service had been cut to the bone long before the Justinian War. Anything could be out there, anything at all.

  “Record,” he ordered, straightening up. “To Emperor Marius, from Commodore Garibaldi. A dangerous situation has been uncovered...”

  Chapter Nine

  Captain’s Court. A formal venue for military court-martials. Seven active-service Captains sit in judgement over defendants, who may be of any rank. Sometimes referred to as the Admiral’s Bane, as Admirals may be judged by their subordinates.

  -The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Earth, 4098

  “Back again, Admiral?”

  Marius nodded as he stood in front of the forcefield, clasping his hands behind his back. The captive was lying on his bunk, staring up at the cold grey ceiling, resting his hands on his chest. As Marius had ordered, a barber had been allowed to visit Blake Raistlin, ensuring he looked his best for the hearing. But no one could really look their best in the bright orange jumpsuit he’d been forced to wear. No other clothes were provided for prisoners within the Federation Penal System.

  “It must be a special day,” Raistlin said, mockingly. “I had my hair cut. Do you know how hard my mother and the maids had to work to get my hair cut when I was a child?”

  “It’s truly sad to see you never grew out of being a brat,” Marius said, although he knew that was unfair. Raistlin’s career had been promising, despite his exalted family connections, before he’d tried to kill Marius Drake. He should have gone into starship command and wound up commanding a cruiser, like so many of the graduates from his class. “I would have thought you’d be glad of the shave.”

  “No one here to be impressed,” Raistlin pointed out. He swung his long legs over the side of the bunk and sat upright. “No women to charm, Admiral. Not even a guard intent on having his fun with a helpless prisoner. Not even a shower room to accidentally drop my soap. Why should I bother looking nice?”

  “Your trial has finally been scheduled,” Marius said. “It will take place in three hours from now.”

  Raistlin lifted one dark eyebrow. “And how will I defend myself in a court you have packed with your supporters?”

  “You will receive a fair trial,” Marius said. “It’s no less than you deserve.”

  “And did my family,” Raistlin asked, “receive a fair trial?”

  “They could never have had one,” Marius said. He didn’t regret shooting the Grand Senators, but he hadn’t been worried about putting them on trial at the time. “You will have every chance to defend yourself.”

  Raistlin smirked. “You must be confident I can’t defend myself,” he said. He stood and stalked towards the forcefield, coming to a halt just before it would have thrown him back into the cell. “Or are you merely intent on watching as I die?”

  Raistlin paused. “Or do you have another reason to keep me alive, admiral?”

  Marius clenched his fists. Tiffany had been right. Raistlin was a skilled manipulator, even when he was on the wrong side of a prison forcefield. His words cut into Marius’s soul, even though Raistlin was nearly sixty years younger than Marius himself. But no amount of words would change the fact that he was a prisoner and about to die.

  “Your death will set an example,” Marius said, instead. “You will be tried – fairly. You will be judged – fairly. And you will be executed – fairly.”

  “How very fair,” Raistlin observed.

  “The universe isn’t fair,” Marius snapped. “How many of your family’s atrocities would have been carried out if the universe were fair?”

  Raistlin smiled, but said nothing.

  Marius turned as a hatch opened, revealing a short grey-haired man wearing a black suit and tie, rather than a military uniform. “This is Lobe Darlington,” he said. “Your defense lawyer.”

  For the first time, he thought he saw an honest emotion on Raistlin’s face. Surprise.

  “You actually hired a defense lawyer for me?”

  “You will be tried by a Captain’s Court,” Marius said. He took a moment to enjoy the younger man’s astonishment, then stepped back from the forcefield. “You are entitled to a defender, if you wish, or you may defend yourself. The choice is yours.”

  “Thank you, Emperor,” Darlington said. He had an irritatingly nasal voice, which had proven surprisingly effective in the past. The Federation’s justice system might be thoroughly corrupt, but a skilled lawyer could sometimes make a real difference. “If you don’t mind, I need to speak with my client.”

  “Of course,” Marius said.

  “And I further wish to register a complaint about how the guards treated me as I entered the facility,” Darlington continued. “They searched every inch of my body.”

  “This is a high-security facility,” Marius said. Normally, a Captain’s Court would be held on the moon, but there was no time for him to leave Earth. “And your paperwork was left untouched.”

  Darlington nodded, reluctantly, as he drew an old-style notebook from one of his pockets, followed by a pen. Marius puzzled over it for a moment, then realized that the notebook would be impossible to hack. The Marines at the gates would have insisted on scanning any portable terminal thoroughly, just in case it had been rigged to explode at the right moment. A notebook posed no real threat, beyond paper cuts.

  “It is still a breach of my rights,” Darlington said. “I...”

  “...Was hired to serve as a defense attorney,” Marius said. “The security requirements are a part of that, I’m afraid.”

  He walked towards the door, then stepped through it, resisting the temptation to shout something rude as he left. He’d always hated lawyers, hated the way they could twist the truth into a pretzel or manipulate the jury until someone who was obviously guilty was released on a technicality. God alone knew how many corrupt officials had escaped punishment because they’d been able to pay for a good lawyer. But it was important to ensure that Raistlin had a fair trial. The Federation’s legal system needed to be repaired.

  Three hours later, they assembled in the courtroom. It hadn’t been designed to serve as a courtroom and there had been some quick changes to allow for the procedure. A long table held seven Captains, all selected by lot, while two smaller chairs and tables had been put to one side, one for the defendant and one for the prosecutor. Captain Helen Yale saluted Marius as she entered, then sat down at the prosecutor table. Moments later, Raistlin and Darlington were escorted into the room.

  “He looks better than I expected,” Tiffany muttered in his ear. “Where did he get that uniform?”

  Marius shrugged. Raistlin wore a commander’s uniform instead of the orange jumpsuit. He considered it briefly, then decided that Darlington would have asked for the uniform, or simply brought it with him when he entered the President’s House. Marius hadn’t forbidden him to bring anything, as long as it didn’t set off the security alarms. But it was still an uncomfortable sight.

  Captain Warren, the senior Captain, tapped for silence. “Commander Blake Raistlin stands accused of treason, murder of a senior officer, attempted murder of a senior officer and obeying illegal orders,” he stated. There were few of the formalities seen in civilian courts. “Commander Raistlin. How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty, sir,” Raistlin said.

  “Duly noted,” Warren said. “Captain Yale?”

  Helen Yale rose to her feet. “The case before us is simple,” she said. “Commander Raistlin was assigned to the permanent staff of Admiral Marius Drake as his aide. He served in this role until the defeat of Admiral Justinian, whereupon he took a gun into the CIC and opened fire,
resulting in the wounding of Admiral Drake and the death of General Vaughn. These facts are beyond dispute.”

  She paused, for effect. “Commander Raistlin is an officer in the Federation Navy,” she continued. “He was commissioned as an officer six years ago, just after the Battle of Earth, when he took the second oath. As such, he has a duty to uphold both the traditions of the Federation Navy and the structures that make the Navy work. To betray his senior officer, to call into question the trust the Navy needs to function, is the act of a traitor. Is there any defense he can make that would save him from the consequences of his actions?

  “Yes! There is! He will say that he was only following orders! But the orders from the Grand Senate to murder Admiral Drake were not, could not, be legal! Admiral Drake was not a declared rebel, an enemy of the Federation. He was an officer following orders who could be legitimately recalled to Earth. There were no grounds for ordering his subordinates to remove him, let alone assassinate him.

  “An officer in the Federation Navy must be capable, above all, of judging the orders he receives and determining their legality. Following an illegal order makes the officer following the order an accomplice, at the very least. It certainly does not constitute an excuse! Blake Raistlin, in choosing to follow the order, stepped well over the line. I have no hesitation in asking the court for the heaviest possible penalty for his crimes.”

  Yale sat down. Marius watched her for a long moment, then shifted his gaze to Blake Raistlin. The younger man was sitting there, his dark face impassive, as Darlington rose to speak. There seemed to be nothing readable in his expression, Marius noted, not even a single trace of emotion. But Raistlin was a skilled dissembler. He’d grown up in a world where deceit was as natural as breathing.

  Tiffany was right, Marius thought. I should just have had him shot.

  “I would not claim to be familiar with the military way of doing things,” Darlington said, into the silence. “Ideally, a JAG officer would serve as Commander Raistlin’s advocate and defender. But I do know, civilian that I am, that the military prides itself on following a chain of command. The Admiral issues an order to the Captain, the Captain issues an order to the Lieutenant and everyone issues orders to the Midshipman. Would that seem an acceptable description of the chain of command?”

  Marius felt a flicker of disquiet. Several of the judges had smiled, very briefly.

  “The Federation is not – was not – a military dictatorship,” Darlington continued. “The Federation Navy took its orders from the Grand Senate, which set the outlines for military deployments, operations and funding. It was the Grand Senate that approved the rules and regulations set out for governing the Navy, even if the rules were implemented by military officers. The orders that make up the Big Red Book, as I believe it is commonly called, come ultimately from the Grand Senate.”

  He paused, his gaze sweeping the judges. “I do not attempt to deny that my client drew a pistol in a...ah, CIC...and opened fire. That, as Captain Yale says, is beyond dispute. The case file I was given included live footage, independently verified, from the CIC’s monitoring suite. There is no point in trying to deny the facts of the case.

  “But what can be questioned are the motivations and legalities of the act itself.”

  Marius felt his eyes narrowing. They knew the motivations. The Grand Senate had been scared of him, scared he would take Admiral Justinian’s place, even though all he’d wanted to do was save the Federation. He hadn’t wanted to overthrow the Grand Senate, he hadn’t wanted to make himself emperor, but they’d given him no choice. It had been fight or die, with the certain knowledge that his subordinates would be purged alongside him. What choice had he had?

  Darlington continued, unaware of Marius’s thoughts. “Commander Raistlin received orders from the Grand Senate, from the legal source of all orders,” he said. “Those orders were to assassinate Admiral Drake. This is not in dispute either. Again, evidence has been presented to prove that these orders were issued, beyond all shadow of a doubt. But we must ask ourselves a very simple question. Were these orders actually illegal?”

  Marius stared at him, astonished. Beside him, Tiffany put a hand on his arm.

  “The Grand Senate is the source of all orders,” Darlington said, hammering the point home. “Could the Grand Senate issue an illegal order? Can one of their orders be illegal by definition?”

  I should have had him shot, Marius thought, coldly. He tried to ignore the thought that it was hardly too late. It would be easy to issue the orders and easier still to make sure they were carried out. He’d been careful to staff the President’s House with officers and men loyal to him, or to Tobias Vaughn’s memory. It might have saved us some trouble.

  “Picture it, sirs,” Darlington continued. “You are a young officer. The Grand Senate is the source of all authority. Would you be in a hurry to disobey – or question – an order from the Grand Senate?”

  He paused, dramatically. “Captain Yale is quite right to note that being given an illegal order does not serve as an excuse,” he said. “But were the orders actually illegal? That is the question we must answer.”

  Marius had to bite his lip to keep from saying something, anything. He’d never considered the possibility that someone might question the illegality of the orders, yet in hindsight it was an obvious path to take. If the orders were declared legal, then Raistlin would have to be freed; after all, he’d only been following orders. Even the death of Marius’s best friend could be explained as an accident, rather than deliberate malice. Cold hatred burned through his mind as he forced himself to sit back and listen, rather than trying to sway the judges himself.

  Helen Yale rose to speak. “The Grand Senate was the source of all authority,” she said. “I do not believe that was in dispute. However, the fact remains that the Grand Senate had legal avenues to explore, including – at worst – declaring Admiral Drake to be an outlaw. No such judgement was made, sirs.”

  There wouldn’t have been, Marius knew. The Brotherhood, for its own inscrutable reasons, had chosen to promote Marius as a hero. There might well have been riots on Earth if the Grand Senate had moved against him openly, which didn’t bode well for Raistlin’s future, whatever happened. They might just have disowned him once Marius was safely dead, assuming he survived the assassination attempt. Marius’s crew would probably have killed him out of hand.

  “Nor did Commander Raistlin have any reason to believe that Admiral Drake had been outlawed,” Yale said. “The procedures for declaring someone an outlaw are very clear – and they were not carried out. Indeed, there wasn’t even a note to that effect in the message Commander Raistlin received. There was no reason for anyone to believe that Admiral Drake was anything other than a naval officer in good standing.”

  That sounded a convincing argument, Marius thought. But how would Darlington respond to it?

  “Except that he received orders, from a legitimate authority, to execute Admiral Drake,” Darlington said. “That would seem sufficient grounds to assume that Admiral Drake had been declared an outlaw.”

  “Except that such orders have to be openly propagated to be legal,” Yale snapped. “The procedure for declaring someone an outlaw, as I said, is well understood. There are no grounds for anyone to assume that Admiral Drake was an outlaw, then or ever.”

  Captain Warren tapped the table and they both fell silent. “I believe it would be best to hold a recess,” he said. “Both sides will need time to reformulate their defenses, assuming they both wish to continue?”

  He looked at Yale, then Darlington. They both nodded.

  “Then the court is dismissed,” Warren said. “The prisoner will be escorted back to his cell.”

  Marius managed to keep his mouth closed until they returned to his office, where he sat down in his chair and swore like a Marine on his fifth deployment to a warzone.

  “That bastard,” he said. “I should have had him shot!”

  “Too late now,” Tiffany sai
d. She shrugged, then pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. “It would look very bad if you just had him shot, particularly now. You couldn’t claim it was done in the heat of emotion any longer.”

  Marius rubbed his forehead. There were times when he felt he was doomed to always be headachy, now that he was trying to rebuild the Federation. No wonder the Grand Senate had been a load of assholes, if they’d been headachy from birth till death. Or perhaps the staggering luxury was a way of distracting themselves from the realization that they, for all their power, had less control than they cared to admit. Marius knew, all too well, just how long it took to get orders from one side of the Federation to the other. The warlords had enjoyed a kind of limited autonomy long before they’d started to rebel.

  “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

  “Maybe,” Tiffany said. She’d always been more aware of the legalities of any situation, having been trained by her father. “But if you want to make a point, if you want to prove that trials are actually fair, you have to let the process play out until the end.”

  “Yeah,” Marius said. But the hell of it was that the judges would have their doubts. If the Grand Senate could legally do anything, could they actually issue an illegal order? And if the order wasn’t illegal, what grounds did they have for holding Raistlin? “He still killed Tobias, after all.”

  He sat back in his chair, then glanced at the terminal. A new set of reports from the industries, warning him of production bottlenecks and work slow-downs in the wake of the collapse of the Grand Senate. The new/old managers had barely been found and sent back to work. God alone knew what would happen when they started trying to compete against newcomers to the field.

  It will work out for the best, he told himself, firmly. He had to believe it. And the Federation will be freer than ever.