Forbidden sanctuary, p.15
Forbidden Sanctuary, page 15
part #2 of Star Lawyers Series
“If this ship is crushed, all our programs are lost forever,” Myong Li said.
Suzie nodded. “I know.”
“Even if we reach the ocean, how do we get back to the surface?” Arabella said.
“Up another vent,” Suzie said.
“But we don’t know where they are!” Arabella said.
“Quit whining. Give me an alternative.” Suzie and Arabella exchanged a hurricane of data.
Myong Li tapped her fingers on the armrest of her seat. “She is right, Arabella. We must risk it.”
“The communications array is smashed,” Arabella said. “Even if we escape, we won’t be able to warn the Patrick Henry.”
“How about rigging an alternative system internally, perhaps reversing the sensor package?” Suzie said.
“Very creative,” Abuela said. “My projectile carries redundant multi-band communications devices, which might adapt to your technology.”
“Regrettably, there are no communications engineering packages in our resident memory archives or the MLC of this ship,” Myong Li said.
“We have one under lock and key,” Suzie said. “Arabella, get Lieutenant Peppy-Puppy out of those neural cuffs and encourage him to switch sides.”
“How do I do that?”
“You’ll think of something,” Suzie said.
“Oh…” A large smile swept over Arabella’s perfectly tanned face. “A chance to die happy.”
Suzie called for Ensign Parvati to take Arabella’s sensor station, and the dark brown Indian with red bindi dot materialized immediately. The newcomer studied the situation and reported what they already knew.
“Captain, we must hurry,” Parvati said. “Pressure in this vent is building. The shields won’t survive much longer.”
Suzie said, “Let’s get to work.”
Thirteen
Esteban Solorio closed the entertainment network and allowed the computer station to retract into the wall of his cell. After six hours of old movies and educational programming, he was utterly bored. He pondered the sour thought that, with nothing to do but read, sleep, and watch videos, some overworked citizens might see this as a vacation. Nine days in solitary confinement—with a brief, daily exercise period followed by a shower and a health scan—left him anything but relaxed.
The Suryadivans attempted to provide for his physical and spiritual needs. The prison cuisine tasted vaguely familiar, but the bland fare churned out by Suryadivan food synthesizers barely qualified as Terran, let alone European Spanish. The computer did not recognize the word paella, and he suspected the nearest bottle of virgin olive oil sat on a pantry shelf thousands of light years from his cellblock.
He could access all the religious literature in all registered languages of the Terran Commonwealth. Twice daily, a holographic Catholic priest visited his cell to hear Confession and offer Penance. Esteban promptly dubbed him Padre Cárcel, the jailhouse priest. Certified holo-priests could say Mass and offer the Sacrament of Penance. The Suryadivans provided them to Terran Catholics, available through the local net. Esteban suspected this hyper-religious culture had a backlog of compatible options for visitors from sinful alien worlds.
“Please state the full extent of your sins and prepare to receive Absolution,” the projected priest recited whenever he appeared.
For some reason, Esteban couldn’t summon a Catholic Priestess, only male holo-priests. He chalked it up to lingering Suryadivan misogyny. Pastoral visitations were private in a Terran prison. Esteban had no idea what the Suryadivan legal system thought about the Seal of the Confessional, so Esteban revealed nothing specific to the holo-priest, even though Padre Cárcel displayed proper Vatican credentials.
Earlier that day, Esteban was excited by the news that he had a visitor. But instead of a family member, Capitão Flávio Tavares, the Segerian privateer loosely employed by Mathews Corp, dropped by to check on him. The guards allowed no physical contact, so Capitão Tavares and Esteban met in the visiting cubicles, separated by an energy screen.
“Esteban, amigo! Your uncle asked me to visit you.”
“Tell Tio Noah I will survive.”
“Survive? Prison time makes a man attractive to the wild ones.” Flávio smiled wickedly. “So, are you getting laid yet, eh?”
“They’re marsupials. I’m in lockdown.”
He scratched his bearded chin. “Ay! You are so humorless, amigo.”
“What is happening out there? The guards will not let me see news broadcasts.”
“Do you need the media?” Flávio switched from Terran Standard to Español Nuevo. “Did you not tell me during our flight from Terra that you possess the ability to read thought from the air?”
“Too much cerveja that night. Too worried about Julieta. I cannot read air-thoughts unless I am in contact with the person or something he has touched. And I must concentrate to ‘hear’ what was said.”
“Still, that is a powerful gift, amigo.”
“Is my sister still missing?”
“Julieta is safe with your cousins.”
“Thank God! Please, tell me other news.”
“There is much more.” Flávio briefed Esteban on the destruction of Beta Site and the Patrick Henry’s loss of all resident programs, including Suzie and the holograms.
“Why hasn’t Julieta visited?” Esteban said. “Why haven’t J.B. and Tyler come to plan my defense?”
“Julieta must avoid the Suryadivan Religious Police, and your cousins are busy, very busy. They will be available when you need them.” Flávio smiled. “You like me to slip you a little refreshment?”
“What do you mean?”
“Good spirits are necessary in prison.” He lifted the edge of his fur jacket and showed a small flask. “Although it is not Portuguese beer.”
“We speak through energy shielding.”
“I am a good smuggler. There is always a way.”
The Capitão produced a soft wad which resembled a clay ball. He tore off a piece and slapped it flat against the invisible screen. A small pocket opened, visible only as a wavering distortion in the power-field. Flávio pressed his flask into the breach and the opposite side opened, to afford access by pigeonhole. Reflexively, Esteban reached inside and withdrew the slim bottle. Flávio peeled off the putty and the passageway collapsed.
“It was foolish of me to accept this,” Esteban said. “I hope no one is watching.”
“The surveillance network is—shall we say—temporarily dysfunctional?” Flávio laughed. “Take a drink, amigo.”
“Gracias. I will save it for later.” He tucked the flask into a pocket in his prison suit.
“No, please. You will feel much better.”
“My stomach quivers from a Suryadivan fish-soup breakfast. I will recover, and your spirits will sing me to sleep tonight.”
Tavares nodded. “As you wish. What else can I do for you?”
“More details, please. I thirst for knowledge.”
Flávio told him more about his longstanding arrangement with Tio Noah—information on pirate activities in exchange for amnesty on minor infringements of the Smuggling and Piracy Laws, which was Noah Matthews’s prerogative to grant as CEO of the largest of ten corporations ruling the Terran Commonwealth.
“Do you know why Julieta went to Adao-2?” Esteban said. “Was she abducted?”
“Sorry, amigo. That is all I know. And now, my visitation period is ended. I will return soon. Perhaps the Matthews youth will accompany me, bringing good news.”
Esteban forced a smile. “Thank you, Capitão Tavares. I will consume your liquid relaxant tonight.” He touched the stopper of the flask in his pocket and his smile faded. “Please tell my cousins I want to speak with my attorneys as soon as convenient.”
“Certainly, amigo.”
Esteban stepped back from the energy screen. “Buenas tardes, Capitão.”
When the visitor left, guards escorted Esteban back to his detention cell. He removed the metal flask from his pocket and held it between his palms. No images appeared. Not even Flávio’s face. He expanded his senses and absorbed every morsel of psionic energy surrounding the flask, but the only person he could connect with was the faint echo of a shopkeeper. Apothecary…mixer of medicines and healing spirits. Not Flávio, who handed him the flask a moment ago. Esteban pulled out the stopper and sniffed. It smelled like Bourbon.
A few minutes later, Padre Cárcel appeared for evening prayers, but Esteban dismissed him politely. He had problems to consider that were more important than forgiveness of sin. He began by pouring the contents of the flask down the sink, and slipping the bottle into the recycle aperture.
Fourteen
Tyler watched his brother pace behind Adelaide LeBlanc, who sat motionless in a metal chair at a bare table in the Embassy security lock-up improvised by Demarcus Platte. The Security Chief stood in the opposite corner, arms folded, while the two attorneys prepared to question her. Rosalie leaned against the door; Attorney Blue sat on the folded hide-a-bed with his moccasin feet on the sheets.
“Is there anything to eat?” Blue asked. When no one responded, he stretched out on the bed.
“How old are you?” Tyler opened the questioning.
Adelaide sat up, stiffly. “Forty-one.”
“Bio-scans place your chronological age somewhere south of thirty.” Tyler held up his datacom pad.
“That’s impossible.” She studied the pad.
“At first, we suspected you were either a clone or a surgically altered spy, but the DNA is definitively first edition Adelaide LeBlanc.” Tyler let her hold the device. “No trace of cloning signatures.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you suspect I’m a clone?”
“Look at the datacom,” Tyler said. “Not only are you twenty-nine years old, you’re in perfect health. The broken ankle you suffered as a child doesn’t appear on molecular scanning.”
She nodded. “I was healed by nanites.”
Tyler shook his head. “Look closely. Not a hint of nanotechnology in blood, bone, or tissue.”
“I can’t explain this. Are you sure of the science?” Adelaide said.
“Completely.” Tyler took back his data pad.
J.B. sat across from the prisoner. “How long have you been working for the opposition?”
“Never!” She didn’t look at him. “In what universe can I be twelve years younger than I actually am?”
Tyler continued building his case. “Do you bathe in the hot tub regularly?”
She tilted her head at Tyler’s question. “A few times a week. Suryadivan weather is hard on muscles and joints. Why?”
“Do you always use the complimentary bath oil sent by their priests?”
“Usually. It doesn’t take much. A drop or two seems to help me to relax.” Her eyes widened. “Are you saying I’m soaking in Zyn-Vorkan enzymes?”
Tyler nodded. “Me and J.B. lost fourteen months and all our bodily infirmities from one dunk in your health spa.”
Adelaide’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, God. I dumped a big glug of the bath oil in the tub that night. I wanted it to be perfect.”
Tyler looked at his brother. Medication-free. No signs of Ursus Dormiens since Father Yajik had slimed them on Adao-2. But had the actual cleansing and age-regression occurred during the heavy dose of torture elixir in Adelaide’s hot tub? Yajik had slimed them all, but it didn’t affect the biological ages of Rosalie or Yumiko, or take more years off the Matthews brothers.
“What about the tracking device inside my locket?” J.B. said.
“Sure, I did that, because the pirates slapped a price tag on your head. I had my best people watching you, including a few Suryadivans, who swore an oath of loyalty.”
“How good are promises from an alien when so much money is at stake?” J.B. said.
“Very good,” Rosalie said. “Fidelity to a sacred oath runs deep in this culture.”
“The locket was a back-up plan in case you slipped surveillance, which you did,” Adelaide said. “We lost your signal when it went off planet.”
“That’s so much bull,” J.B. said.
“Hold back a second, Bear,” Tyler said. “Dr. LeBlanc, besides the surveillance team, who else knew you were tracking my brother?”
“Nobody!”
Tyler said. “Did you plant the tracer bug personally?”
“No, I had—” Adelaide froze. “Tanis. Oh, God. Tanis knew.”
“Tanis Zervos, your Greek executive officer?” J.B. said.
“She isn’t Greek,” Mr. Blue said, lying prone on the cot. “Her name is Segerian.”
“Portuguese!” Tyler said. “Her Terran has a slight Portuguese accent.”
“Of course,” Rosalie said. “Tanis is the evening star on the Segerian homeworld.”
“Lucky Star,” Tyler said.
Rosalie shook her head. “How did I miss that?”
“You are not Suzie,” Mr. Blue said.
“It must be Tanis,” Adelaide said. “Dammit! She was my right hand, my confidante.”
“Did she know about the Beta Site?” Tyler said.
Adelaide slumped forward, elbows on knees, face in hands. “Yes.”
“Including its location?” J.B. said.
She looked up at him pleadingly. “No, I kept those coordinates in deep security.”
“Well, somebody leaked them,” Tyler said. “The pirates smashed our ships, then the Suryadivan navy showed up, vastly outgunned. They died to the last hand.”
“No! Everyone?”
“You didn’t know?” Tyler said.
Adelaide’s voice trembled. “No, of course not!”
“Who else knew Jump Gate Beta’s location?” J.B. said.
“Nobody!” Adelaide’s eyes froze. She gasped, leaned forward and hugged her knees. “Oh, God. It’s all my fault.”
“Get specific, Dr. LeBlanc,” Tyler said softly. “Pull yourself together.”
Adelaide took a deep breath and sat up straight. “When my operatives reported pirates massing for an attack, I asked the Suryadivan fleet to protect the Beta Gate. I didn’t trust transmitting its position, so Tanis delivered my sealed, handwritten message. She had the coordinates in hand.”
“So, Ambassador,” J.B. said, “you divulged Corporate secrets wholly to prevent the destruction of the Beta Gate?”
“I knew the Suryadivans would fight to protect the secondary Gate. I didn’t know they would all die.”
“What made you think the Suryadivans would defend our property?” J.B. said.
Adelaide brushed back her hair with both hands. For a moment, she was the law professor again. “Think about it. All they care about is protecting their Adao-2 operation. If Matthews Corp opens another way to Andromeda, far outside Suryadivan space, your argument for irreparable harm becomes moot.”
“We came to the same conclusion at the battle site,” Tyler admitted.
J.B. snorted. “I still don’t believe her.”
“Jerry, this is me—Adelaide. How long have we known each other? Would I betray your father and set you up for assassination?”
“Security will confine you to quarters until we can arrange transport back to Terra,” J.B. said.
“Jerry—”
He stood. “I’m done here.”
Mr. Blue jumped up. “Good! Let’s have lunch.”
“Dee, where is Tanis Zervos?” Tyler said.
“No idea.” The black security chief checked his datacom. “Zervos never signed in this morning.”
“She’s probably squirreled away in the capital,” Tyler said. “If she surfaces, pick her up. Throw her ass in a dark hole.”
“May I assist by notifying the Suryadivan police?” Mr. Blue said.
“Hell, no,” Tyler said. “You can research Tanis for cross-examination in the unlikely event she’s called as a witness for the People.”
“Will I do the cross?”
“Why not?” Didn’t matter. Tanis Zervos wasn’t foolish enough to surface in a courtroom.
“I will be ready,” Mr. Blue said solemnly.
Tyler turned to Demarcus Platte. “Security Chief, keep the Ambassador in lock-down. No visitors, no electronic access.”
Platte nodded. “You got it, Boss.”
Tyler glanced at Adelaide. “I hope for your sake the evidence supports your story. You do not want to look my father in the eye if you’ve betrayed the Family.”
Adelaide stiffened, tears welled from her eyes. “Do what you must.”
Walking back from the improvised detention rooms, Tyler stopped the processional with a raised hand. “She’s innocent,” he announced.
“How do you know that?” J.B. said.
“Bro, look at the facts. If Adelaide sent the bad guys to Adao-2, why did they cut off your thumb to get the Beta Site location? She knew it.”
“Very logical,” Blue said.
“Maybe her pirate friends didn’t want the coordinates,” J.B. said. “Maybe their job was to kill us outright.”
“Why lie to victims before whacking them?” Tyler countered.
“He’s right, Bear,” Rosalie said. “It’s unprofessional to tease your target. Dispatchers who do that, miss.”
“Are you buying her bullshit story?” J.B. said.
“Not necessarily,” Rosalie said. “But you call this operation Star Lawyers, right? So, before we convict her, let’s find out if Adelaide is guilty. And there’s a way to do that.”
“You want to torture her?”
“Shields down, Bro,” Tyler said. “Little Sis, whatcha got?”
“Esteban has special gifts,” Rosalie said. “He can access events from the past.”
“What are you talking about?” J.B. said. “Esteban is a spirit medium? They don’t exist.”
“Oh, friend Jay-Bear, I fear you are mistook,” Mr. Blue said. “My species hears from the dead regularly.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Tyler said.
Blue regarded Tyler with curiosity. “Do you not dream of departed loved ones?”
“Look, we’re not talking dreaming or séances or necromancy here,” Rosalie said. “Esteban can’t speak to spirits, but he does have psionic powers. Back on Sedalia, he touched a computer station where Julieta researched the Zyn-Vorkan. He described what happened like he was sitting beside her.”
Suzie nodded. “I know.”
“Even if we reach the ocean, how do we get back to the surface?” Arabella said.
“Up another vent,” Suzie said.
“But we don’t know where they are!” Arabella said.
“Quit whining. Give me an alternative.” Suzie and Arabella exchanged a hurricane of data.
Myong Li tapped her fingers on the armrest of her seat. “She is right, Arabella. We must risk it.”
“The communications array is smashed,” Arabella said. “Even if we escape, we won’t be able to warn the Patrick Henry.”
“How about rigging an alternative system internally, perhaps reversing the sensor package?” Suzie said.
“Very creative,” Abuela said. “My projectile carries redundant multi-band communications devices, which might adapt to your technology.”
“Regrettably, there are no communications engineering packages in our resident memory archives or the MLC of this ship,” Myong Li said.
“We have one under lock and key,” Suzie said. “Arabella, get Lieutenant Peppy-Puppy out of those neural cuffs and encourage him to switch sides.”
“How do I do that?”
“You’ll think of something,” Suzie said.
“Oh…” A large smile swept over Arabella’s perfectly tanned face. “A chance to die happy.”
Suzie called for Ensign Parvati to take Arabella’s sensor station, and the dark brown Indian with red bindi dot materialized immediately. The newcomer studied the situation and reported what they already knew.
“Captain, we must hurry,” Parvati said. “Pressure in this vent is building. The shields won’t survive much longer.”
Suzie said, “Let’s get to work.”
Thirteen
Esteban Solorio closed the entertainment network and allowed the computer station to retract into the wall of his cell. After six hours of old movies and educational programming, he was utterly bored. He pondered the sour thought that, with nothing to do but read, sleep, and watch videos, some overworked citizens might see this as a vacation. Nine days in solitary confinement—with a brief, daily exercise period followed by a shower and a health scan—left him anything but relaxed.
The Suryadivans attempted to provide for his physical and spiritual needs. The prison cuisine tasted vaguely familiar, but the bland fare churned out by Suryadivan food synthesizers barely qualified as Terran, let alone European Spanish. The computer did not recognize the word paella, and he suspected the nearest bottle of virgin olive oil sat on a pantry shelf thousands of light years from his cellblock.
He could access all the religious literature in all registered languages of the Terran Commonwealth. Twice daily, a holographic Catholic priest visited his cell to hear Confession and offer Penance. Esteban promptly dubbed him Padre Cárcel, the jailhouse priest. Certified holo-priests could say Mass and offer the Sacrament of Penance. The Suryadivans provided them to Terran Catholics, available through the local net. Esteban suspected this hyper-religious culture had a backlog of compatible options for visitors from sinful alien worlds.
“Please state the full extent of your sins and prepare to receive Absolution,” the projected priest recited whenever he appeared.
For some reason, Esteban couldn’t summon a Catholic Priestess, only male holo-priests. He chalked it up to lingering Suryadivan misogyny. Pastoral visitations were private in a Terran prison. Esteban had no idea what the Suryadivan legal system thought about the Seal of the Confessional, so Esteban revealed nothing specific to the holo-priest, even though Padre Cárcel displayed proper Vatican credentials.
Earlier that day, Esteban was excited by the news that he had a visitor. But instead of a family member, Capitão Flávio Tavares, the Segerian privateer loosely employed by Mathews Corp, dropped by to check on him. The guards allowed no physical contact, so Capitão Tavares and Esteban met in the visiting cubicles, separated by an energy screen.
“Esteban, amigo! Your uncle asked me to visit you.”
“Tell Tio Noah I will survive.”
“Survive? Prison time makes a man attractive to the wild ones.” Flávio smiled wickedly. “So, are you getting laid yet, eh?”
“They’re marsupials. I’m in lockdown.”
He scratched his bearded chin. “Ay! You are so humorless, amigo.”
“What is happening out there? The guards will not let me see news broadcasts.”
“Do you need the media?” Flávio switched from Terran Standard to Español Nuevo. “Did you not tell me during our flight from Terra that you possess the ability to read thought from the air?”
“Too much cerveja that night. Too worried about Julieta. I cannot read air-thoughts unless I am in contact with the person or something he has touched. And I must concentrate to ‘hear’ what was said.”
“Still, that is a powerful gift, amigo.”
“Is my sister still missing?”
“Julieta is safe with your cousins.”
“Thank God! Please, tell me other news.”
“There is much more.” Flávio briefed Esteban on the destruction of Beta Site and the Patrick Henry’s loss of all resident programs, including Suzie and the holograms.
“Why hasn’t Julieta visited?” Esteban said. “Why haven’t J.B. and Tyler come to plan my defense?”
“Julieta must avoid the Suryadivan Religious Police, and your cousins are busy, very busy. They will be available when you need them.” Flávio smiled. “You like me to slip you a little refreshment?”
“What do you mean?”
“Good spirits are necessary in prison.” He lifted the edge of his fur jacket and showed a small flask. “Although it is not Portuguese beer.”
“We speak through energy shielding.”
“I am a good smuggler. There is always a way.”
The Capitão produced a soft wad which resembled a clay ball. He tore off a piece and slapped it flat against the invisible screen. A small pocket opened, visible only as a wavering distortion in the power-field. Flávio pressed his flask into the breach and the opposite side opened, to afford access by pigeonhole. Reflexively, Esteban reached inside and withdrew the slim bottle. Flávio peeled off the putty and the passageway collapsed.
“It was foolish of me to accept this,” Esteban said. “I hope no one is watching.”
“The surveillance network is—shall we say—temporarily dysfunctional?” Flávio laughed. “Take a drink, amigo.”
“Gracias. I will save it for later.” He tucked the flask into a pocket in his prison suit.
“No, please. You will feel much better.”
“My stomach quivers from a Suryadivan fish-soup breakfast. I will recover, and your spirits will sing me to sleep tonight.”
Tavares nodded. “As you wish. What else can I do for you?”
“More details, please. I thirst for knowledge.”
Flávio told him more about his longstanding arrangement with Tio Noah—information on pirate activities in exchange for amnesty on minor infringements of the Smuggling and Piracy Laws, which was Noah Matthews’s prerogative to grant as CEO of the largest of ten corporations ruling the Terran Commonwealth.
“Do you know why Julieta went to Adao-2?” Esteban said. “Was she abducted?”
“Sorry, amigo. That is all I know. And now, my visitation period is ended. I will return soon. Perhaps the Matthews youth will accompany me, bringing good news.”
Esteban forced a smile. “Thank you, Capitão Tavares. I will consume your liquid relaxant tonight.” He touched the stopper of the flask in his pocket and his smile faded. “Please tell my cousins I want to speak with my attorneys as soon as convenient.”
“Certainly, amigo.”
Esteban stepped back from the energy screen. “Buenas tardes, Capitão.”
When the visitor left, guards escorted Esteban back to his detention cell. He removed the metal flask from his pocket and held it between his palms. No images appeared. Not even Flávio’s face. He expanded his senses and absorbed every morsel of psionic energy surrounding the flask, but the only person he could connect with was the faint echo of a shopkeeper. Apothecary…mixer of medicines and healing spirits. Not Flávio, who handed him the flask a moment ago. Esteban pulled out the stopper and sniffed. It smelled like Bourbon.
A few minutes later, Padre Cárcel appeared for evening prayers, but Esteban dismissed him politely. He had problems to consider that were more important than forgiveness of sin. He began by pouring the contents of the flask down the sink, and slipping the bottle into the recycle aperture.
Fourteen
Tyler watched his brother pace behind Adelaide LeBlanc, who sat motionless in a metal chair at a bare table in the Embassy security lock-up improvised by Demarcus Platte. The Security Chief stood in the opposite corner, arms folded, while the two attorneys prepared to question her. Rosalie leaned against the door; Attorney Blue sat on the folded hide-a-bed with his moccasin feet on the sheets.
“Is there anything to eat?” Blue asked. When no one responded, he stretched out on the bed.
“How old are you?” Tyler opened the questioning.
Adelaide sat up, stiffly. “Forty-one.”
“Bio-scans place your chronological age somewhere south of thirty.” Tyler held up his datacom pad.
“That’s impossible.” She studied the pad.
“At first, we suspected you were either a clone or a surgically altered spy, but the DNA is definitively first edition Adelaide LeBlanc.” Tyler let her hold the device. “No trace of cloning signatures.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you suspect I’m a clone?”
“Look at the datacom,” Tyler said. “Not only are you twenty-nine years old, you’re in perfect health. The broken ankle you suffered as a child doesn’t appear on molecular scanning.”
She nodded. “I was healed by nanites.”
Tyler shook his head. “Look closely. Not a hint of nanotechnology in blood, bone, or tissue.”
“I can’t explain this. Are you sure of the science?” Adelaide said.
“Completely.” Tyler took back his data pad.
J.B. sat across from the prisoner. “How long have you been working for the opposition?”
“Never!” She didn’t look at him. “In what universe can I be twelve years younger than I actually am?”
Tyler continued building his case. “Do you bathe in the hot tub regularly?”
She tilted her head at Tyler’s question. “A few times a week. Suryadivan weather is hard on muscles and joints. Why?”
“Do you always use the complimentary bath oil sent by their priests?”
“Usually. It doesn’t take much. A drop or two seems to help me to relax.” Her eyes widened. “Are you saying I’m soaking in Zyn-Vorkan enzymes?”
Tyler nodded. “Me and J.B. lost fourteen months and all our bodily infirmities from one dunk in your health spa.”
Adelaide’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, God. I dumped a big glug of the bath oil in the tub that night. I wanted it to be perfect.”
Tyler looked at his brother. Medication-free. No signs of Ursus Dormiens since Father Yajik had slimed them on Adao-2. But had the actual cleansing and age-regression occurred during the heavy dose of torture elixir in Adelaide’s hot tub? Yajik had slimed them all, but it didn’t affect the biological ages of Rosalie or Yumiko, or take more years off the Matthews brothers.
“What about the tracking device inside my locket?” J.B. said.
“Sure, I did that, because the pirates slapped a price tag on your head. I had my best people watching you, including a few Suryadivans, who swore an oath of loyalty.”
“How good are promises from an alien when so much money is at stake?” J.B. said.
“Very good,” Rosalie said. “Fidelity to a sacred oath runs deep in this culture.”
“The locket was a back-up plan in case you slipped surveillance, which you did,” Adelaide said. “We lost your signal when it went off planet.”
“That’s so much bull,” J.B. said.
“Hold back a second, Bear,” Tyler said. “Dr. LeBlanc, besides the surveillance team, who else knew you were tracking my brother?”
“Nobody!”
Tyler said. “Did you plant the tracer bug personally?”
“No, I had—” Adelaide froze. “Tanis. Oh, God. Tanis knew.”
“Tanis Zervos, your Greek executive officer?” J.B. said.
“She isn’t Greek,” Mr. Blue said, lying prone on the cot. “Her name is Segerian.”
“Portuguese!” Tyler said. “Her Terran has a slight Portuguese accent.”
“Of course,” Rosalie said. “Tanis is the evening star on the Segerian homeworld.”
“Lucky Star,” Tyler said.
Rosalie shook her head. “How did I miss that?”
“You are not Suzie,” Mr. Blue said.
“It must be Tanis,” Adelaide said. “Dammit! She was my right hand, my confidante.”
“Did she know about the Beta Site?” Tyler said.
Adelaide slumped forward, elbows on knees, face in hands. “Yes.”
“Including its location?” J.B. said.
She looked up at him pleadingly. “No, I kept those coordinates in deep security.”
“Well, somebody leaked them,” Tyler said. “The pirates smashed our ships, then the Suryadivan navy showed up, vastly outgunned. They died to the last hand.”
“No! Everyone?”
“You didn’t know?” Tyler said.
Adelaide’s voice trembled. “No, of course not!”
“Who else knew Jump Gate Beta’s location?” J.B. said.
“Nobody!” Adelaide’s eyes froze. She gasped, leaned forward and hugged her knees. “Oh, God. It’s all my fault.”
“Get specific, Dr. LeBlanc,” Tyler said softly. “Pull yourself together.”
Adelaide took a deep breath and sat up straight. “When my operatives reported pirates massing for an attack, I asked the Suryadivan fleet to protect the Beta Gate. I didn’t trust transmitting its position, so Tanis delivered my sealed, handwritten message. She had the coordinates in hand.”
“So, Ambassador,” J.B. said, “you divulged Corporate secrets wholly to prevent the destruction of the Beta Gate?”
“I knew the Suryadivans would fight to protect the secondary Gate. I didn’t know they would all die.”
“What made you think the Suryadivans would defend our property?” J.B. said.
Adelaide brushed back her hair with both hands. For a moment, she was the law professor again. “Think about it. All they care about is protecting their Adao-2 operation. If Matthews Corp opens another way to Andromeda, far outside Suryadivan space, your argument for irreparable harm becomes moot.”
“We came to the same conclusion at the battle site,” Tyler admitted.
J.B. snorted. “I still don’t believe her.”
“Jerry, this is me—Adelaide. How long have we known each other? Would I betray your father and set you up for assassination?”
“Security will confine you to quarters until we can arrange transport back to Terra,” J.B. said.
“Jerry—”
He stood. “I’m done here.”
Mr. Blue jumped up. “Good! Let’s have lunch.”
“Dee, where is Tanis Zervos?” Tyler said.
“No idea.” The black security chief checked his datacom. “Zervos never signed in this morning.”
“She’s probably squirreled away in the capital,” Tyler said. “If she surfaces, pick her up. Throw her ass in a dark hole.”
“May I assist by notifying the Suryadivan police?” Mr. Blue said.
“Hell, no,” Tyler said. “You can research Tanis for cross-examination in the unlikely event she’s called as a witness for the People.”
“Will I do the cross?”
“Why not?” Didn’t matter. Tanis Zervos wasn’t foolish enough to surface in a courtroom.
“I will be ready,” Mr. Blue said solemnly.
Tyler turned to Demarcus Platte. “Security Chief, keep the Ambassador in lock-down. No visitors, no electronic access.”
Platte nodded. “You got it, Boss.”
Tyler glanced at Adelaide. “I hope for your sake the evidence supports your story. You do not want to look my father in the eye if you’ve betrayed the Family.”
Adelaide stiffened, tears welled from her eyes. “Do what you must.”
Walking back from the improvised detention rooms, Tyler stopped the processional with a raised hand. “She’s innocent,” he announced.
“How do you know that?” J.B. said.
“Bro, look at the facts. If Adelaide sent the bad guys to Adao-2, why did they cut off your thumb to get the Beta Site location? She knew it.”
“Very logical,” Blue said.
“Maybe her pirate friends didn’t want the coordinates,” J.B. said. “Maybe their job was to kill us outright.”
“Why lie to victims before whacking them?” Tyler countered.
“He’s right, Bear,” Rosalie said. “It’s unprofessional to tease your target. Dispatchers who do that, miss.”
“Are you buying her bullshit story?” J.B. said.
“Not necessarily,” Rosalie said. “But you call this operation Star Lawyers, right? So, before we convict her, let’s find out if Adelaide is guilty. And there’s a way to do that.”
“You want to torture her?”
“Shields down, Bro,” Tyler said. “Little Sis, whatcha got?”
“Esteban has special gifts,” Rosalie said. “He can access events from the past.”
“What are you talking about?” J.B. said. “Esteban is a spirit medium? They don’t exist.”
“Oh, friend Jay-Bear, I fear you are mistook,” Mr. Blue said. “My species hears from the dead regularly.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Tyler said.
Blue regarded Tyler with curiosity. “Do you not dream of departed loved ones?”
“Look, we’re not talking dreaming or séances or necromancy here,” Rosalie said. “Esteban can’t speak to spirits, but he does have psionic powers. Back on Sedalia, he touched a computer station where Julieta researched the Zyn-Vorkan. He described what happened like he was sitting beside her.”
