Ends, Means, Laws and an Angry Ship Page 4

  “It’s me,” Tyce said. “What do you say we calm this situation? You don’t want to put boys in the middle.”

  John stood a little straighter and the barrel of the rifle came up. “I’m not the one who armed them and put them on patrol.”

  “No,” Tyce said slowly, “but you’re the one who is using them as a human shield. What happened to regulation one-two-five-dash-seven?”

  “I don’t know. What happened to regulation seven-dash-fourteen?” John shot back, his voice harder now. Tyce flinched. Regulation seven—treason. Subsection fourteen—assisting the enemy in the theatre of war.

  “You have a rifle pointed at the back of a restrained fourteen-year-old kid.” Tyce counted on John still having a few of his iron-clad ethics intact. If he had been posted to the front, that iron might have corroded away . For a good minute, John stared at him. He then deliberately stepped forward so he was even with the boys, and he pointed the rifle at Tyce.

  “Lieutenant Tyce Robinson, you are under arrest for violation of regulation seven of the uniform code. You will be held until you can be returned to Earth for trial, under authority of a Command warrant.”

  For years, Tyce had expected to hear those words. Either those words or the click of a weapon engaging—those were the only two endings he could imagine.

  “Fuck no,” Yoss said loudly. That was ironic given that Yoss’s hot head had put Tyce in this position.

  “Yoss, stand down,” Tyce ordered, and shockingly enough, he listened. “John, we still have a stand-off here. If you want to make that arrest, you need to compromise.”

  John’s face reddened. “Compromise? With a traitor and terrorist?”

  Tyce took a deep breath. Of course Command saw him that way. He didn’t know why it hit him like a punch to hear it from John. At one point he would have called John his best friend, and sometimes he had fantasized about sharing a beer and explaining his reasons for turning on his men. In his dreams, John would rest a hand on his arm and offer unconditional forgiveness, but that was not what he saw in John’s cold gaze now. “We can have a shoot-out. Maybe you would count it a win because your side would kill those two boys—”

  “What?” Ter blurted as if it had just occurred to him that he could die here. He had none of his aunt’s common sense.

  Tyce continued. “My guy can take you. So that’s two of ours down compared to one of yours. Of course you’re more highly ranked, so some cost-benefit analysis would weigh your life more heavily. Isn’t that what our classes taught us? To compare the relative worth of life? Then again, if your people can take me out when they take out those boys—maybe that would change the benefit analysis. So, is that what you want? Do you want three or four dead bodies lying in this hall?”

  John raised his weapon to his shoulder and primed it. “If that’s what it takes to bring you to justice.”

  A hard, cold shiver rattled Tyce’s spine. This was his best friend—his ex-best friend—but he had murder in his eyes. “Or, you send the boys this way, and I surrender.”

  “What?” Yoss demanded loudly. “Are you fucking cracked? They’ll kill you.”

  Tyce suspected they would, but if he let those boys die, that wouldn’t change the way his life was bound to end. John was a by-the-book officer, and now that he knew Tyce was on the ship, his sense of justice wouldn’t allow him to rest until Tyce was under arrest or dead. Tyce could buy the boys’ freedom or he could watch Dragon crew die holding off Command assaults until they voted to throw him to the enemy.

  Turning his back on John and his weapon, Tyce pinned Yoss with a glare. “You tell Ama to negotiate with them as if I was never part of the crew. If they think I was one more refugee who took passage on your ship, they’ll be reasonable. Even if they aren’t, she can talk them to a standstill. As soon as this ship is in populated space, have her launch the shuttles and run for a safe haven. Mars has enough trouble with Earth’s intransigence that they would accept an application for sanctuary.”

  Yoss frowned, his gaze flickering over to John before he took a step back so the curve of the ship hid him from the enemy. Tyce took that as agreement.

  Tyce turned back to face John and raised his hands in surrender. “Send the boys this way and I’ll surrender. It’s that or their blood on your conscience.” Tyce sent the universe a quick prayer that John still had a few of those shiny morals from his academy days. He could read John’s hesitancy in the way he angled his body.

  He raised his rifle a fraction of an inch. “Walk this way, hands up.”

  “Sure, a few steps,” Tyce said as he moved away from Yoss. “But I’ll stop right here until you send the boys.”

  “We’re the ones who follow through on promises. It’s Ribelo that breeds deceit, so you come all the way here; then we’ll let the boys go.”

  Tyce closed his eyes and tried to imagine all the possible permutations of this moment. Too many ended with him dying, his ribs crushed by the blast of the percussion rifle. “You know I can’t trust that. Command doesn’t believe that agreements made under duress are enforceable. So you can send the boys this way, or we can start that bloodbath now.” If John had some hardass commander whispering in his ear, a bloodbath was the most likely outcome.

  Ter shifted nervously and pulled on Arli’s elbow. The idiot might as well have announced he wanted to run for it. Tied the way he was, he had no chance. “Ter, Arli, hold position,” Tyce said firmly.

  Arli swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, but Ter continued to shift. He was too damn young for this situation.

  “John, look at them,” Tyce said softly. “They’re scared kids. They’re younger than we were at the academy. Ter is thinking about running because he is so terrified that he can’t think clearly. Do you want their blood on your hands?”

  John’s posture softened. When he turned his gaze back to Tyce, the danger eased out like a tide. However, John still pointed his weapon at Tyce. “Shirt off. Turn around. Shake your pant legs.”

  Turning to the wall, Tyce complied. He yanked off his shirt and pulled the waist of his pants down an inch to show he didn’t have any wires or explosives hidden. Maybe Command was in the wrong, but Tyce still understood how unforgivable the Ribelian terrorists had been. Thousands of people who had no control over the government’s policies had died in terror attacks. Tyce remembered the horrors shown on vids throughout Earth. He shook his pants as hard as he could before he turned.

  John sucked in a hard breath. Tyce didn’t try to explain the tattoo. Yes, it was a Ribelian design and most of the terrorists probably had similar ink, but John wouldn’t understand the real cultural meaning. John’s eyes grew hard.

  “Let the boys go.” Tyce took another step forward, offering himself.

  “On your knees.”

  Tyce had expected as much. He lowered himself, grateful for the cushioned floor. John grabbed Ter’s arm and shoved him forward. Since Ter was tied to Arli, they both stumbled. “Go.”

  Ter pulled madly, but Arli seemed frozen in place. They were both far too young for this; Tyce had argued that very point when Ama added them to the list of patrols, but she had told him that children learned best by doing. “Arli, walk toward me. You’re safe. John will not shoot a child, not even one stupid enough to argue his way onto the patrol schedule.” As he’d hoped, the insult broke Arli out of his fugue. Both boys hurried toward Tyce.

  They hesitated next to him, and Ter opened his mouth like he might argue.

  “Go,” Tyce ordered as he threaded his fingers and put them behind his head. “Now!”

  Arli pulled toward Yoss and safety, but Ter hesitated for a second. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Go!” Tyce focused his gaze on John. The anger and betrayal in those familiar eyes burned him, but he couldn’t look away. He didn’t regret his actions. Much. But he also didn’t expect forgiveness. The boys hurried past.

  “Stand up and turn around,” John ordered.

  Tyce stood slowly. T
he John he knew never would have shot a prisoner in the back, but that had been years ago. Time and betrayals could outweigh years of friendship and shared classes—late night food runs and practical jokes. That was reality.

  “Walk backwards toward me.”

  They’d learned prisoner protocols together. If Tyce moved a little quicker, if he leaned to the left, John would suspect a sweep-leg maneuver, and he’d kill Tyce. That would be the merciful end. It would only hurt for a few minutes, and sometimes the adrenaline held the pain at bay as a person died.

  Tyce looked toward the far end of the curving corridor where Yoss waited. All Tyce could see was the barrel of his weapon. Yoss had taken cover behind one of the thick conduits that carried yellow fluids the scientists had warned them not to breach. It hid him, but one concussive blast to the conduit, and Yoss would be showered with corrosive fluid that would eat his skin. Tyce shuffled, spreading his legs more to put himself at a disadvantage.

  “Stop. On your knees.” John’s voice had a brittle sharpness Tyce didn’t trust. He still obeyed.

  “Do this and we’re at war!” Yoss yelled.

  Tyce closed his eyes. God save him from family ships and their lack of discipline.

  “We’re already at war,” John called back.

  “Funny,” Tyce said, “I thought the war was over.” The kick to his back didn’t surprise Tyce. He didn’t bother breaking his fall. The floor was soft enough to avoid a broken nose. In a heartbeat, bodies landed on him, hands pinning him to the ground, and all choices were gone. Tyce let his body go lax as several Command soldiers cuffed him before pulling him to his feet.

  John’s face was devoid of emotion. “Take him to level one and put him in the small room.”

  “Yes, sir,” an older man said. He took Tyce’s arm and pulled him toward the end of the corridor where Command had control. Tyce didn’t resist.

  They reached a section of the ship with stairs that were so high that each step came up to Tyce’s knees. Considering the sections near the Dragon crew had tiny bunks, he had assumed the aliens had been small. Apparently not.

  “Up,” the guard ordered.

  Tyce knew better than to argue. He lifted a leg onto the first step, but with his hands bound, he had no leverage to lift himself. He ended up keeping his feet under him as the guards dragged him up the steep stairs.

  Two soldiers waited at the top of the stairs, their weapons at the ready. “Holy shit,” the woman said. “Is that—?”

  “Eyes forward, Charleston!” Tyce’s main guard snapped. As much as Tyce wanted to make a snarky comment, he didn’t feel like pissing blood for the next week, so he kept silent. They passed another small clump of soldiers before they stopped at a door. Unlike the ones downstairs, these were decorated with a spiral pattern set into the oddly skin-like material that covered the walls. The guard stuck his finger in a groove on the side of the door and ran it down. The door slid open.

  Well fuck. Downstairs they were forcing their way through every door one at a time. If these guys had figured out how to open doors, the Dragon crew had already lost the battle for territory. Command would be able to clear corridors and identify critical areas far faster than Ama could. Fuck.

  Tyce’s guard shoved him into a narrow room that couldn’t have been more than ten feet long. However, it had a twenty-foot ceiling with a complex tangle of pulsing fluid lines overhead. Tyce’s imagination provided vivid images of what might happen if corrosive or radioactive material dripped on him. Before Tyce could register a complaint about his accommodations, the door slid closed.

  Tyce stood alone with a dull green glow from the walls that matched his sickly mood. He hadn’t had a day this bad since the last time he had gotten in a pissing match with Command soldiers.

  Chapter Five

  TYCE DID A FINGERTIP exploration of his eerie prison, as much as he could with his hands shackled, before he gave up and sat in the corner. Time dragged, and he dozed. The ache in his arms precluded actual sleep, but he tried to reserve his energy, at least. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. There was no end game here, only a quick death or a long imprisonment. If these soldiers decided to turn on the traitor in their midst, he’d get the first. If they truly hated him, he’d get the second.

  Even though door opened, he didn’t move from his spot against the back wall, but he sat up when John appeared. Surely the commander or captain of the ship would want to interrogate the prisoner directly. Terrorism and murder of the soldiers under his command were serious charges.

  John stared and Tyce waited until the silence grew too much. “So, should I call you John or Commander Burden?” Tyce asked.

  “Sub-commander,” John corrected him without answering Tyce’s question. If John decided on psychological softening, Tyce was screwed. John had too many keys to Tyce’s defenses because they’d been too close. When the demands of the academy had grown too great, they’d drunk and cried and encouraged each other. Maybe that was why his commander had sent him in, but if that was the case, the commander was a sadist. Tyce had as many insights into John’s weaknesses, even if he hesitated to use them.

  John took a step into the room, and the door slid closed behind him. “What the hell?” he demanded in such an offended voice that Tyce smiled at the familiar tone.

  Tyce stretched his legs out in front of him. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

  “You joined the Ribelians. You’re a fucking terrorist.”

  That surgically removed any amusement Tyce had found in their situation. “I wouldn’t describe it that way,” he said even though Command would. They knew the whole story and they’d still sent out fugitive warrants to any computer that would take a signal.

  “Really? So you don’t have a fucking Ribelian tattoo?” John aimed a kick at Tyce’s foot only to look surprised when it connected.

  “Shouldn’t I have an advocate if you plan to throw around words like that?”

  Despite the fact that the room was only five feet or so across, John tried to pace. He resembled a dog circling before settling in for a nap, only angrier. “The only people I’ve ever seen with markings like that are hard-core terrorists. Suicide bombers. Is that why you’re on this side of Earth space? Do you have an attack planned?”

  Tyce locked down all his emotions. John believed that he would kill innocents; that was a hot knife to the gut. Instead of showing that emotion, he retreated into rules. John should respect those even if their friendship was dead. “Regulations say you can’t question me without an advocate.” Tyce doubted the Command ship had carried any personnel certified to act as a defense advocate. However, asking for one should lead to the end of the interrogation. They could haul him back to Earth and railroad him legally. Tyce had no idea why it mattered to stall for time, but it did.

  John stopped and gave him a deadly glare. “Don’t give me that shit. Answer the fucking question.”

  “Any answers given in custody can be used by the military tribunal to adjudicate the case.”

  John threw his hands up. “You can’t make this any worse. Nothing you say could do that. Nothing!”

  “Sure I could.” Tyce gave John his brightest smile. It faltered when John’s expression turned to horror. For a second, they were back in the second year of the academy, and they were talking about Tyce’s friend who had stolen tests. Tyce had agonized over what he should do—whether he should turn Scott in or not. It wasn’t even John’s friend, and yet he had been aghast at the dilemma Tyce had found himself in. He’d worn the same worry back then.

  John sighed and sank to the floor, his back to the door. The gesture alarmed Tyce. Command had trained John to handle battle, even if this was an unexpected battlefield.

  He whispered so softly that Tyce suspected he was talking to himself. “What the fuck happened?” Weariness rose from him like a fog. Part of Tyce wanted to spill the whole story, to beg John to side with him, the way he had with the Scott case. When the other cadets had found out Tyce had turned on
another cadet, they’d spent months making it clear they wished Tyce would flush himself down a toilet and drown. John had stood with him.

  But John couldn’t do that now. At best, he’d flush himself down the toilet with Tyce.

  “I made a choice,” Tyce said quietly. “At the time, I didn’t think I had another option.”

  John stared at him for long minutes before asking, “And now?”

  Tyce didn’t answer. He had acted to save lives, to save the right people, but John would want a different answer. Tyce might regret that day and some of the consequences of it, but he wouldn’t put on a hair shirt and beg forgiveness.

  John let his head fall back against the door. “Damn it, Tyce.” That was the first time John had used his name. Now would have been an excellent time for his commander to pull him out of this room. Instead they both sat on the floor on opposite sides, staring at each other. “This is so fucked up,” John whispered.

  “I don’t disagree.” Considering he was the one with aching shoulders and cuffed wrists, he had more reason to say it than John did. “Is your commander dead or injured?” The only way any of this made sense was if John was the ultimate authority. Any commander who had heard their exchange would have realized John was as likely to break as Tyce. Leaving the interrogation up to him didn’t make any sense. However, it was the sort of stupid thing John might choose to do.

  John’s head came up. “Why the fuck would you ask that? What do the rebels know?”

  “First, I wasn’t lying. That’s a family ship down there, not a rebel one. When I came up with this insane plan, I assumed the aliens would blast the hell out of the first shuttles and stop when they realized all the children were on our heavy beta-class transport. I thought this might be a Rownt ship.”

  John shook his head. “Command sent out an update on Rownt ships and technology. Their ships have long straight passages. If one took a hard-G turn, when the center of gravity changed, the fall would kill you. And their doors are taller to accommodate the Grandmothers.” He hesitated before adding in a softer voice, “God, you’re such an idiot. You gambled everything on this being a Rownt ship and their willingness to save the fucking children. That is so like you.”