Badger (26 page)

The lawyer shook his head. “I’ve seen reports from that battle. The modifications were the kind that couldn’t be replicated unless the riftjump mechanisms were removed.”

Jacob snorted. “They were also done in the space of two weeks by a team of frontier spacers with barely any available supplies. You’re telling me seriously, sir, that the Celostian Navy couldn’t have improved on the design?” As the man hesitated over a response, Jacob continued in a voice as hard as iron. “Or is it more that it is considered too expensive to do so, counselor? Perhaps no one has explained to the Independents how paying life insurance for dead crews and replacing destroyed ships tends to be more expensive than building better ones in the first place. Or perhaps no one has told the Federalists that keeping troops safe involves more armor and weapons than it does vague orders and bad strategy.”

Silence had spread over the audience as he spoke, and along with the change had come an alarming new shade of red in the lawyer’s face. His words sounded like he was forcing them out past some kind of beefy obstacle in his throat. “I don’t see the point of your complaints, Captain Hull.”

“The
point
is, if I was given a squadron of ships that were armored the way
Wolfhound
was, I would rip the heart out of the Oduran Navy and put it at your damned feet, sir.” Jacob bared his teeth again, and he nearly gloated in the sheer rage in the lawyer’s face. “High Admiral Nivrosky was doing the best he could with what he had been given, and I’ll see you in hell before I say anything different.”

“You tell him Jacob!” The shout had come from some unknown in the audience, but it was as if it had broken the silence that had encompassed the rest of the chamber, and almost immediately the air was filled with arguments, exclamations, and cries of support, some for the witness and others for the lawyer. Jacob blinked and glanced upward in surprise, because in the heat of the argument, he’d actually forgotten the rest of the chamber had been present.

The lawyer, however, had apparently been acutely aware of the situation the whole time and was even more aware of it now. He roared out over the tumult, his face so deep a red it was nearly purple. “Enough! I demand this man be charged with contempt of court!”

“That will not be necessary, counselor.” The smooth voice was far from agitated, but it rode over the storm of shouts easily. Jacob turned towards the speaker and froze with shock as he recognized the man. Others in the audience recognized the newcomer as well, and as they alerted their neighbors silence once again spread across the chamber.

The man wore formal dress, though little else could have been expected from a man in his position. His face was clean-shaven and his hair a frosty white, though his eyes were as clear and sharp as ice chips. He stood as tall as Jacob, though his build was much thinner, giving him an awkward, almost gangly stance. A handful of solemn Marine guards had accompanied him to the dais, though they stood back from the platform itself and watched the other occupants of the room with searching eyes. Their charge apparently took no notice of their continued vigilance. Instead, his blue eyes had locked onto the counselor.

“I have only heard the past few minutes of the debate, but it is clear the case against High Admiral Alan Nivrosky is unnecessary at this point. If someone as accomplished as Captain Hull can defend him, even after having lost so much, then I am satisfied the best results were accomplished in Wayward.” A bitter smile appeared on the man’s face as he moved his gaze to Jacob. “And as for the ramifications of the operation, Captain Hull is right. The High Admiral may have instigated the mission, but the responsibility for it is mine. If you seek answers for it, I encourage you to turn to me.”

The prosecutor, pale in the face, stared at High Seat Adam Smithson, the ultimate authority of the Celostian Union, and stammered out an awkward reply. “Of course, High Seat. I assume this action implies an official pardon?”

“For both of them, of course.” The High Seat smiled again without moving his eyes from Jacob. “Unless the Council and the House agree to overrule me, neither of these two officers has committed any undue indiscretion. The one may have erred from an anxiety to defend our borders, and the other in the defense of someone he respects, but I would be hard pressed to punish them for that. Especially now.”

Abruptly, the High Seat turned to look at High Admiral Nivrosky. “High Admiral, I assume you are satisfied with the results of your court martial? You requested it after all.”

Alan Nivrosky’s hard grey eyes returned Smithson’s stare without flinching. “It is better to have my actions recorded and questioned now rather than at some uncertain time in the future, High Seat. You know that as well as I.”

Smithson gave a chuckle. “Yes, I suppose I do, Alan. Now, if you are finished here I believe Central Command has need of you. They were looking forward to hearing your plans for countering the Odurans along the border.” He turned back and raised his eyebrows at the members of the Seatings. “And I believe the lot of you probably have something better to do than stay here?”

The gathered judges abruptly burst into motion, bowing to the High Seat as they filed out of their chairs and into the chambers hidden behind them. Smithson turned and swept his eyes across the rest of the chamber. “You too. The show’s over. Sorry to disappoint, but we have work to do.”

With a subtle murmur of resentment, the crowds in the galleries began to depart as well, though many of the reporters stood their ground in the hopes of catching some interesting tidbit from the chief official of the Union. By contrast, the prosecutor had vanished the instant he had been given leave, fleeing the scene as quickly as he could without attracting attention.

Jacob, for his part, sat frozen in the witness box. He wondered, futilely, how long ago exactly he had accused the High Seat of making an incompetent decision. It was obvious Smithson had heard about it from somebody, but had he heard the exact words coming from Jacob’s own mouth? Hero or not, he doubted his career would survive much longer than an hour if the High Seat’s ire was provoked, and he offered a brief plea to the universe to spare him that disaster as well.

Whether anyone or anything had heard him or not, he suddenly realized he was the only person on the dais with the High Admiral of the Celostian Navy and the High Seat of the Celostian Union. It was not, as anyone would have guessed, a good spot for someone who had any inclination to remain inconspicuous. He jerked into motion, hoping he could remember his way out of the building without using Lieutenant Commander Barnes as a guide. Jacob had started toward the nearest exit when he heard Smithson speak again. “Captain Hull, I would appreciate it if you stayed for a moment.”

He froze. Dread settled low in his gut. A panicky series of thoughts, each detailing a fate worse than the last, ran screaming through his mind. Then he schooled his expression to a professional blank slate and turned to face the High Seat. He saluted. “Yes, sir. How can I help you, sir?”

The High Seat regarded him with an amused expression. “Well for the first part, you can come on over here and stop giving the news anchors a chance to eavesdrop on our conversation.” He glanced towards the remaining gawkers and reporters in the galleries. “Useful as they are sometimes, there are some things I would rather keep secret. Come along now, the both of you.”

“Yes, sir.” Jacob closed the distance between the High Seat and himself, noticing High Admiral Nivrosky fell in on Smithson’s other side. The grim mask the High Admiral had worn since the trial had started had barely lessened, and Jacob suddenly wondered if the reason that he had called the court martial hadn’t been to alleviate the guilt he’d felt over the whole ordeal as well. Then Nivrosky glanced at him, and Jacob jerked his eyes away, focusing on the grey stone of the Bureau instead.

Smithson led them from the chamber, and the Marines fell in around them as they left the dais. Jacob noted each of them wore the distinctive silver stars above their eagles that denoted the Celostian Guard. Each of them had to be a highly decorated member of the Marine Corps in order to be admitted to the bodyguard of the Union’s chief of state, and how they had achieved the privilege was clear in the way they scanned each new hallway. He wouldn’t have put it past them to be wearing more weapons than the average Navy arms locker held, but he couldn’t see anything in evidence beyond a shortbarrelled railgun carbine each man carried across his back.

The whole group made their way through the halls of the Bureau, winding almost aimlessly as Smithson followed some unknown course through the ancient building. By the time the High Seat stopped, Jacob had begun to wonder if the man was lost, but apparently he had been looking for the small office they entered. It was a curiously bare room, with only a table and a scattering of chairs. Smithson claimed one for himself and leaned back into it with a little sigh. None of the Marines sat; instead they busied themselves with securing the door and performing a brief search of the furniture. Apparently they failed to find anything alarming; one of the Marines gave the High Seat a brief nod.

Impatiently, the High Seat motioned for Jacob and the High Admiral to sit. “Go on, we’ve been approved of now.”

Jacob waited until Nivrosky had taken a seat before he pulled up a chair as well. He glanced between the two men, still half expecting his immediate discharge from the Navy to come at any minute. Nivrosky, on the other hand, ignored Jacob completely and locked his hard-eyed gaze on Smithson.

“High Seat, with all due respect, your interruption of the court martial will not help matters. You and I discussed the need to lay these issues to rest in a public forum. Leaving these doubts to fester in back rooms will only lead to further problems down the road.” Nivrosky’s voice, while respectful, had grown just the slightest bit exasperated.

Smithson raised his eyebrows at the High Admiral, unfazed by his commanding officer’s concern. “I know, Alan, but the fact is we don’t have time to deal with that. The intelligence coming out of the League is showing we barely have enough time to prepare for their next invasion as it is, and I certainly don’t intend letting them throw you out of office.” He shook a finger at Nivrosky. “Do you realize how difficult it would make things for us? What if they’d stuck some Independent in there to ‘cut things back to necessary forces’ or a Federalist managed to sneak in and ‘restrict operations to more secure zones’? It’d be a disaster, and I won’t allow it.”

Nivrosky seemed to struggle to restrain himself. “Sir, I understand tha—”

“Ut, ut ut ut!” The High Seat waggled his finger again to emphasize each sound. “No arguing. I’ve made up my mind, and what’s done is done. I didn’t bring you down here to fight me over it, and I certainly didn’t invite young Captain Hull down to watch.” The pointed reminder convinced the High Admiral to glance in Jacob’s direction. Jacob immediately wished he hadn’t; that same hard-eyed stare hadn’t lessened at all.

Fortunately, Smithson spoke before the High Admiral could open his mouth. “The issue I brought the young Captain is to discuss his probable future now that he’s made such a spirited defense of you during your trial.” Nivrosky’s eyes went back to the High Seat, and his stern expression lessened. Smithson leaned back in his chair and studied Jacob openly. “Frankly, I don’t see how keeping Captain Hull here on Celostia will benefit him or us, not now that he’s bearded both major parties in front of the media at large.”

Jacob felt heat creep up into his face, but the next words from Admiral Nivrosky were what truly put him at a loss for words.

“I had intended to give him some time to recover, High Seat. The loss of his ships in action hurts an officer, more than anyone who hasn’t served can understand. It will take time for that sort of thing to heal, no matter what the political interests might be. I ask you to give him time with his family before we return him to active duty.”

Jacob stared at Admiral Nivrosky, realizing only now he had entirely misjudged the orders that had brought him home. The Admiral did not seem to notice Jacob’s expression, though Smithson glanced back and forth between the two officers with a raised eyebrow. The High Seat coughed into his hand. “Perhaps you could have clarified that for our young admiral in training, Alan? He seems rather surprised.”

Nivrosky turned to look at Jacob, and his eyes narrowed. Then he blinked, and he looked almost as shocked and horrified as he had back on
Wolfhound
what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Captain Hull, you didn’t think…” The Admiral stopped himself and shook his head. “I should have known. You weren’t placed on leave as punishment. You hadn’t taken a week of leave since you returned from Reefhome, and even then you were only on planet for two weeks. You’ve been on active duty for nearly two years now, and if we weren’t able to spare you before, we can now. We need you sharp, and I won’t let my officers wear themselves down to nothing—and I certainly don’t intend to do so after all you’ve done and sacrificed.”

The straightforward explanation helped soothe the disappointment Jacob had felt, and he nodded. “I understand, sir. And thank you.”

The High Admiral returned the nod, and then looked back at Smithson. “I am not going to budge on this, High Seat. He needs to rest, and I won’t ship him off to the border because he had the courage to tell an idiot what kind of hole he’d managed to dig for himself. Not while I remain in command.”

Smithson sighed and toyed with a pen testily. “I was afraid you would say that. You really are a stubborn old oak, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Very well, I suppose I can see my way clear to allowing your little stubborn streak to stand this time, but I can’t have him running around on Celostia. The media will be out in force for him after today, and I can’t imagine he’ll have much rest anyway.”

He paused. The High Seat tapped the pen against the desk in a steady rhythm, and his eyes grew distant. Then he smiled. “Well that could work. Captain Hull, when you were in the witness box, did you mean what you said?”