Faith (7 page)

It was the first thing She had ever done which might, just possibly, hint at a motive. Or maybe not; nobody knew anything about Her, and She had never made or answered any communication. And yet, it was said throughout the Commonwealth, how exquisitely judged! And how exquisitely executed! Until you remembered the five Isis ships and their crews.

“No, Mr Chairman.” Fourth Voice said. “That’s all right. Let her have that one, on us. Commander, I’m bound to say that your attitude towards this trial is at best questionable. You’ve refused to call witnesses in your defense, you’ve refused to cross-examine any witnesses we might call, you’ve refused to appoint a legal adviser or to accept our offer of one, you only answer our questions partially, and when you do it’s as if you’re doing
us
a favour. Either pull out of this trial altogether—and we advised you of your right to do that—or participate in it; but don’t insult us. That unidentified ship does enigmatic silences and hidden meanings much better than you do.”

“I’m sorry,” Ansah said, “if my attitude to the trial has offended you. Frankly, the trial isn’t going the way I wanted.”

“You’re not the first defendant to think that.”

“No, I mean the way I
wanted.
It’s been concerned too much with my personal guilt or innocence.”

“I rather thought that was the idea of a trial, Commander.”

“No. If you find me guilty, you’re wrong. If you find me innocent, you’re wrong.”

The hazy outlines behind the long curved table exchanged whispers and glances. Ansah could imagine their expressions, and remembered a phrase Foord sometimes used for such people: clitoris-faced and labial-lipped. She waited a while, calculating when best to speak, then said loudly “Forks.” She was gratified to see a couple of them, including Fourth Voice, actually jump.

“What was that, Commander?”

“Forks. A road with two forks. Sakhrans call them Binary Gates. Two alternatives, one for Guilty and one for Innocent. But I made earlier decisions at earlier forks. The fork I’m facing now, at this trial, is so far down the road that wherever I go, it won’t alter the main direction.”

“So you’re not Guilty and you’re not Innocent. What are you?”

“When I was sent to Isis I received sealed orders for this mission. When I decided to open them I knew that sooner or later that decision would kill me. As you know, those orders put my ship under the control of Isis Fleet if there was an engagement with Her. I could have refused to obey them, and died there and then. I could have accepted them, joined your Fleet and fought in a battle which I knew was already lost; and died then. Or I could have withdrawn my ship, knowing that I would have to stand trial; and die now.”

“Do you mean to tell this Court that—is something amusing you, Commander?”

Ansah had been smiling faintly. “I’m sorry. I had a bet with myself that if anyone used the phrase Do You Mean To Tell This Court, it would be you.”

“I’ll use it again,” Fourth Voice snapped. “Do you mean to tell this Court that when a Class 101 battleship and four Class 097 heavy cruisers—let’s leave
your
ship out of it, shall we, since that’s what you did—when those five ships engage a single opponent, far from having even a limited expectation of success they’re inevitably going to be defeated?”

“Yes. And they were.”

“Commander, listen to me carefully. You’re on trial for your life.
Why
did you leave those ships to Her?”

Ansah paused.

“They didn’t have a chance, and I told them. That’s on record. I asked them to get out of my way and let me engage Her alone, and they refused. That’s on record. They couldn’t accept that they were facing an invincible opponent. They couldn’t accept that giving way to an Outsider—something completely abhorrent to them—was their only chance of survival. So they lost; and that’s on record.”

There was a few seconds’ silence from the figures at the table. Then a new voice spoke; she called it Ninth Voice.

“Commander Ansah, I’d like to ask you about your ship. The
Sirhan
, as we’ve heard, is an Outsider Class cruiser. I understand that Outsiders are believed to be capable, on present documented evidence, of at least matching the performance and firepower of this unidentified ship. Is that correct?”

“On present documented evidence.”

“Then wouldn’t such a ship be decisive in the engagement, especially when added to those five others? Why should it be more likely to fail
with
those five than without?”

“You’ve heard me tell the Court there are nine Outsiders.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how much each one is worth?”

“Probably something that sounds good when you recite it: the entire cost of Isis Fleet, or the entire annual gross product of Bast, or something similar.”

“That will do well enough. And do you know their political status?”

“I thought you’d already told us, Commander…and I believe that I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

“Then please ask that one. It’s important.”

Pause.

“Commander, what is the political status of the nine Outsiders?”

“They’re Instruments of the Commonwealth, outside the normal command structures. They report directly to the Department of Administrative Affairs. They fight alone, not in a team.”

“Yes, we know all that, you already told us. Why is it important?”

“There are people…” Ansah paused, and began again. “There are people who say that if She can only be stopped by an Outsider, then maybe it’s better if She isn’t stopped at all.”

“And are you familiar with that attitude, Commander?”

“I see it wherever I go. It’s like we’re carrying a disease. Outsiders have a certain reputation. They’re accountable to nobody, at least nobody anyone would recognise, and they’re run on lines most miltary people wouldn’t understand. So people treat them as alien ships, crewed by aliens.”

“How do you mean, Crewed By Aliens?”

“People of unusual ability, otherwise they wouldn’t be there. But people who don’t fit into any conventional authority structure, because they’re too ambitious or unambitious, too political or apolitical, too stable or unstable. Most of them are sociopathic, many are psychopathic. Most of them have done terrible things.”

“Is that the real reason they’re called Outsiders?”

“Yes.”

Some of the figures facing her glanced at each other, but said nothing. To fill the silence, Ansah added “And there will never be any more than nine. They’re expensive, but the Commonwealth could easily afford to build fifty.”

“Then why only nine?”

“Would any rational system deliberately inject a disease into itself? Nine is all the Commonwealth could possibly take. They were conceived in back alleys, built in secret, launched almost in guilt, and commissioned without ceremonies. They’re even named after ancient killers and loners and assassins:
Sirhan, James Earl Ray, Charles Manson
. They’re like some shameful medical condition. And yet they’re the only Commonwealth ships which might defeat Her.”

“And the only time,” Ninth Voice said quietly, “the only time an Outsider has ever faced Her was here, in our system. And you turned away.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you told us how you remember that engagement? Not statements or recordings, but how
you
remember it.”

“I remember when I first saw Her. It’s true what they say, it’s not like seeing pictures of Her. When She unshrouds, there’s something about Her actual presence which you don’t forget.

“She’s a bit smaller than an Outsider, but a very similar shape, a thin silver delta. But on Her, the shape looks different. Like She’s only the visible part of something larger.

“I remember seeing Her pick off the others one by one. It was obscene; they didn’t have a chance.

“I remember requesting the
Cromwell
, again and again, to withdraw that ridiculous task force and let me engage Her alone. All my requests were refused, and all of them are on record.

“I remember thinking that She could have destroyed those cruisers, but She only disabled them. There were casualties, but there were also survivors.

“I remember how She kept probes on the
Sirhan
all through the engagement. She made no move against us, and we made none against Her, but Her probes were on us all the time, and they were much stronger than ours on Her. Ours gave us nothing.

“And I remember the
Thomas Cromwell
, because that’s where the end came. The
Cromwell
tried to keep Her at long range and use its beam weapons, but She turned suddenly, in Her own length, and charged down its throat in less than a nanosecond, too quickly for the
Cromwell
’s electronics to refocus. That’s the first time I’ve seen a ship do something in battle which was both pure reason and pure impulse. It was done so suddenly that it even outpaced computers. It looked instinctive; yet logically it was perfect, and She executed it perfectly.

“I remember one other thing. She could have used Her own beams and vaporised the
Cromwell
, but instead She used conventional closeup weapons. Again, She left survivors. I don’t know if that was intentional. I don’t know Her motives. Nobody does. She never communicates.”

“So, Commander, we’ve come to the point where you turned away.”

“Yes, I turned away. I took survivors off the
Cromwell
rather than chase Her, because I knew…”

“A moment, Commander. You say She was heading here, and you didn’t chase Her?”

“Yes. I knew She’d never attacked civilian targets. And I knew there were people on the
Cromwell
I could save. Even knowing what She did to your city, I’d still do the same.”

Ansah remembered how, on the Bridge of the
Sirhan
, She was first registered by the scanners: blips and echoes and simulations denoting a single ship of similar dimensions to the
Sirhan
. And then She unshrouded.

Ansah had watched in disbelief as She moved among them like a living thing, the way Ansah always imagined the
Sirhan
appeared in comparison to ordinary ships. Faith made even the
Sirhan
look like an ordinary ship. She looked like She belonged in empty space; like She was actually a
part
of empty space, a small part made solid and visible. And the rest looming around Her, unseen.

There were low chimes from a gold carriage clock on the long table. It was well into evening. During the pause, and in view of the unexpectedly late hour, tea was served. The silence refocused to a muted clatter of porcelain and silver among the indistinct figures at the long curved table. Even in here, the smell of faeces persisted round the edges.

“Thank you, Commander,” the Chairman said. “I think none of us realised how late it was. The Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”

The trial wore on for another few days, but that was its last substantive chapter. There came an afternoon, seven days later, when all depositions and statements had been read and considered, all recordings of the engagement played and studied, all theories of Faith’s nature and origin weighed, and all matters of Ansah’s record and conduct assessed; and the Chairman found himself ready to bring the trial to a close.

“Commander Ansah.”

She stood and faced him. The Chairman studied her through the gathering twilight as Isis set over De Vere, turning the air velvet. She was a beautiful woman, tall and elegant. She was Commander of an Outsider, and he knew she had done terrible things; he’d seen them in her record. Yet she wasn’t unlikeable; even here, at her trial, she had shown glimpses of a self-mocking sense of humour. How had she found time in her life, which wouldn’t last much longer, for such a career? And how could she have done those things?

“Commander Ansah, these proceedings are concluded. The Court will adjourn to consider its verdict on the two charges against you: Cowardice and Desertion.”

He realised, only after he said it, that the final words he would speak to her in these proceedings, the final words on the transcript until the announcement of the verdict, would be Cowardice and Desertion.

The Chairman felt a mounting unease. He knew that an injustice was going to be done, but he genuinely didn’t see how to make it right; and even the injustice would have some trace elements of justice. Nothing was simple.

The outcome was inevitable, like the fate of those five Isis ships; she knew that. But there was something he still might do for her.

“Ebele Ansah, please stand. The Court has now reached its verdict,” the Chairman told her, three days later. “On the charge of Cowardice we find you Not Guilty. Unanimously. On the charge of Desertion we find you Guilty. Eleven votes to one.”

Ansah gazed back at him, without any visible emotion.

This was what the Chairman had done for her. For three days he had argued against the Cowardice charge, insisting they find her Not Guilty. Their opposition was furious, but he would not be moved. Sensing his mood, some of them had even tried to compromise with a verdict of Not Proven, but still he would not be moved. So, Not Guilty of Cowardice was what he had done for her, but Guilty of Desertion was inevitable. Even she knew that.

“Commander, you know the sentence.”

“Yes,” Ansah said. “I request the Court to allow me to carry it out on myself, in accordance with military custom.”

“That’s granted, of course. You have until midnight. The Court Secretary will bring you the necessary substances.”

“Thank you.”

“Commander,” the Chairman said, “would you like us to provide you with a companion of some kind?”

“Yes. I’d like my guard, if he agrees.” She turned to the Sakhran. “Will you?”

“Of course,” he said. It was the first time they had spoken to each other.

•

The pictures faded from where Foord had imagined them, in some quasi-space behind the words of the transcript; then the words themselves faded from the screen. He turned away. His grief for Ansah had come, occupied its allotted time, and gone; much like his relationship with her. What it left was a sense of unfamiliarity, the knowledge that she was no longer a part of the universe. It would make the shape of his life different. The rest of his life, for as far as he chose to see it, would be devoted to Faith.
We were made for each other. We belong together.