CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Aiden

“L et me ask you a slightly different question, sir.” A day and a half later, the Solof defence lawyer was back in action in the court hearing, firing on all cylinders. “What is the benefit to the Alliance if we return Kade to you?”

By all reasonable measures, there was no benefit. But at the same time, I thought it was a bad question. By giving the Eumadians more room to shore up their case, we were only asking for trouble.

And to my dismay, Volgoch didn’t disappoint. His lawyer whispered into his ear, then he rose and spoke – though it was still in the same disinterested monotone from the previous session. “In the last few days, we have been considering that exact question. And we believe we have come up with a suitable arrangement that would benefit all of us. The Alliance has long complained about the Eumadians making unauthorised use of your wormhole. The truth is that we lack the resources to generate our own wormhole into the Helix systems, and up until now, it has been financially beneficial to us to make use of yours, regardless of the cargo we sometimes lose along the way. However, in the interests of generating peaceful relationships with neighbouring species, we are willing to negotiate an arrangement to pay a fee for the use of your wormhole, which would hopefully result in fewer technological failures and less lost cargo. Our losses have not just been confined to dimari, but also to food, medical supplies and electronic equipment. We are keen to find a resolution that would put an end to the unfortunate conflict over interstellar travel.”

I saw a number of the Associates in the room sit up and take notice of that, on both sides of the case. I remembered Nors’ speculations about money changing hands behind the scenes, and that meant that this new proposal did not bode well for us. One man in exchange for interstellar peace was a reasonable trade, according to many of the opinions in the room .

But thankfully, we still had a number of strong voices in our corner. “This solution would be entirely unacceptable,” Associate Nors stated, once she’d been invited to speak. “Negotiating for tolled passage of the Eumadians through the Rendol wormhole would constitute aiding the slave trade, even if we weren’t actively participating in it. And this still disregards the fact that Kade is an Alliance citizen. He was registered by his master six days after his arrival on Rendol 4, which places him squarely under the jurisdiction of the Alliance Personhood Protection Act.”

The debate went on. We had toll agreements with a number of other species who bought dimari, so the Eumadian side attempted to argue that treaties with slave buyers were no different from treaties with slave sellers. And, of course, we kept coming back to the issue of Kade’s legal status on Rendol 4.

“Throughout this case,” the Eumadians’ lawyer said, at one point, “it has been an ongoing theme that Kade is not capable of independent thought or action, and is therefore not qualified to be considered an Alliance citizen. The assertion earlier in the day from the defence was that Kade disobeyed his master during a battle with Geshtoch in a winery, thus proving him capable of independent thought and action. We would like to put that to the test.”

Thankfully, we’d had time to brief the defence legal team on the intricacies of Kade’s actions at the winery. I’d stopped short of telling them exactly what I’d ordered him to do, with regards to disobeying my own orders in the courtroom. But they were aware enough of the issue to not be caught unawares by it.

“What sort of test did you have in mind?” our Sedgeged lawyer asked, her feathers ruffling.

“A simple demonstration of his capacity to disobey his master,” the Eumadians’ lawyer said, sounding immensely smug about it. “Lieutenant Hill should order him to complete a simple task. And if the dimari is able to disobey him, we will consider him an autonomous person.”

“Truly?” our lawyer asked. “Would that be conclusive evidence for you? If he can disobey his master, would you be prepared to abandon this case as null and void?”

The Eumadians’ lawyer looked to Volgoch, who nodded once.

“Yes,” the lawyer said. “ If he can do so.” They were awfully confident in themselves. And if I hadn’t had that late night planning session with Kade, they would have had reason to be. As things stood, though, I was almost as confident as they were. Almost.

“Fair enough,” our lawyer said. “Kade, would you step into the witness box, please?”

He stood, smoothing his suit, and walked calmly over to the witness box. He sat, giving our lawyer a nod .

“You understand that for this demonstration, you are required to disobey any order that your master gives you?” the lawyer clarified.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kade replied.

“Lieutenant Hill,” our lawyer said next. “Please stand up.”

I did so, trying to control my anxiety. I knew Kade could do this. But at the same time, I knew how stressful it would be for him. I’d set up a conflicting cascade of orders for him, with no clear right answer in any given situation, and it would be up to him to sort through the mess to work out which ones he was supposed to follow.

“Lieutenant Hill, please order Kade to perform some simple action,” our lawyer instructed me.

I nodded to her. “Kade,” I said to my dimari, looking him in the eye. “Kneel on the floor.”

His body tensed. Regardless of my earlier orders, I could see that the impulse to obey me was strong. He hesitated, hands gripping the stand in front of him. Finally, he shook his head, a minute gesture filled with anxiety. “No, sir.”

“Kneel on the floor,” I repeated, more forcefully this time.

Kade took a slow breath. His spine straightened, his head lifting a fraction. “No, sir.” His jaw clenched. His breathing hitched.

“You are still addressing him as sir,” the Eumadians’ lawyer stated. “Does this not imply some lingering submission to his authority?”

Kade hesitated for just a second or two. “It is a respectful title,” he replied, his tone even. “And as a lieutenant in the Alliance Military, it’s entirely appropriate for me to address him in such a way.”

“Hm,” the lawyer said. Volgoch tugged on his jacket, then whispered in his ear. The lawyer straightened. “Let me ask you this, Kade: Did Lieutenant Hill order you to disobey him during this hearing?”

Kade laughed. He actually laughed. “It’s impossible for a master to order his dimari to disobey him,” he said, a baffled frown on his face. “That just makes no sense.”

Sitting beside the team of lawyers, I saw Volgoch smirk. My gut dropped. I should have anticipated this. The Eumadians would know more about the dimari’s training than anyone. He muttered into his lawyer’s ear again, then stood up.

“That was a beautiful sidestep for a question you clearly don’t want to answer,” Volgoch said, sounding more interested now than he had done for the entire case so far. “But I want a clear yes or no. Did Lieutenant Hill order you to disobey him during the hearing?”

Kade looked Volgoch in the eye. “No,” he said simply. “He didn’t.”

“Are you aware that lying to a court is a jailable offence in the Alliance?” the lawyer asked .

“Yes, sir,” Kade replied. “I have no reason to lie. My master did not order me to disobey him.”

Holy fucking shit, he was good at this. Because he was lying his fucking ass off, without so much as batting an eyelid.

The lawyer glanced at Volgoch, apparently confused by that response.

Right at that moment, a loud thump resonated through the room, originating out in the hallway, beyond the heavy wooden doors that guarded the entrance to the courtroom. My translator whirred, then a strident voice blared into my ear.

“Let me through, or you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

A whimper followed, from whatever guard was out in the hallway, and then the doors burst open. A platoon of Culrads marched into the room. The leader of the group was a tall man, his skin a stark white, the top of his bald head shining under the bright overhead lights. He held a laser pistol in his hand, though it was currently pointed at the floor.

“Your Honours,” the man said, with a politeness that contrasted his brazen entrance. “Please forgive the interruption. I realise this is highly irregular.”

In the gallery, the spectators shrank away from him, and my eyes drifted across to Ambassador Vendanu, stationed once more in the front row. She was sitting ramrod straight, her attendants looking like they were ready to leap over the divider and pulverise anyone who threatened her. Thankfully, the Culrads didn’t seem terribly interested in her.

One of the judges at the front of the room rose from her seat. “You are interrupting a court hearing involving a delicate interspecies negotiation,” she snapped, not at all intimidated by the group of ten or so heavy-set men and women now occupying the middle of the room. “This is deeply inappropriate.”

“If I may have just two minutes of your time to explain myself, you’ll see that it’s entirely appropriate that we are here.” The Culrad’s gaze travelled slowly around the room, landing on Kade, still in the witness box, and then myself, standing at the end of the row of military personnel. A number of soldiers had got to their feet, but since none of us were allowed weapons in the courtroom, there wasn’t much we could realistically do about the threat.

“My name is General Jethrigol So Toluga,” the Culrad said. “I am the highest ranking officer in the Culradish military. Nearly two months ago, a Eumadian ship bearing stolen Culradish cargo crash landed on Rendol 4. It was reported to me that Lieutenant Aiden Hill negotiated a peaceful resolution with the crew of the Culradish cargo freighter, the Valholon. The freighter’s owner, Khelesh Ve Tishraga, is here with me today.” He turned and waved the man forward. He looked vaguely familiar, though I hadn’t seen enough Culrads to tell them apart with any certainty. I did recognise the name, though, as the one the Culrad had given me back in the jungle. But what the fuck were they doing here?

“If you would get to the point, please?” the judge asked, just as our own security team burst into the room.

“Nobody move!” Kent ordered, his team rapidly surrounding the Culrads. “Put your weapons down!”

“I will,” Jethrigol said. “In two minutes.” He turned back to the judges, while the rest of his people faced off with Kent’s team. His nonchalance about having ten guns pointed at him was impressive. The man must have nerves of steel. But at the same time, the difficulty that Kent faced was that starting a firefight in an enclosed room like this would almost certainly end up killing some civilians. And with the Ambassador in the room, that was the very last thing we needed. So ironically, they were actually better off letting Jethrigol talk, then hoping they could escort him out quietly afterwards.

Kent, however, was not displaying much in the way of patience. “How did you get into the building?”

“Through a back door,” Jethrigol stated, with clear disinterest. “And if you keep interrupting me, this is going to take longer.”

“Your Honour?” Kent asked of the judge.

“Let him speak,” she said, her face stern, but not overly afraid. Whether she was curious about what he had to say, or just taking the path of least resistance was anyone’s guess.

“Thank you, Your Honour,” Jethrigol said. “Lieutenant Hill’s actions that day saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of our people. We owe him a great debt of gratitude. So I am here today to return the favour.”