“How many of you are familiar with Conglomerate v. Kernak?”
Not a single hand goes up among the jury. That’s just as well because my barrister wants to sway public opinion, as well as the panel of my peers, so she’ll play to the drone- cams as well. She nods, putting on her teaching face.
“Jacob Kernak was an operative, just after the Axis Wars. The galaxy was chaotic, and it was before Farwan stepped into the breach left by the Conglomerate, who had authority, at least in theory. Enforcing the laws was often difficult. Captain Kernak had a choice between blowing up a ship that was being hijacked and permitting those hijackers to go free and perhaps kill thousands of more civilians. He only had a short time to make his decision, and no superior officers in the field with him. No time to ask via bounce.”
She offers a half smile. “Sound familiar? It should. My client found herself in the same situation during the destruction of Venice Minor. Kernak sacrificed the passengers of that ship to make sure those hijackers never hurt anyone else. Was it a tough decision? Absolutely. And I’m sure it haunted him, long after his trial, at which he was acquitted of wrongdoing. But ultimately, his choice saved lives, and it stemmed the tide of pirate activity in any sector patrolled by Kernak thereafter. Sometimes, difficult decisions are necessary, and you must be grateful to Captain Kernak—and First Lieutenant Sirantha Jax—for taking on that burden.”
Opposing counsel looks as though he would love to object, but he can’t think of any grounds since there is, definitely, a correlation between the cases. Ms. Hale did her homework. I owe whoever hired her for me a drink and a big thank-you.
“She mourns the loss of her fellow soldiers, but the reality is, soldiers die in wartime. Though we all grieve their loss, do you think such heroes would begrudge their lives so that billions might live? No, and I think they would be shocked and saddened to see a fellow officer persecuted. If Ms. Jax had not acted when—and precisely as—she did—we would now be overrun with ten thousand Morgut vessels, and each carried five hundred hungry monsters. Can you even comprehend those numbers against our fledgling Armada?”
The jury shifts uneasily, their imaginations filling in the rest. The eating swarms and the bloody, endless death, the bombardment from above if our ground troops offered resistance—it would’ve all come to pass. I saved New Terra and countless other worlds at the cost of six hundred lives. Three ships lost. And when I get out of here, I will sit with the roster and I will memorize all the names. I won’t forget those I killed. I’ll build a monument with my mother’s ill-gotten money, and it still won’t help dull the ache.
What they don’t know is, no matter how they decide, they can’t penalize me more than I’m already punishing myself.
[Transcript of voice message, sent via bounce, delivered by the guard]
Jax,
I got your note. Nola scanned and bounced it to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your handwriting before. It’s an oddly personal thing, isn’t it? I keep your letter folded up in my shirt pocket, close to my heart. That sounds ridiculous, but I read it at night before I go to bed.
What you said about the sweetest pain? That fits us. I guess you already knew this, but I’ve never been in love before. That’s why I’m clumsy, and I don’t always know what I should do or say. I hate thinking of you there, but at least I know you’re safe. I miss you. Love you, too. The ache never stops.
It’s taking forever to reach Nicu Tertius. There are no jumpers willing to risk the beacons, and I wouldn’t want them to. Which means we’re doing a haul through straight space. People haven’t traveled like this in a hundred turns—and I understand why. Remember how tough Emry was from New Terra?
This is actually worse. The crew is angry all the time and spoiling for a fight. If they served under anybody but Hon, they would’ve already mutinied. But his reputation deters all serious rebellion, as he doesn’t deal kindly with traitors. It’s going to be six more months before we get there, and the constant refueling is expensive. I don’t know how our ancestors ever got out of the home solar system at this speed.
We get only old news on the bounce, but I’m watching as much of your trial as I can. I’m proud of how you’re bearing up; though every time that prosecutor opens his mouth, I want to stab him in the neck. Yet you sit there, taking every hit, then your barrister does her thing. She’s good. Drawn blood more than once. I’m glad she’s fighting for you since I can’t. And that bothers me, too. I feel like I’m failing you.
I thought it was bad when we were on the same ship but we couldn’t touch. Thought it was bad when I was on Lachion, fighting in the clan wars, but I was constantly moving then, constantly fighting. Here on the Dauntless, this is the worst separation because I have nothing to do but think. I’m always replaying moments with you, wondering if there was another path I could’ve taken that would end with us together.
I hate being without you. My arms are empty, and I miss your laugh. The way you throw back your head, and your hair flips out, bristles, because it’s electric, like you are. I’m not putting this well at all, so I should probably stop talking to the machine and just say send.
[message ends]
[Handwritten reply, sent via Nola Hale]
March,
You’re not failing me. There are too many reasons why you can’t be involved in this. If I’d wanted this shit to spatter on you or Hit, I wouldn’t have chosen my course as I did. This way, I alone am responsible. That’s how it has to be.
Though I miss you, I’m also glad you’re out looking for your nephew instead of caught up in this shipwreck. It gives me strength knowing you’re doing something good. I mean, if a man like you still cares about me, even after all that I’ve done, then I’m not a lost cause, right?
We should see a verdict fairly soon. The witnesses have been endless, people I don’t remember, but who sure have a lot to say about me. But you’re right . . . my barrister’s doing a good job. I think she sees my case as a challenge, the ultimate win.
And, of course, I remember that long haul to Emry. Sorry to hear you’re doing the slow ship to Nicuan, but I imagine you didn’t feel like you had much choice. It’s not your way to sit around waiting for someone else to solve your problems. We have that in common. I’m glad you’re with Loras and Hon. Makes me feel better knowing you’re among friends. More or less.
I wish I had more to say, but nothing goes on in here. The only life I have happens behind my eyes, and those are mostly memories I’m replaying. We’ve lost so many people . . . I don’t think I could stand it if I lost you, too.
Mary, I’m in a mood today, aren’t I? I’m going to call the guard and give her this message. I know she reads them, so I’ll also say what a fine, upstanding human she is, and that I love her hair.
Hoping to be free soon.
Love,
Jax
CHAPTER 11
“Have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor.”
This is it. Nola Hale doesn’t glance my way or give me any reassurance; she’s convinced we’ve already won. I wish I shared her confidence. But for the last three weeks, I’ve been alone at night, wondering if it’s like Latimer said, and I just wanted the glory for myself. I’m buffer than I’ve ever been, arms tight, six-pack abs. Prison will do that to you because there’s not a lot else to do, especially when you’re in max-solitary for your own protection.
“We find Sirantha Jax not guilty by virtue of Conglomerate v. Kernak.”
Yeah, I killed to save lives. Not even intentionally, as Kernak did, so there’s now another legal precedent. Maybe someday, someone else will find herself in a mess and get out of it because of Conglomerate v. Jax. Somehow the idea doesn’t give me much comfort.
“So recorded,” the bot says.
And that’s all. I feel the sense of anticlimax now. I can walk right out of here into the face of screaming enemies and fangirls, paparazzi who want to take my picture and hope I’ll be the old defiant Jax, but she’s gone forever. Some fissures go deeper than superficial scars, all the way down to my soul.
“Thank you,” I say to Nola Hale. “A lesser barrister would’ve gotten me life in prison instead of an execution.”
“I play to win. Are you ready to face them?”
“Almost. Will you tell me who hired you now?”
“It was Velith Il-Nok,” she says, as if I ought to have known.
That’s true, as March can’t get involved with my defense for obvious reasons. His personal and/or professional involvement would only give the prosecution cause to call for a mistrial. I can see the vids now, whispering of corruption at the highest levels of government and how the Conglomerate is, at base, no different from Farwan at all. They’d lose all the progress they’ve made.
“You did a splendid job.”
“It’s the star in my crown to date. So thank you. I’ll be able to write my own ticket henceforth.” She glances toward the doors; I’ve only come through the prisoners’ entrance before. “We should face them before you lose your nerve.”
Yeah, she does understand. I steel myself as we move toward the exit. Beyond the doors, I hear screaming and catcalls, but once they open, the scene facing us surpasses my wildest fancies. People clog the corridor until it’s impossible to move. They’re red-faced and outraged; others are drunk. One man carries a sign that reads SHOW US YOUR TITS, LOVE, like that’s the only part of my past that matters. But even he’s better than the furious woman in black who is howling, “Kill the bitch!” Audible even over the other shouts.
Kill the bitch. The words echo in my head, in my ears, even after the shots ring out. The crowd tries to scatter, but they’re packed too tight, and people trample one another. Nola Hale pulls me back against the doors. Everything seems too slow and too bright as pain blossoms through me.
I’m hit. I don’t know how bad it is, but from the white- hot burn, I guess it must’ve been a laser pistol. They deploy a Peacemaker unit along with ten guards to clear the hallway so that medical personnel can reach me. Everything goes black and spotty, then the world falls sideways.
Hours later, I wake in a private clinic. There’s a bandage directly over my heart, and at first, I don’t understand the placement. That’s a kill shot. By rights, I ought to be dead, unless I was wearing body armor when I took the hit. And I wasn’t; I was in my street clothes. So what the hell?
“You’re a lucky woman, Ms. Jax.”
The prosecution called me that so much that I tense at hearing it, and I don’t relax until the doctor moves into my field of vision. With silver hair and a lined face, he’s an older gentleman who has clearly forgone use of Rejuvenex completely. He has a slight hunch to his back, as if he spends long hours reading test results or studying specimens.
“In what way?”
“That assassination attempt would’ve killed anyone else. But your nanites kept you alive long enough for us to perform a heart transplant. Fascinating technology, though I can’t imagine implanting them before they’d gone through turns of testing.”