In Her Name

“Kill him,” Enya said quietly. She had lived her entire life under oppressive human rule, and knew that any cruelty visited upon humanity by the Kreelans had been inflicted a thousand-fold by Mankind upon itself in times past and present. And future, she thought bleakly, a vivid image playing in her mind of Erlang’s sun exploding, obliterating her home and everything they had lived, suffered, and died for all these years.

“Enya,” Braddock said uneasily, “I don’t like Borge any more than you do, but he’s the legal successor to Nathan, and–”

“I wonder,” Zhukovski grumbled. At Braddock’s questioning glance, he continued, “I have uncovered… discrepancies… in Borge’s past, and in past of others who now are closely associated with him. Questionable things have been – how do you say? – tidied up. And I do not believe that Reza Gard killed Nathan. Assuming assumption is correct,” he smiled at that particular turn of phrase, “hypothesis leaves obvious question of who did?”

“Thorella,” Braddock murmured to himself, thinking of how he and Borge seemed to work together a bit too closely, and how so much of what the younger man did was concealed in shadows, out of sight. From what he himself had seen, and from what he had heard from Reza and Nicole over the years, the man certainly had what Braddock considered an antisocial personality, to say the least. “Borge had the motive,” he went on, thinking aloud. “He never made any secret about his ambition to become president, although he had hardly advocated assassination to get there. He and Nathan had been friends for years.”

“Reza and Thorella gave him both the opportunity and the instrument he needed,” Enya joined in. “Reza was the perfect scapegoat, the one person no one would believe because he had been raised in the Empire, and it would be easy to label him a turncoat and a traitor. And enough people in key positions knew that if Reza had really wanted to, he could easily have killed Nathan. No security system could stop him.”

“But Thorella was the actual killer,” Braddock continued. “With Borge’s backing, he could have gained access to the security system and somehow reprogrammed the sentinel monitors to show Reza killing Nathan.” He shook his head. He knew that what they were thinking was pure speculation, but there did not seem to be any other explanation, and too many of the known facts fit the theory all too well. “Lord of All,” he whispered.

“Almost perfect crime,” Zhukovski said quietly. “If we allow him to succeed, he will have begun with murder of President Nathan what could be murder of millions of people, whether we win or lose in coming battle.”

“Are you planning a coup, admiral?” Braddock asked. In his heart he knew the answer, and from the grim set of Enya’s jaw he saw that she had already thrown her lot in with whatever Zhukovski had in mind, but he had to ask the question. For the sake of posterity, if nothing else.

Zhukovski suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Councilman, I have served Confederation for many years,” he said slowly, “and always have I served civilian leaders. That is not only tradition and written law; I believe with all my heart that it is best way, best for all people in Confederation. So do many other officers who are not content with present leadership. They are not fools, they can see darkness in future, but they are bound to laws that have kept Confederation and its predecessors free.” He looked squarely at Braddock. “There will be no military coup,” he said firmly. “But… senior officers in Navy and Marine Corps will support new civilian leader.” He paused. “They will support you.”

“Me?” Braddock almost laughed. “Why me?” he said.

“Because there is no one else they would trust, Tony,” Enya told him. “You know that as well as I.”

Zhukovski nodded. “You are only survivor of purge that has swept vestiges of previous government away, Councilman. You have done well in your time in office, and fact that you are well-decorated Marine does not hurt either. You hold respect of officers and enlisted alike.” He shrugged. “If you will not accept, then we must face destiny with Borge at the helm.”

“That doesn’t leave me much choice, does it?” Braddock asked quietly.

The old admiral shook his head. “None, councilman,” he said. “None, if you wish to save Confederation from tyranny.”

“Erlang is with you,” Enya said, giving Braddock a reassuring squeeze with her hand. Turning to Zhukovski, she asked, “What must we do?”

Fifty-One

“Ma’am,” the Internal Security guard said uneasily, “I can’t just let you in there!”

“Then you can explain to President Borge why his instructions were not carried out, sergeant,” Nicole said icily. “I’m sure he would be most sympathetic to your concerns.” When the man hesitated, she shook her head as if pitying the poor sod, knowing what was in store for him, and turned on her heel to leave.

She had taken all of two steps back toward the main door to the brig when she heard him call from behind her, “Captain, wait!”

She didn’t stop.

“Ma’am, wait, please!”

This time, she did turn around. “What is it, sergeant?” She could see a small film of perspiration on the man’s forehead, and she could swear that she could feel his fear. But that was impossible, of course. Wasn’t it? “You’ve already wasted enough of my time.”

“I’ve reconsidered your orders, captain,” he said nervously. “I mean, there’s no need for… That is, if the president himself sent you down, I don’t see any reason why there should be anything wrong.”

Nicole frowned, but said nothing.

Gesturing toward the mantrap that sealed the brig cell in which Reza and the two Kreelans were being kept from the rest of the brig, the sergeant told her, “Step into the chamber there, and I’ll tell you when it’s safe to move into the cell. If they give you any trouble, just give a yell and we’ll zap the bastards.”

“Very well,” she said, moving through the narrow doorway and into the gleaming half cylinder that protruded from the wall. The force field grid hissed on behind her, barring the only exit.

“Stand by,” the guard said. A moment later, the cylinder began to rotate, and the opening she had come through sealed. For a long moment she was in a completely enclosed tube that she knew was armed with all sorts of devices to disable and – if need be – to kill a potential escapee. It was not a normal accessory on warships, of course; the regular brig was more than enough to handle the average sailor who was sent down here after captain’s mast, or even a Kreelan prisoner, had there ever been any before now. No, this was something that had been specially installed in a rush before Warspite had sailed for Erlang. Borge had known there would be use for it.

Suddenly, the force field that guarded the cell side of the contraption came into view, and beyond the blue- green electronic haze of the force field stood Reza.

The cylinder stopped rotating around her, having fully unmasked the opposite door. “Okay, captain,” the sergeant said through the man trap’s intercom, “the grid’s going down… now.”

The field suddenly dissipated, leaving behind it only a slight scent of ozone. Without hesitation, she stepped across the threshold to the far side, the oddly misshapen reflections she cast on the polished walls of the chamber following her like silent alter egos.

As she stepped into the cell, the force field snapped on again behind her, and she could hear the cylinder rotate again, sealing her in.

“Nicole,” Reza said softly, his swirling green eyes both mournful and pleased. He had known she was coming.

“I… I had to see you,” she said unnecessarily, wanting to reach out and embrace him. But that would have condemned her in the ever-present eyes of the security cameras, and then she would be of no help to him at all.