Prison Planet (THE RIM CONFEDERACY Book 3) (15 page)

“Cavity is fine, though these acorns are not really allowing us the size of same, but that’s for the real ones later. Anyone else got anything different in this flight?” he said.

Razin nodded and held up a shard of a pineapple.

“Part pineapple and part pumpkin ... big enough, Majesty,” he said as he sucked on the bright yellow pineapple flesh. “And the pineapple is so, so tart!” he added with a smile.

“Got a cucumber—big one too that is also part coconut it looks like as I can’t get the dang stone to cut same. Big though, very big, and I think the coconut is of a green variety,” he added. He held the cucumber-coconut in his hands and grinned at Nusayr, who looked at the length of the cucumber too.

“Green coconut would be correct, which gave the buoyancy to the fancy, but yeah, the length is just too, too long and thin. We need something more compact, and Tibah has to know that,” he added.

Only the sounds of the group of them chomping and sucking on the fruit parts of the fancies were heard for a few minutes more.

“Right,” Nusayr said, “finish up, gentlemen, and then bury them.”

The group walked back toward the Max Island maximum-security prison, only a mile away. They chatted and generally enjoyed the early spring day. Halberd’s sun in the sky was warmer today than it had been in days, and the seasons were about to change.

At the gate into the prison, the guards who manned the gate met them, and they were checked in as a matter of course. Having a Max Island pass allowed them—or anyone who had such a pass on their account—to wander around the island when they were not scheduled to work in the Pod Plant. All the convicts of the prison received that pass to begin with, but of course, it could be lost due to infractions or behavior issues, which meant that if you weren’t at work on the pods, you were in your quarters.

Being a Royal gave Nusayr no extra privileges on Max Island other than his larger quarters in the Royal enclave building and the staff that was charged to his account. With only two Royals on Max Island, there was little worry about any kind of issue with the handling of a Royal by prison guards and staff, but every non-Royal person knew that could change in a moment.

So Nusayr was always handled with kid gloves, always smiled at, and always given the most courtesy and respect. Royals were different and no one ever forgot that on the RIM.

#

Looking out the large window port in his quarters, Tanner almost fell as his hand slid on the cool window glass, but he caught himself as he dropped to one knee. Smiling, he said simply, “Nice catch there, Tan-man,” and he struggled to get back up on both feet.

It had taken most of a bottle of his favorite Black Scotch to get here, but he was a happy captain and he counted his blessings.

“I’m in quarters so not a soul knows that I’m having a couple of shots,” he said and smiled. The only exception was the steward who’d dropped off the big bucket of ice and fresh glasses—real glass, as he hated those plas ones.

“I’m not on duty for, like, six hours, which will give me some time to be alone and enjoy myself, so that’s another gad ... good thing,” he said to the window that looked out over the landing port here in Andros.

A couple of pads over lay the
BN Jericho
, a Barony ship that was here on some kind of official business, he believed, and further away the
RN Bunker Hill
lay out of duty until the local techs could fix her TachyonDrive issues. Something, he had heard, had happened with their last jump to Eran, and the aliens there, known as Qeepans, had refused to help. So she had been towed in by the
RN Wyoming
, a RIM Navy Destroyer, and they had not even come over to say hello but had just dropped the
Bunker Hill
off and then headed out into the RIM again.

Probably liked the giants on Eran too much to bother with us normal-sized humans, he sneered and tipped his glass to the
Bunker Hill
and Captain Morin, who he would Ansible tomorrow.

Until then, only more Scotch to get down and then maybe he’d ask the steward for another full one. One more.

A glancing thought zoomed into his brain about quitting Scotch altogether, and then he hoisted another toast to the landing pads outside and then it too fled ... pushed out by the Scotch.

#

At break in the Pod Plant, Nusayr was just finishing the last of the sanding of a bad fender edge on a model Y-4541, a yellow one like the other eighty percent of the pods they worked on every day. He left the sanding block on the fender as the break whistle sounded. Laughing with Razin, he clapped his friend on the shoulder, and they walked over to sit on some of the crates of parts that lay in the touch-up shop that was a part of the pod production line.

“Seems to me,” Razin said, “that if the stewards arrange for us to have meals and we ask for Olbia food items, then they should be able to go over to stores and get same. Why—for a Royal mind you—would that be a problem?” he said as he opened up his snack bag and fetched an apple from within. Smiling, he took a big bite and then chewed slowly to enjoy the fresh fruit.

“I have no idea,” Nusayr said, “but it appears that some of the items they have requested cannot be gotten from stores—in fact, they were told it seems that in future, there would be less and less of our home-world’s foodstuffs. I wonder what that means for the planet, and I’d better check later on my Ansible call,” he said as he took a bite out of the pastry the stewards had put in his own snack sack.

He took another bite, and they both watched some other Pod Plant workers manhandling a large panel off the frame of a pod that was under repair. Once off, it was moved to the bench and onto the jig that was used to form the panel. He was glad they were quite a bit removed as some of the convicts there began to pound on the panel to force it back into shape. As they pounded, he smiled as he thought again about that sound of something being hammered upon and back to his last time in the Olbia Parliament a few short months ago.

He remembered swinging the gavel abruptly in the House, and as the leader of the Council of Nine, he had surveyed the Parliament of Olbia. With all seventy-two members present and most of them seated, he wasn’t looking for any reaction, but still it came.

“Speaker, Mr. Speaker,” said the member from a riding somewhere in the southern hemisphere over on the far side of the planet, requesting to be recognized, but he ignored him.

Instead, he nodded and pointed to Muhibb, the party Whip who also sat on the Council, and said, “The Chair recognizes the member from Phobetor and calls for order.”

The house slowly quieted as the member rose to speak. Even up in the Visitor’s Gallery, the standing room only crowds were almost silent.

“Mr. Speaker, as you know—as the whole House knows—the bill in question has been one that has been shoved, pushed, and in fact rammed, into the House without the proper time allowed for debate after the second reading, and then it was pushed through the Committee stage faster than any other bill ever to reach the floor. So to have this Bill now face its third reading today is unprecedented, Mr. Speaker. So I rise to say that we need to bounce this back to the Report Stage for further review—”

The rest of his oratory was drowned out by the catcalls from the rest of the House.

“Not a chance,” one yelled as he pounded his desk.

“We vote today,” another said as he too rapped with his knuckles.

“This must be law today,” yet another one said from the back as he stood to yell directly at the Speaker of the House.

Nusayr again pounded the gavel onto the Chairman’s desk in front of him. After almost a minute, that quelled the interruptions from most of the House members.

Holding out his hands, he looked to the drafters of the bill and called for one of them to speak. In the third row back near the center aisle of the House seating, the member from Chenier rose, and he looked around as the House quieted.

He was a true Olbian, tall with the now salt-and-pepper long hair that made him look more “stately,” especially when he was interviewed by the press. Glancing up at the press box above, Nusayr saw the cameras had all swung to cover this on their live feeds. And the member knew exactly that. And he played to it too.

“Mr. Speaker, I rise, yes, to speak on the issue of this bill being in front of us in record time—an unusual event to be sure—but that is because we face unusual times, do we not, Members?” he said as he swept his eyes around the House.

Some clapped, but most knocked on their desk to indicate in Parliamentary style that they agreed. Others shouted “here, here” to further let him know they were behind him. Nusayr noted there was not a single negative voice in that mix, but of course, he said not a word as Madyan, the member with the floor, continued.

“Yes, Olbia faces troubling times, and while I will not recount all of the reasons why that is—it will be important to note that they all began with our Ramat and their harsh, abusive, and yes, criminal put down of the student protest less than a month ago.”

More cheers and desk pounding ensued, and he waited until it slowed.

“Further, because of this and the Council’s inability to act against their own secret police, the Farmers Guild took to the forefront of the issues Olbia faces and has refused to export any of our crops off-planet. Any of our crops at all. We have closed the planet’s sole reason for being in the Caliphate, which we usually fulfill by feeding the realm. But no more!” he said loudly, and the ensuing desk pounding by members was just as loud.

“So, the bill in front of the House is simple, Mr. Speaker—and we know, of course, that this will affect not only Olbia, but the Parliament and yes, your own Council of Nine and its relation to the Caliph himself,” he said and the House grew quiet.

He swept his hand to the right and then the left.

“We, the duly elected representatives here in the House, insist—in fact, we demand—that the House votes today on our bill. The bill to begin discussions with the Caliph to secede ... to break away from the Caliphate and become our own world with our future in our own hands,” he said strongly and again the House erupted.

Members stood and cheered and applauded loudly. Cries of “yes” and “our future is our own” were brayed out all around the House, and desks were pounded and then pounded again.

Nusayr did bang his gavel for a while, but then gave up as the House fervor was not to be denied. He tossed the gavel down and sat waiting for the room to settle, and it still took more than another ten minutes.

Nodding to the House Clerk, he rose and banged his gavel for attention. Eventually, the room awaited his comments, and as he was the Chairman of the Council of Nine, he knew what he said now would be of historical importance one day. He frowned to the House and shook his head negatively, but his words belied his apparent intent.

“It is apparent then that this bill will be voted on in a few minutes. Clerk, please arrange for a standing vote so that we can ensure that the records are open to everyone. I cannot, in respect to the rules of the House, make any comments concerning what I think the House should do vote-wise, but as the only non-voting member here, I can offer that this is a historic moment, so I urge you all to vote not with your heart but with your head today. Clerk, call the role ...” he said as he sat down heavily in the Speaker’s chair and smiled only to himself.

Mission accomplished,
he thought and caught in turn each of the gazes of the rest of the members of the Council of Nine here in the House and nodded to them.
Well done,
he thought,
we will speak as a planet to the Caliph and we have a real chance at seceding.
Muhibb had found the arms to bend and the votes to change to get them to this stage. Olbia will be free and mine.

Nusayr shook his head and realized that the break was over, and he got up slowly to resume the sanding of that fender. His work of being a convict resumed.

#

The stride of the EliteGuards as they marched across the landing pad tarmac at Andros was loud, and Ensign Radisson noted there were only four of them yet they sounded so loud it could have been a squad. Straightening his shoulders, he faced the lead guard, who presented himself in front of him, and saluted.

“No need to salute me,” Radisson said, “I’m a lowly ensign ... uh, Sergeant,” he said, and yet he saluted back to the taller man who was well over six feet tall.

“Sir,” the guardsman said, “the Lady St. August wishes Captain Scott to join her on the
Sterling
for lunch later today. Sir,” he said, and there was not a single hint of emotion or change on his face as he offered the Royal’s invitation.

Most likely, he does this all the time, Radisson thought, but I wonder how he feels asking someone out for lunch for his boss ... course his boss is a Royal, but that doesn’t make the chore any more palatable, least not in my Navy.

“Did you need an answer now?” Radisson asked as he reached for the land-line PDA attached to the bottom of the landing escalator at the foot of the
Marwick
.

The EliteGuard almost snorted, but then discipline took over, and he only shrugged slightly. His frame was so big that the shrug alone looked like a major quake of muscle and jet-black uniform.

“This is not an invitation, Ensign. Have your captain come to over to Pad Eighteen at 1200 sharp,” he said, as he and his cadre turned in cadence and marched back across the landing pad toward the
Sterling
in the distance. The ship had landed just yesterday, and as far as Radisson knew, the Lady had not left the ship yet.

Hope it’s a great lunch, he thought, as he lifted the line to speak to the officer of the day up on the bridge and pass along the invite, or rather the order, for his captain.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Sit, Captain, please,” Admiral Higgins said as he pointed out one of the chairs in the conference room in the administration building. He had come down the EL earlier in the morning to have this meeting with Tanner, and his face looked like it was carved out of rock. Tanner considered that chair, and then just to be contrary, he chose the other one and sat heavily on the smooth leather. He moved his sidearm slightly so it wouldn’t dig into his side and then looked at the admiral with a wide-open look. He had an idea about this conversation and its content, but one never knew.