The Swarm (38 page)

“There are only two ways to rush this,” Chamrajnagar said. “We cut a deal with the prosecutor, which won't help you. Or we convince the judge and the prosecutor to drop the whole thing. Which they are obviously unwilling to do. Right now riding this thing out is your only option.”

She checked the time on his wrist pad and stood, fastening the loose button on her jacket. “It's time. Show me your nongrumpy-I'm-innocent face.”

Mazer frowned deeply then took his hand, palm flat, and moved it down across his face, changing his comically sad expression into an impassive one.

“You look constipated,” said Chamrajnagar, “but that's as good as we're going to get. Let's go.” She led him out of the cafeteria and down the hall to one of the courtrooms. The court's sergeant at arms was standing post at the door. He saluted, scanned Chamrajnagar's wrist pads, got a clearance beep, and opened the door for them.

The room was not like the historic courthouses of Earth, with heavy oak tables and an elevated wood-paneled bench for the judge. It was military. Which meant it was utilitarian, institutional, with tables exactly like every other table at CentCom. The only item of note was a large seal of the International Fleet on the wall behind the judge's seat, flanked by two identical flags of the Hegemony.

As Mazer and Chamrajnagar took their seats at the defendant's table, Ravenshaw, the prosecutor, entered. He came straight to them and set his attaché case atop their table between Mazer and Chamrajnagar, as if building a wall between them. Then he sat with his back to Mazer on the edge of the table nearest Chamrajnagar, so that he practically hovered over her. He was treating Mazer as if he were beneath his notice.

Ravenshaw grinned and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “The courtroom, Prem. Was it everything you hoped it would it be? This is your first time inside one, isn't it? Unless you count that tour you took as an elementary school student. When would that have been? Two years ago? Three?”

“You're sitting on my table, Reginald. Maybe you've forgotten that you get your own.”

“Most people expect something a little more grandiose,” said Ravenshaw, ignoring her comment. “Something classical, you know. High vaulted ceiling, maybe a bust of some prime minister perhaps, or some dead judge long forgotten. Or maybe a Latin motto etched in bronze somewhere. E pluribus gluteus maximus. Or whatever. Instead we get this. Disappointing, isn't it? Yes, that's the word I'd use. Disappointing. That's what this courtroom experience must be for you, Prem. Disappointing. Start to finish.”

Mazer stood. “The lieutenant kindly asked you to remove yourself from the table.”

Ravenshaw smiled. “Better put a leash on your client, Counsel. I've heard that these Maori boys think they're always at war.” He looked at Mazer for the first time, regarding him as if he were some odd museum exhibit. “If you're going to attack, Mazer, I hope I first get to see you dance a haka. I want the dinner and a show.” He frowned. “Also, I thought you'd be taller.”

He slid off the desk and took his attaché case as the sergeant at arms entered, walked to the front of the room, and snapped to attention. “Ten-hut!”

Everyone was already standing, but they came to attention as the door at the back of the courtroom opened and Colonel Michio Soshi came through. He took his seat at the judge's table and struck the gavel. “Let's get started please.”

Mazer watched the man. Soshi seemed focused on his tablet, bored even, another day on the clock. He didn't once look at Mazer. The sergeant at arms referred to his wrist pad. “Docket number 3627. International Fleet versus Captain Mazer Rackham. The defendant is charged with one count of espionage, one count of aggravated assault, eight counts of failure to obey a lawful order, and conduct unbecoming an officer of the Fleet.”

Soshi looked to the defendant's table, his expression unchanged, as if a charge of espionage were standard fare here. “And for the defense?” Soshi said.

Prem kept her eyes forward as she spoke. “Chamrajnagar. Lieutenant. Junior Grade. Prem. Judge Advocate General's Corp. Sworn and certified in accordance with Articles 28c and 47b of the International Fleet's Uniform Code of Military Justice.”

Soshi waved a hand, as if uninterested in the formalities. “Fine, fine. Does the defense wish to enter a plea?”

“Yes, sir,” Chamrajnagar said. “The defendant pleads not guilty, sir.”

Soshi nodded. “Enter a plea of not guilty for the defendant. We will adjourn until 0900, three weeks from today, at which time this court will reconvene for a court-martial.” He struck his gavel on the table.

The sergeant at arms shouted again. “Ten-hut!”

No one had moved. Soshi got up and disappeared back into his chambers. Start to finish, the whole procedure took ninety seconds.

Ravenshaw grabbed his attaché case and grinned at Prem. “Whenever you come to your senses, Prem, and want to deal, you know where to reach me.” He moved to leave but turned back. “Oh, and get used to that disappointing feeling in your gut. After this is over, you'll get it every time you step into this courtroom. Like Pavlov's dogs. Ring a ding ding.” He winked. Then he pointed his finger like a gun at Mazer and fired an imaginary shot.

Prem watched him go, then she turned to Mazer. “Did they teach you how to disembowel someone with your bare hands in the special forces? I'd give anything for that skill right now.”

“Too messy,” said Mazer. “Especially in his case. Why wait three weeks to start the court-martial?”

“They're trying to sweat you out, I suppose. Or stall.”

“We don't have three weeks, Prem. We need to end this now. Do you have lunch plans?”

“You're my only case. But remember, you don't have freedom of movement. You're confined to that office they gave you.”

The International Fleet had put Mazer in a secluded office at Central Command until his court-martial. An enlisted man indicted on the same charges would likely have been thrown in the brig, but out of respect for his rank as well as his service record, Mazer had received slightly more comfortable accommodations. He was confined there during the day, and to his apartment with Kim in the evening. He wasn't allowed to go anywhere else.

“I'll go to the office,” said Mazer. “After we take a detour.”

He led her back through the corridors and up to the surface of Old Town, where he tapped his wrist pad and hailed a taxi.

“Am I allowed to know where we're going exactly?” Prem asked.

“What do you know about patent law?”

“Patent law?” She shrugged. “I don't know. Some. Not enough to win a case, if that's what you're asking. Intellectual property law doesn't come up very often in the military. Why?”

“Could you draw up the necessary paperwork to file for a patent?” Mazer asked.

“Maybe. I suppose. I'd have to read up on it. It would depend on where you want to file it.”

The self-driving taxi arrived, and they climbed inside. Mazer ordered the taxi to take them to the offices of Gungsu Industries.

“Why are we going to Gungsu?” asked Prem.

“My men and I designed a nanoshield for marine combat. Colonel Vaganov gave it to Gungsu to develop without our consent. The soldier who deserves most of the credit is Lieutenant Mustafa Shambhani.”

“The marine who lost his leg.”

Mazer nodded. “He's here on Luna in recovery. Kim checked in on him. His prosthesis is working nicely, but he has a lot of hard physical therapy ahead of him. Gungsu needs to compensate him for his idea. His family could use that financial cushion.”

The taxi sped down the city track, moving with traffic. “Mazer, with all due respect, I think it's noble that you want to help your friend. Really, I do. It's tragic what happened to him. But you have more pressing problems. Namely your court-martial and avoiding prison time. Flying off to Gungsu and violating your movement privileges isn't helping your case either. And I'll remind you, Gungsu is in bed with Vaganov and Judge Soshi. I wouldn't call these people allies.”

“Gungsu is the root of this, Prem. They control Vaganov, Soshi, Ravenshaw. They're running this show, even if only indirectly. It all starts with them.”

“So what's your plan? Threaten them with an intellectual property lawsuit? That's a bad idea. I work for JAG, Mazer. I can't sue a civilian in a military court. There's no jurisdiction. Second, you don't have much of a case anyway. Intellectual property litigation is not as cut and dry as you might suspect. For starters, we don't have a patent and have not filed one. Therefore, technically, Gungsu is not infringing on one. We can't even put them on notice since there's no proof that they got the idea from Shambhani. They could easily claim that one of their own engineers came up with the idea at an earlier date. Or—and this is more likely—they could claim that as a soldier and member of WAMRED, Shambhani created the file as an employee of the military. The file thus belongs to the military, and Vaganov, as a rep for the military, can give it to whoever he chooses. Shambhani's compensation is his salary. The military owns him. Anything he does on the job is
their
intellectual property. I'm sorry, Mazer. I hate to be the one to say so, but you have a paper-thin case. And even if your case were stronger, laws concerning damages favor the defendant in these cases.”

“I realize that, Prem. Gungsu will realize that too. We're not going to sue them. Or even threaten to sue them. We will simply imply that a condition for going into business with us is that they compensate Shambhani somehow as a show of goodwill.”

Prem blinked, looking confused. “I'm sorry. You said, go into business with them?”

“In a manner of speaking. And with Lem Jukes. We can't work exclusively with Gungsu. We'll work with them both.”

Prem waved a hand, stopping him. “Mazer, your brain is going a hundred kilometers an hour here, and I'm at walking speed. You have a pending court-martial. We can agree on that much, correct?”

“We both know how that's going to play out, Prem. The best we can hope for at this point is an acquittal with a letter of formal reprimand and a recommendation for nonjudicial punishment. That's the result even if we win in court. Soshi won't settle for less. I'll walk away with a slap on the wrist that will haunt me for the rest of my career. I'll be passed over for promotions and opportunities. But it's inevitable. Am I wrong?”

She was quiet a moment. “You're not wrong, no. And it's not fair.”

“War is never fair, Prem. And that's what this is. And like in any war, we use the weapons we have at our disposal.”

“What weapons do we have exactly? I think I missed that part.”

“For the past year Victor Delgado has been sending me tech ideas. Sketches mostly. I helped him identify which ideas were good and worth pursuing. Victor then developed those into highly detailed three-dimensional models with layers that could be peeled back to reveal the inner components of a complex system. Only fifteen percent of his ideas were worth pursuing, but those ideas were very good. The others were smart but impractical, usually for reasons that only an experienced soldier would recognize. Point is, the fifteen percent were all intelligent devices. Gear that could save a soldier's life and make the difference between mission success and failure.”

“So we're going to sell Victor's ideas to Gungsu in exchange for compensation for Shambhani and freedom for you?”

“The money for Victor's ideas will all go to him. They're his ideas after all. My compensation will be my freedom.”

“This is insane.”

“Probably. But so is storming a well-defended enemy fortification. Soldiers do hard things.”

“And who are we supposed to talk to at Gungsu?”

“Hea Woo Han. Director of R&D. I met her at WAMRED. Well, briefly. I think she'll remember me.”

Chamrajnagar leaned back and shook her head. “You're going to get us both arrested.”

“Nothing to worry about,” said Mazer. “I've been arrested before. It's mostly painless.”

“That's not even funny.”

The taxi pulled to the curb in front of a large glass cube roughly seven meters square. A silver corporate logo of an archer drawing back his bow hung above the door along with the words
GUNGSU INDUSTRIES
. Mazer paid the taxi and he and Chamrajnagar stepped up onto the sidewalk.

“I'm not forcing you to come inside, Prem. Walk away now and I'll think no less of you.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “Desperate times, desperate measures. Let's get this over with.”

He opened the door and they stepped into the small but opulent lobby. White marble floors, decorative lighting, white leather furniture. The same archer logo glowed on the wall behind the reception desk. The Korean woman manning the desk smiled up at them, perfect white teeth, not a hair out of place, head cocked slightly to the side, the picture of hospitality. “Welcome to Gungsu. How can I help you?”

“I'm here to see Ms. Hea Woo Han. My name is Captain Mazer Rackham of the International Fleet. This is Lieutenant Prem Chamrajnagar of the Judge Advocate General's Corps. My attorney. We don't have an appointment.”

The woman's hand hovered over her holospace, as if she wasn't sure who to call next. “One moment,” she said smiling. She waved her fingers in a tight pattern, made the call, and spoke into her earpiece. She repeated the names, passed on the request, waited.

After a moment of listening, the receptionist frowned apologetically. “I'm sorry, sir. Ms. Woo Han's assistant says her schedule is full today. You'll need to set an appointment.”

“Tell her assistant that I came all the way from WAMRED.”

The receptionist hesitated then relayed the message. A moment later, she was giving Mazer and Prem each a visitor bracelet and pointing to the elevator. “Fourth level down. Someone will meet you as you leave the elevator.”