Engaging the Enemy by Elizabeth Moon
“My client begs the court’s pardon,” Furman’s barrister began. “As do I, for failing to instruct him adequately in the procedures and rules of this jurisdiction—”
“The court hears your apology,” the judicar said. “Go on.”
“Captain Furman states that the ship known as Fair Kaleen was operated by one Osman Vatta, a man related to the Vatta family of Vatta Transport, Ltd., but exiled from that family for a number of crimes—”
“Crimes never brought to court?”
“It is my understanding, Forest Lord, that the family wished to avoid public shame. At any rate, this Osman Vatta stole a Vatta ship and operated as nothing more than a common pirate. Fair Kaleen is well known in other jurisdictions as his ship, and was interdicted in those systems because of his piracy.”
“Yet never brought to court?”
“It is an armed ship, Forest Lord, and the said Osman was, apparently, expert in evading pursuit.” The barrister paused, as if for another question, then went on. “Captain Furman furnished me with replicas of legal notices from other systems substantiating his claim that Fair Kaleen was known to law enforcement as a pirate ship.”
“I see. Is Captain Furman claiming that this woman”—the judicar gestured at Ky—“is Osman Vatta?”
“No, Forest Lord. Osman Vatta would be a much older man; Captain Furman believes that this is Osman Vatta’s daughter.”
“And how would Captain Furman know so much about an outlaw?” the judicar asked.
“The information was supplied by Vatta Transport, Ltd., as part of security briefings to all its captains,” the barrister said.
“Including information about this woman?”
“Not specifically, no. But that Osman Vatta had children, yes. This woman, pretending to be Kylara Vatta, daughter of Gerard Vatta, until the late disasters the chief financial officer of Vatta Enterprises—which includes Vatta Transport, Ltd.—cannot be that individual because Captain Furman has personal knowledge of Kylara Vatta. She served on his ship as an apprentice.”
“I see. I will now hear counterargument from the defendant’s barrister.”
Ky’s barrister laid out her claim of identity, including an explanation for her possession of Osman’s ship. Furman’s barrister countered with his version of events.
“Captain Furman contends that the genuine Kylara Vatta, who apprenticed on his ship, was incapable of capturing Osman Vatta’s ship with the old, slow, unarmed vessel to which she had been assigned. She lacked both the armament and the expertise—”
“Captain Vatta reminds the court that she had almost completed the Slotter Key Spaceforce Academy prior to resigning to enter the family business, and that she had purchased defensive armament that was used in the conflict—”
Back and forth the barristers went. Ky’s back ached.
Finally the judicar held up his hand. “I will hear from the pledents and defendent directly. You will answer my questions briefly and to the point. Captain Furman. You have heard the evidence that this woman is in fact Kylara Vatta. On what do you base your claim that she is not?”
“I know her,” Furman said. “This is a stranger.”
“You last saw her in person how long ago?”
“It would now be…perhaps ten years standard.”
“She was a young girl then, and now she is a woman; many people change in that period of time.”
Furman flushed again. “It is not Ky. It cannot be Ky. The Ky I knew was an impulsive, argumentative, difficult adolescent, always getting into trouble. While it never surprised me that she was expelled from the Academy, there is no way she could have defeated Osman.”
“What do you believe happened?”
“I believe Osman killed the real Kylara, and substituted one of his own children, who had the family resemblance, coaching her in her story.”
“And this would fool her crew?”
Furman shrugged. “It worked. But notice that she left her most experienced crew—the ones who knew the real Kylara best—on the ship Kylara had captained.”
“You have entered in confidence five incidents from Kylara Vatta’s experience aboard your ship that you believe the real Kylara would recall. Do you attest that these are true representations of those events?”
“I do,” Furman said.
“Captain Vatta,” the judicar said. Furman opened his mouth as if to say more; his barrister pulled him back. “Were you in fact an apprentice on Captain Furman’s ship?”
“Yes,” Ky said.
“You were asked to submit five incidents from your time serving under Captain Furman that you believed he should recall. Do you attest that these events occurred as you represent them?”
“I do,” Ky said.
“That is very interesting,” the judicar said, “because I find no point of correspondence between these accounts. More than that, the two of you picked no incident in common. It is possible that in the course of a year’s journey, many more than five memorable incidents occurred, and that what a captain finds worthy of memory is not what a young girl finds worthy…but it is a discrepancy I cannot ignore. Captain Vatta, Captain Furman was asked to supply the names of crewmembers on his ship during your apprenticeship. I want you to name as many crewmembers and their positions as you remember.” Ky’s barrister stirred; the judicar went on. “I am well aware that Captain Vatta may not remember them all, or that Captain Furman may have provided inaccurate information: we shall see. Go ahead, Captain Vatta.”
Armed with her father’s command implant, Ky didn’t need to remember all the names, but some she would not forget anyway. “Toron Barclay was the chief engineer,” she said. “A big, husky man with thinning red hair. Everyone teased him about it. Elly Prost was his number two, tall, skinny. Jan Arbeit was the number three; he was much younger.” She had been accused of flirting with Jan because they’d played simulation games with each other so often, but she’d had no interest in him that way. “Apprentices rotate through the different areas, but I spent the most time in Engineering. In Cargo…let me think. Ganli Zludist was cargomaster, and his number two was Serge Paolin. I don’t remember the number three…” She had been barred from the bridge except for a few brief visits; she didn’t remember the pilot, the navigator, the communications tech, except as vague faces, and said so, though the implant furnished her with the names.
The tedious questions went on and on.
“This is your cousin, you say?”
“Yes. Her father and my father were brothers.”
“She looks nothing like you.”
“Yes. My mother was dark; her mother’s family had many blondes.”
“Stella Vatta. Is this your cousin Kylara?”
“Yes,” Stella said. “It is.”
“It is not something about which you could be mistaken?”
“No; I have known her from childhood.”
“The testimony is confusing,” the judicar said. “I understand that Crown & Spears has genetic evidence that Captain Kylara Vatta is indeed a Vatta and closely related to a family member about whom there is no previous question, Josephine Vatta. This person would be your sister, Stella Vatta?”
“Yes, my older sister,” Stella said.
“Then I would expect a genetic scan to show that you and Kylara Vatta are as closely related. Though we cannot admit in this court the evidence from Crown & Spears, having no proof that their sample of Josephine Vatta’s genetic material is in fact hers, establishing a first-cousin relationship should be simple. Do you consent to having this test performed?”
“Yes,” Ky and Stella said together.
“Good. We shall invite the technicians to enter.”
The technicians inserted the samples into the machine, and in a few minutes obtained a readout.
“These individuals are indeed related,” one of them told the judicar. “But not closely. There is very little chance that they are in fact first cousins.”
“What?” Stella blurted. “Of
“I’m afraid not,” the technician said. “Here are the scans.”
“I told you so!” Furman said. Again, his barrister restrained him.
“This is a surprise to you?” the judicar said to Stella.
“It certainly is. I’ve known Ky all my life, and she’s known me. We’re cousins. There must be some mistake.”
“You have no other sources of Vatta genetic material?” Stella held up her hand. “Yes, Stella Vatta; you may speak.”
“Er…there is genetic evidence from Osman Vatta,” Stella said.
“What?” Ky clapped a hand over her own mouth and glanced apologetically at the judicar.
“You’ve forgotten, Ky. You had me retain a tissue sample from Osman’s body in the freezer, remember?”
“I thought you’d give it to Mackensee,” Ky said. “They took the body, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but I thought you wanted a sample for us—to prove that it was Osman you’d killed, that it really was his ship. Anyway, it’s still there.”
“If they’ll accept it—with no proper chain of custody—it should help a lot,” Ky said. She looked up at the judicar. “We also have a distant relative, a boy, with us.”
“Are you in loco parentis for this boy?”
“Yes.”
“And will you and he consent to his contributing a sample?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Court will recess briefly to allow one of our monitors to retrieve the sample; Stella Vatta may guide them; Captain Vatta will remain here, as will Captain Furman.”
At least, Ky thought, they could stand up and move around instead of sitting on those hard benches. She and Furman made no attempt to approach each other.
_______
Again the technicians inserted samples into the machine, this time all three available Vattas, plus Osman’s sample. Again, the brief wait. Ky’s stomach churned.
“We have the results,” the senior technician told the judicar. “There is a strong likelihood that all four individuals are related, though not in equal degree. Samples one, three, and four are distantly related—farther apart than second cousins, in all likelihood. Sample two is distantly related to samples one and three. Between two and four, however, there is a much closer relationship: first degree, in fact. In my professional opinion, two and four are parent and child.”
“And the names? Which are parent and child?”
“Osman Vatta and Stella Vatta.”
Ky stared at Stella. Even though it had occurred to her before, it seemed far more likely that she herself might be Osman’s daughter. Stella? The beauty of the family a daughter of that ugly and violent man? It could not be possible—yet something told her it was.
“No!” Stella said, her voice rising; her face had gone chalk white.
“Silence,” the judicar said. “This is indeed a surprise; I thought the accusation was that Kylara Vatta was Osman’s daughter—”
“Maybe they both are,” Furman’s barrister said.
“They cannot be,” the technician said. “Kylara Vatta and Stella Vatta are only distantly related. If they were half sisters, that would be obvious.”
“You were unaware of this?” the judicar said, looking at Stella.
“Yes—it can’t be right,” Stella said, still pale. “I—I was born on Slotter Key. I remember—our house, growing up, my parents—”
“Perhaps you were adopted very young,” the judicar said. “Perhaps you were not told—”
“But that’s—” Stella turned to Ky. “You know, Ky. I’ve always been there—always.”
“You are the elder,” the judicar said. “She could not know for certain that you were born to your legal parents. If indeed you were adopted…”
“Ky, please!” Stella reached out, then withdrew her hand.
Ky reached out, grasped Stella’s hand, and squeezed it. “You’re my cousin, always, whatever the test says,” she said softly. “Don’t worry, Stella. We’ll figure this out.”
“Silence,” the judicar said, but without heat. “I understand this is a shock to both of you, but we must go on with this hearing, and appropriate decorum must be maintained.
“Stella Vatta, although your unbidden words are against the regulations of this court, I judge them forgivable due to the element of surprise. However, you must be silent unless directly addressed.” He waited until she nodded.
“The test makes it clear that Kylara Vatta is not the child of Osman Vatta, and thus the first pledent’s accusation is proved false. Given that she is not the child of Osman Vatta, there is no reason to think she has falsified her identity, and I find that the person representing herself as Kylara Vatta is in fact Kylara Vatta, and until further evidence is submitted suggesting otherwise, I rule that her account of events leading to her capture of the ship Fair Kaleen be accepted.”
“No!” Furman was on his feet, his barrister clinging to his arm. “You can’t—she’s lying!”
“Captain Furman, you are in contempt!” The judicar’s voice matched his scowl. “You have repeatedly broken the rules of this court, and have exhausted my patience. You have illegally insulted Captain Kylara Vatta—”
“They’re in it together. They must be. Osman’s daughter corrupted Ky, and they’re working together—if you can’t see that, you’re stupid—!”
“Bailiffs.” At the judicar’s word, they came forward to surround Furman. “Your barrister will instruct you as to the penalties attendant on insulting the court, Captain Furman. Your trial will be scheduled promptly.”
Ky watched in stunned disbelief as the bailiffs bound and gagged Furman, and dragged him from the courtroom. Though her barrister laid a cautionary hand on her arm, she wasn’t tempted to move or speak. When the courtroom doors closed behind Furman and the bailiffs, the judicar turned to her.
“Under our law, the misbehavior of one pledent does not prove that the pledent’s case is false. But clearly you are not the child of Osman Vatta, which was Captain Furman’s accusation. That being so, I have no reason to disbelieve that you are the person you say you are, in legal possession of Slotter Key’s letter of marque and a ship captured from the pirate Osman Vatta, and to order that officers of the court immediately remove the tracking device you were made to wear. I offer this court’s sincere apologies for any inconvenience or embarrassment you suffered as a result of that requirement.” One of the bailiffs came to Ky and touched the anklet with a control wand; it fell open, and the bailiff picked it up with an apologetic nod. The judicar went on.
“As for Stella Vatta, your testimony and hers suggests that she was adopted very young, and thus her legal identity is, in fact, consistent with her claimed identity. Even if that were not the case, no charges were laid against her, and if you—as a Vatta whose identity is not in doubt—accept her as your cousin, then her identity is of no further interest to this court.”
He paused and took a sip of water. “Now, I understand that you had laid countercharges against Captain Furman, and this court was prepared to hear them. However, you might wish to confer with your barrister about those charges, and whether they might not be better brought at Furman’s trial for gross discourtesy.” He paused, nodded toward their barrister and said, “You have permission to confer.”
Ky’s barrister leaned over to her. “We can pursue your original case if you wish, but since Furman will be executed for the undeniable behavior here—”
“Executed?” Ky struggled to keep her voice low.
“Gross discourtesy in a court of law? Absolutely. He offered you and the judicar both mortal insults. He persisted in discourteous behavior despite warnings from the judicar and his barrister.”
“But—but I’m sure he didn’t understand the penalties—I’m sure he meant no mortal insult—”
“Captain Vatta, you have been here only a short time; Captain Furman has visited the Moscoe Confederation before. He has had more time to absorb the requirements of our legal
“Er…no,” Ky said. “That is, it is for some things, but not others, and our standards for courteous behavior are quite different.”
“Yet you have not offended, nor has your cousin. Despite your youth and your relative inexperience, neither of you has lost control and offered insult. At any rate: with Furman out of the picture, his ship clearly belongs to Vatta Transport, of which you are both part, and would require no re-registration to operate under your command. You would but have to apply to the appropriate office to specify which of you—or whom else—would become captain of that ship.”
“I…see,” Ky said. “So you’re advising me not to enter the plea that Furman was working with Osman Vatta and bilking the company?”
“The judicar also sits on a hard bench,” the barrister said. “I believe he would appreciate the end of this particular exhausting session. I also believe your evidence is not needed to condemn Captain Furman, but you could bring it to the attention of the judicar in written form, where it might influence his trial. Though once a man is dead, you cannot kill him twice.”
“Isn’t there anything but the death penalty?” Ky asked. She was not sure why she wanted to plead for Furman’s life—particularly if he had been involved in the attacks on her family—but she felt a strong impulse to intervene.
“There is another measure, but it is rarely employed as it is considered inhumane—”
“More inhumane than killing?” Stella asked.
“Oh, yes. If you simply kill someone, they are merely dead. For those who believe in an afterlife—and I am one of those—the person is still who he or she was in life, and if too harshly judged in life receives recompense, or if too lightly judged in life, receives punishment. The only other procedure restructures the personality, making the individual incapable of the crime for which he or she was punished…but that person then accrues the rest of a lifetime as another person. The afterlife is clouded; there are arguments about what happens.”