Back in July I started writing a sci-fi story, and failed to write a chapter every week. I’m going to try to get back on that track, so here we go with chapter four.
If you missed the first three chapters, you should read them: Reflection (1), Delay (2), and Catch (3). As usual, this story is free to read and distribute, as long as you don’t change it, don’t pretend it’s yours, and don’t profit from it. See the license on the chapter one post if you need clarification.
Release
Frank followed Greg Farnsworth through the detention center, headed toward an interrogation room. Greg had not told Frank anything about the prisoner since their meeting six days ago; he seemed to think it unwise, but he had agreed to this visit.
They proceeded through a series of increasingly strict checkpoints. Frank and Greg were both checked for weapons more than once, and their GIDs verified multiple times. Today, he was himself; he did not want to risk an incident on this of all days.
As they walked, Frank planned out what he would say. Somehow, he would make the renegade feel some of the pain Frank had felt at his wife’s death. There had to be some way to make the man regret his actions.
He was not prepared for what he saw through the window into the interrogation room. The pilot from Alpha Centauri station — Nick? — sat handcuffed to a chair, a small frown on his face, eyes downcast.
Rage exploded in Frank’s head. The pilot actually had the nerve to ask him about the Stargazer, as if he were not involved! He suddenly realized Greg was restraining him — he had cracked the window with a chair.
“Frank, I can’t let you in there if you’re going to be like this.” Greg stood facing Frank, his big hands crushing Frank’s shoulders. “I don’t mind letting you talk to the guy, but if you’re going to be violent you’ll have to leave.”
Frank swallowed. “I’m okay,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll be fine.”
Greg regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I think I’ll come with you. Just in case.”
Frank nodded in reply, then went through the door into the interrogation room.
Nick’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw Frank. “I was right,” he said. “You are Frank Jameson.”
Before Frank could reply, Greg cursed and pushed him back out of the room, slamming the door behind him. “He wasn’t supposed to recognize you. If he mentions your name at trial, things could get very… complicated for you.” That sounded very much like the Navy would not attempt to protect him.
Frank stared silently through the window for several minutes, collecting his thoughts. Greg ostentatiously checked the clock several times.
Just as Greg was about to open his mouth, Frank asked the question he should have asked days ago. “What evidence do you have against this man?”
The Navy officer stared at Frank for a long moment, his eyes suddenly cold. “The evidence is classified.”
Frank grabbed the man’s jacket and pushed him up against the wall. “Classified?” He spoke quietly, trying to avoid prying ears even here. “I pay you start a war over this, and you tell me the evidence is classified?” Greg merely stared back at him.
Out of nowhere, two prison guards appeared and pulled Frank away, restraining his arms. Greg had his hand on his pistol, too.
“I think you had better go home, Frank.” Greg straightened his jacket, his voice as cold as his eyes. “It’s over.”
The two guards were more rough than strictly necessary, pulling him slightly faster than he could walk, as they escorted him back to the shuttle.
Frank barely noticed the four hour ride back to GNRP headquarters. He wanted time to think. Between Ellis and the Navy’s apparently new direction, his entire plan was crashing down around him.
The only question was why. The Navy had become increasingly reluctant to continue the war, and the general public was against it, so they had motive to end it by finally “finding” the responsible raiders. But why choose a GNRP pilot as their scapegoat? Why choose Nick Collins?
When he arrived, he told his secretary not to disturb him unless the Navy tried to bomb the GNRP complex — her only reaction was to slightly purse her lips — and then locked himself in his office.
Pictures of Sarah and Alexander had once decorated the wall opposite his couch, but empty spaces stared back at him now, their emptiness emphasized by rectangles of wallpaper that had escaped sun-fading. He welcomed the reminder of what he had lost.
Eventually he hauled himself out of the pit of despair and sat down at his computer and called up Nick Collins’ employee file. Somewhere, he would find the truth.
* * *
“Your Honor, you can’t possibly release this man on bail.” The prosecutor was practically clothed in disbelief. “He’s a pilot with a ship at his disposal, and charged with a dozen counts of piracy. He probably has a hundred different ways to smuggle himself off the planet. ‘Flight risk’ doesn’t begin to describe Nick Collins!”
Nick shifted in his seat. The prosecution had done their best with what little the military had been willing to disclose, which boiled down to little more than the charges themselves. They had not even disclosed the amount required for bail.
Judge Stevens had been shown all of the evidence behind closed doors, of course, but that was hardly comforting. How could his lawyer present any sort of defense without knowing the evidence against him?
The judge shifted his disquieting glare to Nick. “Mr. Collins, your employer has posted bail for you, so you are free to go. You are of course ordered to remain on the planet, and you will check in with the police daily. Do you understand?”
“I do, Your Honor.” The restrictions seemed rather light, all things considered.
“Good. We will reconvene here in three days.”
Nick’s lawyer leaned in toward him. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts. I don’t think this is a case I can win, not if I can’t see the evidence.” He glanced at the prosecutor. “I can’t prove anything, but I think the military let the prosecutor see it. I’ll call you tomorrow, I have a lot of work to do.”
Nick was beginning to feel lost. He turned to leave, and nearly knocked over none other than Frank Jameson.
Frank grabbed Nick’s shoulder before he could apologize. “Come with me.”
Short chapter