“And may I ask who his master is?” the ambassador said, in that same imperious tone. “The Nwandu do not deal in slaves, but we are well aware of the Eumadians’ practices.”
“Lieutenant Hill is his master,” Henderson said, nodding to me.
I watched the Ambassador, determined not to say anything unless she addressed me directly. Henderson, too, seemed to be waiting for herreaction, rather than volunteering any further information. I half expected her to request that both of us be removed from the team. But in the end, she simply nodded, then moved on down the line. Perhaps it wouldn’t do much for the negotiations to have her so upset about Kade’s presence. But at the end of the day, this was a part of the reality of Alliance life. We accepted the dimari – for all that we were failing to care for most of them particularly well – and if the Nwandu joined the Alliance, they would have to come to terms with the presence of slaves, albeit that none of them had been deliberately purchased.
A half an hour later, all of the introductions and the briefing for the day’s activities were complete, and Martoni’s team set off with the ambassador to take her and a number of the Parliament’s Associates on a tour of the terraforming project to the north-west of the city. The rest of us were on standby, not allowed to leave the base, while the rest of the base’s personnel were filling in for those of us taken out of rotation, continuing to run the never-ending stream of missions that kept the Alliance operating and the city of Hon safe.
At eighteen-hundred hours, Kent’s team were called up to escort the ambassador to her hotel for the night, where her own security team would ensure her safety until the following morning… but once they had left, Henderson pulled me and Bryce aside. I was beginning to dread these little interludes. They never came with any good news.
“Ambassador Vendanu has made a request which runs outside the schedule we had planned for her visit,” Henderson said, sounding like he was dreading every word. “The Parliament has apparently informed her that they won’t be available to meet with her tomorrow, due to an important court hearing; your case with Kade. We didn’t think there would be any problem, since there are plenty more activities she can do tomorrow, and then she can meet with the Parliament later in the week. But she’s asked if she can sit in and watch the hearing tomorrow. She’s promised not to interfere with the case at all, but she says it would be an ideal way to see Alliance politics in action. Which is true,” he admitted ruefully. “But at the same time, this case is going to be messy enough without politically sensitive spectators. Either way, the Parliament have cleared her request, so Preswood, your team is going to be in charge of security outside the courthouse, and Hill… Well, I just wanted to give you the heads up, really.”
I groaned. “Yeah, ‘cos that’s all we need. Fucking up an entire treaty negotiation because we’re pissed off with the Eumadians. Do you know how many ways this could go horribly wrong?”
“Aiden,” Bryce cautioned me, and I realised I was doing it again; letting my mouth run before my brain could catch up.
“It’s all right,” Henderson said, in as soothing a voice as he could manage. Which, given that he was an eight-foot-tall mountain of fur andmuscle, wasn’t particularly soothing. “This is bound to be stressful for everyone. The timing is terrible, but if the Parliament really wants to tackle both these issues at once, that’s their problem. You’re going to have to stay on base while the Nwandu are here, but for the rest of the evening, you’re off duty. Try to get some rest, and make sure Kade does the same. Tomorrow’s going to be bad enough without you falling asleep into your coffee.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Aiden
The following morning, the courtroom was absolutely packed, with a gaggle of lawyers and Associates on both sides of the case, six Eumadians, a dozen or so military personnel – here to act as witnesses to Kade’s behaviour and skills on the field – and about a hundred spectators packed into the rows of seats at the back of the room, including Ambassador Vendanu and half a dozen of her attendants in the front row.
The three judges for this case were all going to be Sedgegeds, with the final decision being a collaboration of opinions from the Associates and the judges. The three judges together would get fifty per cent of the vote, while each Associate would have a vote, their combined decisions making up the other fifty per cent.
The Sedgegeds had been the most recent species to join the Alliance, but they’d slid seamlessly into the fabric of our society, taking on many of the roles that required extended study, like doctors or scientists, while avoiding anything that involved intense physical activity. Sedgegeds were not designed for either strength or stamina, and not a single one of them had ever attempted to sign up for the military. They were highly intelligent and generally very even tempered, which made them ideal as judges, lawyers and politicians. Indeed, nearly a quarter of the Associates in parliament were Sedgegeds, despite them making up only one tenth of the general population.
“All rise,” a Denzogal at the front of the room announced in a booming voice, and we all stood, the room falling silent as the judges filed into the room and took their seats. They were all a similar height – about a metre and a half tall – and they had long, ornate claws and multi-coloured feathers over their entire bodies. They were the only species in the Alliance that did not routinely wear clothes, and they also had the quirk of walking around on all fours, when not engaged in formal business. In the courtroom, ofcourse, all three of them were standing up straight and walking on their hind legs.
“You may be seated,” the Denzogal said to the room, once the judges gave him a nod.
The first judge – a woman who was quite advanced in years, if the fading colours of her feathers were anything to go by – pulled up a holographic file on her desk and regarded the room with stern eyes. Sedgegeds had beaks, not lips, and their native language was a series of chirps and trills. Thankfully, our translators interpreted their words without a problem, as they were incapable of speaking Alliance Common. “The case today; Claim by Eumadians of ownership of abandoned cargo and their request to regain possession of said cargo. Rebuttal by Alliance Legal Defence; Slavery is unnatural and the individual known as ‘Kade’ is an autonomous person, not a possession. To begin, I call upon the Eumadian representative Volgoch to state the basis of your claim.”
Over on the far side of the room, one of the Eumadians stood up, a Solof lawyer standing up beside him to guide him through the process. Eumadians’ skin was a slate-grey colour, and very wrinkled. Their heads were bald and their postures naturally hunched. I had the uncomplimentary thought that they would have made wonderful villains in a Derelian horror movie.
Volgoch opened a file on his comm and read the statement flatly, not making even a token attempt at emotion. “On the fifth day of Jengul of this year, a small Eumadian cruiser was attacked by a Culradish cargo ship, causing the freighter to lose its cargo on the planet of Rendol 4. This cargo included a dimari by the name of Kade, who was in transit to his intended master, who had legally purchased him while in Eumadian space. We understand that slavery is illegal in Alliance space, but the fact remains that it is not in many other parts of the galaxy.
“It may be argued that the Eumadians have not previously attempted to recover dimari who were lost on Rendol 4, which could be seen to negate our claim in this case. However, the value of the cargo in this shipment was far greater than most deliveries. A typical dimari would cost around forty thousand credits. However, Kade’s specialist training brought his price up to one hundred and fifty thousand credits. As such, the economic cost of losing him is significant.
“In Alliance space, the breeding and raising of livestock is common practice, along with their deliberate slaughter for food or other products. Our stance is that at the point that the dimari are sold, they are no longer capable of making independent decisions, of adequately caring for themselves without outside guidance, and have been ‘domesticated’, if you will, to perform a certain range of tasks. As such, we see no moral conflict in selling them to owners who intend to care for them, feed them, protectthem, and make use of their skills to perform specific work. I could argue that plenty of animals in Alliance space suffer far worse fates.
“As such, we request the immediate return of Kade to the Eumadians, and permission to remove him from Alliance space.”
My gut churned as I listened to the entirely dispassionate statement. The Eumadians were doing well in addressing the primary rebuttals that the Alliance legal team were going to have; namely, the fact that they hadn’t previously attempted to regain any cargo, the legalities of slavery in other parts of the galaxy, and the fact that Kade wouldn’t have been here at all if the Culrads hadn’t shot down their ship.
Aside from that, though, I didn’t know how to interpret the lack of enthusiasm in Volgoch’s request. Was it a cultural thing, or a genuine display of disinterest? I didn’t know enough about the Eumadians to know, and with all of the observers expected to be silent, now certainly wasn’t the time to ask Kade if this was normal for them.
I glanced over at Kade, wondering how he was reacting to Volgoch’s opening statement. He sat still, not seeming unduly tense or anxious, and also not looking particularly surprised by anything the Eumadians had said. I was sure we were going to have a very interesting conversation when we got back to the base tonight.
“Thank you, Volgoch,” the judge said. “I now call upon the Alliance Legal Defence for your opening statement.”
A stern-faced Solof woman stood up, wearing a navy business suit. “Thank you, Your Honour,” she said to the judge. “As Volgoch correctly pointed out, slavery is illegal in Alliance space. And both the Eumadians and the dimari themselves refer to the dimari as slaves. There is a vast difference between slaves and livestock, the primary difference being that slaves are people, with a deep and intricate understanding of the world, the ability to express both physical pain and emotional distress, and the capacity for self-awareness – both of their own existence and of their place in the galaxy.
“There are plenty of people from a multitude of species who are not capable of caring for themselves, for reasons of either physical or mental disability. But if a Solof child was born with a mental impairment, for example, we would not for a moment consider selling them to profit from their labour. Instead, we would provide for their ongoing needs, desires and abilities, as far as available resources would allow. We have a large number of witnesses here today who have interacted with Kade and can testify to his ability to make decisions – albeit within a defined set of parameters – to express his opinions and emotions, and to understand his own place in the world.
“Furthermore, it is entirely disingenuous of the Eumadian team to pretend that the dimari are docile and obedient for any reason other thantheir own manipulations and neurological engineering technology. The Eumadians kidnap Vangravian children soon after birth and spend the next two decades moulding them into submissive slaves. To claim a lack of responsibility for their state at the end of this process is laughable.
“I’m confident that as we explore the testimony of our witnesses, it will be clear that Kade is a person, not an animal, and that sending him back to his captors would be detrimental to his physical and mental wellbeing.”
