Ends, Means, Laws, chapter 4 (Patreon)

Tyce hadn’t seen John in nearly eight years, and then he’d been younger. Scrawnier. Less tired. He still had blue eyes, but they looked more washed out than the vibrant blue Tyce remembered. Maybe his memory of John was idealized. They’d been best friends for three years, after all. And now John held a concussive rifle in Tyce’s general direction.

“It’s really you.” John took a step forward, which put Tyce in an even more awkward position because he wasn’t armed. He hadn’t intended to step into the middle of the corridor between two armed combatants. He gave Yoss a dirty look, and the man had the grace to blush.

Tyce turned his attention back to the far end of the corridor where the boys stood, each looking from John to Tyce and back. Arli shifted his feet nervously, but Ter had the audacity to look curious rather than scared shitless. Idiot.

“Yeah, it is,” Tyce said. “What do you say we calm this situation down? You don’t want to put boys in the middle of this fight.”

John stood up a little straighter and the barrel of the rifle came up. “I’m not the one who armed them and put them on patrol.”

“No,” Tyce said slowly, “but you’re the one who is using them as a human shield. What happened to regulation 125-7?”

“I don’t know. What happened to regulation 7-14?” John shot back, his voice harder now. Tyce flinched. Regulation seven—treason. Subsection 14—assisting the enemy in the theatre of war.

“The past is past,” Tyce said. “Right now, you’re the one with a rifle pointed at the back of a restrained fourteen year old kid.” Tyce counted on John still having a few of his iron-clad ethics in tact. If he had been posted to the front, that iron might have corroded away. For a good minute, John stared at him. He then deliberately stepped forward so he was even with the boys and he pointed the rifle at Tyce.

“Lieutenant Tyce Robinson, you are under arrest for violation of regulation 7 of the uniform code. You will be held until you can be returned to Earth for trial, under authority of a Command warrant.”

For two years, Tyce had expected to hear those words. Either those words or the click of a weapon engaging—those were the only two endings he could imagine. 

“Fuck no,” Yoss said loudly. That was ironic given that Yoss’s hot head had put Tyce in the position in the first place.

“Yoss, stand down,” Tyce ordered, and shockingly enough, he did quiet. “John, we still have a stand off here. If you want to make that arrest stick, you’re going to have to compromise.”

John’s face reddened. “Compromise? With a traitor and terrorist?”

Tyce took a deep breath. Of course Command saw him that way. He don’t know why it hit him like a punch to hear it. “We can have a shoot out. Maybe you would count it a win because your side would definitely kill those two boys—”

“What?” Ter blurted as if it had just occurred to him that he could die here. He had none of his aunt’s common sense.  

Tyce continued. “My guy can definitely take you. So that’s two of ours down compared to one of yours. Of course you’re more highly ranked, so some cost-benefit analysis would weigh your life more heavily. Isn’t that what our classes taught us? To compare the relative worth of life? Then again, if your people can take me out when they take out those boys, maybe that would change the benefit analysis. So, is that what you want? Do you want three or four dead bodies lying in this hall?”

John raised his weapon to his shoulder and primed it. “If that’s what it takes to bring you to justice.”

A hard, cold shiver rattled Tyce’s spine. This was his best friend—his ex-best friend—but he had murder in his eyes. “Or, you send the boys this way, and I surrender,” Tyce hurried to say. 

“What?” Yoss demanded loudly. Tyce ignored him. He had to get the boys out of the line of fire. “Are you fucking cracked? They’ll kill you.”

Tyce suspected they would, but if he let those boys die, that wouldn’t change the way his life was bound to end. John was a by-the-book officer, and now that he knew Tyce was on the ship, his sense of justice wouldn’t allow him to rest until Tyce was under arrest or dead. Tyce could buy the boys’ freedom or he could watch Dragon crew die holding off Command assaults until they voted to throw him to the enemy to slow them.

Turning his back on John and his weapon, Tyce pinned Yoss with a glare. “You tell Amali to negotiate with them as if I was never part of crew. If they think I was one more refuge who took passage on your ship, they’ll be reasonable. Even if they aren’t, she can talk them to a standstill. As soon as this ship is in populated space, have her launch the shuttles and run for a safe haven. Mars has enough trouble with Earth’s intransigence that they would accept an application for sanctuary.”

Yoss frowned, his gaze flickering over to John before he took a step back so the curve of the ship hid him from the enemy. Tyce took that as agreement.  

He turned back to face John and raised his hands in surrender. “Send the boys this way and I’ll surrender. It’s that or a lot of blood on your conscience.” Tyce sent the universe a quick prayer that John still had a few of those shiny morals from his academy days. He could read John’s hesitancy in the way he angled his body. He had the first hints of gray in his dark hair.

He raised his rifle a fraction of an inch. “Walk this way, hands up.”

“Sure, a few steps,” Tyce said as he moved away from Yoss. “But I’m going to stop right here until you send the boys.”

“We’re the ones who follow through on promises. It’s Ribelo that breeds deceit, so you come all the way here, and then we’ll let the boys go.”

Tyce closed his eyes and tried to imagine all the possible permutations of this moment. Too many ended with him dying here, his ribs crushed by the blast of the percussion rifle, and his body bleeding out internally. “You know I can’t trust that. Command doesn’t believe that agreements made under duress are enforceable. So you can send the boys this way, or we can start that bloodbath now.” If John had some hardass commander whispering in his ear, a bloodbath was the most likely outcome.

Ter shifted nervously and pulled on Arli’s elbow. The idiot might as well announce he wanted to run for it. Tied the way he was, he had no chance. “Ter, Arli, hold position,” Tyce said firmly.

Alti swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, but Ter continued to shift. He was too damn young for this situation.

“John, look at them,” Tyce said softly. “They’re scared kids. They’re younger than we were at the academy. Ter is thinking about running because he is so terrified that he can’t think clearly. Do you want their blood on your hands?” 

John’s posture softened. When he turned his gaze back to Tyce, the danger eased out like a tide. However, John still pointed his weapon at Tyce. “Shirt off. Turn around. Shake your pant legs.”

Turning to the wall, Tyce complied. He pulled off his shirt pulled the waist of his pants down an inch to show he didn’t have any wires or explosives hidden. Maybe Tyce had decided that Command was in the wrong, but he still understood how wrong the Ribelo terrorists had been. Thousands of people who had no control over the government’s policies had died in Ribelian attacks. Tyce remembered the horrors shown on vids throughout Earth. He shook his pants as hard as he could and then he turned.

John sucked in a hard breath. Tyce didn’t try to explain the tattoo. Yes, it was a Ribelian design and most of the terrorists probably had similar ink, but John wouldn’t understand the real cultural meaning. John’s eyes grew hard.

“Just let the boys go.” Tyce took another step forward, offering himself.

“On your knees.”

Tyce had expected as much. He lowered himself, grateful for the cushioned floor. John grabbed Ter’s arm and shoved him forward. Since Ter was tied to Arli, they both stumbled. “Go.”

Ter pulled madly, but Arli seemed frozen in place. They both were both far too young for this; Tyce had argued that very point when Ama added them to the list of patrols, but she had told him that children learned best by doing. “Arli, walk toward me. You’re safe. John will not shoot a child, not even one stupid enough to argue his way onto the patrol schedule.” As he’d hoped, the insult broke Arli out of his fugue. Both boys hurried toward Tyce.

They hesitated next to him, and Ter opened his mouth like he might argue.

“Go,” Tyce ordered as he threaded his fingers and put them behind his head. “Now!”

Arli pulled toward Yoss and safety, but Ter hesitated for a second. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Go!” Tyce focused his gaze on John. The anger and betrayal in those familiar eyes burned him, but he couldn’t look away. He didn’t regret his actions. Much. But he also didn’t expect forgiveness. The boys started talking, both too fast and the voices too low to hear words, but Tyce imagined they wanted to tell Yoss every detail. 

“Stand up and turn around,” John ordered. Tyce moved slowly. The John he knew never would have shot a prisoner in the back, but the John he’d known had never suffered the sort of betrayal this one had. They’d lived together, studied together, complained about instructors and bad food for three years straight. They’d been more than brothers. 

“Walk backwards toward me.” They’d learned prisoner protocols together and had practiced them, and invested way too much energy trying to disarm each other. If Tyce moved a little quicker, if he leaned to the left, John would suspect a sweep-leg maneuver, and he’d kill Tyce. That would be the merciful end. It would only hurt for a few minutes, and sometimes the adrenaline held the pain at bay as a person died.

Tyce looked toward the far end of the curving corridor where Yoss watched. All Tyce could see was the barrel of his weapon. Yoss had taken cover behind one of the thick conduits that carried yellow fluids the scientists had warned them to not breech. It hid him, but one bullet through the conduit, and Yoss would be showered with corrosive fluid that would eat his skin. Tyce shuffled, spreading his legs more to put himself at a disadvantage.

“Stop. On your knees.” John’s voice had a brittle sharpness Tyce didn’t trust. He obeyed.

“Do this and we’re at war!” Yoss yelled.

Tyce closed his eyes. God save him from family ships and their habit of putting fucking children to work. No, Yoss wasn’t family. Like Tyce, he was one more stray The Dragon had picked up along the way. However, on another ship, Yoss’s anger and grief would have set off alarms. No one would have given him a gun and sent him out to fight. However, the family ships had so many non-combatants that anyone who could handle a gun carried one.

“We’re already at war,” John called back.

“Funny,” Tyce said, “I thought the war was over.”

“Shut up.”

“Right. If you can’t argue the logic, you just tell the other people to shut up. Some things don’t change.” The kick to his back didn’t surprise Tyce. He didn’t bother breaking his fall. The floor was soft enough to avoid broken noses. In a heartbeat, bodies landed on him, hands pinning him to the ground. And then all choices were gone. Tyce let his body go lax as several Command soldiers cuffed him and then pulled him to his feet.

John’s face was devoid of any emotion. “Take him to level one and put him in one of the small rooms.”

“Yes, sir,” an older man with a pock-marked face said. He took Tyce’s arm and pulled him toward the end of the corridor where Command had control. This part of the ship smelled better, so either they had the atmosphere scrubbers working or the ship’s oxygen-defense system would destroy this section first.  

They reached a section of the ship with stairs that were so high that each step came up to Tyce’s knees. Considering the sections near the Dragon crew had tiny bunks, he had assumed the aliens had been small. However, if that were true, these steps would have been a ridiculous barrier. So why have tiny bunks?

“Up,” the guard ordered.

Tyce knew better than to argue. He lifted a leg onto the first step, but with his hands bound, he couldn’t get himself up the stairs. He ended up keeping his feet under him as the guards dragged him up the steep stairs.

Two soldiers waited at the top of the stairs, their weapons at the ready. “Holy shit,” the woman said. “Is that—”

“Eyes forward, Charleston!” Tyce’s main guard snapped. As much as Tyce wanted to make a snarky comment, he didn’t feel like pissing blood for the next week, so he kept silent. They passed another small clump of soldiers before they stopped outside of a familiar door. Unlike the ones downstairs, these were decorated with a spiral pattern set into the oddly skin-like material that covered the walls. The guard stuck his finger in a groove on the side of the door and ran it down. The door slid open.

Well fuck. Downstairs they were forcing their way through every door one at a time. If these guys had figured out how to open doors, the Dragon crew had already lost the battle for territory. Command would be able to clear corridors and identify critical areas far faster than Amali could. Fuck.

Tyce’s guard shoved him into narrow room that couldn’t be more than ten feet long. However, it had twenty feet ceilings with a complex tangle of pulsing fluid lines overhead. Tyce’s imagination provided vivid images of what might happen if corrosive or radioactive material started to drip on him. Before Tyce could register a complaint about his accomodations, the door slid closed.

Tyce stood alone with a dull green glow from the walls that matched his sickly mood. Tyce hadn’t had a day this bad since the last time he had gotten in a pissing match with Command soldiers. He could only hope Ama didn’t waste time trying to negotiate for his release. Given how the soldiers had reacted to him, they knew and hated him. The feeling was mutual.