We held the inquest in an auditorium on L93, because the Commodore thought the gravity down there would make it easier on the fugitives.
There were nine of them, and when I set eyes on them, I immediately thought of them as the Accused.
I knew almost nothing about them, except that at least one of them spoke German, French, and Italian, though not necessarily all three.
The three who first walked into the room were the crew of the Jitterbug. They were all men, tall and blond, two rather wiry, the other built like he was wearing a side of beef under each arm.
They were all Scandanavian, or Nordic, I know there is a difference, but I don't know exactly what it is; there was enough going on between them, unspoken overtones and cultural body language, that whatever language they spoke, I wouldn't be able to understand them completely.
I doubted I could talk to any of them at all.
The first of the passengers was also tall, but with dark straight hair. He was dressed in Classic Nerd—white button-up shirt with dark slacks, matching tie. He didn't have the obligatory pocket protector.
Then came a sultry woman with wavy brown hair and what I've always heard called 'bedroom eyes.' She looked familiar, but I couldn't place her; I only knew I'd seen her picture before. But I was betting she was the one who spoke French.
The next two walked in slowly, hand-in-hand, skittish to the nth degree. He was in his mid- or late-twenties, thin as a rail, and looked like he dressed from a derelict laundry hamper lost sometime around 1950. His clothes were soiled, wrinkled, and out of fashion.
But I was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt—I'm sure I looked much worse when the cat dragged me aboard the station. Still, his choice of blue and green checks with cinnamon-colored polyester slacks made me wonder if he might be color-blind.
His companion clung to him like grim death, and she looked the part. She might charitably be referred to as malnourished. Her eyes were so sunken I couldn't see if they were open at first. She was wearing an old dress—mint green powdered with sage flowers—but of a style different to which I was used. It fit her like a gunny-sack fits a chicken.
They were both dark-haired, with similarly-shaped faces. I decided they were more likely siblings than spouses. She looked too young to be married.
The final two were also together. The man was obviously of Germanic stock. Coarse brown hair and square features, blue eyes, and a build that would make the most immodest Olympian statue start looking for fig leaves.
With him was a copy in miniature, almost. The boy shared his companion's complexion and general looks, but his hair fell in tight black ringlets. I decided they must be father and son.
They filled the last four seats on either side of the conference table and the chair at the foot of the table.
Cannesmore was at the head, with Judge Garr and me at her right and the other two judges opposite. There was a gap of two chairs between the groups.
"This hearing will come to order," Cannesmore began, "its purpose is to determine the particulars of the case, and the disposition of the nine defendants, to be named shortly. This is not a trial.
"These proceedings will be recorded, and a transcript will be prepared in Esperanto, which is to be the official language of the inquiry. We will begin with a statement of facts from Judge Ævarsdóttir of Iceland, and Judge Roemer, of Holland."
He turned to Judge Ævarsdóttir.
"You may begin, Your Honor."
They both told the story pretty much like I'd heard it—the Jitterbug jumped from Amsterdam, leaving behind the ISA inspector they were required to have on all intercontinental and trans-orbital flights, and some time later was tracked over the Faeroes, heading toward Iceland—except in one particular, Ævarsdóttir insisted that the ship made a short hop before it jumped out of the country. Reomer didn't agree; it was cut-and-dried in his eyes.
"Next," the Commodore went on, "I will hear depositions of the crew, and then the passengers. I will ask the Scandinavian Judges to translate as needed.
"Judge Ævarsdóttir , would you be so kind as to ask the man at the foot of the table if he is Captain of this," he looked at a paper, "Knarrabringa."
The Judge blushed and, in spite of herself, smiled; the three blond men laughed aloud.
She asked him a question; I could only assume it was in Icelandic, though all I could really tell was that it was in the Germanic family and grammatically more complex than Modern English.
He answered.
"He is," she translated. "Captain Athalson."
"Who are his crew?"
They spoke again.
"Snorrison to his left is his First Mate. The Astrogator, on his right, is Heidegar. Heidegar Larson."
"And who are your passengers?"
Ævarsdóttir spoke again and Athalson stood mute.
"Direct him to answer the question, Your Honor."
She spoke to him again and he gave an explosive reply. They exchanged several heated phrases.
I noticed Judge Reomer was giving her an incredulous look.
"What did he say," the Commodore asked.
"That he did not know," Roemer answered for her. He spoke Icelandic too, or whatever they were speaking.
"Know what?"
Ævarsdóttir was glowering furiously at Roemer.
"The whereabouts of their inspector. She asked him why they left him and where they went after they left Amsterdam. She said she knew he made a short hop because his flight profile was wrong for a lift-off from Amsterdam at the time he took off."
"Judge Ævarsdóttir , I will remind you that this is my inquest; please refrain from asking questions, just translate. You will get your chance."
It was the Clash of the Queen Bitches, or would be before it was all over. I sure didn't want to be there when those white gloves came off.
I could have frozen a turkey between their gazes.
It put me immediately back to Topher and Tammy.
"Please," I said, not wanting to play the bickering game. "Let's just each do our jobs, and let the others do theirs. I see some mighty big toes, so you might all wanna tread lightly."
Did I say that? What language did I say it in?
"Your Honours," I added in English, perhaps a bit too late.
"Well said, youngster," the Commodore answered to my complete surprise. She added in Esperanto; "We could all benefit from Heywood's advice. May I call you familiar?"
"Sure," I said. "I'd be honored."
I really wasn't trying to curry favor with her, nor piss off the Scandinavian judges, but I managed to do both in four words.
"Do you prefer Danielle?"
"Dani, actually." This was neither the time nor place to get into it further. This was business. But she seemed to know something was amiss anyway.
"We should all follow Dani's advice. It is early and we are already at each other's throats. I won't have it, Ladies and Gentlemen."
She used both words separately this time.
"Now, be so kind as to ask the good Captain who his passengers are?"
She translated, and Athalson spoke calmly.
"He says he wants to see his lawyer."
"Do all of his crew feel the same way?"
There was another brief exchange; I didn't need to speak their language to know they all wanted a lawyer.
"They all say yes. And what are you going to do about it?"
The three Accused were all smirking, thinking they'd just cancelled Ragnorak.
"Tell them they are excused," she said to the Judge in Esperanto, but to the guard at the door, she said in English, "take them to the brig."
I could tell by the way his face fell, that Athalson understood. If either of the other two did, it was not very well, or he had a better poker-face than his captain.
Not cancelled—I smiled at them—only postponed. The Commodore had won that round.
***
Italian was my weakest Romance language, so naturally, the Commodore wanted to start with it. The Nerd spoke it.
"We know your name is Bernardo Fortini," I translated, "and that you are a Physicist. What were you doing in Holland, and why were you trying to leave outside official channels?"
"I've had threats," he told me in Italian, but slowly. "Against me and my family."
"He says he has been threatened. Him and his family."
"By whom?"
I turned back to Fortini. "Who is trying to hurt you?"
"Gangsters, I think. They wanted me to work for somebody, and I refused."
"He says gangsters threatened his family because he wouldn't work for someone."
"Did he say who?"
"Who did the gangsters want you to work for?"
"A bad man from the GDR but I would not."
"He says he doesn't know, but it could be someone from the German Bloc."
"Sozi's," she snorted and shook her head. She pointed to the other passengers. "Does he know any of the rest of these people? When did he meet them?"
I translated.
"I know the French woman. We met Larson coming into Amsterdam. He took us to a bar, then out to the country in a truck."
"When did you meet the others?"
"The Communists?" He clearly meant the other four, the ones from beyond the Iron Curtain.
"Yes. They are from the Eastern Bloc, are they not?"
He nodded. "Later."
"Heywood, you wouldn't be asking questions of your own, would you?"
"No, ma'am. You asked a two-part question."
"Okay. Just checking. Carry on."
Fortini continued.
"Larson took us to a field, a big burnt-out wheat field big enough for a rocket to land. One landed and the others got off. It took off again."
"He says he met the woman in Amsterdam, and a man named Larson..."
"Wait," Judge Roemer interjected. "Is this Larson, the Astrogator?"
"Was this the same man who was sitting on Captain Athalson's right, at this table?"
I translated. Bernardo nodded.
"He met Larson in Amsterdam and they went north in a truck. They met a rocket in a field and the others got out."
"These four?"
"Yes."
"What about Larson," Roemer interrupted again.
"We'll get to that," Cannesmore scolded him. "Don't cloud the waters."
They were as bad as teenagers. It must be like the old saw that Doctors make the worst patients.
The Commodore asked what happened after that.
"What next?"
"Then another ship came and we all got on." He shrugged. "It flew away and now we're here."
[CONTINUED]
