[59--Refugees]

[CONTINUED]

That was all he could tell us. 

When I was done questioning Fortini, Cannesmore moved on to the French woman.

"What is your name?"

"LeBron," she said in a heavy accent it was hard for me to follow.  She gave me a pathetic look.  "May I have a cigarette?  My nerves," she explained.

I translated and asked the Commodore her question.

"No," I supplied her answer.  "There is absolutely no smoking in this space station.  The Commodore would like to know your occupation."

"I am an auzzor," she said, and I wasn't sure at first what she meant.  Her French was unlike anything I'd heard, like her chin weighed too much for her to close her mouth all the way.  Perhaps it was not accent, but a regiolect.

"An author?"

There was a famous lesbian author name LeBron who was French.  She was about the right age.

"Oui."

"Why were you in Amsterdam without your passport, Ms. LeBron?"

"I have had threats from the...religious zealots...from Barcelona.  They do not like my characterization of their Church.  They come to Languedoc, and threaten me with violence."

Now I recognized her; it was Cecili LeBron.  Spain had gone over to the Fascists after the German Empire collapsed—she was its harshest critic and lived just across the French border. 

Spanish authorities had even gone so far as to say she was smuggling gays in and out of Spain.

"But why Amsterdam?"

"I went first to Belgium, because they speak French and I have friends there, but one of them followed me, I think.  I also speak Dutch, so I went to Holland.  It's how you get out of Europe."

I translated it all back. 

"Ask her what happened."

"After you went to Holland, what happened?"

"I met Bernardo, and Lars.  We went to a club and he hid us in a truck and drove us out to the country.  I think he was afraid, because he kept looking behind him and in the bushes.  He had a gun."

I told this to the Commodore, and added "her story corroborates Fortini's."

"Very well, ask them both for a statement, in their own language, their own words.  I'll ask them to swear on them, under penalty of perjury."

I gave them both a pencil and several sheets of paper and translated Cannesmore's instructions.

"These last four speak German, though we don't know exactly who they are, they appear to be refugees fleeing the GDR."

They were two pairs, an adult and a child each.  I decided to try with the youngest first.

"Good evening, Mein Herr," I addressed him formally, "How are you doing?"

He had his face buried in the crook of his guardian's arm.  He opened a single eye and mumbled into the cloth.

"Excuse me," I patted him on the arm.  "Can I ask you a few questions?  You'll have to stop eating your daddy's arm, but I got some cotton candy for a good boy who will take the time to answer them."

He laughed and lifted his head. 

"I'm not eating my Daddy's arm."

"Okay," I told him, and tousled his hair. "What is your name?"

"Joshua."

"I will answer your questions," his father interrupted, picking the boy up and swinging him to the opposite hip.  "Do not try to manipulate my through him."

"Very well," I told him, standing up.  "What is your name?"

"I am Heinrich Furstin."

Your last name is Princess?

"What is your profession, Mr. Furstin?"

"I am a soldier, or was.  I mostly fight against the war now."

"What war?  Where are you and your son from?"

"Salzburg."

Salzburg was in Nazi Austria, not exactly behind the curtain, but just as difficult to flee.  No wonder these people took rockets—you either made it or got killed outright.  No languishing in the Stalag.

"So tell me about your trip.  How did you come to be in Holland?"

"I paid Lars to get me and my son out.  He just recently came to me.  His mother was Jewish."

I noticed he said 'was'.

"We met Pawel and his sister in Salzburg, they were fleeing too.  Lars has a rocket of his own.  His pilot flew us to a field in Holland.  We boarded the Jitterbug there."

Commodore Cannesmore had heard enough from Heinrich.  She directed me to question Pawel.

"What is your name?"

"I am Pawel Gregor Zhentarski, and I am from occupied Poland.  I am taking a terrible risk, running from the GDR, but I flee for my Jadwiga's  sake."

"Jadwiga is your sister?"

"My dearest sister, and my only family.  The Sozi's have killed all the others."

"And you met Mr. Furstin in Salzburg?"

"Yes, we crossed the border in a honey wagon, specially made to hide secret passengers."

That must've been revolting.

"Why are you fleeing Poland, Mr. Zhentarski?"

"They use her to get to me.  Every day they threaten to hurt Jadwiga, until I say I will do work for them."

"What sort of work?"

"Experiments.  They want me to finish Dr. Mengele's work."

"Why you?"

"Because I am the best there is.  I know human biology better than anyone else in the Warsaw Pact."

"You seem pretty young."

"I am not so young.  I should have Nobel Prize if I lived in another country."

"Why is that?"

"I told you, I am the best there is."

"And after Salzburg, what happened?"

"We landed in Lars' Aussteigen and moved to the Jitterbug.  I think Lars was planning on going back to his rocket, but something happened."

"What was that?"

"I don't know, but he went outside and I could hear shouting.  We left in a hurry.  I heard the First Officer say we were being shot at."

"This Lars; is he the man who was just here, the Astrogator?"

"Yes.  And he wasn't on the Jitterbug as a crewman; he has his own ship."

"You are sure?"

"Yes, we rode in it from Salzburg to Amsterdam; he was with us.  His name is not Heidegar Larson, it's Lars."

"What is his last name?"

"I don't know."

"I think that's enough for now," the Commodore said.  "Please tell them we are done with them for now.  Ask them to write out their statements before they leave.  I will find them suitable quarters on Level 95."

She looked at the three judges.

"We will adjurn for the evening, Your Honors.  I will ask that each of you write up a preliminary legal opinion tonight and file it with my secretary in the morning.

"I intend to make my ruling tomorrow, but I want your input now.  I will give you a chance to amend them as we learn more.  I want to fingerprint the three crew members, especially this Lars.  So, I will see you all at, whatsay 08:00?  No sense in getting up early."

A security detail came in and took the passengers away.  The rest of us got up to leave.

"Dani," the Commodore asked me in English as I was gathering up my notes.  "Could I ask you to stay after class?  I have an even better cook than Hector does, and access to fresh fruits and vegetables.  I believe he is thawing a leg of lamb for supper.  Would you care to join me?"