61: Amnesty

Vice Admiral Cochran pursed his lips as he checked his notes again.

“And so, on the charges of espionage and conspiracy against the Confederacy, I hereby find Lieutenant Samuel Patrick Kelly, and Staff Sergeant Viggo Maxwell Kelly… not-guilty.  The accused are hereby cleared of all charges.  Court is adjourned.”

There was a polite smattering of applause from the small audience.  Vig slumped in his chair and laughed, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.  He and Sam had both had their hair cut to grooming standards and their best formal uniforms shipped in for the trial.

Sam thanked Lieutenant Carson and shook his hand warmly.

“I owe you one, mate.”

“No trouble,” grinned the New Britannic lawyer.  “It’s my job.”

Lieutenant-Commander Casey walked up the center aisle to their bench.  He too thanked Carson, who then went to shake hands and chat with his colleague on the prosecution.  Vig got to his feet, and he and his brother both saluted Casey, who returned it with a smile.

“I’m glad that’s over,” chuckled Casey.

“So am I, sir,” agreed Vig.

“Thing is, the real work’s not done yet.  I have something to discuss with you two, and someone you have to meet.  We can’t talk about it here.”

As they walked out of the courthouse, Sam paused on the granite steps to stare up at the bright, blue sky.  The weather was unnaturally fine for New Britannia.  Vig and Casey waited for him, looking up at him with puzzled looks.  He raised his arms to the sun and grinned like a madman.

It was good to be free.

Lt.Cmdr. Casey led Sam and Vig across the naval base on foot, and they arrived shortly at one of the many administrative buildings.  Casey had managed to get hold of a meeting room.

“Make yourselves comfortable, guys.  Tea and coffee in the kitchen.  I’ll be back soon.”

He slipped out, leaving the brothers to their own devices.  Aside from sitting quietly at the bench for the last week, they hadn’t seen much of each other, having been kept in separate cells since leaving Haiti-Nouveau three weeks before.  They’d become intimately familiar with the brigs of several frigates, corvettes, supply ships and destroyers as they were passed from hand to hand to bring them to New Britannia.

“So, how you been?” asked Sam.

“Not bad.  Running for my life for the last eight months.  You?”

“Same.  God, I hate those mutants.  I found that cache you left, and I met the Kthuu that rescued you.  What happened to the four in the bunker?”

“Huh?”

“We found four skeletons and a big pool of blood.”

“Oh, right.  Yeah, the so-called ‘surveyors’ were Socialist spies.  I have no idea what they were hoping to achieve down there, but they kept banging on about a ‘secret’ hidden in the hills.  They were all completely bonkers.  They assumed straight away that I was one of them, because how else would I have found them?  I dunno, uh, maybe by accident?  Or maybe I was sent expecting genuine surveyors?” he laughed sarcastically.

Sam chuckled and got up from his chair.  “Coffee?”

“Please.”

“So what happened to them in the end?” he continued, making his way to the kitchenette.

“They finally got it into their heads that I wasn’t a Socialist, and there was a bit of an argument.  They were out for blood, and there was a fight.  One of them wound up dead, but the fight got broken up pretty quickly.”

“By who?”

“Oh, someone left the door open, and a couple of mutants came in for a look.  They laid into us, started eating people.  It was pretty damn horrific.”

Sam stuck his head out of the kitchenette to stare at his brother, slightly shocked at the nonchalance with which he said it.  Sam guessed it was some sort of coping mechanism.  “Uh, so, you escaped?”

“Yeah, I managed to get out of the bunker and run like a nutcase down the mountain.  It was mid-morning, so the mutants were pretty quiet.  I made my way back up, and waited until the mutants racked off, then went in and locked up again.  I collected all of the dead guys’ ID cards, but then I lost them on Ispania.  Anyway, how was your stay on the Anus of the Galaxy?”

Sam brought out two mugs of rot-gut Navy coffee, just as the door opened and Casey returned with a Marine Brigadier General in tow.  Vig jumped to his feet and stood to attention, as did Sam.

“Tell you later,” muttered Sam quickly.

The General stepped into the room and looked around, as though scanning for hidden microphones with his eyes.  Finally, he looked at the brothers.

“Brigadier Wallis, this is Lieutenant Sam Kelly, and Staff Sergeant Vig Kelly,” said Casey quietly.

Sam and Vig snapped to a crisp, precise salute, which Brig. Wallis returned smoothly.

“At ease, boys,” he said in a calm, easy tone.  His accent was Canadian.  “Mister Casey, I think you mean Lieutenant-Commander Sam Kelly and Gunnery Sergeant Vig Kelly.”

Vig and Sam grinned.

“Have a seat, boys,” said the Brigadier.  “We need to talk.”