The Liar's Tale, by Lannah Battley

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THE LIAR'S TALE

by Lannah Battley

Lorenz observed the woman through the spy-hole.

Bright reflections from the hygienic surfaces made him squint and feel glad that he had no need to live inside a steel box. Underfoot, shiny tinplate sloped to the central drainage grille and a gleaming gun-metal shelf bolted to one wall served as a bed. Nothing was movable apart from the prisoner. She sat still, however, with her elbows resting on the table, fingers woven through short tufty hair, the picture of despair.

As the sliding door clanged shut behind him, Lorenz perched opposite her on the smooth comfortless seat which, like the cold metallic table was bolted to the floor.

He talked gently. 'You don't understand the seriousness of the charge, Kara.'

'I do.'

He talked tough. 'You could die! The penalty for lying on this planet is death.'

'Yes. I was brought up on Luthera.'

'What can have possessed your sister to report you to the authorities?'

'Many things. Jealousy, resentment, loss of face.'

'Why did Aurora feel like that?'

'It's too complicated to explain.'

'Kara, we need to know! And why did she nominate the piece called "Castaway" for special investigation?'

'Because I told her it was just a story.'

Lorenz groaned. Somebody craved his scalp. His career had spiralled upward. The brilliant young advocate acquiring nothing but prestigious prosecutions until asked to defend this impossibly hopeless case. The lawyer began to realise why defending counsel were so few on Luthera. Sooner or later, their positions became untenable.

Now he experienced the feelings of every accused: the certainty of conviction and condemnation. What sort of defence existed? Only the one his enemies wanted.

Lorenz sighed. 'To defend you, I'll have to commit a similar offence myself. They'll concentrate on Castaway. What's on your record and what isn't will be important. You never actually had any military experience?"

'None. All my space experience was commercial with Interplanetary Freight.'

'Then we'll have to fabricate some. If we can convince the court that your story is fact a biographical account, then there's a good chance of clearing your name. I'll see what I can sort out about your employment record and a variety of other things then come back this evening to make more plans.'

His smooth dark head came close to her tousled blonde-grey as he pressed her hand.

Thumping on the entry, Lorenz waited for the warder to look through the spy-hole then sidled across the narrow gap briefly offered. His heeltaps echoed along rule-straight corridors to the Central Record Unit.

Later, at home, he settled into a yielding armchair with a strong drink and began to reread "Castaway".

* * *

Remove legs at the first joint. Slit skin along the belly and detach from flesh before working away from the hind legs. Pull towards head and forelimbs, easing clear of the carcass.

Easy, huh? I had little loopy snares all over my side of the island but the fear of Ingram arriving to dish out retribution cramped my style as the mighty hunter.

But woman must eat. With emergency rations, water flowing abundantly and a vast choice of vegetation I'd survived. After three days, a tiny rabbit appeared in one of my traps, making me whoop for joy. I cooked it on the slim, cylindrical Heat-Facility from my suit's inner pockets.

"Press Section A to release stand. Place on flat area or clamp for stability. Slide B to fan out upper container. Push C to heat. Use D to adjust temp."

Neat diagram and a lot easier than skinning a rabbit.

Despite my ineptitude, the meat tasted wonderful and as I sat overlooking the beach with the sun setting and breakers crashing, life seemed a little better. My jubilation had allowed me to forget the Commander for a while but I knew not to be complacent. The bastard would catch up with me sooner or later.

INGRAM: Supreme Commander Ingram Ingram brought to a successful close the long siege of the planet Romulus, acquiring for Ithaca and the Ithacan system much needed fertile territory. Tragically, after ten years campaigning, the Galaxy Hero's flagship, the Steeliteheart, was lost during the return journey. It is believed that the vessel's motion system failed. There are indications that Commander Ingram and his crew coasted on auxiliary to Remus (q.v), the nearest planet likely to sustain life. [See also "Terraplanet Wars"].

Something like that. Some female crew referred to him as the Supreme Groper. If you rejected his advances he made you out a useless officer. Welcoming overtures, however, meant advancement. Despite such peccadilloes, many admired him as a capable commander and strategist.

Remus had breathable atmosphere and looked attractive from orbit with mountains, lakes and vegetation. Half the crew, me included, descended in scoutcars to establish camp and find much needed food resources. We made for the larger of two major continents, a huge land mass which looked like a Catherine wheel throwing out great spatterings of islands into the vast green oceans.

'Why's this place never been colonized?' muttered the suspicious-minded.

We soon discovered. Having almost made landfall, a devastating tempest plucked us up and tossed and buffeted the scout way off course.

Scoutcars are built to survive on almost any surface. Plunging into the dark Remusian sea was frightening but we soon resurfaced and maintained a crackly vocal contact with the mothership. Though unable to lift off while the storm blew, the worst we expected to suffer was sea-sickness and a few bruises from loosened gear skidding up and down the deckings.

Instead, we landed up on a jagged rock. The scout broke up, despite the enormous tensile strength of its outer skin. The sound of the Abandon Ship came as a shock. I'd never heard one for real in all my years as a fighting woman.

Bobbing to the surface from an escape tube, my inflatable blossomed with a sharp tug of the ripcord just as in a lifetime of drills. Unlike practices in space, the craft bucked like a demented see-saw. After hauling myself in by the attach-line, I strapped up and surveyed the mountainous seas from a crest.

Far ahead, other flates, tiny specks, corkscrewed. Meanwhile, to stern a vast black wall of water swept towards me. When I'd ridden it out and lifted up the further side of the following trough, the others had disappeared.

Plunging once more, a helmet appeared in the sea, slithering at speed along the side of the flatable, face down, body beneath. Desperately I unzipped the port, stretched out and grasped a waterlogged shoulder-strap. Hauling amid cascades of ocean, the deadweight tumbled through the trap. When I managed to turn the bulky form over, it proved to be Ingram. A horrible shock! The last person I'd wish to save. He was coming round and I didn't feel ruthless enough to tip him back in the ocean.

Continually pounded, we were driven at last in lowering darkness upon a shelving coast which, by daylight, proved to be a picture-idyll of long, treelined, sandy beaches. Unfortunately, horrendous screechings echoed from inland. I walked miles along the shore in both directions looking for a way around the trees. Meanwhile, Ingram attempted to contact the other scoutcars and the mothership.

The flate contained a lot of survival equipment and converted according to Instruction Code Z94 into a dwelling but I elected to sleep in full spacesuit outside.

'What's the matter, Lieutenant? Don't you trust me? If we're going by the book then I'll swing seniority and order you to penetrate the tree cover in the morning to find water inland. Water purification tablets won't last forever and, let's face it, you're not making a very good job of finding any other way round. Draw your sidearm when you reach the trees.'

At dawn, helmet hooked at the waist, I stepped from daylight into green luminosity and toiled up a consistently steep gradient, pressing blue markers into alien tree-trunks. Why I needed to brave the forest alone was perfectly clear to me. Ingram knew I'd never submit to his advances. He'd tried plenty of times in the past. This was my punishment. On top of still being a lieutenant. Also, though he might be a great strategist, I suspected that when it came to real action he might be a coward. Hearing the wild animal noises had probably decide him on not chancing his arm in the interior.

He needn't have worried. My path emerged at last into a stony clearing. A large bird with trailing tail feathers fled into the underbrush. Another suddenly appeared and let out the horrifying shriek which had kept us out of the woodland. The first creature returned and the second swung its long tattered tail into the air and splayed it open like a giant fan of playing cards. What had been dull and dusty was revealed as an iridescently purple ten of spades. The two birds went off screeching into the trees.

At evening, I emerged onto a high plateau. A panoramic view revealed the geography of an island. Dense treetops spread in all directions, affording the occasional glimpse of surf-fringed beaches and beyond, an endless expanse of dark green sea.

Without a flate, I slept in my suit with helmet half adjusted and woke to the sound of water. The stream cascaded down the further side of the hill and led me in the course of the day to the sea and a smooth beach where gentle night-time waves lulled me to sleep. The next night, on my return jouney, I slept on the plateau again and filled two waterskins from the stream the following morning.

Despite efforts every evening, the Communications Stud on my collar failed to pick up Ingram or anybody else. Desperately hoping for other survivors I left the Comstud in Receive.

Back on the beach, the Commander was still alone, pacing back and forth, a zip-rifle hanging loosely from his hand. As soon as I approached and spoke to him, worried as to what might have happened, he turned, pointed the gun at me and snarled. 'You're under arrest, Lieutenant.'

'Arrest! Why?'

'Desertion.'

'How can that be? I explored inland on your orders.'

'But you've been away three nights. A dangerous thing with the two of us split up and surrounded by potentially lethal animals.'

I threw down the skins hauled from the spring. 'The water was a long way, Commander, and heavy.'

Insubordination. Arguing with a senior officer... (Section B37).

Incensed by his attitude, I failed to tell him about the peacocks or that we were on an island.

"DISCIPLINARY CODE Section B55: To withhold information of significance from an officer in circumstances necessitating full facts, constitutes Dereliction of Duty..."

'You're confined to barracks, Lieutenant. Relinquish all weapons.'

I threw my handgun on the sand.

'Fighting knife?'

'Lost at sea.'

'Typical.'

That was rich! He arrived on the island only thanks to me and with no survival gear of his own.

'Zip-rifle?'

'You hold it, Commander. It's from my flate. And the knife at your belt.'

'Get inside the flate. Remove your spacesuit and place it by the entrance. I shall then come and interview you.'

Ah-oh! This sounded like a Handy Andy technique: confined to barracks, give up your weapons, take off your clothes.

A hasty search of the flate's interior pouches produced emergency food capsules and snares which fitted neatly into the inner pockets of my suit. Quickly disrobing, I snapped helmet and suit into a carry-loop. A utility knife, found among cooking equipment, slid neatly out of sight under a squab as Ingram entered.

"DISCIPLINARY CODE Section P74: The penalty for assaulting a colleague is imprisonment in a Military Jail for a period of one year. Subsequent offences incur higher penalties and the risk of expulsion from the Space Service."

'You could make life so much easier for yourself, Lieutenant. If we shared this flate as sexual partners to our mutual satisfaction then the military charge could be dropped.'

'I'm a soldier, Commander, not a prostitute.'

'You've always been the one for me. So that we could be alone, I never even attempted to contact the ship or the others lost overboard.'

'Then you're a damn fool. ("B47: Verbally Abusing a Superior.") There must be something in the manual forbidding an officer from neglecting his crew for the sake of personal pleasure.'

'Careful, Lieutenant!' he whispered. 'Duty and discipline dictate that you accept the way of living prescribed by your superior officer.'

Suddenly, Ingram sprang making me stumble as his far heavier body weight landed upon me.

'What does the book say about raping junior officers?' I screamed.

'You're asking for it, Lieutenant. You're tongue's hanging out for it.'

Though a high-ranking officer, there was nothing rusty about his combat technique. Grappling on the floor, employing every dirty trick known to fighting woman, his bulk sapped my strength. Suddenly, Ingram lifted himself to rip at my undersuit. Seeing the opening, I rolled, kicked and threw.

His knife clicked open as he bounced back off the flate wall, his reactions far faster than anticipated. Scrabbling too late for my own pitiful knife, his full weight flopped upon me again. To risk a serious wounding seemed madness with no professional medical care at hand.

My only option was submission. My state of mind alternated between hatred and self-disgust. When Ingram squirmed off me, wild fury took over. That and my hidden knife gave me the slight advantage of surprise. I slashed him halfway up his forearm, making him howl with pain and rage then shoved him over while he was off-balance. I grabbed my suit bundle and fled up the beach and into the trees.

"DISCIPLINARY CODE Section P75: The penalty for assaulting a superior officer is imprisonment for five years in a Military Jail, followed by Expulsion with Ignominy from the Space Service. A longer incarceration may be imposed at the discretion of the Court Martial President."

No mention of provocation! Anyway, what chance the word of a lieutenant against a Galaxy Hero?

I removed my blue marker trail as it led me all the way back to the stream and, reaching there by dusk, deemed it safe to halt and wash away Ingram's dregs.

My new, solitary life on the other side of the island had its constraints. A permanent fire for cooking would also have been an excellent signal to would-be rescuers but Ingram might detect the smoke. My only signal was a huge SOS mapped out on My Beach with a snapped off branch and heaped over with rocks, seaweed, anything which could attract an overflying craft.

Cooking with the little Heat-Facility produced no smoke or flame but I fretted that the aroma would betray my whereabouts.

"INSTRUCTION Z48: For the sake of hygiene and tidiness, burn or bury bones and entrails not used for stock. Food scraps could attract unwelcome carrion-seeking animals."

Ingram had the only spade.

One evening, a sudden sensation of being watched made me grab the knife, my only weapon and always within reach, and roll behind a boulder. There was no zip of a rifle-shot. In the golden glow of the setting sun, two eyes gleamed. My heart beat fast as a feline slid past my bivouac to the rubbish dump, depository of putrefying rabbit innards.

Tawny-furred and not quite big enough to be a threat, the cat had pointed ears sprouting long tufts of hair. The creature, a lynx perhaps, gnawed blissfully, eyes closed, head to one side.

'Here, Puddy, Puddy, Puddy,' I whispered.

The cat gave me an irritated glance and slunk off into the trees.

"INSTRUCTION Z39: Be prepared in difficult survival conditions to consider all manner of plants and animals, which initially might seem abhorrent, as potential food."

Never once did I consider the cat for the pot although she began to visit my camp regularly. Instead, she enjoyed lights and other scraps during food preparation and the occasional cooked titbit thrown at her feet. Her femininity was simply a presumption based on the dainty way she washed her bloodstained paws after gorging on rabbit entrails.

Her name metamorphosed from Puddy to Purdy.

The wind tore my bracken bivouac to shreds one night. By morning, a full gale made me clasp the bole of a tree, the only effective method to avoid being swept away. The storm blew stronger and howled louder inside the wood, perhaps due to a wind tunnel effect. Yet many of the tree-trunks were several metres in diameter so the forest had survived the planet's weather over countless years.

Purdy pranced by, tail high, and leapt up a tree. Deciding to follow her example, I found that climbing the smooth bark presented difficulties for me.

The blue markers now came into their own. Some were already incorporated in my SOS. One by one, I extracted the rest from my outer pockets and used them like pitons to climb upwards.

Fighting through masses of ribbon-like foliage which swayed with my every movement, I emerged into a different world, a moving green cathedral whose lofty vaulting whispered constantly. Plantain fonts, leafy balconies, bosky walkways and living floor-boards quivered in a stiff breeze.

Tentatively standing upright, I balanced along a wide moss-covered branch to an arboreal pulpit and wedged myself in the upper section until the nave stopped moving and verdant light dimmed to blackness bringing sleep.

* * *

In the vestry, Ingram jumped out on me from a pile of hassocks. I fell to the floor screaming and wrestling but nothing would shift him. His hands mauled and kneaded me. Though my head twisted rapidly from side to side his viscid, probing tongue found mouth, ears, eyes. Suddenly aware of a knife in my hand, I ripped his body from crotch to heart. His saturating blood began to drown me in a crimson sea. Wallowing helplessly beside the hulk of the scoutcar on a silty red seabed, a jagged edge of the wreck ground my face in time with the swell.

I awoke to find Purdy giving me a loving but painfully abrasive wash.

The pulpit became home. Up there, Ingram was less likely to stumble across me, particularly after I'd found easier routes into the canopy and removed the tell-tale markers.

A hot calm followed. The storm had honed my SOS almost smooth. Each day at dawn, I'd check my traps then labour on the beach with the Heat-Facility and the Comstud lapping up the sun. By midday, fierce heat drove me to the cool greenness of the pulpit where I fashioned new snares to replace those swept away by the storm. There were always spares in my pockets.

"INSTRUCTION Z21: Retain as much equipment for survival as possible about your person in case a precipitous retreat becomes necessary. Spacesuit pockets and pouches, both internal and external, are there to be used."

Constantly moving through the canopy, I learnt to leap from branch to branch with great fluency. Though a novice compared to Purdy, she seemed to delight in my new-found skill. We played stalking games through the leaf cover until she grew bored and stretched along a bough, one paw dangling nonchalantly.

With the SOS restored, there was more time to consider priorities.

Z Instructions recommended stranded personnel leave their Comstud in Transmit. An open invitation to Ingram in my circumstances. Mine remained in the pulpit set to Receive, the theory being that up there, if any signal sounded with Ingram in the vicinity, he would have difficulty locating the direction.

Of course, a fire should be burning as a beacon in a prominent position, belching thick smoke into the sky by day and burning bright at night. Ingram made such a thing impossible. The more I thought about it the more intolerable it seemed. The only solution was to return to Ingram's Beach. If other survivors had turned up there I'd feel reasonably safe and might feel bold enough to denounce him. Otherwise, I'd have to work out how to kill him even though he had a zip rifle and a fighting knife compared to my paltry kitchen knife. My one advantage was the ability to move rapidly through the canopy like a cat, unheard and unseen.

My first recce coincided with sweltering weather and, wearing only an undersuit, I moved through the canopy towards the island's central plateau spiking in markers from my helmet hitched at the waist and keeping the watercourse within earshot. After only ten minutes, came the unmistakable zizz of a zip-rifle.

Easing myself onto a branch with a view of the stream, a marker dropped to the ground. About to descend, Ingram suddenly materialised below and I drew back into the foliage.

He wore a filthy undersuit. Ragged bandages swathed his arm and ammunition belts criss-crossed his sweat-stained chest. Mad-eyed, lean with stubbly beard and hollow cheeks, the Commander clung to the zip-rifle as if it were a life-raft.

Seeing the blue disc, he sprang forward with an exclamation of satisfaction then called, 'Lieutenant! Come out! I won't harm you. No hard feelings!' But his rifle was held at the ready and his eyes gleamed vindictively. After pacing round like a caged animal he leapt at the marker and kicked it in fury.

'Damn you, Lieutenant! I'll find you and have my fill of you. Then you'll suffer! Every indignity. Before you die. Before I eat you. When they come to rescue me I'll say, "Lieutenant? What lieutenant?"' And he cackled crazily.

Silently retreating, my helmet caught on a branch. Markers clattered and bounced against branches and tree-trunk to land at Ingram's feet.

He let out a bellow of triumph.

Heart bumping, I swarmed up into the higher canopy.

Ingram struggled into my translucent, green world and began to follow the trail of markers. I'd knife and helmet on me. Nothing more.

"INSTRUCTION Z21: I'd knife and helmet on me. Nothing more. Retain as much equipment for survival as possible about your person..."

Silently cursing my clumsiness, I watched in despair from the cathedral's vaulted ceiling as he traversed the nave and climbed the pulpit. Ingram reached inside and lifted my spacesuit like a trophy but let go as a snarling creature rose up.

The Commander backed away as Purdy arched her back, displaying a jaggedly erect tail and bared fangs. His rifle fell to the transept floor and bounced before rattling through a crevice into the notional crypt.

Looking around in panic, he jumped to the aisle and scrabbled around for a way down while Purdy stood with fur on end, spitting hate. Before long, Ingram stumbled through a gap joining his weapon below.

'I'll be back, you bitch!' he howled.

More than likely the Commander would return in his space suit, armour enough against a tiger and attempt to shoot Purdy for the pot. I rearranged the markers to lead from the stream to somewhere totally irrelevant then moved from the pulpit, with some sadness, to a small niche with the advantage of overlooking My Beach.

As we sat over our evening rabbit, I pondered how long it might be before he returned. The trip to His Beach and back could take four days. On the other hand, if Ingram had moved camp to the plateau where there was water and where a cooking fire would also provide a good marker signal for would-be rescuers then he might return within two days.

A climb to the roof of the forest next day would confirm whether smoke rose from the plateau. Warning enough of the Commander's more rapid return. Perhaps I'd work out a way to lead Ingram by way of the markers into a lethal trap.

That night, the wind blew strong and claws and fingers splayed, Purdy and I clung on as the canopy bucked and swayed.

A calming dawn brought fitful sleep until a great pinging sound began to reverberate through the canopy.

Purdy leapt from the niche and fled.

As the bleep kept repeating, monotonous, loud, insistent, shock subsided into comprehension. The Comstud was at last picking up a signal.

I gazed at it mesmerized. Could the Commander be tempting me to reveal my whereabouts? Was he listening close by for the giveaway signal, waiting to pounce?

As my hand hovered over the off button, the tone died and a casual voice began to speak: 'This is Rescue Ship Hermes at thirty six macros, homing in and observing the surface of Remus. We're searching for survivors of the battleship Steeliteheart. If you hear us, please switch to Send and make yourselves known.'

I kept quiet, waiting and listening. There was no reply from Ingram.

'This is Rescue Ship Hermes at thirty four macros, homing in and observing the surface...'

Ingram could never produce this relaxed voice.

Thirty three macros, thirty two.

Purdy returned cautiously and sniffed at the bed.

Thirty one. I'd have to make my presence known soon and so would Ingram. If he was on the plateau, the ship might see him.

Thirty macros. I must be rescued first!

Transmission of a brief greeting, name and rank, brought an immediate response.

'Your communication received! How many are you? We have very limited space in the first instance.'

'There are two of us. Me and the Commander.'

'We're monitoring weather conditions as we descend. Touchdown and lift-off must be very swift. As you know, this is a dangerous planet for landings.'

'Agreed.'

'Your signal's clear, Lieutenant, and we're receiving a homing bleep from your Comstud. Muster immediately at a suitable landing place. No luggage. Communicators must be on your persons and in Receive.'

Half expecting Ingram to leap out, I scurried down the beach and stood beside the windswept SOS feeling exposed.

On a sudden impulse, after unclipping the communicator and throwing it onto the sand, I rushed back to the niche. Purdy, recovered from the alien noise, was curled on the bed. Sweeping her up, I'd slid her inside my half zipped spacesuit before she realised what was happening and, humming all the while, slithered to the ground. She struggled a little but began to purr as we waltzed down the beach to a hoarsely crooned dance tune.

A small, silent craft landed neatly in the middle of the 'O' of the SOS.

Purdy squirmed and dug in her claws but I gritted my teeth and kept her clasped firmly to my breast. As we approached the rescue ship, a port slid open and a head appeared. Darting eyes took in my status flashes.

'Make it snappy, Lieutenant,' called my rescuer. 'Get the Commander here soonest. We've got to lift off within minutes.'

'This is the Commander.' I nodded at the cat in my arms. 'Commander Purdy, my constant companion.'

'A full-blown Commander, eh?' he laughed. 'Get strapped in fast. And that animal, too. I didn't see it, okay?'

The craft rose. I looked down on the receding island. No smoke was visible on the plateau.

"DISCIPLINARY CODE Section B55: To withhold significant information in circumstances necessitating full facts, constitutes Dereliction of Duty. Penalties range from one month's imprisonment in a Military Jail to the death sentence where the lives of other personnel are jeopardised."

Commander Purdy and I have lived happily ever after. My property on Ithaca has in its grounds a large and complicated jungle-gym incorporating much foliage and covered by translucent green synthetic. We often disport ourselves there. Our neighbours are tolerant. They expect the sole survivor of the Steeliteheart to be slightly crackpot.

* * *

'Lies! All lies!' shouted the Prosecutor. 'We can trace no planets bearing the names in the document or any military vessel called the Steeliteheart.'

'Hardly surprising,' replied Lorenz. 'The universe is much bigger than the Prosecutor comprehends. The Ithacan system is beyond the reach of Luthera's space technology. Perhaps I should apply for an adjournment to bring in the necessary experts?'

'Certainly not. I'm content to proceed. We have other inconsistencies to follow up. We cannot trace this particular species of lynx, for instance.'

'The animal, called a caracal, still exists on Earth. The Romans once used the cats for hunting in desert areas.'

Lorenz had chosen the now unfamiliar name from an obscure reference work to 'identify' Purdy, thinking it might wrong foot the prosecution. Therefore he felt very gratified when the Prosecutor sent minions scurrying to scour reference texts before calling Aurora.

'My sister started writing when she returned to Luthera after retiring from Interplanetary Freight. "Castaway" particularly impressed me and I mentioned it to a friend as an exciting, if difficult, period in my sister's life.'

'With what result?'

'He spoke to Kara about her adventures marooned on Remus. My sister told him that none of it had happened. My friend, rather peeved, told me. I was mortified. On speaking to Kara later, she laughed and said it was just a story.'

'A story?' interrupted the Arbiter. 'Like a press report?'

'No,' said Aurora. 'Just lies.'

There was a hush in the courtroom and Aurora looked around in sudden alarm.

Lorenz jumped up. 'Are you sure that you're not lying? Your sister returned to share the family home which had been solely yours till then. Her accounts of life in space and faraway places made her popular with your friends. Didn't her social success make you resentful and provoke you into getting her into trouble?'

'Why no!' said Aurora, genuinely shocked.

Lorenz sat down, aware that her sincerity had gone against him.

The usher called Kara.

'Caracals exist on Earth,' said the Prosecutor. 'Have you ever been there?'

'We had to put down there for repairs once.'

'For how long?'

'Seven years.'

'For repairs?'

'There was a war waging. We couldn't get off again.'

'What did you do all that time?'

'General maintenance duties and in our spare time watched video. But eventually boredom set in so I studied quite a lot: Earthian languages, old texts, stuff like that.'

'What other evidence is required?' the Prosecutor asked the Court. 'Earthians are notorious liars and they enmeshed this poor Lutheran in their ways.'

'Not proven and irrelevant,' shouted Lorenz.

'Then there is your personal record,' purred the Prosecutor. 'It shows that you served with Interplanetary Freight throughout your working life, never as a combatant.'

'After two years on Earth, I volunteered for the Neovegan Military Service. The only way to get off planet. Though against company rules, a colleague and an Earthian friend covered for me.'

'Neovegas is not Romulus or the equally mythical Remus.'

'After training, I was seconded into the Ithacan Space Force and felt thrilled to travel at last into deep space. Passing an endurance and survival test won me a junior officer posting to Romulus. The siege ended two years later.'

'According to the document "Castaway", you eventually spent the rest of your days on Ithaca with this...creature.'

'Clearly not the rest of my days. I had to return to Earth for the sake of my friends. Leaving Purdy on Ithaca was a wrench but she has a good home.'

Kara felt that Lorenz's version of her story transforming it into reality was working well so far but felt intensely worried that she might forget some of the important aspects of its complexities. However, when asked to explain some of the detail of "Castaway", she did so, giving the Prosecutor a contemptuous look for his ignorance.

'Hundreds of creatures were transported to Remus when it was used as an animal reserve. The scheme didn't last long because landing and lift-off were so hazardous. Many craft crash-landed. Rabbits, peacocks and the single caracal probably reached the island from a wrecked transporter like me.'

Kara tried to relax but stress seemed to be knotting her neck and shoulder muscles and she felt ready to scream.

'These things should be made clear,' snapped the Prosecutor. 'True writing should give the relevant facts. The quotations from instruction manuals in your account are excellently factual but as for the rest...

The writer's reaction to her Commander's importunate advances, for example, is very suspect.'

'Advances! You know how women react, do you? I thought you dealt only in truth. How can you project yourself into another person's feelings on facts alone? To predict how someone might behave in a given situation calls for imagination. A kind of fiction!'

'Fiction! Is that what this piece of writing is?'

Kara felt her patience and self-control snap. 'Yes, yes, yes! Fiction! What's wrong with that? The ossified laws of Luthera are crazy!'

When the hubbub died down the Prosecutor said, 'Fiction, any fiction, is the first step to corruption and leads to the destruction of integrity.'

'There's no integrity here. People lie to convince others they're telling the truth. The whole system's truth is built on lies.'

Court ushers beat their gavels till the sudden uproar subsided.

'I urge immediate sentencing,' shouted the Prosecutor.

The Arbiter shook his head. 'The defendant has clearly changed her plea to guilty. The Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.'

'Pity you got mad,' muttered Lorenz later. 'I must be crazy to continue with your case but I'll do it. Aurora's rather attractive, isn't she?'

'What's that got to do with anything?'

'Your sister deeply regrets the position she's put you in.'

'How thoughtful!'

'She had no idea that the death penalty was still invoked for lying. After the adjournment, she'll refuse to appear for the prosecution. With the way the law stands, we can't say Aurora lied, so we'll suggest that she'd simply misunderstood what you said.'

'And turn herself into a true liar.'

'Unfortunately, the state will continue with the prosecution. When the court reconvenes you must again maintain that "Castaway" and all your writings are true. I shall plead insanity on your behalf.'

'Insanity!'

'Yes. The death penalty will be avoided and I'll be able to work on getting you an Exile Order. It'll be a long hard slog and you may not get to see me again in private. That's why I want you to accept any rare opportunities for visitors.'

'There's nobody who'd visit.'

'Yes. Aurora.'

'Aurora!'

'Please see her. It's important.'

The case took the course which Lorenz predicted.

A mental patient's accommodation proved to be identical to a criminal's. In her sterile, shiny cell, deprived of books, writing materials, anything which might relieve boredom, Kara's life was a limbo of elongated time.

She endured this eternity of glossy nothingness, clinging to sanity by creating further fictions within her head, until Aurora stepped diffidently over the threshold. Blinking in the harsh, metallic glare, her sister sat down and stared mournfully across the glittering table.

'Lorenz has gone.'

'Where?'

'Neovegas. He was about to be prosecuted for lying.'

'Hah!'

'On your behalf. He's been whipping up support for your Exile Order among writers on other planets but our administration hold all those people in contempt. It's made his position very difficult.'

'You seem to know an awful lot about his position.'

'I got to know him...quite well.'

'And now he's run out on both of us.'

'No! Lorenz said he was going to spin a web of lies of interplanetary proportions. It frightens me, Kara. Now he's asked me to smuggle this message.'

'Message?'

'The Neovegan Ambassador's been requesting your extradition on behalf of the Ithacan justice system over a long period. The Government's been saying you're of unsound mind, therefore can't face the rigours of a trial elsewhere.'

'So much for Lorenz's ploy.'

'But now Lorenz has arranged for a representative from Ithaca to attend a court hearing in person.'

'How very interesting,' said Kara, knowing that Ithaca only existed in her own imagination.

'And there's an excellent chance you'll be handed over to him. Lorenz said that providing you plead guilty to all accusations, there's a strong possibility that the Supreme Arbiter will grant extradition.'

'They'll never let me go.'

'Lorenz is determined to get you off planet, Kara, and when he does, I'm going to join him.'

'Join him now. Otherwise you might wait forever.'

'No! When this diplomat comes, they'll relent and you'll be taken to Ithaca.'

'Don't bank on it,' said Kara, smiling bleakly at her sister's gullibility.

Time stretched. An inexorable void in her glistening box. Kara began to think she would see nothing but its hard sheen ever again until one morning, warders came and hustled her to the High Court.

The Supreme Arbiter, dressed in full regalia, sat flanked by officials. Before him stood a middle-aged, dark-suited man and two youngish women wearing the black over-gown of legal office.

'You are summoned to the High Court in the interests of universal truth and justice,' intoned the Arbiter. 'Ithaca, on behalf of all the Ithacan Nations in the distant Meelai Galaxy, after making petition through the diplomats of various nearer planets and planetary federations, have now sent their own representative. The Ithacan Plenipotentiary will read the charges.'

The dark-suited diplomat spoke slowly in a dense foreign accent. 'Lieutenant Kara Oana, you are charged with dereliction of duty and that, by omission, you caused the death of a colleague. We now have proof positive that your superior officer died on the reservation planet Remus. His emaciated remains have recently been recovered and, as a result, we are again requesting an extradition order. I should tell you that our administration is determined that you shall return and stand trial for the murder of a Galaxy Hero, Supreme Commander Ingram Ingram.'

'This is not a trial but I must ask the prisoner, how do you plead?' said the Arbiter.

'Guilty,' Kara whispered.

Sitting beside the Arbiter, her former Prosecutor stared grimly. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.

'Hearing adjourned.'

Back in her cell, Kara paced. Her mind, so long deprived of any matter worth thinking about, suddenly whirled with apprehensions. If Lorenz could persuade so many people to lie on her behalf then perhaps corruption was the inevitable outcome of fiction. She tossed and turned all night.

Next morning, the Court proceedings were formal but brief. The designation 'unsound mind' was revoked and charges under Lutheran law set aside so that an immediate Exile Order could be issued. She was committed to the care of the Ithacan representative who nodded vindictively. Hurried through the building and into a closed van, Kara found herself sitting beside him.

The representative scowled but once the door shut he chuckled and, accent gone, whispered, 'Listen. When we reach the spaceport look dejected, bowed down. Whatever you do, don't smile.'

They emerged from the vehicle linked by handcuffs and, surrounded by his entourage, walked to the launch pad. Kara trailed along, hunched, reluctant, staring at the ground.

At the foot of the hatchway, stood the Prosecutor. Kara's heart gave a lurch. The plot had been uncovered and all was lost!

They drew level. She saw him smile for the first and only time.

'The truth will out,' he hissed as they began to climb.

BIOGRAPHY

Lannah Battley has had science fiction stories published in the Women's Press science fiction anthology Despatches from the Frontiers of the Female Mind and the magazines Substance and Noesis.

She has a BA Honours degree in the Humanities from the Open University and occasionally writes reviews of art exhibitions for the local press.

Her background has been diverse. Among other things, she has worked as a laboratory assistant in a research establishment, as an actress and stage manager, in libraries and as an administrator in a psychiatric hospital.

A Londoner by birth, she now lives in West Wales and concentrates on writing and hedonism.

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