There was silence, and he glanced down at the paper, before looking back at his boss and admitting, “I didn’t think they’d agree. Not so quickly.”
His words petered out under his boss’s glare, but he kept his head up. O’Brien hated people who tried to hide from her flak.
“That’s all very noble, Carter. They agreed because no one wants jurisdiction over this nightmare.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Carter steeled himself—
“But your thinking was excellent.” Carter raised his eyebrows as the chief went on, “I don’t want to hand the boys over. This is an Earth issue, not the GC’s; they’re just another set of bloody aliens.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Carter hoped he’d kept the surprise out of his voice.
She nodded. “You still overstepped your rank. For that, you can do the shit work on this. Arrange some sort of counsel for the boys and liaise with the GC. Find out what they’ll accept.” She paused. “It’s likely they’ll seek a life term.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A life term, at fifteen. His dismay must have shown because O’Brien’s eyes softened.
“We have to abide with the GC’s ruling on this one.” She looked down at the desk and scowled. “You can get in here tidied up, too, Carter; if you have meetings with the GC it can’t be a pigsty.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do it in your own time, Carter.” She frowned. “You do know the scale of what these boys have done? You know the Deklon system can’t sustain the continuation of the Zelotyr?”
Carter nodded. It was the reason the Zelo had come here: their planet had overheated to the extent where their hatchlings couldn’t spawn.
“There must be other planets, ma’am.” He looked up at the ceiling, and the bomb-damage crack running across reminded him of the little house earlier. “It’s a big galaxy, and they have faster-than-light ships.”
“The chance of the Zelotyr finding another planet within this generation’s lifespan is tiny. Unless they can find a way to overcome the virus—and to do that, they need access to some quantity of the source material—their species is doomed. They will demand full accountability.”
“I understand, ma’am.”
O’Brien gestured at the seat opposite. “Sit down. You know how the GC is set up? That it’s split between the Zelo and Barath’na?”
Carter brushed some crumbs off the seat and sat. “Yes."
“The Zelo believe the Barath’na are behind the virus; the Barath’na claim it came from Earth. To say relationships are tense makes the worst days of Stormont look good-natured.”
Carter took a moment, thinking about that. He’d never met a Barath’na, but knew their reputation: altruistic, cooperative in their dealings with other races, they were nothing like the warrior Zelotyr. He picked up a pen, pressing its nib in and out, the dull clicks filling the room, and asked, “Who do we believe?”
“Hard to say. The means of distributing the virus was low-tech, which makes me think it’s from Earth. But I don’t believe it came from central government.” The chief reached out, took the pen out of Carter’s hand, and went on, “You know the sort of military capacity Earth has?”
“I know about Belfast,”—not enough—“and that our situation is replicated across Ireland,” said Carter. “Farther than that I only know rumours, ma’am, and those rumours aren’t good.”
“They aren’t wrong; if there is substantive resistance, Earth can’t hold the peace. We don’t have the personnel, the hospitals or the people to run them. The army advises they do not have enough troops should civil unrest take hold.” She waited until Carter gave a curt nod. “Earth may have to ask the GC to send a peacekeeping force. No one wants that. Especially not if the GC believe the virus came from us. But we might not have any choice.”
Carter drew in a whistle of breath. "I see."
O’Brien started clicking the pen. “Any force will be predominantly Barath’naian, which is something. But if it turns out Earth’s governing bodies had any connection to the virus, the Zelo will attack. They have nothing to lose, after all.” She pointed upwards. “The Barath’na have the weaponry to face the Zelotyr. Earth doesn’t. If we get it wrong…”
John’s face flashed in front of Carter, followed by the memory of the half-lived-in house. How many other Johns were out there? Many—most, if he was honest—wouldn’t survive another war. Carter nodded.
“So, you’ll understand why I say I’m glad you kept your boys on Earth, but they must be dealt with accordingly. Whatever the GC want, we must consider it. It won’t be capital, I hope, but it won’t be youth custody for a couple of years, either. You understand?” Carter nodded. “The lads still haven’t said who gave them the virus?”
“Not yet. Dray has said he’ll cooperate once we let him see his family, which obviously we can’t do.”
“The other boy?”
“Recovering.” A little, anyway—the last report had declared him conscious, but weak.
His boss leaned forward. “Whoever’s behind it in Belfast had to have someone behind them. This was a global attack. Your boys are the first—the only—step on that chain. We need them to talk.”
Carter rubbed his forehead. “I’m doing my best, ma’am.”
O’Brien tapped the table with the pen. “Keep at it. And make sure the boys are secure; to lose them might be seen as careless. Convenient, even.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Carter.
“Good. You can go.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
John sat on the narrow cot, chewing his nails. He’d seen no one for hours, not since the cop had said he’d make sure Josey and the kids were safe. It was getting dark now. Helicopters droned nearby. He got up and went to the small window, and watched for a while. There was a lot of activity, police vans coming and going all the time, but nothing he could look at and figure out what it meant.
The lack of information was driving him mad. He didn’t know where Taz was, or if he was okay. He had to find out. He went to the door and started to bang his fists on it, but the metal was so thick he only made dull thuds. He stopped banging. The noise continued. What the—?
Yells, and a muffled bang. John stumbled back from the door. McDowell had found out where he was. It was like in Terminator, when the girl hid while everyone who was supposed to protect her got blown away. He glanced around. There was only the bed, and anyone who came in would look there straight away. He backed into the furthest corner, his heart hammering. Another bang sounded—a shot, he was sure of it—followed by a yell. The handle of his door started to turn, the metal bar-lock moving from horizontal to vertical. He looked around for something, anything, he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing.
Fuck it. He stepped into the centre of the room, hands spread in front of him, poised and ready. If they were here for him, he’d go down fighting, not cowering like a dog. The door opened.
“Come on!” Carter looked nothing like he had earlier. His baton was grasped in one hand, and his eyes stared out from a filthy face. Behind him a cop raced past, someone supported across his shoulders. Taz. That got John moving, across the cell and out. Carter pointed down the corridor. “Follow Sanderson—there’s a patrol car waiting.”