Black Locust Letters (24 page)

The
General smiled. “The old days. Nothing's been the same since that
fallout.”

At
this the judge's eyes sparkled, or it was a winking star reflecting
in his face. “If you miss those days, by all means ease off your
pressure on Area 51 to enforce their safety measures.”

The
General dismissed the idea with a wave. “A time like that is good
once only, and far advanced in retrospect. Now what's the damning
evidence you have against Betty?”

The
judge paused, then motioned to one of the crows. “Please ask our
witness to attend.”

The
crow scurried to do his bidding, heading into the hall, much to
Betty's astonishment. She'd anticipated his using the window again.
The General and the judge watched each other, not saying a word,
while Mr. Gresley chewed and waited. He held up a jar and spat the
tobacco in it. Betty couldn't find where Tom and Ladybird had gone,
and wondered if they'd deserted her. Mr. Gresley bit off a fresh
chunk of tobacco and made smacking noises as he savored the new
morsel like an adolescent chewing bubble gum.

Then
the crow returned, and in his wake stood none other than Olivia.
Betty looked at her, confused, and then remembered the letter that
Olivia had said was from Clarkin. A quick glance around the room
confirmed Betty's suspicions that there was about to be an outburst
of various reactions, all of which would be unintelligible by the
volume of voices and range of people present. Accepting that the
commotion would be impossible to understand, Betty ignored the rest
as best she could and cracked open the letter to read
it.

Thus
involved in her letter, Betty missed the verbal jousting between
Slim and Olivia, Mr. Gresley's desultory commentary about female
kind, the General's explosion about loyalty, Olivia’s deliverance
of evidence which was shouted this way and that between the words
of the aforementioned gentlemen, then the contesting argument from
Ladybird whose sudden, almost magical, appearance in the makeshift
courtroom was startling to her observers but nowhere near as
startling as the appearance of Tom who was still naked but for
Betty's sweater which remained tied about his waist like an apron
and who was ridiculed on all sides for having failed to remember
his standard-issue avian cloak.

Due
to all attention being focused on him, Tom alone had the floor for
enough time to say, “You can't find Betty guilty of treason. She's
our Cuckoo Operative!”

The
room exploded yet again in words and noises of disbelief and
annoyance. This Betty did observe in her own stunned
silence.

“
That's enough,” said the judge in his thin voice. Everyone
obeyed, perhaps out of sheer exhaustion. The judge said,
“Unfortunately, Senior Rank Decapitaria, there is no solid evidence
to support your claim. You were not directly involved in the
operation, and Decapitaria James Legrand is human and the former
fiancé to Miss Cratchet. We are convinced he would say a falsehood
to ensure her life, so we dismiss his word. The person who could
verify your claim, Decapitaria Clarkin Hannah, is gone. However,
another individual of status, and Decapitaria Hannah's partner, is
providing evidence of treachery. We therefore must find Betty
Cratchet guilty as charged.” The judge gave no pause before turning
to Betty, “Do you have any final requests before the murder is
concluded?”

Slim
shouted and made as though to take on all the jurors at once, but
the General put him into a quick headlock and spoke angrily. “The
murder has authority. If I do not abide by the rulings I gave them
power to enforce, what does that say for the rest of my decisions?
Straighten yourselves out, the lot of you. This is about more than
Betty.”

The
General locked eyes with one person after the other, until everyone
had looked away and accepted that Sanctuary would be a very poor
place to live if every one of his decisions were called into
question, or could be revoked by his whim. As for the jurors
themselves, they looked sad that Betty's appeal had been
unsuccessful. Betty held out the letter.

“
I
have gone my whole, albeit short, career reading to others. Won't
someone read this for me to hear?”

The
judge instantly motioned his willingness, though he had competition
in requesting the honor. Betty handed it to him, then stood in the
center of the murder and waited patiently. The judge licked his
lips and the paper crackled, then he read in a warbling voice which
hinted of younger days while everyone listened with downturned
faces and folded hands.

“
My
Dearest,

When
you read this letter please do me the justice of reviewing it in
its entirety. It contains an honest account, and I fear that in
places it may be written too bluntly, but my time is
limited.

In
my youth, I could amicably be described as flippant and carefree.
In less savory terms, I was reckless and irresponsible, and it was
the outcome of this attitude which eventually led me into the
service. In time I earned the attention of a sergeant who saw my
potential. I joined his unit. Here is my first confession. James
Legrand became my friend, as we were to be partners the way that
Tom and Charles were. Charles initially had students as well, but
misfortune befell them as a result of a conflict over wave talkers
being by humans for humans. It was Slim who suggested a Cuckoo wave
talker—that is, a wave talker raised by humans but with Never Were
sympathies at heart. He proposed training the subject, and I was to
work with my sister to formulate the other half of the
code.

Initially we had three subjects. The first proved to be
unsympathetic and was disposed of. The second joined the Never Were
cause too greatly to be of use. This left us with you. Brilliant,
lively, a joy to listen to: You were the sun on a winter's
day.

Then, I can't be certain of what happened between you and
James, but you left. He contacted me to find you. By now our
promotions had given us each individual partners to train, so James
and I did not see so much of one another as we had previously done.
You were primarily, if not solely, in James' care, so when you
disappeared he was frantic. We had concerns you'd been taken or
worse, and it is a simple matter to find someone when you have my
contacts. Since you made your aversion to James known through your
new contacts, Tom and I were assigned by Charles to watch over your
safety. I made your territory mine, and I am ashamed to say it was
by this guardianship that I learned more about you and fell in
love. I yearned to talk to you, but you were wary of men's
attentions and made no close friends for some time.

Tom
meanwhile had been working as a go between for my sister and James.
The crows became anxious. James loves to talk, and Tom thought it
best to keep him company late into the night. He took your
rejection hard, and demanded much of Tom's time. We heard of the
crow's restlessness, supposing that Tom had grown too fond of
humans for Never Were interests. We heard Tom's trial was to occur
in the marketplace. As that was an area which you frequented, I
penned you a letter in warning. I did not know if you would read
it, so I was certain to be in the area. I am glad for my
foresight.

Then
we met, and I very much enjoyed it. I couldn’t stop from wishing to
share my thoughts with you. I find talking a difficult matter, and
writing is a much easier mode of communication. Hence these
letters. I mean them, every one of them.

The
rest of your story you know as well as I do. The who and when and
where...it remains to be seen how the alliances of man and Never
Were play out, and if Operation Cuckoo is a success or a huge
investment of time and effort wasted. But know this: I love you.
And I'll do all in my power to come home and see your face
again.

Forgive me for any troubles I have given you on my account. I
am not a perfect mate. But I love you.

Eternally yours,

Clarkin Hannah, Decapitaria”

Someone sniffed back tears; one of the jurors. Olivia made a
noise half way between a hiss and a sigh. Everyone else was
respectfully silent, the same way that Betty's neighbours made
certain not to comment upon the color of her underclothes even
though they were in perfect sight while hanging on the line to dry
in the back yard. For this Betty was grateful.

The
judge blinked, folded the letter, and said, “In conclusion to this
murder, I demand that Betty Cratchet be returned immediately to her
post. Olivia, Tom, Ladybird, James Legrand, remain for
clarification on a few points addressed in Decapitaria Hannah's
letter. All else are dismissed.”

The
General went out first, then a tobacco-chewing Mr. Gresley who
appeared as though Never Were court had not just been held in the
radio station's filing room with his employee's life at stake.
Betty stayed long enough to retrieve the letter, then she
went.

They
led her to where the generals were still arguing, and they
redirected their anger straight onto her. Had Betty been raised in
a normal household where people weren't prone to military level
dress downs, Betty would have been rendered to a tearful,
incomprehensible mess. But she had seen her father like this often
enough, both for her own missteps and when she witnessed him
scolding someone else, so she took it in the usual vein of silence
and barely acknowledged murmurs that she heard what was being said,
not giving a clue that she was or was not responsible for whatever
they were claiming. After her own murder, this was hardly a
trial.

Her
calm demeanor of course angered one or two of them, but before they
could get red in the face, her father and two others called them
into order. After all, it was ridiculous to insist that she alone
was responsible for the deaths of troops—though it seemed that the
most angry of the officers were the ones who had made mistaken
calls which had cost them their position or worse.

When
all was somewhat calm again, Betty waited a little bit longer, then
said, “You need me to host again. The troops refuse to listen to
the others.”

Someone began to object, but they were silenced by her
father's glare. Betty sat down at the map, surprised to see that
they had drawn up one afresh, one without all the scribbleweeds
from before, and she read it as they made new motions and indicated
where they wanted what.

It
seemed that one of the previously endangered units had survived,
but this time they had been placed on the railroad she planned to
bomb.

She
took numb notes, writing down the phrases and who should go where.
The only part of this plan she wanted to hijack was where the bombs
should fall. And her breath fell, because she did not know if the
endangered unit would move—they seemed to be corralled in their
position by the enemy, and were awaiting aerial help to get
released from it. There wasn't enough troops in the area to both
hit the roads, the railroad and shake their unit free.

When
Betty sat down before her speaker, she felt dizzy. When she went on
air, she sat there, staring into nothing for several long seconds
before she spoke.

She
did what she could. Warnings. Kept a couple of planes on their
usual path. The rest went to blowing up the trains and some
roads.

How
she phrased this, she didn't know. For all that she knew, she might
have blindly rattled off the list of orders.

But
when she finished and looked at the clock, too long had passed for
her to have just done that without commentary. When songs came on,
Flight of the Valkyries, a suitable if cliché song to signal the
attack, she just stripped off the headphones, sat there a few
minutes, then slowly wandered her way through the halls. She sat
down in the break room, which was full of hustle and bustle she did
not pay attention to, and she put her head in her hands and sat
there with her eyes closed.

Others tried to talk to her. She didn't hear them. Welch
hugged her at one point, but she did not give sign that she
noticed. When a half hour passed and the hall filled with cheering,
Betty stood again. She found her father.

“
Is
there anything else?”

He
was about to say yes, but then his expression changed, reading her
face. “No.” He hesitated. “Sit down. I'll have a car come get
you.”

So
she sat down.

She
opened the letter and read the letter again. At the bottom there
was a familiar indecipherable scribble and beneath it, the
words,
C. Hannah
.
The judge had stretched the truth about his closing signature, made
it an official statement instead of a casual closure.

Betty read the letter over and over. Following the wake of
the day's events, it took a long time to read past the first
paragraph. This was his handwriting. If he was dead, this would be
what she had left of him. When she read it all the way through, its
contents did not shock her. After what happened today, she was
beyond shock and moved into mute acceptance.

Before she could decide how she really did feel, Geri pulled
up. Betty wondered how her father had Geri's contact information,
but decided it did not matter. She got into Geri's car.

Once
safely in Geri's car, the excitement, the terror, and the fears of
the day crashed down around Betty. She sobbed when she told Geri
about Clarkin, and didn't stop until they were going down familiar
lanes. She dried her face and tried to breathe normal. All things
considered, a ten minute outburst was not a bad run, and she
convinced Geri she'd rather be alone tonight when she was dropped
off at her house.