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"Your Honor," said Jake, "neither of my clients was present at the riots, nor have they ever fomented armed rebellion in any form, at any time."
As they continued to talk, Kyle sat with nearly every muscle in his body tense. The problem was a wacky scheme of Tim's. Two years ago, he had started a political movement to turn Hawaii into a free-trade zone, to compete with the big Asian centers like Singapore, Macau, and Hong Kong. That part was ambitious, but understandable.
Kyle had signed up with him because the project had possibilities; besides, he had never been able to refuse Tim anything important. However, in order to attract attention and to create negotiating space, Tim had taken another step. He had suggested that Hawaii become an independent republic again, as it had been briefly long ago.
That move had not only drawn the unwanted attention of the authorities, but also a mixed following of anarchists, libertarians, entrepreneurs, fugitives, and opportunists of all kinds. Many of these followers had little use for each other, but they all understood that in a free-trade, independent Hawaii, they could have a fresh start. They had staged a number of protests on their own, several of which had turned into riots.
These incidents had clearly turned the local population against Tim's movement, despite his personal charm. As a result, Jake had convinced the brothers to waive their right to a jury trial. Jake had said he would have a better chance before a lone judge in arguing the distinction between his educated, establishment clients and the rabble who had rallied to them.
"Kyle, the younger brother," Jake was saying, "has been known as a reserved, responsible professional in many circles. Neither of my clients ever intended for Hawaii to become independent. That was a political trial balloon in the movement to make Hawaii a free-trade zone, no more."
"Considering the volume of tape of these riots," said Judge Southforth, "I had assumed you would just plead guilty."
"No, Your Honor."
"How do the people regard this?"
"Well." The prosecutor stood up, fumbling glasses onto his face. He was a pauncy, silver-haired man with a perpetual frown. "Every single one of these violent protests has been held in the name of Tim Eng for President of the Republic of Hawaii. We will introduce into evidence many media tapes of the rebellion and sworn testimony from rebels who have been granted immunity in exchange for testifying."
"That presidential campaign was a draft," said Jake smoothly. "My client had no part in that."
"You're out of order." Judge Southforth sighed, "All right. Let's get started."
Tim and Kyle were both found guilty.
They appealed, of course, and remained free on a very large bail during the process. Their family mansion and Tim's stables were all bonded. Kyle, who had never been in any kind of trouble before, was in shock.
On the other hand, Kyle was being carried along on the crest of Tim's wave. That was nothing new at all.
Maybe Kyle's biggest shock came when the appeal was denied. He had always seen his brother as being virtually unstoppable. Tim had never had any serious problems before, either. After their final court appearance, they remained free on bond, and Jake summoned them both to his office.
"I can't believe this," Kyle muttered, as they stood in front of Jake's desk. "This whole business is just insane."
"Aw, it's not that bad." Tim gave him a hearty slap on the back.
"It may be more serious than you think," said Jake gravely. He tapped a rolled document into his palm for a moment, then dropped it onto his desk. "Kyle, this is getting even more complicated. Would you excuse us for just a moment?"
"What? Uh, sure." Kyle was hurt. This was his business as much as Tim's. Still, Tim was in charge, as always. While Tim and Jake turned away and began to talk, he dipped the document u
In the waiting room, Kyle turned his back to Jake's secretary and looked at the document. He expected to see some legal jargon about why their appeal had been denied. What he found was even more of a shock than the original verdict had been.
It was a copy of a letter from the Judicial Board of Appeals to the CoDominium, Bureau of Relocation, Secretary of the North American Region. Kyle's face flushed with panic as he skimmed the letter. It referred to activities by Tim he had never heard of: bribes so large that they must have come from their trust fund; financing and purchase of actual weapons for subversive groups; recorded meetings with known subversives.
Kyle frowned and read it again, more carefully. A quote from the prosecutor told him why these matters had not arisen at the trial. The prosecution had not felt their case was strong enough to get a conviction on them, and had feared that the defense might have discredited the entire treason case by picking apart the weak spots.
However, now that the prosecution had won, these points were once again part of the larger picture. The Judicial Board of Appeals concluded with a recommendation: that the Eng brothers be sent to the planet Haven, due to Tim's threat to U.S. national security and Kyle's well-known loyalty to his brother.
With an embarrassed glance at the secretary, Kyle drew in a long, slow breath and rolled the document tightly in his hands. So his brother wasn't as i
They would never see Earth-and particularly Hawaii-ever again.
Tim and Kyle Eng had three more weeks in the local lockup before the next transport ship left for Haven. During that time, Kyle saw that through Jake, Tim made a number of deals that he did not discuss with Kyle. That was okay. Kyle was deeply depressed and could not: escape the suspicion that his life was already over. What kind of deals could Tim make that would help them now?
They shipped out on an ore freighter called the Olathe with a number of other convicts, including many of their so-called followers. At least these had had the decency, or the stupidity, not to testify against them in exchange for immunity. Not missing any chance, Tim quickly made friends with as many of them as he could find, regaling them with stories of politics or parties with celebrities, or anything else that would entertain them. In the process, he managed to turn the immediate vicinity of the Eng brothers' bunks into a ru
A security guard named Rollo Henley was in charge of their section. Kyle learned soon that through Jake, Tim had bribed certain members of the crew to allow him to host the poker game. Tim was allowed to receive a modest house cut. Henley became a traffic cop, carefully limiting the number of deportees who could enjoy Tim's hospitality at any one time. It was a security measure, of course, and Tim smiled indulgently at the bribes Henley collected from eager poker players himself.
Kyle had to admit that Tim was good. He lost money, though never a large amount at one time, in exchange for goodwill and information about Haven. It was his company that both crew members and deportees really liked.
"What are those?" Kyle asked one night, just before lights out.
Tim was reading some kind of little booklet, and two more were visible in his open duffel bag. "This one's a report on Haven. Jake found it for me before we left. The others are phrase books."
"Yeah? What languages do we use in the mines?"
"We aren't going to the mines." Tim looked up and gri
"Well, I certainly know that," Kyle said sourly.