Chapter 8 

Alan regained consciousness to find himself in the middle of a nightmare. 

He was in detention and even worse, Max was in hospital in a coma.  

What on Earth had happened? No one could tell him, they all thought he had attacked Max in the Sahara Club. No one believed him when he told them he had gone to Max's rescue. The two men he had stunned had disappeared, or been removed, before the Patrol arrived on the scene and he had been found alone with Max unconscious on the bed. His DNA had been found under Max's fingernails, matching the scratches on his face he couldn't remember getting. His eye was all the colours of the rainbow, the result of the punch Max had given him when he was still groggy and although he could remember getting that, it only added to the case against him. 

Captain Lang had insisted he be charged, without waiting for Max to come round and tell them his side of the story. The medics could not tell him when or possibly even if, Max would come out of his coma and Lang had used all his considerable authority to persuade Captain Martinez, the Capella patrol officer in charge of the case, that they had enough evidence to proceed. 

The next day, Lieutenant Alan Stewart stood numbly in the dock as the charges were read out against him.  

Assault. Battery. Attempted rape. 

The court official was a civilian, an older man, tall and thin with white hair and his dry, expressionless voice made the words even more shocking. Stewart stared straight ahead, not meeting the eyes of anyone else in the small court room, especially the hurt, furious eyes of the victim's father, a man he had previously called friend. 

Lang kept his gaze riveted on the accused. Somebody had brought him his dark blue dress uniform but he no longer looked like the confidant, professional officer that he was. In fact he looked exhausted, his dark brown hair flat against his head, his skin pale and grey, exaggerating the scratches on his face. Lang continued to glare fiercely at him, trying to force him to meet his gaze, see the accusation in his eyes, make him admit what he had done. 

The court found there was sufficient evidence against Lieutenant Stewart to keep him detained while further investigations were made, and Stewart was escorted back to his cell after only ten minutes in the dock. 

He hadn't slept for two days, since he woke to find himself in a detention room. He was desperately trying to make sense of everything but his brain seemed to be operating at half strength, going over and over the same things, Max in a coma, Robin's hurtful accusations. Sometimes he even wondered if he had imagined the two assailants, but he knew he hadn't.  

Captain Almeida had visited him yesterday, but he realised he hadn't made a good impression. He'd been still half out of it, overwhelmed by sheer disbelief, expecting to wake up any moment from the nightmare. He'd been too emotional, making wild accusations about unknown conspirators and demanding to be taken to Max to see for himself how injured he was. He knew he had to calm down, think rationally, apply his training to the problem instead of merely reacting like an outraged uncle. The Captain was returning later that afternoon and he had to be able to present a coherent argument in his defence, a reasonable explanation of what had occurred. He tried to order his thoughts. 

He was staring blankly at the wall an hour later when the guard came to tell him he had a visitor. He stood up, more anxious than pleased, wondering who on Earth it could be. Captain Almeida wasn't due for a couple of hours yet. 

The guard returned with Michael Banner, looking as if he'd come fresh from a shower, his uniform clean and crisp, a visitor from another world. "Are you sure you'll be alright in here sir?" The guard asked Banner doubtfully. "We have an interview room available if you'd prefer." 

Probably thinks I'm going to attack him the minute he's out of sight, Stewart snarled to himself, with some justification. 

Banner smiled politely at the guard, "This will be fine, thank you." 

The guard let him in and locked the door behind him. "I'll be back in ten minutes sir. Let me know if you're ready to leave before then."  

Banner nodded then turned to Stewart, holding out his hand. "How are you sir?" 

Alan knew it was stupid but he felt ashamed, ashamed that Banner was seeing him like this, locked up like an animal. "I'm fine. I'm afraid I can't offer you a drink!" he joked awkwardly. He shook hands briefly, wishing he could have pulled Banner into a long, hard embrace instead. He knew they were being observed, certainly watched and most likely overheard. He hoped Banner was careful, the last thing he wanted was to drag him into this mess, jeopardise his career.  

Banner sat down in the single chair, leaving the Lieutenant to sit on the edge of the bed. "Tell me what happened sir." He asked, looking very young and earnest. "Step by step." 

Stewart went through the events of that night, realising that Banner was giving him the opportunity to put his side of the story clearly and unemotionally to whoever was listening, as well as getting it straight in his own head. Banner interrupted. "When you went into the club, did you see Private Lang there?" 

"No. Although most men were masked so I can't say for certain whether he was there or not. I certainly didn't recognise him." 

"You say you heard someone calling for help. Can you remember the exact words?" Banner prodded him again. 

"Honestly, I thought I heard my name, that's why I was so adamant to find out what was happening. I couldn't believe how lucky I was, to be in that booth." Banner looked questioningly at him, was he being ironic? No, Stewart was deadly serious. "Otherwise I would never have heard him and Max would have been raped. It's bad enough as it is, I don't know why they had to hit him so hard, the second time. Do you think they meant to kill him?" The thought suddenly occurred to him. 

"It's possible." Banner considered what he knew from a medical view point. "They hit him hard enough. They certainly didn't want him to be able to identify the two men involved in a hurry. Can you describe them to me?" 

"One was tall, as tall as me or even taller. That's one of the reasons I'm under suspicion, you know. There aren't many men my height. I couldn't see his face, he was wearing a black scarf like most of the men in the club," Stewart answered grimly. 

"What about his hands? What colour were they?"  

Stewart looked alert suddenly as he thought back, "You're right. He wasn't wearing gloves. Olive skin, he was olive skinned. Long fingers, no rings or adornments unfortunately, not an old man nor really young. Thirties or forties perhaps." 

"The other assailant?" Banner was doing an excellent job of focussing his thoughts. 

"White skin, very pale, except for his knuckles, they were bruised and swollen. He was wearing a white plasfoam mask, short black hair. Smaller but more heavily built than the other man." Stewart gave Banner a sharp look as he remembered something. "The hands. I remember his knuckles being damaged, but the tall man ... it seems to me his hands were unblemished. As if he was simply watching while the other man did the beating." 

He ran his hands through his hair and continued apologetically. "I'm sorry I don't remember more, I was concentrating on Max, making sure he was okay. I was certain both men were unconscious and I thought there'd be plenty of time to look at them more closely, see who they were." 

"I think it's obvious that whoever they were, at least one of them was someone very important, with powerful connections." Banner gazed at him intently. "Just think, someone in that Club had to step in very quickly and remove them, presumably take them to somewhere safe, then make sure you would fall under suspicion by running Max's nails down your face while you were both unconscious. No-one is going to go to all that trouble for a run of the mill customer."  

Stewart found himself nodding in agreement, Banner's theory made a lot of sense. To his disappointment, he heard the sounds of the guard approaching and they both stood up. 

"Just one more thing sir," said Banner, meeting his eyes steadily. "Do you think I should make an effort to find the man who was with you? He'll be able to give you an alibi." 

Stewart shook his head vigorously, "No need for that! As soon as Max comes round he'll tell them what happened. My companion was masked, don't waste your time looking for him." Stewart tried hard to impress on Banner that he didn't want him involved, it was just too risky for him. In theory there was no reason why a straight man and an om should not share a quiet drink at the Sahara, but the rumours would start and then it would only be a matter of time before Banner was exposed.  

Banner left the detention area, feeling a turbulent mixture of anxiety and guilty relief churning around in his stomach. He couldn't help feeling it was at least partly his fault that Alan Stewart was in this mess. If it hadn't been for Exemption Rule 158A he would have come forward immediately. In fact, if it hadn't been for fear of disclosure he would have followed Alan when he went to find Max. Maybe if he'd been there, he could have saved them from further assault. Or maybe he would have been a third victim, his conscience tried to ease itself.