This Shattered World (Starbound #2)(111)

Her father is still speaking. “As most of you know by now, there have been claims my organization was involved in the inhumane and illegal experiments that led to this outbreak of violence.” Roderick LaRoux gives a sad shake of his head, letting his eyes fall with all the grace and poise of a saint. “I can’t explain these claims except to say that there will always be those who seek to blame others for their failings. Mine is, and always has been, a philanthropic corporation, concerned only with providing the best in cutting-edge technologies to the galaxy. There is nothing these…fringe conspiracy theorists can say to change that.”

LaRoux’s gaze lifts again and sweeps the chamber. For the briefest of instants, his eyes meet mine. He knows what we found there, in the bowels of that facility. Just as he knows his words are true; there is nothing we can say.

Not yet.

Watching him, I realize something. Though he’s used Avon as his own private laboratory, practicing this art of ripping into people’s minds, it won’t end here. The thousands of soldiers affected on Avon mean nothing to him…but what of just a few minds in the right places? The President’s closest advisers; the general in charge of troop deployment; the forty-two senators that make up the Galactic Council?

I tear my gaze away from Roderick LaRoux as he continues his flowery speech to announce the resources and new infrastructure being offered by LRI—a bribe, masquerading as charity, to shrug off any public suspicion about his involvement in these events. I find I’m not the only one gazing at him with dislike, or at least with suspicion. Though we sent multiple squads through the research facility after the ceasefire, there wasn’t a single hint anywhere that LaRoux Industries was involved—even the ident chip I’d found and used to open the whispers’ prison was gone. Though the staff remained, not one of them remembered where they were or what they’d been doing for the time they’d been posted there; and not a single one still had their ident badges.

There was no reason for anyone to believe us that Roderick LaRoux was behind the madness and the secret base. The official story was that some terrorist group had camped out in the swamps and was experimenting with psychotropic drugs, and that was what had led to the open hostilities two months ago between the Fianna and the soldiers.

Still, a few did believe. Commander Towers, for one. Several of Flynn’s people. A few of my soldiers, those with more faith in me than sense. And there are rumors out there now, passed along in secret, gathering strength. Netsites claiming conspiracy theories, articles being written by anonymous authors about secret projects decades back in LaRoux Industries’ history. It’s enough that as I gaze around the room, I can see more than one stony glare among the nodding masses.

Monsieur LaRoux acts as though he’s untouchable, but I see him now.

I’ve seen the fallout from his ruthless experimentation, his obsession with controlling those around him down to their very thoughts. Alone, I’m no threat to him. One ex-soldier against a massive intergalactic corporation would be laughable odds. But Flynn sees him too, and so do others here. So do Merendsen and LaRoux’s own daughter, the daughter who can feel the whispers in her thoughts, who can sense their pain. And though Merendsen and his fiancée pretend to want nothing more than to live quietly in their house on the edge of the galaxy, I imagine us all in the center of a web of secrets and lies, searching for a way to expose Roderick LaRoux to the galaxy. If he plans to use what he’s learned from the creatures he enslaved, he’ll have to find a way to do it while all of us are watching.

Flynn and I may not have proof, but the proof is out there somewhere, and someone is going to find it. I will Roderick LaRoux to hear me, to feel the force of my certainty, but he keeps speaking as though invincible to the stares around the room.

He thinks I’m finished here, that I’ll slink off to some dark corner of the galaxy now that there’s a spotlight on Avon. He thinks I don’t still have ways to fight for this place that’s become my home.

There’s only one instance when LaRoux’s gaze falters: when it reaches Tarver and Lilac, sitting with their fingers twined together. They look back at him, as blank and courteous as if he were a stranger. His eyes stay on her, searching for a connection—and in that moment I can see another reason why a man like him might want to control minds.

Or hearts.

LaRoux finishes speaking and sits down, and the Planetary Review Board summons the first in a long line of speakers for and against Avon’s admittance to the Galactic Council. As the day wears on they call expert after expert: scientists from Terra Dynamics and the other contributing terraforming corporations; historians and sociologists specializing in colonial rebellions and reconstruction; politicians arguing about the wisdom of continuing to expand the Council to include representatives from more planets. The arguments fascinate me, the rhythm of the back-and-forth, like a dance—like a battle.

The board adjourns for lunch, and when we reconvene, Roderick LaRoux doesn’t return, and the air in the room is easier, lighter.

Commander Towers speaks, proposing a system of pardons and work exchange to bring outlaws back in from the swamps, legally, without resorting to the executions that ended the rebellion ten years ago. Flynn himself was granted such a probationary pardon; in exchange for his service to Avon as a local representative, speaking for the natives—and, less officially, helping keep the peace—he’s not being arrested for his crimes.