A Covenant of Justice

by David Gerrold

  “You can’t do this,” Zillabar said abruptly. She had such venom in her voice that all four of the men stopped to look at her. “You may not take my blood without my permission. That violates my rights under the Charter of the Regency.”

  M’bele considered her objection for half a second. “Lawyers, Vampires—they only complain when someone else does the bloodsucking. The hell with you. Sue me.”

  “I claim my rights—under the Regency or under the Alliance of Life, whichever you serve.”

  Sawyer retorted quickly. “She has no rights. She took Finn’s blood without permission—”

  “You had a fair contract,” said Zillabar from the scanning table. “You did not fulfill it.”

  “Yes, we did!”

  “When you killed Drydel, you forfeited your claim!”

  “We didn’t kill Drydel. One of your own Dragons did that!”

  “The Dragon traveled under your jurisdiction.”

  “Nobody controls a Dragon.”

  “I demand an arbiter!”

  This brought silence to the room. The men looked at each other uncomfortably. None of them could imagine refusing her request. Even though the Vampire aristocracy had already betrayed Regency justice so many times as to turn the phrase into a hated mockery of itself, the respect for tradition still held true for those who remembered their own ideals.

  M’bele turned to Three-Dollar. “You must assume the responsibility of arbitration here. Anything else would prove fatal to Finn Markham. A TimeBinder has the legal authority under the Regency, and presumably also under the Alliance.”

  Three-Dollar nodded. “You may have your arbitration,” he said to Zillabar. For a moment, his eyes glazed over as he consulted his memories and the hundreds of thousands of precedents stored within. Then he focused again. “After giving this matter considerable thought,” he said, “I find in favor of Sawyer and Finn Markham. I have logged my decision and will register it with the Authority at the earliest opportunity.” To M’bele, he said, “You may proceed.”

  M’bele looked at Three-Dollar, visibly surprised. “You mean that? We can do this?”

  “I can cite precedents extending as far back as . . . Shadow v. Kiki. Drawing blood has many meanings under the law, but the antecedents of this case remain clear. Additionally, the benefit that may occur as a result of discovering a cure for the blood-burn justifies the discomfort given to an agency that may in fact serve as part of the cause of the disease. I can cite several relevant precedents for that decision as well, but it would please me just as much to establish a new one here which restricts the rights of the aristocracy in matters of public health. Go ahead, doctor.”

  M’bele grinned and turned to his work. Once the process had begun, he turned quickly to Sawyer Markham, grasping him by the shoulders. “Listen, old friend. Many researchers even better than I have done a lot of research on the problem of the blood-burn; most of that research proved fatal to the patient. I can’t promise that this will turn out any different, but at least I have access to information that no one else has ever had, and I have the engines here that can use that information wisely. I promise you, I’ll do my best. Now, leave me to my work. This will take time.”

  Sawyer nodded. He broke away from M’bele and stepped over to Finn’s still form. He touched his brother’s arm and stood there for a moment, just looking at the ashen skin and sunken features of the dying man. Sawyer lowered his face to Finn’s ear. “Listen to me, you son of a bitch,” he whispered. “I need you. Don’t you dare die on me. You promised me you would always stand by me. Don’t you break your promise now—not now when we have a chance of making some real money.”

  Recriminations of Things Half Asked

  Three-Dollar took Sawyer by the arm and led him a ways up the tunnel. “Lee will guard your interests, I promise, but leave the man alone to work. You’ve gotten what you came for. I broke my oath, three times over, to repay your debt. Now you need to get some rest—”

  Realization came to Sawyer suddenly. “Wait a minute,” he interrupted. “You didn’t tell us everything. You left something out. You would not have broken your oath as easily as you did unless you had some larger reason. Don’t for a minute think you fooled me.”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” Three-Dollar said blandly.

  “Yes, you do.” Sawyer straightened and looked the TimeBinder directly in the eye.

  “I think your emotions have carried you a little far afield, tracker-man.”

  Sawyer shook off the accusation by acknowledging the truth of it. “All right, yes, I admit it. My emotions have carried me to some pretty wild extremes in the past few days. But my intelligence didn’t go on vacation. I heard what you said—and I heard what you didn’t say. I might not know everything about your Alliance and your oath and your history, but I do know when I hear a lie.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “No, you didn’t lie directly. But you lied by leaving something out. What did you leave out, you son of a bitch? Tell me the larger reason why you betrayed the Vampires? It has to do with the missing TimeBands, doesn’t it?”

  Three-Dollar’s eyes looked suddenly old and weary. “We have no contract, Sawyer. You have fulfilled your responsibility. I have fulfilled mine to the best of my ability. You have no right to demand anything more than you’ve already received. I may have to destroy myself and this TimeBand—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get away that easily. You’ll need my help getting to the Gathering. That’ll cost you the truth. So we do have a contract after all. This time, you pay first. Tell me! What did you leave out?”

  “If I tell you,” the TimeBinder asked, “then will you commit to serve the Alliance until the completion of the Gathering? Will you help me find out what happened to the missing TimeBand? And your brother too, if he lives?”

  “That contract doesn’t have balance. What else do I get out of it if I help you?”

  “You’ll have the opportunity to fulfill the rest of your vow. You’ll get to help bring down the Regency.”

  Sawyer considered the offer. “I like that,” he admitted. “I don’t usually make deals without Finn’s advice and consent, but considering the circumstances . . . I guess I’ll have to make an exception this time. Done.” He held out a hand.

  Three-Dollar shook it solemnly. “All right. I’ll tell you what you want to know. But it won’t make you happy. It certainly won’t give you any peace of mind.”

  “Go on—”

  “I wish I didn’t have to reveal this to you. No TimeBinder should ever have to reveal this information to anyone, I find it that appalling, but this will tell you exactly why we must call a new Gathering.”

  William Three-Dollar cleared his throat and spoke with great reluctance. “I carry in my TimeBand one part of the knowing how to construct a Predator seed. Every TimeBand carries a separate piece of the puzzle, holographically encoded. Seven TimeBinders represent the critical mass necessary to restore the complete hologram. That means, Sawyer, that any seven out of thirteen TimeBinders could decode the knowledge of how to create a Predator.”

  Sawyer’s eyes widened. He took a step back in horror. The fear crept up his spine. “My god. That explains why Zillabar wants to capture TimeBinders. She wants to build new predators. But why—?” He held up a hand. “Wait a minute. I’ve got it. She wants to renew the mandate of the Phaestor to protect the Regency, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes,” agreed Three-Dollar. “I believe that you have accurately assessed the situation. Somehow Zillabar has discovered the secret of the TimeBands.” He smiled gently. “Most people believe that we function only as a cultural memory, a curious, but otherwise unnecessary access to past ages. We allow that fiction to maintain because the truth would not serve anyone. But our real purpose has a much darker flavor. We serve as custodians of the most dangerous knowledge humanity has ever possessed. We’ve deliberately kept ourselves to different worlds to make it difficult for anyone to r
eassemble the knowledge, even ourselves. But now . . .” He spread his hands widely in regret. “. . . This Gathering will give us the opportunity to destroy this knowledge once and for all—or to destroy the Regency instead.”

  “I vote for the latter,” said Sawyer glibly.

  “You don’t get a vote,” Three-Dollar reprimanded him. “Only the TimeBinders do. We will probably decide to destroy the TimeBands altogether. At least, I see no other solution.”

  The TimeBinder strode away from Sawyer, looking like a man facing a death sentence. For the first time, Sawyer found himself feeling sorry for him.

  StarPort Blues

  The pinpoint glare of Burihatin’s primary cast an actinic light sideways across the harsh terrain of Dupa’s rocky flats. The landscape looked like a desert with scattered patches of tundra. The eastern half of the sky blazed. Later in the day, the whole dome of the firmament would ache with the pinpoint glare of the sun. Dupa had too many faces, too many seasons, and too damn many kinds of weather to suit Star-Captain Neena Linn-Campbell’s tastes.

  Clad in her crisp black uniform and looking like the Angel of Death, she came striding out of the glare of dawn and into the offices of the StarPort Adjutant, wearing an expression of determination that served as its own warning. Following in her wake came Ota, The Lady MacBeth’s bioform First Officer, carrying a thick sheaf of customs and security documents. Following behind Ota came the starship’s Chief Engineer, Gito, the high-gravity dwarf. And behind him at a leisurely pace, came the (recently retired) Arbiter of Thoska-Roole, Justice Godfrey Daniels Harry Mertz.

  The Assistant Executive Aide to the Office of the Senior Secretary to the Vice-Adjutant of the Burihatin-14 StarPort wore a nondescript gray suit and a matching expression. He sat behind a high desk on a high dais and looked down his long nose at the petite form of Neena Linn-Campbell. He had his multicolored hair brushed back and then up so that it curled forward over the crown of his head. A bright gold chain hung from one gaudy earring, wrapped itself several times around his neck, then reached back up to connect to the other gaudy earring. All in all, he presented himself as a startling apparition.

  Neena Linn-Campbell didn’t even blink. She nodded to Gito, who grabbed her by the ankles and lifted her up to stand on his shoulders. She reached across the desk, grabbed the Assistant Executive Aide to the Office of the Senior Secretary to the Vice-Adjutant by the neck chains and yanked him forward—hard—shoving the barrel of her needle gun firmly up his left nostril.

  She looked him straight in the eye and said, “Now, tell it to me again, this time face-to-face. We must have had a faulty communication channel, because it sounded like you said that no cargo could leave this planet until the Dragon Lord had inspected it.”

  “Fnrkle,” replied the Assistant Executive Aide to the Office of the Senior Secretary to the Vice-Adjutant of the Burihatin-14 StarPort.

  “I didn’t understand that,” said Star-Captain Campbell. “It sounded like you said ‘fnrkle’ this time.” She nodded to Ota, and the Lix-class bioform carefully placed the entire sheaf of documents and clearances on the desk of the Assistant Executive Aide to the Office of the Senior Secretary to the Vice-Adjutant where he could just barely see it over the end of Captain Campbell’s needle-gun.

  “G’flrkn’igl,” he said.

  “I see,” said Captain Campbell. “So may I assume then that you spoke in error before?” She shoved the weapon farther up the man’s left nostril, heedless to the high cost of reconstructive surgery here in Dupa’s outerland.

  The man held his delicately manicured hands high in the air, helpless. He couldn’t nod, he couldn’t speak, and he couldn’t even successfully faint.

  “I need you to stamp these papers,” Linn-Campbell said.

  “Gnrsh.”

  “I didn’t understand you clearly. Did you say ‘yes-gnrsh’ or ‘no-gnrsh?’ Think clearly before you speak. A great deal depends on your answer—”

  At that moment, a door in the back wall of the office dilated open, and a short, round man, with a much less flamboyant appearance, came waddling out, beaming and bustling with an air of enthusiasm and efficiency. “Neena,” he called, jovially. “It delights me to see you again. As always, you look beautiful. Please do come into my office and let me offer you some chocolate.” He glanced at the man behind the desk and remarked, “Goodness, that looks uncomfortable. Fergle, do take that stupid thing out of your nose before you hurt yourself. Neena, come in, come in.”

  “It thrills me to see you again too, Puckie,” Campbell muttered, reholstering her weapon. Gito lowered her to the ground, and the whole party followed her into the round man’s office.

  “All right,” she said. “How long? Three days? Five?”

  Puckie held up his hands. “Let’s attend to first things first. Oh—and in the future, please have a little more care how you treat my associates. Fnorley has only just joined this division and has very little experience with methods as direct as yours.” He added politely, “Do you want cream or butter in your chocolate?”

  “Save the chocolate. It makes Ota’s face break out. And besides, I know where you get your syrup. I wouldn’t drink that crap if you promised me immortality. It took me a year to get the taste out of my mind last time. Why don’t you let me supply you?”

  “Ah, would that I could—?” Puckie said, spreading his hands wide. “But the aristocracy controls the trade of luxury beans—as they control everything around here. All right, at least I’ve tried to put on the appearance of manners. Someday you’ll surprise me and respond with courtesy and I’ll drop dead of a heart attack.”

  “Let’s hope that such an event occurs soon, Puckie. Perhaps your successor will realize that the commerce of this port sustains the economy of this world. I have pfingle eggs in a warehouse here, getting older by the minute.”

  Puckie held up a hand. “I wish I could step outside this minute and watch you and your ship ascend into the sky—never to return. You always bring me more problems than you resolve. But this time, dear lady, I believe that neither of us can resolve this particular dilemma. The Dragon Lord has instructed my superiors that he will scourge this StarPort if he has to—and he will certainly do it if we disregard his instructions to lock everything down. Dupa remains under a complete state of emergency. Surely, you’ve heard what’s happened?”

  “The problems of Vampires don’t concern me,” Neena Linn-Campbell said. She knew what events Puckie referred to—the kidnapping of Zillabar—and furthermore, she had enjoyed hearing not only the news of the Vampire Queen’s disgrace, but also all the additional salacious gossip circulating through the undergrowth of rumor and innuendo, with much more enthusiasm than considered appropriate for an officer of her rank. To say that Captain Campbell despised the Lady Zillabar would demonstrate an insufficiency of language comparable to calling the Dragon Lord’s breath as foul-smelling.

  “Actually,” corrected Puckie. “The problems of Vampires do concern you. Until the Dragon Lord locates the Lady Zillabar, no ship will leave this field. If any ship attempts to flee the port, he’ll have it blasted from the sky. You may, if you wish, choose to ignore this warning, and I will regretfully place roses on your grave—assuming that we can find any pieces of you big enough to bury. I would not recommend that you try.” He extended his hand graciously. Captain Campbell did not take it. “In the meantime, I suggest that you enjoy the sights of Dupa. I know of many fascinating tours—up the Yangle river, perhaps, to see the flowering islands; or maybe you would appreciate two weeks of touring the blacktrees on the back of a trained fawn, always an exciting journey; but I think you should try my personal favorite, an excursion to Dupa’s Warts—”

  “Fold it, Puckie,” Captain Campbell said. “Who do I see about getting an exception? And how large a bribe will I need to offer?”

  “You’d have to see the Dragon Lord,” Puckie replied blandly. “But the last three freebooters who tried . . . the Dragon Lord ate them.” His expression dark
ened in regret. “Perhaps if you had a Regency Crest or a Spacer’s Guild Insignia, he might consider advancing the date of inspection for your vessel, but I doubt that—”

  Puckie should have known better than to suggest this latter course. After all, he had known Neena Linn-Campbell long enough to have a clear sense of her behavior. Indeed, he had even provided assistance to her during the notorious brinewood affair.6

  Fortunately, Ota and Gito and Harry Mertz finally proved able to pull a furious Captain Campbell off of his throat and out of his office before she inflicted injuries on the hapless little man severe enough to require serious medical attention and a federal warrant for her arrest.

  “If you need anything else . . .” he managed to gasp, but the door had already dilated shut after them. Puckie rubbed his throat painfully and considered taking an early retirement. This job no longer provided as much fun as he had originally believed it would.

  Discovery

  Warrior Lizards of all castes had spread out across the surface of Dupa. They ranged from the ice caverns of the storm-wracked poles, to the rocky headlands, where the basalt underpinnings broke through the granite crusts of the continents. They prowled the desert tundra and made desperate feints into the towering blacktrees. They probed the oceans with sonar bombs, biosearched the orbiting stations three times over, and even—despite their own better judgment—deep-scanned the acid tunnels of Salut Minoh.

  On the third day of the search, one of the tunnels of Salut Minoh collapsed disastrously, triggering cave-ins throughout the historic complex of caverns. The unexpected series of implosions instantly killed a squad of twenty Black Destroyers and imprisoned another thirty more beyond any hope of rescue. Nevertheless, additional units rushed immediately to the area—not in any vain attempt to save their fallen comrades, but in a larger effort to determine if the Lady Zillabar’s landing craft lay buried beneath the megatons of rock.