Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  Where was that Baxter? Surely, for a situation like this, he would accept the importance of his being present? Seated before her were the accused, George Marshall, and his lawyer. Marshall was quite unconcerned about the accusation, and was demanding she do something, or release him. So self-confident. How she would love to do something about that. Lean over on her way back, sink her nails into his face, and scratch. A deep scratch. But no, that would not do. It would spoil the case, such as it was, and Haruhiko's killer would go free. She could never live with that. There was no doubt Marshall was guilty, so there had to be evidence. She must have missed something, but what?

  The facts were simple. The fingerprint belonged to George Marshall in most Terran files. Only the main Justice file showed doubt: the data had been deleted. Either there had been a computer mistake, the data had been tampered with, or the print that had been there correlated with that of a dead man, and hence the print was automatically deleted. On Earth, such ambiguity might be sufficient to detain Marshall and search his belongings; on Mars, the basic distrust of the settlers to Terran authority meant that she had no grounds to proceed on that count. Her beloved Haruhiko had gone to Marshall's apartment, and he had never been seen again, alive. His body was subsequently found outside the dome, depressurized. Nominally, the cause was a broken visor. There was a rock with marks of the visor impact, and the visor had traces of the rock embedded in it. Someone could easily have smashed the visor onto the rock. She had already raised this point in the interrogation.

  "The last recorded place where Haruhiko was alive was your room!" Misako had accused.

  "I know nothing about that," Marshall had replied.

  "Then you got him into a pressure suit that is recorded as being owned by you and took him outside."

  "Then he took it from my room," Marshall had replied evenly. "You yourself said he was there, illegally, I might remind you. He must have stolen the suit, and gone outside."

  And therein lay the problem. Misako knew Marshall had killed Haruhiko, but the fact was, even she knew the evidence, such as it was, was slight in the extreme. She knew he was guilty, but there was no proof.

  "How long are you going to keep us?" the lawyer asked. "My patience is running out."

  "When Mr Marshall here starts telling the truth," Misako said coldly.

  "I have been telling the truth," Marshall said. "You simply won't accept it."

  "The truth is, you murdered my Haruhiko," Misako snapped, "and you're going to pay for it."

  "You're letting your emotions run away with you," Marshall sneered. "It's spoiling your judgment. You should stop trying to be policeman."

  "I'm afraid he might be right," came a voice from the door. "Sorry I'm late. How are we getting on?" Baxter walked calmly into the room, and gave a casual glance towards Marshall.

  Misako ran through the evidence, such as it was, and as soon as she finished, even she realized the case was weak.

  "You can't convict on that," the lawyer emphasized. "I insist you let my client go."

  "I'm afraid he's right," Baxter shrugged to Misako. "As senior Justice representative on Mars, I'm afraid I have to rule that your evidence just doesn't warrant a case."

  "He's guilty," Misako said harshly.

  "Unfortunately, if that is true, you haven't proved it. You can go," he said, and waved a finger at Marshall and indicated the door.

  "You're not letting him go?" Misako almost shrieked.

  "I can't hold him on Takado's murder. As yet, there's no real evidence there's even been a murder."

  "You're going to keep on the case, though?"

  "To be honest, no."

  "No?" Misako cried. "You can't give up. It's Haruhiko."

  "I know," Baxter shrugged, then turned towards the door. "Oh, Mr Munro, you've forgotten your briefcase!"

  Marshall twitched a little, almost turned, but then kept walking.

  "Gotcha!" Baxter said, elatedly.

  "What?" Marshall turned, and seemed as if he was bemused.

  "You recognised your name, Mr Munro."

  "I don't know what you're talking about!"

  "Look, this has gone on too long," the lawyer protested. "I've got to be elsewhere, and I demand –"

  "This will only take a couple of minutes," Baxter smiled.

  "And what's the charge?"

  "Treason," Baxter replied cheerfully.

  "Treason?" Munro shouted, then his natural arrogance returned. "Look, I don't know who's said what to you, but you're wasting your time. I'm just a simple settler. So you said something, and I thought you said something else."

  "Whatever you're talking about, it's meaningless," the lawyer said. "A person can't be held responsible for every involuntary twitch, real or perceived."

  "I'm not so sure about that!" Misako said firmly. If this was the chink that gave her a chance at avenging Haruhiko, she was not going to let go.

  "I wouldn't worry," came another voice. A young man Misako had never seen before came into view from the outside hallway. He slowly walked up to Marshall, pointed accusatively at him, then added, "As you might recall, I am Darian Rintoul, and you will make a choice."

  At first Misako was beginning to wonder if this lack of procedure would give this wretch a free ride for an appeal, but then she looked at Marshall. He had the appearance of a man for whom his world was in a rapid state of collapse. She stared uncomprehendingly at the two of them.

  Rintoul gave a slight smile in her direction, then turned towards Marshall, and said, "Either you are Mr Munro, or you are not. However, you represented yourself as such in the presence of the M'starn leader at Theppot, and you were recognised by them as the leader of the human collaborators. If you are Tony Munro, then this court may find you guilty of something. If you are not, then they might let you go, and when you leave this building, why there are two Jonathon Munro's outside who would really like to get their metal claws into what they describe as a talentless incompetent wretch who is giving Munro a bad name, and to them, whether you are a Munro or not is basically irrelevant. So, you have a choice. Go outside and take your luck with Jonathon, or stay here and confess to Miss Shibatu."

  "Even if I were a Munro, so what?" the man said, after a pause during which time he was clearly weighing options. He had, however, retreated from any confrontation with a . . a what called Jonathon Munro? "All I did was immigrate under a false name. Treason's ridiculous. There's no judge on Mars who's going to find me guilty, just on his uncorroborated evidence," he added with extra force.

  "There's no need for his evidence," Baxter smiled. "Provided he concedes he is Tony Munro."

  "And what's that supposed to mean," the lawyer asked.

  "You will view two Justice robots, then you can leave."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Watch!"

  Two robots were brought in. These certified that the discs presented originated from authorized surveillance computer number M4361, and that the discs were certified as untampered prior to initial evaluation. All appropriate Justice regulations had been followed, and the recording of all procedures were lodged in Justice computer M1001, and were available for scrutiny.

  "What's all this mean?" Munro asked, now a note of real apprehension coming into his voice.

  "It means you have been found guilty of treason."

  "Guilty? There hasn't been a trial."

  "There is no need for a trial when authorized surveillance equipment can prove guilt beyond doubt."

  "What probability was found?" the lawyer asked cautiously.

  "One hundred per cent," the first robot answered in a toneless mechanical voice. "Also, murder, one hundred per cent probability of guilt."

  "Probability of identification?" the lawyer said desperately.

  "Correlation of this man being the guilty party, one hundred per cent. Subject identified self as Tony Munro. Probability of truth unknown."

  "What's all this about?" Misako asked with a puzzled voice.

  "While I w
as trying to find ways to occupy myself before all these aliens arrived," Baxter explained, "I found this rather strange room in a facility at Arsia Mons that was nominally there for the Mars minerals exploration programme. It seemed to me that the room had been tampered with by MinCorp. You see, the room had total computer surveillance, presumably so MinCorp could find out what the exploration programme was learning. Anyway I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to bootstrap on surveillance equipment of my own. So I did."

  "And you found?"

  "A goldmine," Baxter grinned. "Not only did I find out that MinCorp were really spying on the minerals exploration programme, but the other corporations were here too. Then, when I finally got back there after our last Council meeting, the real bonanza. I had recorded the first meeting between the M'starn and humans, if you could call these corporates human. The selling of Mars was recorded, as well as a Tony Munro's murdering the MinCorp representative. Oddly enough, the MinCorp man alone seemed to have had any integrity."

  "Well, that's enough to hold this creep," Misako said enthusiastically.

  "It's also why I wasn't too concerned that Haruhiko's murder is probably too difficult to prove," Baxter smiled. "The punishment for treason on Earth is torment, on Mars, evacuation. Exactly which law we follow is disputable, but the effect will be the same."

  "There has to be an appeal," Munro almost pleaded. "The law has to have an appeal. And not a robot!"

  "Not necessarily," the young man from Theppot interrupted. "They could always let you go, and sooner or later you would have to leave this room."

  Munro glowered, but said nothing.

  "Then prepare yourself for a very small air leak," Misako said coldly, and waved the guard to take Munro away.

  * * *

  "So, Mr Rintoul, that Munro was the cause of our problems?"

  "From what Lawrence Baxter's told me, on first contact, the M'starn offered to trade. If the Martian settlers would provide what was required to repair their ships, the M'starn would provide Mars with an atmosphere. The military option was Munro's idea, and the rest of the corporates, except the MinCorp man, went along with it."

  "Scum!" Misako spat.

  "Your idea of a slow leak seems appropriate," Rintoul agreed. "Meanwhile," he added with a grin, "since it seems you're likely to be President, you can practice your diplomacy by passing me one of those cakes."

  "They're probably very fattening," Misako smiled, as she passed the plate. At her request, Darian Rintoul had stayed behind after the hearing, and she had invited him for a discussion.

  "Very diplomatic of you to point that out," he countered, and promptly took a very large bite. "I assume you want something," he added, when he had finally swallowed.

  "I am curious about the Theppotian role," she said slowly. "It almost seems as if you always had a weapon in those androids, but you denied their use for the rest of us."

  "As for the androids, I guess you need an explanation," Rintoul nodded. "You are aware that they originated in the android crisis and were reprogrammed?"

  "Yes. Most Martians are aware of that," she said.

  "What you don't know is that the androids were reprogrammed by Ulsians, aliens who had been in contact with three people from Theppot. Basically, the Ulsians had a supply problem, the supplies were delivered, but the Ulsians had no direct means of payment. Eventually they reprogrammed the androids, and a few Theppotians have remained in contact."

  "And you are one of those few?"

  "Yes. I had to keep their presence secret, but that need for secrecy is probably not as strong now."

  "You still haven't answered why you wouldn't use the androids on our behalf?" Misako repeated harshly.

  "I didn't really use them on our behalf either," Rintoul said. "The Ulsians told me to have the meeting, have an android present, and make certain statements. The problem was, I never controlled the androids, and I had no idea what they would do. I have no idea whether it was residual programming, or whether the Ulsians had reprogrammed them, or whether they were remote controlling for that meeting. However, I had been instructed simply to get the best deal I could for Theppot. That's what I did."

  "Then I think it's important that we tell all the Martians what happened," Misako said. "We must defuse any ill feeling."

  "If you set it up, I'll join any explanation," Rintoul said, "but I might have to clear it with the Ulsians how much I'm allowed to say."

  "At the same time, you can tell them how Theppot will respond to an overall Martian government," Misako added.

  "Probably they will wish to retain their independence," Rintoul said, "but it might depend on what you have in mind."

  "Explain?"

  "The reason Theppot has insisted on retaining its independence is that we do things differently," Rintoul replied. "We avoid having officials, planners, and so on. Officials and planners are forms of economic entropy, people who erode away at our efforts. They're like rust, and like rust, their effects never sleep, and they are never useful."

  "But you've got to plan, surely?"

  "Up to a point, but not a staff of planners."

  "Why not?" a puzzled Misako said.

  "Because," he said as he took another cake, "they keep doing it."

  "I don't understand," she frowned.

  "A bureaucrat advances his or her standing by having more people working under them. Accordingly, they have to find more work to justify more work being done. The simplest approach is to organize a restructuring, as everything has to be planned and reported. Either the plan is implemented or it is not, but either way, the bureaucrat has to do something, so they all start replanning. There is a sequence of restructurings, reorganizations, replannings, and as noted by the Roman Petronius Arbiter, they all give the impression that progress must be being made. The reality is that performance from those actually working becomes worse because they are confused and demoralized, while the overall efficiency is much lower than it could be, because the system has to carry all those unproductive bureaucrats."

  "Then what do you do, say, if you need a new school?"

  "We have a meeting of anybody interested, then, since we know how many children need teaching, we hire teachers and give them the authority, within a budget set by the meeting, to get the rooms and the equipment. Yes, these teachers might get more than they absolutely need, but it is still cheaper than carrying the dead weight of a Department, and anyway the overspending still goes directly to the benefit of the children."

  "I see," Misako said softly.

  "Do you really?"

  "You have a lot of meetings," Misako smiled.

  "Not as many as you might think," Rintoul countered. "We get an awful lot done in any given meeting, because anyone with an opinion has worked it all out in his own time, and since nobody benefits from dragging out proceedings, or of initiating proceedings without a reason, that problem takes care of itself."

  "So you think the rest of Mars should emulate Theppot?"

  "Not necessarily, but we wish to be left to carry on as we see fit. We're quite happy to join a loose confederation and pay for clearly required tasks, but we won't support Martian bureaucracy."

  "And you won't move from that position?"

  "Not willingly."

  "Then I guess that's another of those details I'm going to have to look after," she shrugged

  Chapter 13

  "You seem rather pleased with yourself," the M'starn said, as he slowly picked under a fold in the skin of one arm with a talon of his other hand.

  "Things are going nicely," Munro said smugly. He glanced sideways towards Jennifer, with a self-satisfied and superior look, but Jennifer was staring at the M'starn. It annoyed Harvey to find her so fascinated by this rather ugly alien, and it disturbed him that the fascination was so pensive. Jennifer was not excited, she was not curious. What could she be thinking about?

  "You've got that Roman?"

  Harvey gave a visible jerk as he had to bring his attention bac
k towards the M'starn. "In the basement cell, and your message's been passed on."

  "Very good!" the M'starn remarked, almost in surprise. "And Miss Kotchetkova?"

  "Captured." Back to self-satisfaction. But Jennifer was frowning. What was wrong with her?

  "Really!" came the surprised response. "Well done! I'd like to speak to her, please. Bring her here at once."

  "Well, I don't think that's necessary," Harvey stammered.

  "I do. Bring her!"

  "It's not that simple."

  "I realize that," came the cold reply. A set of talons gripped Harvey's cheek. "What is it that you've done this time?"

  "Nothing! Everything's under control."

  "Nothing is under control when anyone who feels like it changes the plan. What exactly have you done?"

  "We've got Kotchetkova captured, just like you said. She's just in another building," Harvey bleated.

  "I don't wish to be unduly negative," Jennifer interrupted, "but that may not be true."

  "It is!" Harvey almost screamed. What was Jennifer doing?

  "And why do you think it is not true?" The M'starn asked coldly.

  "Because I don't think you've got the Commissioner," Jennifer explained. "I think the Commissioner is dead."

  "Nonsense!" Harvey spat. "That's just a cover, to keep her hidden."

  "Pretty good cover," Jennifer scowled back.

  "Don't take any notice of her," Harvey said, as he turned back towards the M'starn. "She's just gullible."

  "I'm not gullible," Jennifer protested firmly. "I'm sure."

  "And why are you so sure?" the M'starn asked.

  "I persuaded Streckov to check the body," Jennifer replied. "The body's pretty mangled, but the fingerprints match. Streckov also got a DNA match with some of the Commissioner's blood from a file. That body's the Commissioner."