by Chris Bunch
“No! No! We mustn’t harm him! Stop, Leiter Yohns.”
Njangu obeyed, and Garvin sagged down to his knees. After a minute, he picked himself up, reminding his body where he was supposed to be in agony from Njangu’s pulled punches, besides the overwhelming urge to vomit.
The cell door burst open, and more guards in hospital whites burst in.
“The situation’s in hand, boys,” Njangu said. “Next time, we’ll keep at least two guards on this man. Or at least one a little more competent than this idiot. You can take him out, by the way. Tell his superior I don’t want to see the man ever again.”
“Yessir. Sorry, sir.” And the wheezing guard was dragged away.
“You see what violence gets you, Jaansma?” Njangu cooed. “Now, sit back on that gurney and let me tell you about an offer Protector Redruth has made.”
Miuss showed surprise for an instant, then his face blanked.
“Doctor, if you’d mind stepping outside for a few moments?”
“Of course. Of course. But I should know of whatever you’re discussing with the patient.”
“As soon as I get his response,” Njangu said, “you’ll be the first to know.”
He winked broadly at Miuss, who got the message, and went out, locking the door behind him. He’d scurry to the next room, where the monitors and technicians watched everything that happened in Jaansma’s cell, just as other techs kept track of the other prisoners.
Njangu’s hands moved quickly … a thumb point at the door, a sweep of a thumb across the throat.
I’m going to kill that bastard.
Garvin’s head moved sideways once, and his curled fingers tapped his own chest.
You’ll have to stand in line.
“Here’s the situation, Mil Jaansma,” Njangu said. “As Dr. Miuss said, the treatments will get worse until we get the information we need before the trial. Also, your subordinates will be given the same drugs.”
“Torturing sons of bitches,” Garvin spat, hoping he didn’t sound too much like a romance.
“Possibly,” Njangu said. “And you’re a mass-murdering psychopath. Now that we’ve shared compliments, let me tell you what the Protector is offering, in his infinite grace.
“If you cooperate, if you order your entire team to cooperate, which means full and complete confessions of your sins, as well as an acknowledgment that you’ve now become aware of your evil ways, courtesy of the Protector’s education, there’ll be no torture. No drugs, no thumbscrews.”
“Why should I believe you?” Garvin growled.
“Why shouldn’t you?” Njangu asked reasonably. “If you give us what we want … and remember, you’re not exactly bringing any of your fellow soldiers on Cumbre into any jeopardy … why should we bother with the rack and such? We aren’t sadists, you know.”
Garvin snorted.
“Oh yes,” Njangu said. “We’ll also need information on the traitors here on Larix and back on Kura who were willing to help you.”
“There weren’t any, goddammit!”
“Come now, Jaansma. No one is stupid enough to mount an operation like yours on a completely alien world without any intelligence.” Real amusement came and went on Njangu’s face.
Garvin promised himself, if they lived, he’d get revenge for that cheap shot.
“If your memory’s a little fuzzy about the traitors,” Njangu said, “our skilled counterintelligence teams will guide you through the preparation of your confession.
“Oh yes,” he went on. “The ultimate thing you’ll gain from this full, willing cooperation is your life. Instead of a nasty, protracted execution, you and the other members of your team will be given prison sentences.
“Long sentences, of course, and you’ll be in isolation to avoid the righteous wrath of even our Larissan criminals. But life is life, isn’t it?”
• • •
“You promised him what?” Protector Redruth snarled.
“I dangled an offer,” Njangu said. “Jaansma seemed most interested in it, especially since it would avoid pain to his fellow soldiers.”
Redruth’s face was flushed with anger.
“Of course,” Njangu went on, “after the trial, after the guilty verdict, there will hardly be any record of any of your satraps making such a stupid offer. And we all know how murderers lie and lie again to save their worthless necks, sir.”
Redruth’s face returned to its normal color.
“Very good, Yohns. Very good indeed. You have a rare ability to understand the realities of governing.”
“Not really, sir. I just thought of what you would do in such a circumstance.”
Redruth actually laughed aloud.
• • •
“I must say,” Dr. Miuss mourned, “I’m most disappointed in the course of events. I would have had a whole new field of endeavor, determining if those conditioned by a different social system have another response to pain than Larrisans or Kurans. I was hoping that Garvin Jaansma would be a little less logical and reject Protector Redruth’s generous offer.”
“Well,” Njangu said, “into each life some rain must fall. Besides, we’ve got more than enough work to do, making sure the confessions are properly worded and the bandits won’t present any surprises once they appear on the stand.
“You’re not forgetting their trial will be commed throughout the Protector’s worlds, so the bandits’ performance must be as skilled and convincing as any actor’s.”
“Oh, no, of course not,” Miuss said hastily. “And of course I don’t want you to think I’m being critical of the Protector in any way.
“Yes, yes, you’re right. We have work enough ahead.”
Not forgetting, Njangu thought, my working hard to get you between a nice, steep stairwell and my boot.
• • •
“So it was through seeing the deaths of those innocent children at play, who seconds before had been miming the rise of the Protector, that first made me aware of my own corruption and, worse, the evils of the Cumbrian regime.” Lir turned the page. “Aw for fugh’s sake, how much more of this shit do I have to parrot?”
“Now, now,” Darod Montagna said smoothly. “Remember what we’ve learned, and consider how much nicer our quarters are, now that we’ve agreed to cooperate.”
“Yeh, nice,” Lir snorted. “We actually have a steel cot, and a hole to crap in instead of a bucket. Damn, but that Protector’s just the salt of the goddamned earth.”
• • •
“Our various targets had been given us by members of the Kuran Liberation Force,” Garvin said. “I remember, when I was briefed, being told the names of some of the traitors on Kura who’d managed to communicate with Cumbre and offer their assistance in overthrowing Protector Redruth, and then, in the ensuing anarchy, to seize power for themselves. These traitors were, umm …”
The technician handed him a printout.
“Hafel Wyet, Mann Sefgin, Twy Morn, Ede Aganat …”
• • •
Larix Prime was blanketed with observation satellites, pointing down, pointing out. The two aksai ‘cast ECM long enough to block a transmission, using the satellites as a screen to close on the planet, then zigging at speed when their sensors reported a satellite was reporting their presence.
Evidently Larissan techs weren’t confident about their electronics, because no patrol ships rose to the attack, when none of the ships’ detection alarms went off a second time.
Ben Dill, still recuperating from the time in the jungle, flew in the second aksai. He’d asked Alikhan, in the first ship, to make the drop, and the Musth had refrained from harassing him about weakness.
Alikhan took his aksai in-atmosphere, dived for a mountained area behind Agur, then, hidden in its radar shadow, flew nap of the earth toward the beacon.
The beacon was broadcasting on an unused frequency, and the minute the aksai closed on the ground and was picked up by a motion detector in the beacon, it shut down to ensure no Larissan
monitor caught the transmission.
Pods had been mounted under the aksai’s wings, and hydraulics lowered them to just above the ground, gently opened and turned them on their sides. Small blocks, each labeled AGRICULTURAL WASTE, dumped into neat piles.
There was a kiloton of the blocks, actually Telex explosive and resin casting.
The pods turned, lifted back to seat under the aksai, and the ship went softly upward, and vanished.
One of Leiter Appledore’s guards thought he’d seen something over the neighboring estate, but no alarm came, nor did any of the other sentries report. The guard decided he was just tired, and said nothing.
Similarly, the next day, the workers on Njangu’s estate saw the piles, which appeared to have come from nowhere, but showed no interest, assuming that someone else, anyone else delivered them. One learns, very quickly, in an authoritarian state, to see only what you’re ordered to, and sometimes not then.
• • •
“This is important, troops, so I want your full attention,” Commander Stiofan said. “We’re going to build weapons pits along the road we’re to guard when the prisoners are taken each day to the Palace of Justice, to keep anything unfortunate from being done by social misfits. Luckily these ag/waste blocks from Leiter Yohns’s estate will keep us from having to fill sandbags, so we’ll get our pits dug and bagged within a day or two.
“Now, men, set to! The Protector has other work ahead for us!”
There was a cheer. The Telex was quickly loaded into the lifters and, within hours, was being stacked in front of three weapons pits near a crossroads not far from the sanitarium.
• • •
“Sir, I think the bandits are sufficiently prepared for the trial,” Njangu told Redruth.
“Good. Excellent! We’ll … um … schedule it for Five-Day, two weeks from now. I’ve already named Leiter Vishinsk as prosecutor, so you can coordinate with him.
“Congratulations, Yohns, to you and to your staff, and of course to Dr. Miuss.”
“The doctor is a little upset that he wasn’t allowed to complete his experiment, sir,” Njangu said. “Perhaps, after the verdict, it might be interesting to permit it to continue.”
“Mmmh. Mmmh. No, Yohns. I do not want any of the doctor’s skills shown in public. I want my enemies to cower at the mere mention of his name, never knowing exactly his talents until they’ve been arrested and turned over to him.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll inform him of your decision. Speaking of enemies,” Njangu asked, “have there been any arrests of the supposed conspirators within the army, the Gray Avengers?”
“No,” Redruth said, mood turning sour. “As if I don’t have enough things to take care of, none of my investigators has been successful.
“I don’t like that at all.”
“Nossir,” Njangu said. “Nor do I. I’ve also had my ears open every time I’ve been around any of the Protector’s Own. Fortunately, none of the twenty-four men detached from the unit to me is anything other than fanatically loyal to you, sir.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. But I have agents within the group who’ll report the slightest hint of dissidence.”
“Good. I’ll be depending on your bodyguards for any emergency security during the trial, and afterward there’ll be a purge of the Protector’s Own. They must always be without the slightest stain on their escutcheon.”
“I agree, sir,” Njangu said fervently, wondering what the hell an escutcheon was.
• • •
The long transmission squeaked offplanet, was received, retransmitted. It would be the next to last Njangu planned to ‘cast, unless there were problems.
He waited for a return by the receiver Maev had set up in one of the com rooms of the palace, getting nothing more than a single code group that translated as:
READY.
Sixteen days until the operation would be mounted.
• • •
“Mil Jaansma,” the guard lieutenant said, “this man will be yours, and the other bandits’, defender.”
The lean man with a sloppy shave and bad breath bobbed his head up and down.
“Judicate Blayer is my name and rank, and I want you to know I was assigned this task. It was hardly of my own wishes, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Garvin said. “I assume you normally work in a rope factory?”
“No. No. I’m a Judicate, as I just said,” Blayer said in an annoyed manner. “What makes you think I have anything to do with rope?”
“Nothing at all, Judicate,” Garvin said dryly. “I was thinking of some other hangman. Let me introduce you to my fellow brigands.”
Twelve days.
• • •
The Protector’s Own were well deployed in positions from the sanitarium to the Palace of Justice. They’d spent days practicing moving from their Aerial Combat Vehicles into the fighting stations they’d built along the road, securing the approaches to the Palace of Justice.
Their officers therefore went into shock when the unit was suddenly withdrawn and confined to barracks. No explanation was given, nor did Protector Redruth or Commander Celidon agree to meet with any of the unit’s officers.
The only exceptions were a scatter of the soldiers on diplomatic guard in distant cities, and the twenty-five assigned to Leiter Ab Yohns.
Six days.
• • •
“You may stand at ease,” Maev shouted.
“Stand at! EASE!” the warrant bellowed, and the boots of the twenty-three soldiers slammed against the concrete outside their hasty-barracks on Yoshitaro’s estate.
“You’ve been assigned a special duty,” Maev shouted. “This comes directly from the Protector himself, through Leiter Yohns.”
In spite of their discipline, an awed intake of breath ran through the ranks.
“SILENCE IN RANKS!” the noncom shouted, and there was silence.
“Your task is very important, and is a test of the security of the Palace of Justice itself, during the trial of the Cumbrian outlaws. There will be no chance of a full-scale rehearsal before this exercise is mounted, other than computer gaming and mapboard exercises, so you must be sure you miss no opportunities to comment and criticize as you learn.
“You will tell no one about your new assignment task, on pain of the most severe punishment, and are forbidden to discuss it among yourselves except when senior officers are present,” Maev ordered.
Five days.
• • •
“I love Telex, yes I do, and my whole goddamned family loves it, too,” Njangu crooned as he fitted the detonator into the pliable block of explosive, flattened the block, and slid it into a padded envelope that was labeled DRUG SAMPLES, HANDLE WITH CARE.
“Now, we just add this little bitty antihandling device, in case the good doctor decides to go through his mail ahead of time, and walla! We are ready to come down dancing!”
“That’ll be enough to vaporize a whole room,” Maev said.
“Well, he might not have it on his lap when I start fondling the switch, and I don’t want to make any mistakes and leave the puke alive,” Njangu said.
“You’re sure he’s going to hold still for that envelope getting stuck in his briefcase?”
“Sure. It’ll happen when he goes through standard security check that morning. I’ll be dancing and brilliant and telling him all about new triumphs the Protector is interested in that’ll leave him up to his shoulder blades in blood, and the sadistic prick’ll never be watching my hands.”
Four days.
• • •
Njangu landed the lifter and went into the rural mail delivery post, coming back a few moments later.
“And what was that?” Maev asked.
“A letter, signed by my four patriotic companions, Brythe, Pyder, Enida, and Karig, to Protector Redruth, saying how they suspect I’m in league with social misfit elements, and that they hope they’re wrong, but they feel they must report thi
s, as their patriotic duty. Also, they suspect Kerman is in on the plot, which is why they feared to report their suspicions to him.
“Maybe that’ll get the narking bastard of a household head strung up. Always lurking around with an ear cocked. Never could stand a snitch.”
“And now your girlfriends … sorry, former girlfriends,” Maev said, “maybe won’t end up in front of a firing squad or in one of Dr. Miuss’s experiments when the smoke clears and you and I are gone goslings.”
Njangu’s smile vanished. “Yeh. That’s what I hope. I couldn’t come up with any better idea.
“Come on. We’ve got to pick up Alpha and Beta. They get worried if I don’t have a gun guard hanging over my shoulder for longer than a minute and a half.”
“Speaking of which, what’re you going to do about them?”
“You know, if I didn’t keep reminding myself they’d drop me in a Kuran instant if they knew who I really was, I might get slightly fond of those oxen. But the matter’ll be taken care of. Let’s leave it at that.”
Three days.
• • •
The convoy was very impressive to guard three women and a man:
A column of soldiers, now conventional infantry instead of the Protector’s Own, lined the steps out of the sanitarium. Garvin, Lir, Montagna, and Mahim, who still limped a little, went down the steps into the windowless troop transport, an unarmed lifter that resembled the Force’s Griersons. Two Ayesha, the Larissan Zhukov, sat in front and back of the transport. A Nana-class patrol boat hovered overhead.
The gunships and transport lifted, turned through 180 degrees, staying over the road in case the shoulders had been mined, and went down the winding road, through the city suburbs to the Palace of Justice.
All crews were well briefed, their orders overseen by Njangu: If they were attacked, the escorting ships were instantly to move against the threat. The prisoner vehicle was to ground immediately, button up, and wait for support elements to arrive.
Two days.
• • •
“The people of Larix and Kura call for Justice,” Judicate and Leiter Vishinsk snarled, “and their valiant cries will be, must be, heard.
