Lazarus Rising

by David Sherman

  A rocket decapitated Judah in a spray of blood and exploded at Abigail Amen's feet, shredding her body and killing both Ruth and Aaron instantly. Fifteen-year-old Deuteronomy was thrown bodily back into the house by the blast and knocked unconscious. He would not survive the night.

  The second projectile, fired from a hovering Hopper, hit the piles Consort Brattle had assembled in the street. The blast knocked her, Comfort, and Bass to the ground. Men in black body armor were suddenly swarming everywhere over what was left of the village of New Salem, firing at everything that moved or looked like it might.

  Consort Brattle lay in the dust, her left arm gone at the elbow, and stared up at the hulking goliath in body armor who loomed over her, his rifle in her face. He fired. Comfort jumped to her feet and ran to where Amen Judah's body lay. The man swung his rifle in her direction and fired again but missed. Comfort snatched the shot rifle Amen had been carrying, unconsciously checked that the safety was off, and fired from the hip. The man's body armor was designed to defeat high-energy weapons, not projectile weapons, and the shot ripped through his chest. Comfort fired again at another man and he went down too.

  From where he lay, Bass shouted for Comfort to take cover. Another rocket detonated between them. The last thing Bass remembered was the flash.

  Comfort was thrown to the ground by the blast but did not lose her grip on the shot rifle. She fired twice more from a sitting position, both times hitting men, though she couldn't tell how seriously. But she'd been unconsciously counting her rounds, and realized after the third that she had only one round left. A big man was almost on top of her. She fired. At less than one meter, the buckshot load from a standard shot rifle dispersed less than twenty-five millimeters. The shot passed between the man's legs. He grabbed Comfort by the front of her shirt and drove his fist into her face.

  "Your breakfast is getting cold, Mr. Ambassador," Herten Gorman murmured around a mouthful of ham and eggs. Smacking his lips noisily, he reached for the coffeepot and refilled his cup. "Excellent coffee, Mr. Ambassador. You keep a hearty table, I must say." He burped and, smiling, patted his stomach. "Where I was brought up, a burp at the table is a compliment to the host." He leaned back and belched loudly. "Ahhh! Makes room for more!" he wheezed. "Good thing it didn't come out the other end, eh?" He laughed enormously and stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth.

  Jayben Spears glowered balefully at his unwanted breakfast guest. Gorman's table manners were atrocious, and knowing that, Spears had hoped he wouldn't arrive until after he'd eaten. But Gorman arrived just as the servomech was laying out the table, so he had to invite the portly criminal to join him.

  "Not hungry this morning?" Gorman asked, pretending to be solicitous. "In this season in Haven, colds are quite common, Mr. Ambassador. Never could abide food in the morning when I had a cold. You know, nose all stuffed up, can't taste a thing, constantly hawking and blowing the snot out of my sinuses." He shook his head. "Astonishing! Medical science can regrow lost limbs, regenerate failed organs, and has eliminated nearly all diseases that used to keep people from living their full four score and seventeen standard years. Yet we are still plagued by the common cold.

  "Do you mind?" He gestured with his fork at the platter of ham in the center of the table, and when Spears shook his head, he speared himself another helping.

  "You've gained weight, Gorman," Spears observed sourly. He hadn't even touched his breakfast, and wouldn't, so long as Gorman remained at the table.

  Gorman patted his midriff. "Damned desk job, Mr. Ambassador! Weakens a man faster than a blowjob." Again he laughed uproariously.

  "Spare me any anatomical descriptions, please," Spears muttered.

  "Har har har," Gorman laughed, gesturing happily at Spears with his fork, bobbing his head up and down vigorously until he choked on a fragment of ham. He began to cough. Spittle flew into his napkin and his face turned almost purple as he tried to dislodge the meat. Spears brightened for the first time since Gorman arrived. Maybe he'd strangle. No chance of him performing a Heimlich maneuver if he did. But no such luck. At last, with a profound heave of his entire body, the errant piece of ham shot out into his napkin.

  "Damn!" Gorman picked the meat out of the napkin and regarded it carefully before popping it back into his mouth. "Missed me that time, you old bastard," he said, dramatically raising his eyes heavenward. "Besides, untold millions in Human Space would give their left nuts for food like this, Mr. Ambassador. It would be a sin to waste it." He smiled contentedly as he chewed on the fragment. He swallowed. He sighed and forked more food into his mouth.

  Spears's face turned a shade of beige and his stomach lurched uncomfortably. "Why are you here, Gorman?"

  "Ah!" Gorman gulped down the rest of the ham he'd been chewing, sipped his coffee noisily, and daintily patted his lips with his napkin. He tossed the napkin into the center of the table and sat back in his chair. Raising his chin up, he regarded Spears through his left eye, like a bird reconnoitering a worm. "I'm going to assassinate Dominic de Tomas," he said.

  Spears did not comment at once. Instead he carefully rearranged his silverware. Then: "Why should I care? You're both murderers and despots. The best thing for Kingdom would be for someone to kill you both."

  "My my, Mr. Ambassador," Gorman replied mildly. "What happened to the obligatory diplomatic sangfroid?"

  "I don't use it with people like you, Gorman. Why are you telling me this?"

  "If I get rid of him, I want you to get me out of here safely."

  Spears did not expect this. "You mean you aren't going to assassinate your head of state because you want to take over the government yourself?"

  Gorman smiled. "You call this a government? No, I want off this world. But I want de Tomas dead for my own personal reasons. After I do that, I can't count on the loyalty of the Special Group. They're devoted to him to a man. Once I get out of here, I've got a place to go where I can live comfortably for the rest of my life."

  "Well, why do you need me? Just kill him and take the next ship outward bound from here."

  Gorman shook his head. "No, no. I can't chance it. Too many people love that bastard. I don't know how he did it, but he's convinced a lot of us that he's Kingdom's savior. Never suspected he had that talent, Mr. Ambassador. Sooo, I've got to have a guaranteed escape plan. I don't want to end up like some latter-day Mussolini, hanging upside down from a lamp post, eh? I need safe conduct to Interstellar City and passage on one of your naval vessels. Just get me to its next planet of call, is all I ask, and I'll be on my way. I'll have some ‘baggage,’ but you can arrange for that."

  "Your ‘baggage’—it wouldn't consist of anything from the party's treasury, would it?"

  Gorman only smiled cryptically. "If we plan this carefully, Mr. Ambassador, you can call the shots as to whom the next ruler of this world might be. But I need one more thing—I need total and exclusive immunity from prosecution for anything I might have done while I was Deputy Leader of the Kingdom Socialist Party and a member of the Special Group. I am not asking for anything that is not within your power to grant."

  "I will not be an accessory to murder, even the murder of a swine like your boss."

  "Mr. Ambassador, this is your chance to—"

  "Gorman, you may leave now," Spears rasped, and stood up, his knees jostling the table and spilling Gorman's coffee.

  "Sir, you should consider my proposal very carefully! Your embassy exists here only at the pleasure of my government, and—"

  "Gorman, you are on Confederation property! If you don't get your fat ass out of here right now, I will have you arrested. I will then inform de Tomas of what you have just told me and you will be fed feet first into those goddamned furnaces you keep lighted at Wayvelsberg! Yes," Spears nodded, "I know what goes on up there. Now get out of here, you sonofabitch!"

  Gorman, shaking, his face white with rage, stood. "You will regret this, Spears," he whispered.

  "Yes yes, whatever. But let me tell you some
thing, mister, don't you ever come back here again."

  Gorman stomped out, almost knocking Prentiss Carlisle over as he barged through the door. Carlisle took in the disarray of the breakfast table and the look on Spears's face. "Is everything all right, sir?"

  "Prentiss! Why, yes, everything is just absolutely peachy. What's for breakfast in the cafeteria this morning?"

  "Why, ham and eggs, I expect," Prentiss answered, somewhat befuddled at the question. From where he stood, he could plainly see the untouched food on the ambassador's plate.

  "Well, come on, let's you and me go down and have some. What do you say?"

  "Why, thank you, sir. I'd enjoy that."

  "Good. Let's get General Banks to join us there. And when we're done, let's take a little trip out to General Lambsblood's headquarters. Prentiss, my lad, we have a busy day ahead of us!"

  "General, since the weather is so fine this morning, could we talk outside?" Jayben Spears asked General Lambsblood.

  "But...? Why, certainly, Mr. Ambassador!" the general answered, but he was perplexed. The weather was awful, damp and foggy, as it usually was in Haven at this time of the year, the cold season. Another reason the general did not like walking outside his headquarters complex was because he'd have to return dozens of salutes from passing soldiers. But Spears had something important to say, so he would have to be indulged. Besides, the visit could not have come at a better time for Lambsblood, who had something of his own to tell the Confederation's ambassador to Kingdom.

  "I didn't see Major Devi this morning, General," Spears commented as they stepped alone into the headquarters courtyard. Brigadier General Banks and Prentiss Carlisle, both to their amazement and pleasure, had been told to remain behind to finish their coffee.

  "Nossir, he's on, ah... well, detached duty for a while. I'll tell you more about that later."

  The fog outside had turned incredibly thick. The men's footsteps echoed dully as they slowly made their way over the cobblestones of the courtyard, thick with condensation.

  Spears laughed. "I wouldn't know how to find my way back to your office in this fog."

  "Don't worry, I know the way, sir."

  Spears turned serious and said in a low voice, "We've found several eavesdropping bugs in the consulate, General, so I'm sure de Tomas has you bugged here as well. I doubt his agents can overhear us out here, which was why I asked you to go walking with me."

  Lambsblood nodded. "I understand. I suspected as much myself, though I'm surprised even he would have the temerity to bug the Confederation embassy."

  "Earlier this morning Herten Gorman visited me. He wants to assassinate de Tomas." Despite the fact that so far they appeared to be alone in the courtyard, Spears spoke just above a whisper. In the fog, he could just make out Lambsblood nodding, as if this weren't news to him. Or as if he were agreeing it was a good idea to assassinate de Tomas.

  They walked along in silence for a few paces as Spears waited for some reaction from the general.

  "He wanted your help, I assume?" Lambsblood eventually asked.

  "Of course."

  "Did you agree to give it to him, Mr. Ambassador?"

  "Not only did I say no, General, I said ‘Hell, no!’"

  Lambsblood smiled. "You asked after Major Devi. He is temporarily on duty with an armored battalion at the local depot. I have put the unit on full combat alert and it is standing by, awaiting orders." Someone approached them. A young soldier, obviously an enlisted orderly, emerged from the fog.

  "Good morning, sir!" he said as soon as he recognized the commanding general. He was carrying pots of tea or coffee on a tray so he couldn't be encumbered with a salute. Lambsblood nodded and smiled and the soldier quickly passed on.

  "Are you expecting trouble?" Spears asked.

  "Yes."

  "What kind?"

  "Wayvelsberg," Lambsblood whispered.

  "On your own?"

  "If I have to, yes. De Tomas is only keeping me around until he's totally hamstrung my army, and then I'm history. I won't wait for that to happen. And I don't like what he is doing to this world of ours."

  "You're not alone, General. But this unit, General, who knows it's on standby alert? Do you think de Tomas might suspect something? And are the soldiers loyal to you?"

  "The soldiers are loyal. You should realize how low morale is in this army of mine right now, due mostly to de Tomas's ‘reforms,’ and his total lack of support. He is deliberately wearing us down while he builds up the Special Group, and everyone in uniform knows it. The armored unit was put on standby ostensibly to reinforce elements in the field. You know that yesterday a reconnaissance unit thought they encountered Skinks and were attacked by them?"

  "No!"

  "I pressed the panic button—on purpose. I passed the decision of what to do to de Tomas, and he sent a Special Group air assault unit to the scene. They took off after midnight and returned before dawn this morning. I haven't received an afteraction report yet and, as arrogant as those SG guys are, probably won't. But that the force came back, apparently intact, is proof to me that they weren't up against Skinks. I made it very clear that I put that armored unit on alert in anticipation of just this sort of thing, though. De Tomas doesn't believe I have the guts to pull off a coup against him, you can bet on that."

  Lambsblood paused before asking, "I can count on you, then? The Confederation will back me?"

  "Yes." Spears was nonplussed that his intelligence people had missed the report about the Skinks. But he felt a deep sense of relief that apparently whomever the SG men attacked, it probably hadn't been Skinks.

  "What kind of help can you give me?"

  Spears shrugged. "My endorsement for the government you will head when de Tomas is removed. In a few days a Confederation Navy starship is making a port call here. You will have her armaments to back your tanks and soldiers."

  "Accepted, with thanks. I have one condition, though."

  "What is that?"

  "If this coup succeeds and I survive, I don't want anything more to do with government! I want a guaranteed retirement. Let someone else run this world."

  "Agreed. And General, that says volumes for your personal integrity. I have my own condition, though."

  "Yessir?"

  "De Tomas must be taken alive and placed on public trial. Too many of your people have come to love him. I don't know how in the hell he managed that, but he has. The only way a truly honest and representative government can succeed him is if his crimes are aired and the people realize at last what a monster he is. If you can guarantee Gorman immunity, he'll sing like a canary. That's all I ask. Can you guarantee me that?"

  "I'll do my best, Mr. Ambassador."

  Spears held out his hand. They shook.

  "General," Spears said in his normal voice, "let's go back to your office and have some more of that excellent army coffee!"

  Chapter 22

  Yamagata Shannon grinned up at Prisoner 9639, revealing the gaps in his rotten teeth. "This'll hurt you a lot more than it will me," he said, giggling. The bright lamplight glinting off his spectacles gave the impression he had no eyes, only huge white holes on either side of his bulbous nose. Prisoner 9639 shivered as he took her forearm and put it firmly into his tattooing device. "The laser does all the work," he explained happily. "In the old days here at Castle Hurse, when all we had were criminals and religious crazies, before you politicals flooded in, we just photographed each new prisoner. But, ah, this laser technology marks a prisoner forever as one of ours, and it's much more fun!" he cackled.

  He held up a forefinger. "But first, the obligatory photo! The higher-ups want to see what our ladies look like, dearie! That bruise on your jaw doesn't look so pretty, my pretty, but yes, you are buxom, quite buxom. They shall be pleased. Look into the camera, please!" A bright flash, and a few seconds later 9639's digital image printed out of the computer. Shannon slipped it into her dossier. "And now," he crowed happily, "the zapper!" Shannon fiddled with the contr
ols, double-checking the prisoner's number against the number on her dossier, and then, smiling, hit Enter.

  Prisoner 9639 screamed shrilly as the laser burned the numbers 9639 into the flesh of her left forearm. Shannon giggled and pretended to sniff eagerly at the odor of singed flesh that filled the little room. "You get used to it," he said to no one in particular. "When hairy-armed men come through here, whew!" He handed one of the SG guards 9639's dossier and called out, "Next!"

  Supporting 9639 by her armpits, two SG guards hustled her out of the little room and down a long corridor. She tried to walk, but her guards were moving too quickly so she was simply dragged along the corridor to a door at one end. One of the guards knocked respectfully.

  "Come," a soft voice called from the other side. The room was bare except for a single folding table, a chair, and a lamp suspended from the ceiling. Behind the table sat a man in the uniform of the Special Group. He had the rank insignia of an overstormer, the equivalent of a captain. One of the guards handed him 9639's dossier. "Sit," he commanded. He opened the dossier and glanced at the single sheet of paper inside. "If you do not answer my questions, or if I find you have lied or exaggerated in any detail, your guards will discipline you immediately." He nodded, and one of the men grabbed 9639 between her neck and shoulder and squeezed. She screamed. "See? Are we ready to proceed?"

  Tears of agony streaming down her cheeks, 9639 nodded numbly.

  "Good," the overstormer said. His voice was soft and pleasant. He appeared to be a man in his middle years, a slight fringe of gray about the edges of his closely cropped hair. "I like for these interrogation sessions to go smoothly and pleasantly. First, I am Overstormer Rudolf, commandant of Castle Hurse. You will address me—and every member of my staff—by their rank. You will assume the position of attention when addressing one of us. You are Prisoner 9639, the only name that you will have here. That is how you will be addressed, and that is the only name you will answer to while you are here. Is that understood?"