"There, y'see?"
"But you're presenting only two extremes. There has to be a middle ground, Garbeck. And I wish I could tell you that I knew
what it was, but..." She sighed. "I don't. But part of me wonders whether-by this point-I've become too much like Mackenzie Calhoun."
"Captain Shebly," Garbeck said with effort, "we may have had our differences, but I can assure that-no matter how extreme our disagreements may have become, and no matter how much I think you're mucking things up-you are not, and never will be, any-thing like Mackenzie Calhoun. And, if I have anything to say about it, neither will I."
"You're certainly right about the latter, in any event."
"Thank you," she said proudly.
"For one thing, Calhoun could hold his Mquor."
"I can hold my liquor!" Garbeck said indignantly. She picked up the bottle and cradled it, a bit unsteadily, in both hands. "See?"
Shelby laughed. "I'm very proud of you, Commander. Very proud."
"Thank you." And then her mouth drew taut, and Shelby was certain that Garbeck was fighting back tears. "I'm always going to hear them, you know. Those poor bastards. Set up by their leader... one of them by his own brother. Crying for mercy. Beg-ging, pleading. Three of them told me they had children, did you know that? Wanted to go back to them. I had to ignore them, ig-nore it. But it was a clear Prime-Directive situation, you know. Textbook. Absolute textbook."
"I know. It was," agreed Shelby. "And when you led them away, I heard the begging, too."
"They were only following orders."
"Yes."
"Just like we do."
"Yes."
"They didn't deserve what happened to them."
"But they performed certain destructive actions. Actions, so I'm told, have to have consequences, lest we descend into anarchy."
Garbeck looked up at her in confusion. "Who said that?"
"You did. Five minutes ago."
"Oh." She shrugged. "Well... what do I know?" "About as much as any of us knows, Number One. About as much as any of us knows. And somehow... it's never enough."
They sat there and stared into the bottle as the long evening hours stretched on, waiting for the screams and pleadings for mercy to die in their heads. And it never quite happened.
RHEELA
the timing of the arrival of the Circuit Judiciary couldn't have been better... or, at least, so it seemed. With Knit having issued his challenge, and the distinct possibility that, as of the morrow, there might not be a Majister, at least the pending case of Kusack could be attended to.
The Judiciary-who, by startling coincidence, had arrived mere hours after Knit's ultimatum-was an unassuming but learned individual. Word of his arrival had spread quickly. Rheela was on her way into town anyway, because Moke had bolted home after witnessing the confrontation between Calhoun and Knit, and she had felt the need to go to him, to see if she could offer any aid or encouragement. It was a nonsensical thing to con-template, really. What could she do? What could she truly hope to accomplish? Just make a damned fool of herself, most likely, but that still wasn't going to stop her from making her best effort.
But when she had arrived in town, she had discovered people crowding into the central meeting hall, almost tripping over one another in their anxiousness to cram inside. Rheela had pretty much figured it out before she even got near. There had been no meeting scheduled, no natural disaster had occurred that she, at least, could discern. Thinking about what could possibly have in-
cited such reactions, she quickly came to the (very correct) con-clusion that the Circuit Judiciary had finally made his presence known to the small city once again.
She managed to ease her way in through two rather heavyset in-dividuals, gliding adroitly between them while they were hesitat-ing and trying to figure out which of them was going to give way so that the other could pass through (since their walking in side by side was unworkable). She managed to find a seat at the far end of one bench. No one glanced her way, even though she recognized a couple of them from the crews who had been coming to restore her house. She tried to figure out whether being cold-shouldered was a good thing or not.
There was the Circuit Judiciary; a reedy man who was learned about everything, except about not acting insufferably pleased that he was learned. The Praestor was in the process of informing the Judiciary just exactly what had happened to land Kusack in gaol, and the further circumstances surrounding the death of the previous Majister, Fairax. Kusack stood before the Judiciary, his hands securely tied, his head hung so that he didn't have to look the Judiciary in the eye. Calhoun was seated in a single, free-standing chair nearby. Rheela immediately noticed something dif-ferent in Calhoun's expression, as opposed to everyone else's. Calhoun was watching the Circuit Judiciary very carefully, as if he was waiting for the Judiciary to say something important. But there was something in Calhoun's face, something about his ex-pression that gave Rheela pause. It made her wonder what he knew that no one else in the room did.
The Judiciary was silent for some moments after Milos stopped talking. He was tilted back in his chair, his eyes gazing at the ceil-ing as if he was going to find his decision written there in letters three feet high. Then he moved his chair forward, his gaze seem-ing capable of dissecting Milos to his core.
"Is this," he said slowly, "the only case of significance you have to bring before me?"
Something in his voice alerted Rheela-and, to varying de-
grees, those around her-that there was a problem. Milos, how-ever, looked confusedly blank. "Yes, sir," he replied.
The Circuit Judiciary made a contemptuous snorting noise, as if the matter that he had been called upon to decide was not re-motely worth his tune or consideration. He had a large book open before him, presumably one of law. He slammed it closed with a thud that made everyone in the room, except Calhoun, jump slightly. "Then you have wasted my time," he growled. "The de-fendant is free to go."
The cry of outrage was deafening, everyone shouting at once... once again, everyone except Calhoun, who was simply shaking his head slightly from side to side. Kusack was grinning broadly, obviously pleased with the result.
Milos' voice managed to tower above everyone else's. "Sir!" he cried out. 'This man... he murdered a man, Turkin, who played with him in a game of cards... and his brothers killed our beloved Majister... !"
"We speak of matters of life and death here, Praestor. If Kusack were responsible for a murder, such an act carries penalties that have a definite air of finality about them. So certainty is required. What you have told me here does not begin to approach that cer-tainty." Voices began to rise once more in protest, but the Judi-ciary outshouted them. "In regards to the death of Majister Fairax... well, I regret it as much as you. He was a decent and honorable man. But Kusack was merely present at that incident. No one is claiming that he himself pulled the trigger. In fact, he was behind gaol bars at the time. You have tried to paint him as some sort of accomplice, but your description of the events sim-ply do not fit the requirements of law that define an accomplice." When he spoke of law, his fingers caressed the book with cool sat-isfaction. "As for this Turkin fellow... where are your witnesses? The other cardplayers, for example..."
"Two of them were Kusack's own brothers," admitted the Praestor. "Two others were...well... hired guns. They were not permanent residents of the city and have moved on..."
"And the remaining witness was the arresting officer himself, Majister Fairax, who is now, regrettably, deceased," said the Judi-ciary. "If you had brought Kusack's brothers to me and they had admitted to their brother's act, that would carry weight. Yet they are not here, nor has your present Majister made any effort to hunt them down."
There was a dead silence, almost challenging. Calhoun said quietly, "I am one person. I cannot cover the entirety of the planet single-handedly. If I had a squadron of men at my dis-posal, I would not know which direction to send them in pursuit. If I had some form of instantaneous communication wit
h other towns..."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was chortling from around him. " Instantaneous communication'?" said the Ju-diciary incredulously. "What sort?"
Calhoun shrugged slightly. "You could string wires-cables- between cities. Communicate in that way."
The chortling turned into outright derisive laughter. The Judi-ciary looked at the Praestor as if to say, This is the madman you 've installed as the agent of law in this city? "The transmission of voices over wires or cables," the Judiciary said patiently, "is phys-ically impossible."
"Far be it from me," Calhoun said with a faintly mocking tone, "to challenge one whose scientific knowledge so outstrips my own."
The Judiciary heard the challenge in Calhoun's voice, but chose to ignore him. Instead, he rose from behind the table, tucking the book under his arm. "With the witnesses either unavailable or dead, we have only secondhand information on which to base the prosecution of this man. It is insufficient. Why are you still here, Kusack? I have told you you are free to go. Go."
With a triumphant whoop that pierced the sudden stillness of the meetinghouse, Kusack bounded out the door. His laughter floated behind him.
The Maestress was now on her feet, and she pointed a bony and wavering hand at the Judiciary. "A grave miscarriage of justice
has occurred here today, sir," she told him. For once, Rheela found herself in agreement with the little wretch.
"I do not adjudicate in matters of justice, Maestress... only law," the Judiciary informed her. "Now, if there is nothing else..."
'There is, actually," Calhoun said. He had risen as well, and he had a satchel slung over his shoulder. "A child's toy. I devised it for a young man of my acquaintance. I was hoping you could help me test it."
The Judiciary stared uncomprehendingly at Calhoun. "What...T he managed to get out
Calhoun was not affording him the slightest bit of attention. In-stead, he was busy pulling out two cups, joined by a string affixed at the base of each. He preferred one of the cups to the Judiciary and said, "If you wouldn't mind... ?"
The Judiciary slowly took the cup, turning it over and over in his hand, as if trying to figure out what trick was hidden within.
"Now, back up," Calhoun said pleasantly, "until the string draws taut."
The Judiciary looked around in confusion, saw the blank stares of those around him. Caught up in the moment, he walked back-ward until the string between the two cups was tight
"Now, hold it to your ear," Calhoun told him.
Eyes narrowed in suspicion, the Judiciary nevertheless held the cup to his ear. Calhoun then whispered something into his cup so softly that no one could hear what he had said.
But the Judiciary's eyes widened, and his face went pale with shock as the cup slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. Whatever Calhoun had said, the Judiciary had obviously heard it. And whatever he had heard apparently wasn't very calming or flattering. Clutching his book of law tightly to him, he pivoted on his heel and bolted out the door, nearly stumbling as he did so.
Everyone was staring at Calhoun as he calmly picked up the fallen cup and placed the makeshift device back into his satchel. Then he glanced around at the other townspeople once more be-fore walking out of the meeting hall. The silence extended for
long moments after his departure, and then the Praestor loudly cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "I suppose that you can all re-turn to your homes. There's nothing more to see h-"
"Wait!" Rheela was on her feet, her mouth moving before she even realized she was going to speak. "Wait... what about the duel? This... this Krut person! What are we going to do to help him-?"
There were blank stares from all around her. One would have thought she was speaking in a foreign language.
"Do?" It was the Maestress who had spoken, her voice dripping with derision.
"It is a personal matter," Milos said. "We all heard it
"Personal matter! He is our Majister! Our defender of law!" Every eye was upon her, judging her, and she could practically feel the contempt radiating from them. But she ignored it, pushing on, determined. "You stood here and witnessed a man go free who was partly to blame for the death of our previous Majister, a man beloved by all. Will you stand by and see another good man be killed while trying to do what's right?"
"Will we sacrifice ourselves to save him?" Spangler called from the back.
"Why shouldn't we?" she replied with grim amusement. "After all, Spangler... wouldn't that make a better story? That's all you're interested in, anyway: stories. Not about affecting the outcome; just about standing by and watching it all happen. And then you tell other people about it in your newspaper, so they can shake their heads and talk about what a dangerous place the world is, and aren't they for-tunate to have avoided any such unpleasantness themselves. Well, you should not be avoiding this upcoming 'unpleasantness'! You should be getting your hands dirty trying to stop it! You all should!"
"Perhaps," the Maestress said coolly, "we should vote on it."
Immediately there were shouts of "Yes! Let's vote!"
The vote was fairly quickly attended to. After all, when only one person raises her hand to vote "Aye," an exact count of the "Nays" isn't really all that necessary.
It was extremely quiet around the dinner table that evening. Over the past weeks, as they had become increasingly comfort-able with one another, there had been something that had been ex-tremely rare around the household: laughter. They had basked in each other's company, and for what had seemed all too brief a time, Rheela had occasionally entertained fantasies of what it would be like if it could be this way always.
But this evening, it was different. Silence lay shrouded around them, and finally Rheela put down her utensils a bit too loudly. The loud clink of the utensils naturally got Calhoun's and Moke's full attention.
"I'm tired of everyone trying not to make eye contact with each other," she said. She looked from one to the other, her gaze set-tling on Calhoun. "Is he really that fast? This Krut? As fast as Moke told me?"
"He's very fast," Calhoun admitted.
"Faster than you?"
"I don't know. I think so, yes."
"How can you just sit there and make such a calm assessment of it?"
"No matter how fast or how skilled a person is, there's always going to be someone who's faster or more skilled," Calhoun said, also putting down his eating utensils. The food lay largely un-touched on his plate. "There's no point in getting upset about it."
'There is if it means your death!"
"I'd rather die fighting than of old age," said Calhoun thought-fully. "But don't worry. I've no intention of dying tomorrow."
"But you think he's a faster draw than you."
"Yes."
**Then you're going to die!"
He started to reply, but then caught Moke's expression out the corner of his eye. He spoke in a low tone, even though the boy could easily hear it. "You're upsetting the boy."
Why shouldn't he be upset along with me! Rheela wanted to howl. But she literally bit her tongue. Instead, she got up from the
table so forcefully that she banged her knees on the underside of it, sending some of the food tumbling. Reflexively, she started to reach for it, but then caught herself and turned and dashed out into the unseasonably cool evening air. She heard voices floating be-hind her, heard Moke saying, "Why is she so upset? He's not going to kill you, is he?" and Calhoun, damn him, saying, "No, of course not. I'll be fine." Her fury grew upon hearing that, because she didn't want him lying to the boy. But what, really, was he sup-posed to say? "Yes, son, he's going to kill me. You're talking to a dead man."
The tears welled up in her eyes, and then he was behind her, a hand resting on her shoulder. She whirled and held him tightly, and marveled at how solid his body was. She knew at that moment just how much she wanted him.
"We'll run away," she whispered.
Her voice must have been muffled against him, but he was st
ill able to hear her well enough. "Run away?"
She pulled her face away from him and nodded fervently. "We can. We can do it. You, me, Moke... we'll pack up, steal away into the night..."
"Wouldn't do any good," he said. "I know the type of 'man' Krut is. Now that he knows I'm here, he'll track me down. And then he'll try to kill not only me, but also you and Moke. Be-sides... I was never much for running."
"And how are you for dying?" she demanded bitterly. She was crying again. She hated that, hated the crying. She had thought her-self all cried-out years ago... back when the stranger had left. The stranger who had put Moke into her body and departed as mysteri-ously as he had come. "Have a lot of experience dying, do you?"
"Dying, yes. Never quite gotten to 'dead.' But I've done the dying part enough not to be intimidated by it."
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