An Officer’s Duty (18 page)

This was something Ia was not allowed to do for her brother. All she could do was assist him just a little bit. Thorne was the one who had to carry it through.

The plexcrete floor under the carpeting was old, but not yet old enough to squeak under the compression of her footsteps. Padding quietly into the living room, Ia held up her hand. Startled by her sudden appearance in his home, the short, balding, wiry Edwin rose from his couch where he had been quietly watching the evening news. Grabbing him telekinetically, Ia held him in place, half crouched, half erect, and unable to move. At least, unable to move his limbs; she hadn’t done anything about his mouth.

“What the—! How dare you!” he snapped, struggling in little twitches. “Let me go! I’ll call the Peacekeepers for this!”

“I think you’ll find that impossible, as I have cut power to the emergency pickups in your apartment,” Ia returned calmly. “Just like you yourself have done, time and again.”

Glancing at her brother, she nodded. He swallowed, nodded back, and shifted the backpack he was carrying, swinging it around on one shoulder so that he could open the main compartment. Fishing out the thorn-themed ring tucked inside, he lifted it in one hand.

“Edwin V’Sasselli…by the authority invested in me by the Free World Colony…the paperwork for which is still being processed by the Alliance courts,” Thorne stated, clearing his throat, “I hereby charge you with the murders of Vanessa Smythe, Erika Johnston, and Clattica Jjoll, among others.”

Edwin twitched at those names, eyes widening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is that thing? What are you going to do with it?”

“What, this?” Thorne asked, his voice deepening. He lifted the Wreath of Pain above the smaller man’s head, but didn’t place it yet. “This is Justice. And
it
, not I, will deliver your sentence and your punishment.”

Setting it squarely on the man’s head, Thorne stepped back. Edwin sucked in a sharp breath, eyes first rolling up, then squeezing shut. Ia eased his half-bent body back onto the cushions of the couch. She loosened some of her mental grip on him, grateful to be relieved of his weight, but still kept some of it in place. It was a good thing, too; he opened his mouth in a hissing, near-silent scream, and started thrashing, trying to beat at his chest. Or rather, trying to beat something away from his chest.

Thorne started to move toward him.

“No,” Ia countered sharply, firmly. “He must endure this until he
himself
takes off the wreath.”

“He’s trying to thrash it off his head,” Thorne grumbled, voice deepening in his distress. “Isn’t
that
a form of trying to take it off, himself?”

Sighing, Ia stepped around the padded corner of the coffee table. Reaching up, she pinned the coronet-like wreath in place and sunk her gifts into the material, altering its shape slightly. Not just altering the physical suggestion of thorns, but the interior striations of pink-tinged gold, where her blood had been fused to the faintly luminescent stone.

Edwin’s thrashings quieted. She removed her touch. He still twitched, but his head lolled back against the cushions of the sofa, the makeshift crown of crysium still lodged firmly on his balding head. His mouth still opened and shut, but it did so with eerie silence.

“The experience has now been intensified internally, not externally. He won’t throw it off. Nor will the others—don’t stop watching him, Thorne,” she warned her brother. “You
have
to watch it. Everyone has to watch this happening with the future criminals you will find. It will become one of the requirements for ascending to adult status in the coming years.
You
, I know, will have the fortitude to apply the Wreath of Pain to criminals. Fyfer won’t do it more than twice at most, and Rabbit’s too softhearted to do it even once, herself, though she must watch at the very least. Your mother might drop it on some-one’s head—Aurelia has always been the tougher of the pair—but we both know
my
mother won’t.

“You won’t have the facilities to incarcerate criminals,” Ia reminded him, ignoring the way V’Sasselli continued to twitch and
spasm on the sofa. “Not in the long term. You won’t have the resources to spare to
build
long-term prisons, let alone maintain and guard them. You also won’t have the means to chain your criminals to a topado patch like the Terrans do, either. Instead, you will have to use this technique. Together, the Wreaths of Pain and Hope will be your greatest tools for dealing with criminals. Those who are redeemable, they will work to redeem themselves.”

“And if they’re not?” Thorne challenged her as Edwin V’Sasselli continued to grimace and twitch. “What if being caught up in a postcognitive loop of the victims’ sufferings from
their
point of view isn’t enough to convince them to rehabilitate themselves?”

“One of three things will happen. If they have a conscience, they will work hard to make reparations. If they are beyond redemption, they will most likely end their own lives. And if they are
fated
to continue…they will continue. After that point,” she acknowledged, not even flinching at the hard look her half brother gave her, “if they break the law again and you catch them, you will put them through the Wreath of Pain a second time. If they choose to break it a third time—and I haven’t written any precognitive missives countermanding it—then you will execute them.

“I believe the term back on pre-interstellar Earth was ‘three strikes and you’re out,’” she added dryly, dispassionately watching the man on the couch twitching and suffering in breath-huffing quiet. “Once Edwin here removes this Ring of Truth, if he doesn’t head straight for the kitchen and the nearest knife…his favorite knife…then you will put the Wreath of Hope on his head. There’s a roughly thirty percent chance he will kill himself straight away, just from the Wreath of Pain. After the Wreath of Hope…it jumps to forty percent.

“However,” she cautioned her brother, “
if
he chooses to rehabilitate himself by swearing to follow you and me…you
will
use him. Remember, Thorne, your resources will be severely limited when the civil war hits. You will need men and women like Edwin, here. Murderers who will become assassins, thieves who will become infiltration artists and security specialists. Spies who will become counterspies and double-agents.”

“You told me,” he muttered, slowly shaking his head. “You
told
me, but I didn’t believe it…”

“The criminal element
must
become a part of the Free World Colony’s government. You will need every trick of their trades to counter every trick the Church will try to throw at you,” Ia reminded him, word for word. “Cities can be attacked, tunnels can be collapsed, food and water and even clean air may sometimes be in short supply, but your greatest resource will
always
be the people you command. Use. Them. Wisely.” She returned her gaze to the man on the couch. “Even if, personally, you think serial killer
skut
like this piece of slag should be thrown into the ocean.”

Thorne snorted at that. “What, and poison the devilfish? Ironic as that might be, not even those things deserve to choke on a murderer’s flesh.”

“If he doesn’t kill himself, you’ll get five, maybe six good years out of him,” Ia told her brother. “He’ll itch to kill, so you may need to
find
targets…but in five to six years, he’ll break loose and try to freelance. At that point, don’t hesitate; just kill him, quickly and cleanly. Your alternative option, whether or not this one cracks and goes under now or later, is outlined in the time-sensitive files. You’ll encounter him about a year from now—one way or another, you
will
need to remove a couple of key players in the Church’s inner circle, in a year and a half, and you’ll need the help of someone,
ah
…eminently qualified, shall we say?”

That made him wrinkle his nose. “I am
not
comfortable contemplating the cold-blooded assassination of anyone. Even a fanatical Church member.”

“I know.” She softened her tone with a touch of pity, compassion, and understanding. “Believe me, I do know. No one’s life should have to be wasted…but if it’s a choice between shooting down a rabid stubbie or letting the dog bite everyone in sight, shoot that one dog quickly and cleanly, and spare everyone else. If it helps, you can always put on the Wreath of Hope and remind yourself
why
we’re doing all of this.”

“Oh, I do know. You made me and Fyfer wear the damned things repeatedly over the last three weeks,” he grumbled. “I feel like I could almost write a couple of prophesies myself.”

Ia rolled her eyes. “Do try to refrain. Oh, and crack down hard and fast on
anyone
who tries to forge my prophecies,” she added. “God knows the Church will try, but so will some of the less stable elements on the Free World Colony’s side. I’ll be leaving a definitive list with both you and the Afaso Order, so you’ll know exactly which ones are real and which ones are being faked.”

“Any other last-minute directives, O Prophet?” Thorne asked her dryly.

Unlike her mothers, she didn’t expect him to stop treating her like his sister. They were as close as any set of twins born from the same mother, though they only shared the same absent father. He knew she was an adult, and knew she was the Prophet of a Thousand Years, but unlike their parents, Thorne had agreed to help carry out her plans years ago.

“Yeah, I do. Remember me.
Me
, I mean. Your sister,” Ia explained. “The woman, and not just the Prophet. I need you to
obey
me as the Prophet…but I need someone who’ll remember
me
.”

“What, you think Fyfer will start worshipping you?” he asked, snickering briefly at the thought.

“More like he’ll get so wrapped up in his own life, he won’t think much about me. The original me,” she clarified.

Edwin spasmed, gasping. He panted for air, eyes almost opening…then they rolled up into his head again, fluttering shut.

“Uhh…how long will he be like this?” her brother asked her.

“Approximately forty more minutes, give or take a few,” Ia estimated, skimming the timestreams with a brief close of her eyes. “Then either he’ll run and kill himself, or you can drop the second ring on his head. Then we get to wait another twenty minutes to see if he’ll be willing to live and cooperate with us. It’s all about free will, Thorne. It’s always about free will, and about taking responsibility for our actions—or not—and about making our own choices once we know what’s at stake. Even for
skut v’shakk
like this. He
does
have a choice, once the wreath is done with him.”

Thorne snorted. He covered his nose hastily, broad shoulders shaking. “
Ow. Please
don’t combine those two slang words
again.
Owww
…They do
not
go together. I almost turned my nose inside out! You’re lucky I wasn’t drinking anything.”

“Awww,”
Ia mock-sympathized. Hands clasped behind her back, she returned to watching Edwin V’Sasselli suffering through first-person perspectives of each of his brutalized victims. “Remember, if he goes for the kitchen, don’t stop him, just head for the bedroom exit. I’ll do a sweep for any stray bits of DNA on the way out. If he doesn’t head for the kitchen, drop the next wreath on his head.”

This really was the most humane way she could think of to deal with someone like Edwin V’Sasselli, given the ethics of the situation. She knew he was a serial killer, yet she knew her brother needed someone with that exact set of skills on his side. Normal on the outside, psychotic on the inside, and fully capable of killing just about anyone, given the right opportunity. Edwin would be a dangerous tool at best, but one which her brother had to learn how to use. This tool, or the next.

If she hadn’t needed Edwin V’Sasselli, if she didn’t believe even someone him like had a right to life, so long as that life didn’t adversely affect the future…her personal preference would have been to kill him. Quickly, cleanly, and mercifully. It was far more humane than what he had done to his own victims, and far more than he deserved. It was also why she was willing to risk him committing suicide after undergoing this…treatment.

Her next psychic ethics review was bound to be an interesting one, having to explain and justify this to Leona and the others.

Skin crawling, gifts twitching, Ia hugged her mothers long and hard anyway. This was her last chance to do so for another three years. If everything went right, that was. If it didn’t…She hugged her mothers a little bit longer before turning to Fyfer. They mock-tussled a moment, her knuckles rubbing over his dark curls and his fingers trying to pinch her vulnerable points, then they hugged. Patting her on the back, Fyfer let her go to the open arms of her half-twin.

“I’m still not happy that you made me do all that, earlier,”
Thorne muttered into her ear, hugging her tight enough to make her ribs ache.

Ia hugged him back just as hard. “It could’ve been worse. Keep an eye on him.
Use
him. Above all, give him
no
cause to doubt that your hand and mine are one.”