Hour of Judgement (29 page)

“And personally. I’ll say this in light of what we all know. Lowden deserved to die. I believe he gave false witness. I was there. I don’t think he believed the gardener did it. The gardener was just a convenient victim.”

Koscuisko turned his face down and away from her; the Danzilar prince – half-rising — put his hand out to Koscuisko’s shoulder, his concern clearly evident.

“You could not know, Drusha,” Danzilar said. “Please. You must forgive yourself. You had orders.”

The
Ragnarok
’s First Officer, Ralph Mendez, had been quiet for the duration, obviously content to sit and absorb. Now Mendez turned his attention to his hands, clasped before him on the table’s surface. It was awkward to be witness to this. Jils could sympathize.

“Orders can never justify.” Koscuisko’s voice sounded choked. “Oh, Shiki. There is always someone who must do the thing, and that man has a choice, Shiki, truly. I am ashamed.”

That it took him so long to realized that Hanner hadn’t done it, could not have done it. Garol had told her about Koscuisko’s conflict. She honored it; but Koscuisko was wrong. Lawful orders upheld the rule of Law. Obedience to lawful orders was the duty of every responsible citizen under Jurisdiction. Only unlawful orders brought shame on the head of the one who executed them. And as soon as Koscuisko had realized that the gardener was innocent Koscuisko had taken appropriate measures.

“One way or the other,” Garol said, in a voice that struck Jils as being curiously soft. “Captain Lowden’s death was required by the Bench under warrant. That’s all there is to it. We recommend a finding of Free Government activity, targeting officers of the Jurisdiction Fleet Ship
Ragnarok
. Unless there are any questions.”

Koscuisko covered his face with his hands. But after a moment Koscuisko straightened up. The Danzilar prince, still watching Koscuisko with concern clearly written on his face, shook his head.

“No. I am content. As long as the Bench will have no expectation of launching a hunt for any such assassins here. I will not have a Fleet interrogations group at Port Burkhayden.”

Quite right of him, too. Fleet interrogations groups were very efficient at identifying and locating Free Government operatives. The problem was that a Fleet interrogations group was perfectly capable of finding such activity where there wasn’t any. It made no difference to a Fleet interrogations group. Someone could always be brought to confess to the crime, and from there things escalated.

“We’ll sign up to that, sir, and go so far as to promise that no further action will be taken.” Jils could make that claim honestly, with confidence. Garol would declare his Bench warrant. That would be that. “I think we can go on Record, your Excellency.”

Koscuisko stood up, and looked around the table at each of them. Mendez nodded. “Go for it, Andrej.”

Koscuisko decided.

“Terminate suspension of Record, conclusion of discussion of evidence and findings. Let the Record show that the death of Fleet First Lieutenant G’herm Wyrlann was accomplished by a person or persons unknown, but presumed to be associated with Free Government terrorists. Let the Record further show a similar finding in the matter of the death of Fleet Captain Griers Verigson Lowden, presumed murdered in the absence of evidence. Let all here now state their concurrence with these findings.”

Koscuisko recited the legal formula without inflection, dispassionately. It took a moment for the Danzilar prince to take his cue. Once he did, however, the Danzilar prince spoke his piece clearly and calmly as well.

“Paval I’shenko Danzilar, Bench-proxy governor of Burkhayden in Meghilder space. In the matter of the death of Fleet First Lieutenant G’herm Wyrlann by an assassin of unknown identity, I concur. In the matter of the death of Fleet Captain Lowden by an assassin of unknown identity, I also concur.”

Formula. But they all had to say it. Mendez made his statement, and when it came to Garol — next, going around the table — he put the crucial piece of information on Record.

“In the matter of the death of Fleet Captain Lowden by an assassin of unknown identity, I concur. I report the cancellation of an outstanding Bench warrant received.”

Because he had exercised it. Port Burkhayden was safe from Fleet interrogations groups. Nobody who reviewed the Record could entertain any doubt about what had really happened. That was one of the reasons that access to the Record was so strictly controlled. Not even Koscuisko — who held the Writ — could invoke the Record to recall information; he could only supply it.

“Bench intelligence specialist Jils Ivers, on assignment. In the matter of the death of Fleet First Lieutenant G’herm Wyrlann.”

Done. Finished.

“The decision is unanimous,” Koscuisko said. “It is so found. No further action. The Record is complete. Close the Record.”

Now they could get on with their lives, to the extent that Bench intelligence specialists had lives.

Whether or not the bond-involuntary would ever remember the murder Jils didn’t know, and she didn’t really care. What was important was the rule of Law. Nothing more. Sometimes that meant that the innocent were sacrificed to the public order; that had almost happened with Skelern Hanner. It was well worth one man getting away — for now — with the murder, which he might not have committed, of a bully who disgraced his Fleet rank, rather than risk a mistake in the other direction.

“Thank, you, gentles.” The Danzilar prince rose to his feet, and spoke their dismissal. “Shall we go to mid-meal. There is Nurail meat-pudding. We do not have to eat any of it.”

The Danzilar prince would be much happier when they were all out of Port Burkhayden.

And now there was no longer anything to keep them.

###

Andrej Koscuisko got out of the transport half-a-block from the wreck of the service house. “Wait for me,” he warned Security, to forestall Chief Stildyne. “I will go alone. There is something that is between just the two of us.”

Himself, and Specialist Vogel, who stood with his back turned in the middle of the street at the end of the block. By himself. All alone. Andrej had been told that Vogel could be found here.

He had a word or two to say to Vogel before they all went their separate ways.

The burning of the service house had left a gap in the long row of buildings in this part of the port; the walls still stood, and several of the floors had not collapsed, but there was sunlight shining through blackened window-openings from within empty rooms. There was soot everywhere. Vogel heard him coming, but Vogel didn’t move, and Andrej stood for a moment and looked at the destroyed hull before he found anything to say.

“They will have to rebuild.” Well, obviously. He was just making conversation. “But that no lives were lost, it is a cheap price to pay for such a blessing. Perhaps I am not the man who can say that. Because I am not the man who must pay for the rebuilding.”

The Danzilar prince would rebuild the service house. The woman Megh would have to go back, but only in an administrative capacity. She would not be called upon to provide any services more personal than balancing a tally-sheet in the laundry. He could feel good about that. It would be a great comfort to Robert to know that his sister was safe, even if not free.

“Yeah. Well.” Vogel squinted up at the top surviving level of the building, the floor where the fire had started. “Shouldn’t have left it open, with so little by way of fire suppression. What do you want. Your Excellency.”

Because Andrej hadn’t tracked Vogel down to the scene of someone’s crime in order to talk about casualties. They both knew it. Andrej was convinced they both knew what the crime had been: and who had committed it.

“I wondered, Specialist. I do hold the Writ. And I am a Bench officer accordingly, as well as a Fleet officer on board the
Ragnarok
. Why didn’t you tell me.”

He had a right to know, in his capacity as a Bench officer. In a sense. But more than that. If the murder was under Bench warrant, and Vogel intended to declare it as such, why had Vogel kept it a secret for so long?

Vogel sighed. As if only now making up his mind to an irreversible step of some kind. “Fair enough. I’ll tell you. There’s something wrong with the warrant. I don’t like it. I hadn’t decided whether I was going to execute it or not.”

Something wrong? With a Bench warrant?

What did that mean?

“But once it was done.” Vogel hadn’t executed the Bench warrant, but Lowden was dead. “There have been these ten days past.”

Vogel shook his head. “No, not really. Here. You may as well have this.”

Mayas well have what?

Vogel reached into the inside pocket of his over-blouse, and plucked the Bench warrant out of its place there. Handing it to Andrej, who took it eagerly. He’d never seen a termination order. He was interested. Bench codings. Counter-secures. Marks and sigils he’d never seen, at whose meaning Andrej could only guess. Formal Judicial language,
as regards the person of the following named soul the bearer is to exercise the solemn ruling of the Bench in support of the Judicial order.
The name.

Which was not Lowden.

The document trembled in Andrej’s hand. Was it only the breeze?

This was his life, that he was looking at.

An order for his own execution.

What could this mean?

“I’ve declared it exercised,” Vogel said, as if that could explain. “Somebody knows. Somebody knows it was issued for you, and not for Lowden. You know what I think? I think it’s bogus. And whoever made it up isn’t going to stop at a faked warrant, Koscuisko, so be advised.”

The words meant nothing. “Why do you tell me this?” Andrej asked, in a horrified whisper. “When we both know
. . .
” That he’d killed the Captain, and was vulnerable to the most extreme penalty under Jurisdiction. That Vogel had just covered up. Andrej couldn’t stop staring at his own name on the warrant. Someone wanted him dead.

But who?

And why?

Was Chilleau Judiciary so intent on revenge on him that it was willing that he should die rather than go free?

Vogel shrugged. “It’s academic now. The only people who even care are you and me and whoever wants you dead. And I don’t care that Lowden’s dead. I meant what I said. I think he gave false witness. I think he knew.”

“You’re a Bench specialist. You cannot stand by and let murder go unpunished.” Andrej held the Bench warrant out for Vogel to take back; but Vogel didn’t move. “Where does this come from?”

“I am a Bench specialist,” Vogel agreed. “That means I decide what best serves the Judicial order, and I consult my own good reason when I do so. On site. No revisits. No reversals. And I think it’s best that they both died by Free Government assassination. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Nor was Vogel doing any explaining, not really. So at least he was consistent.

“And where does it come from, well, that’s the big question. Bench warrants are issued by the First Judge or a delegated authority. In reality they can come from any Bench under Jurisdiction. And they do.”

Andrej had an abstract sort of knowledge that Vogel was talking to him. And talking sense. He must be in shock, he told himself. All he could think about was his name on the warrant.

“What am I to make of this? What am I to do?”

He hadn’t felt so helplessly at a loss since — since he wanted to remember. There were no real answers to questions like that, Andrej knew. Yet Vogel answered him.

“You’ve got enemies. You know that. But the rule of Law is not to be subverted for anyone’s personal vendetta, Koscuisko. If I were you I’d put the Malcontent on it. As for the rest nobody knows which eight’s their last, so deal with it accordingly.”

Vogel had had enough of Andrej’s shocked incomprehension; that seemed clear enough. Vogel turned his back, and walked away; Andrej stood where he was with the Bench warrant in hand, staring at the blackened vaults of the once-service house.

Enemies.

And no man knew which eight would be his last. That was true.

The thought was somehow calming. Andrej folded the warrant up into the front-plaquet of his own over-blouse, conscious of Chief Stildyne coming up behind him.

“I need home leave, Chief.” He’d have to tell Stildyne; it was in Stildyne’s professional interest to know. “Let us go home. Well, to my home. Let us take Security five point three.” It would be fun to take his people home to the Matredonat, and spoil them thoroughly. They could meet his child. He could meet his child, for that matter.

He had not wanted to go home with the taint of torture contaminating everything he touched. But if he was to die there were things he needed to do first; and whether or not Specialist Vogel was right about the Bench warrant it was a useful reminder.

No man knew the hour of his death.

It was prudent to leave no crucial thing undone to be accomplished in a future that might never be granted one.

“Yes, sir. The shuttle’s waiting, your Excellency.”

To go on home leave it was necessary to first return to the ship. That was all right. There were probably not assassins on board
Ragnarok
. He would go home. Perhaps he would seek out the Malcontent.

Had he not suspected for some time that Saint Andrej Malcontent, rather than Filial Piety, was his true name-saint?

“Let us by all means go.” Andrej turned his back on the service house and everything it stood for. “We have had altogether too much excitement, Chief. We need a rest.”

Ten days of wondering what Vogel would do, whether there was evidence to link him to the murder, whether he would have to speak up and accuse himself in order to prevent some other — innocent — man from the penalty. Ten days of considering a Tenth Level Command Termination and finding himself unable to regret what he had done, even if he should have to pay so high a price. Ten days of holding his breath. He was exhausted.

“To the contrary. With respect.” Security was waiting for him, and Robert in his place. It would be hard on Robert to leave his sister. At least they’d had ten days together. “His Excellency has not participated in combat drill for upwards of twenty days now. We have some serious catching up to do. Sir.”