Curse of the Legion

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "Both. It's going to be hard making decisions in these cases. That's why we want you to see what we're facing. We meant it when we said our policy was forgive and forget. But some people are dangerous—and we're not going to let our new society be subverted. So all potentially dangerous or subversive individuals are being screened. Here, here's the interview tents. This is exactly what we want you to see. There's no need for you to say anything, just listen. We'll ask for your comments later." We had reached another seemingly infinite line of tents, with the sides pulled up to let in what little breeze there was. Hundreds of detainees waited patiently by the tents. Minzu chose one tent and entered. I followed.

  "Sister Minzu! Welcome." A pretty biogen girl with rusty red hair popped to attention behind a field table piled high with documents. "We were told to expect it."

  "Hello, Sister. This is James Wester, our advisor from the Confederation of Free Worlds. He is here as an observer. Brother Wester, this is Sister Kristina who will be doing the interviews."

  "Pleased to meet you, Sister," I said.

  "Likewise, Brother. Our thanks for your assistance." I was secretly very pleased that the biogens were accepting me as a "brother". That term was normally reserved for male biogens.

  We sat with Sister Kristina on crude folding field chairs behind the little table. Minzu looked through the documents.

  "Let's start with this one," she said. "A political. Then we can do a criminal one, to give you an idea of what they are like."

  "Fine with me," I said. It was hot as hell in the tent. I was sweating already. Both biogens looked nice and cool. They can adjust their body temperature to suit the surroundings—a handy talent.

  "Number 98!" Kristina called out. There was a biogen guard outside supervising the line of prisoners. She was a lovely short-haired honey who appeared anxious to kill someone. Miss Tough Love, I thought. She brought in Number 98. That wasn't his detention number, which was probably in the thousands. It was his interview number.

  He was a large mortal, almost bald, pale, clean-shaven and quite overweight. He blinked in the relative darkness inside the tent. He appeared quite formidable in his huge orange jump suit.

  "Have a seat, please." Kristina said. The man settled into the field chair facing the table.

  "Name?"

  "Malcolm Zhedether."

  "Occupation?"

  "We are—or were—a county court judge for Westford County, just outside the city."

  Kristina turned to us and smiled. "That was just to ensure we have the right man. There's so many people in line sometimes they send in the wrong one." She turned her attention back to the prisoner. "So, it's a judge. What sort of cases does it handle?"

  "Well, a wide variety of cases. We serve the people. Misdemeanors, criminal cases, tax evasion, equality and redistribution complaints—we do it all."

  "Does it recognize this document?" Kristina handled him a plastic case file. He looked over the d-screen carefully.

  "Yes, we do," he replied, frowning. "This was the Parkside vigilante case. A very troubling case, on several levels. Yes, this was our case."

  "We have read through the case," Kristina said, "and we agree it is troubling. But the verdicts—guilty on all counts, execution for one of the vigilantes, and life sentences for the others. Was that not a bit harsh, considering the circumstances?"

  "Harsh? Oh no. We have no regrets about the sentencing, none at all. We are a society of laws. Yes, the circumstances may have been unusual, but the law is clear. This case is crystal clear and is a perfect example of equality under law. They even teach this one in first-year law school now. No, I had no difficulty ruling on this one."

  "For the benefit of our visitors, please summarize the case—briefly." Kristina smiled pleasantly.

  "Certainly," the judge replied, glancing at me warily. "Well, briefly, there was an intrusion at Parkside Public Elementary. A group of nine citizens are said to have forced their way in wielding firearms, and allegedly kidnapped seven young female students. Two teachers died during the incident. The police followed up but there were no leads. It was…about a month later when an unlicensed private detective, hired by the families of the missing children, located the alleged kidnappers and learned where the children were allegedly being held. The detective and several parents, equipped with illegal firearms, raided the building, killed six of the alleged kidnappers, and discovered all the children, dead, in a basement room."

  "Why didn't they call the police instead?"

  "Ah, there is a mistrust of the police in the community. It's a shame."

  "So all the children were dead."

  "Yes. The circumstances were chilling. They had all been extensively tortured and repeatedly gang raped. Then suffocated, in air-tight metal trash bins. I hate to say it. It's a shame."

  "A shame is the least that it is. Please go on."

  "Well, the police came in response to the gunfire, and were shocked to discover that the parents had killed six of the alleged kidnappers—and two of them were executed in cold blood. One of the parents died as well. Three more of the suspect kidnappers had hidden out in the building but were subsequently detained by the police, and able to testify against the parents."

  "We see. And the legal results of all this—in brief?"

  "It was clear. Six counts of premeditated murder. The private detective was sentenced to death and the parents were all sent to psymed and imprisoned for life. Murder alone can get you twenty years to life, but it wasn't murder alone. Not only is vigilantism illegal, but possession of firearms is a serious offense. And investigation and interrogation of the parents revealed, in all cases, serious thought crime, elitism, and evasion of taxation and redistribution regulations. It was a clear cut case."

  "We see. And how about the surviving—uh, citizens, I believe you called them? The kidnappers."

  "Well, again, we simply apply the rule of law. They proved inequality, which means they were entitled to redistribution from the parents. They sued successfully. Also, they were attacked illegally by the detective and the parents. They could prove they were the victims. Their rights were violated. They won millions in compensation—I forget the actual figures."

  "Interesting. How about kidnapping, rape, torture, murder—does any of that come into it?"

  "Well, no. There was plenty of evidence in the basement, but the citizens denied everything. Under our laws, criminal suspects have rights. More rights than non-criminal citizens, actually. One of those rights is a guarantee against self-incrimination. If we confiscate personal property from criminal suspects we are using their personal property to incriminate them, and that has been ruled as self-incrimination. It's out of bounds. The firearms and everything else found in the basement were not admissible. Criminal suspects have special protection. Our laws are designed that way. Oh, we put them on trial, but we knew there was no case. So in the case of the three surviving alleged kidnappers, the verdict was not guilty. We shouldn't even have charged them. It was just a waste of everyone's time."

  "A waste of time. We see. And what about the victims?"

  "Not guilty. What does it mean?"

  "We mean the seven victims of the kidnappers. The girls who were raped, tortured, and murdered."

  "Oh, them. Well I told you, they died. We could do nothing about that."

  "We thank it, Citizen. It will be notified of the results of the interview at an appropriate time."

  "Our thanks." The detainee got up and left the tent, still sweating.

  "What does it think?" Minzu asked me. "We've got every decision he ever made in his file. They're all exactly like that—innocent citizens go to jail, professional criminals are set free. Always." Kristina poured me some water from an icy flask into a little cup.

  "Thank you," I said, downing the water, trying to remain calm. The water was heavenly. "That was a perfect example of Goodlib thought," I resumed. "In ConFree our psyscience folks have officially classified Goodlib thought as a mental disease
. People with this condition have brains that appear to be wired about 180 degrees opposite ours. It's a mental condition that grows slowly and appears to be permanent in nature. It affects the way the victims view reality. They don't see things the same way normal people do. Their decisions, conclusions and actions are often criminal in nature, although they believe they are highly moral. Because of the dangers of Goodlibs making critical national decisions, they are filtered out of upper-level government service during the selection process. How are you going to handle this fellow?"

  "Well, you can imagine the amount of damage he's done already. Judges and lawyers of this type will be banned from further employment in those fields. Otherwise, we'll leave them alone and hope they can find useful employment. Manual labor, maybe. That's what Kristina will recommend, right?"

  "That's it," Kristina replied. "Recommend release and no further employment in judiciary or legal positions. We can't fix the past, but we can fix the future."

  "Forgive and forget," Minzu said. "If we can."

  "And what about all those citizens who were unjustly imprisoned?" I asked.

  "We're interviewing all current prisoners," Minzu said. "Our goal is to empty the prisons. Most people will be either freed or executed. We'll not free any violent criminals. But we'll not lock them up any more either. We can talk about that later. Let's do the next case." She flashed me a smile.

  Miss Tough Love hauled in the next case. Number 84 was a slim young unshaven mortal with long dirty hair, a spotty complexion and plenty of bruises and cuts. I couldn't determine his race. He was in an orange jump suit and was bleeding slightly from the nose and mouth. His hands were manacled in front of him and he had leg irons as well. The guard slammed him roughly into the chair. "Be polite," she advised him, "or you'll get hurt."

  "Name?" Kristina asked.

  "Wallace Wales," he sighed wearily. You could tell it was just too much for him—asking his name. Just too much.

  "What's your street name, Wallace?" Kristina asked.

  "Street name? Oh come on. Does it matter? Needles. Sometimes they call me Needles."

  "I won't ask why. Well, Needles, according to our records, you are guilty of conspiracy, kidnapping, rape, gang rape participation, and murder. The victim was a female biogen, designation Leticia. You've been brainscanned and confessed. Correct?"

  "Yeah, sure, correct. But I didn't do anything wrong! I mean, she was a biogen! It's not like she was a real girl! And she resisted! They're not supposed to do that!"

  "She resisted because this happened only last week, under our new society. You may not have heard, but things have changed. Biogens no longer have to comply with unreasonable demands from subhumans like you and, under new guidelines, you are not supposed to kidnap, rape or murder biogens."

  He smirked. I knew it was a bad move. "Yeah? Well, I hadn't heard."

  Minzu smiled, then called in the guard. "Sister, this subhuman has offended me. Please educate him."

  "Yes, Sister." A giant metal nightstick snapped to life in Miss Tough Love's hand and she swung it directly at the seated criminal. It cracked straight into his face and knocked him completely off the chair, sending him flying in a crumpled heap against a tent post while the chair bounced right out the door. His face was shattered, a bloody mess, spraying blood. He was out cold, nose and teeth shattered, eyes swelling up quickly.

  "Our thanks. Get a medic in here, please, Sister."

  "Yes, Sister."

  "We're not supposed to hit them ourselves," Kristina explained. "It spoils rapport. But we can't let them get away with behavior like that. We have to impress on them that this is a serious business."

  "I certainly agree," I said. "So what's likely to happen to this one?"

  "Execution," Kristina said quietly. "We aren't pursuing biogen rape cases that happened prior to the revolution, although we will pursue murder. This case is different. It just happened. They killed her and cut her up and by the time we found the pieces there was nothing we could do. It will be public execution for him and his gang. That will be my recommendation."

  "Your opinion?" Minzu asked me.

  "I approve completely. Decent citizens shouldn't have to breathe the same air these subs do. You represent all biogens as well as all decent citizens of Zequord 3. It's your duty to assure that violent criminals are terrified of the new regime. It's your duty to kill them, without mercy, in the name of all decent citizens. That's what we do in ConFree. And it's a delight to inhale untainted air, I can assure you."

  ###

  "This is it, right here—Channel 12," Stelzu said. "It's the raw feed, direct from the CFIS Galactic Service, your own news agency. This is thrilling." I wasn't sure what would be thrilling to a biogen but Stelzu certainly seemed excited as the wide d-screen filled with light. I had just returned from another thoughtfest with Sister Luides to the working conference room, where I had been looking over seemingly endless proposals to substitute a rational new constitution over the ruins of the Hyades System slave state. The biogens seemed very receptive to my suggestions. I was having fun, even though I was keeping in close touch with Tara about the tricky parts. A few other biogen girls gathered around the screen to watch.

  The d-screen revealed a chaotic scene. A group of humans in downscale civvies and utilitarian coldcoats was shuffling around at the bottom of an imposing marble staircase. Mixed in with the crowd were several huge pig-human transgens, clad in brightly colored civvies. Most of the humans were armed with SG's, some wore camfaxed A-vests and several were trying to impose order, talking into comsets and pushing people aside. Smoke drifted past the crowd, but the fire was off-screen. A tight group of ten or twelve people came down the stairs, humans and transgens—several of the humans appeared to be security folks, alert and armed to the teeth, seemingly ready to fire at the slightest provocation. They paused at the bottom of the staircase.

  "Are we ready here?"

  "Can it give a statement to the press, sir?"

  "329/06/03 CGS, 1531 hours stellar, CFIS Galactic Service live from the Government Center, Unity Park, Santos," the cameraman intoned. "Stand by."

  The camera focused in on the center of the group that had just come down the stairs. "Yes, we have a statement," one of the humans said. He didn't appear to be armed, although he was wearing an A-vest. He briefly consulted some papers. And suddenly a thrill shot through my veins. I knew this man! Kaspar! Doctor Len Kaspar, head of the Outworlder Cultural Alliance of Santos. I had talked with him; I had interviewed him for Tara. Deadman, what the hell was happening?

  "Greetings to all citizens of Santos," Kaspar began. "As of this date, 1459/09/01 SS, the Santos Socialrevolutionary Diversegalitarian Democooperative is hereby dissolved, by order of the Provisional Revolutionary Government of Santos. The PRGS has now consolidated power by force, and all resistance from the SSDD has ceased. All the SSDD leaders have been detained or have fled. As of today, the governing authority on Santos is the new Provisional Revolutionary Government of Santos." He paused, looking around the crowd, bold and unafraid.

  "What is the Provisional Revolutionary Government of Santos? We represent the human and Newhuman populations of Santos. We have united to throw off the tyrannical rule of the Orman slave state that has been exploiting both humans and Newhumans for its own benefit. From today on, we will rule ourselves. From today on, the SSDD is extinct, and we declare the entire oppressive SSDD government structure and laws to be invalid and unsuitable for a free people."

  "Your name, sir? Your name?" A voice from the crowd.

  "My name is Len Kaspar, but my name is not important. I am the Provisional Coordinator of the PRGS. And this is what I have to say on behalf of the newly free peoples of Santos. The hateprop of the illegitimate former government depicted our revolutionary movement as a purely human effort, designed to oppress the Newhuman population. Nothing could be further from the truth. The PRGS welcomes our Newhuman brothers and sisters to work with us to build a new society and government that
will satisfy the legitimate aspirations of both humans and Newhumans. We call on all humans and Newhumans to support our revolutionary government. We will represent you all. Let me make a few introductions. First, Deputy Provisional Coordinator Denn-o Javal." Javal was a huge transgen, grimly nodding at the camera. "Second, Provisional Minister for Defense Nintor Karlan." He was an alert young hungry-looking Outworlder, balancing an SG on one hip, scanning the crowd. "Provisional Minister for the Economy, Judith Preed." Preed was a young, hard female Outworlder with short brown hair. "Our Deputy Provisional Minister for Newhuman Affairs is Yeurval T'ran'ten." Another big, fierce-looking transgen, this one clutching an E confidently, glaring at everyone. Brilliant! The Santos Outworlders had allied themselves with the transgens to oust the Ormans! The image of that transgen with an E said a lot more than any words. "And Professor Xiu Neerdhauzen, our Provisional Minister for Human Affairs."

  A shot rang out. Kaspar was slammed down to the ground as his guards shielded him with their bodies. Shouts and general bedlam. The camera wobbled.

  "It's all right! AD, AD, an accidental discharge!" Everyone was looking off to one side.

  "How about keeping your safeties on, folks?"

  "All right," Kaspar said, brushing himself off. "No problem. Let's see, Human Affairs, Professor Neerdhauzen of the University of Southern Pandarat. Professor Neerdhauzen is also to chair our constitutional convention." The Professor nodded to the crowd. He was an elderly, white-haired Assidic mortal, appearing a little shaken by the gunshot. "We'll announce the full PRGS team shortly," Kaspar continued. "For now, I'd like to state that all of Santos is currently under martial law. All essential services will continue. Crime will not be tolerated. Looters will be shot on sight. Looting recently broke out downtown and we were forced to kill several looters. If there is more looting, we'll kill more. Any resistance to the new government will be dealt with instantly and forcefully. For all Santos citizens, our initial focus is to restore order, to maintain essential services, and to draft our new constitution and get a permanent government in place."