Inferno: A Chronicle of a Distant World (The Galactic Comedy)

by Mike Resnick

  Hoping to save face, he offered a quick solution to the problem: Rather than risking further bloodshed on the battlefield, he proposed that Byamula—the leader of a race that averaged less than ninety pounds at maturity—meet him in the boxing ring, the victor to be declared the winner of the war as well.

  Byamula's response was to launch a full-scale attack at Faligor. Realizing that his navy was not up to the kind of saturation bombing required for a quick and easy victory, he used them as transport ships, landing tens of thousands of his soldiers in the western desert. They secured the area, and every three days saw still more soldiers deposited there, until a substantial force had been assembled. They then turned to the east and began marching toward Remus. On those occasions that Labu's ill-trained forces met them in battle, the jasons were quickly defeated; more often, upon hearing of Talisman army's approach, the jasons simply threw down their arms and fled in the opposite direction.

  Village after village turned out to greet the conquering army, to offer them food and encouragement and words of gratitude. By the time they were within a two-week march of Romulus and Remus, they had been joined by some thirty thousand jasons, many armed with nothing more than bows and arrows.

  Labu soon realized that his army was not up to the task of halting the enemy, and he came up with the unique notion of bombing every jason village between the advancing army and Remus in the hope that the enemy would run out of food before they ran out of ground. The net result was eighty thousand jason casualties, and an enemy more convinced than ever that Right was on their side and that they had almost a sacred obligation to defeat Labu.

  When they were camped forty miles outside of Remus, Labu ordered the burning of the Treasury and the Mint, so that his conquerors would find no money to loot—not that it was worth anything, anyway—and, under cover of night, he drove to his private spaceship, accompanied by George Witherspoon and three of his wives. Once there, he radioed his assurances to his army that he would soon be personally leading a counterattack, ordered his officers to shoot any deserters, and, as his last official act as President-For-Life, pulled a small pistol out of his belt and shot Witherspoon point-blank between the eyes.

  By dawn, Labu was halfway to distant Domar, having once again converted to their ancient religion of Rainche.

  19.

  The road to Remus was strewn with flowers and corpses.

  Talisman's army reached the city at noon, to the wild cheers of the populace, which had watched the rout of their own army some five hours earlier. The fighting continued for another three weeks, until the Talisman generals decided that the remnants of Labu's forces that had not yet been captured or surrendered offered no serious threat.

  Journalists from all across the galaxy were allowed entry to Faligor, and finally the full extent of Labu's excesses became known. Some five thousand mass graves were unearthed, with the certainty that there were an equal number still to be found. The Government Science Center was dismantled after it was found to be the seven-story chamber of horrors that the locals suspected it to be. More than fifty dismembered jason bodies were found in the basement of the presidential mansion, while Labu's private quarters were stocked with children's games and picture books he had imported from the Republic over the years.

  Finally, after order had been restored, Moses Byamula himself flew to Faligor, accompanied by William Barioke. Byamula announced to a gathering of more than one hundred thousands jasons in Remus that he was no conqueror, that he had no interest in administering the affairs of any world other than his own, and that his soldiers would return home as soon as the new government was once again in possession of the reins of power. He then concluded that his only official act was to return the duly elected President of Faligor, William Barioke, to whom he had given sanctuary during Labu's reign.

  Byamula then stepped aside, and Barioke, looking far older and much thinner than he had prior to his exile, walked up to a bank of microphones.

  "The reign of terror has ended," announced Barioke to the wildly enthusiastic throng of jasons. "Gama Labu has been defeated, and Faligor's long nightmare has ended, never to return." The cheers were so loud that Barioke had to wait almost five minutes before he could make himself heard once more.

  "Never again will jason be pitted against jason. Never again will an oppressed citizenry cringe in fear from the authorities who have been elected and appointed to serve them. Never again will jason infants grow up with the screams of the dying and the stench of the dead. A new day has dawned for Faligor." He signaled to a jason officer, who was standing at attention. "You!" he said, and then pointed to the statue of Conrad Bland, that dominated the city center. "See to it that that statue is torn down before sunset!" Still more cheers. "I also want every park, every lake, every river, and every street that Gama Labu named after himself restored to their original titles."

  "How soon will you want that done, sir?" asked the officer.

  "Today," said Barioke firmly. "Tomorrow we've got a constitution to write and a planet to rebuild."

  The applause was deafening, and though Barioke then left the platform to confer with his advisors, the celebration that followed continued well into the night.

  Part 3:

  SHARD

  Interlude

  You pass the ruins of a hospital, smell the charred bodies within, cover your nose, and keep walking.

  And as you walk, you keep asking yourself: How could they not have learned? The whole galaxy knew about Gama Labu. Once the jasons got rid of him, how could they have let it happen again? Where were they when the torture chambers were rebuilt, the massive trenches filled once more with bodies?

  These were intelligent people. They had to know what was happening, had to feel the same revulsion toward Labu that all sentient beings felt.

  You look around at the smoldering ruins and shake your head in bewilderment. No civilized being wants to live like this. No civilized being, having undergone the totalitarian rule of a genocidal maniac, willingly accepts the yoke of another. Where was the opposition? Could it really have been just one schoolteacher and a handful of children?

  And the moles? How could they fall for the same old line again? Even if the jasons hadn't learned, surely the moles could have seen what was coming. When you get away from the death and the destruction, is this planet so damned lovely that you leave all sense of self-preservation behind just to live here for as long as you can before they roust you out in the middle of the night and spirit you away to some torture chamber or mass grave?

  An old jason sits in the entrance of a bombed-out store, staring at you with dull, lusterless eyes. You stare back at him, and while you wish he would smile, or wave, or do something besides just sit and watch you, you can hardly blame him. How many liberators has he welcomed, only to be betrayed by each in turn? And is there any reason to believe that the current one is any different?

  20.

  "But why now?" asked Cartright, truly puzzled, as he sat across the table from Susan Beddoes in a Remus restaurant. "We've finally gotten rid of him."

  "Arthur, I never meant to stay," answered Beddoes. "I haven't been allowed to go until now."

  He shook his head impatiently. "That's not what I mean." He paused, searching for the right words. "Don't you see? We've cut out Faligor's cancer. The planet is healthy again. Why leave now, when it's finally worth living here again?"

  "That's your opinion," she replied.

  "The land is still as fertile as ever," he persisted. "The climate is still the finest in the galaxy. With Labu gone, we'll be getting funding from everyone. The Republic is helping us to rebuild Romulus and Remus, the Canphorites have given us money to rebuild our roads, the Mollutei have offered to rebuild our medical clinics. It can be Paradise again."

  "Arthur, it was never Paradise. The best that can be said is that it's no longer Inferno—at least for the moment."

  "What do you mean, for the moment?" demanded Cartright. "Labu is through. He's hiding half
way across the galaxy. They'll never let him come back."

  "Maybe everyone else on this planet has forgotten how happy you were when he took over," said Beddoes, "but I haven't." She paused and looked at him. "William Barioke was every bit as much a tyrant as Gama Labu. I see no reason to believe he's changed."

  "How can you compare them? Look at the millions that Labu killed."

  "He was in power a lot longer, that's all."

  "Barioke has had years to dwell on his mistakes," said Cartright. "You've heard his speeches. I'm sure he's more moderate now."

  "He's more moderate because all the galaxy is watching him," answered Beddoes. "Tell me what you think of him two years from now."

  "Whatever he is, he's got to be better than Labu."

  "Being better than Labu is like saying you have a medical condition that's better than terminal cancer," said Beddoes. "It's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

  "Why haven't you mentioned your feelings about him before today?"

  "Because I knew we'd just argue about it, and you're my closest friend."

  "And there's no way you'll reconsider?" asked Cartright plaintively. "Can't I convince you to stay just a few more months to see which of us is right?"

  She shook her head. "Arthur, you're retired; I still have a living to make. I've lost a lot of income while I was forced to stay here."

  "I can find work for you."

  "I can find work for myself. Elsewhere." She paused again. "Look, Arthur, I came here many years ago to do a job for you, a job that was supposed to last for perhaps two or three months. I feel like I've spent half of my adult life on this planet. I've been virtually held prisoner, I've watched my friends disappear one by one, I've even lost a leg to this damned planet. Enough is enough."

  "It's not a 'damned planet,'" insisted Cartright. "We've undergone a terrible ordeal, but it's over."

  "I hope you're right," she said. "But this is your planet, not mine. You would stay here through ten Gama Labus, hoping for better. I don't have your emotional stake in it; I just want to get on with my life."

  "You're making a mistake, Susan."

  She shrugged. "If I am, it's mine to make."

  He stared at her helplessly for a long moment. "When does your ship leave?"

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "And what will you do?"

  "First I'll explain to my creditors why they haven't heard from me," she said with a smile. "And then I'll find out which colleges and museums are looking for an entomologist."

  "Do you need money? I have an account back on Caliban . . ."

  She shook her head. "I thank you for the offer, but I didn't own much that could be repossessed."

  "You'll keep in touch?"

  "Of course I will."

  "I'll drive you to the spaceport tomorrow."

  "It's not necessary."

  "It may be," answered Cartright. "That crazy Krakanna hasn't come in from the mountains yet. He sent word yesterday that he refuses to recognize Barioke as our President."

  "Good for him," said Beddoes. "It's nice to know that someone on this planet understands what's happening."

  "You're mistaken about him, Susan."

  "Why? Because he remembers what Barioke was like the last time around?"

  "Because he's still fighting a war while we're trying to secure a peace," answered Cartright. "And some of his statements are frightening."

  "Why?"

  "He doesn't believe in democracy, Susan."

  "So far all democracy on Faligor has produced is William Barioke and Gama Labu," replied Beddoes. "I can't say that I blame him."

  "I'm being serious," said Cartright.

  "So am I. Maybe democracy doesn't work for every race and every world, Arthur."

  "Of course it does. There was nothing democratic about the way Labu usurped power."

  "From the duly elected president," she reminded him.

  "I'll grant you that he wasn't a great president . . ."

  Beddoes laughed harshly.

  "All right," conceded Cartright. "He wasn't even a good president. But he's got to have learned from his mistakes. And if not, we'll simply vote him out of office. That's what you do with bad presidents."

  "No," said Beddoes. "That's what you do with incompetent presidents. Bad presidents usually have to be pried loose from the reigns of power with a crowbar—or a revolution."

  "Whatever he did, whatever he does this time, it won't be as bad as Labu."

  Beddoes stared at him. "Arthur," she said at last, "you are a dear, sweet, decent man, and an idealist who sees only the best in others. Those are all exemplary qualities, and they're among the reasons that I'm so fond of you—but those very qualities also prevent you from seeing what is really happening right under your nose."

  "You think so little of me?"

  "I think the world of you, and I even have a certain fondness for Faligor—or at least for what it could have been," answered Beddoes. "That's why I don't want to be around for what happens next."

  21.

  A month into William Barioke's second presidency, Cartright was certain that Susan Beddoes was mistaken. The jason's first official act was to announce that elections would be held in six months' time. Within a week of taking office, he also invited the moles back to Faligor, and set up a commission to determine the damages owed each mole family that had been forced to leave the planet. Finally, he assembled a blue-ribbon panel to draft a new constitution, even including two moles and four men—Arthur Cartright among them—on the committee.

  He emptied the jails of political prisoners and declared amnesty for any crimes committed during Gama Labu's reign. He publicly invited James Krakanna to come to the bargaining table, and promised that no reprisals would be taken against his army. (Krakanna refused, but the offer gained Barioke considerable public support.)

  Cartright threw himself into his work on the new constitution, encouraged by Barioke's constant refrain that he wanted a constitution that would make tribalism impossible. It was only after 5 weeks of intensive work, when a draft of the document was presented to the president, that Cartright finally understood what the president meant: Barioke insisted that political parties would inevitably be divided along tribal lines, and demanded that his own party be the only legal one.

  Cartright protested vigorously, but Barioke was adamant: allow 24 parties, he said, and the 24 remaining tribes (Labu had totally eradicated the three smallest) would each support one party. The only way to prevent this, argued Barioke, was to make all the tribes co-exist under the banner of a single political party.

  His party.

  Word of the president's intentions soon leaked out, protest marches were held, and within days thousands of Enkoti were arrested and incarcerated. The most vocal and popular of them were never seen again.

  Barioke also declared that Labu's thugs could not be allowed to escape punishment for their crimes, and during his first two months in office he tried and convicted most of them for crimes against the state, a catchall term that included everything from breaking and entering to murder and high treason.

  It wasn't long before Cartright realized that Barioke was going overboard on his quest for justice, trying and convicting tens of thousands of jasons who had only the remotest connection to Labu's government. Further, most of those being jailed were members of the Bolimbo and Traja tribes, traditional enemies of Barioke's own Rizzali tribe but unlikely employees or supporters of Labu.

  Within three months Cartright realized that Barioke had no intention of accepting the constitution his committee had created, and finally resigned his post. Barioke summoned him to the rebuilt presidential mansion the next morning.

  "Good morning, Arthur," said the lean, ascetic-looking jason as Cartright was ushered into his office.

  "Good morning, Mr. President."

  "Yesterday your resignation was delivered to me," said Barioke. "I had understood that we were making excellent progress on the constitution. What seems to b
e the problem?"

  Cartright considered telling him the truth, but rejected the idea; Barioke, who unlike Labu had the support of most of the races of the galaxy, had no compunction about incarcerating and even executing Men, whereas his predecessor, bloodthirsty as he was, always drew a line between what he could do to his own people and what he could do to members of the human race.

  "I have given the document my best efforts, Mr. President," answered Cartright. "I have nothing left to give, so I thought I would resign and let you replace me with someone who might have some fresh insights."

  "I am refusing your resignation, Arthur," said Barioke. "We need as many Men working on the constitution as possible, so that no one can say that it is an unfair document that favors jasons over Men. We are all Faligorians together."

  "If you won't accept my resignation, Mr. President, can you at least tell me what displeases you about the document? If I knew why you refuse to present it to your congress for a vote, perhaps I might know what areas require more work."

  "Certainly," said Barioke. "First of all, you still have not stated, in terms so forceful as to brook no opposition, that we are to be a one-party system."

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. President, but it explicitly states in Section 8, Paragraph 17, that—"

  "I know what it states," interrupted Barioke. "And I also know what it does not state. You must insert language to the effect that anyone attempting to form a rival party is guilty of treason and will be put to death."

  "With all respect, sir, I find that unduly harsh."

  "I find it absolutely essential."

  "May I point out that had we not allowed multiple parties, you would not have been able to run against Emperor Bobby and win the presidency in the first place?"

  "And it was Robert Tantram who undermined my presidency and made it possible for the maniac Labu to overthrow me," answered Barioke. "The language must be inserted."