Exile-and Glory

by Jerry Pournelle

  "Miss Hansen does. Dr. Eliot, tell Miss Raisters your orders concerning me."

  Herman Eliot frowned. "Miss Hansen said to give him complete cooperation."

  "Tell her the rest."

  "Do you think that's wise? All right. She also said that Mr. MacKenzie is in command of this station if he says he is. Are you taking command, then?"

  "Not precisely. Now, what did you see, Miss Raisters?"

  Ann shrugged. "What difference does it make? You can't do anything about it. I thought I could, but I'm just not a murderer. Neither is Kit. Or Dr. Eliot." Her voice tightened. "That's rich, isn't it, Mister? We don't even have the guts to knock off the bastard who killed our friend. Some of the short-termers might, but what'd happen to them when they went home? They'd be up for it."

  "Vengeance murder won't solve the problems of this station," Aeneas said. "You may as well tell me what happened. Everyone else seems to know."

  "Yeah. Why not?" She sat across from Aeneas, every movement graceful and lovely, in stark contrast to the angry expression of her eyes. "It started a long time ago. Men get lonesome up here, Mister. They need a girl. Not just a lay, either. It took Marty Holloway longer than most, but he started coming to see me after six months. You will too if you stay long enough. Me or one of the other girls." She looked defiantly at him.

  Aeneas said nothing.

  "You will. Anyway, after about a year, Holloway starts talking to me a lot. I liked him. He's pretty cheerful and he seemed like a good worker. But he tells me how he's going to be rich when he gets down. Well, what the hell, we all are, but he meant rich and famous. Going to retire from the whole rat race and spend his life hiking in the woods. Maybe buy some mountain land and put together an animal preserve. Or be the top man in a really big national park. Does this make sense?"

  Aeneas remembered long nights when he and David Hindler stood watch together, and they talked of the things they would do when they'd taken Jerusalem . . . . "Yes."

  "Then he starts telling me Hansen won't own this place much longer, but I shouldn't worry because he can fix it so I go on Valkyrie anyway . . . . I want on that, Mister. And I want in the Moon colony. So I listened. Pretty soon Marty had me convinced. He had me wondering if Miss Hansen could last a year. But I didn't say anything to anybody until he asked me to help him."

  "What did he want?"

  "I'm a pretty good biotech, Mister. I do my share of that work up here. Marty wanted me to poison the vaccine cultures so the yields would go down. Nothing drastic, nothing that would really hurt the station, just cut down production. So I told Amos."

  "What did the captain do?" Aeneas asked.

  "Amos wanted me to cooperate with Marty, but I wanted no part of that. I told Marty to go to hell. The next day when I was coming off shift I saw Marty go into my lab, so I went to the captain and told him about it. Amos went in after Marty. An hour later one of the construction people saw the captain drifting away from the airlock."

  "Were there any other witnesses?"

  She wouldn't answer. "There's no point in this," she said.

  "We'll see." Aeneas turned to Dr. Eliot. "Is there any place you can assemble the entire crew?"

  "Yes—"

  "Please call them together in one hour. Until then, leave me alone here." His voice carried command, and when Eliot looked into his eyes they seemed as deep as the stars outside the viewport.

  The messroom was large enough to hold the hundred men and women with room to spare. It was the full width of the central section of the crew quarters, twenty meters across and more than twice that in length. Thin aluminum flooring made the floor flat across its width and curved gently along the length. The walls were curving sections of a cylinder, with a metallic shine of impervious synthetic cloth. There were several viewports, deep, proving that the inner walls were covered with something outside them.

  Aeneas let Kit Penrose lead him into the room. He noted small groups of crewmen clumped together, nervous little groups speaking in low voices that died away as they saw him.

  "You know who I am." His voice, raised to carry through the messroom, sounded tinny and high-pitched. He had been told that the gas mixtures in the station would do that, but he hadn't noticed when he spoke in normal tones.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" a man demanded. He came across the room to Aeneas: a tall man, sandy-haired and square-jawed, his muscles hard. He had the confidence of a man long in space, and more; a man who made his own destiny and controlled the destinies of others. It was a confidence that Aeneas recognized easily . . . .

  "Hello, David," Aeneas said quietly.

  "Eh?" Penrose said. "That's Martin Holloway."

  "His name is David Hindler," Aeneas said. "He is, or was until very recently, an agent of the CIA."

  Holloway-Hindler smiled with half his face. "And Aeneas MacKenzie is, or was until recently, political and legal advisor to the President of the United States."

  "I work for Miss Hansen now," Aeneas said. The room was still; everyone was listening.

  Holloway shrugged. "You betrayed Greg after damn near twenty years with him—how long before you double-cross Hansen, Aeneas? Just what the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

  "I have come to try a case of murder," Aeneas said.

  Holloway looked up in surprise. "By what authority?"

  "My own. I am commander of this station." He looked to Eliot.

  "That's what Miss Hansen says," Eliot announced. "She appointed MacKenzie in Captain Shorey's place."

  "That's stupid," Holloway said. "You've got no authority. Companies don't make law and courts and appoint judges—"

  "Then I appoint myself. Sit down, David. You are charged with the willful murder of Captain Amos Shorey. How do you plead?"

  "Go to hell! You've got no authority over me." He looked around for support.

  "But I do." The quiet voice demanded attention. Holloway looked back to Aeneas and saw that he had taken an odd-looking gun from inside his coveralls. Holloway started to reach for his own—

  "Don't!"

  The command halted his move for a second.

  "The first dart contains a tranquilizer," Aeneas said. "The rest have cyanide. And I've practiced in this gravity. Keep your hands where I can see them, David. And please sit down."

  "I'll sit." Holloway eyed the gun warily. "But you can't make me accept the authority of your court. You're no better than any other gunman—don't the rest of you see that? You let him do this to me, and which one of you's next? Do something!"

  There were murmurs of assent, and several crewmen stood menacingly.

  "Wait," Aeneas commanded. The helium in the atmosphere in the station made his voice shrill, but the timbre of command remained. "You may as well hear me out. How many of you hope to go with Valkyrie? Or to the Moon colony?"

  About half. Kittridge Penrose was among them.

  "And why?" Aeneas asked.

  "Because we've had enough of Earth and bureaucrats and laws and regulations," Penrose said. "We can't breathe down there! We've had it with the Martin Holloways—and people like you, MacKenzie!"

  "Yet you cannot live without law," Aeneas said. "There is no civilization without justice."

  "Law? Justice?" Penrose was contemptuous. "Rules, regulations, taxes, traps for people minding their own business."

  "Those are perversions of law." Aeneas deliberately kept his voice low so that they had to strain to listen. "There can be no civilization without law and no civilized men without justice. Earth's law cannot govern here. It cannot even govern Earth. But that does not mean you can dispense with law altogether."

  "So you'll give us laws?" Holloway said contemptuously.

  "No. But this satellite is not independent of Earth. It is not sovereign. It must have government. Miss Hansen has given me that task."

  "Are you going to put up with this?" Holloway demanded. "You don't know this son of a bitch. Law! He's a goddam computer. He'll have you marching around under regulation
s like you've never seen." He turned to the crew. "Help me!"

  "Help him and you give Heimdall to the Equity Trust. Or to Greg Tolland," Aeneas said. "I do not think you will care for either master. Even those who are here for short tours only—and those who want a new life in space will be finished."

  There was a buzz of conversation. "Hansen's been decent enough."

  "Hell, he's got the gun . . . ."

  "I don't owe Holloway nothing."

  "Let Penrose and Eliot decide, that's their job, I mind my own business . . . ."

  Aeneas raised his voice to cut through the chatter. "The prohibition against murder is as old as man. Are any safe here? Who had more friends than Captain Shorey? Who will avenge you if you are wronged?"

  "What do you intend to do with Holloway?" one engineer demanded.

  "I intend to try him for murder."

  "Some trial!" Holloway shouted. "A kangaroo court."

  "Yes. You prefer a court which you know will never convict you. I think, David, you have forgotten what a trial is for. It is not a show, but a means of discovering what has happened. I think we can do that here. The crew will be the jury."

  "What happens if we say guilty?" Penrose demanded.

  "Sentence is the responsibility of the judge. Martin Holloway, as you are known here, how do you plead?"

  "You goddam fools!" Holloway shouted. "You're really going to let him do this, aren't you? By God, you touch me and the Agency'll track every one of you down. You've got to go back to Earth sometime—"

  "Not everyone," Aeneas said quietly.

  "They've got families," Holloway said grimly.

  Aeneas shook his head sadly. "This is beneath you, David. And I warn you, you are not helping your case. I advise you to say nothing else." Still carefully holding the pistol ready, Aeneas took a seat across the table from Holloway. "I wish you had not threatened the crew."

  Because, Aeneas thought, you force me to act alone. But he had always known it would come to this. He had become—what? "Your plea is not necessary," Aeneas said. "I call the first witness. Miss Raisters, your oath. Do you swear—"

  "His people will kill me," Ann said. "He wasn't alone. There are more of them here—"

  "You told me Amos Shorey was your friend. And there will be justice here, and on Valkyrie."

  Her lips tightened. She took a deep breath and began to tell her story.

  In two hours they had heard it all: Holloway's threats and promises to various crewmen; sabotage plans, promises of money and position when Equity took control of Heimdall. There were five witnesses to those acts; and Ann Raisters and another woman had seen Holloway enter the laboratory. They saw Captain Shorey go in after him; and Shorey never returned.

  The station physician told them that Shorey died of explosive decompression, but that he had been drugged first. "I don't know the drug," he told them. "Not precisely. One of the curare derivatives, I'd think. Certainly something at least that powerful, to leave a man's muscles relaxed as he explodes. Not even unconsciousness could have done that."

  When it was finished, Aeneas spoke to Holloway. "You may present your defense."

  "I don't have to make any defense!"

  "I advise you to do so. At the moment the evidence is much against you."

  "You used to be my friend," David said.

  "Make your defense," Aeneas replied. His voice was even, and no one could tell if that had cost him much or little.

  "Crap. I didn't kill Shorey!"

  "How did he die?"

  "It was an accident. He—"

  "Yes?"

  Holloway thought for a moment. There was no possible explanation. Drugged, Shorey could not have operated the airlock; yet he had certainly been outside it. "You've got no authority here. I demand you send me down!"

  "No. Have you completed your defense?"

  "I've said all I'm going to say to you."

  "Then this court finds you guilty. I would have put this to a jury, but your threats prevent that. David Hindler, alias Martin Holloway, this court finds you guilty of sabotage, attempted bribery, and willful murder. On the minor charges you are sentenced to forfeiture of all pay and allowances and one year at hard labor. You will not serve that sentence. On the charge of murder you are sentenced to death."

  There was an excited babble in the room.

  "Who'll kill me, Aeneas?" Holloway said. "You?"

  "Of course. I would not ask anyone else to do it." I never wanted the high justice, but I accepted refuge with the Saracens . . . . "Stand up, David."

  "No. I won't help you."

  "You have five minutes."

  Penrose and Eliot crowded around Aeneas. "You can't do this," Dr. Eliot said.

  "Why the hell not?" Penrose demanded. "The bastard's got it coming."

  "This is no better than murder," Eliot insisted. "You have no authority . . . ."

  "If I have none, there's none here," Aeneas said. "And you can't live that way. If you object, Doctor, you can get the crew to stop me. I'm only one man."

  "Two," Penrose growled.

  "Three." Ann Raisters stood behind him.

  * * *

  "Your five minutes are up. Have you anything to say, David?"

  Holloway turned to the others. The crew hadn't moved; they stood or sat in small groups, watching, saying very little, speaking in the hushed tones used in cemeteries and at funerals. "You're all next!" Holloway shouted. "You let him get away with this and you're next! They'll send up company cops, and you'll all be slaves."

  No one moved. They may have believed him; but Aeneas stood there as the figure of—

  What am I? he thought. Justice in person? The high justice? Why should they accept me? But what can they accept? In these days when no one trusts anyone or anything—there is only power. I would like to believe I am more than that.

  "They'll have you for murder, Aeneas," Holloway said. "Greg Tolland will have extradition warrants in every country on Earth. But don't worry about that, because the Agency won't forget either. You're a dead man, Aeneas. You won't live an hour after you get to ground."

  "I believe you." Almost, Aeneas envied David; Aeneas had once been part of that brotherhood of dedicated young men, and he missed their camaraderie. But now he served the Saracens.

  Must I do this? What choices have I? There had been a time when David's threat would have been welcome; now, Aeneas would never see Laurie Jo on their lonely beach. She wouldn't be safe for long, either. Earth was not a place of safety for anyone, great or small.

  The Station turned slowly and through the ports he saw the spindly framework and tankage that would someday be Valkyrie. Earth was lovely beyond it. But she will come here, and we will take that ship together . . . .

  "Lost your goddam nerve?" Holloway demanded. The fear was unmistakable in his voice, and beyond it was pleading. "Get it over." The pistol coughed twice.

  Afterwards, Aeneas stood again at the viewport and looked at Valkyrie; but did not look at Earth.

  Extreme Prejudice

  There were only nine people on the airplane, but the stewardess forgot to serve me coffee. I should have been flattered. In my job, being inconspicuous is an important talent, but I hadn't been trying to be invisible, and it infuriated me. By the time we were six hundred miles southwest of the southern tip of Baja California, I'd made a scene and the girl wouldn't forget me, ever.

  I was ashamed of myself long before it was over. The whole point to my job is to make the United States a better place to live. We've no business spreading unhappiness for our own gratification. We do enough of that as official duties.

  Dansworth Station sits seven hundred miles southwest of Baja, and we'd been flying over blue water for hours. I remembered the old days of fast jets and squirmed around uncomfortably, cursing the fuel shortages and the people who'd lit a match to all that oil. There wasn't anything to look at below, no islands, and from our cruising altitude I couldn't see waves or white-caps. There was just that deep blue and the
steady rumbling whine of the engines to lull me toward sleepiness but keep me from sleeping. Then the water changed color.

  It was many shades of blue, and green, and red, and yellow, all boiling up blue-white in the center of each patch and then the colors spreading outwards in great streaks. Most of Dansworth is under water, so those enormous color patches were all I could see.

  The plane circled lower as the stewardess, still not looking at me, gave her little spiel about seat belts and having a pleasant trip. There was an airstrip floating in the water. It wasn't very wide, but over 3000 feet long, and there were buildings along its sides at the lee end. A dirigible mooring mast floated on its own platform not far away. The plane rolled to a stop at that end of the runway.