“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 m
eet 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.”
Well, Andrej decided.
He was going to be demanding quite a bit out of Stildyne, if what Vogel had said was true.
He could afford to let Stildyne have the last word. This once.
Therefore he merely nodded; and stepped into the transport, to go back to the Ragnarok.
For supplementary text and miscellaneous vignettes please see “Scenes from the Cutting Room Floor” at www.sff.net/people/susan.scribens/excerpt.HTM.
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Hour of Judgement Page 28