Pizzle made the most of his opportunities to talk with his Mentor. And they enjoyed one another’s company for hours on end. Still, as much time as Anthon gave him, there were too many empty hours. Preben, too, noticed Pizzle’s predicament and tried to help by assigning him more duties aboard the ship. But try as he might, Pizzle could not muster more than a lackluster enthusiasm for sailing.
“You must think us very cruel,” Anthon said one day when Pizzle came for his catechism.
“Cruel?” The word took Pizzle aback. He shook his head until his ears wobbled. “Never. No way. Why would you say that?”
“Separating you from your beloved is a painful charge.”
“Yeah,” Pizzle agreed. “I guess so.”
Anthon looked at him for a moment and then said, “Tell me the Prime Virtues in the order of their ascendancy.”
So began the day’s lesson, but at least Pizzle knew that his Mentor understood what he was going through. That helped a little. Seeing Starla helped more. Unfortunately, he could only see her when the boats made one of their infrequent landings, and the next one was not scheduled for another five days.
Early the next morning he found Yarden sitting by herself on deck, wrapped in a scarlet blanket. He slumped down beside her and put his hands behind his head, closing his eyes, feeling the warmth of the polished wood on his back. “I don’t think I’m going to make it,” he said glumly.
“Welcome to the club,” she said.
Her reply was so uncharacteristic, Pizzle jolted upright. “You, too?”
Yarden didn’t answer. She gazed steadily out at the water and at the ragged roots of the mountains gliding by.
“You want to talk about it?” asked Pizzle.
She turned red-rimmed eyes on him. “If I wanted to talk about it, would I be sitting here by myself all night?”
“You sat here all night?”
She nodded, raising a hand to rub her eyes and smooth back her hair.
“What’s wrong?” Pizzle’s misery had made him a shade more sensitive to others’ feelings.
“Everything,” she snapped. “I thought this trip would be something special. More and more, I’m sorry I came.”
“You can say that again.”
She gave him a look he could not read. “I heard about your little trial.”
“You make it sound like I deserve it or something,” Pizzle whined. “I didn’t do anything to deserve the way I feel.”
“Calm down. At least you still have Starla.”
“Yeah, and last time I looked, you were all hot on this art stuff.”
“Go away, Pizzle. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sheesh! Every time I come around it’s ‘Go away, Pizzle! Go away, Pizzle! I don’t want to talk about this, I don’t want to talk about that.’ How come you’re the only one on this planet that gets to have any private feelings? You’re always delivering these ultimatums to everybody. Well, I for one am getting tired of it.”
Yarden softened, smiled. “Your ears get pink when you’re mad, you know that?”
“Hmmph!”
“I’m sorry, Pizzle. I apologize, okay?”
“Okay,” Pizzle allowed grudgingly. “Us Earthlings ought to stick together.”
“Fair enough,” said Yarden. She was silent a moment, then sighed and said, “It’s just that I’m afraid I’ve made the most dreadful mistake.”
“Treet again?”
Yarden nodded, chin pulled in.
“Pshoo—” Pizzle let air whistle over his teeth. “I don’t know what to tell you there.”
“It’s all right. I have to work this out for myself.”
Pizzle didn’t say anything. The two simply sat together and listened to the rippling water and the canyons echoing with the keening cries of the ever-present rakkes sailing the wind currents among the rock peaks high above. The white sunlight struck the angled cliffs, scattering silvery light off the rocks. The deck rocked gently as the boats, strung in a long, sweeping line, slid relentlessly upriver toward the bay.
“I should have gone with him,” said Yarden softly. It was the first time she had admitted it to herself, but once the words were out she felt the truth in them.
Pizzle took his time responding. “How could you know? I mean, he was far from stable. It sounded so … so theatrical. Crackpot—you know? I liked the guy, and I still thought the idea was nutso.”
“Liked. Past tense.”
“Sorry, bad choice of words.”
“You think he’s dead, too.”
“Dead?” Pizzle’s head turned. “Golly, Yarden, you shouldn’t think anything like that.”
“Why not? It’s possible, isn’t it?”
Pizzle swallowed hard. “Possible,” he allowed cautiously, “but highly improbable.”
“All too probable. Which is why none of us would go back with him.”
“He knew the risks.”
“Yes, he knew the risks and he still went back.” Yarden dropped her head to her updrawn knees. “I’ve been so incredibly selfish.”
Pizzle watched her for moment. “Preben says the bay is only a week away,” he said, trying to change the subject. “The last few kilometers, however, are overland through the mountains. But there’s a pass, so it’s an easy climb.”
“I’ve lived my whole life without regret,” Yarden replied. “Now this.”
“Would it help if you knew he was okay?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Well, you could find out easy enough, couldn’t you? I mean, with your mental thing you could find out.” He studied her expression for a moment and added, “You never thought of that?”
“I—no, I couldn’t do that to Treet.”
“Why? Afraid of what you’ll find?”
She dropped her eyes.
Pizzle climbed slowly to his feet. “I’m hungry. Are you? I smell something cooking below. Want to come down and get some breakfast with me?”
“Ah, no. No, thank you, Asquith.” Yarden raised her head and smiled. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. Really. But this is going to take a little time.”
“Sure.” He turned and started away, then paused and turned back. “Look, if you want me for anything I’m here. I mean, if you should want to try contacting him or something. Okay?”
Yarden accepted Pizzle’s offer. “Thanks, I won’t forget. Us Earthlings ought to stick together.”
“Darn right.”
FORTY-THREE
“We can’t do it this way. It’s wrong.” Treet was adamant.
Tvrdy gazed at him with an exasperated expression. “I don’t understand you. Jamrog is our enemy—remove him and the Purge is over. It is as simple as that.”
“It is never that simple,” Treet retorted. He looked around the ring of grim faces, yellow in the foul light of a smoking lamp. They were going over the newly revealed details of the Trabantonna raid. It was late, and everyone was tired.
“It’s a good plan,” Cejka put in gently. “Tvrdy and Kopetch have spent every minute of the last two days working on it. It’s brilliant.”
“It was you,” said Kopetch, “who insisted the purpose of the raid must justify the risk.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that we assassinate Jamrog”
“What else is there?” demanded Tvrdy. “We cannot fight the Invisibles and the Nilokerus security forces; we are not ready.”
“It is most expedient,” added Kopetch, fatigue making his voice sharp. “In terms of risk against feasibility and potential reward, it makes perfect sense. Besides, the timing is extremely advantageous.”
“In the whole history of humankind, assassination has never solved anything. It just doesn’t work.” Treet growled. “I won’t be a part of it.”
“That cannot be helped,” Tvrdy snapped. “The plan is set. Trabantonna begins in two days. Our Tanais and Rumon Hagemen have been informed. Everything is ready. Kopetch is right—it is the best chance we will have for a very l
ong time. And it is the one thing Jamrog will not expect.”
Treet clamped his mouth shut and sat down. The briefing continued, but he was no longer paying attention. There was something very wrong about the planned assassination. The trouble was, he couldn’t articulate exactly what made it wrong. As Kopetch maintained, the plan made sense in several solid ways that made Treet’s feeble objections seem grossly irrational.
It’s a curse, thought Treet, to be suddenly afflicted with a good conscience so late in life. One felt the pangs of righteousness, but was unable to give proper voice to them for lack of the long history of careful, reasoned thought and self-examination necessary for persuasive argument. Without that, all one had left was the emotional discord caused by ruffled scruples.
What was so wrong, really? Removing one man made infinitely more sense than engaging in the slaughter of thousands. In terms of human suffering alone, it was no contest; given a choice between all-out war and the simple assassination of one depraved ruler, assassination won every time.
And yet the idea repulsed Treet. He found it morally repugnant. Assassination was a dirty business, the domain of terrorist subversives and scheming anarchists warped by ideological misanthropy and too cowardly to stand up in the light of day and support their beliefs, however perverse, in honest combat, intellectual or otherwise. No matter how well justified, assassination always tainted its practitioners with its own reeking corruption. And yet, in this particular case perhaps …
So he sat and fumed, furiously trying to determine why he felt the way he did, and how to put it into words. The effort came to nothing. And by the time the briefing was over, Treet was no nearer an answer.
“It is a good plan,” Tvrdy said as the others trooped from the room. “We should all be united in its support.”
“I know how you feel, Tvrdy. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you why, but I know this is wrong. It won’t solve anything.”
Tvrdy appeared about to object, but changed his mind. “You will remain here with Ernina. The raid will take place as planned.”
“Fine.” Treet rose stiffly and stumped from the room.
In darkness, he walked across the bare compound toward the building where he had his room. As he was about to enter, he saw a light shining from the low semiruined structure Ernina had commandeered for a medical center, and where she planned to begin treating the Dhogs for parasites and toxicity as soon as she could get her hands on a few basic supplies.
Treet moved toward the light and entered the building to find the physician busily arranging large floppy mats on the floor by the light of a single lamp whose dirty flame produced more smoke than illumination. The smoke stank.
“The briefing is over?” She watched him with concern in her sharp green eyes.
“It’s over.”
Ernina laid the mat down and indicated for Treet to take a seat. He dropped onto a mat and leaned on his elbow. “You look terrible,” she observed.
“I feel terrible.”
“Perhaps you are not recovered fully from our escape. You were very weak. I feared you would not make it.”
“It isn’t that. It’s the raid.”
“Oh? You are not happy about the decision?”
“It’s wrong. I don’t know why, but it is.”
The physician regarded Treet for a few moments. “I agree.”
“You do?”
“That’s why I did not come tonight. I will not come to any more briefings—I have no time for planning death.”
“Even if it’s an insane tyrant like Jamrog?”
She frowned. “I have enough to do trying to keep people alive.”
“I tried to convince them to abandon the idea. I tried—” He looked at the physician’s kind face earnestly. “But I don’t have the words. I don’t know what to say to them. Their reasons all make perfect sense. Kill Jamrog and the Purge will end. The insanity will stop. Thousands of people will be spared. The torture, the death—remove Jamrog and it will stop. And yet …”
“You don’t believe it.”
“No,” answered Treet sadly. “It doesn’t matter how I justify it, I can’t make myself believe it. At first I thought I was just being squeamish, scared. I don’t know—maybe I am just scared. I don’t know what I expected.”
“The suffering must stop.”
“Yes, but not this way.”
“There is a better way?”
“No. I don’t know. There must be.” Treet lay back and put his hands under his head. “It’s just that this is so—so dirty, so cowardly, so cold.”
“All the same, Jamrog does not shrink from it—it put him in power.”
Treet stared at the physician for a moment, then jumped up. “That’s it! Ernina, that’s it exactly. If we use assassination we’re no better than he is. Once we stoop to using our enemy’s tactics, we become the enemy.”
He reached out and took Ernina by the shoulders. “That’s it! That’s what’s been gnawing at me. I’ve got to tell Tvrdy.”
“Do you think he will listen?”
Treet stopped. “What he does about it is up to him, I guess. I have to tell him, though.” He took Ernina’s hand and gripped it tight. “Thanks for understanding.” Then he was gone.
Treet found Tvrdy in his room, sitting on a cushion poring over the maps of the Old Section. He looked up as Treet came in. “It is amazing how many secrets the Dhogs have guarded over the years. I never guessed there were so many entrances and exits linking the Old Section to the Hages. We will be able to strike in four Hages at once! Think of that. The confusion will be complete.”
“We can’t do it,” replied Treet. He sat down beside Tvrdy and tapped the map with a forefinger. “All the planning in the world won’t make it right.”
Tvrdy’s features clouded with anger. “If you have come here to weary me further with your irrational misgivings, save your breath. I have more important things to do.”
“Tvrdy, listen to me. Please, just listen, and then I’ll go. If we assassinate Jamrog, we’re no better than he is. Do you see that?”
Tvrdy turned away. “No.”
“By taking our enemy’s weapon and using it against him, we become worse than he is. Yes, worse; because we have a choice. We don’t have to use it. If we do, we become the enemy—we perpetuate the evil. You can’t fight evil with evil, Tvrdy. You must see that.”
“Who is to say what is right and what is wrong? In war, good and evil have no meaning. You do what must be done to win. There are no rules. There is only expediency.”
“You don’t believe that. You can’t.”
“Unless we kill Jamrog first, he will kill us. That is a fact. Where is your good and evil then? If we lose, good will also die.”
“What will that matter if we win and lose ourselves in the process? We will be just as bad as Jamrog.”
Tvrdy stared at Treet, eyes hard, mouth pressed into an implacable line. “You argue nonsense,” he said softly.
“I’m right, and you know it.” Treet stood slowly. “I leave it with you, Tvrdy. I’m not going to say anything more about it.” He walked to the doorway, paused, then added, “Think about what I’ve said. It’s not too late to change the plan.”
Tvrdy shook his head and returned to his maps. “It is too late. To change now would place our Hagemen in danger.”
“Cancel. Call it off.”
“The information has gone out. Using the network again before the raid would jeopardize the entire operation. I won’t do that.”
Treet turned and walked back to his room. I’ve done what I can, he thought. It’s out of my hands.
FORTY-FOUR
Danelka hurried across the plaza, skirting the lake. He entered the central tower and smiled to himself. All was in place for the coming raid. He’d seen to the last and most delicate details himself and sent the ready signal. No more communication would take place until after the Trabantonna … and then? And then there would be no need for stealth.
One
more day … just one more day …
He dashed across the empty hall. Upon reaching the Director’s lift, two figures stepped from a nearby alcove.
“What do you want?” Danelka said. The two men at the lift entrance wore Tanais gold.
“Please, we need your help.” The man on the left stepped close, glancing quickly around to see if they were observed.
“Yes?”
“You must come with us.”
Danelka looked at the men more closely. “Who are you? You’re not Tanais.”
The man on the right moved nearer. “There is a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Only you can help.”
“I don’t understand. What sort of problem?”
“Security,” answered the first man. He put a hand on Danelka’s arm.
The Tanais shook off the stranger’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” He turned back to the lift.
“We have authorization.” The first man raised his voice.
Danelka spun back around. “What sort of authorization?”
The second man pulled a packet from his yos. “Charges have been made.”
“What sort of charges?” Danelka demanded angrily.
“Very serious charges,” said the man with the packet.
“It’s probably a mistake,” replied the first. “But you must come and help us straighten it out.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know what this is all about.” Danelka glared at the two men and crossed his arms across his chest.
“We should go now,” said the second man, the more reasonable of the two.
“What are these charges? If someone has been making accusations against me, I have a right to know what they are.”
“You have been charged with treason,” the first man told him.
Danelka blanched. “Let me see that!”
Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome Page 27