There was another stir as the Marines drew back from the prisoners and formed a line between them and the crowd.
They faced the prisoners vigilantly while the Navy personnel formed two huge blocks, separated by about ten meters, andnd a party of officers strode briskly down the open lane.
Fedor was no military man, but even he could figure out the tall man with all the sleeve braid was an admiral. But he wondered who the other officer--the black one arguing with the admiral--was?
Whoever it was, they were going at it hammer and tongs.
Finally the admiral gave a curt headshake and said something loud and angry, but Fedor was too far away to hear.
"Admiral, you can't do this!" Captain Rupert M'tana said yet again. "It's illegal! It violates all their civil rights!" "Captain," Waldeck said savagely, "I will remind you--for the last time--comt this planet is under martiai law. And no one--comI repeat, no one--rebels against the government, kills Navy personnel and gets away with it on my wtch! Especially not ignorant, backworld Fringe "For God's sake, Admiral!" M'tana said. "You--was "Silence!" Waldeck whirled on the dark-skinned officer, and his eyes snapped fire. "You will go to your quarters and place yourself under close arrest, Captain M'tana! I'll deal with you later!" "I'm your fi, ag captain," M'tana began angrily, "and it's my duty. to-- "Major," Waldeck turned coldly to a Marine officer. "You will escort the captain to his quarters!" "Yes, sir!" The major had a thick DuPont accent, and his eyes were very bright. He saluied sharply, then jerked his head at M'tana as the admiral turned on his heel. M'tana could almost taste the Navy crews' confusion, but the Marine major tapped the butt of his laser meaningfully, and the flag captain knew it was hopeless. Sagging with defeat, he allowed the major to lead him away.
Waldeck mounted an improvised platform and turned to face the crowd of murmuring civilians.
He gripped a microphone, his eyes bitter as he stared at them. The only way to avoid more bloodshed was to rub these stupid proles' noses in what happened when they rebelled. He looked at his own massed crewmen. Yes, and show them, too.
Let them see what awaited those who defied them.
He raised the mike.
"People of Novaya Rodina!" Fedor's head snapped around as the massively amplified voice roared. "You have belled against Federation law. You have harbored and abetted mutinous members of the armed services. Such actions are treasonous." Fedor flinched from the harshness of the admiral's voice. Treasonous? Well, maybe technically -comb a man could stand only so much.
"By the authority of the Legislative Assembly, all civil law on this planet is hereby suspended. Martial law is declared. All public gatherings are banned until further notice. I now announce a curfew, to take effect at 1900 hours. Violators will be shot." Fedor blanched. Shot! For walking the street?
"Before you stand the leaders of your rebellion against legitimate authority," Waldeck went on coldly. "As military governor of this planet, it is my responsibility to deal with these ringleaders." He paused and glanced contemly tuously at the prisoners. "The Federation is just," he said. "It extends its protection and support to those who obey our laws and justly deserved punishment to those who defy. them.
"Now, therefore, as military governor of Novaya Rodina, I, Admiral Jason Waldeck, Terran Federation Navy, do hereby sentence these traitors to death!" A great silence gripped the crowd. "Sentence---was Waldeek finished harshly his-comffbe carried out immediately!" Fedor couldn't believe his ears. This couldn't happen! Not in the Federation! It was a nightmare! It was... it was an atrocity!
He stared at the scene before him, unable to comprehend, as two Marine privates took Pieter Tsuchevsky by the arms. He moved slowly, as if in shock, but held his head high. As he and his guards moved away from the group, two more privates singled out Tatiana Illyushina. The slender young woman drooped in their hands as she realized she would be next, yet she fought for control and tried to stand erect.
Paralysis gripped Fedor. He was suspended in disbelief, unable to think, barely able to breathe.
He watched numbly as Tsuchevsky was turned to face the crowd. Six Marines with adtorifies marched smartly out and took position before him, weapons at port arms.
"Firing squad!" a Marine officer shouted.
"Present arms!" Weapons clattered.
"Take aim!" Butt plates pressed uniformed shoulders.
Fedor felt something boiling in him against the ice, but still he could not move.
"Ready!" The pressure building in" his throat strangled him. "Fire!" Six shots rang out on semi-automatic.
It all happened in slow motion. Fedor saw Tsuchevsky's shirt ripple, saw great, red blotches blossom hideously as the slugs tore through his body, and Pieter Petrovich Tsuchevsky, Chief of the Duma, President of the Provi-sionatf Government of Novaya Rodina, jerked at the impact, then toppled like a falling tree.
And as he hit the ground, the pressure in Fedor Kazin burst. His sustaining faith in the Federation died in an agony of disillusionment, and his hand flashed into his coat.
"Noooooo.t' he screamed, and the heavy needler came free.
For one instant he faced them all alone, one man with a pistol in his hand and rage in his heart. Then the pistol rose. It lined on the burly admiral as he turned angrily towards the single voice raised in protest.
He never completed his turn. The needler screamed, and Admiral Jason Waldeck's uniform smoked under its hyper-velocity darts. He pitched to the ground seconds behind Tsuchevsky, and the crowd went mad.
Fedor never knew who struck the first Marine, but the guards never had a chance as the screaming, kicking mob went over them. Here and there an autorifie spoke, a laser carbine snarled. The Marines didn't die easily, and they didn't die alone -comb they died.
Fedor wasn't watching. He was racing across the open space, needler in hand, dashing for the guards who were already training their weapons on the helpless prisoners. He slid to a halt, bracing the needler with both hands as a laser bolt whipped past him, thermal bloom scorching his 144 hair. A guard saw him and turned, his jaw dropping, but too late. A stream of needles spat from the weapon, and the guards went down like autumn wheat before Fedor's reaper.
Screams and shouts were everywhere. Weapons fired.
Men and women beat Marines to death with fists and feet. Navy personnel scattered--only senior ratings and offleers were armed, and they were outnumbered by hundreds to one. They fought desperately to bring their weapons into play, but they hadn't known what Waffdeck intended, and they were just as shocked as the civilians. Their minds needed time to dear and adjust, and there was no time.
Fedor ran to the manacled prisoners.
"Are you all right?" he bellowed as Magda Petrovna dispicked herself up off the ground. She stared at him for a moment with burning eyes, then nodded sharply and snatched up a dead Marine's laser with her ehainod hands. Her voice rang out over the tumult.
"The ships!" she screamed. "Take the ships?" Some of the crowd heard. They seized the weapons of their fallen enemies and fell in behind her, and their discordant yells coalesced into a single phrase, thundering above the bedlam.
"The ships!" they roared, and foamed forward in an unstoppable human wave behind a mutinous ex-eaptain and a farmer who had wanted only justice.
IRONY OF POWER Oskar Dieter blinked wearily and fingered the advance. The ststains of a New Zurich waltz filled his office, but the soft music was at grim vfiriance with the data on his screen, and he sighed and leaned back, pinching his nose and trying to shake himself back to a semblance of freshness.
It was hard. Catastrophe had followed disaster with monotonous regularity for months, and in his nightmares endless trains of courier drones whizzed towards Sol, packed with tidings of fresh calamity.
What was happening in the Fringe was bad enough, but affairs on Old Terra were little better. The Assembly had been stunned by the Taliaferro suicide, but not Dieter. His fellow Gallowayans might put it down to grief over the Jamieson Archipelago--which was a trage
dy of staggering proportions--but Dieter knew better.
Understanding, the terrible realization that the "game" had become real, had driven Simon's hand.
Dieter almost pitied him... but only almost, and his face hardened as he wondered yet again how many others would die before the madness ended.== Yet Taliaferro's death only compounded the Federation's plight. His had been the dominating presence behind the Corporate World bloc for over thirty years, and now that superbly engineered machine was flailing itself to destruction... and threatening to take the Federation with it. The desperate survivors were haunted by guilt they could not admit even to themselves and terrified of
its consequences. The succession battle was the most vicious Dieter had ever seen, yet whoever finally won would inherit only a corpse.
It wouldn't be very much longer before the ground swell of public opinion rolled over the politicos.
Already the first combers were crashing through the Chamber of Worlds; a few more disasters, and it would become impossible for them to cling to power, and-- His communicator chimed, and he reached automatically for the button, eyes narrowing as he recognized the neatly groomed face of Oliver Fuchs, President Zhfs executive secretary.
"Good morning, Mister Dieter," Fuchs said politely. "Would it be convenient pounds r you to meet with the President in his office this evening? At 1800 perhaps?" "Why, of course, Mister Fuchs," Dieter replied slowly, and his thoughts raced. "Ah, might I ask what the President desires?" "I'm sorry, sir, but he wishes to explain that to you himself," Fuchs said with a pleasantly diffident smile.
"I see," Dieter said even more slowly. "Very well, Mister Fuchs. I'll look forward to asking him in person." "Thank you, sir. I'll tell him to expect you," Fuchs said, and the screen blanked.
Dieter sat and stared at it for a long, long'time, and his mind was busy.
Fuchs was waiting in the Anderson House foyer when Dieter arrived at the presidential residence at 17:45. He whisked the visitor into an elevator with the skill of a veteran maitre do' and filled the short ascent with utterly inconsequential small talk, but Dieter noted a strange intensity in the secretary's eyes.
Curiosity, or evaluation, perhaps. Whatever it was, it only added to the tension hovering within him.
The elevator deposited them outside Zhfs office, and Fuchs opened the old-fashioned manual doors and stood aside, waving him through, then closed them quietly behind him.
The office was a large room--huge, by Innerworld standardsfurnished with all the sumptuous luxury due INSV-AAECO the Pederation's head of state. To be sure, the power of the man who occupied it had waned over the decades, but the trappings of authority remained.
And they weren't entirely a facade, Dieter reminded himself. Prime ministers came and went, but the president provided the state's stability, and he still represented the popular choice of the majority of the Federation's myriad citizens.
But Dieter had been here before, and his attention was not on the rich carpets and indirect lighting. It was drawn inevitably to the cluster of people sitting around the President's desk.
Zhi himself was a small man, shorter even than Dieter, though more sturdily built. He rose as Dieter approached, and his handclasp was firm, but his face bore the stigmata of strain.
"Mister Dieter," he said. "Thank you for coming." "tvlister President," Dieter returned noncommittally, glancing at the others, and Zhi smiled wryly.
"I believe you know most of these people, Mister Dieter,"" he murmured, and Dieter nodded, then bowed slightly to the group, his mind whirring with speculation.
Sky Marshal Lech Witcinski, commander-in-chief of the Terran military, responded with a curt nod, half-raising his burlv body from his chair. His uniform was immaculate, and ('is blunt, hard features showed surprisingly little sign of the tremendous strain focused upon him.
Not so the man seated beside him. David Halev had aged appreciably in the past weeks, but his smile o[ welcome was far warmer than it once had been.
Dieter returned it in kind, then raised an eyebrow at the sharp-eyed man at the Speaker's left. Kevin Sanders, he thought musingly.
Admiral Kevin Sanders, retired, one-time head of the Office of Naval Intelligence.
Now wasn't he an interesting addition to this gathering?
Even seated, Sanders managed to exude a sense of mingled composure and agility, like a lean, gray tomcat, and his amused eyes gleamed as if he could read Dieter's mind. And perhaps he could. Far more esoteric powers had been ascribed to him during his career.
The single person Dieter didn't know wore the space-black and silver of a vice admiral, and he felt a stir of admiration as he looked at her. Long, platinum hair rippled over her shoulders, and her eyes were a deep, almost indigo blue. She was certainly the most attractive flag officer he'd ever seen, he thought wryly, and held out his hand to her.
"Good evening, Admiral hiswas "Krupskaya, Mister Dieter," she said in a soft, clear voice. "Susan Krupskaya." "Enchanted," he murmured, raising her hand briefly to his lips, and her own lips quivered in an amused smile.
"Well, then," Zhi said briskly, reclaiming Dieter's attention and waving him to a chair, "to business." "Of course, Mister President. My time is yours," Dieter said, seating himself, and Zhfs sardonic smile surprised him.
"In more ways than you may suspect, Mister Dieter," he said softly, and Dieter's eyebrows crooked politely.
"I beg your pardon?" he said, but Zhi didn't respond directly. Instead he nodded to David Haley.
"Mister Dieter--Oskar "the Speaker said, "I'm afraid we have you at a bit of a disadvantage. You see, the Minh Government has resigned." Dieter managed to hide his surprise--butarely.
The gow ernment had fallen? Why hadn't he already heard? And how in the Galaxy had they kept the press from finding out?
"It won't be announced at once," Haley continued, "because, under the circumstances, it seems vital to follow the news with the immediate announcement of the formation of a new govenment." Dieter nodded. The last thing they needed was a prolonged ministerial crisis.
"Which brings us to you, Mister Dieter." President Zhi took over once more. "You see, when I asked Prime Minister Minh and Speaker Haley to recommend a successor to form a new government, they both suggested the same man: you." This time Dieter's surprise was too great. His jaw dropped, and he stared at Zhi in disbelief.
Him? He was a pariah, repudiated by his own long-time alliesl They couldn't be serious!
"Mister President," he said finally. "I-I don't know what to say. I'm honored, but--was "Indulge me a moment, Mister Dieter," Zhi said quietiy. "Officially, I am not supposed to have opinions in these matters, but, to speak frankly, there are no other choices. You, more than most, are aware that the Minh Government has been totally discredited. Indeed, the situation is worse even than you know, but the critical point--politically speaking--is that anyone else is unacceptable.
To put it bluntly, Simon Taliaferro's associates are all tainted by their support of his policies, yet they remain a very potent force in the Chamber of Worlds. If we are to find an alternative to one of them, it must be someone who can gather support from both the Assembly moder- ates and the public. Someone like you." "But, Mister President! I--was "Oskar," Haley cut back in, "think a moment. You're a Corporate Worlder, yet you openly 6pposed Tagg'iaferro's excesses.
The Corporate World moderates will follow your lea, and so will the Heart World liberals. That gives you a power base, and the Tagg'iaferro crowd can't very well oppose you without refocusing attention on their own mistakes." "And, Mister Dieter," Witcinski put in, "you enjoy the support of the military." Dieter looked at him in astonishment, and the sky marshal shrugged. "I know. That's not supposed to be a factor, but we all know it will be. Your position on the Military Oversight Committee gives you a background knowledge which may be invaluable. And, if I may speak completely candidly, the Fleet views you as a moderate. As prime minister, you would be tremendously reassuring to the bulk of the officer corps." "But,"
Zhi said warningly, "that same reputation is a two-edged sword. You are a moderate, and we need moderates, but we have a war on our hands. If you accept this office, you'll have to demonstrate that you're a war leader, as well." "And how would I be expected to do that?" Dieter asked, eyes narrowing.
"By forming an all-parties cabinet," Haley said quietly, and Dieter nodded slowly.
Of course. Minh's government was associated solely with the extreme Corporate World interests, which was why it had to go. But its replacement must command broad support, and the only way to do that would be to combine all elements. Part of him quailed at the thought of exerting mastery over such a disparate gathering of interests, but he understood. And he was beginning to see why Zhi had turned to him.
"Mister President," he said finally, "why did the government resign at this particular moment? May I assume Admiral Sanders' presence has some bearing on that point?" "You may," Zhi said heavily. He tugged at an earlobe and frowned. "I have asked Admiral Sanders to return from retirement and reassume direction of the Office of Naval Intelligence." Dieter nodded mentally; he'd suspected as much.