The Zzygou shook her head.
“She’s right,” said Sherlock Holmes from behind Alex’s back. “We won’t be able to punish those who rule the planetary administrations and are members of the Imperial Council … What we’ll get, at most, is a series of unfortunate accidents … involving us.”
“And what about ‘Let the world perish, so long as justice prevails’?” asked Alex without turning.
“Captain, I’m only a clone, deprived of the sense of fear, compassion, and love. But I’m not a fool. And Sey-Zo understands as well as we do that it is impossible to root out evil completely.”
“Do you want to execute him, Sey-Zo?” Alex asked. “To do it personally? Is it necessary to stop the war?”
The Zzygou nodded.
Chapter 5
“A few planets,” said Peter C-the-Forty-Fourth Valke, a.k.a the greatest detective of all time, Sherlock Holmes, “have banned this method of capital punishment as inhumane.”
The device in his hand didn’t really seem all that menacing. An oval case with a little indicator window and three buttons—not sensors, but primitive mechanical buttons, probably to rule out an accidental release.
“But considering the gravity of the crime, and its implications for the fate of the galaxy, as well as other crimes of which we do not know, but which doubtlessly have also been committed …”
The agent lay on the operating table. His hands were still fettered with handcuffs. His feet and his head were held in place by the table’s stationary brackets—Alex could only guess their actual purpose. The agent was silent, looking at his executioners, and even now, his eyes expressed absolutely nothing.
Professionals know how to die with dignity, though not even they have an opportunity to practice dying.
“In the name of his Imperial Majesty, in the name of Imperial Justice, in the name of the Free Republic of Zodiac, in the name of all humanity, I, detective-spesh, accuse you …”
Sey-Zo lay in an intensive care pod. A few programs about treating the Zzygou had been found in the gel-crystal of the medical module. She couldn’t speak, of course, but her lower pair of arms retained mobility, and now her hands lay on the control panel of a communications device. She listened closely to Holmes, who now began to read out the sentence:
“Murder, committed under especially aggravated circumstances. Sadism, not sanctioned by the victim. High treason, for on the Empire’s territory, Zey-So was considered the personal guest of the Emperor. And that’s not a full list of your heinous deeds! Considering the special circumstances of the crime, the sentence cannot be appealed and will be carried out immediately.”
Sherlock Holmes nodded to Dr. Watson. The woman came up to the agent and clicked shut a flat metal hoop around his head.
“Does the accused have any last words?” asked C-the-Forty-Fourth coldly.
The agent licked his lips. He realized what was going to happen next, but perhaps the collapse of the whole conspiracy was what he feared most.
“I will be avenged,” he said, “you can be sure of that.”
Holmes shrugged and looked at Alex, who then stepped forward. He had to say something now.
“You violated all the rules of the space fleet,” he said. “You went against your captain and your crew. You have committed the most terrible crime an astronaut-spesh can commit—you brought harm to your passengers. You shall die.”
He stepped back. And immediately after that, without asking anyone, Kim O’Hara stepped forward. She cried out sharply:
“You killed a good friend of mine. You mutilated another. You made an attempt to commit the most despicable act imaginable—sexual violence against a helpless woman. You shall die.”
Moving Kim aside, Janet Ruello approached the agent.
“You blasphemed against the Angry Christ and His Holy Church. You called your comrades in arms and your compatriots ‘cannon fodder.’ You brought dishonor to the very idea of the human race’s superiority! You shall die.”
Xang Morrison stepped up to stand next to Janet.
“You attempted to provoke others to commit the crimes you needed. When that did not happen, you perpetrated the evil deed yourself, but tried to frame innocent people. You shall die.”
C-the-Third did not come any closer. He simply said:
“You deprived me of my reason to exist. You destroyed a peaceful and prospering tourist agency. You reversed the very process of all races coming closer together. You shall die.”
Puck Generalov was the last to approach the agent. His features were now obscured by a thick layer of cosmetics—red and black hues of mourning. His braid was loosened and a small black bow was woven into it.
“You’re possessed by the idea of intellectual, physiological, and racial superiority,” he pronounced quietly. “You’ve mocked the purest and the most sacred human emotions. You embody all the vices of the human race. You shall die.”
The Zzygou stirred feebly in her capsule. A screen unfolded in the air, and across it ran the letters to form the merciless words:
You destroyed the genetic line of Zey-So, thus murdering numberless multitudes of females, drones, and working individuals. You shall die.
The detective walked up to the capsule and, lowering his hands through the reanimation fluid, carefully handed the control device to Sey-Zo.
“Do you remember how to operate this?”
The Zzygou nodded. Mental destructors had been created based on Zzygou technologies. Turning back towards the criminal, the detective said in a loud, solemn voice:
“Your evil deeds have overfilled the cup of patience of the people in the galaxy and the Emperor on Earth. If you know any prayers, pray, for your consciousness will now be reversed and reduced to zero. You will die as an individual, and your body will be handed over to the Zzygou for collective desecration.”
The agent twitched as the Zzygou, lying in her capsule, pushed the three buttons one after the other.
A horrible scream was torn from his throat as the emitter of the mental destructor began working in the head ring, erasing his memory. Hour after hour, day after day, month after month … Every minute, two years of his life were destroyed … but the most terrible thing was that short-term memory was the last to be erased, and the criminal remained conscious till the very end.
Everyone spontaneously stepped back from the operating table. Dr. Watson covered her face with her hands, and even Kim O’Hara turned her head away.
“The first and the last time I conducted a mental destruction was six years ago,” said Sherlock Holmes in a low voice. “The Case of the Dispersing Cloud … eight human casualties in less than a month. But we had determined the cause of the perpetrator’s emotional dislocation, hidden among childhood complexes. We retained the maniac’s consciousness at the level of a nine-year-old child. He went through a good psychotherapy course … and now he’s a college graduate, atoning for his wrongdoing by honest work.”
Nobody replied to Holmes’s words—and the detective fell silent. All stood under the agent’s hateful gaze, listening to his half-demented curses. Ten minutes later, he fell silent. Mental destructors had been invented only twenty years before, so by now the criminal didn’t even understand what was happening to him.
When twenty minutes passed, the agent started weeping. Sobbing, like a child, looking around helplessly and trying to break free. Janet heaved a deep sigh—her maternal instincts were strong. And now a child was dying under the destructor ray … even if that child had long since grown up to become a ruthless killer.
She glanced at the Zzygou.
Sey-Zo was implacable.
She conducted the process for exactly twenty-five minutes, wiping the agent’s mind clean, even his unconscious memories as an embryo. And only after that did she switch off the control device.
The person who had murdered her companion was now drooling on the operating table. His eyeballs were rolling aimlessly. His arms and legs twitched without any coordination. And i
t seemed as though his sphincter had loosened.
“Lady Sey-Zo, are you satisfied by the punishment of the criminal?” Holmes asked in an official tone of voice.
The screen lit up the word YES.
“What would you like to do with the body?”
Use it for something socially beneficial. Let it be known—I am carrying out Justice, not revenge.
“Do you agree to contact your race and inform them that justice has prevailed?”
Bring the transceiver.
C-the-Third went off to get the device.
It wasn’t all that wise to be near the portable, poorly screened gluon transmitter, but they remained in the medical block till the end. They all watched the lines of the alien language flash on and disappear on the holographic screen—Sey-Zo couldn’t use the neuro-terminal now. They watched some Zzygou faces flash by—of those who hadn’t undergone anthropomorphosis and only partially resembled humans.
And only when the call was over and Sey-Zo’s speech-screen showed the words The fleets have been recalled. Stop your warships did they all leave the medical module. C-the-Third and Janet stayed with Sey-Zo—the alien’s condition was still very serious.
The recreation lounge had been straightened up. Only the broken table stood as a reminder of the recent fight.
First of all, Alex poured himself a glass full of ninety-proof bourbon and drained it in one gulp. Morrison, who entered the lounge right behind him, nodded in agreement and also applied himself to the fiery beverage. They refilled their glasses and silently sat down next to each other.
Even the modified metabolism of speshes had its limits. Now they had a chance to experience, for a while, a very real intoxication, the way their ancestors and the naturals felt it.
“He looked just like a regular guy … a youngster, fresh out of the academy.” Xang shrugged. “I would never have thought he was more than twenty years old… .”
“Me neither. At first.”
“What put you on guard, Alex?” Morrison looked at him demandingly.
“Does it make any difference?”
“It does. You’re … you’re a strange man, Captain Alex Romanov. I’d like to know how you found him out.”
“I’m not a captain anymore, Xang. And I doubt that what has happened will look very good on my service record. I probably won’t ever rise above a Hamster pilot, I’m afraid.”
“Come on, Alex, stop it. For me … for all of us, you’ll always be the captain. Tell me, how did you unmask the killer?”
Alex hesitated, but not for long. It didn’t make any difference now.
“A few strange things in his behavior. On New Ukraine, for instance, Paul stayed at the bar, instead of going on a planetary tour. That’s strange for a greenhorn who hasn’t seen much of the galaxy, right? Of course, I’ve met youngsters who just loved being around astronauts and would sit in a bar day and night, sipping beer. But Paul Lourier was obviously not one of those. For instance, after getting hired onto the ship, he left the restaurant right away.”
Morrison nodded uncertainly. Alex continued:
“And then there was the strange behavior of Generalov, who plotted the trek Quicksilver Pit-New Ukraine-Heraldica-Zodiac-Edem, even before we knew our route. The agent probably knew the route in advance. It would be logical to suppose that Puck was the actual killer. But … Generalov is a natural. Even becoming a navigator was already a leap above his head. To be an agent on top of that, and a professional assassin? Unthinkable. So there must have been some other reasons. Something had prompted him to think of that route. Remember, with whom did Generalov communicate most actively?”
“With Paul, of course.”
“And during that conversation, Generalov, without realizing it himself, had received directions for that trek from Paul.”
“But why?”
“Remember that tanker that tried to ram into us? Such a maneuver is really difficult to calculate. Our ship had to be entering the hyper-channel on a very precise route. And Generalov couldn’t plot a course toward Zodiac through, say, Monica-3. He had to stop by New Ukraine.”
“Puck said he was sure he had chosen that route all by himself,” said Morrison meditatively.
“Of course he did. But who needs direct hints? All Paul had to do was to mention his fear of the Bronins, being scared he wouldn’t be able to manage the engine in a combat situation … and Generalov would be set in his intent to avoid the Bronins’ ritual fighting zone. A remark about ancestors who had lived in the place called Ukraine back on Earth—and there you have New Ukraine. Ask Generalov about his astrological sign—and there you have Zodiac.”
“And that’s precisely how it happened?”
“I don’t know, Xang. We could ask Puck to remember everything, but why traumatize the guy any more than necessary? I’m sure it all happened more or less like that.”
Alex got out a cigarette, lit up. Xang took a pensive gulp of bourbon.
“That’s it?”
“Of course not. There were many such details. Well, like when we still didn’t know that poor Zey-So was already dead, and I, not suspecting anything, asked the pseudo-Paul Lourier to call in the Zzygou … and approach Zey-So first, as the senior partner. Tell me, Xang, could you tell the little bees apart?”
“No.”
“Did you know which cabin was Zey-So’s and which was Sey-Zo’s?”
“Of course not! Why would I?”
“But the agent did know, of course. And so he made a small mistake—he went off to the passenger cabins without asking how exactly to find Zey-So.”
“Ah! That’s more serious,” admitted Xang.
“Yes … but still it doesn’t really prove anything. Especially not to the Zzygou. That’s why I had to … set up this difficult situation.”
A strong, sinewy hand was lowered onto Alex’s shoulder.
“Bravo,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Bravo, Captain. If you ever want to make some clones of yourself and specialize them as detective-speshes, I will be for it in every way. And my word means a lot in our union, believe me!”
Alex turned around.
Holmes was not the only one there. Dr. Watson, looking at him with great admiration, was also in the recreation lounge, as were Kim and Generalov himself.
Alex smiled, a little embarrassed.
“I finally determined who the murderer was after I’d heard every crewmember’s story,” said Holmes. “My reasoning was based on the clues you’ve just enumerated … as well as a few other strange aspects of Paul Lourier’s behavior. But he came very close to being an ideal murderer. All these little false steps … they could have been the basis of a court hearing, and of an in-depth investigation, but our time constraints were way too tight. Sey-Zo wouldn’t have believed the circumstantial evidence. She knew very well that astronaut-speshes are capable of coordinating their actions and falsely accusing someone, or even forcing him or her to make a false confession. We had to have a complete confession. We needed a beautiful, demonstrative self-incrimination by the perpetrator. Therefore … we needed a provocation.”
The detective took out his pipe. He pressed down the fragrant tobacco that filled it, then lifted his lighter.
“I had … two different plans … either one of which … should have led … to success …”
Holmes drew on his pipe, let out a stream of fragrant smoke.
“But I decided that your actions, Captain, would serve the same goal … so I resolved to give you a chance.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” said Alex.
“You can thank Dr. Watson,” replied Holmes with a smile. “She was the one who insisted that you have a tenacious mind and the reasoning abilities of a natural detective. Your supposition about the killer’s use of a gel spacesuit, for example, was really excellent. To my shame, I must admit I didn’t pay any attention to that marvelous achievement of scientific thought.”
Alex bowed gratefully to Dr. Watson. The woman smiled in reply. He asked:
/> “Mr. Holmes, was the game I played a bit too risky?”
“Yes, it was. Your force field trick scared me, but I took the chance of trusting you. By the way, how did you remove your own absolute order?”
Morrison laughed quietly.
“I got it, though not right away. A captain gives orders on two levels—the standard way, and the one with the captain’s access, which allows absolutely everything. The first order did get executed, but it was given on the regular priority level. And when Alex decided to cancel his previous order, he simply used the magic words ‘captain’s access.’ The ship removed the force field belts immediately.”
Holmes nodded.
“Curious. And I supposed that our esteemed captain had ordered the ship in advance—to obey him for show, while actually still following his commands.”
“Damn …” was all Alex could say. “That would’ve been just as effective, but even more secure … after all, the agent could’ve noticed that I was using the simple form of command!”
“Any investigation is a tug-and-pull of two sets of mistakes,” said Dr. Watson thoughtfully. “The criminal makes his own mistakes, and the detective his. They’re unavoidable, even if the detective is a spesh. The main thing is not to allow your own mistakes to become graver than the mistakes of the criminal.”
Holmes nodded, and asked:
“And what was the basis of your faith in Kim? The girl …”—he gently hugged Kim around the shoulders—“has practically no combat experience!”
“Kim and I have a mutual acquaintance,” began Alex very cautiously. “And he has mentioned that the girl is well protected against sexual aggression. She has some undocumented and unusual fighter-spesh capabilities. The main risk was different—would the agent go for rape? But I made my bet on Kim’s capabilities that lie more in the hetaera realm. The excitement of battle would inevitably lead to pheromone release, so the agent couldn’t help himself. He was sick and tired of his role as a quiet, model cadet, and so …”—Alex smirked—“he bit and was snared.”