Carnifex

crimes that would warrant death even outside the military.'

'Not here they wouldn't,' Ruiz corrected. 'And the idea of applying the death penalty here, if the government changes, has a lot of people scared. Pina had people killed; you and Patricio have had people killed. Some don't see fine distinctions like the fact that he killed political opponents and you've shot or hanged traitors, deserters, rapists, and murderers.'

Parilla bridled. 'Now that is unfair.'

'Politics is supposed to be fair?' Ruiz asked, rhetorically.

'Point taken,' Parilla said with a shrug.

'Another thing,' Ruiz added. 'The advertising the other side is using is sophisticated and, because there is so much of it, expensive. I think they're getting a fair amount of financial backing from the Taurans. Our ruling classes have two distinguishing features. One is that they're corrupt. The other is that they're cheap; cheeseparers, at best. They'd never spend this kind of money on their own, though they'd be perfectly happy to let someone else do it on their behalf.'

'Yeah, I know them,' Parilla agreed. 'What are the numbers looking like.'

Ruiz was actually an art—or, at least, cinema—professor. He'd run the Legion's propaganda program since inception. As such—with politics being as much about propaganda as about reality, and perhaps more—he'd been tapped for the political campaign. Starting with no real background in the subject he'd surrounded himself with other professors from the university who did have such a background. The numbers came from them.

'We're expecting a relatively high turnout, on the order of eighty percent.'

'That is high,' Parilla agreed. 'We haven't seen a turnout like that since the vote on the Transitway Treaty with the Federated States.'

'Yes. Of those, right now we can count on maybe fifty-five percent, including absentee ballots, voting our way. That's down about nine percent from where we thought we were when this started. Another drop like that and we're toast.'

Parilla bit at his lower lip. 'Worse, if the current party can show that kind of support no amount of bribery will keep them from outlawing the Legion, here.'

'High stakes, indeed,' Ruiz agreed. 'So what's left? Social democracy is out. More sensitive military laws and regulations are probably out.'

'I've got to discuss that with Patricio.'

28/1/468 AC, Firebase Pedro de Lisaldo, Pashtia

His aide had brought three messages to Carrera while he visited the firebase before going out on a patrol with one of the platoons that shared it with the artillery. One was from Fernandez. It had been hand-carried in coded form, translated back at headquarters in Mazari Omar, then brought forward. The second was from Parilla. It, too, had gone through encode and decode. The last was from Lourdes. Carrera read the last first, smiling halfway through then laughing outright when Lourdes passed on some of the news of their son's latest antics.

So I caught Hamilcar carting off one very unwilling kitten in his arms. As soon as he saw me he just opened his arms and let it drop to the floor. Then he put his head down like a man on his way to the firing squad and walked back to bed without a word. You should have seen it . . . 

He could just see it, actually. Carrera folded the letter and tucked it into the pocket closest to his heart. He'd answer in a few days when he got back from visiting the troops.

The next read was Parilla's.

 . . .  And so Professor Ruiz tells me that, against our expectations, we might lose. I know I don't have to tell you how bad that could be. Would it be bad enough? Would it be worth establishing a Legion-supported welfare state? And if we did, how would we ever escape it?

One thing that did occur to me that we could do, Patricio, is to announce we're expanding the reserves and dropping—better we should say 'modifying,' I suppose— the entrance standards enough to let come in maybe half the people who want in. Maybe we can open up some more to women. What those would do to the quality of the force I cannot say. Yet I do wonder if quantity does not have a quality all its own . . . 

'I'll consider it, Raul,' was all Carrera said, and that only to the air.

Lourdes' was important to his mental well being. Parilla's to his political future. Fernandez's, though, was important to everything. He never sent a message that wasn't absolutely critical. Carrera began to read.

Oh, God, thought Carrera, if Fernandez's supposition is right, then the stakes just went through the roof.

He looked back to the report, hand carried by trusted messenger to this remote firebase in the Pashtian foothills.

He read:

Patricio,

The events in Xamar make it clear, as clear as anything can be clear, that the UEPF has completely sided with the enemy, which we suspected, and is actively aiding him, which we did not know but feared. Looking backwards in time, I cannot say how long this has been going on. I can, however, state that it has been going on for a long time and may, indeed, have begun before you're family was destroyed. It may have been part of that destruction. I am reasonably certain it was part of the murder of my daughter.

Consider the following:

We have acquired testimony, partial intercepts of communications, and a device by which communication took place between the pirates of Xamar and the UEPF.

We have partial intercepts of communications between your enemies in Pashtia and Kashmir and the UEPF.

We have recorded conversations, obtained by bugging the current President's office, in which the ambassador from the UE has participated in planning to split the country, or outlaw the Legion, or both.

We have acquired a new intelligence source . . . 

Carrera read that intelligence source and could only say, 'Holy shit.'

He then continued and didn't stop reading until he'd digested the message completely. It wasn't exactly a shocking surprise, except for the new source of intelligence. He'd known that the UEPF had been at least unsympathetic. But outright enmity? Helping the enemy kill innocent women and children without overwhelming good cause? What could be their motivator? Then again, did it even matter what their motivation was? Didn't the facts of the matter say all that needed to be said?

So I'm not just going to war with the TU someday, I am going to have to deal with the UEPF as well. And I don't know how I can even touch them . . . oh, yes I do. God, that would suck. But would it work?

Carrera closed his eyes and summoned up a mental image of the Mar Furioso, to include the Island of Atlantis. After long minutes of contemplation he answered himself, Yes, it would probably work.

That, however, is for the further future. In between I have to deal with the Taurans and probably the Zhong. That's already being worked back home. So besides tonight's patrol, what do I have to worry about except the UEPF?

UEPF Spirit of Peace, 12 January, 2522

Robinson had begun to worry as soon as the robo-drone from Earth had come in with the monthly dispatches and he'd been given the set marked 'Eyes Only: High Admiral.' Earth rarely communicated anything to the fleet beyond the merest routine, what parts would not be available and would have to be procured locally, what money would not be forthcoming, what art would be sent for auction, how many slaves would be on the next boat out and their quality. Slaves from Old Earth were always a dicey commodity. They had to be physically attractive, but also both ignorant and stupid lest they give away more of the conditions on Old Earth than the Consensus wanted known.

In any case, that sort of message was all routine. This—with its 'Eyes Only' qualifier—just had to be bad news. He took the dispatches and, Wallenstein in tow, went to his cabin to read them.

'Shit. It's worse than I imagined,' Robinson muttered, after scanning the first few lines of what appeared to