The Service of the Sword

countermand it, either. Not after scanning the hard faces of the Marines and StateSec troopers themselves.

He'd never understand how Cachat had managed it, but somehow . . . 

So, he imagined, had the Old Guard always reacted in the presence of Napoleon. Reality, logic, justice—be damned to all of it. In victory or defeat, the Emperor was still the Emperor.

'If you want to see a genuinely superb depiction of the brutality of power,' Cachat continued, 'watch Mizoguchi's Sancho the Bailiff.'

Diana's glare faded. 'Well . . . okay, Victor, I'll give you that. I'm a big fan of Mizoguchi myself, although I personally prefer Ugetsu. Still, I think you're being unfair to Renoir. What about—'

'A moment, please. Since we've ventured onto the subject—in a roundabout way—let me take the occasion to ask Commissioner Radamacher how much longer he's going to slack off before completing the purge.'

'What are you talking about?' demanded Yuri. But his stomach was sinking as he said the words. In truth, he knew perfectly well what Cachat was talking about. He'd just been . . . 

Procrastinating.

'You know!' snapped Cachat. 'You're lazy, but you're not dumb. Not dumb at all. The fact that you've created a command staff throughout the fleet is fine and dandy. Fine also that, between the Marines and selected personnel from StateSec, you've put together a solid security team to enforce your authority. But this superdreadnought—and the Tilden's not much better; in some ways, worse—is still riddled with disaffected elements. Not to mention a small horde of pure hooligans. I'm warning you, Commissioner Radamacher, let this continue much longer and you'll start losing it.'

Yuri swallowed. Cachat was speaking the truth, and he knew it. Both superdreadnoughts had enormous crews, whose personnel was entirely StateSec except for a relative handful of Marines. Some of those StateSec people—Major Citizen and Sergeant Rolla being outstanding examples—were people Yuri would stake his life on. Was staking his life on, as a matter of fact.

The rest . . . Most of them were simply people. People who'd enlisted originally to serve on a StateSec capital ship for much the same reasons that people from any society's lower classes volunteer for military service. A way out of the slums; decent and reliable pay; security; training; advancement. Nothing more sinister than that.

They'd all been willing enough to go along with the change of guard. Especially after it became clear that Yuri had engineered what amounted to a truce so that none of them need fear any immediate repercussions as long as they kept the peace.

But there were still plenty of SD ratings—and plenty of officers—who were not at all happy with the new setup. They'd liked being in State Security, and would be delighted to see its iron-fisted regime return—since they had every reason to expect they could resume their happy days as the fingers of that fist.

'Damn it,' he complained—hating the fact that even to himself his voice sounded whiny—'I didn't sign on to carry out a Night of the Long Knives.'

Cachat frowned. 'Who said anything about knives? And they wouldn't need to be long anyway. You can cut a man's throat with a seven-centimeter blade perfectly well. In fact—have you forgotten everything?—that was the blade-length of choice in the academy's assassination courses.'

'Never mind,' sighed Yuri. 'It's an historical reference. There was once a tyrant named Adolf Hitler and after he came to power he turned on the most hardcore of the fanatics who'd lifted him to power. The True Believers who were now a threat to him. Had them all purged in a single night.'

Cachat grunted. 'I still don't understand the point. I'm certainly not proposing that you purge Diana. Or Major Lafitte or Admiral Chin or Commodore Ogilve or any of the excellent noncoms—Marine and StateSec both—who are the people who lifted you into power. I'm simply pointing out what ought to be obvious: there are lots of sheer thugs on these capital ships and you ought to have the lot of them thrown into prison. A real prison, too—dirtside, where they can't get loose—not this silly arrangement you've got me in.'

Diana Citizen's face looked troubled. 'Uh, Yuri, I hate to say it but I agree with the Special—ah, Captain Cachat. I don't even care about political reliability, frankly. We're starting to have lots of problem with simple discipline. Lots of problems.'

Yuri hesitated. Cachat's face seemed to soften, for a moment.

'You are a splendid shield, Yuri Radamacher,' he said quietly. 'But the republic needs a sword also, from time to time. So why don't you—this once—let a sword advise you?'

The young StateSec captain nodded his head toward the computer on his desk. The thing had no business still being there, of course. No one in their right mind would leave a computer in the hands of a prisoner like Cachat. Sure, sure, Yuri had slapped a codelock on it. Ha. He wondered if it had taken Cachat even two hours to break it.

But . . . 

A computer was simply part of the dignity of a man like Cachat. To have removed it would have been like requiring Napoleon on St. Helena to sleep on the floor, or wear a sheet for clothing.

Cachat seemed to be reading his mind. 'I haven't tried to use it, Yuri,' he said softly. 'But if you go into it yourself, you'll find my own records easily enough. The keyword is Ginny and the password is Tongue.'

For some reason, Cachat seemed to be blushing a little. 'Never mind. It was a personal reference I'd . . . ah, be able to remember. That will get you into the list of personnel I spent quite a bit of time assembling while I was operating on this warship. That list will only contain Hector Van Dragen personnel, of course. But you can find the same for the Tilden —more extensive, actually, since I had more time on that ship—stored away on the computer I used while on the Tilden during our mission.'

The peculiar blush seemed to darken. 'The keyword and password in that instance will be sari and, uh, shakehertail.'

Diana burst out laughing. 'Ginny—tongue—sari—shakehertail, no less. Victor, you dog! Who would have guessed you were a lady's man? I'd love to meet this girlfriend of yours, whoever she is.'

The young man—for once, he didn't look like a fanatic—seemed on verge of choking. 'She's not—ah, well. She's not my girlfriend. Actually, she's the wife—ah, never mind. Just a woman I knew once, whom I admired a lot.' A bit defensively: ''Shake-her-tail' was a reference to her cover, and, uh, 'tongue' is because—well, never mind. There's no need to go into it.'

For once, Yuri was inclined to let Cachat off the hook instead of needling him. Cachat the fanatic, he detested. Cachat the young man . . . was impossible to even dislike.

'Okay, Victor, we'll 'never mind,' ' he said. 'But what's on that list?'

The fanatic came back instantly. 'Everyone I was planning to either arrest or, at the very least, break from StateSec service. Of course, I never thought I could do it all at once. Probably wouldn't even be able to do more than get started, since I had no idea how long Saint-Just would leave me on station here. But you can do the lot at a single stroke.'

Radamacher eyed the computer. Then, sighing, got up and went over to it.

'Well. I suppose I should at least look at it.'

The first name and entry on the list was: Alouette, Henri. GravSen Tech 1/c.

'Damn,' muttered Yuri. 'I forgot all about him, things have been so hectic.'

The rest of Cachat's entry read:

Vicious thug. Incompetent and derelict at anything else. Suspect him of conducting a reign of terror in his section, to the gross detriment of the section's performance. Arrest at the first opportunity. Most severe punishment possible, preferably execution, if sufficient evidence can be obtained. Certain it can once he is