The Service of the Sword

'Why didn't you tell us?' asked Major Citizen, half-whispering. 'I mean—after Saint-Just died and it was all over? All these weeks . . .'

'Was it?'Over,' I mean.' Cachat's eyes were very dark. 'I had no way of knowing what sort of regime was going to emerge. For all I knew, I was still going to have to continue as an oppositionist. But since I'd done everything I could to prepare La Martine for any eventuality—including the possibility of a restoration of the old regime—I needed to maintain my cover. It was my simple duty.'

Every officer on the bridge was now staring at him. Precious few of the ratings seated at their stations were making any attempt to hide the fact that they were listening also.

Cachat frowned. 'Why are you all looking so confused? You know how thoroughly I do my research. By the time I got to La Martine—it's a long trip—I was pretty sure I understood what was happening here. And what I needed to do. It didn't take more than a short time here to confirm it.'

Of all the faces on the bridge, Major Lafitte's was the only one whose eyes weren't wide. As a matter of fact, they were narrow with suppressed anger.

'Why the hell did you order us to do your blood work?' he demanded. Glancing at Sharon. 'Especially on our own commissioner. Best damn ship's commissioner any of us had ever served with.'

'Don't be stupid, Major Lafitte!' snapped Cachat. The fanatic was back, it seemed. 'The first thing I needed to do—'

He broke off sharply. Turned, and bestowed a hard gaze on one of the commo ratings. 'Are the recorders on?'

Hastily—she didn't even think to look at the ship's captain—the rating pushed a button on her console. 'Not any more, Sir.'

Cachat nodded and turned back. 'If you don't mind, Captain Wright, I'd prefer there to be no official record of this.' He continued on, not waiting for the SD's CO to finish nodding his approval. 'As I was saying, Major, don't be stupid. Jamka's insane rule—the results of it, I should say—had given me the opportunity to destroy the worst elements of Saint-Just's treason here in La Martine. Of course—'

He shrugged again; but, this time, it was the shoulder-twitch of old. 'I had no way of knowing—never imagined it, in fact—that Admiral Theismann would shortly be overthrowing the traitor. But, no matter. My duty was clear. Sooner or later, Saint-Just's regime was bound to collapse. At the very least, start coming apart at the seams. No purely police state in history has ever survived for very long. So Kevin Usher told me, once, and I believe him. Saint-Just, without Rob Pierre, was bound to fall—and fairly quickly.'

Usher's right, thought Yuri. Beria without Stalin didn't last for . . . weeks? I can't remember, exactly. Less than a year, that's for sure. Terror alone is never enough.

'It was therefore my clear duty to do what I could to prepare La Martine for the coming upheavals,' Cachat continued. 'Sanitize the sector, if you will. Jamka's murder provided me with the perfect opening, of course. But—to come back to the point, Major—doing so required me to enlist the aid of his killers immediately. Those were the only people I could count on for sure. Partly, of course, because their actions indicated their good character. But just as much because they'd see my presence as the surest way to cover their own tracks. Indeed, the quickest way to complete the mission they'd set out for themselves. I'm sure you'd planned—over time, of course—to execute everyone involved in Rating Quedilla's murder. Jamka was just the beginning.'

The room was frozen. There was no anger left in Major Lafitte's face. Only shock. And Sharon's face was that of ghost.

'Oh, Jesus,' whispered Yuri. Half-pleading: 'Sharon—'

'Desist, Radamacher!'

No one had ever heard Victor Cachat raise his voice. And this was a loud voice. Not cold in the least, but hot with anger.

'You slacker!' Cachat bellowed. Then, tightening his jaws and visibly clamping down on himself: 'She only did what you should have done, Radamacher. You were second-in-command of State Security here in La Martine. It was your duty to have seen to the removal of a beast like Jamka, once his nature had become clear and the threat he posed to the people of the Republic was obvious. Not hers. Yours. Even if you had to go outside of channels to do it.'

His nostrils fleered. 'But, of course, you looked the other way. Slacked off. As always. Commissioner.'

The last word practically dripped sarcasm. But, as if that satisfied him, the angry contempt in his expression faded away within seconds.

'Oh, hell, Yuri,' Cachat said wearily. 'You are one of the nicest men I've ever met. But some day you'll have to learn that a shield without a sword is pitiful protection in a real fight.'

Yuri was still staring at Sharon. She, staring back. Her face was still pale, but it was also composed.

'She was one of ours, Yuri,' Sharon said quietly. 'Caroline Quedilla was one of ours. When Jamka crossed that line—'

'A shipmate,' Lafitte hissed. 'And the best damn ship in the fleet, too.' The major's shoulders seemed wider than ever, his big hands clasped behind his back. 'Yeah, sure, Quedilla wasn't much of a rating and a screwball to boot. Always looking for thrills and a disciplinary pain-in-the-neck. Just the kind of nitwit that Jamka—he was a smooth, handsome bastard, if you'll remember; if you didn't know what lay beneath—could have suckered in while she was on shore leave. But she was still one of ours. God damn it! You don't ever let anyone cross that line.' He took a slow, deep breath. 'Not for something like this, anyway. If it'd been a matter of political loyalty or—or —'

The big hands seemed to tighten. 'That's different. But this was just a monster at his games, thinking his position could protect him from anything. He learned otherwise.'

The major swiveled his head to Cachat. 'I had no idea you knew.'

Cachat shrugged. 'It wasn't hard to figure out, once I realized who the victim was. I'd already studied the personnel records, of course, on the voyage here. So I was aware of the Veracity's record—and the fact that its Marine unit in particular had an exemplary combat record. Three unit citations, no less. I'm quite familiar with Marines, Major. I spent months in their company on Terra after the Manpower incident, before Saint-Just recalled me to Haven for reassignment.'

Cachat glanced at Sharon. 'Captain Justice's record as a commissioner just sealed the matter. I don't know exactly how it all went down—nor do I care to know—but I imagine she was the one who gave you the nod. She'd have kept it away from the Veracity's captain, of course, to protect the ship as a whole in case it all came unglued. You would have organized the operation. Then—judging from the evidence I turned up over the next week or so, I'm quite certain Sergeant Pierce led the operation which executed Jamka.'

He winced, slightly. 'A bit flamboyant, that last part. But Pierce is a flamboyant sort of character. I certainly can't deny it was—ah—call it poetic justice. And the theatrical manner in which the killing was done— whether you or Pierce planned for it or not—did have the benefit of making it easy for everyone to assume that Jamka had fallen afoul of his cohorts.' Cachat snorted. 'It always amazes me how willing people are to jump to conclusions, as long as a handy conclusion is waved under their nose. The theory was ridiculous, of course. Jamka's cronies would have been the last people to kill him. His position and authority were what enabled them to operate with impunity. That's why I had them all shot at once, so they wouldn't have time to argue their case.'

Yuri felt light-headed. 'Evidence . . . ?'

Jesus, Sharon'll fry. Murder is murder, under any regime.

'Do you take me for an idiot?' demanded Cachat. 'The evidence disappeared months ago. Vanished without a trace. I saw to that, I assure you. It was hardly difficult, since I was the Special Investigator assigned to handle the case.'

Yuri was swept with relief. But only for a moment. His eyes began flitting around the large bridge. His stomach sinking as he realized how many sets of ears . . .