The Service of the Sword

'And again!' Cachat snapped. 'When are you going to learn?'

The fanatic—Yuri couldn't help but think of him that way; perhaps now more than ever—was giving him that cold, dark scrutiny. 'Accept something as a fact, will you? I am far better at this than you will ever be, Yuri Radamacher. Better by nature, and then I was trained by the best there is. Oscar Saint-Just poured the iron, and— pity him!—Kevin Usher shaped the mold. So I know what I'm doing.'

His eyes moved slowly over the bridge. As he came to each rating—none of them, any longer, even pretending to attend to their duty—most of them looked away. It was a hard gaze to face, after all.Oddly enough, though, Cachat's eyes seemed to lighten in color as they went. Black at the beginning; a rather warm brown at the end.

'There is no evidence,' Cachat repeated, speaking to the entire bridge. 'And there is no record of this discussion. I'm afraid all of you here are simply having a delusional experience. No doubt, wild and unsubstantiated rumors will begin appearing on this ship. No doubt, they will spread soon throughout the task force. Not much doubt, I'd say, they will eventually percolate throughout the Republic.'

He turned back to the officers, smiling thinly. 'And so? I see no harm to the Republic—none at all, as a matter of fact—if rumors exist that, even during the worst days of the Saint-Just tyranny, an especially vile leader of State Security was fragged by one of the ship's crews of the Republic.'

For a moment, all was still. Then, as if they possessed a single pair of lungs, almost two dozen officers and ratings let out a collective breath.

Major Lafitte even managed a laugh of sorts. 'Cachat, I don't think even Saint-Just—on his best day—or worst day, I'm not sure which—could have been that ruthless. That's why you used the Veracity's Marines as your fist, from the very beginning.'

'I told you. I was trained by the best.' Cachat's own little laugh was a harsh thing. 'No one suspects a torturer, Major, of any crime except torture. The work itself obliterates whatever might lurk beneath. As Kevin once told me, 'blood's always the best cover, and all the better if it's on your own fists.' '

He turned to face Yuri. 'Now do you understand, Commissioner?'

Yuri said nothing. But his face must have conveyed his sentiments. You're still a damn fanatic, Cachat.

Cachat sighed, and looked away. For an instant, he seemed very young and vulnerable.

'I had nothing else, Yuri,' he said softly. 'No other weapon; no other shield. So I used my own character to serve me for both.'

There seemed to be some moisture back in his eyes. 'So, was it an act? I honestly don't know. I'm not sure I want to know.'

'Doesn't matter to me,' said Major Lafitte firmly. 'As long as you're on my side.'

Sharon seemed to choke. 'I'll drink to that!' she exclaimed. Then, turning to Captain Wright: 'What say, Sir? It's your ship. But I think a toast might be in order.'

Wright wasn't exactly a 'jolly good soul.' Precious few commanding officers of a StateSec capital ship ever were. But compared to Gallanti, he was a veritable life-of-the-party.

'It's straining regulations, but—I'm inclined to agree that—'

He got no further before an alarm sounded. Commander Tarack, Ballon's replacement as Hector's tac officer, started in his chair—his attention, like everyone else's, had been riveted on Cachat—and turned quickly to his console. Fresh datacodes blinked on his display, and he listened hard to his ear bug.

Then he paled.

Noticeably.

'Sir,' he said, unable to completely disguise his nervousness, 'I'm getting a very big hyper footprint. Uh, very big, Sir. And . . . uh, I think—not sure yet—that we've got some ships of the wall here. Uh. Lots of them. At least half a dozen, I think.'

Whatever his other shortcomings, Wright was an experienced ship commander. 'What distance?' he asked, his voice level and even. 'And can you make out their identity?'

'Twelve light-minutes, Sir. Bearing oh-one-niner, right on the ecliptic. I won't be able to determine their identity, or even the actual class types, until the light-speed platforms report, Sir.'

Twelve minutes later, Commander Tarack was able to determine the identity of the incoming task force. 'They're Havenite, Sir.'

The people on the bridge relaxed. Somewhat. It still remained unclear whether the task force was from the newly established regime or . . . who knew? There were apparently StateSec-led rebellions in several provincial sectors—one of which, at least, was not all that far from La Martine sector.

But, ten minutes after that, that uncertainty vanished also. The first message from the incoming flotilla had bridged the lightspeed distance.

'They're from Haven itself, Sir,' reported the comm rating. 'It's a task force sent out by President Pritchard, to—ah, it says 'help reestablish proper authority in Ja'al, Tetra and La Martine sectors, and suppress any disturbances, if needed.' That's a quote, Sir. Admiral Austell's in command.'

'Midge Austell?' asked Commodore Ogilve sharply.

The rating shook her head. 'Doesn't say, Sir. Just: 'Rear Admiral Austell, task force commander.'

'It's got to be Midge,' said Admiral Chin. There was more than a trace of excitement in her voice. 'I don't know any other Austell on the Captain's List. Didn't know she'd made admiral, though. Fast track, if she did.'

'She could have, Genevieve,' said Ogilve. His own voice sounded elated. 'She never got smeared by Hancock the way we did, you know. She was too junior, at the time, just my tac officer in the Napoleon. So she didn't spend our time on the beach. God knows she's good enough. In my opinion, anyway.'

'Here's another message, Sir,' called out the rating. 'Says that FIA Director Usher is accompanying the task force. 'To reestablish proper police authorities in provincial sectors.' That's a direct quote, Sir.'

Cachat collapsed into an empty seat. 'Thank God,' he whispered. He put his face in his hands. 'I am so very tired.'

A last spark of anger almost led Yuri to demand: From what? You haven't done anything for weeks except rest. 

But he didn't ask the question. Wouldn't have, even if he hadn't seen Sharon's eyes on him. Hard eyes; questioning eyes—still pleading eyes, too. Yuri and Sharon would have a lot to talk through, in the days to come.

But Yuri Radamacher did not ask, because the commissioner knew the answer. Victor Cachat had not slacked off. Cachat had done his duty, and done it to the full.

And now, even a fanatic was weary of such duty.

Cachat still seemed weary, five hours later, when the first pinnace from the arriving task force docked at the Hector. He was there with the rest of them in the boat bay gallery, but his normally square shoulders seemed slumped; his face drained and paler than ever.

The sight of the first person coming through the lock seemed to pick up his spirits, true. That sight certainly picked up Yuri's. He'd forgotten how large and excessively muscular Kevin Usher was, but the cheerful, rakish face was exactly as he remembered. Kevin Usher in a good mood could brighten up any gathering—and the man was obviously in a very good mood.

'Victor!' he bellowed, stepping forward and sweeping the smaller man into a bear hug. 'Damn, it's good to see you again!'

He plunked the young man down and examined him. 'You look like shit,' he pronounced. 'You're not exercising enough.'

In point of fact, Yuri knew that Cachat exercised at least two hours a day. But Cachat didn't argue the