Perhaps they did. It wasn’t for love of their Lords-Master; he was sure of that. Even from the beginning, they had found it impossible to disguise their contempt. …
Then he saw Olvir Nikkolon stop short and thrust out his arm, pointing directly below the pickup, and as he watched, something green-gray, a remote-control contragravity lorry, came floating into the field of the screen. One of the vehicles that had been sent down from the Empress Eulalie for use at the uranium mines. As it lifted and advanced toward the center of the room, the other Lords-Master were springing to their feet.
Vann Shatrak also sprang to his feet, reaching the controls of the screen and cutting the sound. He was just in time to save them from being, at least temporarily, deafened, for no sooner had he silenced the speaker than the lorry vanished in a flash that filled the entire room.
When the dazzle left their eyes, and the smoke and dust began to clear, they saw the Convocation Chamber in wreckage, showers of plaster and bits of plastiboard still falling from above. The gold and onyx bench was broken in a number of places; the Chiefs of Management in front of it, and the Presidium above, had vanished. Among the benches lay black-clad bodies, a few still moving. Smoke rose from burning clothing. Admiral Shatrak put on the sound again; from the screen came screams and cries of pain and fright.
Then the doors on the two long sides opened, and red-brown uniforms appeared. The soldiers advanced into the Chamber, unslinging rifles and submachine guns. Unheeding the still falling plaster, they moved forward, firing as they came. A few of them slung their firearms and picked up Masterly dress swords, using them to finish the wounded among the benches. The screams grew fewer, and then stopped.
Count Erskyll sat frozen, staring white-faced and horror-sick into the screen. Some of the others had begun to recover and were babbling excitedly. Vann Shatrak was at a communication-screen, talking to Commodore Patrique Morvill, aboard the Empress Eulalie:
“All the Landing-Troops, and all the crewmen you can spare and arm. And every vehicle you have. This is only the start of it; there’ll be a general massacre of Masters next. I don’t doubt it’s started already.”
At another screen, Pyairr Ravney was saying, to the officer of the day of the Palace Guard: “No, there’s no telling what they’ll do next. Whatever it is, be ready for it ten minutes ago.”
He stubbed out his cigarette and rose, and as he did, Erskyll came out of his daze and onto his feet.
“Commodore Shatrak! I mean, Admiral,” he corrected himself. “We must reimpose martial rule. I wish I’d never talked you into terminating it. Look at that!” He pointed at the screen; big dump-lorries were already coming in the doors under the pickup, with a mob of gowned civil-service people crowding in under them. They and the soldiers began dragging bodies out from among the seats to be loaded and hauled away. “There’s the planetary government, murdered to the last man!”
“I’m afraid we can’t do anything like that,” he said. “This seems to be a simple transfer of power by coup-d’etat; rather more extreme than usual, but normal political practice on this sort of planet. The Empire has no right to interfere.”
Erskyll turned on him indignantly. “But it’s mass murder!”
“It’s an accomplished fact. Whoever ordered this, Citizen Chmidd and Citizen Hozhet and Citizen Zhannar and the rest of your good democratic citizens, are now the planetary government of Aditya. As long as they don’t attack us, or repudiate the sovereignty of the Emperor, you’ll have to recognize them as such.”
“A bloody-handed gang of murderers; recognize them?”
“All governments have a little blood here and there on their hands; you’ve seen this by screen instead of reading about it in a history book, but that shouldn’t make any difference. And you’ve said, yourself, that the Masters would have to be eliminated. You’ve told Chmidd and Hozhet and the others that, repeatedly. Of course, you meant legally, by constitutional and democratic means, but that seemed just a bit too tedious to them. They had them all together in one room, where they could be eliminated easily, and. … Lanze; see if you can get anything on the Citadel telecast.”
Degbrend put on another communication-screen and fiddled for a moment. What came on was a view, from another angle, of the Convocation Chamber. A voice was saying:
“… not one left alive. The People’s Labor Police, acting on orders of People’s Manager of Labor Zhorzh Khouzhik and People’s Provost-Marshal Yakoop Zhannar, are now eliminating the rest of the ci-devant Masterly class, all of whom are here in Zeggensburg. The people are directed to cooperate; kill them all, men, women and children. We must allow none of these foul exploiters of the people live to see today’s sun go down. …”
“You mean, we sit here while those animals butcher women and children?” Shatrak demanded, looking from the Proconsul to the Ministerial Secretary. “Well, by Ghu, I won’t! If I have to face a court for it, all well and good, but. …”
“You won’t, Admiral. I seem to recall, some years ago, a Commodore Hastings, who got a baronetcy for stopping a pogrom on Anath. …”
“And broadcast an announcement that any of the Masterly class may find asylum here at the Proconsular Palace. They’re political fugitives; scores of precedents for that,” Erskyll added.
Shatrak was back at the screen to the Empress Eulalie.
“Patrique, get a jam-beam focused on that telecast station at the Citadel; get it off the air. Then broadcast on the same wavelength; announce that anybody claiming sanctuary at the Proconsular Palace will be taken in and protected. And start getting troops down, and all the spacemen you can spare.”
At the same time, Ravney was saying, into his own screen:
“Plan Four. Variation H-3; this is a rescue
