I will be strong, Kane promises her shade, no matter what they do to me.
One of the cell’s walls turns from white to transparent. The room beyond is full of people, most of them in military uniforms or white medical smocks. Only two wear civilian clothing, a pale man and…her. Keeta Januari.
“You may throw yourself against the glass if you want.” Her voice seems to come out of the air on all sides. “It is very, very thick and very, very strong.”
He only stares. He will not make himself a beast, struggling to escape while they laugh. These people are the ones who think themselves related to animals. Animals! Kane knows that the Lord God has given his people dominion.
“Over all the beasts and fowls of the earth,” he says out loud.
“So,” says Prime Minister Januari. “So, this is the Angel of Death.”
“That is not my name.”
“We know your name, Kane. We have been watching you since you reached Archimedes.”
A lie, surely. They would never have let him get so close.
She narrows her eyes. “I would have expected an angel to look more…angelic.”
“I’m no angel, as you almost found out.”
“Ah, if you’re not, then you must be one of the ministers of grace.” She sees the look on his face. “How sad. I forgot that Shakespeare was banned by your mullahs. ‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us!’ From Macbeth. It proceeds a murder.”
“We Christians do not have mullahs,” he says as evenly as he can. He does not care about the rest of the nonsense she speaks. “Those are the people of the Crescent, our brothers of the Book.”
She laughed. “I thought you would be smarter than the rest of your sort, Kane, but you parrot the same nonsense. Do you know that only a few generations back your ‘brothers’ as you call them set off a thermonuclear device, trying to kill your grandparents and the rest of the Christian and Zionist ‘brothers’?”
“In the early days, before the Covenant, there was confusion.” Everyone knew the story. Did she think to shame him with old history, ancient quotations, banned playwrights from the wicked old days of Earth? If so, then both of them had underestimated each other as adversaries.
Of course, at the moment she did hold a somewhat better position.
“So, then, not an angel but a minister. But you don’t pray to be protected from death, but to be able to cause it.”
“I do the Lord’s will.”
“Bullshit, to use a venerable old term. You are a murderer many times over, Kane. You tried to murder me.” But Januari does not look at him as though at an enemy. Nor is there kindness in her gaze, either. She looks at him as though he is a poisonous insect in a jar — an object to be careful with, yes, but mostly a thing to be studied. “What shall we do with you?”
“Kill me. If you have any of the humanity you claim, you will release me and send me to Heaven. But I know you will torture me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why would we do that?”
“For information. Our nations are at war, even though the politicians have not yet admitted it to their peoples. You know it, woman. I know it. Everyone in this room knows it.”
Keeta Januari smiles. “You will get no argument from me or anyone here about the state of affairs between Archimedes and the Covenant system. But why would we torture you for information we already have? We are not barbarians. We are not primitives — like some others. We do not force our citizens to worship savage old myths…”
“You force them to be silent! You punish those who would worship the God of their fathers. You have persecuted the People of the Book wherever you have found them!”
“We have kept our planet free from the mania of religious warfare and extremism. We have never interfered in the choices of Covenant.”
“You have tried to keep us from gaining converts.”
The prime minister shakes her head. “Gaining converts? Trying to hijack entire cultures, you mean. Stealing the right of colonies to be free of Earth’s old tribal ghosts. We are the same people that let your predecessors worship the way they wished to — we fought to protect their freedom, and were repaid when they tried to force their beliefs on us at gunpoint.” Her laugh is harsh. “‘Christian tolerance’ — two words that do not belong together no matter how often they’ve been coupled. And we all know what your Islamists and Zionists brothers are like. Even if you destroy all of the Archimedean alliance and every single one of us unbelievers, you’ll only find yourself fighting your allies instead. The madness won’t stop until the last living psychopath winds up all alone on a hill of ashes, shouting praise to his god.”
Kane feels his anger rising and closes his mouth. He suffuses his blood with calming chemicals. It confuses him, arguing with her. She is a woman and she should give comfort, but she is speaking only lies — cruel, dangerous lies. This is what happens when the natural order of things is upset. “You are a devil. I will speak to you no more. Do whatever it is you’re going to do.”
“Here’s another bit of Shakespeare,” she says. “If your masters hadn’t banned him, you could have quoted it at me. ’But man, proud man,?dressed in a little brief authority,?most ignorant of what he’s most assured’ — that’s nicely put, isn’t it?? ’His glassy essence, like an angry ape,?plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven?as make the angels weep.’ ” She puts her hands together in a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of prayer. He cannot turn away from her gaze. “So — what are we going to do with you? We could execute you quietly, of course. A polite fiction — died from injuries sustained in the arrest — and no one would make too much fuss.”
The man behind her clears his throat. “Madame Prime Minster, I respectfully suggest we take this conversation elsewhere. The doctors are waiting to see the prisoner…”
“Shut up, Healy.” She turns to look at Kane again, really look, her blue eyes sharp as scalpels. She is older than the Martyrdom Sister by a good twenty years, and despite the dark tint her skin is much paler, but somehow, for a dizzying second, they are the same.
Why do you allow me to become confused, Lord, between the murderer and the martyr?
“Kane comma Lamentation,” she says. “Quite a name. Is that your enemies lamenting, or is it you, crying out helplessly before the power of your God?” She holds up her hand. “Don’t bother to answer. In parts of the Covenant system you’re a hero, you know — a sort of superhero. Were you aware of that? Or have you been traveling too much?”
He does his best to ignore her. He knows he will be lied to, manipulated, that the psychological torments will be more subtle and more important than the physical torture. The only thing he does not understand is: Why her — why the prime minister herself? Surely he isn’t so important. The fact that she stands in front of him at this moment instead of in front of God is, after all, a demonstration that he is a failure.
As if in answer to this thought, a voice murmurs in the back, of his skull, “Arjuna’s Angel of Death captured in attempt on PM Januari.” Another inquires, “Have you smelled yourself lately? Even members of parliament can lose freshness — just ask one!” Even here, in the heart of the beast, the voices in his head will not be silenced.
“We need to study you,” the prime minister says at last. “We haven’t caught a Guardian-class agent before — not one of the new ones, like you. We didn’t know if we could do it — the scrambler field was only recently developed.” She smiles again, a quick icy flash like a first glimpse of snow in high mountains. “It wouldn’t have meant anything if you’d succeeded, you know. There are at least a dozen more in my party who can take my place and keep this system safe against you and your masters. But I made good bait — and you leaped into the trap. Now we’re going to find out what makes you such a nasty instrument, little Death Angel.”