Klaus ran GA&A, period.
“How long before we can replace the computers?”
“Do you want to import the units?”
“Hell, yes! We cannot have any native Bakuninites enter the complex—for any reason.”
Said paused in thought. “Fortunately, our finances aren’t limited. The closest Confed planet is Dolbri, but they wouldn’t have what we need. Next closest is Earth—”
“God, no. We can’t go anywhere near the capitals. Too many people are watching.”
Said scratched his chin. “Cynos is out?”
Klaus nodded.
“Styx doesn’t have an export industry ... hmm— Banlieue is a little farther away, and expensive, but they’ll have what we need and it’s in the other direction from the Confed capitals. Will that do?”
Klaus nodded.
“Then I’ll prepare a tach-comm to order what we need. If we use a military transport, it’ll take about twenty-three days standard. About eighteen days Bakunin.”
“Installation?”
“Two days at most.”
The delay grated. But there was little Klaus could do about it. “Make the order. Any good news?”
“Yes, there is. The Shaftsbury has tached in ahead of schedule. We’ll be able to start downloading personnel from orbit as soon as we have the living quarters cleaned out.”
“Good. Keep me posted, and call me as soon as you know exactly when we can expect those computers.”
“Yes, sir.”
The holo faded.
Klaus’ thoughts returned to “Dominic Magnus.” He didn’t expect his marines to get anywhere near him again. His sudden reappearance showed that if there was one thing the half-human bastard knew how to do, it was preserve his own hide.
Fortunately, Klaus had contingencies. Contingencies that had nothing to do with TEC covert operations. He had not relied on the TEC-supplied commandos to fulfill his own personal agenda, especially back when it seemed unlikely that he would be part of the Bakunin operation. He had made other arrangements.
Klaus walked to the door where he had left his case. He picked it up and carried it to the desk and set it down. He stuck his thumb in a hole in the side and waited for the mechanism to identify his genetic material.
The secure holo was a costly personal extravagance when the TEC would provide its officers with communications just as secure. Of course, the communications provided by the TEC weren’t secure from the TEC.
The lid opened and the holo’s lasers carved a blue spherical test pattern in the air over the base. Klaus tapped a twenty-three digit number seed into the keypad to start the scrambler on its work. Then he called a number in Godwin.
The holo display proved superfluous, since the recipient only transmitted audio back. “Greetings, Colonel.”
“It is time we discuss our arrangement, Mr. Webster.” Webster was an alias for a man—or woman, the voice could easily be a construct—that Klaus had never met. Klaus had worked a long time getting a few contacts on Bakunin. Now that he had actually come to Bakunin, he had made one of these contacts lead him to someone who seemed to have fingers in every rotten pie in Godwin.
To Klaus, Webster was nothing more than a high-priced informant, a messenger boy—
But informants had their uses.
“I’ve been expecting your call,” Webster said. “I have been quite thorough in assuring that the proper people are aware of the value you’ve placed on GA&A’s personnel.”
Klaus smiled. The TEC might accept half-measures, but Klaus was not going to take a chance that there were any of Dominic’s loyalists at large. It was an easy thing to get GA&A’s personnel list from Helmsman. No one had even questioned why he had needed it.
“There’s a special one on the list. One that has to be eliminated.”
“Dominic Magnus.”
“Good guess.”
“How much is this one?”
“My finances are unlimited. He must die. Even if you have to do the job personally. My security teams tracked him into East Godwin.”
There was a dry chuckle on the other end. “I don’t do anything personally. Besides, East Godwin would do the job for free. But—”
“But what?”
“I believe your target, and someone else on your list, are in the hands of the Church.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Bakunin Church of Christ, Avenger. I gave them your list. BCCA is always open to new means for receiving donations.”
“Is he dead?” It would be appropriate for a church to dispense justice, after what he had done—
“BCCA is—hmm—unusual. They do things their own way. He’ll be alive until airtime. The show starts in a few minutes. Your holo can probably pick up their transmission.”
“I don’t like delays.”
“If there’s a problem, feel free to call back. Think of it this way, you get to watch.”
Webster cut the connection.
The show?
Klaus adjusted the holo receiver and tried to find BCCA’s broadcast. It took a while. The airwaves on this planet were hopelessly cluttered and followed no logical progression. When he locked on to the BCCA broadcast, it was a scene featuring a priest on stage in front of a massive tote board labeled “Gold for God.”
The priest yelled at an unseen crowd. “Welcome to our program of retribution.”
There were cheers.
Klaus settled back to watch the broadcast.
Ten years he’d waited to get this close to Jonah.
Fifteen since their mother, Helen Dacham, had died.
“Death is the best you can hope for, brother,” Klaus said.
* * * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
Criminal Justice
“An efficient legal system operates on the assumption that everyone is guilty of something.”
—The Cynic’s Book of Wisdom
“Justice in government is as rare as a rich [man] in prison.”
—Datia Rajastahn
( ?-2042)
Dominic dreamed ugly dreams.
Dominic dreamed of a forested ball of racism called Waldgrave, his home planet. He dreamed of his mother’s drunken rages. He dreamed of her paranoia. He dreamed of the salvation the TEC recruiter offered.
Dominic dreamed of an ugly little planet in the Sigma Draconis system, a planet named Styx. He dreamed of thirty-five thousand people vaporizing as two tons of polyceram monomolecular filament struck from orbit. He dreamed of a city that no longer existed.
Dominic dreamed of the day that city had caught up with him. He dreamed of the slug slamming into his shoulder. He dreamed of falling over the railing, the endless fall. He dreamed of his body’s reconstruction.
Dominic dreamed of the destruction of GA&A.
He dreamed his life was a massive glass sculpture, shattering again and again. Every time it broke, a few more pieces were missing. Now it seemed all he had left was a few twisted shards.
* * * *
As the stunner gradually wore off, the outside world leaked back in. Dom heard people talking.
Someone with an insincere voice yelled at a crowd. “Welcome to your program of retribution.” Cheers. “First off, I want to welcome back part of our viewing audience. The Zeno Commune has finally repaired the battle damage to their vidsat substation—”