In only one area did he subtly rein them in. When they started looking for new targets from which to steal AM2, he drew the line.
"I think we should delay on this matter awhile," he said.
"Give us one reason why," Lovett snapped.
"After the incident with the Honjo," Poyndex said, "even a fool would suspect that your real reason for the attack was the AM2. And that they were innocent of any conspiracy."
"I see your point," Malperin said.
"Bloody hell!" one of the Kraa twins exploded. "Wot's an Hohjo or twelve to any fella? Bunch a shut-fists, that's wot they be. 'N everyone clottin' knows it! They'll get little sympathy."
"Possibly," Poyndex said. "But if we immediately attack another AM2-rich system—no matter what the excuse—then all our allies will feel as if they were potential targets, as well."
"Too right," the fat Kraa said. "Me 'n Sis got some good candidates."
"I'm sure you do," Poyndex said. "And I think all these things should be taken into consideration. But not now. Not just yet. Or else we'll lose too many of our supporters."
They saw the wisdom in his advice. But just to make sure, Poyndex suggested some particularly bloody actions that could be taken as part of the purge. It helped a great deal to keep them all relatively calm. He also helped them launch a massive effort to bring the beings responsible for the AM2 theft to justice. Poyndex had sniffed the rotten fish the council was attempting to hide: Ian Mahoney, former chief of the same intelligence department Poyndex commanded. How very interesting. Was Mahoney just a rogue? Possibly. Possibly not. Why were his colleagues so afraid of the man?
Poyndex was sure that one way or another, he would soon learn the reasons behind all of it, and that the answer would be useful to him. Meanwhile, as the junior member of the privy council, he would do his best to satisfy.
Besides Poyndex, there was one other relatively pleased member of the council.
Kyes had found it difficult to hide his boredom. He cared not a whit what the outcome was of all this. He did his best to appear interested and to add his opinion to the debate when warranted. But on this particular day of fury, Kyes had received extremely good news.
The data banks of his one-of-a-kind computer were now full to the brim, thanks to the assistance of Lagguth, Poyndex, and a whole host of historical ferrets. The computer had been crunching all the data for weeks, and at last it possessed all of the facts, rumors, and half rumors they could find on the Eternal Emperor.
Kyes had almost dreaded asking the question. It was all very well for him to believe as he did, but believing did not make a thing so. As a scientist/inventor, Kyes knew that better than anyone. Was he mad to think the Eternal Emperor was not dead? Despite all the evidence? The witnesses? The filmed assassination itself?
Only the computer could answer that. It had been fed every detail of previous reported attempts on the Emperor. But what if he asked and the prog was unacceptably low? Kyes was certain that if he were not already mad, such an answer would drive him over that final brink. But if he did not ask, he would never know. Kyes was literally in the position of a being who has been told that whether he would live or die was a known quantity. All he had to do was look in the crystal ball to find out. It was just as hard to look as it was to ignore it.
Finally, he looked.
The prog was ninety percent plus that the Eternal Emperor was alive.
With that news, Kyes was ready to move.
Far away from that debate, there was another extremely happy being.
Sr. Ecu had labored hard since his meeting with Mahoney. As his assistants pored over legal tracts, ancient and modern, he had put out careful feelers on Sten's proposal that an impartial tribunal be formed to try the privy council for the assassination of the
Eternal Emperor.
Of course, such a question had not been asked outright. But, working from a narrow list of systems that were guaranteed not to leak even a hint of his disloyalty, much less run shouting panic-stricken from his presence, he had felt his way around the edges of his goal.
He knew now that if such a tribunal were proposed, there were beings he could convince to join the panel. It would be very difficult, but far from impossible. Before he could ask, however, the Manabi needed a legal basis for such a body. Else, the whole exercise was pointless.
Sr. Ecu found his precedent.
As he suspected it might, the answer came from the early days of the Empire. It was during the time—well over two thousand years before—that most of what was now the Empire did not exist. In fact, places that were currently heavily populated and considered the very heart of the Empire had then been wild frontier regions, where there was little law and equally little order. It was a time when six years or more could pass before an Imperial circuit judge visited any of those regions to settle local disputes.
The Eternal Emperor had been well aware that many things could go very wrong if left to fester. So, he encouraged the creation of local magisterial panels, empowered to settle nearly all civil claims. Their decisions could be appealed to the region's Imperial governor, but the length of time to get a hearing, much less a presence, was so formidable that few took advantage of that option.
In the matter of major, life-threatening felonies, the Emperor had been far more cautious. Sr. Ecu could read his concerns between the lines. Jailings and executions could easily become a tool of vengeance. It was unlikely that the Eternal Emperor was concerned as much about the morality of such actions as he was that unsettled crimes would create further instability, blood feuds, and spreading wars.
So in those cases, the magisterial panels were slightly limited in their authority. If a suspected violent felon were hailed before them, the panels were only to determine if there was a great likelihood that a crime had actually taken place, what manner of crime it might have been, and whether the being(s) before them was probably responsible. To determine the evidence, they were empowered to subpoena witnesses—bringing them to the bench by force, if necessary—to arrest all suspects, and to hold in contempt of court any being who opposed them.
If the evidence pointed to the suspect before the bench, they could indict him for the crime. If he were considered extremely dangerous, they could back up the indictment by imprisoning him until an Imperial judge arrived to try the case.
The system worked so well that the Emperor had kept it alive for many hundreds of years. So Sr. Ecu had not one case to back his claims, but millions upon millions of them.
He had found the means of justice. Now, all he needed were the judges.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The big cop was in a surly mood as she paced the dock. The gnarly Santana sat silent at its berth. The ports remained firmly closed despite repeated efforts to get someone— anyone—to respond.
Lieutenant Skinner muttered obscenities under her breath, casting dark looks at the idle workers who were grinning at her difficulties. Her scab crew remained silent. If the crowd's humor turned to violence they were too far from their home ward to expect any assistance. There would be no reprisals. The SDT Union was too strong and its pockets too deep, even in this time of awful unemployment.
Skinner could not figure out what had gone wrong. Her ward captain had said this was a plum job. A little favor for Tyrenne Yelad that'd go into Skinner's merit book.