When Yuri hesitated, the civilian delegation insisted on speaking to Cachat.
"Why?" Yuri demanded. "He's under arrest. He has no authority here. He doesn't even have a title any longer, except captain."
No use. The faces of the civilian delegation were set, stubborn. Yuri sighed and had Cachat brought to his office.
Cachat listened to the delegation. Then—needless to say—spoke without hesitation.
"Of course you should resume the patrols. Why not, Commissioner Radamacher? You've got everything well in hand."
Yuri almost ground his teeth, seeing the look of satisfaction on the faces of the civilians. Just so—just so!—would the fishermen on St. Helena have appealed from his guard to the Emperor, over a dispute regarding the proper repair of fishing nets.
But, he ordered the resumption of the patrols.
He had no choice, really. Yuri was coming to realize, slowly, that Cachat had been right about his own arrest also. In some indefinable manner, Yuri's own legitimacy somehow depended on the fact that he was seen as the custodian of the man who had been the final representative of Saint-Just's regime in La Martine.
Had the man he held captive ever protested, or complained, things might have been different. Yuri often found himself wishing that the news reporters who appeared frequently on the Hector to take yet another shot of Cachat In Captivity would produce a suitable image. That of a scowling, hunched, sullen tyrant finally brought to bay.
But... no. The images published in the newsviewers were always the same. A young man, stiff and dignified, looking more like a prince in exile than an incarcerated fanatic.
When he said as much to Sharon, she just laughed and told him to stop pouting.
Then, finally, official word came. A courier ship from Haven, bearing an official message from the new government.
As soon as the dispatch boat made its alpha translation, Yuri recognized the distinctive hyper footprint of a courier vessel. Nothing else that small was hyper-capable, after all, so it couldn't possibly be another merchantman... or a warship. Immediately, Yuri summoned all of the top commanders of the fleet to the bridge of the Hector. By the time the dispatch boat was within range to start transmitting messages, they were all present. Admiral Chin, Commodore Ogilve, Commissioner Wilkins, Captain Vesey, Majors Citizen and Lafitte. Captain Wright, recently promoted to replace Gallanti as the CO of the Hector. And Sharon, of course.
As Yuri began reading the first of the messages, he sighed with relief. The message began by stating that a new provisional government had been set in place by Admiral Theismann. A civilian government. There would be no military dictatorship, after all. Short of a return of the old regime, that had been Yuri's worst nightmare.
The message continued with a list of names—the officials of the new provisional government. The first of those names almost caused his heart to stop.
Eloise Pritchard, Provisional President.
The King is dead, long live the Queen. Saint-Just's fair-haired girl. Ring-around-the-rosy and we're right back where we started.
We're dead meat.
But his eyes were already continuing down the list, and he realized the truth even before he heard Sharon's shocked half-whisper.
"Jesus Christ Almighty. She must have been in the opposition all along. Look at the rest of those names."
Others were crowding around now, trying to read over Yuri's shoulders.
"Yeah, you're right," agreed Yuri. "I know a lot of them, myself, from the old days. At least half this list is made up of Aprilists. The best of them, too, at least those who've survived the last ten years. Hey—look! They've even got Kevin Usher. I didn't think he was still alive. The last I heard he'd been shipped off to the Marines in disgrace. I thought by now they'd have vanished him away somewhere."
"Who's Usher?" asked Ogilve.
"One hell of a good Marine, I know that much," growled Lafitte. "I've never met him myself, but I've known two officers who served with him for a while on Terra." Lafitte chuckled. "Mind you, they said he drank like a fish and was hardly the model of a proper colonel. Even got into barroom brawls himself, now and then. But his troops swore by the man, and the officers I knew—good people, both of them—told me they'd be delighted to have him in a combat situation. Which"—the growl deepened—"is what matters."
"I do know him," Yuri said quietly. "Pretty well, once. It was a long time ago, but..."
His eyes rested with satisfaction on Usher's name. With even greater satisfaction, on Usher's title. Director, Federal Investigation Agency.
"What's the 'Federal Investigation Agency,' do you think?" asked Genevieve Chin.
"I'm not sure," Yuri answered, "but my guess is that Theisman—or Pritchard—decided to bust up StateSec and separate its police functions from its intelligence work. Thank God. And put Kevin Usher in charge of the cops. Ha!"
He practically did a little jig of glee. "Mind you, that's like putting a chicken in charge of the foxes. Kevin Usher—a cop, of all things! But he's a very very very tough rooster." He grinned at Major Lafitte. "Pity the poor foxes. I can't imagine who'd be crazy enough to pick a barroom brawl with him."
While he had been basking in the pleasure of seeing Kevin's name, Sharon had continued to read down the list. Suddenly, she burst into riotous laughter. Almost hysterical laughter, in fact.
"What's so funny?" asked Yuri.
Sharon, none too steady on her feet herself, took Yuri by the shoulders and more-or-less forced him into a seat on the bridge. "You need to be sitting down for the rest of it," she cackled. "Especially when you get to the names of the provisional sector governors."
Her finger jabbed at a line. "Take a look. Here's La Martine."
Yuri read the name of the new provisional governor.
"Prince in exile, indeed!" Sharon howled.
Radamacher hissed a command.
"Get Cachat. Get him up here. Now."
When Cachat entered the bridge, Yuri strode up to him and slammed the list onto a nearby console.
"Look at this!" he commanded accusingly. "Read it yourself!"
Puzzled, Cachat's eyes went down the list. Quickly, scanning, the first time through. Then, as he read it slowly again, Yuri knew the truth. Knew it for a certainty.
The hard young fanatic was gone, by the end. There stood before the commissioner only a man of twenty-four, who looked years younger than that. A bit confused; very uncertain.
His dark eyes—brown eyes—were even wet with tears.
"You swine," Yuri hissed. "You treacherous dog. You lied to me. You lied to all of us. Best damn liar I've ever met in my life. You played us all for fools!"
He pointed the finger of accusation at the list.
"Admit it!" he shouted. "It was all a goddam act!"
12
"Was it?" asked Cachat softly, as if wondering himself. Then, he shook his head. "No, Yuri, I don't think so. I told you once—it's not my fault if you never want to believe me—that I swore an oath to the Republic. I've kept that oath. Kept it here in La Martine."
His voice grew firmer, less uncertain. "I was specifically entrusted by the Republic to ferret out and punish traitors. Of which the two greatest, for years, were Rob Pierre and Oscar Saint-Just. Who stabbed our revolution in the back and seized it for their own ends."
No uncertainty, now: "Damn them both to hell."