Judge, even more wearily than the counsel for the defense: "This is the thirty-seventh trial in which the defense has made the same lack of jurisdiction argument and the thirty-seventh—word for word—rebuttal by the prosecution. It is also the thirty-seventh attempt at claiming innocence through ignorance, likewise thirty-seven times rebutted. Gentlemen, cease. The court has already found it has jurisdiction, that the members of the column understood the business upon which they were engaged, and that this village understood the purpose of sending armed men to sea."
Judge, picking up gaveclass="underline" "The accused is found guilty." Tap. "He will be shot following termination of these proceedings." Tap. "Next case."
Defense: "But Judge, what about the women and children? We're leaving them with nothing."
Judge: "We're leaving them—" the judge pausing briefly as a Cazador sergeant leading a squad shouted, "A punta . . . Fuego!" and a fusillade rang out "—with their eyes to weep with, and their tongues to spread the word. For our purposes, that's all they need. Next case." Tap.
Interlude
Turtle Bay, New York, 18 November, 2105
The news had come in from Terra Nova and that news was grim: substantial parts of the new world torn apart in rebellion and the former secretary general's great-great-grandson, Kotek Annan, butchered by barbarians. Hardly an eye was dry, at UN Headquarters, with the thought of that brilliant boy done to death—without the slightest provocation; it could not be doubted—by regressives. The Secretary General, Eduoard Simoua, was beside himself with grief.
Unfortunately, though Simoua wanted to make the gesture of sending yet another Annan to govern the new world, none were suitable. This was the judgment of the clan's patriarch, and to that judgment Simoua had to bow.
Briefly, Simoua thought about sending one of the retired officers from the various national armed forces that worked for the Department of Peacekeeping out to take charge. But no, none of those with the requisite experience and ability is really to be trusted. Most certainly, are they not to be trusted unsupervised.
Well, in a sense it's a disarmament problem. Why don't we send off one of those people? They've all got the right attitude. And they can be relied upon. But who, specifically?
* * *
"Bernard Chanet is here to see you Mr. Secretary."
"Send him right in, Irene," said Simoua, rising from his seat to warmly greet his proposed new governor for the world of Terra Nova.
Warm and fulsome greeting or not, Chanet seemed, at best, disinterested. Rather, his interest was made manifest when he asked, "What's in it for me and mine?"
Oh, so that's how it's going to be, thought Simoua, with a mental shrug. No problem.
"What do you want?"
Oh, so they want a patsy that desperately, do they? Thought Chanet. Things there are worse than I thought. My price just went up.
"Amnesty?"
"Amnesty for what? What have you done?" Simoua asked.
"No, no," Chanet said, explaining, "I want you to have my son put in charge of Amnesty, Interplanetary."
"But they're . . . "
Chanet's uplifted eyebrow stopped Simoua before he could say "independent." Not that the organization was a wholly owned or wholly funded subsidiary of the United Nations, but since the UN was much better funded now, what with direct levies of tax coming from the citizen of the United States . . .
"We have . . . influence," Simoua conceded. "This could be arranged . . . "
"For life," Chanet amended. "With right to select his successor."
"That's impossible! Why, in the last thirty years since I took over as Secretary General, we've only made appointments like that twice. And both of those were special cases."
"More special than a war being waged against our control of those portions of Terra Nova that aren't under the governance of major powers here?" Chanet asked.
"Perhaps not," Simoua conceded. "Note, though, that the major powers here do not govern Terra Nova; they dump there."
Chanet nodded his head at the correction, then went silent, leaving the Secretary General to think.
If there were some clamor to take this job, Simoua thought, I'd tell this arrogant upstart to stick it. Sadly, the line for the posting isn't even one deep, outside of the fascist ex-officers in the Peacekeeping Department. It will be expensive though. Why, I'll have to bribe all nine members of the Interplanetary Executive Committee, including the Treasurer. Doable? Yes.
"Fine," Simoua told Chanet. "You leave in four weeks as a Special Representative of the Secretary General with plenipotentiary powers. Your specific instructions will follow, along with the forces we will allocate to you. And your son has the chair of Amnesty. Later, we can meld the chair and the secretary generalship. As for making those permanent, let's let him keep them for so long that no one remembers when it was even possible for someone else to have them. Legalities can follow the custom, once established."
Chapter Twelve
"Katana wa samurai no tamashii."
(The sword is the soul of the samurai.)
Ancient Yamatan Saying
24/1/468 AC, Bimali, Xamar
No operation is perfect. Several score men from the butchered column made it back to Abdulahi with wild tales of frightful airplanes and equally frightful infantry swooping in to massacre his followers. None could say what had happened to their chief's heir and the uncertainty was an ulcer eating at the old pirate's innards.
Uncertainty ended shortly thereafter as a single Cricket landed at Bimali's dirt airstrip. From it emerged three armed Cazadors and a legionary naval officer in dress whites. The naval officer was the same one, Tribune Puente-Pequeño, who had served as judge at Gedo.
"Bring your chief, Abdulahi, here," was all the naval officer said.
It was several hours before Abdulahi made an appearance. By that time, the Cazadors had set up a tarp and prepared tea. The naval officer and Abdulahi sat under the tarp and sipped tea for some time before the pirate chief spoke.
"What happened to my son?" he asked.
"Abdulahi, the junior? We have him."
"I want him back."
"Your son was captured while leading an armed band en route to prevent a legitimate action against piracy," the naval officer said. "As such, he is an accessory after the fact to piracy. Thus, he has been sentenced to death, along with all his men. They are being held pending review of the sentences. After review of the sentences, they will be hanged and their bodies dumped at sea."
"You can't do that?" Abdulahi insisted.
"Why not?" the naval officer answered. "Who's to prevent it?"
Abdulahi's mouth opened to answer, but no words came out. In fact, there was nothing to prevent it. The enemy fleet, what he knew of it, was no great shakes as fleets went. But it was still infinitely superior to anything he had. The World League? No, there was nothing there. They couldn't even prevent his former country from dissolving into anarchy; they surely couldn't do anything now. The United Earth Peace Fleet? No, the Pig in Space, Robinson, had made it clear he could not intervene directly. Indeed, without the advice of the High Infidel, his main striking force would never have been destroyed. Yes, he'd have lost a village and the way in which he'd lost it would have terrified his followers. But he'd lost that anyway and his followers had been terrorized anyway.