Imperial Stars 3-The Crash of Empire (40 page)

His secretary nodded. "Yes, sir, but there is yet this man Mord. Perhaps he may tell us of other suspects."

Pen Qatorn cleared his throat. "Well, at least, we're well rid of this Kanlor." He waved a hand curtly at the Executioner and pitched his voice to the right judicial tone.

"Let the flames rise," he called, "that they may purify the duchy of this evil one."

The burly Executioner tossed a torch, then reached for another. Faggots and brushwood smoked and flamed.

Then there was confusion. The plaza shook to a loud explosion. A blast of wind raged briefly. The fire, fanned into sudden fury, flew toward the spectators, who beat frantically at suddenly flaming clothing. The confusion became panic. Coughing and screaming, the crowd became a terrorized mob that stampeded wildly through the streets.

Unbelievingly, pen Qatorn stared at the chaos. At last, he recovered his thoughts and looked toward the execution pole. Something was . . . somehow, the captive was being released. The Examiner started to dash forward, then cringed away as pale blue flame washed over the flagstones toward him.

Chief Surgeon Palken was just snapping his communicator off as Carlsen came in. He looked up, then spread his hands.

"I don't know how the man does it," he said. "Know who that was?"

"Commander Walzen?"

"Right. How did you know? Well, anyway, he's demanding things. First, he wants that primitive you brought in today. Next, he wants you to report to him immediately. Says he knows you must be in the hospital area and I'd better find you." He smiled wryly. "You've got me nicely in the middle."

"At this time of night?"

Palken nodded. "At this time of night! He's screaming for blood. Says he's going to get that primitive out of here and back to his own planet a little sooner than possible."

"That's a man he's talking about," Carlsen said softly. "His name is Kanlor and if he goes back to his own planet, he's going to be burned as a witch. How is he, by the way? That's what I came up here to find out."

"Physically, he's coming along nicely. You people did an excellent first-aid job on him. Psychologically, though, I'm not so sure. Pretty traumatic. Thinks he's dead—or should be."

"Yes, sir. Well, that'll be a nice headache for the Corps rehabilitation people, I guess. I certainly am not about to release him to C.A. He's part of a Corps mission and I haven't even got off to a good start with it yet."

Palken shook his head sorrowfully. "Now I know I'm in the middle," he complained. "I've worked with our Corps Commander A-Riman and he's about the last man in the Federation I want to mix with. On the other hand, Commander Walzen's no lily, either. He's got something on half the people on this base."

"Oh?"

"That's right. You know, almost everyone's left a body buried somewhere. The good commander seems to know where each one is, and just how to dig them up." Palken shrugged. "I think he keeps a special file—a large one."

"I see. Well, I don't think he's found any of mine yet. He'd have used one already." Carlsen looked down at Palken's desk. "I'll report to him right away, of course. There's one thing, though, sir."

"What's that?"

"Please keep several of your people that aren't in the commander's files around Kanlor from now on out. If I lose him, Corps Commander A-Riman'll fry me like a doughnut."

Palken looked after him as he walked out of the office.

Yeah
, he said happily,
after he's rendered me out for the grease.
He reached for his communicator switch, then changed his mind and hurried out to the corridor.

The clerk finally looked expressionlessly at Carlsen.

"You can go in now, sir." He watched as Carlsen went through a door, then turned his attention to his records, smiling derisively.

That's one wise guy who's going to be a tame pussycat when he comes out of there
.

Carlsen stepped toward the desk, then stood, waiting.

Commander Kar Walzen took his time about affixing his signature to some papers, carefully put them in appropriate file folders, then looked up and regarded him coldly, slowly inspecting him. Finally, he spoke.

"I understand you landed on a newly discovered primitive planet and interfered with native affairs. Is that correct?"

"There is a dangerous trend in—"

"I asked you a question. Did you, or did you not, make planetfall and take a native off planet?"

"Yes, sir. I did. But—"

"Well, at least I'm glad you have the sense not to deny obvious facts. Now, did you cause a panic and injure some natives?"

Carlsen stiffened. "Sir, you have obviously gained access to my report. It was under confidential seal, addressed to Philosophical Corps Command. This is in violation of regulation—"

"Never mind quoting regulations. Remember this. I'm a staff officer assigned to this sector. I'm not half a galaxy away, I'm here. And you're here. Now, I'm going to review every report that goes out of my branch. And they don't go out until I have approved them. I cautioned you about trying to go over my head to Sector. I've seen your records, yes. And I didn't like what I saw." He drew a long breath and stared angrily at Carlsen.

"I didn't want a Philosophical Corps detachment in the first place. You and your crew of so-called specialists were crammed down my throat and I never liked it. I tried to make the best of it and put you to some use, but it's no good. I can't see much difference between you and your do-gooders and a bunch of thrill-happy drones and I don't like drones. I don't like any kind of criminal activity and your actions have that same unsavory smell. I'm telling you now, I won't tolerate any further such activity so long as you're under my command.

"I'm still going to be fair about this. I'll give you a chance to explain yourself. Why did you go in as you did? Were there any signs of outside interference with the culture?"

Carlsen shook his head. "That culture was endangering itself," he said. He held up a hand as the commander started to speak.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but my detachment is
not
under your command nor am I. We are assigned to act in coordination with your branch and we've leaned over backward in actually taking missions that should have been done by your teams. But—"

"You're assigned here. I'm the Criminal Apprehension Officer for this sector and you are just one of the junior officers in my jurisdiction. And don't try to quote regulations to me! I've read 'em. Now I'm going to order you—"

Again, Carlsen's hand went up, palm forward. "Commander, we are not directly under your command. You know it and I know it. I intend to take my team back and clean up the situation we found. If you have any further comments, I'd suggest you take them up with the Sector Commander for referral to my Corps Command. Right now, sir, with your permission, I'm going over to Headquarters, where I shall make sure that my report is forwarded immediately. If necessary, I shall get the duty officer to contact the Sector Commander directly."

Commander Walzen was a large man. He got to his feet and strode close, to tower over the junior officer. Fists clenched at his sides, he stared down threateningly. "All right. For the moment, I'll assume you're not directly under my command. I should put you in confinement and prefer charges. But I won't do that just yet. I shall write up those same charges and put them through channels. Meantime, you'll remain on duty and your report will be forwarded."

He raised a fist and slammed it into his other hand.

"I will say this, though. I want you to write up a full, detailed operational plan and then take that crew of yours back and clean up the mess you made. I'm not going to waste the time of any of my own people in bailing you out. I'm not going to tell you how to do this cleanup but I want it done and done in a hurry. Is that clear?"

"Quite, sir." Hal Carlsen snapped a salute and strode from the office. He closed the door with forced gentleness and looked back.

Brother
, he murmured.
I'm glad the detachment
is
on "detached" If that is a typical C A. officer, they need to do a lot of housecleaning.

Carlsen examined the cliffs as he approached.

Come to think of it, they do look like the remains of an ancient seashore.

People, you jerk
, he reminded himself,
not geology. A full operational plan that idiot wanted! Hah! We've got things roughed in, but I won't know the details till the job's done.
He frowned.

Wonder if the Old Man'll bail me out. That guy's sure to use that for a "direct order" charge. And he
is
a senior officer.

The communicator screen lit.

"Chief?"

"Go ahead, Waler."

"I suppose you know, you've made the local pandemonium."

"Oh? How's that?"

"Just picked up a lecture. Seems there must've been at least a hundred people saw you pick that guy out of Varsana. You're twenty meters tall, got six or eight extra arms, and poison dripping from every fang. You kicked the fire all over town, clawed down a building or two and breathed fire and poison all over the Chief Examiner, his clerk, and three local judges. They're martyrs now. Then you picked this poor witch up. Jerked him off the pole, chains and all, then tore him into little bits and scattered the pieces so far they haven't found a trace yet."

"
Wow!
And I didn't think they'd have time for a good look." Carlsen grinned, then sobered. "Look, Waler, we've got to get rid of that story before it grows up and has pups."

Waler shook his head. "Might have to take a demonology lecturer or so along with it, sir."

Carlsen shrugged resignedly. "Well, if it comes down to it, the civilization can stumble along without them." He stroked his chin. "Maybe next time around, they'll have a chance to be useful citizens. Just don't hurt them any more than you have to."

He snapped off the communicator and reached for the wall panel. It would take at least two spy eyes for this job, he decided. In fact, three would be better.

Duke Khathor par Doizen, Protector of Varsan and the High Marches, looked at the plump man at his right.

Another Examiner
, he sighed to himself,
and full of his convictions and duties. Well, at least, he's one who likes good food and wine. That other fellow made a man uneasy every time he touched a cup
.
He lifted his wine cup and sipped.

"It is to be hoped, Sir Examiner," he said, "that you may be able to clear our duchy of all evil in short order."

A servant had just filled Examiner Dorthal Kietol's cup. He set it on the table and turned away. No one noticed that the liquid wavered and rippled more than was normal.

Kietol seized the cup, drank, smacked thick lips, then drank more deeply. He moved his heavily jowled jaw appreciatively.

"An excellent vintage, my lord," he commented. He swayed a trifle in his chair, blinked, and shook his head uncertainly, then looked through squinted eyes at the duke.

"You were saying?"

The duke frowned. "I was speaking of this evil that has come to our duchy," he said. "We hope it will soon be rooted out."

Kietol wagged his head, then drained his cup. He slammed it to the table and waved expansively.

"Nothing to fear," he said loudly. "We'll burn 'em all. Get all the money." He squinted at the duke cunningly.

"Got lots of fat merchants, hey? Rich farmers, too." Again, he wagged his head. "That pen Qatorn, he was a smart one. Good records and we have 'em. Lots of money here." He weaved, then threw his arms out. "We'll get 'em. Burn 'em all."

Par Doizen set his cup down carefully, regarding the Examiner searchingly.

"Yes," he admitted slowly. "Witches should burn. But what's this about merchants and rich farmers? And what of the demon? Isn't there a chance he might return?"

Kietol's head had dropped to his chest. He lifted it with a jerk. "Whazzat? Oh. Witches are rich. Rich are witches." Again, he jerked his head up. "Oh. Huh? Demon? Ha, I know about that. Never any demon. No demons. Just a little storm, y'know.
Whoosh!
Fire blows all over. No such thing as demon." He squinted at the duke, his head weaving uncertainly.

"You're a smart man, Khator, smart. Oughta know better. Demons something for the mob, y'know? Scare 'em good. Then we get the money, see? Duke gets land, College of Examiners gets big, see what I mean?" His head rolled and he put his arms on the table and slumped over. He snored.

His secretary had been sitting down the table, watching in consternation. He got to his feet.

"Why, they've bewitched the Examiner himself," he cried. "We must get an exorcist at once!"

The duke looked thoughtfully at the snoring man by him, then got to his feet and looked down the length of the table.

"They teach that demons and witches have no power against the ordained, or even against men of the law," he said slowly. "But there! I can't argue the point. I know little about demons. But I do know drunks. And this man is drunk. I've also found that men are prone to speak their true thoughts when they are as drunk as this." He pointed to the Examiner, then looked up.

"But I, your Protector, have had little wine. I am not at all drunk. And I say this. No more shall property be confiscated, whatever the charge. Trials may be and shall be held, to be sure, but only on proper and legal representation. And I shall have an officer present to see that none is unduly mistreated. Those who would confess shall stand alone and cry their misdeeds without constraint. Those who will not confess shall be convicted only upon proper presentation by reputable witness. And finally, no more excessive fees shall be paid to guards and executioners, nor shall they feed at the expense of the accused." He looked sternly at his clerks.

"Let this be inscribed for our signature and posted on the morrow." He swung to face the Examiner's secretary. "You may escort your master to his bed chamber," he ordered. "When he has become sober, you may tell him of this, our edict." He sat down.

In the absence of the guest of honor, the banquet was soon over. Par Doizen made his way to his chambers and perched on the edge of his bed. He sat for a while, thinking, then pulled at a bell cord. A clerk came in. "Your lordship?"