“Good God!” Whitey gasped. “What did they do to the guards?”
“Nothing,” Tambu replied grimly. “Not only were the guards not disciplined, the Council had his body delivered back to the ship’s shuttlecraft with the message that he was to be taken off-planet for burial. I believe the specific quote was they ‘didn’t want him or scum like him on their planet, alive or dead.’ Shortly thereafter, his ship opened fire on the capital.”
“You’re sure he didn’t attack them physically?” Whitey pressed.
“He was alone and unarmed, Whitey,” Tambu said softly. “When they carried his body through the streets to the spaceport, the crowds cheered the guards and spit on his body.”
“How do you know all this if he was alone?” Whitey challenged.
“From reports submitted by our informants who were there at the time. I’ve even got copies of the official reports of the incident prepared by the Council guardsmen. Most of my time since the blow-up has been spent piecing the facts together and checking them.”
“You mean you ordered the strike before you checked the story?” Whitey exploded.
“I didn’t order it at all, Whitey. I didn’t even approve it.”
“You didn’t?” Whitey’s face showed a mixture of relief and concern. “Then who did?”
“Puck’s second in command-with the full support of the crew.” Tambu sighed. “Puck was a very popular captain.”
Whitey rubbed her forehead absently as if trying to erase her frown wrinkles.
“I still don’t think they were justified, hitting the whole city that way,” she said at last.
“They didn’t mean to hit the whole city,” Tambu said quietly. “They were trying for the Council Building. It might have worked, except for two things. Nobody has any experience shooting at a planetside target from space. They missed-missed badly. They also underestimated the devastation caused by weapons designed for long-range work in space.”