“Tsk, tsk,” she said, with mock-kindness. “Old man be having de fantasies. He need the doctor, bad.”
“Silence!” Karantov rasped. After a moment: “Under the Treaty, I have the right to resume command of the Aegis station if the Spartan government fails to perform its duties. This will be done. Lunabase informs me that heavy shipments of involuntary colonists will be received shortly, and I will not allow anyone entrusted to my care to be endangered!”
“Colonel?’ Skilly’s voice was chocolate-smooth this time; Owensford glanced aside at her, narrow-eyed. She was keeping her own on her nails, the long black lashes drooping. “Maybe be better you land the convicts somewhere else. Safer than this dangerous city which be too big to secure, hey? Also city is full of legitimate military target place, maybe we attack it soon.”
A brilliant smile. “We Spartan People’s Liberation Army promise solemn not to attack any place the shuttles land, if no Royal troops be there.”
The Royal government delegation tensed; this was the real rebel ploy. Karantov pursed his lips thoughtfully, calling up the map-function of the table. It blinked from steel-gray to transparent, showing an overhead view of the Serpentine continent.
“Where would you suggest?” he said.
“Well, anywhere on the river do OK,” she said blandly. “Howsomeever, all the towns have the same objection as Sparta City.”
She reached over and tapped a spot on the south shore of Lake Alexander, where the railway from Olynthos circled around the Vulcan Rapids.
“This be the best spot, I think. Plenty open water, already docks for the mineral barges, and not much town. We agree not to attack there or anywhere within five kilometer.”
“Commandant, that would cause considerable administrative difficulties,” David I broke in.
“Three of my officers and a thousand people whose only offense was to be there when the Bureau of Relocation came through died just now, Your Majesty,” Karantov said frostily. “This is considerably more than an administrative matter.”
He glanced at the map again, then at the guerrilla leader with unconcealed suspicion.
“I and my staff will consider this matter. Provisionally, we will seal off all portions of the Aegis station dealing with BuReloc. The shuttles will take transportees to the surface—” he tapped the Lake Alexander location “—and nothing more, no other traffic.”
The Spartans winced slightly; that would cost them heavily, especially in the CD credits BuReloc would no longer pay for services on Aegis, and in the foregone lift-capacity of the shuttle’s surface-to-orbit runs.
“Furthermore, I am referring this matter to my superiors. I warn you that there will at the least be heavy fines, particularly if the culprits in the murder of my officers are not found; I am asking for reinforcements.” Presently there were only about a company of Garrison Marines on Sparta. “Possibly a CoDominium blockade of this planet for violations of the Laws of War will be ordered.”
This time faces paled. Bronson’s aid to the Helots was already clandestine, and would not be affected. The Royal government would face riots and collapse, particularly in the cities. Sparta was only semi-industrialized, it simply could not function without off-planet supplies; was more vulnerable than a truly primitive world.
Time, Owensford thought, and cleared his throat.
“Colonel Karantov, if you please. I have a further complaint with regard to violations of the Laws of War.”
Karantov raised his eyebrows, and the Helots’ eyes turned to the Legion officer like turrets tracking.
“As to offenses committed against civilians, or among indigenous armed forces, that is beyond my jurisdiction.” Karantov looked wistful; he was old enough to remember times when a CoDominium officer’s word was law in such matters, and had been a grown man when the Fleet was still arbiter of all conflicts.
“The offense concerns a member of Falkenberg’s Legion,” Owensford said.
He felt a chill satisfaction as Skilly leaned over and spoke rapidly to a subordinate, who began to tap frantically at an opened laptop. A buzz broke out from Croser’s party, until he cut it off with a knife-hand gesture; the Spartans leaned forward like hounds on a leash. Owensford slipped a message cube into the receptor.
“Lieutenant Deborah Lefkowitz, Falkenberg’s Mercenary Legion 11A7732-ze-1,” he said. A picture of her flashed up, together with her service history. Another shot of her with her husband and their two children, ages four and six. Then a full-length of her mostly-naked body, lying spread-eagled and open-eyed with its throat cut from ear to ear.
“Gene typing, finger and retina prints give positive ID,” Owensford said, keeping his voice even with an effort. The Legion was very much a family . . . And I have to explain this to Jerry. “She went MIA from an aircraft downed near this site during the battle of the Illyrian Dales last year. The cave was being used as a C3 post; our counter battery fire hit an ammunition dump, and the survivors evacuated quickly. Evidence that it was being used by the rebels follows.”
Karantov’s gray pug-dog face was motionless as he turned it from the screen to the Helots. Owensford saw Skilly’s own go equally blank, like a mask from an Egyptian grave, but the fingers of her right hand moved slightly, flexing. Everything took on a diamond clarity as he realized with an icy shock that she was calculating. On whether Karantov would order her arrest, and on how many she could kill before the guards shot her down. Geoffrey Niles was pale, looking at the photo on the screen.
The woman spoke, softly. “Skilly did not order that. If she had, Skilly would have seen that the body was disposed of with a thermite charge. And if you get she the genotypes—” sperm samples from the rapists would have yielded that “—Skilly will give you the bodies. With confessions. Because Skilly does not like to be left holding the bag.”
For a moment something with teeth looked out from behind the smooth features.
“Our investigation into this matter will require the perpetrators alive,” the CoDominium commander said. His face and voice were near expressionless; Skilly’s were as well, but her eyes flicked sideways to Owensford, and her head inclined slightly.
Good move, he translated mentally. There was nothing he could do now, after launching this torpedo.
“Field Prime has read your Laws of War, the old version and the new,” Skilly said; left unstated was the shrinking field of application, as the CoDominium’s power faded. “And the Mercenary Code.” The influence of the free companies had grown with every passing year, particularly if you counted the armies of planets like Covenant who made their living from hiring out their fighting men. “Conducting internal trial and punishment fulfills the letter of both,” she went on. “And we has no intention of doing more.”
One of Karantov’s fingers tapped at the table. “I did not know you were a . . . practitioner of the Code,” he said with heavy irony.
Beneath the expressionless mask there was the hint of a cold snarl when Skilly spoke, an ancient anger and contempt.
“Field Prime doesn’t give a pitcher of warm spit for you Code, or some dead bitch,” she said, in the same soft voice. “Never no laws or codes to protect Skilly where she came from . . . but she doan pick fights she can no win, either. No point in paying no atteention to Spartan laws; them or us go to the wall, anyways. But only a fool get into a new battle when this one not won yet. Skilly Thibodeau be no fool. SPLA complying with your Code this time, and that all you going to get. Colonel.”
“Punishment of individuals is not sufficient if the violation was policy set by leaders,” Karantov said. “My investigators should be involved.” The threat of detention was unspoken.
“Skilly regrets that not possible,” she said; then she grinned like a wolf. “Skilly also give standing orders anything she say when under a gun be disregarded. Can no play dis game without you willing to lay down the stakes, mon. You safe-conduct is unconditional . . . and Skilly have certain friends on Luna.”
Karantov made a small wave of dismissal. “I expect the transcripts and the executions promptly,” he said.
The Helots stood. “Oh, very prompt,” Skilly said; the fingers of her gun-hand made that small unconscious gesture again. “You get all you ask for, Colonel, and more.”
“I request that my evidence be presented to the Military Affairs Committee of the Grand Senate, and that copies be sent to the commanding officer of every registered military organization within the CoDominium,” Owensford said formally. Someone involuntarily drew in a breath. It was impossible to determine who, but Peter thought it might have been Geoffrey Niles.
“Skilly don’t see any need to do that. She will find your criminals. If this be record, then make the record clear, Skilly have nothing to do with that, and neither do any of her allies.” The heavy-lidded eyes swept the others at the table, before she turned on her heel and left.