Cecelia Holland - Floating Worlds

“Tell us about General Gordon,” Paula said to Bunker.

The water ran pink down the drain. Tanuojin said, “I don’t care what he says. He knows about me. I won’t let him go.”

Paula looked across his bent back at the other anarchist. Their eyes met. Tanuojin put on his shirt and she handed him his belt.

“Are you all right?” she said.

“Yes.” He got Bunker by the shoulder again and steered him out the door.

They went down to the rail bus. There was a train in the platform; they went through it until they found an almost empty car. The lights glared on and off. At the far end of the car, a man sat staring at his hourly, ignoring the Styth twenty feet away. Tanuojin yawned.

Beyond Tanuojin, Bunker raised his head. “General Gordon,” he said, staring across the car. “After you shot up Luna, he was kicked down and jailed. Where he seems to have jellied.” He was using Styth, which he spoke badly. “A writer disguised as a priest got to him and encouraged him to, unh, confess. The priest recorded the whole thing on a pocket tape, which he managed to smuggle out of Luna.”

Tanuojin transferred his grip from Bunker’s shoulder to his wrist. Bunker jumped, and his mouth shut. His glance licked at Paula.

“Keep talking,” Tanuojin said.

Bunker looked away down the car. “Anyhow, the priest converted back to a writer, and sold the tape to a publisher in London, who decided it was entirely too ripe for the masses and sold it back to Luna—General Marak—for three and a half million dollars in virgin iron. General Gordon caught a buzz. The writer overdosed. The publisher’s air car crashed outside the dome, and the pollution killed him.”

Tanuojin thumbed down his mustaches. The bright lights made him squint. Paula leaned forward to see Bunker. “But Marak has the tape.”

“Apparently there are copies. I’ve never seen one, I don’t know anybody who has.”

Paula glanced at the man at the far end of the car. Now he was watching them from behind his hourly. Tanuojin said, “Now that interests me,” and yawned again.

“I don’t know anything more,” Bunker said. He slid down slumped on the bench, his wrist caught in the Styth’s grasp. “This is the first time I’ve heard that Gordon said anything about the Ybix incident. The bomb was his version of the ’49 coup. And the things he knew about people still in power. Not the least being Cam Savenia.”

The bus lurched around a curve. Paula looked up at the ceiling. The glaring lights hurt her eyes. “Maybe we can find a copy of the tape.” The checkpoint was coming, and the bus slowed.

“That might take time,” the Styth said. He let go of Bunker and fingered his fleet card and Paula’s out of his left sleeve. The lights flickered. Bunker sat relaxed on the bench, his eyes down, showing no interest in escape.

The bus stopped. The police came into the car and walked toward them: a young man and an old one. “Badges?” Tanuojin gave them the cards. The two men handed them back and forth between them. When the young man gave them back to Tanuojin, he saluted.

“Master commander. Hope you enjoy your stay here.” He turned to Bunker. “Badge.”

The anarchist rose, taking a folder from his hip pocket, and held it out. Paula said, “That badge is forged.”

Tanuojin shot to his feet. The old man snatched the folder from Bunker, and the young one drew his gun. The old man ran the badge through a pocket scanner.

“It is a forgery!”

“Hold it,” Tanuojin said. “He’s mine.”

The young man’s gun jabbed at Bunker. “Spreadeagle. You’re under arrest. You’re responsible for everything you say or do henceforth.” His partner took out his gun and aimed it at Tanuojin.

“You stay out of this, Commander.”

Bunker moved down the car and put his hands on the wall. Tanuojin said, “I’m warning you—” Paula pulled on his sleeve.

“Be careful.”

He struck her arm away. One policeman was groping down Bunker’s sides. The old man pointed the bell-shaped muzzle of his gun at Tanuojin’s stomach. “You keep out of this, or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

The young man turned around, his nose wrinkling. “What’s that smell?”

Tanuojin took a step toward Bunker. Paula got in his way. “If they shoot you,” she said, under her breath, “everybody on Crosby’s Planet will know about you.”

His face gleamed with sweat. He stood rigid while the policemen took Bunker out of the car.

“Don’t worry,” Paula said. “He won’t say anything. Who would believe him?”

His look made her flinch. He sat down beside her on the bench. All the way back to the hotel, he said nothing to her at all.

Saba was not there when they reached the hotel. He had not come back when they left the next morning for the courtroom. Tanuojin cursed him all the way there. Paula bought an hourly from a stand just outside the court building. The Ybix —Luna Case was still in the right top headline. They went into the courtroom. Tanuojin sat down in his chair, scowling.

“Do you know where he is?” Paula asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he safe?”

“Yes.”

She took the hourly out of her pocket and unfolded it. There was no sense worrying about Saba. Below the story about the Styths was a headline in lighter print. The Council had voted to send a peacekeeping force to Venus 14, to settle the civil war there. Maybe that was why Jefferson was in Crosby’s Planet. Meddling Roland. She looked over the top edge of the hourly at Chi Parine’s aides, sitting in their row opposite her. Now the little lawyer himself came out of Wu-wei’s office, behind the courtroom, and took his place on the adversary side. He wore a yellow vest, bright as a daffodil.

Wu-wei came in, and everybody stood but Tanuojin. The audience howled until the bailiff rang for order. Chi Parine advanced swaggering toward the Bench.

“Your Excellency, there is a very serious charge being made against one party of this court.”

Paula straightened her face. She put the hourly into the pocket of her jacket. Wu-wei glanced at Tanuojin and said, “Parine, I hope you aren’t about to use my time and space for a hyde-park.”

“Your Excellency, this is entirely relevant.” Parine gestured with an outstretched hand, and an aide hurried forward with two sheets of paper. He gave one to the Bench and brought the other across the room to Paula. Parine said, “I am giving you a record of a heinous crime. A horrible crime. Of which the defenser is certainly not ignorant.”

The paper was a list of four names, addresses, ages, and causes of death. Parine spoke with relish. His voice boomed through the room.

“These four men were murdered last night. They were slaughtered, brutally and efficiently, at the office of the Committee for the Revolution.” The rapt crowd murmured. “They were slashed to pieces, as if by the claws of a powerful animal.” The crowd gave up its breath in a sensuous gasp.

“Bench,” Paula said, “would you mind requiring the adversary to show how all this is relevant?”

Wu-wei smoothed down the worksheet on the table before him with the flat of his hand. “I’ll accept that request. Parine?”

Parine stalked toward Tanuojin, who sat moveless in his chair, his head propped up on his fist. “The guards passed at least one Styth into that sector and out again, at times bracketing the time of the murder. Are you willing to surrender that man for questioning?”

“If you like,” Tanuojin said. His voice was mild. “It was me.”

The audience fell silent. Parine’s forehead creased into a frown. Tanuojin unfolded himself out of the chair. “I’m an Akellar of the Empire. I don’t savage people in alleyways.”