Alexander Kazantsev - The Destruction of Faena

General Dovol Sirus, gasping at the insult to his wife, was forced to confirm that the decision to send torpedoes to Deimo had been suggested by Vlasta. When he was being questioned, he would hastily jump to his feet, though with an effort. He was now very annoyed, emphasising this in every possible way.

“I can only be condemned for weakness of character in my family life and not for my military actions. I am only a Faetian businessman. My general’s rank was conferred on me for the trade-mark of the munitions workshops. As a Faetian businessman, I was intending to acquire territory on Mar so as to sell plots of land at a profit to the Faetian settlers.” And he smiled trustingly.

“Whom did you force to prime the disintegration torpedoes?” asked Ala Veg bluntly.

“I primed them myself.”

“Was it safe?” asked Ala Veg, pursuing her inquiry further.

“Absolutely. The warheads were well screened to prevent radiation.”

“So at no risk to yourself, you took measures to destroy Deimo?” Ala Veg was remorselessly driving the accused into a corner.

“I had to come to terms with fear. I mean above all my fear of my wife, Vlasta Sirus,” replied Dovol Sirus, wiping the perspiration from his bald patch.

“I was right not to trust the Faetians on Deimo,” interposed Vlasta Sirus. “They were the first to try and destroy our Phobo.”

“But wasn’t Vlasta Sirus plotting the same move against Deimo?” asked Vydum Polar, coming forward.

Vlasta Sirus glared from under close-knit black eyebrows with contempt at her failure of a son-in-law who had dared to condemn her.

“War isn’t a picnic,” she said defiantly.

“Did the accused really not know of the Agreement on Peace in Outer Space?” Um Sat reminded her, calmly pouring himself some water and motioning to Dovol Sirus that he could sit down.

“How could that be known to a simple nurserywoman who was serving in space for the benefit of the Faetians?” said Vlasta, lowering her eyes.

At this point, even her meek spouse jumped up again and shouted:

“All of us here knew about it!”

“Then why did you lay in torpedoes for the station?” inquired Ala Veg nastily, looking the former chief of Phobo straight in the eye.

“The Faetians on Deimo couldn’t be trusted.” And Dovol Sirus smiled disarmingly at her again.

“And what has the former chief of Deimo, Supreme Officer of the Blood Guard Mrak Luton, to say about his misbehaviour?” asked Um Sat.

Mrak Luton rose heavily to his feet.

“I, at least, don’t vegetate under someone’s heel. I am a soldier. I was carrying out the orders given to me. Here is an order from Dictator Yar Jupi. I was under obligation to carry it out in the event of a disintegration war. I cannot be condemned for my integrity as a soldier. The one to blame is certainly not me, his officer, but Yar Jupi himself, who violated an order he had signed in person.” Mrak Luton laid the written tablets down on the table.

“Mrak Luton, did you know that the warhead was not screened and that it was lethally dangerous to be anywhere near it; yet you still drove my husband Tycho Veg to certain death?”

Mrak Luton grinned and shrugged his fat shoulders.

“An officer sent his soldier ahead in battle. There was a war on.”

“The reference to war is irrelevant,” observed Um Sat. “It shouldn’t happen on a planet, much less in space, for war is an unjustifiable crime.”

“Even if it is defensive?” asked Mrak Luton challengingly.

“A disintegration weapon is an attack weapon. It can never be defensive.”

“The inventor of the disintegration weapon, of course, has a clearer idea of what to call it,” commented Vlasta Sirus maliciously. “Perhaps it would be more correct to condemn the one who created this weapon, not the ones who were forced to use it! But he is passing judgement!” And she sighed heavily with affected bitterness.

“Very well, then! Condemn me, Um Sat, scientist of matter, because I made my discovery public on two continents simultaneously, hoping that the fear of exterminating all living things would prevent the insanity of wars; condemn me because I did not ban dangerous knowledge as I would do now. But those who, after surviving in space, used that knowledge to harm others—they should answer for their crimes.”

The Elder had remained true to himself. As before, he had not been learned in the profundities of the soul; he still thought that it was enough to punish the guilty and ban dangerous knowledge for all time so that evil would be averted. But he was the oldest of the survivors, no one could doubt his integrity, and so he was putting on trial those guilty of a disintegration war in space. An unfamiliar harshness rang in his voice and his eyes burned darkly.

Vlasta Sirus cringed at his words as if she were being whipped.

It was hard to tell from the faces of the judges what was in store for the accused.

Unlike Vlasta Sirus, Nega Luton was completely crushed at being judged by Ala Veg, of all people!…

Lada Lua came up to the judges’ table. She was embarrassed and didn’t know what to do with her red hands.

“The gentle lady Nega Luton is in no way to blame. When the station chief had to be removed, she sided with us Faetesses on Deimo.”

“Will Ala Veg confirm that?” asked Vydum Polar.

“I confirm it,” said Ala Veg to her rival’s great astonishment. “Mrak Luton went mad with fury when his wife refused to obey him. She is only to blame for wanting to become first lady of the station.”

Nega Luton flushed. Better she had been condemned than made to hear such words. She could have incinerated her judges with a single glance.

Ala Veg sat with lowered eyes, and Ton! Fae, standing behind all the Faetians, watched her admiringly. How beautiful she was, and how fair-minded!

The great Elder read out the court’s sentence.

Dovol Sirus, Vlasta Sirus and Mrak Luton were guilty of launching disintegration torpedoes with the intention of destroying space stations and were sentenced to imprisonment on Station Phobo. They would not be taken to Mar. They would provide their own services for the rest of their days: they would be left the necessary machinery and the greenhouse.

Nega Luton was acquitted and would be taken to Mar.

Mrak Luton stamped his foot when he heard the sentence.

“This is violence! This is lawlessness! This is a crime!” He began foaming at the mouth. He clutched at his heart and collapsed into his chair.

Dovol Sirus watched him in fright. “I implore you,” he whined, “don’t leave a maniac with us. Send him back to Deimo… He is a Supreme Officer of the Blood Guard, after all. His hands are steeped in blood.”

“Certain Faetians claim to be fair-minded, but they want to destroy us without mercy!” shrieked Vlasta Sirus. “So let them fly away! We’re banishing them from our station! We’re sending them into exile on barren deserts! Exile! Exile! Exile!”

The Faetians gradually dispersed, trying not to look at the condemned.

Nega Luton went up to the judges.

“Thank you for acquitting me. But please leave me with the condemned.”

Vydum Polar eyed Nega Luton closely and with distaste. He didn’t believe that she wanted to stay behind with that flabby, corpulent Faetian who was choking with rage. This was more likely a matter of calculated self-interest: there would be less work to do on the station than on inhospitable Mar, where they would be compelled to build underground refuges for the Faetians and their descendants.

Vydum Polar was right, but he still hadn’t reckoned with Nega Luton’s obsessive hatred for Ala Veg at the time.

It took a considerable time to complete Brat Lua’s project, augmented, as it was, with many of Vydum Polar’s own technical ideas.