Кристофер Банч - Vortex

The old man sipped at his flask, then keyed his throat mike. His shrill, raspy voice filled the square and buzzed on the livies in the billions of homes in the Altaic Cluster,

"As I look at your faces, my heart is moved with pity," he said. "But I am also ashamed. All of you are Jochians… like myself. As the majority race in the Altaics, it is for the Jochians to point the way. By good example. What are our fellow humans, the Tork, to think when they hear of your evil deeds? Much less our ET subjects, with their looser grip of morality. Yes…What do the Suzdal and the Bogazi think when you Jochians—my most prized subjects—flaunt the law and endanger our society by your greed?

"These are terrible times, I know. All those long years of war with the filthy Tahn. We suffered and sacrificed—and, yes, died—in that war. But no matter how heavy our burden, we stood by the Eternal Emperor.

"And later—when we believed him slain by his enemies—we struggled on, despite the unfair burdens placed on us by the beings who conspired to assassinate him and rule in his place.

"During each of these emergencies, I asked your help and your sacrifice to keep our lovely cluster safe and secure until the Emperor's return. As I believed he would, all the time.

"Finally, he came. He disposed of the evil privy council. Then he looked around to see who had remained steadfast in his absence. He found me—your Khaqan. As strong and loyal a servant as I have been for nearly two centuries. And he saw you—my children. And he smiled. From that moment on, the Anti-Matter Two flowed again. Our factories were alight once more. Our star-ships soared to the great market places of the Empire.

"But all is still not well. The Tahn wars and the actions of the traitorous privy council have sorely tested the Eternal Emperor's resources. And ours as well. We have years of hard work ahead of us before life can be normal and prosperous.

"Until that time comes, we must all continue to sacrifice the comforts of the present for the glorious life of the future. All of us are hungry now. But at least there is food enough to sustain. Our AM2 allotment is more than most, thanks to my close friendship with the Emperor. But it is only enough to keep commerce alive."

The Khaqan paused to wet his throat with methquill. "Greed is the greatest crime in our small kingdom now. For in these times, isn't greed nothing more than murder on a mass scale?

"Every grain you steal, every drop of drink you sell on the black market, comes from the mouths of children, who will certainly starve if greed is left unchecked. The same for our precious AM2 supplies. Or the minerals for tools to rebuild our industry, and the synthcloth that keeps us from the elements.

"So it is with a heavy heart that I sentence you. I have read the letters from your friends and loved ones, begging my mercy. I wept over each one. I really did. They told a sad tale of beings gone wrong. Beings who have listened to the lies of our enemies, or fell into callous company."

The Khaqan wiped a nonexistent tear from rimless eyelids. "I have mercy enough for all of you. But it is a mercy I must withhold. To do otherwise would be criminally selfish of me.

"Therefore I am forced to sentence you to the most disgraceful death known, as an example to any others who are foolish enough to be tempted by greed.

"I can allow only one small concession to self-weakness. And I hope my subjects forgive me this, for I am very old and easily moved to pity."

He leaned forward in his chair as the livie camera dollied in until his face filled one side of the screen for the viewers at home. It was a mask of compassion. On the other side of the screen were the forty-five doomed beings.

The Khaqan's voice whispered harshly. "To each and every one of you… I'm sorry."

He cut the throat mike and turned to his privy aide. "Now, get this over with quick. I don't want to be out here when the storm breaks." And he eased his old bones back into the throne to watch.

Orders were shouted, and the execution squad took up position. Flamethrower barrels were raised. The crowd drew a long breath. The prisoners hung dully against their bonds. Thunder crashed overhead from the clouds.

"Do it," the Khaqan snarled.

The flamethrowers roared into life. Solid sheets of fire burst out at the Killing Wall.

In the crowd some beings turned away.

A Suzdal pack leader named Youtang barked in disgust. "It's the smell that gets me most," she yipped. "Puts me off my rations. Everything tastes like cooked Jochians."

"Humans smell bad enough without being parboiled," her assistant leader agreed.

"When the Khaqan started these purges," Youtang said, "I thought, so what? There's so many Jochians, maybe it'll thin their ranks some. Leave more for us Suzdal. But he kept at it. And I got worried. Pretty soon, he's going to have to start looking elsewhere for his examples."

"He thinks the Bogazi are stupidest, so they'll probably be last," her assistant said. "We'll be purged just before them. The Torks are human, so if he sticks to whatever it is he calls logic, they're probably next."

"Speaking of Torks," Youtang said, "I see one worried-looking friend of ours over there." She said " friend of ours" with disgust. "Look. It's Baron Menynder. Jabbering at some other human. Jochian, by the cut of his clothes."

"It's General Douw," her assistant yipped, excited.

The Suzdal pack leader pondered for a moment. The human she was looking at was a short, squat being with a pure bald head. The beefy face was ugly enough to belong to a thug, but Baron Menynder affected spectacles that made his brown eyes large, wide, and innocent.

"Now, what would the Khaqan's defense secretary be doing talking with Menynder? Couldn't be professional advice, even though Menynder had the same job once. But he's past it now. His time was four or five defense secretaries back. The Khaqan fired or killed all the rest. Clot, that Menynder is a canny old being," Youtang mused almost to herself. "Got out just in time. And he sticks to his own business and keeps his head low."

She studied the situation a little longer, getting a closer look at General Douw. The Jochian appeared an ideal general, well over two and a half meters high. He was sleek and athletic, at least next to the tubby Menynder. His silver-gray locks fitted his head like a tight helmet, in stark contrast to Menynder's bald pate.

"Douw must be liking what he's hearing," the Suzdal pack leader finally said. "Menynder's been going nonstop since we started watching."

"Maybe the old Tork is feeling extra mortal these days," her assistant said. "Maybe he has a plan. Maybe that's what the discussion is all about."

The work at the Killing Wall was done. There were only ashes where the condemned had once stood. At the western edge of the square, the Suzdals could see the Khaqan and his guards disappearing into the lacy palace. In the center, the soldiers were being formed up and marched off a platoon at a time.

Youtang watched the two humans in deep discussion. An idea stirred. "I think we should join them," she said. "One thing about Menynder is that he's a clotting great survivor. Come on. If there's a way out of this alive, I don't want the Suzdal to be left behind."

The two beings edged through the crowd.

The storm broke. Shouts of pain and terror echoed across the square as hailstones hammered out of the clouds, bursting like shrapnel.

The loudspeakers blared dismissal, and the crowd erupted out of the square.

Menynder and General Douw hurried away together. But by the time they reached the main gate, the two Suzdals had caught up with them. The four paused in the shelter of an enormous statue of the Khaqan at the edge of the gate. A few words were exchanged. Then nods of agreement. A moment later the four hurried off together.