Friends (2013) - Adams, Robert

Pointing at Terrell, he accused: “You, theologian, have Ahrmehnee blood. I can spot it a mile away. Have not the Ahrmehnee collected heads from these poor brutes? You, Chief Von, chieftain of this sorry little band, have you not put Ganiks to the sword more times than you can count?”

Von would rise to a mental challenge as readily as a physical one. “Aye, I’ve slain shaggies, and proud of it remain. Any who eat their own kind are less than men.” Von pointedly looked at the soggy mess in the Judge’s hand.

“Thank you for your candor,” replied the Judge. “One of the first things you must learn about Law, however, is that only the accused is on trial. The moral stature of the authorities should not be brought into question, as the inspiring edifice of our justice is based on the rule of Law and not of men.” Munching heartily upon Berti’s liver, the Judge persisted in the high purpose he had set himself.

“My de^r barbarians,” said the Judge, “it’s not your fault that you’re uncouth mutants. You can’t help misunderstanding that you have wronged the Shaggy Men, as you call them. The reason that my children are better able to appreciate a proper ethical code is that they have a custom neither practiced by you nor by the fools at the Center. They are cannibals. Since justice is a social concept, and rests on the welfare of the group, the highest form of justice places the group first. Cannibalism is not the death of the group; it is merely rough on individual members.

“You may wonder what role the court has to play. When individuals in one group suffer at the hands of individuals from another, the barbaric response is to bring in the notion of honor, and reduce the grievances to an individual level. True justice requires a disinterested third party to find one group entirely guilty, exonerate the other group entirely, and make certain that individuals suffer the penalty. It may be pointed out that 1 am not an entirely disinterested party, but to this I can only respond that nothing is perfect. We have a system that works.”

“You speak wickedness and call it justice,” said Von.

“From your point of view, that is a reasonable conclusion. Mine is a loftier perspective. All of you must die for your crimes against the Ganiks. True, the Ganiks have committed crimes as well, but they are not on trial; and no social purpose would be served if we viewed the case in individual terms. Coming at it from the other direction, it would surely be utopian to put everyone on trial at the same time. No one would be left to discharge the office of executioner.” The Judge swallowed the last of his macabre meal.

There are silences so complete that they defy the idea of sound. The courtroom was like that for at least a minute, until the low growling of Swifteye begin to fill the spaces.

“You mutants cannot learn the error of your ways, but you can serve as an object lesson to my children. The superstition of an earlier age’s inquisition was to save the individual’s soul. A later age was enlightened enough to admit the real objective of torture: welfare of the greater number. Your deaths will be of benefit to these poor shaggies on two levels: spiritual and physical.”

“’Tis justice when two-legs eats two-legs,” Swifteye beamed to Von, who could only nod in grim agreement.

“Civilization was never an easy proposition. It prided itself on having left the primitive rites of sacrifice behind, and clucked its collective tongue over the simplistic codes of savages. Lord Milo believes in personal responsibility. How terribly unsophisticated of him! Justice teaches that the more people alive, the greater the number to be sacrificed! One virgin girl sliced open to irrigate the crops won’t do for a civilized man. Such a paltry sacrifice is an insult to his morality. For him, whole cities must be reduced to fertilizer, and not to grow food, but to feed his guilty conscience. The best enemy is one in which you see a reflection of yourself. We are all killers in here. That is a fact. Another is that there is no higher morality than joyous self-sacrifice. Despite my lofty ideals, 1 fall short of this noble ideal. For me, the best I can accomplish this evening is to sacrifice the selves of others.”

“Do we eat now?” asked the ugliest Ganik present.

“Trial first, eat afterward,” answered the Judge, annoyed.

“You eat now,” said the Ganik, pointing to the sticky remains of the poor cook smeared on his master’s hands. The Judge believed in spare the rod and spoil the Ganik. Producing a standard military-issue revolver from within the folds of his cloak, he blew the sucker away.

This was not a smart move. It wasn’t that other impatient ones were sidling over to the fresh meat; the problem was a crack that appeared in the ceiling. Some plaster fell in the center of the room.

“It appears that I’ve been overzealous in disciplining my children,” muttered the Judge, appraising the damage above. During the course of his heated monologue, he had completely forgotten about the earthquake. Now he remembered why lie had been leery of the machine gun being used earlier. He’d thought the threat of the weapon, and the greater numbers of his gang, would be sufficient to stave off trouble. He was wrong.

Von realized the same danger from the machine gun at that instant. He needed no further impetus. Nerves on edge, black rage surging up in every breast, the Kindred attacked. As the Judge hesitated between a response to the assault and giving an order to the gunner not to fire, the panicky Ganik with the machine gun went berserk and started firing with wild abandon.

Given the respective positions of everyone there, and the full clip of ammo in the machine gun, the one crazy Ganik could have wiped out the entire population within the courtroom. For one mad moment, the Judge tried to shoot his own man with the handgun, but Swifteye was already all over him by then, and his gun went sliding across the smooth floor. The barrage of lead was terminated from an unexpected quarter.

“Flatear!” shouted Terrell, first to see the welcome sight, as the great prairiecat sprang from the corridor into the chamber of death, ripping the gunner to shreds. Close behind came Noplis, arms full of weapons taken from the pile near the stairs.

The fat Ganik who had brought the Judge the liver slipped on blood, the leavings of that unwholesome supper. With an animal cry to match a prairiecat’s yowl, Von went for the man, and was busy snapping the fellow’s neck before Bigboy could come to the rescue. The befuddled giant was not acting swiftly now; he could not figure out which way to turn. Finally deciding that the Judge was important, the giant pulled Swifteye away from her prey, and was about to throw her, as he had done with the other cat, when Noplis shot an arrow into the huge man’s unprotected thigh. The giant never finished his maneuver, and it was Swifteye’s turn to attack.

Elbowing the frenzied animal away, and finally backhand-ing her so that she was temporarily stunned, the giant began loping toward one of his human opponents. But it was not the archer he sought. The leader, Von, was his target. Bigboy roared a death curse.

As the towering shadow fell across the Horseclans chief, it was joined by another shadow: Flatear, finished with the Ganik, enraged over Swifteye, sank his claws into the giant’s hide. Von turned to help his feline ally, but already the giant had fallen, and Flatear was keeping him prone as sharp fangs worried at the gore-bespattered flesh of the big neck. Another shadow fell across the duo, and Swifteye joined her mate in the kill. As Von saw the blood drain from Bigboy’s face, he returned to his primary objective: passing judgment on the Judge.

The Judge was not thinking about Von. He was staring with mounting horror at the ceiling. More cracks were appearing. Bullet holes in the walls were also producing a spreading network of cracks. It just wasn’t fair. The base had survived up until now. He hadn’t even picked his jury yet.