“I’m going to kill Madison,” muttered Heller.
“Oh, good!” said the Homeview director. “You’re going to execute him right here in the park—”
“Shut up!” said Heller. “It was just a figure of speech. You and your sudden talk about ‘public figure’ and ‘cover it’ and ‘spot news’! You never heard of those things until this (bleeped) Madison came along. Now you sound just like an ABC news crew.”
“But the public has a right to know!” said the director.
“‘Right to know’!” gritted Heller. “That did it. No, you CANNOT cover my private meeting with Lord Turn. But I can tell you what is going to happen later tonight.”
“What?” said the director.
“I am going to see that a Royal Censor is appointed with powers to shoot directors! Get out of here!”
“Crown, Your Lordship, sir!” said the director. “Are you intimating that you are going to advocate a fascistic suppression of the Gods-given right of freedom of speech and press?”
Heller stopped. Madison almost ran into him. “Madison,” said Heller, “if I ever felt any mercy toward you before, it just evaporated. Just as I begin, quite unwillingly, a life as a ‘public figure,’ I find you’ll be trailing me as a ghost.”
“Then you are going to execute him in the park,” said the director.
“No,” said Heller, starting to walk again. “Tempting, but no. Director, this fellow Madison, yapping around, only gave you half of the story.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The other half is that there is such a thing as ‘invasion of privacy.’”
“Oh?” said the director, impressed.
“Yes,” said Heller. “Now, you tell them down at Homeview and tell anybody else that will listen that if I find you invading my privacy with cameras and crew, I’ll sue you or them for a billion credits.”
“My Gods!”
“That’s some of the other half Madison didn’t teach you.”
“But what does it mean, ‘invasion of privacy’?”
“Ah,” said Heller, “it means anything I say it means any time I say it.”
“My Gods!”
“Right,” said Heller. “Now that you have the word, be sure to tell your boss and fellow directors.”
“Oh, I will!” said the director, frightened.
“Good,” said Heller. “Now, because it very well may stop further riots, and solely for that reason and no other, you can go get your cameras and crew and cover the trial of Soltan Gris.”
“Oh, YES, Your Lordship!” cried the director in a truly impressed and worshipful voice. “At your orders, Your Lordship, sir!” He raced off.
Heller turned to Madison. He said, in English, “Top that one, you (bleepard)!”
PART EIGHTY-SEVEN
Chapter 4
Lord Turn was sitting on the trail of an overturned Apparatus blast cannon. The air-wagon, marked “Royal Prison,” was parked quite near. Some Army engineer had put a field electric heater at his feet and he was warming his hands in its red light.
“Jettero, my boy!” said Turn when Heller stood before him. He got up and pumped Heller’s hand.
“I was terribly sorry, Your Lordship,” said Heller, “to have to ask this favor. I’m afraid I caused you a lot of upset unwittingly.”
“Sit down, sit down, my boy,” said Turn, patting a place on the cannon trail. “Nothing that couldn’t be mended. But what in the name of heavens was this all about?”
Heller sat down. “I was bringing Gris to the Royal prison and I thought he committed suicide.”
Turn waved a hand at the air-wagon. The face of Soltan Gris was pressed against the barred window, misery in his eyes, looking hopeless. Two prison guards were behind him. “Well, he unfortunately survived it,” said Lord Turn. “That man is a true felon. He can cause more trouble per cubic inch of law book than anyone I ever heard of. You see, I couldn’t really try him because I didn’t know the charge.”
The camera crew had arrived on the run and they were suddenly bathed with lights. Lord Turn groaned.
Heller reached into his tunic and pulled forth a printout. “They have the consoles in there working now and I just pulled this. Can you try him here and get this over with?”
“Oh, gladly!” said Lord Turn and signaled to the guards in the air-wagon. “Twice as legal to try him in Palace City and good riddance!”
Soltan Gris was stumbling forward. A camera was thrust into his face and he flinched.
“Stand over there,” said Heller. “Don’t be scared of the cameras. I don’t think anybody is watching at this hour.”
“That’s what you think,” said the director. And he showed a backfeed monitor of the screens at Joy City. The pictures he was flashing were a montage of crowds, crowds, crowds! They were standing in the darkened streets on this side of Voltar and in the sunlit streets on the other. Word must have spread like wildfire.
Heller groaned. He turned to Lord Turn. “This is Grand Council Order 938365537-451BP3, issued last year. It directs the Exterior Division to send an engineer to patch up Blito-P3. Soltan Gris, then a Secondary Executive of the Apparatus, Chief of Section 451, Blito-P3, did everything in his power to make certain that this order would not be executed.”
“Aha!” cried Lord Turn, reading the order. “Then the defense of Soltan Gris and his attorneys that he was only obeying orders doesn’t hold!”
Lord Turn pulled his cloak around him. He said loudly, “The Court is in session!” He glared with hostility at Gris.
Gris stood shaking, bathed in Homeview lights but also with the light from the heater which, being red, gave him a diabolical look.
“I knew, Gris, that a Royal officer would not have arrested you for nothing. This is a very grave charge. The penalty is court discretion or death. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty!” wailed Gris.
“Unfortunately,” said Lord Turn, “I finally got around to reading your confession. You’re as guilty as a murderer found standing with blood dripping from his knife. You even attempted the life of a Royal officer! I find you guilty as accused! Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?”
Soltan Gris dropped to his knees. He clasped his manacled hands together and held them beseechingly toward the judge. Unfortunately this put him closer to the heater and bathed him scarlet: the light, being from below, painted his face like a monster. “You promised me leniency!” he cried.
“I don’t think I did,” said Turn. “I just told you to write up your crimes so I could find out what the charge was.”
“Mercy, mercy!” blubbered Gris. “Don’t sentence me to death by torture! Spare me.”
“Oh, for heavens’ sakes,” said Heller, disgusted. He leaned over and whispered in Lord Turn’s ear. Lord Turn nodded.
“Soltan Gris,” said Turn, “I am empowered by law in such a crime to sentence at court discretion or death. Your final execution will be done by hanging and exposure from a gibbet in the Royal prison until your body rots away . . .”
Gris fainted. He fell with a clank and jangle of manacles.
A prison guard tried to get him to his feet and wake him up. Gris just slumped.
“What a sniveling coward,” said the judge. “He couldn’t even stay conscious to hear the rest of the sentence.”
Lord Turn made some notes in a book and put the Grand Council order with it.
Heller had his eye on the camera crews. They had taken all the close-ups they wanted now of Gris. They were packing up. Their lights went off. Heller was sure the crowds in the streets in the Confederacy would be dancing with joy.
“Thank you, Crown, Your Lordship,” said the director to Heller. “I am sure we at Homeview can work out a very happy professional relationship.”
“I was afraid of that,” said Heller, sardonically.
The director trotted off, followed by his crew.
Lord Turn got up. He walked over and stirred at Gris with his foot but there
was no response.
Turn faced Heller. “Well, Jettero, my boy, I am surely glad that’s over with.” He shook Heller’s hand. He looked back at the collapsed Gris and said, “Well, he’s all yours now.”
Lord Turn, followed by the Royal prison guards, got into the air-wagon. It flew away.
Heller gestured to the collapsed Gris and said to the Marine lieutenant, “Pick him up. We have another call to make.”
PART EIGHTY-SEVEN
Chapter 5
The palace of Queen Teenie stood in the dark and cold. The moaning that came from it matched the wind.
The harsh Army field lights that glared at it in blue only seemed to intensify the gloom.
The column of fifty-one prisoners—Gris was being carried—clanked to a halt in the open space at the bottom of the great curving stairs.
Snelz’s men were standing about on guard. Snelz came forward.
“Take over these prisoners,” said Heller, “and hold them here in this small park beside the stairs.” Then he turned to thank the Fleet Marines. Their officer made sure that Snelz’s men had them, gave Heller a cross-arm salute and marched his men away.
“What in heavens’ name is all that keening?” said the Countess Krak.
Snelz looked a little uncomfortable in the Army lights’ blue glare. “They kind of got the idea Queen Teenie was going to be executed. They got a Homeview set in there and some admiral at the conference was spouting off about how she should be. And then, somehow they got the idea she could be executed for harboring Lombar Hisst.”
“Did you tell them that?” said Heller.
“Well,” said Snelz, avoiding his eyes, “it was one way to shake the prisoner loose, even if it didn’t work.”
Heller shook his head. “Now I’ve got a disaster area to handle. Well, come on. At least we’ll give it a try.” He walked up the wide curving steps, followed by the Countess Krak and Snelz.
Two silver-uniformed guards at the door barred their way with crossed battle-axes. Heller told them who they were. A seneschal said, “You three can come in, but no weapons.”
Heller and Snelz unbuckled their beltguns and handed the harnesses with the weapons to a guard. The seneschal shouted, “Lord Heller!” into the hall. Then they, with the Countess Krak, entered the great reception chamber.
It was a dismal sight. The only light came from boys’ pocket torches lying on the floor here and there, scattered amongst some tops and other toys. Several staff were holding each other up, sobbing. All along the wall, boys in crumpled clusters were crying. The cold desert wind, in an undertone, mourned through the hall.
Teenie was sitting on the bottom step of her throne. A blue fur cloak was draped over her shoulders. She was holding her scepter listlessly. She was staring at the floor.
The three came to a stop before her. The Countess Krak bent over and looked into her face. “Why, you’re just an adolescent Earth girl,” she said.
The effect was instantaneous. Teenie leaped to her feet and backed up two steps to get taller in height. “I’m Queen Teenie of Flisten!” she flared. “And I will go to my doom like Royalty!”
A wail went through the hall from the others like a dirge.
The three looked at her in astonishment and then, before they could speak, Teenie suddenly sat down on the higher step. She gradually slumped and, with her elbows on her knees, cupped her chin in her hands despondently.
“I had it made. Everything was running great. And then Madison came along and wrecked it all!” Then her head slumped further forward. She moaned, “Nobody loves me, everybody hates me. I’m going out and eat worms.” And she began to weep.
Some boys crawled toward her and cried, “We love you, Teenie!”
The staff in the shadows stepped ahead. “Don’t break our hearts, Queen Teenie!”
The major-domo knelt and plucked at Heller’s hand, “Lord Heller, if you are going to execute her, the staff only wishes to die on the scaffold by her side.”
“Good Gods,” said Heller, shaking loose. “What have I gotten into!”
“You’ve gotten into the same situation that we had in Afyon, Turkey,” said the Countess Krak. “The little boys and Utanc! I’ve heard about this girl. She’s just another example of what Earth does to people. Unless you handle her, you’ll have this perversion all over Voltar like a plague. When I think of my failures to reform Miss Simmons and the rest, I have to advise you that there’s only one thing to do. You can’t deport her because, as I understand it, there will shortly be no place to deport her to. You will have to execute her.”
The wails and sobs were deafening!
“Shut up!” shouted Heller.
The keening redoubled!
In the din, Heller said to the Countess Krak and Snelz, “Please let me handle this.” He looked around and picked a child’s toy off the floor.
“Oh, Jettero,” said the Countess Krak. “You’re too softhearted. I know exactly what you’re going to do now. You’re going to pardon her and tell her to be good and then she’ll go right out and undermine the entirety. . . .”
Several maids spotted where the opposition might be coming from. On bended knees, they clutched at the Countess, distracting her. “Please don’t kill Queen Teenie!” they were crying. One ripped her own dress apart and bared her breasts. “Kill us,” she said, “but let her live!”
“SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!” shouted Heller.
He went up three steps to Teenie. As he approached her, the screams redoubled. He put his arm around her. They were sure he was going to strangle her.
But Heller kissed Queen Teenie on the cheek!
“Well, I never!” said the Countess Krak.
Heller got out his redstar engineer’s rag and wiped at Teenie’s tears. He made her blow her nose on it.
Then he picked her up and carried her to the entrance door. He put her on her feet and stood close to her.
The others stared. It grew deathly quiet.
Then a scrap of Heller’s low-voiced communication drifted to them. “So the only question is whether you will do this for me or not.”
The Countess Krak, still in the hall, was horrified. She was absolutely certain that Heller was propositioning the girl. She moaned, “Oh, Lords, now she’s even gotten to him!”
Teenie abruptly let out a giggle of delight.
Everyone inside the hall was electrified.
There was a small room just inside the entrance door. Suddenly Teenie and Heller went into it and closed the door behind them.
People looked at one another, stunned.
Five minutes passed by. They stared at the closed door. Ten minutes passed by. The door was still closed.
“Oh, my Lords,” moaned the Countess Krak.
Suddenly the door opened. Heller and Teenie came out. Teenie was pulling the robe around her shoulders. Then she suddenly threw her arms around Heller and she said, “Whiz Kid, you are a Whiz Kid after all! And you are quite a man!” And she lifted up on tiptoe and she kissed him!
The people in the hall somehow sensed the crisis was over. They began to scream with paeans of delight. The din was deafening.
The Countess Krak fainted.
PART EIGHTY-SEVEN
Chapter 6
The Grand Council hall had changed somewhat in the last two hours. The Master of Palace City had been busy. Some of the diamond-studded banners had been recovered from the baggage of dead Apparatus troops. The portrait of Cling and his two elder sons had come down and in its place was one of Mortiiy as a young man in the full-dress uniform of a Fleet officer. Some Palace City guards had returned to duty and stood about like statues in blue and violet. Servants of ex-Lords were scurrying about, clearing up the remains of the repast.
Heller had gotten a drink of sparklewater, eaten a sweetbun, washed his face and changed to a golden Lord’s tunic that the master had dug up, but he had girded it with his officer’s belt and sidearms.
He took his place now on the dais. The Countess Krak
sat down on a small stool to the side and slightly behind his chair. She sat there as though in mourning, suffering and silent.
The crowded place was in a hubbub. Even more people seemed to have been added. Heller was about to hit the table with the butt of his gun when, suddenly, four trumpets blared and a cymbal crashed. It startled him. He looked over at a small balcony where the master was standing. The fellow winked! He had been watching Heller’s hand. Heller suppressed his desire to laugh. He muttered to himself, “Well, like Mortiiy, I’ve got to realize those days are over.” And he put the gun in its holster.