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He realized unhappily that his plans for the resettlement of Sanctus was not proceeding as swiftly as he
would like.
The idea had come to him like a vision. He saw a series of small, isolated spiritual communes, devoted
to reflection and worship. To create these communes, he would empty the cities and villages. Move the
peasants off the farms.
The latest reports said that the idea had met a huge amount of resistance, especially from the farmers and
artisans. Who would till the land? they complained. Who would mix the mortar and build the buildings?
This kind of small, ungodly thinking would have to stop, Mathias decided. He would not let the
unenlightened of his planet stand in the way of a glorious future.
He scrawled an order for Companions to sweep into the villages. What he could not do with reason, he
would accomplish by force. He added a suggestion to the report: Burn the homes and destroy the farms.
That way the peasants would have no place to return.
Mathias was more pleased with his progress involving the matter of the mercenaries. Of course, he had
personally handled that. He had scheduled the public trial to begin the following day. Enough mercenaries
had confessed to insure its success.
One by one, each man would be found guilty. And Mathias would order their executions. Those, too,
would be public.
It would be a solemn occasion, followed by a great celebration. Mathias had already announced that
some of the rules of Talamein behavior would be relaxed during the festival.
A wise Prophet, he told himself, had to understand that his people were only weak human beings.
Mathias began to scrawl a few notes concerning the planet-wide month of purification that he would
declare to take place immediately after the festival.
He had some interesting ideas on this subject. Floggings, for instance-all voluntary, of course.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
FFILLIPS STOOD AT stiff attention before her ragged band of men. They were drawn up in the
temple's central courtyard. Ffillips could sense the hidden vidmonitors that were broadcasting the event
across the planet. Around them were row after row of spidery bleachers filled with red-uniformed
Companions. Seated in front of the bleachers were the ten judges hand-picked by Mathias from his
officer corps.
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On one side sat the Prophet himself. He was seated on a small onyx throne. He wore a simple uniform,
with only two small golden medals-the torch symbol of Sanctus-to mark his rank.
The evidence" had been given-mostly, the humiliating confessions forced from men and women who
couldn't bear up under torture. The judges had weighed the verdict. And it was about to be delivered.
Ffillips knew she was dead.
Mathias raised a hand for silence. Instant hush. He leaned slightly forward in his throne. His face was
serene, almost kindly. "Do you wish to say anything in your behalf?" he asked Ffillips. "In the interest of
justice?"
Ffillips looked coldly at Mathias and then at the judges. "I don't see her here."
"Who?" Mathias asked.
"Justice," Ffillips said. "Now, as one soldier to another,
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I'll ask you to end this sham. My men and I await your decision."
But before Mathias could give the signal, Ffillips shouted: "DETACHMENT, TEN-HUT."
And her sad, ragged troop suddenly became soldiers again. They snapped to, throwing off the
exhaustion and fear. Even those crippled by torture drew themselves up. A few had to be helped. Some
grinned at Mathias and the Companions through broken teeth.
Mathias hesitated, then turned.
"What is the verdict?" he asked the judges.
And the same word hissed out along the line of" ten.
"Guilty ... Guilty ... Guilty ..." And so on until the last judge pronounced their fate.
Mathias rose, bowed to the judges. "I have agonized over this." Mathias announced. "The evidence was
overwhelming, even before the trial. And, as you all know, I counseled compassion."
He paused for effect.
"No doubt," Ffillips said, loudly enough for the vidmonitors to pick up.
Mathias ignored her.
"But." the Prophet continued, "I must bow to the wisdom of the judges. They know best the desires of
Talamein. I can only accede. And give thanks to our Father, for his guidance."
He turned to Ffillips and her men. "With great sorrow, I must pronounce judgment-"
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Ffillips shouted the order: "TROOP. RIGHT FACE."
Her troops wheeled as one. Proud men and women ready to go to their deaths. Their guards broke rank
and dignity, rushing over to them, shouting, waving their weapons.
Mathis had to rush out the words:
"You are all sentenced to die," he shouted. "Within five days. Before the people of Sanctus. and-"
Ffillips broke through his ranting: "FORWARD ...MARCH..."
And the soldiers stepped out in perfect time, heading back for their prison and their doom.
"And Talamein ..." Mathias screamed.
Ffillips shot him the universal gesture of contempt. And. in her best parade-ground voice: "CLOT
YOU."
All was confusion. As the mercs disappeared, Mathias was
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yelling instructions at his guard and fruitless explanations at the vidmonitors.
Ffillips might have been a dead woman, but she knew how to go out in style.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
THE GIANT FUNERAL chimneys of Sanctus belched out ash, smoke, and fire, working overtime as
the very wealthy and highly nervous ruling class of the Lupus Cluster poured in their donations to the new
Prophet.
Sten, Bet, Alex, and the others jockeyed their gaudily painted wagons through the crowds that were
pouring into the holy city.
Red-uniformed Companions made cursory attempts to check out the pilgrims. Here and there they
pulled people aside to run scanners over their bodies and belongings. But mostly they were just waving
the hordes of people through, barely able to keep up with the traffic, much less look for malcontents.
Once they got through the gates, Sten waved his people to one side. He took a fresh look at the Sanctus
of Mathias.
To either side of the Avenue of Tombs and its eye-ear-nose-and-throat-polluting monuments spread the
city itself. Sandwiched between the mix of small homes, tenements, and the occasional gabled mansion
were the narrow streets and alleyways. Sanctus' capital had evidently not had much of a planning
commission.
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And now the barely passable streets were roiling with visitors. Sten's back prickled as he realized that all
of them, whether peasants, artisans, or merchants, were in their colorful best
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clothes. Also, Sten noted, here and there, other entertainers' wagons.
The chaos was worrisome. It was a perfect cover, to be sure, but the spontaneous partying meant that
Sten and his team had less time than they thought. None of them had seen or heard about the sentencing
cast, but from the festive tourists, Sten realized he would have to act quickly.
Bet slid across the seat toward him and nuzzled his neck. "Mathias acted more quickly than we thought,"
she hispid. Sten forced laughter and pulled her close for a kiss. A Companion stared at them curiously for
a moment, then moved on. A drunken beggar stumbled past, waving a sheaf of tickets.
"THE EXECUTIONS," he shouted. "SEE THEM IN PERSON ... STILL A FEW SPACES LEFT IN
THE PUBLIC SQUARE."
He staggered on.
"SEE THE EXECUTIONS ... THE TRAITORS OF TALAMEIN..."
His voice was finally drowned out by the crowd. Bet broke away from Sten and slid off the wagon seat. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]