Prologue
It was still and very quiet in the palatial room. Four
humans and thirteen treecats, four of them half-
grown 'kittens, sat silently, eyes locked on the HD which
showed only silent swirls of soothing, standby color. The
only movements were the slow twitch, twitch, twitch of the
very tail-tip of the treecat clasped in Miranda LaFollet's
arms and the gently stroking true-hand with which the
treecat named Samantha comforted her daughter Andromeda.
Andromeda was the most anxious of the 'kittens, but all
four were ill at ease, clustered tightly about their
mother with half-flattened ears. Their empathic senses
carried the raw emotions of the adults in the room --
human and treecat alike -- to them all too clearly, yet
they were too young to understand the reason for the
jagged-clawed tension which possessed their elders.
Allison Harrington pulled her eyes from the silent HD and
glanced once more at her husband's profile. He stared
stonily straight before him, his face gaunt, and Allison
needed no empathic sense to feel his tormented grief
calling to her own. But he refused to acknowledge the
pain -- had refused from the very beginning -- as if by
denying it or battling it in the solitary anguish of his
own heart without "burdening" her he could somehow make it
not real. He knew better than that. Surgeons learned
better, if only from watching patients face those demons
alone. Yet that was knowledge of the head, not the heart,
and even now he refused to look away from the HD. Both her
small hands tightened on the single large one she had
captured almost by force when he sat down beside her, but
his expression was like Sphinx granite, and she made
herself look away once more.
Brilliant sunlight, double filtered through the dome
covering Harrington City and then again by the smaller one
covering Harrington House, streamed incongruously through
the window. It should be night outside, she told herself.
Blackest night, to mirror the darkness in her own soul,
and she closed her eyes in pain.
Senior Master Steward James MacGuiness saw her and bit his
lip once more. He longed to reach out to her, as she had
reached out to him by insisting that he be here, "with the
rest of your family," for this terrible day. But he didn't
know how, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.
Then he felt a soft, warm weight land solidly in his lap
and looked down as Hera braced both hand-feet on his chest
and reached up to touch his face ever so gently with one
true-hand. The 'cat's bright green gaze met his with a
soft concern that made his eyes burn, and he stroked her
fluffy pelt gratefully as she crooned ever so softly to
him.
The HD made a small sound, and every eye, human and 'cat,
snapped to it. Very few of the people of Grayson knew the
subject of the upcoming special bulletin. The ones in this
room, and in a similar room in Protector's Palace, did
know, for the chief of the local bureau of the
Interstellar News Service had warned them as a matter of
courtesy. Not that most Graysons wouldn't suspect its
content. The days of instant news had been left centuries
behind along with the days when humanity inhabited only a
single planet; now information moved between the stars
only as rapidly as the ships which carried it. Humanity
had readjusted its expectations to once more deal with
news that arrived in fits and starts, in indigestible
chunks and rumors awaiting confirmation...and this story
had spawned too many "special reports" and too much
speculation for the Graysons not to suspect.
The HD chirped again, and then a message blurb blinked to
life, each letter precisely formed. "The following Special
Report contains violent scenes which may not be suitable
for all audiences. INS advises viewer discretion," it
said, then transformed itself into a time and date
reference: "23:31:05 GMT, 01:24:1912 p.d." The numbers
floated in the HD, superimposed on a slowly spinning INS
logo, for perhaps ten seconds, announcing that what they
were about to see had been recorded almost a full T-month
earlier. Then they vanished, and the familiar features of
Joan Huertes, the Interstellar News anchor for the Haven
Sector, replaced them.
"Good evening," she said, her expression solemn. "This is
Joan Huertes, reporting to you from INS Central, Nouveau
Paris, in the People's Republic of Haven, where this
afternoon Second Deputy Director of Public Information
Leonard Boardman, speaking on behalf of the Committee of
Public Safety, issued the following statement."
Huertes disappeared, to be replaced by the image of a man
with thinning hair and a narrow face which seemed vaguely
out of place atop his pudgy frame. Despite his soft-
looking edges, there were deep lines on that face, the
sort which came to a man for whom worry was a way of life,
but he seemed to have himself well in hand as he folded
his hands on the podium at which he stood and gazed out
over a large, comfortably furnished conference room
crowded with reporters and HD cameras. There was the usual
babble of shouted questions everyone knew would not be
answered, but he only stood there, then raised one hand in
a quieting gesture. The background noise gradually abated,
and he cleared his throat.
"I will not take any questions this afternoon, citizens,"
he told the assembled newsies. "I have a prepared
statement, however, and supporting HD chips will be
distributed to you at the end of the briefing."
There was a background almost-noise of disappointment from
the reporters, but not one of surprise. No one had really
expected anything more...and all of them already knew from
officially inspired "leaks" what the statement would be
about.
"As this office has previously announced," Boardman said
flatly, obviously reading from a holo prompter no one else
could see, "four T-months ago, on October 23, 1911 P.D.,
the convicted murderess Honor Stephanie Harrington was
captured by the armed forces of the People's Republic. At
that time, the Office of Public Information stated that it
was the intention of the Committee of Public Safety to
proceed with the full rigor of the law, but only within
the letter of the law. Despite the unprovoked war of
aggression which the elitist, monarchist plutocrats of the
Star Kingdom of Manticore and the puppet regimes of the so-
called 'Manticoran Alliance' have chosen to wage upon the
People's Republic, the People's Republic has scrupulously
observed the provisions of the Deneb Accords from the
start of hostilities. It is not, after all, the fault of
those in uniform when the self-serving masters of a
corrupt and oppressive regime order them to fight, even
when this means engaging in acts of naked aggression
against the citizens and planets of a star nation which
wishes only to live in peace and allow other nations to do
the same.
"The fact that, at the time of her capture, Harrington was
serving as an officer in the navy of the Star Kingdom,
however, further complicated an already complex situation.
In light of her repeated claim that under the terms of the
Deneb Accords her commission in the Manticoran Navy
protected her, as a prisoner of war, from the consequences
of her earlier crime, the People's government, determined
not to act hastily, requested the Supreme Tribunal of the
People's Justice to examine the specifics of the case, the
conviction, and the Accords in order to ensure that all
aspects of the prisoner's legal rights should be
scrupulously maintained.
"Because Harrington's conviction had been returned by a
civilian court prior to the commencement of hostilities,
the Supreme Tribunal, after careful deliberation,
determined that, under the provisions of Article Forty-One
of the Deneb Accords, the interstellar protections
normally afforded to military personnel did not apply. The
Supreme Tribunal accordingly ordered that Harrington be
remanded to the custody of the Office of State Security as
a civilian prisoner, rather than to the People's Navy as a
prisoner of war. In ordering Harrington remanded, People's
Justice Theresa Mahoney, writing for the Tribunal in its
unanimous opinion, observed that" -- Boardman picked up an
old-fashioned sheet of hardcopy from the lectern and read
aloud from the obvious prop -- "This was not an easy
decision. While both civil law and Article Forty-One are
quite clear and specific, no court wishes to establish any
precedent which might serve to place our own uniformed
citizens at risk should our enemy choose to seek vengeance
in the name of "retaliation" or "reciprocity."
Nonetheless, this Tribunal finds itself with no legal
option but to order the prisoner remanded to the custody
of the civilian judicial system, subject to its own legal
requirements. Given the peculiar circumstances surrounding
this case, and bearing in mind the Tribunal's concern over
the possibility of retaliatory acts on the parts of the
People's enemies, the Tribunal would respectfully request
that the Committee of Public Safety, as the People's
representative, consider clemency. This consideration is
urged not because the Tribunal believes the prisoner
deserves it, for she manifestly does not, but rather out
of the Tribunal's real, serious, and pressing concern for
the safety of citizens of the Republic currently in the
hands of the Manticoran Alliance." He laid aside his sheet
of paper and folded his hands once more before him.
"The Committee, and particularly Citizen Chairman Pierre,
considered the Tribunal's opinion and recommendation most
carefully," he said in a solemn voice. "Although the
People would always prefer to show mercy, even to their
enemies, however, the requirements of the law in this case
were, as the Supreme Tribunal noted, quite clear.
Moreover, however merciful the People would prefer to be,
the People's government cannot show weakness to enemies of
the People at a time when the People are fighting for
their very lives. With that in mind, and given that the
heinous nature of prisoner's crime -- the cold-blooded,
deliberate, and premeditated murder of the entire crew of
the merchant freighter RHMS Sirius -- was such as to
preclude any reduction in the sentence handed down by the
court at the time of her conviction, Citizen Chairman
Pierre declined to exercise his pardon authority.
Accordingly Harrington was remanded to the appropriate
authorities at Camp Charon in the Cerberus System, and at
oh-seven-twenty GMT this morning, January twenty-fourth,
the Central Headquarters of the Office of State Security
in Nouveau Paris received confirmation from Camp Charon
that sentence had been carried out, as ordered."
Someone gasped in the quiet, sun-drenched room. Allison
wasn't certain who; it could even have been her. Her hands
tightened like talons on her husband's, yet he didn't even
flinch. The shock seemed blunted somehow, as if their long
anticipation had crusted it in scar tissue that deadened
the nerves, and neither she nor any of the others could
tear their eyes from the HD. There was a dreadful, self-
punishing mesmerization about it. They knew what they were
going to see, yet to look away would have been a betrayal.
They had to be here, however irrational it might be to
subject themselves to it, and the demands of the heart had
no need for reasons based in logic.
On the HD, the conference room was also utterly silent as
Boardman paused. Then he looked straight into the camera,
his face grim, and spoke very levelly.
"The People's Republic of Haven cautions the members of
the so-called 'Manticoran Alliance' against the abuse or
mistreatment of any Republican personnel in retaliation
for this execution. The People's Republic reminds its
enemies -- and the galaxy at large -- that this was a
single, special case in which a condemned criminal had,
for over eleven standard years, evaded the legally
mandated punishment for what can only be called an
atrocity. Any attempt to mistreat our personnel in
response to it will carry the gravest consequences for
those responsible when peace is restored to this quadrant.
In addition, the People's Republic would point out that
any such actions would, almost inevitably, lead to the
worsening of conditions for prisoners of war on both
sides. Honor Stephanie Harrington was a murderer on a mass
scale, and it was for that crime, not any actions she
might have performed as a member of the Star Kingdom of
Manticore's armed forces since the outbreak of
hostilities, that she was executed."
He stood a moment, then inhaled and nodded sharply.
"Thank you, citizens. That concludes my statement, My
aides will distribute the video chips. Good day."
He turned and strode briskly away, ignoring the fresh
babble of questions which rose behind him, and the HD
blanked once more. Then Huertes' image returned, her
expression even graver than before.
"That was the scene in the People's Tower this afternoon
as Leonard Boardman, Second Deputy Directory of the Office
of Public Information, speaking on behalf of the Committee
of Public Safety, made the announcement which, frankly,
had been anticipated for over two T-months by informed
sources here in the People's Republic. What repercussions
today's events may have on the military front is anyone's
guess, but many usually reliable sources here in the
capital have told INS off the record that they anticipate
Manticoran retaliation and are prepared to respond in
kind." She paused a beat, as if to let that sink in, then
cleared her throat. "In the meantime, here is the HD
imagery provided by the Office of Public Information. INS
wishes once again to warn our viewers of the graphic and
violent nature of what you are about to see."
The HD faded to black slowly, as if to give any members of
INS' audience time to flee if they wished to...or to be
sure that anyone who had been temporarily out of the room
would have time to get back for the promised tidbit of
violence. Then the display glowed back to life.
The scene was very different from the conference room in
which Boardman had made his announcement. This room was
much smaller, with bare walls and floor of unrelieved
ceramacrete. It was high-ceilinged, and a rough wooden
platform took up almost all its floor space. A flight of
steps ran to the surface of the platform, and a rope --
free end looped into the traditional hangman's noose --
dangled from the ceiling above the center of the latform.
For several seconds, the HD showed only the empty room and
the grimly functional gallows, but then the viewers heard
the sudden, shocking sound of a door being thrown open and
six people entered the camera's field of view.
Four men in the red-and-black uniform of State Security
formed a tight knot about a tall, brown-haired woman in a
bright orange prison jumpsuit. A fifth man, in the same
uniform but with the insignia of a full colonel, followed
them in, then turned to one side and stopped. He stood at
a sort of parade rest, one foot beside an unobtrusive
pedal set into the floor, and watched the prisoner being
led across the room.
Her wrists were chained behind her, and more chains
weighted her ankles. Her face showed no expression at all,
but her eyes clung to the gallows, as if hypnotized by the
sight, as her guards urged her forward. Her hobbled steps
became slower and more hesitant as they neared the
platform stair, and her expressionless mask began to
crack. She turned her head, looking at the guards while
desperation wavered in her eyes, but no one would look
back. The StateSec men's faces were grim and purposeful,
and as her resistance grew, they gripped her arms and half-
led and half-carried her up the steps.
She began to pant as they forced her to the center of the
platform, and she stared up at the rope, then, with a
painful effort every viewer could actually feel, forced
herself to look away. She closed her eyes, and her lips
moved. She might have been praying, but no sound came out,
and then she gasped and jerked as a black cloth hood was
pulled down over her head. Her panting breath made the
thin fabric jump like the breast of a terrified bird, and
her wrists began to turn and jerk against their cuffs as
the noose was lowered over the hood, snugged down about
her throat, and adjusted with the knot behind one ear.
The guards released her and stood back. Her faceless
figure swayed as the fully understandable terror of what
was about to happen weakened her knees, and then the
colonel spoke. His voice was harsh and gruff, yet there
was an edge of compassion in it, like the tone of a man
who dislikes what duty requires of him.
"Honor Stephanie Harrington, you have been convicted of
the high crime against the People of premeditated murder.
The sentence of the court is death, to be carried out this
day. Do you wish to say anything at this time?"
The prisoner shook her head convulsively, chest leaping as
she hyperventilated in terror, and the colonel nodded
silently. He didn't speak again. He only reached out his
foot and stepped firmly on the floor pedal with a heavy
thrust of merciful quickness.
The sound as the trapdoor opened was a loud, shocking
Thunk! and the grisly sound as the prisoner's weight hit
the end of the rope was horribly clear. There was a short,
explosive spit of air -- a last, agonized gasp for breath,
cut off in the instant of its birth -- and then the brown-
haired woman jerked once, hugely and convulsively, as the
rope snapped her neck.
The body hung limp, turning in a slow circle while the
rope creaked, and the camera held on it for at least ten
seconds. Then the HD went blank once more, and Huertes'
soft contralto spoke from the blackness.
"This is Joan Huertes, INS, reporting from Nouveau Paris,"
it said quietly. The heartrending keen of thirteen
treecats answered it, and the soft weeping of Miranda
LaFollet and James MacGuiness, and Allison Harrington
reached out a trembling hand to touch her husband's hair
as his armor of denial crumbled at last and he fell to his
knees beside her while he sobbed into her lap.