Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [89]
“Greetings, Governor Tharrus.” The proconsul tilted his head to indicate the gallows. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”
With a gesture, Tharrus signaled to his men to turn off the cameras. Then he glared at Eragian. “Let us not play games, Proconsul. What are you doing here?”
Eragian’s expression changed. His eyes took on a steely cast. “Is this not part of the Empire?” he asked. “And am I not proconsul? I go where I please, Governor. And right now, it pleases me to be here.”
“For what purpose?” asked the governor.
The proconsul smiled and indicated the rebels with a sweep of his arm. “For the purpose of taking these unificationists into custody.”
“They are already in custody,” Tharrus reminded him. “Mine.”
Eragian shrugged. “A jurisdictional technicality. I’ll see to it that it’s taken care of after I return to the homeworld.”
“It’s more than a jurisdictional technicality,” the governor insisted. “I am the authority on this world. I have a right to these prisoners.”
The proconsul’s smile faded away, leaving a lean and determined visage in its place. It must have been clear to him then that Tharrus knew what kind of prize he held in his hands—and that he was not eager to let it go.
So they both knew the truth. And each of them knew the other one knew. The lines were drawn, it seemed.
“You are the authority here because the homeworld made you so. Do not forget that, Governor Tharrus.”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” said the governor. “Not who appointed me, certainly. And if memory serves, it was one of your rivals.”
“Who no longer enjoys a voice on the Senate floor,” Eragian countered. “I don’t think you should count on any assistance from him anymore.”
Back and forth—not unlike a Senate debate, thought Tharrus. Except in a debate, there were only occasionally true winners and losers. Usually, the matter ended in some kind of compromise.
And here? This day, in this courtyard, would there be such a compromise? He eyed the proconsul. Not likely, he told himself.
The governor frowned. It seemed he had a decision to make.
He could yield to the proconsul’s authority and avoid further confrontation. Or he could refuse and leave himself open to all manner of punishment, including a prolonged and uncomfortable death.
Everything hinged on the chance that he could identify Spock and turn him over to the Senate. If he could do that, Eragian would be powerless to carry out his retribution. But if he failed …
Tharrus set his teeth. He would never have a chance like this one again. And besides, he would rather die than let Eragian have Spock on a platter.
“Phabaris,” he cried out, still intent on Eragian.
The proconsul’s smile was restored. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses,” he commented. “You will not regret it.”
“Yes, Governor?” replied Phabaris, from his place by the remaining rebels.
“Take Proconsul Eragian and his escort into protective custody,” Tharrus bellowed, his voice ringing from wall to wall. “I’d hate to see them get hurt as we carry out the executions.”
Eragian’s eyes opened wide. “You wouldn’t dare,” he snapped.
“Wouldn’t I?” asked the governor. “You heard me, Phabaris. The proconsul and his men need not be exposed to the unpredictability of the crowd.”
“Yes, Governor,” came the reply.
At a sign from Phabaris, every guard in the courtyard drew his weapon and trained it on the proconsul’s group. Many of them actually closed in on the intruders, cutting down on the chances of their missing.
But Eragian’s men were trained to give their lives for their proconsul. They drew their disruptor pistols at the same time. The Tal Shiar made a point of training his weapon on Tharrus.
Not an unexpected development, the governor mused. But despite their response, the proconsul’s escort wouldn’t fire on him. Not when any melee at all was likely to end in Eragian’s demise.
Of course, the proconsul’s vessel could intervene. Its crew could begin transporting Tharrus’s men into its prison