The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [129]
Cain listened to charges of “unspeakable” crimes, alleged proof of involvement in the assassination plot. He doubted any of them were genuinely members of Freedom’s Sword, but they made convenient scapegoats. No doubt they had been caught speaking against the administration. That was good enough to condemn them.
As soon as the assassination plot had failed, Cain knew the reactionary response would set in. He had been so careful to cover his tracks, to hide every hint that he or Sarein or McCammon might have been involved. He had left no evidence, no proof.
Chairman Wenceslas, however, didn’t need any evidence or proof. He simply made up his own mind.
“We can all rest easy, now that the perpetrators have been brought to justice,” Basil said.
The cleanup crew backed away to leave the group of prisoners standing in full view. As Colonel Andez unshouldered her jazer rifle and the other dark-uniformed soldiers did the same, the “conspirators” were herded together.
The knots grew tighter in Cain’s stomach. Sarein seemed about to faint, and he reached over to steady her. Basil’s eyes were fixed on the eighteen prisoners. One of them lurched against the group and tried to push toward the crowd despite his restraints. His movement was the trigger Andez had been waiting for. The cleanup crew fired their jazer rifles in a buzzing lightning storm of ozone and blinding light, flashing webs of disintegrating energy.
All eighteen prisoners were chopped into smoking hunks of meat. The carnage was over in seconds, but the reeking smoke curled upward long after. People in the crowd screamed. Basil smiled. He seemed to hear it as cheers.
With well-practiced moves, Andez snapped orders to her fellow guards. They shouldered their rifles and stepped back in perfect ranks. King Rory swayed uncertainly on his throne, as the silence hung for a long moment.
“Why doesn’t he speak?” Basil muttered. “He knows what he’s supposed to do.”
Finally the boy remembered himself and got to his feet, starting out with a stammer but growing stronger. “Please don’t make us do this again. Be loyal to your government. Help us achieve our victory. That is all I want, as your King.”
Basil seemed impressed with his delivery. “Not bad.”
“He’s right,” Sarein said in a raspy voice. “Let’s hope we never have to do this again.”
* * *
90
Sullivan Gold
Two days after the horrific public executions, Sullivan opened the door to find a crisply uniformed Colonel Andez and six of her thugs ready to pounce. Lydia, standing in the kitchen, said sourly, “Tell them to leave.”
“Please don’t get in our way, Mr. Gold.” Andez’s voice was cold.
Wiping her hands on a towel, Lydia stormed forward, her face pinched. “Demand to see their search warrant, Sullivan. We don’t have to let them in here. There are laws — ”
Her ill-advised words seemed to incite the cleanup crew, and they pushed past Sullivan. “Wait a minute,” he said. “This is private property. I’ll call the police.”
“We are the police.”
Lydia got in their way. “No, you’re not. You’re a gang of hoodlums.”
Sullivan grabbed his wife and physically restrained her. He had already seen how coolly they had gunned down the supposed accomplices in the assassination attempt on the Chairman. “Lydia, stop this.”
“Tell them to stop it. Why are you letting them walk all over you?” She looked hurt. “We have to stand up for ourselves. We can’t just let this happen. It’s not right!”
The uniformed men and women overturned the furniture, upended an entire bookshelf, opened the cupboards in the kitchen, and began to fling dishes, pots, and pans everywhere.
“Please, just tell me what you’re looking for!” Sullivan cried.
“Evidence,” said Andez.
“Evidence of what?”
“Whatever we can find. We’ve had reports about you, especially your wife.” Andez smiled as they stood the dining room table on end as if they expected to find a secret transmitting device underneath the spindly wooden legs.
The previous day, his son Jerome’s restaurant had been looted,