Picking Up the Pieces

Chapter Twenty-One

“You’re looking well, sir,” Suki said, as she drove me into New Copenhagen. “The fresh air in the countryside must agree with you.”

I snorted. The spaceport smelled better now that we had a proper regime operating the base, but it still smelt of hydrocarbons and the indescribable stench of thousands of people in close proximity. We’d been teaching the new recruits about hygiene as quickly as possible — unlike some worlds, including people from Earth, the locals generally knew already — but even so, there was a stink. There might be fresh air somewhere out in the countryside, but I hadn’t smelt it.

“Perhaps,” I agreed, as we passed the marker warning us to reduce our speed. There was nothing else on the road — there were hardly any privately-owned vehicles on the planet, something that probably delighted the remains of the Communists — but Suki reduced her speed anyway, barely. “You’re looking well too.”

Suki smiled. She did look stunning, even in a basic uniform rather than the outfit she’d worn for the inauguration. It was astonishing how much prettier a woman became after you’d slept with her; she almost seemed to be glowing. Her dark hair had been cut short, but she wore it in a style that was frankly provocative, while her uniform was just one size too small.

“It’s because I’m doing something useful,” she said, waving a hand towards a group of beggars in the distance. “Are they doing anything useful?”

I took her point. There were thousands of people on the streets, but many of them seemed to be doing nothing, but begging for charity. The devastation the Communists had inflicted had put thousands of people out of work and they were not happy. The Government had been organising work parties to help rebuild the city — both cities — but there was only so much that could be done with unskilled labour. Others were wandering around, looking for missing friends and relatives, a quest I suspected to be hopeless. We would probably never know how many people had been killed by the Communists, or had been caught up in the crossfire and slaughtered. The mass graves outside the city meant that the bodies would probably take their secrets to the next world.

There was a long line outside the army recruiting office, I was pleased to see, even if most of the recruits wouldn’t make the first cut. The planet had had a massive upswing in patriotism after the Communist Insurrection and thousands wanted to join the army, if only to get laid. Ed had been right; an army uniform was a certain ticket to spending a night with a girl, although naturally I didn’t know anything about that myself. Here and there, there were a handful of soldiers on leave, spending time telling lies about their exploits and trying to impress the girls. Others were on patrol, watching for looters and criminals, even though we hadn’t trained any of them for police work. The police force was being rebuilt as quickly as possible, but it was a long slow process.

“They’re not popular,” Suki explained, when I commented on that. “Everyone thinks that the policemen ran away when the firing started and hid in their houses until it was all over.”

“But it was a very brave retreat,” I said, deadpan. The joke slipped past Suki, who ignored it. “And public mood towards the communists?”

I had my answer as the car turned the corner and drove towards the makeshift courthouse. The original courthouse had been a surprisingly dignified building built by the UN, but the Communists had firebombed it in the opening stages of the insurrection — roasted seven judges, nine criminals and forty-nine others in the process — and Acting President Frida Holmqvist had moved operations to a local school. The kids were probably delighted at getting a few months off school — it didn’t help that parents were nervous about sending their kids into the city — and everyone else was delighted. The crowd outside the courthouse was baying for blood.

“They want them dead,” Suki said, pointing to a group of grim-looking protestors, carrying banners that had a multitude of inspiring slogans. DEATH TO COMMIES, BURN THE BASTARDS and MAKE THEM PAY were among the milder ones, although there were also stranger ones; FARMERS NEED TO EAT, FEED THE WORLD and MAKE WAR NOT LOVE. I think they got the last one mixed up a little. The UN used to use the reversed version as a slogan. “I don’t think they’re going to get out of it alive.”

I nodded as I passed my ID to a heavily armed soldier, who inspected it carefully. “It does look that way,” I agreed. I looked at the soldier’s insignia as he stood to attention. “Has there been any trouble here?”

“A gang of armed vigilantes wanted to break in and kill the Communists quickly,” the soldier said, once he had verified my identity. “We deployed and warned them to leave, or we’d open fire, and they left. A handful of others came by to threaten us, but we arrested them at once and handed them over to the local police. Feelings are running high among the crowd though, sir; I think we’re going to need reinforcements once sentence is passed.”

He nodded towards a wooden structure a carpenter was erecting on the other side of the street. It was a gallows, rather like the one we’d built ourselves, suggesting that the verdict of the court had already been decided. I shrugged, returned his salute, and led Suki into the building. The interior felt a little odd — I’ve never been comfortable with armed men in a school, no matter what Russell says about it being good for the kids — but it was easy enough to find the courtroom. The noise coming from it was deafening.

Frida had decided to charge the Communists with High Treason, a charge that automatically kept the public out of the court. I wasn’t sure if she’d done that deliberately or if it was a happy coincidence; happy, because the entire city wanted the Communists lynched. It was quite possible that the vigilantes would return and try to bully their way past the soldiers and if that happened there would be a massacre. The Communists weren’t the only faction that had guns; hell, we couldn’t even begin to disarm all of the militia groups. We’d just have to hope that they drew a lesson from what happened to the Communists and stayed out of armed violence. If not…

I shook my head as I was shown into the courtroom. It was clearly in the school’s gym and lacked a certain something, although I didn’t know what. Dignity, perhaps. Frida herself was sitting at one end of a long table, joined by the seven surviving High Court Judges and several others I didn’t recognise. Svergie’s Supreme Court was supposed to rule on matters like High Treason and Constitutional Law, but only half of them had survived the insurrection. The Communists had targeted them personally, just because of the positions they held.

“Andrew,” Frida said, waving me over. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please, take a seat.”

I frowned. “I was under the impression that I was here to observe only,” I said, puzzled. She seemed to be offering me a seat on the court. “I’m not actually…”

“You may be called upon to testify,” Frida explained. I smiled in relief. That made a great deal more sense, although I wasn’t particularly comfortable in the courtroom. Give me a good honest battle any day. “The Judges may want to put questions to you, or…”

“The Court will rise,” the usher bellowed. “The 3^rd Supreme Court Judgement Session will now come to order.”

I sat down as the remainder of the court settled. “Bring in the prisoners,” the usher ordered. The side door opened and the nine Communist leaders — the ones who had survived the insurrection — were escorted into the room. They wore heavy chains, rather than light handcuffs or other restraints; I guessed that someone wanted to make a point. They looked relieved to be in private session; they might not have been able to play to the audience, but they wouldn’t be facing a lynch mob. They didn’t look confident or self-assured now; they just looked… terrified. I couldn’t really blame them for being scared. They knew they’d failed and were now looking at a short trip to the gallows.

“Daniel Singh will represent the prisoners,” the usher said. I reminded myself about the old saying — a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client — before realising that it was quite possible that no uninvolved lawyer had wanted to take part in the proceedings, or at least on their side. “The charges are as follows; High Treason, Conspiracy to Seize Power Unlawfully, Wilful Mass Murder — at least three thousand separate counts — and Mass Property Damage. Does the defending lawyer wish to make a statement before proceedings begin?”

“Yes, Your Honour,” Daniel Singh said. His voice was flat, but very composed. “I protest in the strongest possible terms this court and its claim to jurisdiction. I also protest our treatment. We have been denied access to friends and relatives, potential witnesses and those who might speak in our defence. We have been forbidden to stand before a bail court or even give testimony in our own defence. This court is illegal and a disgrace to our world.”

“You have been charged with High Treason, among other crimes,” the usher said, in response. “You would not be granted bail under any circumstances, but if we had done so you would have been lynched in the streets. You were not denied access to anyone; they chose not to come see you. And, as to our right to try you, you are in the dock. You may believe that this court is unconstitutional, but it was summoned in accordance with the Constitution, under the supervision of the surviving High Court Judges. We believe that we have the right to try you and if you are found guilty, we will sentence you and carry out your punishment.”

There was a pause. “The Prosecutor may speak now.”

The Prosecutor was a tall man, with dark hair that was shading towards grey. I listened as he outlined everything, from the early stages of the Communist Party’s plans for a coup to the final preparation and the assault on the stadium, killing hundreds in the opening blows alone. He brought videoed testimony from the survivors of Pitea, recounting their suffering and how they had barely survived under two weeks of Communist rule. Shopkeepers spoke of losing their stock to the Communists, women told of seeing their husbands dragged off and murdered, factory crews talked about losing their foremen and supervisors to the murderous mobs, collectively painting a picture of horror and suffering.

“I protest this,” Daniel said, at one point. “These witnesses have not been summoned to court. Their testimony is therefore unacceptable.”

“The case of Gustav V. Robeson would indicate otherwise,” the Prosecutor countered. “It was established in that case, and subsequently confirmed by the High Court, that videoed testimony was acceptable provided that it was properly recorded and notarized by a qualified court official. In this case, the dispositions were recorded under the watching eyes of no less than three officials from the court. There was little point in having the witnesses forced to endure your form of questioning.”

The Prosecutor continued his attack, noting that all of the allegations of fraud in the voting districts had been carefully disproved before the insurrection began — and, indeed, even some of the Communists had agreed with the final outcome. Those Communists, of course, were dead now, killed by their own kind. It didn’t take much imagination to guess why; they’d been honest and had paid the price for it. The Communist Leadership would probably have been happier with a lie claiming that the elections had been rigged.

“You claim that you were forced into insurrection,” the Prosecutor continued. “You have presented no reason to justify your claim. You merely want us to take it on faith that you had a good reason for your crimes, yet you refuse to accept some of our statements on faith. Your own people have testified as to your crimes against innocent civilians and those who merely belonged to the wrong political party. You cannot claim that you set out to kill people in order to save them.”

There was a long pause. “I have presented the evidence before the court,” the Prosecutor concluded. “I have proved that they deliberately set out to launch an insurrection with the intention of overthrowing the government and replacing it with one more to their liking. They murdered tens of thousands of people directly and saw fit to risk the lives of thousand more. They killed half the Council and seriously injured the President himself. They are guilty.”

“The accursed may make a final statement in their own defence, if they wish,” the usher said. “If not, the judges will issue their verdict now.”

“I so wish,” Daniel said, quickly. He drew himself up as much as he could in the chains. “This court is a farce. This trial is a joke. We believed that the purpose of the President in hiring outside mercenaries” — and here he shot a nasty look at me — “was to create an army that could be used to disarm the political parties and then impose a new order on the planet. We knew how close the President was to the rich and wealthy upper classes who ground the people into dirt beneath their feet; we knew what he had in mind.

“We knew that the Progressive Party had been suborned by the Liberty Party. We knew where the Conservatives and Farmers stood. We did what we could to prevent the planet from falling under a dictatorship. If we are to die today, then we will have died for what we believe in. This trial is a farce and, in the future, we will be hailed as martyrs.”

The judges withdrew from the room and went into seclusion. I leaned over to Frida and murmured a question in her ear. “What happens now?”

“The judges announce their decision and it gets enacted,” Frida said. “There’s no appeal for High Treason, so if they’re found guilty they’ll be hanged today.”

I gave her a sharp look. “Aren’t you moving a little fast?”

“I don’t think I’m moving fast enough,” Frida admitted. “The public mood wants them hanged yesterday, not tomorrow, and I have to bow to the public mood. The public is always right about such things. If they’re proven guilty, we have to deal with them as quickly as possible, just to allow the wounds they caused to heal. If there was reasonable doubt, I’d slow the proceedings, but if there’s not…”

She turned back to look towards the prisoners and I watched her, wondering what was going through her mind. Her scar seemed to be showing more now, as if she was reluctant to try to hide or minimise it. It had come from her time with the resistance, as far as I knew, yet she’d never tried to trade in on it — until now. I wished, not for the first time, that I could read minds. I would have given anything to know what she was thinking.

The door opened and the Judges returned. The usher called the court to order — and glared at a politician who had his feet up on a chair until he got the message — and then summoned the spokesman to address the court. An old and venerable looking Judge stood up to speak.

“We have considered the matter most carefully,” he said. His back might have been weak, but his voice was very firm. “We find that there were no grounds that might have justified an armed insurrection against the government. Their actions were not only without precedence; they were also without due cause, or due respect for constitutional law. They chose to commit High Treason; the burden of the responsibility for the following actions and disasters falls upon them.

“There is little point in discussing the other issues,” he continued. “Each of us will render a written judgement later, but the basic conclusion is simple; the accused committed high treason, a crime for which there is only one punishment. It is our judgement that they are guilty and they are to be hung this afternoon before the public.”

The courtroom seemed to burst into noise. One side was cheering loudly, while the handful of relatives of the accused started to cry, leaving the accused to look stunned and terrified. I could have sworn that one of them wet themselves. The usher gestured to the bailiffs, who grabbed hold of the prisoners and escorted them out of the courtroom, followed by most of the crowd. I found myself swept up in the motion and pushed down and out of the building, heading right towards the gallows. Everything happened so quickly; the convicts were noosed and then placed before the public. The crowd stared at them, anger and hatred written on their faces… and then the hatches dropped and the men died.

I had wondered if the nooses would be configured to cause slow death, rather than a quick sharp end, but they had been merciful, if mercy was the right word. Silence fell as the horror of the situation sank in; I’d seen horror before, but this was different. The crowd had been baying for blood. The bodies hung in front of the crowd, moving slightly as they twitched their final spasms, and then it was all over. The Communist leadership was dead.

“And let that be an end to it,” I muttered, as I pulled myself out of the crowd and found Suki. “It’s time to go home.”