The Rifter's Covenant (54 page)

Brandon sat by
himself—flanked by two guards—on a slightly raised dais directly opposite the
judges’ box, the symbolic link between Douloi and Polloi. Next to him a single
empty chair was the subject of whispered colloquies on both sides.

Srivashti also sat
in front, midway along a glittering line of Tetrad Centrum Douloi. Vannis was
watching him when Fierin entered, looking well and happy, deriving fierce
pleasure from his reaction: she saw the inadvertent indrawn breath that he
could not hide.

Fierin walked with
head high, ignoring everyone except her brother. The noise dipped as everyone
observed the two greeting each other for the first time in all those years—from
her a tender smile and a press of her hand to his, from him a quick kiss to her
wrist—before she stepped up on the royal dais, taking her place at Brandon’s
side.

A low, fast murmur
of speculation broke out, spreading through Douloi and Polloi alike.

All the Polloi had
now been seated in the packed chamber. The conversations stopped as the bailiff
entered and the chief sergeant-executor pulled the doors shut behind him.

“Oyez, oyez,” the
bailiff intoned in the ancient formula that predated Exile. “Let all those who
demand justice of the Mandala draw nigh and make their petitions.” Polloi laid
aside their handvids as the suppressors cut in, denying access to the DataNet.

Vannis’s heartbeat
pattered against her ribs. That was the signal for her console, back at her
villa, to release the datapacket to Nik Cormoran. She hoped the timing would
work; it was no use checking her boswell.

The three
Justicials entered as the cry of the bailiff ceased, accompanied by a rustle of
cloth and a susurrus of whispers as everyone rose, including Brandon. The
judges seated themselves, and waited for silence. The prosecutor, Tovr Ixvan,
and Kendrian remained standing.

Vannis studied the
three jurists with interest: the novosti coverage on them had been exhaustive.
The Janus, in the center and slightly elevated above his fellows, was Bleston
ban-Nirtus-Vescor, his sallow-olive face and grim slash of a mouth giving fair
warning of his reputation for severity and impatience with eloquence. He looked
like Death in the Tale of Years.

To his right sat
the Manumit, the Judge of the Unbinding, Tessere nyr-Harristom, her white hair
tightly curled, her black eyes near-hidden in pouchy eyelids under heavy brows
the same color as her skin. The novosti had emphasized her eidetic knowledge of
Nomic Universals—it was rumored she rarely needed to refer to the powerful
dataconsole each jurist commanded during a trial. To the left of the Janus sat
Armano Psmyth, the Carcer, a short, red-faced man, his eyes bulging in a
permanent expression of choler and disdain. The Judge of the Binding was
Highdweller Polloi, from a long and impressive line; the novosti had speculated
on her probable severity toward Kendrian, a Douloi.

The prosecutor
Piola ban-Attibar stepped forward, a woman of middle years famous for many
successful trials on the circuits in Aleph-Null Nord. No doubt mindful of
Nirtus-Vescor’s reputation, she spoke briefly.

“The Mandala will
show that, on the evening of Jaspar 25th, 951 Anno Arkad, in the city of
Desharais on Torigan Prime, Jesimar vlith-Kendrian did willfully and with
premeditation kill his mother and father and five family clients.”

She laid out the
particulars of the indictment in brief, competent words, then retired with a
bow to the bench.

Tovr Ixvan did not
move from behind the table. “The defense reserves,” he said curtly. He bowed
and seated himself as a murmur of comment broke out; Kendrian stared at him,
dropped his head and sat down. No, he collapsed into his seat, as though he’d
lost the last of his will to stand.

The Janus tapped
the gong on his desk.

“Silence for
justice,” he snapped. “Proceed,” he directed the prosecution.

Piola ban-Attimar
hesitated, turning an assessing glance at Tovr Ixvan. This move had obviously
upset all her calculations. And others’ as well. Vannis noted a quick glance
pass between al-Gessinav and Srivashti while Torigan looked back and forth,
glowering. He obviously knew something was wrong.

No one spoke or
stirred as she finally stood and described, in clinically disgusting detail,
what had been done to the Kendrians and five others—servants and relatives. It
took several hours to lay out, including vid depositions from witnesses not
present. Then, having built this vivid mental picture, she assembled a damning
image of a bored, sulky youth who, the night before the murder, had had a
violent argument with his parents about his fitness to travel to Minerva to take
the entrance exam for the Naval Academy.

When she got to the
few verifiable facts about his day, the implication was clear. Through all this
the defense vocat participated minimally, interpolating only questions of
clarification, objecting only when the prosecution attempted to introduce as
evidence the naval bonus chip on the
Telvarna
.

“The alleged
‘violent and lawless episodes’ of the defendant’s subsequent life,” said Ixvan
in his dry voice, “are not admissible in this action.” He tapped his console,
relaying precedents to the jurists.

The vocat’s
quotation of the prosecution’s characterization, delivered in a manner
reminiscent of the novosti frenzy that had been building for months now, was as
much a part of his objection as those precedents, Vannis saw, appreciating his
stealth tactic. And, judging from the Janus’s reaction, even more effective.

“The Mandala will
confine itself to matters of law,” he said grumpily, “not hearsay. I assume the
honorable prosecutor is not interested in a career with the feeds?”

Ban-Attimar colored
and concluded her remarks with a wooden neutrality that suggested it was
extempore—that she’d planned a far more fiery indictment, relying heavily on
the emotional freight of the Rifter connection.

When she finished,
the Janus said, “The afternoon approaches, and this seems a good time to
adjourn for lunch. Has the honored defense any objection?”

Vannis tingled with
anxiety: she had thought long about the timing, concluding that the trial would
be short. If they broke now, then took time reassembling, Cormoran would not
wait for the trial’s conclusion to break the story, which had to be the biggest
of his career. And her careful planning would be worthless.

Ixvan rose and
bowed. “With your honors’ indulgence, I believe the defense can conclude this
matter with a clarity satisfying both justice and appetite.”

Nirtus-Vescor
blinked. He conferred briefly with his fellow jurists; then his mouth quirked,
breaking the death-like appearance of his face.

“We will indulge
the defense. Proceed.”

Vannis held her
breath, watching Torigan shift impatiently. Both Hesthar and Srivashti stilled,
their attention concentrated on the vocat.

With meticulous
care, Ixvan separated out the few facts from the innuendo, showing the
ambiguity of the circumstantial evidence. Even Vannis, ignorant of the fine
points of law, could see how he was using the prosecution’s case to focus the
court’s attention on the aspects that dovetailed with the information the two
noderunners had dug up.

Ixvan paused, looking
back at his client and smiling.

“But that is all
prelude to the truth. The Sanctus Gabriel said:

“The Hand of Telos has five fingers
Forth from the first came first the word
The echo of that act still lingers
Yet to the proud a sound unheard.”

Vannis saw Brandon
look up sharply.

“As with all
truths, that one has myriad levels,” Ixvan continued. “And any noderunner will
tell you that the echoes of data linger long on the DataNet.”

He described
briefly, with admirable perspicuity, the replication of data that made the
DataNet a cohesive whole as Torigan’s jowly face paled, his lips compressed
with anger and growing fear. Srivashti’s profile was hard-etched, and Hesthar’s
rigidity made her look as thin and brittle as glass.

“So the echoes of
this act, this murder, too, still linger, unheard by the prideful man who
ordered them committed,” Ixvan said.

The guards standing
at every door shifted their positions slightly, arms at the ready. They were
Marines, in the garb of court sergeants out of deference to civilian justice.
As the vocat’s dry, rumbling voice went on to detail how professional assassins
had been hired to kill the Kendrians and to destroy their database, and how the
murderers had been in their turn eradicated, covert looks, restless stirrings,
and whispers moved through the audience like ripples through a lake just before
a storm strikes.

The prosecutor,
with a desperation born of anger, probed at Ixvan’s findings—ending with the
claim that if anyone had hired those four, it must have been Kendrian. But
instead of answering, Ixvan tapped a code into his console and then strode
forward with a sheaf of flimsies, handing them to the Janus.

From the rest of
the room the jurists were merely three impassive figures, one high, two low,
seated behind carved wooden benches, but they had extremely sophisticated
consoles at their fingertips, and they were in constant communication.

They were already
masters of the information on the flimsies, whose use was purely symbolic, by
the time Ixvan turned around and looked straight at the Archon of Torigan.
“That is the proof that the hirelings were put to this task by the Archon of
Torigan, Stulafi Y’Talob.”

Torigan heaved
himself to his feet, but his protest was lost in the din of the audience. The
Janus glared at the courtroom, tapping his gong with increasing fervor. The
augmentors cut in, and the entire chamber shivered to the tritone harmonics of
the now enormously loud gong. The uproar ceased, except for the Archon.

“This is
insufferable! I am not on trial here. I demand—”

The Janus
interrupted him, and Vannis wondered if he left the augmentors on by accident
or not.

“Be silent,
Torigan! Here justice alone may speak unbidden and all others only at our let.
Sit down!”

Torigan abruptly
collapsed as though someone had struck him. He swiveled, sending a desperate
glance at Srivashti and Hesthar, which Vannis thought as revealing as Ixvan’s
dry recitation.

They ignored him.

The Janus switched
off the augmentors, but his voice was still commanding. To either side of him
his fellow jurists sat impassively. “Jesimar vlith-Kendrian, stand forward for
the execution of justice.”

Kendrian stepped
down from the box and walked slowly to a position directly before the bench.
His expression was dazed, as though what was happening had not penetrated yet.
He stopped before the bench, his long, thin fingers pulling at the hem of the
ritual harlequin tunic.

As Vannis watched,
the old man looked at each of his fellow jurists in turn; then he lifted up the
golden two-faced mask that gave him his title, rotated it about, and settled it
down upon his head. Kendrian looked up into the smiling aspect of the mask.

“The justice of the
Mandala has proved you. You stand before us innocent of murder,” said the
Janus, his voice hollow from within the shining metal hood.

The Career and the
Manumit rose. The choleric Judge of the Binding bowed mutely to Kendrian, then
remained standing. The Manumit spoke, not bowing. “We loose your bonds and
restore your natural state to you, a free man.”

With a violent
movement Kendrian tore the harlequin tunic asunder and flung it to the floor,
then turned around, his face nearly as bleached as his rumpled prison shirt. He
leaned against the judges’ bench as Fierin jumped up from beside Brandon and
ran to him.

Brandon stood,
stilling the rising comments of the audience.

“The Mandala
recognizes the Phoenix House,” said the Janus, removing his mask and setting it
aside as all three jurists seated themselves again.

“The Phoenix House
petitions the Mandala for a Writ of Nescience against Stulafi Armagent Provan
Weston Y’Talob, presently Archon of Torigan,” Brandon stated in a carrying
voice.

“So ordered,” the
Janus said. “Let his ears be stopped and his voice unheard, let him be returned
to the state of nature, his senses unaided by the system he has abused.”

After a short,
tense pause a shockingly loud ululation exploded from the Archon’s boswell. It
flashed brightly as he shouted with pain and tore it off, flinging it viciously
at the Janus. He was now permanently cut off from the DataNet, and his own
databanks would soon be ripped open and thoroughly inspected for other crimes.

He must have had
the neural induction on; Torigan would have a terrible headache for days, but
that was the least of his worries, thought Vannis as the bailiff and two
sergeant-executors stepped forward to take him into custody. The Archon now
stood alone as his former adherents withdrew in every direction.

The hum of comment
rose again as Torigan was led from the room. Vannis became aware of a grumbling
roar, distant but growing louder. Others heard it, too. Some Polloi tapped at
their handvids uselessly, tension apparent in many wrists on the Douloi side.

That will be my
aid, Captain Vi’ya. The rest is up to you, Vannis thought as she turned her
gaze toward the tall, black-haired Dol’jharian .

The huge double
door trembled to a heavy blow. Shouted words carried: ”Murderers! Traitors!
Kill them all!”

Following the
shouts came the sharp popping
z-z-z-i-i-p
of neurojacs, then, suddenly, shockingly, the louder report of plasma weapons.
The roar outside retreated, but inside, someone screamed, “They’re coming to
kill the Rifters!”

And pandemonium
erupted.

The Janus banged on
the gong, then stopped as he looked down at the console.