Carnifex. Part 37

28/4/468 AC, University Hospital, University of Balboa The doctor looked utterly befuddled. He closed the file on his desk and said, "Jorge, I haven't a clue why you can see again. Your records indicate there was never any physical reason for your blindness. If there was no physical reason, then the blow you took in the brawl two weeks ago can't have been the cure, or at least not the physical cure. Your records indicate that your eyes were always able to see but that your mind refused to process the information. Maybe that fist coming at you was threat enough to overcome whatever reason your mind had for blocking off your sight."

"But I never saw the fist coming, Doctor," Mendoza answered. "It wasn't until Marqueli brought me around that I could see." Mendoza didn't remember that he'd blinked.

The doctor removed his own gla.s.ses and began cleaning them with a corner of his guayabera. He shook his head with frustration.

"I can't explain it, Jorge. I can only observe and report. If you would like, I can make you an appointment with a head doctor."

"No...no, thank you. I've had my share of those."

"Is this going to cost you any of your disability benefit?" the doctor asked.

Marqueli answered, "We've told the legionary disability office. They checked and said Jorge was already maxed out with the loss of his legs. He won't lose anything just for getting his sight back. They even said that he's still ent.i.tled to a paid helper-presumptively a wife and therefore me-with vision or not."

"That's generous," the doctor admitted. "But he was taking a doctorate. Will that..."

"No, doctor," Mendoza said. "That's a totally separate program. Though I admit...." He glanced over at his wife.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I'm going to miss you're not reading to me."

She smiled, warmly, and reaching over to pat her husband's hand. "I still will if you like. On the other hand, you can read to yourself a lot quicker than I can read to you. I'll bet you, husband mine, that you make much faster progress this way than the old way."

"That's a thought, isn't it?"

In another ward, one at the opposite end of the hospital and behind doors continuously guarded, Khalid looked into a mirror at his new face and wondered, What, if anything, is left of me? What, if anything, is left of me?

Khalid had done his last hit, involving ricin and a pressurized gas projector, on the streets of Hajar, Yithrab. Unfortunately, he'd been made. Only a fast journey to a prearranged spot in the desert, and a last minute Cricket flight from the air arm of Sumeri Intelligence, had gotten him out of the country. His old face was known now and he could never have continued to work as long as he'd kept it.

It was amazing what could be done, though, with some small s.h.i.+fts in the corners of his eyes, a widening of the nose, pulling back of his ears, shaving down of the cheekbones, the addition of a spurious scar, and a change in the shape of his mouth.

The only problem is, it doesn't feel like me me anymore. I almost wish- anymore. I almost wish- Whatever thought Khalid had been about to complete, it was lost to the interruption of seeing a small, dark, and rather feral looking man appear in the mirror behind him.

"Legate Fernandez," Khalid said, before turning around.

Fernandez said nothing at first, but just peered intently, trying to match Khalid's new face to his old. Finally, satisfied, the intel chief shook his head and said, "Not a chance you will be identified short of a DNA screening. Very good."

"You know you've been detached from Sumeri Intelligence to work for me for the next two years, correct?"

"Yes, Legate, I understand that," Khalid said. "What I don't know is why?"

Fernandez smiled and answered, "Given your work history, that that is a fairly stupid question, no?" is a fairly stupid question, no?"

Khalid's smile, strange in this new face, grew to match Fernandez's.

From under his left arm Fernandez drew a thick, bound, and sealed portfolio. This he opened and withdrew what looked to Khalid like a score or so of folders.

"These are, for the most part, your targets," Fernandez said, pa.s.sing them, and the portfolio, over to Khalid. "One is travel doc.u.ments, another rules of engagement. Still a third has financial information. Specifically, that folder contains a list of smallish bank accounts that will hold, in the aggregate, enough money for several years' independent operations plus operational expenses. The accounts match the travel and ident.i.ty doc.u.ments. We'll fill them in the order given and at the times given.

"Your rules of engagement for these will be different from what you have become used to in the past," Fernandez explained. "All of these men are either major reporters, producers, or editors for the media in the Tauran Union and the Federated States; or they are, broadly speaking, politicians; or they are academics; or they are entertainers. There is a certain amount of overlap in those last three. All have given considerable vocal and literary moral support to the enemy. Some may have given more concrete support to the enemy; intelligence, financing, and the like. All have also attacked both the Legion del Cid Legion del Cid or President Sada at one time or another. You are not, however, to kill them right off." or President Sada at one time or another. You are not, however, to kill them right off."

Khalid looked interested but at the same time confused.

Fernandez let the obvious confusion pa.s.s for the moment. "As I suggested, when you leave here, you will be on your own until your target list has been serviced or otherwise rendered ineffective. It will be rare if we, or Sumeri intelligence, ever contact you, though you will be required to contact us upon successfully servicing a target. We have, you see, learned much from the enemy.

"Whenever one of those editors, reporters, academics, entertainers, or politicians says or permits something something to be said against the enemy, or against Islam, or against Salafism, then you may kill them. Given who they are, that something is certain to be very mild. You will leave a copy of whatever it was they said, or wrote, or permitted to be published by the body or near enough to the body that it will be found. You may have to interpret this guidance very liberally. For example, if one of them puts out something in favor of women's rights, or gay rights, that would be considered sufficient to make them active targets. If one of them makes a speech that is not recorded, you may have to write a slogan condemning the speech." to be said against the enemy, or against Islam, or against Salafism, then you may kill them. Given who they are, that something is certain to be very mild. You will leave a copy of whatever it was they said, or wrote, or permitted to be published by the body or near enough to the body that it will be found. You may have to interpret this guidance very liberally. For example, if one of them puts out something in favor of women's rights, or gay rights, that would be considered sufficient to make them active targets. If one of them makes a speech that is not recorded, you may have to write a slogan condemning the speech."

Khalid's confusion grew. "I don't understand this..."

It was Fernandez's turn to smile. "We've thought about this for a long time. Our reasoning is...complex.

"They will have a choice or, rather, some sets of choices. In one set, they can continue to present only negative views of us, and the war, and thus lose credibility with some of their audience. Or they can be 'objective' and die, with the Ikhwan Ikhwan taking the blame. In either case, their voices will be silenced or, at worst, made ineffective. Eventually, we expect, many will realize they are being killed for expressing their views and simply shut up." taking the blame. In either case, their voices will be silenced or, at worst, made ineffective. Eventually, we expect, many will realize they are being killed for expressing their views and simply shut up."

"Many of them really are too stupid to get that message, I think," Khalid said. "Moreover, most of their target audience is too stupid to understand and accept that the press, the academics and the progressives are simply putting out blatant propaganda on behalf of the enemy. They are all progressives and Kosmos, are they not, these pols, reporters, editors and professors? The target audience cannot even accept that they are held in as much contempt as they are by the people you want me to kill. In any case, under the rule you have given me, some of them will will simply stop giving off any message that is remotely critical of the enemy and most of their audience will not even notice." simply stop giving off any message that is remotely critical of the enemy and most of their audience will not even notice."

"We understand this," Fernandez agreed. "That is the other set of choices. For those who will not get the message we will want you to have evidence that the people you killed were were a.s.sa.s.sinated. We can show that evidence, without turning it over, of course, to certain persons among the cla.s.ses of targets in order to spread the word in an unprovable way. Imagine, if you will, Khalid, that you kill..." Fernandez took the folders and rifled through them until he came upon one in particular. "This woman, say." a.s.sa.s.sinated. We can show that evidence, without turning it over, of course, to certain persons among the cla.s.ses of targets in order to spread the word in an unprovable way. Imagine, if you will, Khalid, that you kill..." Fernandez took the folders and rifled through them until he came upon one in particular. "This woman, say."

Fernandez opened the folder to show Khalid a picture of a woman, taken from her own GlobalNet site. She was well dressed in a cream colored suit, and, if a bit overweight, all in all, by no means unattractive.

"This is Sarita Iapes. She is not only highly critical of the war effort but of the Legion and President Sada in particular. She's been a nexus for anti-war effort reporting for years. So, say, someday you wait in ambush in an automobile and simply run her over, a routine hit and run. But you have a camera going so that you can give us a picture of her in the moment before you kill her. We show that picture to, again, say, David Prefer, one of her reporters, and explain to the wretch that she was was killed, and, approximately, why." killed, and, approximately, why."

"Understand, Legate," Khalid said, shaking his head doubtfully, "I merely want to understand the mission perfectly so that I can execute it perfectly. Okay, so you do that. All it does it shut them up. It does not make them report on us favorably."

"We don't need favorable reporting," Fernandez explained. "That would be overreach. The danger with these people is that they are not a neutral a.s.set. They're with the enemy, even if they don't know it. It would be, oh...too much to expect them to change one hundred and eighty degrees. It is sufficient that they merely stop harming us and helping the other side; no need to help us and harm the other side. Indeed, if they did that, they'd be in as much danger from the Ikhwan Ikhwan as they are from us and they likely as they are from us and they likely know know it. In that case, they'd probably take their chances and continue to support the it. In that case, they'd probably take their chances and continue to support the Ikhwan." Ikhwan."

"So...we are going for the minimal but achievable goal?" Khalid asked.

"Yes. Moreover, if two years goes by without ever a negative comment from one of them on either us or the enemy, then you may a.s.sume they have taken the hint and shut up. In that case, put them on the inactive target list."

"Cle-ver," Khalid said.

"If you are captured, of course..."

Khalid snorted. "Allahu akbar! Long live the Salafi jihad." Long live the Salafi jihad."

"Quite. The Kosmos down there will insist on superior treatment for you as long as you can credibly claim to be on the side of the Ikhwan Ikhwan. Just remember, Khalid, they must be made to feel the hard hand of the war they support."

Interlude

25/7/47 AC, UN Compound, Ciudad Balboa, Balboa Colony, Terra Nova "These bandits must be made to feel the hard hand of the war they have brought upon themselves," insisted Bernard Chanet, with the pounding of his fist upon his desk.

Major Dhan Singh Pandey, seconded to the UN Peacekeeping Force for Terra Nova (UNPFTN), from the Army of India's 11th Gurkha Rifles, said nothing. His colleague and discrete lover, Amita Kaur Bhago, 32 Gurkha Rifles, said nothing. His colleague and discrete lover, Amita Kaur Bhago, 32nd Battalion (Pioneer), the Sikh Regiment, scowled and unconsciously reached for the Battalion (Pioneer), the Sikh Regiment, scowled and unconsciously reached for the kirpan kirpan, or sword, she wore at her side.

She was not so even tempered as Pandey. And the sneering look this UN swine had given the work her her troops had put into rebuilding the compound already had her tomcat-ready for a fight. Pandey reached out with his own hand to place it atop her lighter one. "Not yet, lioness," he whispered. troops had put into rebuilding the compound already had her tomcat-ready for a fight. Pandey reached out with his own hand to place it atop her lighter one. "Not yet, lioness," he whispered.

"I don't like this greasy b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she whispered back. "What does such as he he know of the hard hand of war?" know of the hard hand of war?"

"We'll discuss it later. Now take your hand off off of your of your kirpan." kirpan."

Chanet noticed the byplay, though he couldn't hear what was said. Especially did he notice Amita looking him over as someone the world would be a better place without. He'd noticed, too, what a d.a.m.nably handsome woman she was. But seeing the white knuckled hand gripping the hilt of the long dagger she wore killed any l.u.s.t before it could quite form.

Chanet had shuttled in earlier in the day from the main base at Atlantis, bringing with him the Deputy Special Representative for the Secretary General, Tariq Lakhdar, age twenty-four. It was Lakhdar who would see to the local efforts, under Chanet's overall direction. And why not? Chanet had owed a favor to Lakhdar's uncle, after all.

"I don't like the look of the other greasy b.a.s.t.a.r.d, either," whispered Amita.

"Later."

The small a.s.sembly held the leaders.h.i.+p for the entire peacekeeping force for Balboa. Besides Chanet and Lakhdar, the civilian leaders, and Pandey and Bhago, from the Army of India, there were four captains from the Organization of African Unity, one German, seconded from 5th Panzer Division, a Belgian Commando, a Ukrainian aviator major, and David Duff-McQueeg, a British Royal Marine artilleryman, in overall command. Panzer Division, a Belgian Commando, a Ukrainian aviator major, and David Duff-McQueeg, a British Royal Marine artilleryman, in overall command.

Amita liked none of them, finding the Africans undisciplined, the German arrogant, the Belgian grotesquely beery, the Ukrainian incomprehensible, and Duff-McQueeg, who..."Stupid, rude, limey b.a.s.t.a.r.d. No wonder they couldn't hold on to India. I never really understood the American Revolution, or our own resistance, until I met that piece of s.h.i.+t."

"Amita, later!" later!"

Duff-McQueeg stood up and announced, "We've driven off the main guerilla band. But we'll never get full control until we can cut off their food. The first thing we're going to do is to establish ration controls, tight tight ration controls, here in the city. That means no, you b.l.o.o.d.y Sikhs will ration controls, here in the city. That means no, you b.l.o.o.d.y Sikhs will not not be giving out food at the temple I am sure you intend to establish..." be giving out food at the temple I am sure you intend to establish..."

Chapter Fifteen.

They imagine they're the wave of the future, but it's only sewage flowing downhill.-Lois McMasters Bujold, Shards of Honor Shards of Honor

29/4/468 AC, Building 59, Fort Muddville, Balboa "Magnificent, mon General mon General," Malcoeur toadied. He was not talking about architecture.

"Quoi?" Janier asked, in a tone that meant, shut up, fool. shut up, fool.

General Janier never really thought the old headquarters for the FS Army in Balboa was quite grand enough for his own, indisputable, magnificence. Oh, yes, the arched gate underneath his office was all well enough, even if not quite the triumphal arch the general would have preferred. And the building was solid; you have to give the Columbian pigs that. But it was such a utilitarian structure, no marble, few mirrors...no quarters for a mistress. How could a people even think of themselves as civilized who could build a headquarters for a senior general and not not provide quarters for his mistress? provide quarters for his mistress?

"Ah, well," said Janier aloud, "we'll soon have that fixed."

"Sir?" asked Malcoeur, cupping one hand to his ear to ward off the sound of hammers and saws coming from the just down the hall where Janier had evicted much of his staff to create an apartment.

"Nothing for your ears, Malcoeur, you rotund little swine," Janier sneered. He pointed at the aide with his marshal's stick with its thirty-two gold and silk embroidered eagles and ordered, "Bring me my topper." The top of the baton was engraved, "Terror Belli, Decus Pacis."

While the toady scurried off to Janier's desk to fetch the general's headgear, Janier admired himself in the mirror. It was understandable; he did did cut quite a fine figure in the blue velvet and gold-embroidered informal dress uniform of a marshal of Napoleonic France. Hundreds of golden oak leaves covered the facings, the collar, the shoulders, and ran down each sleeve. cut quite a fine figure in the blue velvet and gold-embroidered informal dress uniform of a marshal of Napoleonic France. Hundreds of golden oak leaves covered the facings, the collar, the shoulders, and ran down each sleeve.

Janier fingered one of the eight gold b.u.t.tons on the coat, adjusting it minutely. He then tugged and twisted at the stiff, high collar. It was beastly uncomfortable. By the time Janier was satisfied with the collar Malcoeur, the "rotund little swine," had returned with the headdress.

It would be unseemly for the general to bow his n.o.ble head to a fat little wretch like Major Malcoeur. Instead, as Janier admired himself in the mirror, the major pulled up a chair, stood upon it, and gently lowered a replica of the golden laurel wreath worn by Janier's hero, Napoleon I, for his coronation.

The drone of saw and wham-wham-wham wham-wham-wham of hammer were distant in the conference room at the other end of the long, white stuccoed and red tiled building. Indeed, so distant were the sounds that President Rocaberti was hardly aware of them. What with the election coming up, the numbers, country-wide, still running against him, and the near certainty of criminal charges if he lost; well, one could understand why the President wasn't aware of much. of hammer were distant in the conference room at the other end of the long, white stuccoed and red tiled building. Indeed, so distant were the sounds that President Rocaberti was hardly aware of them. What with the election coming up, the numbers, country-wide, still running against him, and the near certainty of criminal charges if he lost; well, one could understand why the President wasn't aware of much.

Thus, Rocaberti barely noticed when all the Gaulic officers and functionaries present stood to attention around the conference table and the chairs lining the walls. Only he, his nephew, his minister of police, and the amba.s.sador from United Earth remained seated. They remained that way, that is, until Rocaberti caught sight of Janier, his porcine little aide standing behind, glaring down at him from his nearly two meters of imperious height. The aide made little gestures with his hand, Arise. Arise.

Does he have any idea how ridiculous he looks in that outfit? Rocaberti wondered. Rocaberti wondered. Why is he glaring at me? Does he expect me, the chief executive of a sovereign nation, to rise for him? The Frog b.a.s.t.a.r.d; he does. Why is he glaring at me? Does he expect me, the chief executive of a sovereign nation, to rise for him? The Frog b.a.s.t.a.r.d; he does.

Rocaberti, never among the staunchest of men, stood, along with the other Balboans who had accompanied him. Only the UE amba.s.sador remained seated and to that worthy Janier gave a respectful nod before seating himself.

"Report," Janier ordered.

The operations officer answered, "Preparation for flying in three more infantry battalions two days before the election are complete, mon general mon general. An additional battalion of light armor has loaded s.h.i.+p and will arrive at about the same time as the light infantry. The government has already approved."

"What of the TU?" Janier asked.

"Why would we inform them? They'll be presented with a fait accompli fait accompli once it's once it's accompli accompli."

On cue, the public affairs officer added, "Mon general, the news in both the TU and the FSC runs at ninety-seven percent that this election is in the process of being stolen by the mercenaries. Public opinion polls are in line with this."

"We have completed occupation of the former FSA facilities," said Janier's S-4, or logistics officer. "There will be adequate living s.p.a.ce for all our troops, once they arrive."

"Very good," the general said, somberly. "Where did the locals who bought the housing go?"

"Who cares?"

"Indeed," Janier agreed.

"We have have to care," Rocaberti interjected. "Those people were among our prime supporters." to care," Rocaberti interjected. "Those people were among our prime supporters."

Janier shrugged. The opinion of this future colonial subject could not possibly be important. Nonetheless, for the benefit of his own people, he spoke, and naturally in French. "Gentlemen, the Balboans who support the current administration have served their purpose, though that administration will remain valuable as a convenient cover for our rule. Have we not maintained virtually all of our old empire in Colombia del Sur, Uhuru and Urania in just this way?

"For our part, we will simply be here, in force-real or potential-greater than the local mercenaries would willingly wish to face. When the election procedure is shown to be compromised, as President Wozniak will attest to, the government will refuse to abide by it. We shall offer it our full support, of course...all in the interests of democracy..." every Gaulic officer present broke out in unfeigned and unforced laughter-"...of course. We shall move our battalions, of which there shall be eight, to defend what can be defended, Balboa City and the Transitway area."

The amba.s.sador of La Republique de la Gaulle La Republique de la Gaulle said, "I am sure we can count on the Federated States' Department of State intervening on our behalf to threaten the mercenaries with severe sanctions should they initiate fighting." said, "I am sure we can count on the Federated States' Department of State intervening on our behalf to threaten the mercenaries with severe sanctions should they initiate fighting."

"As I had supposed," Janier said.

"There is one major problem," Rocaberti insisted. "Within Ciudad Ciudad Balboa there are some thousands of mercenary reservists. They may fight no matter what." Balboa there are some thousands of mercenary reservists. They may fight no matter what."

Janier sneered. As if some raggle taggle undeveloped world part timers could pose any serious problem for the professionals of his force. Absurd. Laughable. Impossible. Absurd. Laughable. Impossible.

2/5/468 AC, War Department, Hamilton, FD, Federated States of Columbia Rivers sighed and said, "This word you keep using, Secretary Malcolm? I don't think it means what you think it means. It might be 'impossible' for Pat Hennessey"-for Rivers still thought of Carrera as Hennessey-"to go to war with the Tauran Union. He'll do it anyway. He'll hit them wherever we can, as hard as he can, in as terrible and terrifying way as he can, and nothing we can do, short of nukes, will stop him. Nukes might not either."