Curse of the Legion (31 page)

"And what's going to happen to the people who did that?"

"Nothing. It's the whole former government. It was a totally corrupt institution. They were all responsible. Nobody was looking out for the people."

"If it was ConFree, everyone involved would be led out of the capital building in shackles, charged with high treason, and then publicly executed."

Sister Luides smiled dreamily. "I'd like that. But that's not our policy. Forgive and forget—that's what we've announced. However we are taking steps to ensure that nobody involved in government crimes will be given any role in our new government."

"Well, I hope it works. Please be assured that ConFree will assist you to the best of its ability."

###

Detention Facility Number Eight was twelve K from Peacehaven City, baking under a fierce sun that glared through a thin dust haze that was evidently generated by the camp. There was a forest not far away but the camp was set up in what had once been extensive grasslands. Now it was a desert of dust, churned up by hundreds of thousands of detainees surrounded by tall glittering new electric fences. Minzu and I walked slowly through endless rows of large khaki tents, past thousands of listless prisoners clad in brilliant orange jumpsuits. It was so hot in the tents that most were outside, gasping like fish out of water. It was pretty hot outside, too.

Minzu was the lovely raven-haired biogen sweetie whom I had first met on her mission to Quaba 7 with her buddy Stelzu. She was in uniform with a vac gun at her hip. I was in civvies with my own trusty vac gun concealed in a pants leg pocket. Minzu led me into a confusing maze of tents. At one point I spotted a long row of what looked like portable toilets. Over to one side a couple of giant-sized tents served as mess halls, with what was probably a never-ending line of prisoners slowly filing in.

"You're not afraid you'll get attacked?" I asked. I had spotted a few other uniformed biogen guards but for the most part the two of us were alone as we threaded our way along the tent corridors.

"There's no violence," she responded. "People want to get out of here. We haven't announced what's going to happen to anyone, so they're all on their best behavior."

"That's a good policy," I replied. "Who are most of these people? Politicals or common criminals?"

"Both. It's going to be hard making decisions in these cases. That's why we want you to see what we're facing. We meant it when we said our policy was forgive and forget. But some people are dangerous—and we're not going to let our new society be subverted. So all potentially dangerous or subversive individuals are being screened. Here, here's the interview tents. This is exactly what we want you to see. There's no need for you to say anything, just listen. We'll ask for your comments later." We had reached another seemingly infinite line of tents, with the sides pulled up to let in what little breeze there was. Hundreds of detainees waited patiently by the tents. Minzu chose one tent and entered. I followed.

"Sister Minzu! Welcome." A pretty biogen girl with rusty red hair popped to attention behind a field table piled high with documents. "We were told to expect it."

"Hello, Sister. This is James Wester, our advisor from the Confederation of Free Worlds. He is here as an observer. Brother Wester, this is Sister Kristina who will be doing the interviews."

"Pleased to meet you, Sister," I said.

"Likewise, Brother. Our thanks for your assistance." I was secretly very pleased that the biogens were accepting me as a "brother". That term was normally reserved for male biogens.

We sat with Sister Kristina on crude folding field chairs behind the little table. Minzu looked through the documents.

"Let's start with this one," she said. "A political. Then we can do a criminal one, to give you an idea of what they are like."

"Fine with me," I said. It was hot as hell in the tent. I was sweating already. Both biogens looked nice and cool. They can adjust their body temperature to suit the surroundings—a handy talent.

"Number 98!" Kristina called out. There was a biogen guard outside supervising the line of prisoners. She was a lovely short-haired honey who appeared anxious to kill someone. Miss Tough Love, I thought. She brought in Number 98. That wasn't his detention number, which was probably in the thousands. It was his interview number.

He was a large mortal, almost bald, pale, clean-shaven and quite overweight. He blinked in the relative darkness inside the tent. He appeared quite formidable in his huge orange jump suit.

"Have a seat, please." Kristina said. The man settled into the field chair facing the table.

"Name?"

"Malcolm Zhedether."

"Occupation?"

"We are—or were—a county court judge for Westford County, just outside the city."

Kristina turned to us and smiled. "That was just to ensure we have the right man. There's so many people in line sometimes they send in the wrong one." She turned her attention back to the prisoner. "So, it's a judge. What sort of cases does it handle?"

"Well, a wide variety of cases. We serve the people. Misdemeanors, criminal cases, tax evasion, equality and redistribution complaints—we do it all."

"Does it recognize this document?" Kristina handled him a plastic case file. He looked over the d-screen carefully.

"Yes, we do," he replied, frowning. "This was the Parkside vigilante case. A very troubling case, on several levels. Yes, this was our case."

"We have read through the case," Kristina said, "and we agree it is troubling. But the verdicts—guilty on all counts, execution for one of the vigilantes, and life sentences for the others. Was that not a bit harsh, considering the circumstances?"

"Harsh? Oh no. We have no regrets about the sentencing, none at all. We are a society of laws. Yes, the circumstances may have been unusual, but the law is clear. This case is crystal clear and is a perfect example of equality under law. They even teach this one in first-year law school now. No, I had no difficulty ruling on this one."

"For the benefit of our visitors, please summarize the case—briefly." Kristina smiled pleasantly.

"Certainly," the judge replied, glancing at me warily. "Well, briefly, there was an intrusion at Parkside Public Elementary. A group of nine citizens are said to have forced their way in wielding firearms, and allegedly kidnapped seven young female students. Two teachers died during the incident. The police followed up but there were no leads. It was…about a month later when an unlicensed private detective, hired by the families of the missing children, located the alleged kidnappers and learned where the children were allegedly being held. The detective and several parents, equipped with illegal firearms, raided the building, killed six of the alleged kidnappers, and discovered all the children, dead, in a basement room."

"Why didn't they call the police instead?"

"Ah, there is a mistrust of the police in the community. It's a shame."

"So all the children were dead."

"Yes. The circumstances were chilling. They had all been extensively tortured and repeatedly gang raped. Then suffocated, in air-tight metal trash bins. I hate to say it. It's a shame."

"A shame is the least that it is. Please go on."

"Well, the police came in response to the gunfire, and were shocked to discover that the parents had killed six of the alleged kidnappers—and two of them were executed in cold blood. One of the parents died as well. Three more of the suspect kidnappers had hidden out in the building but were subsequently detained by the police, and able to testify against the parents."

"We see. And the legal results of all this—in brief?"

"It was clear. Six counts of premeditated murder. The private detective was sentenced to death and the parents were all sent to psymed and imprisoned for life. Murder alone can get you twenty years to life, but it wasn't murder alone. Not only is vigilantism illegal, but possession of firearms is a serious offense. And investigation and interrogation of the parents revealed, in all cases, serious thought crime, elitism, and evasion of taxation and redistribution regulations. It was a clear cut case."

"We see. And how about the surviving—uh, citizens, I believe you called them? The kidnappers."

"Well, again, we simply apply the rule of law. They proved inequality, which means they were entitled to redistribution from the parents. They sued successfully. Also, they were attacked illegally by the detective and the parents. They could prove they were the victims. Their rights were violated. They won millions in compensation—I forget the actual figures."

"Interesting. How about kidnapping, rape, torture, murder—does any of that come into it?"

"Well, no. There was plenty of evidence in the basement, but the citizens denied everything. Under our laws, criminal suspects have rights. More rights than non-criminal citizens, actually. One of those rights is a guarantee against self-incrimination. If we confiscate personal property from criminal suspects we are using their personal property to incriminate them, and that has been ruled as self-incrimination. It's out of bounds. The firearms and everything else found in the basement were not admissible. Criminal suspects have special protection. Our laws are designed that way. Oh, we put them on trial, but we knew there was no case. So in the case of the three surviving alleged kidnappers, the verdict was not guilty. We shouldn't even have charged them. It was just a waste of everyone's time."

"A waste of time. We see. And what about the victims?"

"Not guilty. What does it mean?"

"We mean the seven victims of the kidnappers. The girls who were raped, tortured, and murdered."

"Oh, them. Well I told you, they died. We could do nothing about that."

"We thank it, Citizen. It will be notified of the results of the interview at an appropriate time."

"Our thanks." The detainee got up and left the tent, still sweating.

"What does it think?" Minzu asked me. "We've got every decision he ever made in his file. They're all exactly like that—innocent citizens go to jail, professional criminals are set free. Always." Kristina poured me some water from an icy flask into a little cup.

"Thank you," I said, downing the water, trying to remain calm. The water was heavenly. "That was a perfect example of Goodlib thought," I resumed. "In ConFree our psyscience folks have officially classified Goodlib thought as a mental disease. People with this condition have brains that appear to be wired about 180 degrees opposite ours. It's a mental condition that grows slowly and appears to be permanent in nature. It affects the way the victims view reality. They don't see things the same way normal people do. Their decisions, conclusions and actions are often criminal in nature, although they believe they are highly moral. Because of the dangers of Goodlibs making critical national decisions, they are filtered out of upper-level government service during the selection process. How are you going to handle this fellow?"

"Well, you can imagine the amount of damage he's done already. Judges and lawyers of this type will be banned from further employment in those fields. Otherwise, we'll leave them alone and hope they can find useful employment. Manual labor, maybe. That's what Kristina will recommend, right?"

"That's it," Kristina replied. "Recommend release and no further employment in judiciary or legal positions. We can't fix the past, but we can fix the future."

"Forgive and forget," Minzu said. "If we can."

"And what about all those citizens who were unjustly imprisoned?" I asked.

"We're interviewing all current prisoners," Minzu said. "Our goal is to empty the prisons. Most people will be either freed or executed. We'll not free any violent criminals. But we'll not lock them up any more either. We can talk about that later. Let's do the next case." She flashed me a smile.

Miss Tough Love hauled in the next case. Number 84 was a slim young unshaven mortal with long dirty hair, a spotty complexion and plenty of bruises and cuts. I couldn't determine his race. He was in an orange jump suit and was bleeding slightly from the nose and mouth. His hands were manacled in front of him and he had leg irons as well. The guard slammed him roughly into the chair. "Be polite," she advised him, "or you'll get hurt."

"Name?" Kristina asked.

"Wallace Wales," he sighed wearily. You could tell it was just too much for him—asking his name. Just too much.

"What's your street name, Wallace?" Kristina asked.

"Street name? Oh come on. Does it matter? Needles. Sometimes they call me Needles."

"I won't ask why. Well, Needles, according to our records, you are guilty of conspiracy, kidnapping, rape, gang rape participation, and murder. The victim was a female biogen, designation Leticia. You've been brainscanned and confessed. Correct?"

"Yeah, sure, correct. But I didn't do anything wrong! I mean, she was a biogen! It's not like she was a real girl! And she resisted! They're not supposed to do that!"

"She resisted because this happened only last week, under our new society. You may not have heard, but things have changed. Biogens no longer have to comply with unreasonable demands from subhumans like you and, under new guidelines, you are not supposed to kidnap, rape or murder biogens."

He smirked. I knew it was a bad move. "Yeah? Well, I hadn't heard."

Minzu smiled, then called in the guard. "Sister, this subhuman has offended me. Please educate him."

"Yes, Sister." A giant metal nightstick snapped to life in Miss Tough Love's hand and she swung it directly at the seated criminal. It cracked straight into his face and knocked him completely off the chair, sending him flying in a crumpled heap against a tent post while the chair bounced right out the door. His face was shattered, a bloody mess, spraying blood. He was out cold, nose and teeth shattered, eyes swelling up quickly.

"Our thanks. Get a medic in here, please, Sister."

"Yes, Sister."

"We're not supposed to hit them ourselves," Kristina explained. "It spoils rapport. But we can't let them get away with behavior like that. We have to impress on them that this is a serious business."