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growling. |
Meikl turned on him. "Now it's come to this, has it?" he snapped. "From |
the beginning, they were willing even eager, to give what we wanted. |
Why did they stop being willing?" |
"That's enough, Meikl!" |
"I've hardly started. You came here like a tyrant, and they served you |
like a friend. You couldn't bear it. 'Brethren', they said. But there's |
nothing about 'brethren' in the tactical handbooks, is there, Baron?" |
"Shut up." |
Ven Klaeden said it quietly, as if bored. He crossed slowly to stand |
before the analyst and stare at him icily. |
"You speak of the unconscious inheritance of culture, analyst the |
kulturverlaengerung. And you have accused me for being a carrier of the |
war plague, eh?" |
Meikl paused. The baron's eyes were narrowed, stabbing as if in judgment |
or triumph. |
"Well, Meikl? Is that what we've done? Inflicted them with conflict? |
Brought back the old seeds of hate?" |
The analyst drew himself up slightly. "You just killed a man, a man of |
dignity," he snarled, "and you cut two others down like weeds." |
"Innocent old men." The baron's mouth twisted into a snarl. |
"They wanted nothing but to help us." |
"Yes, Meikl? And we are the barbarians, eh?" |
The analyst spoke disdain with his eyes. |
The baron straightened in sudden hauteur. "Look down at the ground, |
Analyst," he hissed. |
Ven Klaeden's sudden change of tone impelled him to obey. His eyes fell |
to the turf at his feet moss covered sod, rich and dark beneath the |
green. |
The baron kicked a hole in the moss with the toe of his boot. "Tell me |
where the infection came from, Analyst," he growled. He scraped at the |
hole with his heel. "And why is the dirt so red right here?" |
Meikl glanced up slowly. Two men were coming through the shrubs, walking |
warily along the path toward the clearing. Ven Klaeden seemed unaware. |
He leaned forward to speak through his teeth. |
"I give them nothing but what they gave our fathers their own inner |
hell, Meikl the curse they so carefully forgot. In their Eden." |
The man was mad... perhaps. Meikl's eyes followed the men who |
approached through the shrubs. One of them carried a burden the limp |
body of a girl, occasionally visible through the low foliage as they |
drew nearer. One of the men was a junior officer, the other a native. |
After a moment, he recognized the native.... |
"Evon!" |
As he called out, the baron whirled, hand slipping to the hilt of the |
ceremonial sword he wore in the presence of the Geoark. The men stopped. |
Meikl stared at the limp figure in the arms of the native. |
"Letha!" |
"Dead," Evon hissed. "They killed her for running...." |
They emerged from the shrubs into full view. The officer was holding a |
gun. |
"Put that away!" ven Klaeden snapped. |
The young officer laughed sourly. "Sorry, baron, I'm from the |
committee." |
"Guard!" |
"There's no one in earshot, Baron." |
"Fool!" Ven Klaeden arrogantly whipped out the sword. "Drop that gun, or |
I'll blade-whip you!" |
"Easy, baron, easy. I'm your executioner...." |
The baron straightened haughtily and began a slow advance, a towering |
figure of icy dignity in the sun that filtered through the foliage. |
"... but I want to take care of this one first." The renegade waved the |
gun toward Meikl. "You, Baron, you can have it slower a needle in your |
official rump." |
Ven Klaeden, a figure of utter contempt, continued the slow advance with |
the sword. The officer's lips tightened. He squeezed the trigger. Ven |
Klaeden hesitated, jerking slightly, then continued, his hand pressing |
against his abdomen, doubling forward slightly. The officer fired |
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