Starfist: Lazarus Rising (20 page)

Reverently, de Tomas lifted the medal from its velvet-lined case and draped it carefully around the soldier's neck. Both he and General Lambsblood shook the young man's hands.

The next honoree was a surprise: General Lambsblood. De Tomas presented him with the Order of the Kingdom Eagle, the highest decoration for meritorious service.

The ribbon for this award was a sash designed to be worn diagonally, slung from the wearer's left shoulder. The medal itself was a heavy Maltese cross in solid silver with golden eagles between each arm, the eyes of the eagles set in rubies.

"The kiss of death," Spears whispered as de Tomas draped the sash over the general's shoulder.

The awards went on. There were awards for achievement in culture and science, in sports, and one even for motherhood: the Mother's Cross of Honor, a blue-enameled cross pattee outlined in silver, the centerpiece a goshawk set upon a Greek shield edged with the words in gold, "Honor Cross of the Kingdom Mother."

The reverse of each cross was engraved with the date of presentation and Dominic de Tomas's signature. There were three orders of the award designated by the composition of the shield: gold for mothers who had born eight children or more, silver for women who'd had five, six, or seven offspring, and bronze for families of up to four children. The children did not have to be alive for a woman to receive the award, and their gender was of no consequence.

The first woman so honored had borne thirteen children during her lifetime. Now retired, a widow, and living quietly in one of Haven's distant suburbs, she had overnight been turned into a national heroine. The award carried a small stipend, but the widow was grateful for it. Ten of her children were dead, six sons killed in the recent war against the demons. In presenting the award, de Tomas said: "God has declared that the mother's heart is the sacrificial vessel of this great age. Your cup, dearest mother of our people, runneth over."

As he bent down to place the award around the old woman's neck, he saw an image of his own mother, as she was when he was a young man struggling to make a go of his poultry business. She'd said to him, "Dominic, why don't you come to see me more often? Oh, well, I know you're busy, I know you have responsibilities, I know you don't have time to call. Don't worry. I'll be all right. Don't bother about this old woman. I'll just sit here alone in the dark. See to your important affairs, sonny, don't worry about me, I can take care of myself."

The tears in his eyes as de Tomas suspended the cross about the aged mother's neck were genuine.

Spears turned to his secretary and whispered, "They get that thing just for having kids! Not for bearing sons who've died in combat or done anything really significant, just for bearing children! Can you believe it? I bet the dumb bitches have got to be loyal party members before they qualify, though. Hamadryad's halitosis, this bastard's got every angle figured out!"

There were also presentations for achievement in sports, science, and culture. To the youth of Kingdom, de Tomas encouraged physical fitness and sports competition, and there was a medal for young men and women who had passed a rigorous physical fitness test that included running, swimming, obstacle courses, and marksmanship. In presenting those awards, de Tomas had said:

"The future of our world depends on the young, those who will replace us and who will create the children who will carry on, in their turn, the great work I have begun. The young must be strong in spirit and body to attain their goals. They must be hard, physically and mentally, for life is a constant struggle, and only those tested in strength and hardness will endure in its great competition."

The medal for achievement in culture went to an operatic impresario named Itzahk Rivera. De Tomas considered music a vital adjunct to his socialist agenda. Music was the emotional glue that bound his followers together. Aside from military marches and soldier songs essential to the esprit of the army, he encouraged

"serious" music for the morale of the citizenry of Kingdom. He rejected traditionalists such as Bach, "Sickeningly obsequious!"; Handel, "Badly in need of an enema!"; Vivaldi, "Master of repetition!"; the Haydn brothers, "About as exciting as clockwork!"; Mozart, "Effeminate little snob!"; Beethoven, "Homoerotic capitalist!"; Wagner, "More constipated than Handel!"; and Ravel, "As soporific and exciting as malaria!" Modern composers such as Hock Vinces's nuevo rhythm and blues and Kwame O'Leary's neoprogressive jazz he characterized as "Paleolithic syncopates." Rivera was recognized that day for his revival of the works of the obscure twentieth century German composer Hans Pfitzner, particularly his staging of Pfitzner's opera,
Palestrina,
which had always enthralled de Tomas with what he saw as its "unrelenting and passionate sincerity."

To de Tomas, Pfitzner's music was particularly compatible with the SPK's political philosophy because it represented the "stern ethos of conquest." The music critic who had earlier called the performance "sublimely silly" and "without a moment of musical epiphany," disappeared the following day and was never heard from again. Subsequently, Rivera's presentations of Pfitzner's music enjoyed laudatory critical reviews.

The prize for literature, on which subject de Tomas considered himself an expert, went to a retired librarian named Paoli St. Vincent Rhode, who'd taken up writing children's literature late in life. His books consisted of tales about young boys and girls who sacrificed themselves for family and community. Upon seizing power, de Tomas had ordered the destruction of all books he considered dangerous to good order and discipline, particularly antiwar novels such as the classics
Knives in the
Night
and
The Soldier's Prize
. Copies of the proscribed volumes remained intact in his own private library, of course.

The Staff Judge Advocate stood before the men of the 2nd Regiment's Reconnaissance Company, formerly called the Burning Bush and said, "Raise your right hands and repeat after me: ‘I—state your name and rank—swear to you, Dominic de Tomas, as Leader of my government—’"

"Wait!"
Stormleader Mugabe shouted. "You! Second man on the left, third rank!

Fall out!"

The legal officer glanced apprehensively at Mugabe.
"His lips were not moving!"

Mugabe roared. The soldier stepped from the ranks and came to attention in front of Mugabe. "Why were you not reciting the oath?" the stormleader demanded.

"Sir! I am a Quaker and we do not believe in the taking of oaths!"

"Well, then, how did you manage to take your original oath, the one you swore when you enlisted in the army?"

"Sir! I did not move my lips then either!"

Mugabe drew his sidearm in one fluid motion and ventilated the young man's head.

Blood, brains, fragments of bone, and hair sprayed all over the men in the first rank, but they stood fast. The young man's body stood upright for a few seconds before collapsing.

"Please proceed." Mugabe nodded at the SJA.

The SJA swallowed and finished the oath. Everyone's lips moved smartly, whether they actually pronounced the words or not. "Captain, you may dismiss the formation, and have the men come up here and sign their oaths—" The legal officer's voice broke on the last words. All he wanted to do was get away from the Special Group detachment and the madman who was its leader and return to churning out courtsmartial, nonjudicial punishments, and wills and codicils for indigent soldiers.

Standing in the second rank, a glob of the dead man's brains on his sleeve, Staff Sergeant—formerly Senior Sword—Raipur, waited for his company commander to dismiss him. Once the command was given and he'd signed his oath, he headed for his vehicle, to wash up. He looked at his timepiece. He had forty-five minutes before meeting with his company commander, Captain Sepp Dieter. The battalion had been operating in the N'ra Range for a week, searching for demons, and it was only the night before that Raipur's platoon had come back into the base camp for the oath-taking ceremony. They were scheduled to return to the field after refitting and resupplying. Raipur wanted to see the captain before they left.

Lieutenant Ben Loman caught Raipur's eye as he walked toward the company commander's tent. If looks could kill, Raipur thought, but the lieutenant had nothing to fear, he had no intention of reporting him for war crimes. Carefully, he straightened his uniform before ducking under the flap into the captain's tent.

Captain Dieter, a heavyset older man, sat at a field desk, writing. He was still livid over the execution, and preparing a message of protest to battalion, not that it would do any good; it might just put the finishing touch to his career. He looked up. Raipur advanced to within three paces of the CO's desk, came to attention and saluted.

"Senior—er, I mean Staff Sergeant Raipur has the first sergeant's permission to speak to the company commander."

"At ease, Sword." Dieter shook his head. "Sword, these new ranks'll take some getting used to." He grinned. "You wanted to see me? Well, I wanted to see you.

You first; your shekel."

"Sir! I respectfully request a transfer to another platoon in the company."

Dieter nodded. "Yes. I understand. Well, Lieutenant Ben Loman—ah-ha, got it right that time!—has already asked me to transfer you to another platoon. I asked him why, and he said you were not aggressive enough in battle, Sergeant. Care to tell me why?"

Raipur hesitated briefly. "Well, we don't see eye-to-eye on some important things, sir. I just think it would be better for the company if I was in a different platoon."

"The other platoons all have their senior sergeants, and the platoon commanders are quite satisfied with them." He thought for a moment. "Maybe I could use you in the company CP."

"That would be fine, sir."

Dieter was silent a moment. "Sword, do you want to tell me why you
really
want out of your platoon?"

"I just don't get along with Lieutenant Ben Loman, sir." Technically that was true enough. The sergeant balked at murdering innocent civilians, while the lieutenant didn't.

"All right, I'll consider yours and the lieutenant's request. But understand this: we are in the field, maneuvering against the enemy. I am
not
going to make any personnel changes in the platoons because you two can't ‘get along.’ Once we're back in garrison, I'll talk to you two about it again."

Dieter leaned back and regarded Raipur thoughtfully for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, as if he'd decided to say something important. "In case you haven't figured it out, morale in this army is at an all-time low. We had our asses kicked by those demons, and the Marines had to bail us out, and now everything's changed, our ranks, our names, our leadership. I liked being a member of the Burning Bush Regiment, Sword. I learned my profession in that regiment. Now what are we?

Numbers, plain numbers. ‘Second Regiment, Fourth Division, Army Group B.’" He sneered. He hesitated and an angry flush came to his cheeks. "I do not appreciate either that the leaders of my sect were
murdered
." He spit the word out in a whisper.

"Like that boy who wouldn't swear that filthy ‘oath’!" He paused. "But we follow our orders," he continued, his voice hard, rasping, "because we're professionals and because we don't want our brains all over the parade field."

Dieter lifted up a sheaf of papers. "See this pile of toilet paper? These are the

‘oaths’ you men just swore and signed your names to." He threw them on the floor in disgust. "You know what
that man
was before he murdered our legal government and took over this world. How do
you
feel, bound to him by your oath, Sword?"

Raipur was not supposed to give an answer to that question. "You know, our

‘Glorious Leader’ and I have something in common: we've both reached the highest rank we're ever going to hold. As soon as we're back in garrison, Sword, I'm resigning my commission."

Raipur had known Dieter for years. They'd been through the Skink invasion together, and the sergeant was aware that his company commander respected him and would never believe anything Ben Loman might have said about him. But he began to perspire as he stood there. He understood that Dieter had just put his life into his hands. It was safe there. If he wouldn't rat on his useless platoon commander, he was not about to turn on a soldier like Captain Sepp Dieter. Besides, he agreed with every word the captain had said.

Dieter bent to pick up the papers. He motioned for Raipur to step closer to his desk. "I'll tell you something, Sergeant," he whispered. "Much more of this shit and that asshole and his praetorian guard will be in for a very big surprise." He straightened and said in his normal tone of voice, "We'll talk later. For now, dismissed!"

Raipur came to attention, saluted smartly, about-faced and walked out into the heat of the day.

CHAPTER 15

The spot she'd picked to birth her young—she was overdue—the place that she thought would give her security when she most needed it, was turning into a meeting place for Earthman couples. First the two who'd bombarded her with stones and then jabbed her with sticks, and now these two. They lay on the stream bank, grunting and groaning and rolling around. The dark one emitted muffled squeals while the white one grunted continuously until at last it emitted a low, protracted groan and lay still. They both lay motionless for some time, breathing heavily.

She peered at the Earthmen through the brush and debris behind which she was hiding, her body stretched out in the sluggish stream and submerged in the viscous mud. She had seen it all. It was a curious performance and, frankly, she had been fascinated. At last she concluded they might be reproducing; the ritual had been similar to what the True People did. If so, the performance represented a strange kinship between her own people and the alien Earthmen. She was at once repelled and attracted to the pair; repelled because they were strangely similar but dangerous natural enemies of the True People and must be destroyed—as the Great Master told them, and the Great Master was never wrong—and attracted because they seemed now to have that very important thing in common.