Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, McNair City
“Michael Wallace Helfort …”
If the black-gowned judge was troubled by the gravity of the occasion, her voice did not show it.
“… it is the sentence of this court that you be transferred to a duly authorized place of execution, and there, on the date specified by the minister for planetary security, you be put to death according to law. Take the prisoner down.”
“Yes!” Chief Councillor Polk hissed. “It’s about time, you piece of Fed garbage.” He scowled. “Months and months they took! Can you believe it, Lou?”
“That’s the Federated Worlds for you,” Lou Nagaro, Polk’s chief of staff, said. “Very keen on due process.”
Polk snorted derisively. “I’ll give the assholes due process,” he grunted.
“At least they got there in the end, Chief Councillor. So how about a glass of champagne to celebrate?”
“No, not yet,” Polk said with an emphatic shake of the head. “I’ll share a bottle of champagne with you, a good bottle from Old Earth, but only when that man is dead and not before. Now go and find out where Councillor Kando and Colonel Hartspring are. I want to see them.”
“Sir.”
Polk waited in silence until Nagaro returned.
“Kando and Hartspring will be back in McNair tomorrow,” Nagaro said.
“Good. I want Kando to make sure that the Feds carry through with this, and I don’t care how much we have to spend or who we have to suborn. Helfort must be executed.”
“I think Kando can make sure of it.”
“He’d better.”
“But what about Hartspring? What can a DocSec colonel do?”
“A lot, Lou, a lot. Michael Helfort might be on his way to the gallows, and none too soon, but death’s not enough for him. I want him to suffer every minute of every day he has left alive. I want him in so much pain that he’ll be begging the Feds to kill him when they strap him into the chair.”
Skepticism flitted across Nagaro’s face. “Forgive me, Chief Councillor, but how can we do that? The Feds will have Helfort locked away where nobody can reach him. No matter how much we spend, we’ll never lay a hand on him.”
Polk smiled indulgently at Nagaro. “You never were much of a creative thinker, were you?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Watch and learn, Lou; watch and learn.”