Chapter Forty-Six: The Trial and the Cat

The trial was a sham. The three judges, with General Bapoto presiding, sat on a raised dais before an empty room other than the five shackled and gagged defendants and two dozen of the Red Guard.

Bapoto himself read the charges. For Toby, it was a long recitation of Dubois’s “crimes,” with Toby guilty by association. Many of the accusations had a kernel of truth, though greatly exaggerated through the fog of poor reasoning and bias. Bruce’s guilt was also by association during the time he worked on Dubois’s election. Gene’s guilt was the most tenuous, since he had never worked with Dubois. However, since Toby was guilty by association with Dubois, that made Toby a criminal, and so by association, Gene was guilty as well.

He also read a long list of Feodora’s supposed crimes in the Russia-Japan war in 2091. It read as if it were straight from her Japanese accusers. There was no mention of crimes by Twenty-two.

They were not allowed to give a defense.

“I have given these charges much thought and consideration,” Bapoto said. “Which is why no defense is needed, since I will act on your behalf if I find you deserving. However, after balancing the evidence from both sides, I find Toby Platt, Bruce Sims, and Gene Conkling all guilty of crimes against humanity. For these crimes, they will be beheaded at nine A.M. tomorrow. I find Feodora also guilty of crimes against humanity. However, I do not believe this court has jurisdiction, and so she will be handed over to Japanese officials tomorrow morning immediately after the beheadings.”

Toby wondered how much the Japanese were paying him.

“I find the case of the alien Twenty-two most enticing,” Bapoto continued. “This alien—I don’t know whether to call it a him, her, or it—shall be held for further questioning. Do my colleagues concur?”

The two judges at his side nodded their heads. If they did not, no doubt they would lose them.

“Then the sentences shall be carried out as ordered. As to the matter of the so-called Gray Guard and the other security people with them, they will be shot, immediately after the beheadings.” He rapped his desk with a gavel.

Toby wanted to protest, and could tell Bruce had even more to say, but couldn’t because of the gag. The Red Guard pulled them to their feet.

As they were being led out, the lights went out.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the dim outlines of the Red Guard threw their prisoners to the ground and looked about. The only light came through several large windows high along the walls. As they watched, one by one something from outside blanked them out. When the last one was covered, they were left in pitch darkness.

“Lock the door!” Bapoto yelled. But he was too late. Toby heard the main door open, and through a dim ray of light that came through it, could see shouting figures charging into the room. Something about their heads was malformed, as if they were beaked. Then the door closed, and the darkness swallowed them up again.

“Stay down,” Feodora said. Somehow she had gotten out of her gag. “Protect your head with your arms.”

Gunfire erupted, along with cries of pain. Toby could hear Bapoto yelling, “Get them off me!” One of the Red Guard turned on a handlight, but was immediately shot, and the light extinguished.

After about ten seconds of chaos, the gunfire ended.

“Power on!” a woman’s voice called. The lights came back on.

The ground was riddled with the bodies of the Red Guard. Standing over them were perhaps a dozen other of what looked like the Red Guard, but with their shirts turned inside out. They were removing night vision goggles. Standing in front was a young, wispy woman dressed in tight, black clothing, who seemed in constant motion. She paced back and forth, pointing a gun from body to body as she checked if any were alive, while turning her head side to side as if trying to see everything at once.

The five prisoners were unharmed. Feodora was not only free from her gag, but miraculously from her shackles as well. She stood, stretching her muscles.

General Bapoto stood in front of his desk, sputtering and jingling his medals while two of the rebel Red Guard held his arms from behind. The wispy woman approached. A few black lines were drawn on her brown cheeks, like a cat’s whiskers.

“You!” Bapoto exclaimed. “You were exiled!”

“And now I’m back, Father.” She strutted up to him, facing him eye to eye.

“General Paka Bapoto, I presume?” Feodora said. “Also known as ‘The Cat’?”

“And you must be General Zubkov,” Paka said. “Also known as ‘The Horse’?”

Toby thought he knew all about Feodora, but this was the first time he’d heard that nickname. Was she nicknamed after the Moderate Party’s symbol?

“I see you have been speaking with my Russian colleagues, General,” Feodora said. “We should talk more, but could you free my friends?”

“You may call me Paka,” she said as she motioned to one of the rebel Red Guard. Soon Toby, Bruce, Gene, and Twenty-two were out of the shackles and gags.

“And you may call me Feodora.”

“And you both can go to hell,” the elder Bapoto said. In response, the two guards holding him slammed him against the wall, then propped him back up again.

“If you will excuse me, I have something I must do,” Paka said.

“If you must,” Feodora said.

Paka approached and stood in front of her father. “Father, you look well.”

“You look potchy and thin, like a blugging street person.”

“That’s what I was for the last few years,” Paka said. “Palace food will be a wonderful change. You won’t be joining us.”

She lashed out with a knife Toby hadn’t seen. A red streak appeared across the elder Bapoto’s throat. The guards released him and he fell to the floor.

Twenty-two waddled over. “He has something of mine.” She rummaged through his pockets and found her sensor. “Thank you.” She returned to the others.

Paka turned to Toby. “Mr. Platt, General Zubkov, I am honored to have you visit Tanzania. I’m speechless and overjoyed at the presence of your alien friend. After I take care of a few minor matters in regard to this transfer of power from father to daughter, I hope you can be a guest for dinner at the palace tonight. Any enemy of my father is a friend of mine.”

* * *

The following day, Toby watched as they blew up the Colossus of Bapoto. Charges were laid against each foot. As planned, it fell forward into the harbor. There further charges would break it into pieces, which would be towed ashore so the platinum could be harvested to replenish the Tanzania treasury. Toby figured that if any of the other modern “Wonders” were so destroyed there’d be worldwide protest, but not for this one.

“Silly statue,” Paka said. “Took five years to build, ten minutes to set the charges, and ten seconds to blow up. I want something a little more permanent, like a pyramid. The Egyptians had it right. And now there’s a vacancy in that ‘Wonders of the Modern World’ thing!”

* * *

Back at the Rocinante, Bruce was euphoric over the situation. “You can’t pay for this type of shock and outrage!” They were gaining on Dubois in polls throughout Africa. “I think we need to hire a General Bapoto type as an enemy wherever we campaign. If only they came with warning labels.”

“Didn’t you see his hair?” Toby asked.

“Good point,” Bruce said. “I’m glad Paka took him out of the gene pool.”

“But Paka was his daughter, from his genes,” Toby said.

“Even a flower can bloom out of manure,” Bruce said.

Toby turned to Feodora. “How the hell did you get out of your gag and shackles?”

Feodora shook her head. “A miracle explained is a miracle wasted. If God explained her tricks, would anyone worship her?”

“So you are God now?” Bruce asked.

“If I use magic powers to get out of my shackles, I am a God. If, after lights went out, I rubbed mouth against floor to remove gag, then used teeth to tear keys from where they hung from guard’s pocket, then I am no longer a God.”

Even Bruce looked stunned.

“You will always be a God to me,” Toby said.

* * *

Toby had dozens of messages pinging on his TC when the scrambler was turned off. Only a small number of people had access to TC him, or there might have been millions.

There was another note from Lara:

“Dad, I’m so glad things ended well in Tanzania. Tyler said you might visit home before Latin America next week. May I visit at the same time?”

Toby wondered if that message had been approved by Dubois. He doubted if the president wanted his campaign manager vacationing with his chief rival.

He sent a message back inviting her to join them on Wednesday afternoon, October 6, the day after the Africa vote. He hesitated about inviting Bruce, after his actions in Tyler’s election, but Bruce did seem truly sorry for that. Tyler’s table tennis tryouts were that week, and Bruce could work with him.

The second order of business was winning the African vote. The campaign continued as if there hadn’t been a two-day interruption, though Bruce and Gene frantically redid the schedule. Dubois’s nasty ads continued, including the attacks on his lack of attention to his family.

Toby taped a new ad where he started off by saying, “I’m sure my esteemed opponent did not intend to lie, so let me correct his misstatements.” Then he pointed out that he spoke to his wife and son regularly by TC, and that he’d visited them during the North American campaign, but hadn’t been able to since because he was out of the country. He pointed out that the house in Germantown, Maryland, was his legal home, and that he lived there when he wasn’t away on business—while leaving out that he was often away on “business” for months at a time. He declared that he was visiting them on Wednesday afternoon, as they’d planned for some time. Finally, he pointed out that attacking an opponent’s family life is what one does when the other guy is solving real problems—like the Kim War and the pirate problem—and is gaining in the polls. He emphasized that while he was solving problems, Dubois was out campaigning.

Bruce didn’t like the ad, other than the attack at the end. “He’s on the attack with his ads, playing to the simple-minded masses, and you want to go defensive?”

Toby agreed, but insisted they run it anyway.

After zipping about Africa for the rest of the week, election day, Tuesday, October 5, finally arrived. As usual, they left for their next destination before the results were in. Feodora traveled separately in Dulcinea this time since she’d be going directly to Latin America to campaign. Toby also had a full schedule there, but first they had a more important event scheduled in Germantown, Maryland.

* * *

Reese followed the worldwide anger at the arrest of Platt and his entourage. He saw the euphoria when he was released. Many were uneasy with Platt’s willingness to compromise. He seemed to lack deep convictions. Yet he was admired. Even loved.

Sometimes the world needed a tough guy in charge. That was Dubois. Sometimes the world needed someone more fair-minded. That was Ajala. But Platt? He didn’t fit into the red and blue color pegs. He was neither. He was both.

Reese was certain that if the election were run from scratch, Platt would win. But now? His newfound popularity didn’t help in the places that had already voted. Now he was far behind.

But he was loved.

Who would the world mourn more, Dubois or Platt? The choice was obvious. He’d chosen Platt weeks before. Yet he hadn’t been quite sure of his decision until now. Finalizing the decision took a huge weight off his shoulders. Don Quixote, on his mighty Rocinante, with Dulcinea at his side, would soon meet…the Windmill.

Reese already had the supplies he needed. Stolen, or bought with stolen money. Now it was just a matter of finalizing a plan.

Platt had said in an interview he was going home to visit his wife and son on Wednesday. There would be far more security on candidate Platt than his family. Platt had a son, Tyler. He’d be out of school that afternoon. What about the morning? He’d be in school doing a half day until his father arrived.

It’d be a lot easier getting at the son. Tyler. What a nice name. Reese grinned as he made his plans, breathing heavily.

It was time to visit Germantown Middle School in Maryland.