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Chapter 26

 
"To show compassion for a killer is an insult to his victims."
—Jericho

"To show compassion for a killer is an insult to his victims."
—John Sable

 

The cabin was lined with a white fur carpet made of the pelts of some rare type of arctic animal. The furniture, all heavy and handcrafted and covered with coal-black brocaded satin, consisted of two chairs and an enormous couch. A table next to the couch opened up into a small bar at the touch of a button.

"You can take the handcuffs off me now," said Jericho, sitting comfortably on one of the chairs and holding his hands out toward Sable.

"No I can't," said Sable, seated on the couch. He kept his pistol trained on Jericho and briefly clutched at the arm of the conch with his free hand as the plane hit a momentary patch of turbulence.

"Why not?" asked Jericho, his face impassive.

"Because the first thing you would do is kill me," explained Sable. "Now that we're out of Tifereth you don't need me anymore, and I already know your views on leaving witnesses behind."

"If it makes you more comfortable, leave them on me," said Jericho with a shrug. "I trust you'll remove them when we land in Amaymon."

"I haven't decided yet," said Sable.

"May I point out that I saved your life in Tifereth, Mr. Sable?"

"I know."

"Well, then?"

Sable sighed deeply. "I'm not like you. You think on your feet, you act decisively; you never seem to have any doubts. I don't function like that. I have to build a case slowly and carefully, examine each piece of evidence, put it all into some kind of order before I can come to a conclusion."

"And what particular case are you working on now?" asked Jericho wryly.

"You," replied Sable, his expression troubled.

"What right do you have to judge me, Mr. Sable?"

"I saw you next to Conrad Bland," said Sable. "No one but me has the necessary background to judge you."

"You seem distressed."

"I am," admitted Sable. "You killed Bland, which had to be done; and you saved my life, for which I'm grateful—but I don't know if you can be allowed to live."

"Surely you are not comparing me to Bland," said Jericho with a smile.

"No, I'm not. You're much more dangerous than he was."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Sable."

"I'm being as honest as I can be," said Sable. "If the positions were reversed, could Bland have killed you?"

"I have no idea."

"Don't be coy with me!" snapped Sable. "Do you think we're playing some kind of goddamned game here?"

"All right, Mr. Sable," said Jericho slowly. "Under no circumstance could Conrad Bland ever have killed me."

"I know that."

"There is not, however, any valid basis for comparing us," said Jericho.

"Of course there is," replied Sable. "Both of you have killed profligately."

"But for different reasons."

"He killed from compulsion, you kill from calculation. I have to decide before we land in Amaymon which motivation is the more evil."

"Had I not chosen to kill Bland, he would have destroyed the entire planet."

"He had no choice," said Sable. "To him there was no discernible alternative. How many people did you kill on the way to Tifereth?"

"Twenty-one."

"Why?"

"It was necessary."

"Why did you kill Ibo Ubusuku?"

"He knew my mission—or, if he didn't know, he would shortly have guessed." There was no sign of regret or remorse on Jericho's face.

"So what?" said Sable. "He worked for the Republic. He was on your side."

"No one is on my side," said Jericho coldly.

"You considered letting him live?"

"Of course," replied Jericho. "As you yourself pointed out, I am not a compulsive killer."

"But you killed him anyway."

"It was necessary."

"And Gaston Leroux?"

"Another link."

"But he only saw you in disguise. He didn't know your name, he didn't even know how to find you."

"His life was unimportant compared to my objective."

"What would have happened if you had let him live?" persisted Sable.

"Probably nothing," admitted Jericho.

"Then why did you kill him?"

"I don't deal in probabilities, Mr. Sable, but in certainties."

"He was a human being!"

"Bland was slaughtering tens of thousands of human beings," Jericho pointed out.

"I know. Did you care about them?"

"About who?" asked Jericho, genuinely puzzled.

"Bland's victims."

"What difference does that make? I stopped him before he could kill any more."

"But it does make a difference. Why did you kill Bland?"

"I don't understand your question."

"You heard me: Why did you kill Conrad Bland?"

"It was my job. I accepted the commission."

Sable sighed again and spent the next few minutes staring out the window, considering what he had heard and what he had seen, comparing and contrasting, building his little pyramid of facts and judgments, and finally weighing his inevitable conclusion against the absolute necessity of Bland's extermination.

At last he tore his gaze from the terrain that was racing by far below him, straightened his posture, and looked directly into Jericho's expressionless eyes.

"You're reached your decision," said Jericho impassively.

"I have."

"And?"

"As of this moment." said Sable, "you are under arrest for the murder of Parnell Burnam."

And, almost two thousand miles away, the White Lucy smiled, closed her eyes, and died.

 

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