KIRK STOOD BY and watched as each of his men left or was led away from the public square to explore this new world. The Boacans were making an effort to afford every man a chance to use his area of expertise. Rizzuto was taken off to receive the council's official account of the revolution and to be shown plans for more museums, libraries, and cultural archives. The government was obviously anxious to disprove rumors that they intended to wipe out traditional culture here.
The agriculturalist was met by a voluble young minister, who lectured him as they wandered off to view model farms, and to witness the use of new machinery, and new methods of irrigation and crop rotation that were being introduced. Most of the planet could live well, generally, off the sinfully abundant flora and fauna. But there were pockets that were barren and parched, or burned and flattened by the war. Those areas were now being reached, and refugees from them moved to the city or to new farming communities. And nutrition was being taught …
Quite suddenly, Kirk realized only he and Spock remained in the public square.
"Well, Mr. Spock," Kirk said, turning to his first officer. "It appears the Boacans have abandoned us."
"On the contrary, Captain. The council's new minister of justice is to meet me here shortly, to explain the intricacies of their new legal code. I am sure that your presence would also be welcome—"
"No," Kirk replied quickly. "I don't think that will be necessary." Truth be told, he was less interested in hearing about the council's new laws than in seeing what life underneath those laws was like for the people of Boaco Six. He wanted to see more of the capital city itself as well. "I believe I'll do a little exploring—on my own."
Spock nodded. "As you wish."
Kirk left his first officer and wandered out onto the streets of Boa. Much as he had instructed young Michaels to do, he spoke with the people, observing the arrest of a thief, the relocation of a homeless child, the stomping and dancing of a wedding party.
Several times, Kirk felt that he was being followed. It was an instinctive feeling, one that caused the hair on his arms and on the back of his neck to stand on end. He turned several times, but in the bustle of the street, it was difficult to be sure who his shadow was. Several times he caught sight of an old man with a cap on and gaunt hollowed cheeks, walking with a rather dumpy young man. He wondered if they were following him, or merely following a similar course as his. Were they sent by the council to keep tabs on him? He stared at them fixedly, making sure they were aware of it, then wheeled off abruptly down an alleyway. They did not follow.
The alley led to a business section of the city. Kirk browsed through the busy marketplace, with its haphazard rows of stalls run by people selling hollowed gourds as bowls, and dried fruit, and leather pelts, and freshly killed game, ready for roasting. The traditional handmade objects were exquisite, the few trinkets for sale from other worlds were junky and cheap.
Some older people, in tents, practiced folk medicine, and called out to sick or elderly passersby, promising comfort and cures.
As merchants in their stalls saw Kirk pass, they came alive and called out to him, singing the praises of their wares, begging his patronage in curious and broken English. Kirk was reminded of an account he had read when preparing for this mission, of an early Federation explorer of the Boacan system. He had been treated as a half-deity, capable of helping or destroying the people. The deference people were showing Kirk now, the desperate edge to the stall keepers' cries, made him uneasy, made him feel more like a colonial overlord than a visiting dignitary or tourist.
A thin seven-year-old boy in ragged clothing suddenly leapt out in front of him. Earthenware candle holders were in the boy's arms and strapped to his back. "Buy candle holders. Buy candle holders, spaceman," the boy urged. "Good buy. Brighten your home."
"Sorry," Kirk began, "but I don't think so …"
Abruptly, a small girl of five or so, carrying similar goods, pushed in front of the boy and tugged at the hem of Kirk's shirt.
"Better buy," she piped. "I sell cheaper."
The boy made a face and pointed at the clay candle holder in his competitor's small fist. "Poor quality," he said. "Cracks in the heat."
"Better buy," the girl said again, determinedly. "I sell cheaper."
Kirk reached into the small pouch of money he'd been handed by Noro when they left the museum. Each member of the landing party was supplied with some of the newly minted currency, enough to get around with. He bought one candle holder from each child and showered into each eager palm a clattering of bright Boacan coins. The children exclaimed and ran off in opposite directions to crouch and count their earnings. Kirk gave the candle holders to an old man in a stall as he passed.
At dusk, he observed a religious ceremony in the clearing near the woods where they had first arrived. An old woman led the wailing and chanting. It was an ancient ritual, alien and strange sounding. Cacophonous moans that Kirk did not think he could duplicate if he tried. He did not understand the words, but from cultural history tapes, he knew the meaning behind them. These people were praying to their old god, the God of Light. On Boaco Six, light was the life force, the river running through each person, binding him to his world. Pitch darkness was a thing most feared.
They prayed to Azar, the larger star of their system and the one closer to them. They prayed to Alil, the farther star, the 'younger brother' of the first. They prayed to their planet's three moons, the Mirror Maidens, the guardians of the city of Boa. The religion was slightly different on different parts of the planet.
Do they really believe? Or is this just a link with tradition and culture and preextraterrestrial times, a mainstay in times of chaos?
The people, dressed in traditional garb, did not challenge Kirk's presence at their ceremony, did not really seem to see him. He hung at the outskirts and crouched low, as the people buried their faces in the orange earth and wept.
And when the old woman had finished wailing, they picked themselves up, dusted off their clothes, and sauntered back toward the city, laughing and talking quietly.
Spock was left in the public square for over an hour after the others had left. He stood, erect but relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back, and wondered if the Boacans, in their well-meaning disorganization, had forgotten about him.
At last he made out a figure walking toward him, a shriveled frame of a man, an ancient creature such as one rarely encountered on this world. The man bowed and introduced himself as Mayori, the minister of justice.
Spock mused, as he accompanied Mayori to the Hall of Justice, that the man's situation must be delicate and strange; the one elder statesman in a government of young people. They discussed the scantily documented new legal code, in the dusty and crumbling hall. Spock wondered how seriously the standardization of the legal code was being taken. Perhaps the council had shunted the ministry of justice onto this old-timer precisely because it was of little interest to them.
Mayori volunteered to show him the new rehabilitation centers and penal camps; this seemed to Spock an excellent way to test his hypothesis. The way these centers were run would reflect the man, and the system. They set out in a cramped Romulan-designed air-skimmer. During the long and bumpy ride, Mayori told him much of the history of his life.
"The revolutionary struggle on Boaco Six is very old. Though you would not know it to hear Irina, Tamara Angel, Noro, and some of the others tell it." He had laughed, a dry sound, like crackling leaves. "We have been fighting to free our planet for centuries, despite cruel opposition from the combined forces of the tyrants like Marker and Puil, and their friends in the Federation. The freedom movement in its current form started fifty years ago. I am the last of that old vanguard. The others, my friends, my sisters and brothers in arms, were slain or tortured … or met with some even less savory fate."
Spock noted a facial tic as Mayori spoke.
"I have spent years in prison," he went on, "living in excrement, in crowded cells packed full of men who forgot what light was, who felt that our two suns, Azar and Alil, and the Mirror Maidens, were lost from them forever. The stench, the fear, the monotony, as we spilled over each other month after month in the darkness, was overwhelming. Political prisoners were crowded in with cutthroats and psychotics. There never seemed to be enough air to breathe. I would be dragged from the cell by the hair at times, beaten and whipped, locked in Puil's majestic zoo for weeks at a time, naked, without food, until I screamed like the animals. I and my friends were wracked with electric currents, sliced by laser guns … of course, all the most sophisticated torture devices were provided by the Federation of Planets."
Here, Spock felt it necessary to respond. "I do not doubt the truth of your horrific account, Mayori. And I am aware that the Federation gave funds and military aid to the former rulers of Boaco Six, men of little moral virtue. But, surely you must realize that the Federation does not design torture devices. It could not know that its money and equipment were being used for such purposes."
Mayori gazed at him steadily. It was a look, not of bitterness, but of sadness … or amusement? "No, of course not," he said softly. "Why should the Federation have chosen to know what the whole galaxy knew?"
Spock defended the Federation on this score, but with little conviction. "Then, Mayori," he said, "you stayed in prison until the revolution came?"
The minister of justice shook his old, scarred, chapped head. "Much of my adolescence and my young years were spent in jail. But they released me on several occasions, and friends helped me to escape on others. Guards, judges could be bribed. . . . I got out one time, after nine years, to discover that my parents and my family had all been killed. I just stood staring at the charred, fallen remains of our ancestral home. Neighbors told me of how it had come about. My family had already been under surveillance because of my 'subversive' activities. Then a sister of mine was accused of links with revolutionaries on the other landmass, and of disseminating classified government information. The government sent in its army and secret police. All the women in my family were dishonored before they were killed, the men emasculated, the children crushed against trees. Even cousins of ours, in a small farming community many miles away, were wiped out …"
His eyes grew distant, then focused on Spock sharply. "I had a wife and four children in later years. Until twelve years ago. The revolutionary network was better organized. We would be smuggled from town to town in times of danger. And victory seemed so near … But as revolutionary fervor grew, the dictators grew more frightened, more vindictive … and there are always stool pigeons and traitors … well, my wife and children are gone too." He looked down. "It was a good racket for the government, you know, wiping out prestigious families or entire poor villages and confiscating their land and property for the government's profit. And many of these younger friends of mine have been disowned by their families. So the revolution, the council now, is 'family' for many of them." A wry smile cracked the old face. "As it is for me, I am the wise old 'grandfather' of the council, I suppose."
Spock flew on with him in silence, as the air-skimmer sputtered over the hill-peaks and treetops, and speculated about what a penal colony under this man's jurisdiction would be like. The Federation reports had said that, though the oldest of the leaders of Boaco Six, Mayori was the most radical, the most distrustful of the Federation. And 'penal camps' could often mean cruel places of internment for those who gambled wrong, and backed the wrong side in a revolution. For a man who had known such a violent bloody past as had Mayori, running the camps would be a fine opportunity for a vendetta against the people who had supported his former oppressors.
The air-skimmer screeched to a halt on a sloping runway near the first penal colony they visited. Spock had found it smaller than he had expected. A twenty-foot-tall barrier of impenetrable plastic stretched around the penal colony, forming an opaque wall. The lush jungle vegetation which grew all around outside the barrier could still be seen. Inside was a series of huts and roads forming a small villagelike community. And there was farming land, clearly demarcated into plots by lines and low walls, which lay beyond the huts. A few men could be seen lazily tilling or weeding their plots, or taking soil samples, or spreading the eggs of small, helpful, insectlike creatures, which when they hatched would naturally turn over the soil and eat small predators. From atop the rickety runway, Old Mayori pointed out the farming plots and explained different kinds of activity. Spock helped him to slowly, painfully, climb down and stand alone on firm ground.
They walked toward the cluster of huts. Several taller administration buildings stood at the center. Young guards with rifles stood before these buildings, and they saluted Mayori as he and Spock passed. But otherwise, the prison inmates wandered freely, worked or rested as they pleased, with seemingly no supervision. They dressed casually and gathered in groups before their homes to talk or shoot dice.
"They are given some rations," Mayori explained, "and farm for the rest of what they need. These people have led recent rebellions against our new government. We know that the Federation of Planets funds and encourages their activities. But we believe also that many of them have turned against us because they are frightened, and do not know how they will make their livelihood under the new order. They stay here and work, until they give us a solemn promise to cease in their efforts to destabilize the government. Then they are allowed to leave."
Spock's eyebrows shot up. "A promise? And then you let them go?"
His guide nodded. "There is something you must understand about Boaco Six, Mr. Spock. We take our oaths very seriously here. As, I believe, you people from the planet Vulcan do. The old dictators here used to torture men, simply to extract from them a promise that they would cease in their revolutionary activities. Many died rather than give such a promise."
A group of men walked by with farm implements slung over their shoulders. They eyed Mayori and Spock with more interest than hostility.
"Of course," Mayori continued, "some of these men may break their word if we release them, and stir up more trouble. If they do, they will be interned again. I believe that this is the best system, to try to give men the benefit of the doubt. Though I admit it's not the most efficient." He gestured toward a fat, squat administration building. "We also have educational facilities here, so that the men who leave here will be able to read and write, and will be trained in a skill other than farming, if they wish."
"And propaganda, here and in the children's schools, plays no part in your 'education' process?"
"We stress the benefits of the revolution, certainly. But men are not penalized here for disagreement or skepticism. It is not the kind of brainwashing the Federation claims we practice." He smiled. "In fact, we find it informative to let the men speak out freely in discussion groups. It keeps us informed about our enemies' own brands of propaganda, what they wish Boacans to believe about our government. Our main goal, though, is to provide these men with the skills necessary to enable them to reintegrate with Boacan society."
They reboarded their clumsy flying machine, and Mayori told Spock of the larger internment camp they would visit next, for henchmen and members of the secret police of the former dictators. The word of those men had been found to be less trustworthy, and many of them had been interned for life. Their wives and families could come and live with them if they wished, and could, of course, come and go as they pleased.
"Many of those men are afraid to return to their native towns and villages. Their neighbors know of their past activities. They are linked to atrocities against their kinsmen—they have achieved infamy. If they return to their communities, many fear they would be murdered in their beds."
"So," Spock said somewhat skeptically, "you imply that they prefer to serve a prison sentence?"
"Some, perhaps. Believe me or not, as you wish."
Spock was reluctant to believe that Mayori's word, and what he was being shown, told the whole story of the prison system of Boaco Six. He wondered, even if what they had seen was typical, if a system of such laxity could survive if the counterrevolutionary movement, which brewed in some parts of the planet, was to gain force, supplied by either the Federation or Boaco Eight. Mayori's 'Honor System' might not stand the strain.
Still, he was impressed, with both the man, and what he seemed to be trying to create—especially after their visit to the next camp.
This one was larger than the other they had seen, and was heavily guarded. Mayori explained why the men here had been singled out; they'd been convicted of monstrous crimes against the people of Boaco Six. "Torture in the cities. Genocide of small tribes in the jungle, on the islands. Always under the old government's jurisdiction … though to what degree a man like Puil could control his secret police is an interesting question. There were many 'strongmen' within the police and army. The others here are the petty officers, lackeys of the fallen regime."
Spock assumed that those who had been responsible for Mayori's torture and the destruction of his family were here also. He did not ask.
Mayori stated that many in the council desired the death of these men. But he did not, and as minister of justice, the final decision rested with him. This was a reformist institution, like the others.
From what Spock could see, the facility was well run, the living conditions decent. Always fascinated as he was by humanoid psychology, Spock studied old Mayori as they boarded the air-skimmer at dusk for their trip back to the city. He questioned him as the craft wheezed and sputtered into the air.
"I wonder, Mayori, if you could explain something to me. You have as great a reason as any for wishing to exact retribution from these men. What motivates you to act as you do now?"
"After a lifetime of struggle, Mr. Spock, I have come to terms with my anger and grief. I find inner peace through revenge."
"Revenge?"
"Yes. The clemency we show these men. The reasonableness, the fairness of the system. The humane treatment they receive. That is my revenge for the barbarity of what they did to me."