Shadow of the giant

FelixStarman%[email protected]
    To: PeterWiggin%[email protected]
    Re: Only one question remains
    Dear Peter,
     
    Your arguments have persuaded me. In principle, I am
prepared to ratify the Constitution of the Free People of Earth. But in
practice, one key issue remains. I have created in Rwanda the most formidable
army and air force north of Pretoria and south of Cairo. That is precisely why
you regard Rwanda as the key to uniting Africa. But the primary motivation of
my troops is patriotism, which cannot help but be tinged with Tutsi tribalism.
The principle of civilian control of the military is, shall we say, not as
preeminent in their ethos.
     
    For me to turn over my troops to a Hegemon who happens to be
not only white, but American by birth, would run a grave risk of a coup that
would provoke bloodshed in the streets and destabilize the whole region.
     
    That is why it is essential that you decide in advance who
the commander of my forces will be. There is only one plausible candidate. Many
of my men got a good look at Julian Delphiki. Word has spread. He is viewed as
something of a god. His record of military genius is respected by my officer
corps; his enormous size gives him heroic stature; and his partial African
ancestry, which is, fortunately, visible in his features and coloring, makes
him a man that patriotic Rwandans could follow.
     
    If you send Bean to me, to stand beside me as the man who
will assume command of Rwandan forces as they become part of the Free People's
army, then I will ratify and immediately submit the issue to my people in a
plebiscite. People who would not vote for a Constitution with you at its head
will vote for a Constitution whose face is that of the Giant Julian.
     
    Sincerely, Felix
     
     
    Virlomi spoke on the cellphone with her contact. "All
clear?" she asked.
    "It's not a trap. They're gone."
    "How bad is it?"
    "I'm so sorry."
    That bad.
    Virlomi put away the phone and walked from the shelter of
the trees into the village.
    There were bodies lying in the doorway of every house they
passed. But Virlomi did not turn to the right hand or the left. They had to
make sure they got the key footage first.
    In the center of the village, the Muslim soldiers had
spitted a cow and roasted it over a fire. The bodies of twenty or so Hindu
adults surrounded the roasting pit.
    "Ten seconds," said Virlomi.
    Obediently, the vidman framed the shot and ran the camera
for ten seconds. During the shot, a crow landed but did not eat anything. It
merely walked a couple of steps and then flew again. Virlomi wrote her script
in her head: The gods send their messengers to see, and in grief they fly away
again.
    Virlomi walked near the dead and saw that each corpse had a
slab of half-cooked, bloody meat in its mouth. No bullets had been spent on the
dead. Their throats were split and gaping open.
    "Close up. These three, each in turn. Five seconds
each."
    The vidman did his work. Virlomi did not touch any of the
bodies. "How many minutes left?"
    "Plenty," said the vidman.
    "Then take every one of them. Every one."
    The vidman moved from body to body, taking the digital shots
that would soon go out over the nets. Meanwhile, Virlomi now went from house to
house. She hoped that there would be at least one person living. Someone they
could save. But there was no one.
    In the doorway of the village's largest house, one of
Virlomi's men waited for her. "Please do not go in, Lady," he said.
    "I must."
    "You do not want this in your memory."
    "Then it is exactly the thing that I must never
forget."
    He bowed his head and moved aside.
    Four nails in a crossbeam had served the family as hooks for
clothing. The clothing lay in a sodden mass on the floor. Except for the shirts
that had been tied around the necks of four children, the youngest only a
toddler, the eldest perhaps nine. They had been hung up on the hooks to
strangle slowly.
    Across the room lay the bodies of a young couple, a
middle-aged couple, and an old woman. They had made the adults in the household
watch the children die.
    "When he is finished by the fire," said Virlomi,
"bring him here."
    "Is there enough light inside, Lady?"
    "Take down a wall."
    They took it down in minutes, and then light flooded into
the dark place. "Start here," she told the vidman, pointing to the
adults' bodies. Pan very slowly. And then pan, just a little faster, to what
they were forced to watch. Hold on all four children. Then when I enter the
frame,