“Oh, don’t worry,” Atikan said. “We’re only doing both right now. I’m here to congratulate you and treat you with the utmost of honors.”

“And I’m here to tear your pirating heart out with my bare hands!” Brooks roared as he made a vicious tearing motion with his hands. “Do you know how many innocents have died in Garliali raids? The blood of children is on your hands, Rogers. How does that make you feel?”

Rogers thought it was a rhetorical question, but both of the officers seemed to be looking at him expectantly. Atikan folded his hands in his lap and smiled pleasantly.

“. . . Bad?”

Atikan clapped his hands and laughed. “And a pure conscience, to boot! You really are a marvel, Mr. Rogers. A real marvel.”

Rogers put his face in his hands for a moment and tried to squeeze his head hard enough that he would pass out and maybe both of these people would leave him alone.

“Don’t I get a lawyer or something?” he said.

“Oh, lawyering up now, are you?” Brooks laughed. “A sure sign of a guilty conscience. What do you need a lawyer for?”

“The magistrate is coming to see you in a moment,” Atikan said. “Until then we’re here to interview—”

“Interrogate!”

“—you. What made you finally decide to rid the system of these pirates? Did something happen to you in your childhood that involved the Purveyors or the Garliali?”

“No, it wasn’t—”

“How much were they paying you? Was it worth selling your soul, you bastard?”

“They didn’t—”

“How did you come up with such a brilliant plan? The records didn’t tell us everything. I want to hear it in your own words.” Atikan whipped out a datapad and began typing.

“It was just—”

“Talk!” Brooks slammed his fists on the table again.

“You won’t let me!” Rogers shouted. “This is insane! I want to see the magistrate. I don’t want to talk to either of you.”

“Clamming up, eh?” Brooks said. “A sure sign of a guilty conscience.”

“I don’t have a guilty bone in my body,” Rogers said, glaring at the officer.

“Oh, now we’re bringing anatomy into it, eh? A sure sign of a guilty conscience.”

Atikan was typing furiously on his datapad, despite Rogers’ not saying anything of substance. He wondered if this pair of officers was his karmic payment for all the things he’d pulled in his lifetime. It was starting to make him wonder if any of it was worth it.

“Great,” Atikan said cheerfully. “Absolutely wonderful. Good stuff. This will all appear in your commendation records, of course, and the news media. They’ll want to interview you on live broadcasts, when your parade schedule lightens. There will be lots of parades!”

Atikan put down the pad and swung his arms in what was either an approximation of marching in a parade or an attempt to scratch his back on the chair.

“I don’t want a parade,” Rogers muttered. “I want to see the magistrate. What was his name again?”