The Renegade

by P. M. Johnson

  “It must be some sort of new battle droid,” said the Myr, Cila Gannado. “That’s the only possibility. I agree with General Ghorla that Visk ground troops are of no value whatsoever. Veiju Dhurlan knows this. That leaves mechanized forces as the only possibility.”

  “I’ll not allow untested battle droids to take the field alongside my army of Tullans, Rahani, and Brevians,” warned Ghorla darkly.

  “And Humani,” said Barka. “You’re aware the Humani have decided to join the Alliance.”

  “I’m equally suspicious of their ability to withstand the Sahiradin,” replied the Rahani, Isk Foreseh dismissively.

  “What other details did Veiju share with you, Ambassador Barka?” asked Penawah.

  “I am afraid that is all there is for now,” replied the Brevian.

  “And what do you think, Admiral Var-Imar?” asked Penawah, looking at the Rahani admiral who had remained silent throughout the discussion, a look of concern on her face. “Have you assessed the size and strength of the Sahiradin fleet?”

  “I have, Chancellor,” replied the Admiral. “It would appear that the fleet was quite dispersed by the khâl when they arrived.”

  “That is good news,” said Gannado. The Myr, who was shorter even than Chancellor Penawah, looked upward at the others. He nodded his head and grinned, revealing his small, flat teeth. “Can the fleet quickly attack the separate groups and destroy them?”

  “Ideally yes, but they are too far away from our own khâls to effectively do so,” said Var-Imar. “Also, the reason for the wide dispersion is troubling.”

  “How so?” asked Penawah.

  Var-Imar took a deep breath. “Early sensor data indicates the fleet was forced to come through the khâl in multiple waves due to the number of ships.”

  “We already know the enemy fleet is quite large,” said Barka. “Do we have additional information? How many ships are there? What is the fleet’s composition?”

  “The enemy fleet is both powerful and colossal, far larger than anything we would have thought possible for them to assemble without leaving their frontiers unguarded. It confirms earlier suspicions that they have been engaging in a secret building campaign.”

  “If only the Dewar had approved our request to seek out their shipyards and destroy them!” growled General Ghorla.

  Var-Imar nodded her head. “They have a four-to-one advantage over us. I will pull together every ship available, but we cannot match their fleet ship-for-ship. There is no possibility of repulsing this invasion before it reaches Agurru.”

  This news was met with silence. The admiral was a very capable fleet commander, and her assessment carried great weight. Indeed, were it not for her historic victories over the Sahiradin at the Battles of Dokpartha, Earth, Burundu-Ir, and elsewhere, the Alliance would have succumbed to the enemy long ago.

  “I see,” said Penawah. “Admiral Var-Imar and General Ghorla, please continue to gather information and make your plans for the defense of Agurru’s power generators. Fortify D’norah Kûhn as best you can in the short time available. All of the Alliance’s resources are at your disposal.” Looking at Ambassador Barka, she said, “See what you can do to learn more of the Dhurlan offer of ground troops. I need to know if it is sincere and realistic.”

  “Yes, Chancellor Penawah,” said Barka.

  “And contact Ambassador Ravenwood,” continued Penawah. “He is still on Earth rallying support among their many tribes in support of resisting the Sahiradin. We need to know how many of Humani soldiers they can commit to this fight. Given what we’ve learned about the coming battle for Agurru and the size of the Sahiradin force, it might be their one and only chance to influence the outcome of this war.”

  “Yes, Chancellor,” said Barka.

  “May I make a suggestion?” said Cila Gannado. The Myr quickly ran his short fingers over his snub-nose as he organized his thoughts. “Can we also send Ambassador Barka to appeal to the Grenn one more time? If we lose Agurru, we will lose the war. If we can make the Grenn understand how desperate things have become, perhaps they will change their minds and rejoin the Alliance.”

  “Elder Skogg has nothing but disdain for Ambassador Barka,” said Bazail. The big Tullan puffed out his chest. “Let me go and talk to him. I will take General Ghorla with me. Skogg’s brother, Burogg, and Ghorla fought alongside each other. Maybe seeing Ghorla will remind him of his earlier promises to support the Alliance when he replaced Burogg as the leader of the Grennafalum.”

  “No,” said Penawah. “General Ghorla must prepare for the defense of Agurru. Skogg is familiar with our arguments and has rejected them all. Perhaps I should go to Osh and personally appeal to them.”

  The members of the Close Council nodded their heads in agreement with Penawah’s suggestion. All but Barka that is.

  “Chancellor,” said Barka, “with the Dewar in a state of near panic over the invasion, I think your presence here is of greater value than going to Osh. If we have such high expectations for our new Humani allies, why not send one of them to speak to Agrom? Why not task Ambassador Ravenwood with this mission? Perhaps he can sway the old Grenn into sending reinforcements to Agurru.”

  Penawah considered the suggestion for a moment. Agrom had acquired considerable influence over the other members of the Grennafalum, but perhaps they would become emboldened to resist him if given the opportunity and the proper inducement.

  “Very well,” said Penawah.

  Barka smiled, pleased with her ability to direct the Chancellor’s decisions. Ravenwood had grown increasingly meddlesome since the fall of Halduan. A fool’s errand to vainly seek to change old Agrom’s mind would keep him occupied and out of the way.

  “However,” continued the Chancellor. “Let us not send Ravenwood. He is more useful to us as a force for rational thought amid the bickering tribes of Earth. Send his deputy, Consul Styles. She has proven herself to be a capable emissary. She ended that nonsense between the Ibani and the Orak Clans, did she not?”

  Penawah looked at Bazail out of the corner of her eye.

  The Tullan leader glided a hand over his chin whiskers. “She did help reduce tensions concerning a very ancient feud over mineral rights on Sevis Kor,” admitted Bazail.

  Barka’s mind began to whir behind placid eyes with possible outcomes of sending Styles to Osh rather than Ravenwood. The demonstration of Chacksu prowess Veiju Dhurlan had shown her had was now sending her thoughts down a radically different path for ending the war. It was a path that would fundamentally reshape the nature of the Trade Federation but would perhaps finally bring the galaxy peace on terms far more acceptable than a Sahiradin victory. That path would be made much easier if the simple but upright Grenn remained neutral in the fight to come.

  Given Elder Skogg’s experiences and natural disposition, Barka knew that he would find Ravenwood’s methods of persuasion to be pompous and condescending. Sending him on this mission would certainly end in failure. Styles, however, was a different matter. Not only did she speak Malorian fluently and have a surprisingly deep understanding of Trade Federation protocols, she also exuded a certain sincerity and charm that the Grenn would find compelling. Furthermore, she had a Brevian’s instincts for perceiving another’s thoughts and motives, which Barka found most annoying. No, no. Ravenwood would be the preferred choice on this mission; he appealed to one’s intellect and duty, which would have little effect on the Grennafalum, whereas Styles would appeal to their hearts and aspirations.

  Though her face revealed nothing, Barka grew increasingly apprehensive as Chancellor Penawah indicated to her advisors that the discussion was concluded. A thought struck Barka that might yet preserve her plans.

  “Sending the female Humani without support will likely gain us nothing,” she said. “I suggest that Skogg’s nephew, Agrom, join her on this mission.”

  Penawah was surprised by the suggestion. “But Skogg has excluded Agrom from the Sea of Songs to punish him for his disobedience. Agrom continues to re
sist the Sahiradin despite Skogg’s order to cease hostilities. Asking him to join Consul Styles would only enrage Skogg.”

  “But you are forgetting that Agrom is the son of Woldmeer, who also sits on the Grennafalum. If we are to break Skogg’s hold on the council and win their renewed commitment to the Alliance, we must encourage other members to stand up to him. I believe sending Agrom will embolden Woldmeer to do just that and others will follow.”

  Penawah glanced around at the faces of her other advisors. None of them seemed to strongly object.

  “Very well,” said the Chancellor. “As in so many other things, I trust your judgment in this, Pendu Barka. Please convey our request to the Humani and Agrom.”

  Chapter 14

  Beware the lone Tartar on a horse. There are a thousand more beyond the next hill.

  - Russian Proverb.

  Ravenwood glanced right and left before stepping off Budapest’s Vaci Street and into a narrow, winding alleyway. Passing by small grocery stores, intimate restaurants, and little shops where artisans worked their craft, he ducked into a small tavern. Inside the dimly lit establishment were a few local patrons sitting at the bar or in booths located toward the back. They took no notice of the newcomer, though not out of a lack of curiosity. They did so out of trained indifference rooted in a kind of innate caution burned into the population’s collective consciousness by centuries of conflict and intrigue. Budapest was created in 1873 through the union of two ancient cities, Buda and Pest. The two cities straddled opposite sides of a bend in the Danube River which had long served as a crossroads where powers from north, south, east, and west frequently converged, usually violently. And as the two cities and surrounding lands suffered under the ambitions of emperors, tsars, sultans, and kings, the people had learned that discretion was often the key to survival.

  Ravenwood strode toward the back of the tavern then descended a narrow stone staircase into a subterranean level. With each step downward, he reached a new stratum of settlers, invaders, and rulers. Celts, Khazars, Slavs, Franks, Germans, Byzantines, Venetians, Ottomans, Russians, and many more tribes and nations had fought, bled, and died in pursuit of their dream of dominating this strategic spot on the Danube.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs he cast his eyes about the room in search of his contact.

  “Over here, my friend,” said a voice with a heavy Russian accent.

  Ravenwood looked in the direction of the voice and saw Ambassador Vasiliev sitting in a dark corner. A bottle of clear liquid stood on the table in front of him. The cellar was otherwise empty of patrons. Ravenwood eased into the wooden chair opposite the Russian, who was filling two small glasses with the contents of the bottle. He placed one of the glasses in front of Ravenwood.

  “No thank you,” said Ravenwood. “I prefer to keep my wits.”

  “Nonsense,” declared Vasiliev as he picked up the glass in his soft, fleshy hand and offered it to Ravenwood. “To overcome the challenges ahead, it is essential that we lose our wits, at least a little.”

  Ravenwood raised an eyebrow but accepted the glass. “Very well. In the interests of fostering good relations.”

  “To good relations!” declared Vasiliev, his glass held high.

  The two men clinked glasses and drank. Ravenwood coughed violently as the alcohol slid down his throat, unused as he was to the burn of hard liquor. He set down the glass and turned his head momentarily to the side until the coughing fit passed, only to discover upon looking back at Vasiliev that his glass was once more full.

  “Oh, no,” he said with his palm over the glass, his eyes still watering. “I’ve had quite enough, thank you.”

  “To good relations,” said Vasiliev once again. He raised his glass and gave his companion a puckish grin.

  “We’ve already toasted to that,” said Ravenwood warily.

  “Ah yes,” said the Russian. “Then let us toast to something else.” He thought for a moment. “To Earth.”

  Ravenwood laughed lightly. “Honestly, Ambassador Vasiliev. I’ve had enough.”

  “Are you saying you will not raise your glass to Earth? Our mother and provider of all that is good and necessary in this life? Our…how did you describe it? ‘Our brilliant blue pearl floating in a wide black sea, adorned with treasures beyond counting?’ Moving words, Ambassador Ravenwood. Words worth toasting!”

  Ravenwood smiled. “Yes. Those were my words.” He lifted his glass again and clinked it against Vasiliev’s. “To Earth.”

  He coughed again as the alcohol burned in his throat and chest, but instead of setting his glass down on the table, he kept it in his hand.

  Vasiliev lifted the bottle and pointed its mouth toward Ravenwood. “Your glass, please.”

  “Ambassador Vasiliev, I’ve had enough,” protested Ravenwood. “And quite frankly, I do not wish to spend the evening becoming inebriated in a grotto below the streets of Budapest.”

  Vasiliev set down the bottle and sighed. “Ambassador Ravenwood, you managed to persuade a majority of nations to follow your lead and openly declare for the Lycian Alliance. But now you realize how difficult it is to hold them to their word when it comes to funding and troop commitments, yes?”

  “I think you’ve summarized the situation nicely. As a matter of fact, I...”

  “You are making the rounds to our colleagues in the United Earth Council,” said Vasiliev, interrupting Ravenwood. “You spoke to the General Secretary and he hold you that he is powerless until the UEC passes the Enabling Act. You have beseeched other major powers to commit troops to the cause, but they have offered you only words.”

  Ravenwood slumped in his chair and shrugged. “If we lose our resolve so easily, how can we hope to resist the Sahiradin when they bring their armies to Earth? And I’ve just learned that a sizeable fleet of Sahiradin ships is approaching the vital planet of Agurru. Chancellor Penawah’s leading advisor contacted me with a request for as many troops as we can muster, but under current circumstances, I could not promise even a single soldier. Ambassador Vasiliev, you know what is at stake. We must galvanize our resolve and meet the enemy!”

  “I have heard of this assault on Agurru, but I would caution leaping so readily into the breach.”

  “I disagree,” replied Ravenwood. “I believe now is precisely the time to leap. Russia has a great deal of influence among the nations east of the Oder River. And you have influence within Russia. What do you propose we do?”

  Vasiliev remained silent for several seconds as though considering Ravenwood’s words, then he raised the vodka bottle and motioned for Ravenwood to set his glass down. Reluctantly, Ravenwood complied. The Russian grinned broadly and refilled the glass then raised his once more.

  “To Earth!” he said loudly.

  Ravenwood frowned. “To Earth,” he said but without enthusiasm. Having emptied the glass, he said, “Now, can we please get down to business? Time is running out. The only armies being actively assembled and trained are those of North America and Africa. South America is beginning the process, but they delay, waiting to see what Europe and Asia will do. Russia has significant influence on both continents and can make it all happen.”

  “Do you know what this is?” asked Vasiliev as he slowly turned the bottle’s label to face Ravenwood.

  “Yes, it is vodka,” replied Ravenwood, frustrated that the Russian was ignoring his point.

  “A common misperception,” said Vasiliev. “It is truth serum.”

  “I doubt that very much,” said Ravenwood. “Alcohol is fuel for idle boasts and blatant lies.”

  Vasiliev raised a finger. “Precisely. But to an expert listener such as myself, those boasts and lies reveal the truth of the speaker’s intentions.” He paused and leaned back in his chair. “Listen, I will be honest with you. I admire your words; they are inspiring, uplifting. You appeal to our better selves. Yet, as much as I admire your words, I am a realist and therefore cannot fully trust you. That is why I invite you to drink with me. You are
an enigma, Ambassador Ravenwood, and I need to understand your true motives.” He drummed the side of the bottle with his fingernails. “Let this mystical elixir dissolve the barriers that separate us so we may reveal our true selves.”

  “And you think getting me drunk will do this?”

  “Words may be slurred and boasts declared, but vodka reveals a person’s character. And once I have glimpsed a man’s character, there is no lie his tongue can form that will deceive me.”

  “And after you’ve discerned my character, what then? What do I get in return? Or am I to spend tomorrow nursing an aching head with nothing to show for it?”

  “This is good vodka,” objected Vasiliev mildly. “Your discomfort will be minimal. More importantly, I will know whether to throw Russia’s considerable influence behind your spectacular dream of raising armies on every continent to fight an enemy very few have ever seen. It is your description of the war that has brought us this far, but if you want Russia to risk the lives of her soldiers, I must know if you are a man to be trusted.”

  “Trust is a currency hard to come by these days, but if that is what you desire, more truth serum, please.”

  Vasiliev smiled and tipped the bottle’s opening toward Ravenwood.

  “But I warn you,” said Ravenwood, causing the Russian to pause. “You may be in for some surprises.”

  “Good! I like surprises,” declared the Russian as he filled Ravenwood’s glass.

  “Where shall we begin?” asked Ravenwood.

  “At the beginning,” replied Vasiliev. “Where and when were you born?”

  Ravenwood laughed lightly and raised his glass to meet Vasiliev’s. “I hope you don’t have any plans for the evening. This could take a while.”