“You have been getting too comfortable, Verena. You might take some time to remember where you were when I took you as my bondservant. You are now part of a conquering army—an army I command. Humility would suit you.”
“Of course, Star Colonel.”
He could see defiance and anger in her eyes, but she was controlling it. As she should.
He turned away from her and continued striding through the streets of Helmdown.
* * *
By the time he had returned to his quarters, his anger at Verena had mostly dissipated. He had not been precisely certain of its source—it seemed to flare rather quickly, and he was usually better able to ignore insolence. Whatever the reason, it had passed, and he helped Verena clean and bandage the wound on her jaw. He could see that she was not entirely appeased, but that was a small matter.
“Our repairs are almost complete,” he said. “We should be ready to make our next move soon.”
Her mouth opened slightly, but closed, and her jaw clenched. She clearly had something to say.
“Say what you want,” he said. He was confident she had left her insolence behind on Helmdown’s streets—for the time being, at least.
“I thought the next move was already chosen. I thought we were going to Stewart.”
“That would seem like the wisest move—it is a crucial planet in this war, even if Anson Marik does not hold dominion there. For the moment, however, our decision is not official. The Lyrans have not shared their plans with me, and of course I did not feel the need to confide in them. We are not a unified force, and I have no desire to be one, but I should not be so stubborn that I punish our forces. We will do much better landing as part of a three-pronged assault than as one part of three separate invasions. At some point, coordination will be necessary.”
“It does not seem like coordination should be so difficult.”
“It should not be. But Vedet may be stupid enough to attempt an invasion on his own simply out of spite.”
“I assume you have not spoken with him.”
“Not since his visit on the morning after the battle,” Alaric said. “Avoiding each other seems like the best approach.”
“Then what do you do? Just leave and hope he follows?”
“No. He will not be able to move that fast.”
“Steiner,” Verena said, speaking a little faster now. “Trillian Steiner. She will try to make all the commanders on the planet work together. You have been waiting for her to meddle.”
“She, of course, would say she is just doing her job as assigned by the archon.”
“Of course she would,” Verena said.
“The meeting will come soon—I thought she already would have called for it by now. I cannot see any reason to continue to wait.” He lowered his arms to his sides and tapped his mattress. “But I still have not decided the best way to take advantage of the situation.”
“I assume you mean the situation in which everyone involved hates you.”
Alaric allowed himself to smile. “It is not so much the hate as the anger. Anger tends to make commanders sloppy. I do not like sloppiness in people who are supposed to be offering support for my troops. Not that Duke Vedet would ever admit to serving as support for the Wolves, but as long as he is occupying our enemies, he is offering support.”
“But he hates Anson Marik more than he hates you, quiaff?”
“Aff. But that just makes him even more likely to make more mistakes.”
“Then position him so his mistakes help us.”
Alaric sat up straighter. “Be ready for him to overswing…yes. But we would need to make sure he enters battle in the proper frame of mind.”
“I imagine that would be your job during the council of war. As long as you are not above that sort of petty manipulation.”
Alaric raised an eyebrow—it was little more than a twitch, but still more expression than he typically displayed. Then he decided Verena was not making fun of him, or if she was, it was not overly insubordinate.
“Playing political games is one thing,” he said. “Positioning ourselves for victory on the battlefield is another. The Silver Hawk Irregulars should already be in the proper state of mind. It should not be difficult for me to make sure Vedet is too.”
18
Helmdown, Helm
Lyran Commonwealth
13 May 3138
Trillian did not go outside much. The streets were grimy and drifted with ash, and there were certain alleys that never seemed to dry, no matter how long the city went without rain. And it never went that long.
The problem was, every street, every alley, looked like that one spot in Zanzibar City. Every single damn one of them. Every time she turned a corner, she thought she would see the body of the policeman lying there, huge and limp. The policeman she had killed.
She had been thinking about that almost every day, and she blamed Helmdown. The city was nowhere near as large as Zanzibar City and, truth be told, not architecturally similar at all. But there was something about it—maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the angle and intensity of the light—that made her think of Zanzibar City everywhere she went. So, to counteract that problem, she didn’t go anywhere.
Klaus went. She had Klaus running around the city like a jackrabbit, working whatever contacts he had made since they arrived here: information-gathering was a particular skill of his. He came back once or twice a day and updated Trillian on what he had found. Trillian remained in her cramped quarters behind her white plastic desk, reviewed the information Klaus brought her and tried to make sense of the situation. It was the most complicated, least satisfying military victory she had ever been a part of.
She looked forward to Klaus’ visits. She didn’t have too many people to talk to—she didn’t know many people on Helm, and those she did know didn’t come to see her very often. Klaus helped ground her, keeping her in touch with the world she did not choose to visit.
But when he walked in today, Trillian had the distinct feeling she would not enjoy the conversation.
He looked as polished as always. Klaus wore his uniform like other people wear pajamas—with complete comfort, though in his case without a hint of sloppiness. He looked effortlessly immaculate.
“How are the streets of Helmdown today?” she asked.
He twisted his mouth into a kind of wavy line. “As wet and grimy as ever,” he said. “As usual, you’re not missing anything.”
“How is it you walk around out there all day and never have a spot of mud on your uniform?”
“My uniform is clean because my heart is pure.”
“That makes your uniform clean? Then what is it that gives you the strength of ten men?”
“Same thing,” Klaus said. “Pure hearts solve many problems.”
“What’ve you got for me?”
“A problem, that’s what I’ve got.”
“What kind of problem?”
“A Vedet problem.”
“What a surprise. What’s he up to at the moment?”
“He’s apparently decided that Clan Wolf no longer has a role in this invasion, and that they’d be better off somewhere else.”
“Since that’s not his decision to make, that doesn’t worry me too much,” Trillian said.
“It should,” Klaus said. “He wants to go public.”
Trillian dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her temples. “Go public?”
“With what he knows about the battle. He’s already taken to calling it the Helm Massacre, and he’s quite content to put all the blame for it on Clan Wolf. If he can paint them as bloodthirsty barbarians…”
She saw it, like a path of stepping stones floating right in front of her. “Then the archon’s decision to bring them in looks pretty bad.”
Klaus nodded. “He will also, of course, try to portray himself as valiantly trying to stop the massacre. He’ll say he had the battle won, and the Clanner committed cold-blooded murder because he wanted to.”
“Aside from a few nuances here and there, that’s not really too far from the truth.”
“I’m not sure that the truth of the matter is exactly our concern right now,” Klaus said.
Trillian leaned back in her chair and looked over Klaus’ shoulder out her small window. She saw only gray streets under a gray sky. “I’m gonna have to go out there to take care of this, aren’t I?”
Klaus looked around the small, sparsely furnished room. “I’m not sure the luxury of your quarters will convince many people to come here. Besides, it wouldn’t be good for you to become agoraphobic.”
“I’m nowhere near an agoraphobe,” she said. “I’m a Helmdown-phobe, that’s all. Like anyone wouldn’t be in this miserable place.”
“Whatever your neurosis, I don’t think Duke Vedet is going to care. And I don’t think he’s going to go out of his way to visit you.”
“All right. Do that thing where you just announce that I’m coming instead of scheduling an appointment. Then you can blindfold me and take me to his office.”
“Seriously?”
Trillian sighed. “Only the first part.”
* * *
While Alaric and his Clan were squatting in temporary quarters in a bombed-out section of the city and Trillian was making do with a back office she’d selected mainly for its lack of windows, Vedet had set himself up in quarters worthy of a duke. The abdication of the local government had emptied out most of the offices in the middle of the city, and while some of the nicer quarters were too charred to use, Vedet had found a room that had belonged to the Helmdown minister of agriculture, a broad room with rich green carpet and floor-to-ceiling shelves on practically every wall. Vedet sat at a desk in front of a large bay window with a view of a section of the city that only recently had stopped smoking.
Trillian was glad Vedet had found this room. She found its formality far more comfortable than most other parts of Helmdown, as long as she didn’t spend too much time looking out the window. Since she intended to spend most of the meeting glaring at Vedet with a steely intensity, the view should not prove much of a distraction.
She was happy to find him waiting for her—she half expected to find an empty room, which would not say good things about Vedet’s respect for the Steiner family. He might be attempting to maneuver his way into Melissa’s position, but he wasn’t so arrogant that he would fail to show up when a high-ranking Steiner summoned him. At least, not yet.
“Lady Steiner. You’re lucky to have caught me,” Vedet said when Trillian walked in. “I have plenty of preparations to supervise.”
“Preparations for what?”
Vedet produced a smile that oozed across his face. “Our departure, of course. We’ve been on Helm long enough. We need to continue the campaign before Anson Marik manages to create another regiment of the Silver Hawk Irregulars.”
“Of course. Have you chosen a destination yet?”
Vedet tilted his chair back and slouched a little, looking all too comfortable. “Yes.”
“And will you share it with me?”
“I’d like nothing better. However, that might not be the most prudent action at the moment.”
“And why is that?”
“You know just as well as I do that it’s generally wise to limit the amount of information you give to people you do not trust.”
“Are you referring to Alaric Wolf or to me?”
Vedet only grinned broader.
This wasn’t good. She’d thought his presence here was an indication of some reserve of respect, but it looked like she’d read it wrong. He had stayed in his office to meet her because he wanted a chance to bait her. His arrogance had clearly prospered in the past two weeks, and he thought he now had the situation on Helm completely under his control.
At this point, instilling some humility in him was not just a good idea—it was her duty. The fact that she would enjoy her duty was just a happy side effect.
“I didn’t think you’d be ready to leave just yet,” she said. “I thought you’d need at least three or four days, maybe a week.”
“I suppose you’d like me to sit down with the Clanner and swap strategy?” He waved a hand dismissively. “That’s a pipe dream. Both of us would be more than happy to go our separate ways. Even if we end up on the same planet, I don’t think either of us will be too concerned about talking to the other. We’ll be best off on our own.”
“No, no, no, that’s not what I was talking about. A good communications strategy takes time—you need to know what messages you want to send out and who to send them to. And of course, when you’re working the media, it’s a good idea to keep yourself available. Media people have a habit of asking questions, and the more questions you can answer, the more your wonderful thoughts and words can be disseminated throughout the Commonwealth.” She layered plenty of scorn into her voice to make sure Vedet would not be able to miss it.
Vedet blinked innocently. “Communications strategy? I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Trillian walked forward, slow paces toward the window like she just wanted to take in the view. When she passed the desk, she spun lightly on her front heel and faced the duke. “Of course you don’t. You haven’t assigned any of your people to work on getting out the story of Alaric’s actions here. You haven’t prepped some of your officers on how to answer questions from the media and what to say to put you in the best light.” This second item was a guess, but Trillian was fairly certain that she knew what Vedet would be up to. A small flicker of his eyes when she was speaking told her that she was right.
“I haven’t done anything of the kind,” he said, in a voice so flat and so different from his normal tones that anyone listening would know he was lying.
“Oh. Good,” Trillian said. She took a single step closer to him. “That will save me a lot of work.”
He didn’t want to ask. He sat still, hands resting on his stomach, waiting for her to offer more explanation. But Trillian could see the interest in his eyes, and she knew that all she needed to do was wait.
It took a little longer than she thought it might, but after a period of uncomfortable silence, Vedet finally licked his lips and said, “Fine. I’ll ask. What kind of work?”
She was above him now—he had to look up to make eye contact with her. “Monitoring the press activity surrounding the conquest of Helm,” she said. “You see, I’m fairly certain that if one version of events comes out, the media, being creatures that thrive on controversy, will look around to see if the first accounts of the Battle of Helmdown are truly accurate. And I would suspect, after some routine work, they will find another account of what happened here.”
“Really?” said Vedet, sitting up straighter so he’d be taller in his chair. “And I don’t suppose you have an inkling about what that other account might be?”
Trillian spread her hands. “How am I to know? There are so many people out there, telling so many stories. Who knows which ones the media will latch on to?”
“Perhaps you could guess,” Vedet said, layering scorn into his own voice.
She stepped back and resumed pacing slowly as she talked, making a short trip in front of the glorious picture window. “Oh, the media are such unpredictable, resourceful beasts. Who knows what they’ll turn up? But if I had to hazard a guess, I imagine they will find some people who will claim that there was no official surrender agreement with the Silver Hawk Irregulars on Helmdown. In fact, these sources might say that the surrender was being negotiated at the very same time that some Silver Hawk troops were charging Clan Wolf lines.”
“I don’t see how that story is at all compelling.”
“Then pay attention, because it gets better. These sources might also say that no one other than a certain Lyran commander knew anything about this so-called surrender, and that since the Silver Hawks were in the act of attacking during negotiations, the surrender was worth absolutely nothing.”
She was walkin
g toward him now, getting closer with each slow step. “This turns the battle into a tale of two commanders. One of them, battle-weary and gun-shy, claims the existence of a phantom surrender simply as an excuse to stop fighting. The other, a commander who is a fighter, keeps going until the battle is completely won. He will not be fooled by the Silver Hawk Irregulars’ ploy of pretending to negotiate surrender. He does not concern himself with talk. Instead, he moves on and decisively ends the battle.” She was looming over him again, daring him to lean away from her. “It should make an interesting story, don’t you think? That talker-versus-fighter image should make for some fascinating headlines, along with a number of interesting debates throughout Lyran space.”
The first crease in Vedet’s forehead had appeared early in Trillian’s story, and was soon joined by another, two folds a few centimeters above his nose. Then other furrows appeared on the sides, until Vedet’s head appeared as rough and uneven as the rocky land north of Helmdown.
“You’re insane,” he said.
“Me?” Trillian put her hands on her chest, fingers splayed. It was becoming one of her favorite gestures to indicate her innocence. “I’m not doing anything. I’m simply giving you my best estimate of what kind of stories the media will find if they go looking for them.”
“You want to portray Alaric bloody Wolf as a hero of the Lyran Commonwealth! As a fighter! Good hell, who do you think is the bigger threat to the Commonwealth, him or me?”
Trillian made a show of thinking. “Hmmm. You know, I’m not sure I could answer that question right now.”
Vedet jumped to his feet and slammed his hands on his desk. She had to jump back to keep his head from slamming into hers. “Get out! Get out now!”
Trillian waited before she moved, making certain she did not appear rushed. “Certainly. I’m sorry our discussion has left you upset.”
The next remark needed to be timed just right. She took five slow, even steps toward the door. Then stopped. Waited a brief moment. Then turned. Then spoke.
The Last Charge Page 17