The Game of Empire df-9

by Poul Anderson

“Why did the settlers make the effort?”

  “It was cheaper than depending on synthetics. Also safer, in the long run. Industries can be shattered more readily than farms.”

  “You misapprehend, my son. I meant that I cannot see why humans chose to invade a planet like that in the first place.”

  “Oh, my, you are unworldly, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Diana said while she fed him. “But you Wodenites never have been hell-bent to colonize like us. Is that because you don’t breed so crazily? Anyhow, planets where humans can live without a lot of fancy gear aren’t that common. Artificial miniworlds are fine … if you don’t mind scanty elbow room, strict laws, dependency on outside resources, and vulnerability to attack. Else you take what you can get. By the time David Jones discovered Daedalus, the best places in known space were already claimed, and goin’ into unknown space meant such a long haul that settlers would be cut off from their civilizations.”

  “ ‘Civilizations,’ plural,” Targovi pointed out. “It wasn’t only humans who arrived. Members of several races with more or less the same requirements came too. Some wanted simply to homestead, or to make a living by serving the homesteaders. But some had their special interests. Weird is the patchwork you’ll find on Daedalus.”

  “Fascinating,” said Axor. “I daresay that, as a political necessity, these communities enjoy basic local autonomy.”

  “Aye. Most won it in early days, negotiating with a weak planetary authority. Certain regions on Daedalus did have much potential. Islands especially; those were easiest to defend against the encroachments of native life. This happened in the Commonwealth era, you realize, when government was loose everywhere. After the Empire took over, the greatest of the baronies were rich enough to buy an Imperial pledge that they would be left alone as long as they paid their tribute and caused no trouble.”

  Diana passed out beverages and slathered mustard on bread for herself. “The Empire’s always been fairly tolerant, hasn’t it?” she remarked.

  “It is becoming less so, I fear,” the Tigery mumbled. “And as for what a ‘new broom’ might sweep away from us—” .

  “Then in spite of what you’ve said about Admiral Magnusson,” the girl tossed back, “wouldn’t he be off his orbit to try for the throne? I mean, he’s got to operate out of Daedalus to start with, but if the dwellers don’t like the idea and begin undercuttin’ him—”

  “They will meekly do whatever they are told, aside from black marketing and the like,” Targovi said. “Likewise the fighting men. I’m sure many will be less than glad at being taken from home, back to war, this soon. But what will they dare do save shout hurrah with everybody else? Yours is a magnificent species in its fashion, little friend, but like every species it bears its special weaknesses.”

  He stroked his chin. His tendrils lay back flat, and a fang gleamed into view. “Furthermore,” he murmured, “Magnusson, who is no simpleton, will have made his alliances with powerful factions on Daedalus. They will help keep order at his back, until he has overrun enough space elsewhere that Daedalus no longer matters. There are Paz de la Frontera … Lulach … Ghundrung … Zacharia—Zacharia—Aye, surely he has his understandings with persons in these and other places.” Axor looked distressed. “This conversation is taking a horrid turn,” he said. “What can we do about it but tend our private affairs and pray to God for mercy upon helpless beings throughout the galaxy?”

  “Well, we can get to Daedalus ’ere Javak looses his flames and we are forbidden to travel,” Targovi said, not for the first time.

  “Yes, yes, I understand, and you are very kind, aiding me on my quest.” Axor gusted a sigh that nearly knocked Diana’s beer bottle over. “We were speaking of happier matters. You were, kh-h-h, briefing me on Daedalus—the planet itself, pure from the hand of the Creator, before sinful sophonts arrived. I seem to recall mention of its being extraordinary in numerous ways.”

  “Well,” said the human around a mouthful of sandwich, “it doesn’t have a horizon.”

  Axor elevated his snaky neck. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The parameters—pressure and temperature gradients, mainly—they’re just right for light to get refracted around the curve of the globe. Theoretically, if you looked straight through a telescope, you’d see your own backside. Of course, in practice mountains and haze and so forth prevent. But the cycle of day and night—about a fifteen and a half hour rotation period, by the way, which is short for an inner planet anywhere—that’s quite an experience.”

  “Dear me. Amazing.”

  “I have read of the same thing elsewhere,” Targovi said, “but those worlds chance not to be habitable.”

  “In fact,” Diana added, “I’ve heard how Terra itself’d be like that, if it kept the same air but was a few kilometers less in radius. How much less? Thirteen, is that the figure? Nothin’ to speak of as far as gravity and such are concerned. Daedalus happens to fit those specs.”

  “Or else God made it thus, for some purpose that perhaps the Foredwellers came to know, and we ourselves may someday,” Axor crooned. “Oh, wonderful!”

  The word came as Moonjumper was in approach curve. The planet filled vision ahead. Its huge polar caps were blinding white. Between them the tropics, seventy degrees wide, and the subtropics shone azure on the seas, dun and deep green on land, beneath clouds which the rotation twisted into tight spirals. The single moon, Icarus, stood pockmarked behind.

  Suddenly the outercom picked up a message on the official band and blared it forth. Against his will, after his vital recommendations for military and political reform had been ignored, Admiral Sir Olaf Magnusson had bowed to the unanimous appeal of his valiant legionaries, that he take leadership of the Terran Empire before it crumbled in chaos and fell victim to every consequent evil. He had imposed martial law. Civil space traffic was suspended, unless by special permit. Sensible persons would instantly see why: an average-sized vessel moving at interplanetary speeds carried the energy of a small- to medium-yield nuclear warhead.

  As far as possible, citizens should carry on in their usual occupations, obedient to the authorities. Infractions would be severely punished. But there was nothing to fear, rather there was everything to await, a dawn of hope. In six hours the new Emperor would broadcast, explaining, reassuring, arousing his people. “Stand by. The Divine, in whatever form It manifests Itself to you, the Divine is with us.”

  “Eyada shkor!” Targovi breathed. “Once I read of an ancient tombstone on Terra. Upon it stood, ‘I expected this, but not so soon.’ ”

  “What’ll we do?” Diana asked, webbed into a seat beside him in the cramped control cabin. “Turn back?”

  “No. We are locked into Ground Control’s pattern. Doubtless I could arrange release, but—it is natural for me to continue as programmed. The whole object of this game has been to get our feet on yon ball.” Targovi brooded. Abruptly:

  “See here. Were you not the child of Maria Crowfeather and Dominic Flandry, I might feel guilt at casting you adrift. As it is, I must work with what tools I have, and thank the gods that the steel is true. I meant to tell you more than I have done, as soon as we were at large, but now that must wait. Already have I told you too much for your safety, mayhap. However, it has been little more than my suspicions of what was about to strike, together with fears of what use certain folk might make of the uproar. Surely these thoughts have occurred to others. If you know naught further, you have naught further to conceal, and I do not think they will interrogate you too fiercely, the more so when Axor is clearly uninvolved in these matters. Stay calm, hold fast to your wits, make your own way, as you have ever done.”

  She half reached for him, withdrew her hand, and said only a little unsteadily, “What do you mean?”

  “Why, I have reason to think it could be unhealthy for me to linger after we land,” he replied. “Therefore I will not. Imagine that they suspect me of gunrunning, or allegiance to the Molitor dynasty, or intransigent mopery, or whatever. Aye, it
’s a shock that your companion has been in deep waters. You knew only that I offered you a ride to Daedalus in order that you and Axor might be my blind, for purposes you had no reason to suppose were fell. Do you hear me?”

  Then they did clasp hands.

  Daedalus had no weather control. A rainstorm was upon Aurea when Moonjumper descended. That would be helpful to Targovi, though he could surely have managed without.

  A squad of Imperial marines waited to arrest the persons aboard. At the last minute, Targovi cut Ground Control off and, manually, set down on a vacant spot across the field. He went straight out the airlock and disappeared in the downpour. Efforts at chemotracking were soon nullified by the manifold smells in the old quarter. Known associates of his, such as the innkeeper Ju Shao, denied knowledge of his whereabouts. Too much else was going on for Security to pursue the matter in detail. A Tigery outlaw would be practically helpless and hopelessly conspicuous on Daedalus anyway, would he not?

  Meanwhile the squad had surrounded his passengers and taken them off to detention. At first the marines were nervous, weapons ready. But they got no resistance. The pretty girl actually smiled at them, and the dragon gave them his blessing.

  Chapter 6

  “The hour is upon us.”

  Tachwyr the Dark, Hand of the Vach Dathyr, stood silent for thirty pulsebeats after he had spoken, as if to let his words alloy themselves with the minds of his listeners. They were the members of the Grand Council over which he presided—the captains, under the Roidhun, of Merseia and its far-flung dominions.

  Their faces filled the multiple screens of the communication set before him. He had had it brought out onto a towertop of his castle. At this tremendous moment he wanted to stand overlooking the lands of his Vach, while its ancient battle banners snapped above him in the wind. The sun Korych cast brilliance on forested mountainside, broad fields and clustered dwellings in the valley beneath, snow-peaks beyond. A fangryf winged on high, hunting. On a terrace below, his sons stood at attention, in ancestral armor, honoring their forebears and their posterity, the wholeness of the Race.

  “That which we have worked for in secret has come to pass amidst trumpet calls,” Tachwyr said. “Our patience reaps its reward. The word has reached me. Magnusson has risen. Already his ships are on their way to combat.”

  A hiss of joy went from every countenance. Gazes became full of an admiration that approached worship. He, Tachwyr the Dark, himself a commander of space squadrons until he succeeded to the Handship of the Dathyrs and ultimately got the lordship of Merseia—he, this gaunt and aging male in a plain black robe, had brought them to triumph.

  He knew what the thought was, and raised a cautionary arm. “Not yet dare we exult,” he said. “We have scarcely begun. Victory could elude us, as it eluded generation after generation before us. The great Brechdan Ironrede fashioned a scheme that would have ruined the Terrans utterly, and saw it crumble in his grasp. In his name, after the name of the Roidhun, shall we go forward.”

  “What precisely is the news?” asked Odhar the Curt.

  “Scarcely more than I have said,” Tachwyr answered. “The dispatch will enter your private databases, of course, and you can study it at leisure; but do not expect much detail across a gulf that is many parsecs wide and deep.”

  For an instant the wish twinged in him, for some interstellar equivalent of radio, instantaneous, rather than courier vessels and message torpedoes which might at the very best cover slightly over half a light-year per hour. If the pulsations of warped space that made them detectable across twice that distance could be modulated—And indeed they could, but only within detection range. The same quantum uncertainties that made it possible to evade the speed limitations of the relativistic state made it infeasible to establish relay stations … Well, everybody labored under the same handicap. Much of Tachwyr’s plan depended on using it against the enemy.

  “Have instructions gone to our embassy on Terra?” inquired Alwis Longtail.

  “Not yet,” Tachwyr said. “First I want this group to consider my draft of the letter. You may well have suggestions, and in any event you should know just what the contents are.”

  “Is there any reason why those should be specific?”

  “No, nothing has changed in that respect. We must trust Chwioch to fit his actions to whatever the situation happens to be.” That faith was not misplaced. Chwioch might bear the sobriquet “the Dandy” from his youth, but even then he had been bailiff of Dhangodhan, and at present he could better be called “the Shrewd”—except that he preferred the Terrans underestimate him. He would find—no, create—a pretext for breaking off the negotiations, toward a nonaggression pact which he had so skillfully been prolonging. That would send waves of dismay over nobles, rich commoners, and intellectuals throughout the Empire, which in turn would bring an outcry for a “new politics” pointed in a more comforting direction.

  Meanwhile Chwioch would explain, on every occasion he could find or make, that in the absence of such a pact, incidents leading to armed clashes were inevitable. When a single capital ship carried weapons sufficient to devastate an entire planet, and when the Empire could not keep its own house in order, Merseia was obliged to secure the debatable regions. This might sometimes require hot pursuit, into space claimed by the Empire. Obviously the Riodhunate regretted every occurrence, and stood ready to renew efforts to establish a lasting peace as soon as the Terran government was able to join in.

  But the Terran government was going to be preoccupied for a period that might run into years …

  “When shall we put the Navy on full alert?” asked Gwynafon of Brightwater.

  “Perhaps never,” Tachwyr said. “Definitely not soon, barring the unforeseeable contingency. After all, the Terran embassy here will be reporting what it observes. The commanders of chosen units are already prepared for action. Best we not be too impulsive as regards them, either. Let events develop a while.”

  The question had been ridiculous, especially since the entire strategy had been under repeated, intensive discussion. However, Gwynafon was new on the Council—and not very intelligent—and a nephew of the Roidhun—You used what materials the God put at your disposal.

  Brief pain slashed through Tachwyr. Had Aycharaych been alive—The original plan was his, and he had taken a direct part in the early preparations. But Aycharaych died when the Dennitzans bombarded his planet. At least, he vanished; you could never be altogether sure of anything about the Chereionite. With him had passed away the central machinery of Merseia’s Intelligence Service. The Roidhunate had been half blinded, hideously vulnerable, impotent to take any initiative, for a decade or worse, while a new structure was being forged. If Terra had struck meanwhile—

  But that wasn’t in the nature of an Empire old, sated, and corrupt. Instead, its politicians wondered aloud why their realm and the Roidhunate kept failing to reach agreement. Was there not an entire galaxy to share?

  As if any responsible Merseian leader could turn his attention elsewhere, when such a power lurked at his back! Once upon a time humankind had borne the same universe-spanning ambitions that the Race did now. It might well come to cherish them again—if not on Terra, then on the daughter worlds. Or a different but allied species might, the Cynthians or the Scothani for example. Even in its decadence, the Empire had the means to pose a mortal threat. It must be nullified before the Race could be fully free to seek that destiny the God had set.

  We shall, ghost of Aycharaych, we shall. During those selfsame years of our misery, your scheme was coming to fruition. This is the day when victory begins.

  Chapter 7

  After the warships had glided from orbit, starward bound, the effective ruler of the Patrician System was Lieutenant General Cesare Gatto, Imperial Marine Corps. The civil governor and bureaucrats carried their routines on as best they were able, but this had never amounted to much. Since Daedalus became sector headquarters, the Navy had taken over most functions, from planetary polic
e to mediator between communities. Gatto reigned as Magnusson’s deputy, almost his viceroy.

  It was thus somewhat of a surprise, as overworked as Gatto was, when he had the prisoner Diana Crowfeather brought to his office. Or perhaps not. A husband and father, he had never lost his taste for femininity. Besides, this was an unusual case, more so than he let on to his subordinates.

  “Please be seated,” he said as the door closed behind her. She took a chair and regarded him across the desk. He was a small, well-knit man with a high forehead above a furrowed, hooknosed face and pale blue eyes. His uniform tunic had the collar open and was devoid of the many decorations he had earned. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers.

  His look in return was appreciative, baggy though the coverall was that had been issued her. “I’m afraid this past pair of weeks has been wearisome for you,” he went on. “I hope the physical conditions, at least, were acceptable.”

  “It wasn’t bad,” she answered. “Except for the questionin’ and, worse, the worry about my friends. Nobody would tell me a damn thing.” Her tone defied more than it complained.

  “Separate interrogations are standard procedure, donna. Rest assured, the Wodenite has suffered no harm. I hear he’s spent most of his time screening books from the public database. Scholarly works and slushy novels.”

  “But what about Targovi?”

  “The Imhotepan—I wish I knew. He’s dropped from sight. Have you anything to add to your claim, and the Wodenite’s, that you two cannot tell why he fled? Has some new thought occurred to you?”

  “No, sir.” Her chin jutted. “It might help if we had a better idea of why we were seized in the first place.”

  Gatto stared at his cigarette, puffed, raised his glance to hers, and said: “Very well, I’ll be frank. You see, you and your companion have received clean bills of health. You yourself are known on Imhotep, of course, and a check by Security agents there verified the Wodenite’s story of being on a religious tour, eccentric but harmless. Nobody can imagine how either of you could be conspirators, nor did interrogation indicate it. At worst, you persist in trying to find excuses for the Tigery. You could both have been released earlier, if the urgencies of preparing for Emperor Olaf’s departure hadn’t caused everything else to be postponed.”