Tyrant

by Richard F. Weyand

  The next day, General Walder contacted the Emperor.

  “Yes, General Walder.”

  “Your Majesty, we have some results into the investigation into the death of Sector Governor Palomo.”

  “Go ahead, General Walder.”

  “Yes, Sire. We have a distance for the shooting. Ms. Palomo was shot from a distance of ten feet. This is inconsistent with Mr. Palomo’s story of a shooter at the balcony doors. He would have had to walk well into the room to be within that distance of the location where we found the body.

  “We then looked for powder residue on the floor, Sire. Powder ejected from a handgun like the one we recovered from the yard will fall to the floor in a line along the initial portion of the bullet’s trajectory. There were four such lines of powder drop along the floor, one for each bullet hole in the walls, plus a much heavier one back from the body. This would be consistent with three shots from the same location. All six shots, in fact, were fired from the same location. It was not towards the doors to the balcony, but at ninety degrees to them from the body, making the story of a shooter from the balcony less likely.

  “There was no powder residue on Mr. Palomo’s hands. This of course can be washed off easily. There were powder traces on his shirt however, particularly on the left cuff. Mr. Palomo is left-handed.

  “Finally, none of the staff saw anyone else, and the extensive security camera setup around the sector governor’s mansion shows no evidence of any intruder approaching the mansion. All individuals in the security recordings were security people, and their hands and clothing all tested negative for powder residue.

  “That’s what I have for you so far, Your Majesty.”

  “Can you hold for a moment, General Walder?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Dunham pulled up a blank document on his VR desktop, filled it in, and signed it. He sent a copy to Perrin and to Walder.

  “I’ve just sent you an Imperial Decree finding Mr. Palomo guilty of murder and treason. Execute him.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Confrontation and Conflagration

  It was several days after the coronation and the successful resolution of the Catalonian Secession crisis.

  “So, Mr. Saaret. Ms. Palomo is permanently removed as Sector Governor, and Mr. Palomo has been executed for both her murder and assisting her in her treason. Any ideas who we should appoint as sector governor?”

  “Generally speaking, Sire, it is best to name a Catalonian to the post. Someone from Catalonia Sector, that is. Not necessarily the planet.”

  “You have someone in mind, then, Mr. Saaret?”

  “Yes, Sire. The provincial governor of New Madrid Province. He is well regarded, and I believe he has a vice governor who could successfully move up.”

  “Very well, Mr. Saaret. See to it.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “With Catalonia taken care of, I want to move on to Wollaston and Estvia. Admiral Leicester has his forces in position, and I want to get that situation resolved.”

  “Understood, Sire.”

  “To that end. Let’s set up a VR meeting between me and King Michael. At least three days out from whenever the date is set. I need to give Admiral Leicester time.”

  “Very well, Your Majesty.”

  Dunham, Admiral Leicester, Vice Admiral James Doheny of Task Force Wollaston, his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Gunnar Karlsen, Vice Admiral Amit Banerjee of Task Force Galveston, and his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Felipe Cuesta all met in a flag conference room in VR. Dunham and Leicester were actually physically in their offices, while the fleet admirals were on board their flagships around Wollaston or staged several light-years from Galveston.

  “Gentlemen,” Dunham said, “the purpose of Operation Estvia is to make an example of what will happen going forward to people and organizations who threaten the peace and the stability of the Sintaran Empire. For too long, our bureaucracy allowed situations like this to fester because it was good for the weapons manufacturers who paid them bribes. We expended munitions, we wore out our systems, and our men were chewed up in the furtherance of corporate goals.

  “This situation allowed outside actors like Estvia to nibble at us, to commit acts of war, knowing we would not respond with our full military capabilities. We need to show everyone this is no longer our policy. This operation is intended to do just that. With that, I’ll let Admiral Leicester describe the operation and your parts in it.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Leicester said. He went on to brief them of the target list for the operation, and the munitions to be used. At the end, he turned the floor back over to the Emperor.

  “This operation is so far outside our past policy and behavior I expect a certain reticence to carry it out. No one wants to be the person to push the firing button. I understand that. Depending on how the political winds blow, someone could get caught well out in the cold simply for following orders.

  “These are my orders, though, and therefore I will push the firing button. When the operation commences, each of you will have your munitions launches tied into an auxiliary weapons panel on your flag bridge. When the time is right, I will VR into your flag bridge and push the firing button myself. This will also allow me to control the timing of your launches to have the most beneficial effect in my discussions with Estvia. I will stop in to your flag bridge prior to the operation so you can show me the arrangements.”

  Their respective diplomatic staffs had set up a VR call between His Highness King Michael VI of Estvia and His Majesty Emperor Trajan of Sintar. The VR setting was a featureless room, without any adornment, or even doors. Dunham’s avatar was just himself, in his business suit. He was standing at parade rest. King Michael’s avatar included his throne, on which he slouched, as if even his avatar found it too much trouble to sit straight for this conference. He was five minutes late.

  “Ah, there you are,” King Michael said. “All done playing dress up for the masses?”

  “The coronation went very well, thank you for asking, King Michael,” Dunham said.

  Now the conference was started, in another VR channel, Dunham was seated at the secondary weapons control panel on the flag bridge of the HMS Valkyrie, in orbit about Wollaston. He pushed the FIRE button on the panel. Switching to another VR channel, he was seated at the secondary weapons console on the flag bridge of the HMS Conquerant, which, with its contingent, was accelerating hard toward Galveston. He pushed the FIRE button and switched back to his conference with King Michael.

  “Your reign name. What the hell’s with that?”

  “Trajan was a Roman Emperor, King Michael.”

  “Rome? You’re a few thousand years late to the party, boy.”

  King Michael’s strategy was obvious: to treat the Emperor of Sintar with as little regard as possible – to be as insulting as possible – to try and get him angry. It just rolled off of Dunham.

  “You never studied Rome, King Michael?”

  “I don’t have time for ancient history, boy.”

  “A pity. It might have saved you some trouble.”

  “I doubt it. Anyway, I have difficulty pronouncing your reign name. It sounds like Trashcan to me. So, Emperor Trashcan, what can I do for you today?”

  “This is merely a courtesy call, King Michael. I wanted to let you know the Wollaston Insurgency is over.”

  King Michael snorted.

  “That’s no business of mine, Emperor Trashcan. Your affairs are your affairs. But I don’t think you can just declare an insurgency over and that’s it.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s it. It’s over.”

  “Bullshit. If you could simply snap your fingers and have it be over, why hasn’t anybody done it before now?”

  “An oversight, I’m sure. Things just get so busy, sometimes minor issues get overlooked. But no, I assure you, it’s over. Watch.”

  Dunham waved his hand to the side wall, and an image appeared. It was a distant view taken from a peak
forty or so miles distant, with the Oryssian capital of Savanna on the left, and the Imperial Marine base on the far right. As they watched, a projectile came down out of the sky, leaving a vapor trail behind it. A thousand feet above the Imperial Marine base, the one-megaton nuclear warhead exploded, vaporizing the base and everyone in it.

  King Michael almost leapt out of his chair. He shouted at the image of Dunham in the VR.

  “You can’t use nuclear weapons against a planetary target. That’s against the Treaty of Earth.”

  “On the contrary, King Michael. The people who drew up the Treaty of Earth, including your illustrious ancestor, specified that nuclear weapons could not be used for planetary strikes against a hostile planet. They carefully retained the right to nuke their own planets. And Wollaston is mine.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “As may be. Why are you so upset? I left that base empty. You wouldn’t happen to have had any resources illegally on Oryssia, now would you? Estvian Army regulars, perhaps? Heavy weapons, like field artillery? How careless of you, to misplace such assets on Sintaran territory.”

  “You jackass! Do you have any idea of the civilian casualties? The blast, radiation, and fallout of that strike will have a devastating impact on Savanna.”

  “I am not at all concerned about that, King Michael. Savanna has been the center of insurgency against Sintar for over twenty years. Insurgency against the Empire will not be tolerated. Observe.”

  Four more projectiles came down out of the sky trailing vapor.

  “No,” King Michael whispered.

  Four one-megaton nuclear weapons detonated at widely spaced intervals, obliterating the city of Savanna and its outskirts.

  “You just incinerated twenty million people,” King Michael said flatly.

  “Yes. As I said, I called you to tell you the Wollaston Insurgency is over. As you can now see, I was correct.

  “I have the safety of three hundred trillion people to consider, King Michael. Twenty million people will not be allowed to disrupt the peace of the Sintaran Empire. They could have lived out their lives in peace within the Empire, but you would not let that happen. If you had not fomented rebellion among them, they would still be alive. My conscience is clear. You are the cause of the problem, and on you rests the responsibility for their lives.”

  King Michael continued to stare at the display wall as the mushroom clouds merged and welled up into the stratosphere above Savanna. He said nothing, and Dunham continued.

  “External political entities will no longer be allowed to foment and supply insurgencies within the Empire. While the Treaty of Earth specifies that nuclear weapons may not be used against planetary surfaces of other polities, it specifically exempts space-based ships and military facilities. Space-based infrastructure is also specifically exempted if it is used to further hostilities. As it happens, I know where those weapons on Wollaston came from, King Michael. You recognize your freight transfer station around Galveston, perhaps?”

  The display view switched to an exterior view of a large freight-transfer space station in orbit around a green, inhabited world. Dozens of freighters were docked to the station, which extended miles along each of its four arms. The large center torus contained the habitat for the workers, and spun slowly below the intersection of the four arms.

  “No. No, I beg you,” King Michael said.

  As they watched, several dozen projectiles descended on the station, targeting each ship in dock, as well as positions along the four arms of the station. The center torus, too, was targeted. Explosions blossomed across the docked ships and the arms of the station, then the huge torus spun apart in pieces, with no fewer than three hits around its diameter and one dead center where its spokes came together. The huge station broke up, with some pieces ejected into space and others falling to the planet. The bulk of the debris continued to orbit the planet in an expanding cloud of broken wreckage and scattered bodies.

  “I have timed this attack so most of the debris will land in the large Mexican Ocean, and not impact on the land surface of Galveston. I am not without mercy, King Michael. But I will not tolerate interference in the affairs of the Sintaran Empire by you or any other external polity.

  “You will cease to foment insurgencies within my Empire, or I will come back and absorb the Kingdom of Estvia into Sintar and kill any who oppose me, including you, your family, and your entire government. You should now realize that is not an empty threat, nor will I hesitate to do so if you do not immediately cease your belligerence and interference in Sintaran affairs.

  “Good day, Your Highness.”

  “You’re awfully quiet this evening, Bobby,” Peters said.

  “I killed twenty-two million people today. To make a point,” Dunham said.

  Peters got up out of her club chair and came over and sat on the sofa next to him.

  “The Wollaston operation?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you think it went?”

  “King Michel started out arrogant and insulting, trying to get me angry.”

  “And at the end?”

  “He was begging me to stop.”

  “So, point made, I think.”

  “Yes, but was it worth it? Was it worth killing twenty-two million people to make one asshole rethink his position?”

  “I have two responses to that, Bobby. One is that it is done. You made that decision already. It is behind you, and no amount of second-guessing can change it. The future, as you have said before, is in the other direction.

  “The second is this. In a hundred years, we are all dead. You, and me, and all the people who died on Wollaston and Galveston. In a hundred years, we are all dead. The thing to consider is, What will survive? In particular, will the Empire survive?

  “You know your history, Bobby. You know what the history of this section of the galaxy was before Sintar picked up the shattered pieces to form the Empire. Broken navies. Obliterated cities. Failed kingdoms. Chattel slavery. Vassalhood on a planetary basis. Famine, starvation, disease. And when the Empire falls, that is what awaits again. As with Rome. You know this.

  “So the question is, Will the Empire survive? Have you extended this reign of peace and prosperity for three hundred trillion people? Have you pushed the fall of Empire and the onset of barbarism a little further away?”

  “I think so. I’m not sure.”

  “I don’t think you can ever be sure. You can just do the best you can.”

  Dunham sighed.

  “You’re right, of course. Those were always the considerations, when making the decision in the first place. It’s just hard not to second-guess yourself.”

  “That just makes you human.”

  Two Monuments

  “Good morning, Mr. Saaret.”

  “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

  “What is on our agenda for this morning?”

  “First, Sire, we are getting indications from our ambassadors and the foreign relations departments that your recent actions to put a stop to the Wollaston insurgency are having a rather salutary effect on what had previously been hopelessly stalled negotiations in other trouble areas. They are finding that a simple ‘I’ll have to see what Emperor Trajan might suggest’ can move mountains.”

  “Just wait until your father gets home.”

  “Eh? Oh. Yes. Exactly, Sire. No one wants to be the subject of a bad report to the Emperor of Sintar these days.”

  “We put up with too much for too long, Mr. Saaret.”

  “Indeed, Sire. We also expect it to have a salutary effect on our budgets. The financial burdens of maintaining large expeditionary forces in these trouble areas was individually small, but it does add up. At the same time, our actual military readiness should increase, absent the constant pressures on our forces.”

  “Very good, Mr. Saaret. Let me know if there are any situations in which I should personally get involved. If the mere mention of my name moves the negotiations along, my actual participa
tion in the process could be a powerful tool for our negotiators.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “And what of Catalonia, Mr. Saaret?”

  “The new sector governor is in place now, Sire. The network people have gotten all the little bugs of restarting the system ironed out. They’ve actually grown a more efficient structure from scratch than the evolved one that was in place, so we’re in better shape there than we feared we might be.”

  “And what of the popularity of membership in the Empire now, Mr. Saaret?”

  “It had fallen, as you know, Sire, under the constant drumbeat of criticism from the former sector governor’s paid shills in the media. It has now rebounded past where it was prior to the start of her campaign. The Empire’s popularity in Catalonia may now be the highest or near the highest of any sector.”

  “Excellent. And Renata’s paid shills, Mr. Saaret?”

  “After we published what we found of her books with regards to her payments to the media, they have mostly been removed from positions of influence, Sire. Most were sacked outright.”

  “That’s good news as well, Mr. Saaret. We have no dire trouble spots this morning? No grand treasons? No hopelessly mired insurgencies?”

  “No Sire,” Saaret said with a smile. “We do have one area of unfinished business, however.”

  “Go on, Mr. Saaret,” Dunham said warily.

  “No, actually this is a good thing, Sire. I am informed by Lin Jiahao that the new books of law are ready.”

  “Ready to be enacted, Mr. Saaret?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “And they’ve been gone over by jurists?”

  “Yes, Sire, including the entire High Court. In fact, Chief Justice Simms has written a preface.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Saaret.”

  “One question, Sire. You know that in the normal course of things this new book of the laws will be called the Law of Trajan if we let it go forward without comment. Is that what you wish?”