Seeba-Ka looked at the construction work with new eyes. Now, having heard at least some of Santana’s plan, the Hudathan realized that the LaNorian wagons were being rebuilt from the ground up.
The frameworks that held them together had been reinforced with lengths of steel, wood casings were being fitted around off-world wheels, and U-shaped cradles had been fastened to each wagon bed. The more senior officer shook his head in wonder. “You plan to smuggled the T-2s out in the wagons!”
Santana nodded. “Yes sir, and the troops, too, not to mention their gear. I figure if we put some LaNorian drivers up front and load some realistic cargo on top, we should be able to pull it off.”
“Clever,” Seeba-Ka said admiringly, “very clever. But why so many wagons? You have two T-2s yet I count four cradles . . . Don’t even think about stripping the unit of additional cyborgs. Miraby wouldn’t approve, nor would I.”
“Sir, no sir. The other two cradles are for two RAVs (Robotic All-terrain Vehicles.) I submitted the req about 0330 in the morning.”
Seeba-Ka hadn’t checked his messages as yet but knew the request would be there. “And you assumed I would approve?”
“Sir, no sir. I hoped you would approve and used my initiative to get started in case you did.”
The reply had a rehearsed quality, but Seeba-Ka expected nothing less. Santana had a plan—and that was good. “So, assuming I approve the requisition, how do you plan to use them?”
“Well,” Santana replied, “the second lesson I learned on the trip to Pur Lor was how vulnerable a small number of troops would be without any mechanical leverage. Sure, we can throw a lot of slugs at the enemy, but there’s a limit to how many we can carry. That goes for food and medical equipment as well. The simple fact is that without Snyder’s armament, sensors, and strength all of us would be dead.
“So, while the RAVs aren’t the same thing as sentient T-2s, they can carry a lot of supplies, casualties should we have some, and provide limited fire support. No small thing when we might have to face hundreds or even thousands of enemy troops.”
Seeba-Ka eyed the RAVs which stood against the south wall. They weren’t sentient, the way T-2s were, but the vehicles did have fairly sophisticated onboard computers, which handled navigation, med support, and fire control.
Each unit consisted of two eight-foot sections joined together by a pleated accordion-style joint located at the center of its long ovoid-shaped body.
Four articulated legs enabled the robots to negotiate even the toughest terrain. Two cargo bays, one forward and one aft, could accommodate up to four thousand pounds of supplies plus two causalities. And though not designed for offensive purposes each RAV was equipped with two turret-style forward-facing machine guns plus a multipurpose grenade launcher. Properly deployed, and properly dug in, each robot could be used to defend one sector of the platoon’s perimeter. Each RAV wore a fanciful monster face complete with vicious snarl, white fangs, and red eyes.
The robots had not been very useful within Mys, but would provide Santana’s platoon with some much-needed support. Seeba-Ka nodded. “Request approved. I see a problem though . . . Freight never leaves from Mys because there aren’t any factories or warehouses here. The Claw will stop your wagons ten minutes after they roll through the North Gate.”
“Yes, sir,” Santana acknowledged dutifully, “except that I don’t plan to leave via the North Gate. With FSO Vanderveen’s help I hope to pass through the South Gate, enter the city of Polwa, and leave through the western wall.”
The Hudathan looked at his subordinate with a renewed sense of respect. “No offense to your maternal parent, Lieutenant, but you are one crazy sonofabitch.”
Santana remembered the party, the way the Hudathan’s sword had sliced through Ramanthian flesh, and grinned. “Sir, yes sir, but look who’s talking.”
There was silence for a moment . . . followed by what sounded like a series of hacking coughs. Seeba-Ka was amused.
THE CITY OF POLWA, ON THE INDEPENDENT PLANET OF LANOR
For the first time in may years the Dowager Empress Shi Huu had something to look forward to—the partial restoration of her youth! The prospect of that caused her to wake half an hour early, beat the dogun out of bed, and trigger a full-blown domestic crises.
For year piled upon year the Dawn Concubine had been a creature of regular habits. So much so that the Tiz master in charge of distributing the “heavenly harvest” to the plants that graced the Imperial gardens could predict the quantity of feces Shi Huu would produce on each day of the week. Knowledge he had used to win any number of bets.
As a result none of Shi Huu’s retainers were ready for an early awakening, and the servants assigned to clean the leaves on the plants directly outside the Imperial bedchambers were treated to the sounds of loud recriminations, the slap of paddles on flesh, and wails of pain as everyone from the senior maid to the lowliest fan trimmer paid for their lack of attentiveness with units of carefully measured pain. Then, with discipline restored, the procession could begin.
First came the heralds, shouting for everyone to get out of the way, soon followed by a brace of Shi Huu’s bodyguards, the eunuch Dwi Faa, maids bearing that day’s finery, and two male servants bearing a small chest filled with cosmetics. Not because the Empress expected the nanosculpting to fail, but because even in the full flower of youth it had been necessary to enhance nature’s gifts that they might be appreciated more fully.
Now, as the Imperial convoy swept through the maze of hallways, eyes peered out through holes, gaps, and cracks. This was the day when Shi Huu would receive her new face and everyone wanted to see what it would look like.
There was nothing to see however, not yet at any rate, because even though the vast majority of the biosculpting activity had already been carried out many days before, the microscopic surgeons had been tidying up ever since, all hidden by a feature-hugging mask.
Idealized features had been painted onto the mask, so the Empress could present some sort of face to the court, but no one knew what lay beyond. Beauty? Or not beauty? Since “ugly” was an adjective which could not possibly be used in conjunction with Shi Huu even in the privacy of one’s mind.
Even now the executioners had been stationed not ten paces from the room where the off-worlders waited and the mask would be removed.
Did the Thrakies understand the danger they were in? No, probably not, but such were the risks that all courtiers took.
Though not aware of the fact that his life was on the line the Thraki medicologist whom Ambassador Hybatha had prevailed upon to accept the case was nervous nonetheless. His name was Togunda, and in spite of the fact that the science of nano-based biosculpting was widely employed by all of the more advanced races that success was based on years of experience and millions of clinical trials.
LaNorians were similar to other races, but different as well, and that meant things could go wrong. Not terribly wrong, as in dead wrong, but wrong nevertheless. What if the Empress didn’t like her face? What if the suboceanic mineral rights went to the humans? What if he were sent to look after the crew on a Class IV nav station somewhere beyond the Rim?
But the medico’s thoughts were interrupted as cymbals crashed, the Imperial entourage swept into the room, and the moment of truth was at hand. “Quickly,” Ambassador Hybatha whispered, “you must take charge.”
Thus prompted the Thraki propelled himself out into the middle of the specially equipped room, bowed, and gestured in the direction of a power-assisted chair. “Good morning, Highness, please be seated.”
Normally it was Shi Huu’s prerogative to speak first but the Empress was so excited that she allowed the gaffe to pass unpunished rather than delay the unveiling for even a few seconds.
Moving with a speed that belied her sixty-five years Shi Huu turned, backed into the chair’s well-padded embrace, and heard machinery whine as it adjusted to her slender body. Assuming the surgery went well, and there was no need to kill the Thrakies, she would
demand four such chairs one for each throne room.
“Excellent,” Togunda said, moving to the Dowager’s side and mounting the footstool placed there for his convenience. “Now, close your eyes. I will spray a solvent onto the surface of the mask. It will dissolve into what will feel like cold cream. Then, once the residue is wiped away, the results will be clear. Do you have any questions?”
“Yes,” Shi Huu responded impatiently. “When will you shut up and get on with it?”
Togunda’s ears went back against his skull. He glanced at Hybatha, saw the look in her eyes, and managed to swallow his pride.
The cylinder felt heavy and cold. The Thraki shook it three times to ensure that the contents were well mixed, aimed the nozzle as Shi Huu’s face, and fingered the release. Cool white foam squirted onto the face mask.
The medicologist handed the container to an assistant and took up two spatula-shaped instruments which he used to smear the solvent over the entire surface. Then, satisfied that the foam was evenly distributed, he put the tools down.
“Well?” Shi Huu demanded. “Is it ready yet?”
“No, Highness,” Togunda replied, “the mask is still in the process of dissolving. Please be patient.”
The last was a definite breach of etiquette and Ambassador Hybatha heard a loud sucking sound as all thirty of the Imperial retainers took deep breaths and waited for the blood to fly.
But Shi Huu wanted the new face very badly and, though aware of the insult, was loath to do anything that might compromise the surgery’s outcome. For that reason she managed to contain her ire and remained silent as the seconds continued to tick away.
Finally, once the foam had lost its loft and started to liquefy, the wait was over. Togunda’s assistant moved in to wipe the solvent away, Shi Huu’s Bliss Industries makeup mirror was rolled into position, and the moment of truth was at hand.
Shi Huu waited for the last of the foam to be removed, heard the alien say, “You can open your eyes,” and hurried to do so. Her vision was blurry at first, but the room soon snapped into focus. The Empress looked into the mirror and her heart leaped for joy.
The image that floated before her was like a window into the past. The wrinkled skin, sagging flesh, and widow spots had vanished! Now, seemingly impervious to the passage of time, the Empress found herself face-to-face with the long-lost Dawn Concubine. There was not only the high forehead, the perfectly aligned nostril slits, and the fashionably thin lips, but the blemish-free skin, the blush of youth, and the firm perfectly shaped chin. Only her eyes remained the same. They were dark, like bits of coal, and glowed as if lit from within. They looked every bit Shi Huu’s true age or even older.
There were cries of joy and astonishment as Shi Huu turned to Hybatha. Each of her retainers stared unabashedly at the Empress’s face, sought to memorize that particular moment in time, and looked forward to sharing their impressions with those less fortunate. “It is as you said it would be. Dwi Faa will finalize the agreement made earlier. You may go.”
Though not used to being dismissed in such a perfunctory manner Hybatha had what she had come for and was eager to escape. She bowed, Togunda did likewise, and the Thrakies withdrew.
Conscious of the fact that hundreds if not thousands of her subjects were waiting for news regarding the surgery, and eager to let them see what her revitalized face looked like, Shi Huu ordered the room to be cleared of all but her personal attendants, applied her makeup, allowed herself to be bound in red silk, slipped into a pair of thick-soled clogs, and was soon on her way to the water throne.
Having already heard about the positive outcome, and no longer afraid of how the Empress might react, hundreds of servants, advisors, cooks, carpenters, gardeners, grooms, and all manner of other retainers emerged from their various nooks and crannies to line the hallways, bow deeply, and honor what had already become known as “the new face.”
Shi Huu remembered the days before she became a concubine, when villagers turned out to stare at her, and felt a renewed sense of power.
The water throne rested on a circular island at the center of a tiled pool and could be accessed by either of two slightly arched footbridges. White, gold, and black fish swam all around it and served to symbolize all the creatures that lived in the Great Wet. The throne itself was carved to resemble a seashell and was supported by four fanciful sea serpents.
Once the Empress was seated her court had little choice but to gather around the perimeter of the pond and gaze inward. As usual it was Dwi Faa who spoke first. He did so as if greeting her for the first time that day. “Good morning, Your Highness. May I say that it has been my privilege to witness two dawns during the same day?”
It was a graceful allusion both to the full restoration of Shi Huu’s beauty—and to the Emperor’s pet name for her. The Empress was touched by the minister’s words but frowned nonetheless. “No, you may not. I suspect that more sleep and less wine would go a long way toward resolving your double vision.”
The court tittered but the eunuch knew his mistress well and took the true response from the look in her eyes. “Yes, Highness,” the minister said, “it shall be as you say.”
“Good . . . What troublesome news do you have for me today?”
Regardless of what she might pretend Dwi Faa knew the Empress to be in a good mood and gave thanks for that fact. “The worst sort I’m afraid, Highness . . . In spite of the army’s best efforts to find and apprehend the prince it appears that Mee Mas was able to slip out of Polwa and rendezvous with the humans. They smuggled him into Mys where he now resides, within the Confederacy’s embassy.”
If true, this was bad news, extremely bad news, and Shi Huu sought to ascertain how reliable it was. She frowned. “By what means do we know this?”
“We have a spy within the embassy,” Dwi Faa replied, “a new one. She saw the prince with her own eyes.”
“And how reliable is this spy?”
“Very reliable, Highness. We have her one-year-old son in custody.”
“Excellent,” Shi Huu replied approvingly. “See that she has the opportunity to visit her son. Make sure that the bond remains strong. We will have need of her in the future.”
“Yes, Highness.”
“As for the prince, and the off-worlders who chose to befriend him, what do we know of their starships? How many circle above?”
“None, Highness, not at the moment. The next ship, a freighter, is scheduled to arrive in four weeks’ time.”
“Good. And their message things? What of those?”
Dwi Faa knew that the “things” the Empress referred to were what the off-worlders referred to as message torpedoes. Miniature spaceships that could travel through space and take messages to distant stars. “We aren’t entirely sure, Highness . . . Although our intelligence operatives suspect that each embassy has at least two or three such devices circling our planet.”
“So,” Shi Huu said thoughtfully, “once word is sent, how long before the off-world armies would arrive?”
“At least a month,” Dwi Faa answered, “but probably more.”
“That should be more than sufficient time,” the Empress replied. “Send the following message to Ambassador Pas Rasha: ‘You have one day in which to hand over Prince Mee Mas, plus any other LaNorians who may have entered the foreign sector, or the entire city of Mys will be put to the sword.”
Though pleased Dwi Faa was careful not to show it. The prince was a threat, not only to the Shi Huu’s power, but to his, since there would be no place for him in a government run by Mee Mas.
Of even more concern, given the fact that the prince had a relatively small following, was the off-world community itself, which by its very presence continued to poison LaNorian culture.
Now, after months of dithering, the Empress had finally made her decision, and it was a good one. If the aliens acquiesced to Shi Huu’s demand, then fine. If they defied her, which he secretly hoped that they would, the Empress would have no choice
but to eradicate them. More foreigners would come, but negotiations would start afresh, and more-advantageous deals could be struck. Certain aliens, the Ramanthians and Hudathans came to mind, would receive favorable treatment in recognition of the strong relationships they had forged with the Imperial government. The tax revenues received from the Ramanthian factories, plus the income that would be derived from allowing the Thrakies to harvest minerals from the ocean floor were far too important to lose.
Yes, Lak Saa would have to be dealt with, but that would come later. For this particular moment in time the Imperial government would enter into what amounted to a tacit alliance with the Tro Wa, using the secret society like a shield, thereby sheltering itself from off-world retribution. In fact, if things went extremely well, it might be possible to blame everything on the Claw. He bowed deeply. “Of course, Highness. I shall dispatch the letter within the hour.”
“See that you do,” Shi-Huu said briskly. “Now, what other nonsense must I deal with?”
THE FOREIGN CITY OF MYS, ON THE INDEPENDENT PLANET OF LANOR
It was just before dawn, that time of day when most citizens were still asleep, the criminal element had returned to their various lairs, and only street sweepers plied their trades. It wasn’t raining, but it had been, and the air was relatively clean.
The top of the wall separating Mys from Polwa served as the roof to Factor Wah Heh’s rather opulent office—and the South Gate lay directly below his well-shod feet. That made it possible for the customs official to walk to the north side of his office, open the shutters, and look down on the foreign city of Mys, or reverse direction, open those shutters, and peer into the Imperial city of Polwa.
Not that he normally spent much time looking in either direction since it was more pleasant to sit at his desk, nap on his daybed, or nip out for a bite to eat.
The fact that he had time for such niceties was largely due to the extra hours granted him by the magic calculator which the human named Vanderveen had so kindly given him.
For More Than Glory Page 26