“Maybe so,” Nordquist interjected in a suave baritone. “But given that we're talking about a mobilization of nearly two hundred vessels, including twenty Cortez-class dreadnoughts, and close to three divisions of first-line troops you can, maybe, understand both my and the Chairman's reservations? You must be aware that this is enough raw firepower to waltz right over any other independent systems out there, and with three divisions of armor and your airborne infantry in tow... well, the move raises questions,” he shrugged.
“Orion colony has a population of almost sixty million Union citizens, gentlemen. It has the military facilities to temporarily sustain the force we've sent there, both in space and on the ground. It is an exposed location due to its distance from Earth. Even the shortest path would lead a relief force across eleven foldspace junctions. Under the circumstances I believed it to be a matter of simple caution to strengthen the Union's garrison there in an effort to nip outside aggression in the bud. And with all due respect, Prime Minister, Mr. Chairman: the North American Union shifts forces the size of the taskforce we've sent to Van Halen's Star all the time, and so do both your nations, too. I don't remember the Alliance navy's 'surprise war game' in Chara this spring warranting diplomatic repercussions and raising international tensions, Chairman Zhou.” She turned her gaze to Nordquist. “Likewise, I am disappointed that my government's moderate position on EMC's handling of the Eridani Revolt last year is apparently not repaid in kind.”
Thirteen months ago the EMC colonial administration on Nouveau Paris in the Epsilon Eridani system had been overthrown by a rather well-armed separatist – or as they, themselves, had called it, independence–movement.
Nouveau Paris was one of the oldest and most populous human colonies, founded even before the discovery of foldspace and faster-than-light travel by sleeper ships sent out in the 22nd century. It was a cold, humid world with ice caps reaching several thousand kilometers from its poles, but its gravity and atmospheric pressure were almost Earth-like. And it had no seasons since the planet lacked an axial tilt.
Solwyn knew the EMC had enacted a communications blackout over the system, cutting its tachyon buoys out of the system. At the same time, its press had played up the insurgents as a fanatical fringe group of murderers and extremists. She also knew that nothing had been farther from the truth. Campbell's Central Security Directorate had had people on the ground who had supplied her with the real picture. He had never told her how he had managed to get spies into the inner circle of the movement, and she had never pressed the issue. But what had been obvious was that no small circle of extremists had the power and reach to take over half a billion people and the planet's orbitals. The insurgents had enjoyed wide popular support for their goals of independence from the EMC. The Confeds' forces had gone in guns blazing, and that had been the point when things had started to really go wrong.
The true extent of the casualties suffered in that first assault were still classified, but the Eridani defenders shot down fifteen warships and damaged another thirty. The initial landings had gone uncontested, but as soon as the five divisions of General Pavel Montoya's expeditionary corps had begun their operations, the Eridani militias had struck. Montoya's boys and girls had been among the toughest stock the Confederacy's military had to offer, and they had enjoyed a qualitative advantage in the equipment they used. But the insurgents, no, the Eridani Militia led by a former EMC officer, General Emile Danton, had outnumbered Montoya's forces. They knew the territory, and they had known where to strike. Danton made use of the age-old military maxim of hit 'em where they ain't, descending on the weakest links of Montoya's expeditionary force, conserving his sparse heavy weapons for crucial confrontations. The situation that had arisen from that had seen a reversal of the intended roles. Instead of hunting down the insurgency, it was Danton's forces who became the hunters. Afraid that the situation was getting out of control – which it had been, Jennifer Solwyn knew – EMC's high command had begun to frantically funnel more troops into the theater. Montoya's five divisions became ten, then twenty, then forty-seven. They had a full-blown quagmire on their hands. They would win most engagements but were on the way to lose the war. The comm blackout did only so much to keep the true state of the operations part of the rumor mill, but no government had the means to completely keep something of this size and magnitude under wraps indefinitely. The choir of voices of the other independent systems had gotten louder and louder with every passing week of the revolt. In the end the EMC had resorted to the orbital kinetic bombardment of rebel strongholds, breaking the militia's back when it wiped out General Danton's command bunker along with him and his staff. Things had returned to a chilly state of peace since then. Still, you didn't need to be a genius to realize that hostilities were just waiting beneath the surface to erupt again.
And that was the reason neither the Alliance nor the Union had played the Eridani Revolt for political gain: they all faced similar problems to one degree or another. Sure, recognizing the Eridanis' independence could have weakened the EMC's position and led to them running back home with their tails between their legs. It also would've guaranteed the secret financing and supply of every single separatist movement within Union space, via encrypted channels, leading back to the Pact with just enough plausible deniability for them to wash their hands clean of it. And what if EMC had called the Union's bluff? What if, after recognizing Nouveau Paris' independence, the Pact had chosen to continue its campaign? Wouldn't the Union have been forced to act? And wouldn't that have directly led to a situation where even the slightest misinterpretation resulted in a shooting war?
None of the big three harbored much love for the other two. However, none of them was in any hurry to enter the kind of battle royale a mismanagement of a situation like the Eridani Revolt could potentially create.
“The difference, Madam President, is the fact that Epsilon Eridani is ten light-years away from Earth while Van Halen's Star's distance to our solar system is fifty times that much.” Nordquist smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. “There is a direct foldspace corridor between Sol and Epsilon Eridani. As you yourself just stated, your forces have to pass eleven foldspace junctions to reach Orion colony, half of which correspond to realspace claims of nations either the Pact or the Alliance have signed treaties with. Nations that are now asking for our protection because you're moving more military hardware than all of them combined possess through space which, if we go by the letter of the law, is legally their sovereign territory.”
Jennifer Solwyn watched his smile with icy contempt. So, this was where this was headed. Technically, a nation's territorial claims extended into the fold analog to its normspace holdings. As it was nigh impossible to station permanent presences in the gravitic disturbances of foldspace these legal distinctions had little relevance to civilian traffic. That was, except for when some indie freelancer would 'escort' merchantmen into normspace for them to pay 'custom fees'. But in general, import tariffs and special fees were raised and paid at the cargo's point of destination, largely based on where a freighter was registered. Military vessels, however, were a whole different ball game. While a civilian freighter registered in the Union would have had no problem traversing Epsilon Eridani's foldspace pocket and would have raised no alarms, a Union military force doing the same would've been equal to an act of war. Because it would have violated sovereign Pact territory. Now, if both the PRA and EMC established military presences along the foldspace path to Van Halen's Star, it would make the whole route impossible. She threw a glance at her tablet and her frown deepened. The next best route had seventeen foldspace junctions and would take Union ships four weeks instead of two. She looked up again and met Zhou Jun's eyes.
“We warned the Union government in the 2680s that a colony this far away from Earth would invite these kinds of problems, domestic and abroad. The situation's remained tolerable mainly because your predecessors have exercised great caution in that region of space. Your desire to appear de
cisive in an unstable situation regarding the outer frontiers of mankind's sphere of influence has not only abdicated this policy, it has forced us to commit forces and political and economic capital as well,” the old Chinese politician coolly reprimanded her. “This is bound to further unrest and suspicion towards any of our nations throughout the independent systems, the last sentiment we needed at this moment.” He exchanged a quick glance with the European Prime Minister. “And should your actions lead to tensions with bordering alien powers, you'll be on your own.”
Rasenna Prime, Homeworld of the Rasenni Empire.
The corridors of power in the Imperial Palace lay silent as Prime Minister Teutori strode with pride over carpets so soft one could have just settled down on them and gone to sleep. The walls draped with fine portraits and shots of scenes from Rasenni mythology, the oldest of the works of art having been commissioned more than a thousand years ago when their nation had still been bound to its own planet. Lush silks from across the Empire and fluorescent tapestries showing great military and cultural feats of the Rasenni people and their emperors covered most of them. Teutori quickly calculated that the combined worth of the decorations in this wing of the palace alone could fund a small fleet of warships for the Imperial Navy. But the navy had enough ships as it was, especially since it lacked a real enemy strong enough to match them. The Ukhuri tried, of course. Teutori wondered if the slightly Reptilian aliens even grasped the fact that their military might, despite all their bluster, was hardly a match for the substandard vessels the great principalities of the Empire used to defend their territories. Probably not.
He considered the art and décor a more worthy use of that money than new military expenses. The Rasenni didn't need any more warships. The art of this palace, however, had a value beyond the tangible. It was living history, a direct link to the great days of the Empire when the stars themselves trembled at their might. But Teutori's people no longer shared their ancestors' enthusiasm for conquest and expansion. The Empire sat at the center of known colonized space, and its weight and position had made it wealthier than its conquests ever had. Peaceful decadence had replaced martial spirit.
The Empire's current situation was the culmination of the effects of close to three hundred years of slow but steady decline. The different noble houses had squabbled and bickered with each other, creating constant conflict within the government and dividing the great realm. The Ortani War had been a disastrous miscalculation, and even though it had ended with the complete annihilation of the Ortani as a species as a warning to all others who dared contest the Empire, its expenses in blood and coin had hastened the Empire's fall. Civil war had erupted, sweeping first the outer colonies which had been hit the hardest by the fighting, then the older and more populous core worlds. The resulting chaos and breakdown had almost destroyed the Empire.
They had rebuilt, tried to channel their inner turmoil into military expansion again and then had found the Ukhuri. Now that had proven to be akin to opening Pandora's Box. The occupation of their worlds had unleashed a universe of hatred and pain. Eventually they had had to withdraw as public sentiment at home turned against the proponents of the whole campaign. That had been a lifetime ago, and had ended their dreams of expansion. Nowadays the Empire looked inwards, where it was preoccupied with trinkets and debauchery.
Teutori reached his destination, a pair of gilded gates enclosing the throne room of the Emperor. The simplicity of the setup was deceiving. While the two-winged high doors looked delicate enough to fall over by the first gust of wind they were said to be able to withstand anything short of a fusion bomb. Inside the Empire's inner sanctum the Emperor could probably survive for years even if the whole world burnt to a cinder around him. The Prime Minister straightened his dark green overcoat, liberally encrusted in gold thread and dotted with rubies, hoping the bony crest on his head wasn't as large as the Emperor's. He took a deep breath and then nodded to the guards to let him pass.
The doors slid aside without any audible sound and opened the way to the inner sanctum. Emperor Áedh sat in a mountain of pillows, his back leaning against a pillar so encrusted in gold, silver and jewelry one had to wonder why the original designers had even bothered with marble in the first place. A lush warmth filled the wide quarters, stemming only in part from the dome above, through which Rasenna's sun shone upon the enclosed palace gardens.
The Emperor was engrossed in a report written in fluent script on a piece of richly ornate parchment. It was a peculiar leftover, an ancient tradition where emperors would only touch the finest papers available. To this day, even with holographic imagers and HD tablets, reports were handwritten on a supply of high grade parchment at unnecessary cost. Teutori quickly corrected himself. It wasn't unnecessary because, like everything in this palace, it was a link to their past, and tradition was priceless. Though a silvery tablet sticking out from the heaps of pillows suggested that Áedh wasn't averse to bending some procedures.
The Prime Minister stood before the Emperor, bowed – and waited. One did not address the Emperor first, even if it meant standing in silence for hours waiting for his attention. Even if it was a matter of life and death, protocol demanded that Teutori could make no suggestion that the Emperor should hurry. He knew the previous Emperor had gone senile before his death, and one day the combined High Command of the Imperial Navy had been summoned – and then promptly been forgotten about for six whole days last year. Had the situation been widely known the Empire would have become the laughing stock of all alien powers – and that would have been the best outcome of the situation. A naval High Command paralyzed for six full days would probably have done more than just cause the Ukhuri much amusement. There wasn't a single colony that wasn't in range of some potentially hostile power within six days. In fact, most lay much closer to danger than that. Teutori sighed silently, wearily. Perhaps sometimes the Rasenni were slaves to their past rather than preservers of it.
“Prime Minister,” the Emperor finally acknowledged his presence, putting the scroll of parchment away. “Have you spoken to the Diet?”
“Yes, your majesty. The principalities and minor nobles are quite concerned with Ukhuri overtures toward the Oscan system.” He hesitated, uncertain whether to add that even the Emperor's own faction shared the concerns. His mouth remained shut.
“I'm sure they are,” Áedh nodded, his voice and even baritone. “Though you and I both know their main concern right now is consolidating their position under my rule. How do the humans say? They're trying to figure out how I'm ticking?”
Teutori did not reply. The Emperor's assessment was, of course, completely true. The principalities were primarily concerned with themselves and each other. Despite their professions of allegiance and patriotism, the greater glory of the Empire seemed a distant point on their list of priorities. Maybe some of the more radical pundits were right, after all, and it truly was a shameful time to be a Rasenni.
“Look at our people, Teutori. Look at what we have become,” Áedh rose from his bed of pillows and intoned as if he had read his Prime Minister's mind. “More than a hundred star systems, the largest civilization of all known space, and we're consumed by our own petty greed and ambition. Is it really any wonder the Ukhuri are at our throats?”
Again Teutori kept his silence. The Emperor would tell him when his input was desired.
“We have become weak and vulnerable to our enemies. The Empire is a hollow shell, a pale shadow of what we were at the time of our grandfathers. Ten thousand entertainment feeds, live gladiatorial combat to the death, every luxury one could ever desire just a fingertip away, and yet, our people live bland lives. Each year we spend more on bread and circuses, and each year our strength atrophies. We still have enough to coat the cracks with glitter, old friend, but we're spending in a year what it took our ancestors a decade to accumulate.” He looked up at the ancient dome that kept him secluded from the real world. “The Empire looks grand on the outside, but it's empty within. If th
e Ukhuri discover that by attacking us, it could spell disaster.”
“Forgive me, your majesty, surely you do not believe the Ukhuri Regime could defeat us in war?”
“Ultimately? No, Prime Minister. I'm no military man. Before fate pushed me into this position my life was dedicated to the study of xenobiology. Take this, for example,” he fetched the silver tablet and called up a clip of a brown, snub-nosed and fur-covered animal. “A predator from the human home world called a Kodiak bear. Great brain size and even greater strength and endurance. But even such a great beast will get old and weak. We, my dear friend, are an old Kodiak bear,” the Emperor said gravely. “We are still too powerful for the other beasts of the wild to outright kill us, but they can hurt us, and badly so. And like an old and tired bear we are slow. But enough with the alien wildlife analogies. The principalities hate each other and would bicker over tactics and strategy while the Ukhuri burn our border worlds. I don't doubt that we would eventually drive them back. Still, the damage would be done and our vulnerabilities laid bare for other and potentially more dangerous enemies.”
Teutori tilted his head. “You mean the Ashani, your majesty?”
“Indeed,” Áedh nodded, his bone crest glistening in the warm rays of the sun. Despite his former statement about fate having put him were he now was, his rise to the throne had come through careful coordination, a lengthy process of gathering allies in the Senate and laying down favors. When Emperor Hathisna finally died – some would say with assistance – Áedh's plans were so flawlessly laid no one else could gather enough support to seriously challenge him. He became Emperor through politics. That perhaps was not the soundest of bases. There were no friends in politics, only interests and temporary alliances.
Opening Moves Page 24