by David Weber
“Such as?”
“Such as I think Myrcal wasn’t talking about sending a message to me through McCabe in Lyzan, the way Berke assumed ou was. I think ou was talking about sending a message to McCabe.”
“Huh?” Wilson shook his head. “Come again? McCabe’s an advisor. He’s not even in the mission’s chain of command!”
“I know that.” Abu Bakr nodded. “And you know that. For that matter, Alex’s spent enough time at the Nonagon with Dave for it to be obvious that he’s Dave’s senior aide, which means McCabe shouldn’t even be in the running for the position. But I’ll be damned if that isn’t what it sounded like ou was saying. Is it possible for some reason that, whatever you and I may know, Myrcal doesn’t know McCabe’s not in a senior command position?”
“I don’t know,” Wilson said, turning back to gaze thoughtfully through the armorplast once more. “To be honest, you’re a lot better with this ‘people’ stuff, even when the people in question are aliens, than I am. But assume you’re right, that for some reason ou thinks McCabe’s one of our actual policymakers. You think that’s significant?”
“My turn to say ‘I don’t know,’” Abu Bakr admitted. “On the other hand, in this instance it’s the things we don’t know that could get a lot more people killed, so I think we should probably find out.”
“Simplest way would be to just ask oum,” Wilson pointed out.
“So speaks the simple-minded Space Marine.” Abu Bakr’s tone was dry. “If the Qwernians really are up to something—whether it’s because they did have a hand in arranging all of this to begin with, or simply that they’re fishing in troubled waters to take advantage of it now that it’s happened—the last thing I want is to let someone like Myrcal MyrFarZol see any of my hole cards. And the way ou approached that entire conversation has me looking under the bed for bogeymen.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid because of what’s already happened and because of how little I trust Myrcal to begin with, but I don’t want to give oum any clue that ou’s made us suspicious.”
“You been hanging around Dave too long,” Wilson said even more dryly. “He always makes my head hurt when he gets into double- and triple-think.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment, even though I suspect that’s not how you meant it.”
“Diplomat.” Wilson actually chuckled, but then he cocked his head and looked at Abu Bakr quizzically. “But if you’re not going to ask oum about it, then how are you going to figure it out?”
“I’m going to start by sitting down with Alex and all the rest of Dave’s advisors—including McCabe—individually. I’m going to play the conversation for each of them and then ask him or her what they think Myrcal’s up to and if there’s any reason they can see for oum to be sending messages to McCabe.”
“You don’t think McCabe—?”
Wilson let his voice trail off, and Abu Bakr shook his head quickly.
“I don’t agree with a lot of Arthur McCabe’s philosophy, but he’s not the kind to run around behind his superiors’ backs or cut corners. If he knows any reason Myrcal might want to approach him, he’ll tell me about it.”
“And if no one can think of a reason?”
“Then either I’m seeing things that aren’t there—which would probably be a good thing, really—or we need an outside opinion.” Abu Bakr shrugged. “If they can’t convince me I’m imagining things, I think I may ask Bardyn and Prime Director Qwelth to listen to the same conversation.”
“That could be construed as a violation of Myrcal’s presumption of confidentiality as a diplomat,” Wilson pointed out.
“Of course it could, but we’ve just agreed that the entire conversation’s evidence of the Empire’s penetration of the Republic’s government, and whatever the Chelthists may have done, Qwelth and Bardyn—all the Diantian directors—have done their damnedest to get to the bottom of it. They’re absolutely sincere about that, even if only because they realize how disastrous this could turn out for them if we decide they should’ve seen it coming and prevented it. I’m convinced of that, and so is the software.”
He paused and Wilson nodded. Bardyn and Qwelth were either totally sincere in their shared desire to figure out what had happened and make sure it never happened again, or else they were the best actors ever born. The emotion-parsing feature of the translating software made that abundantly clear.
“I’m not going to lose any sleep over helping them figure out that the Qwernians have planted spies on them,” Abu Bakr continued then. “As you say, they have to already know they’ve been penetrated at least to some extent, if only because that’s how things work. But that whole conversation about McCabe nags at me, Rob. It just … nags at me. It’s like the terrorist with the bazooka—something just isn’t right. And if none of our people can figure out what that something is, maybe we need a Sarthian viewpoint on it.”
* * *
MYRCAL’S EYES TRAVELED the length of the conference table in ous war room in the War Palace. Buried beneath cherans of dirt and concrete, the war room was the safest place ou could think of to hold the meeting. While it was possible the Dwomo–damned Earthians could still spy on their meeting—ou had no idea how their spy systems worked—there was no safer place on the planet. If they could spy on oum here, then the future of Clan Qwern in general—and ous future, in particular—was in serious jeopardy.
Ou beckoned for the male to ous right to begin.
“What do we hear from our sources?”
“According to Herdsman Consort Vistal, the investigation into Trygau continues in the Republic,” Jorhsal JorhFyrTol, ous chief of staff, replied. “While they haven’t been able to tie anything to us yet, Bardyn’s staff is almost unanimous in their opinion that either the Empire or the Qwernian Alliance was responsible for the attacks.”
“And they’ve reported as much to the Earthians?”
“We can’t confirm that, but based on the lines of communication that appear to be in place between Bardyn and the Earthians, we feel certain they have.”
“If the Earthians decide we were the ones responsible for the attacks, what’s their probable response going to be?”
“We don’t know. The Earthians—aside from their displays of force in responding to the attacks—have been extremely reticent about showing us any of their capabilities.”
Myrcal raised one nasal flap. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Also unknown, Minister. Perhaps their capabilities aren’t as much greater than ours as they want us to believe? Maybe they’re worried we would attack them if we knew that?”
Tarquo StalTarChal raised her hand, and Myrcal arched a nasal flap for her to speak.
“Can we really assume that, though?” she asked. “They flew through interstellar space to get here, and they already defeated another starfaring race. They must have some capabilities beyond ours that we haven’t seen yet.”
“That can’t be proven one way or the other,” Gennyn CholAnGen replied. “While what you say is true, the capabilities they exhibited during the recent attacks—aside from their aviation assets, which are much more advanced than ours—weren’t as far beyond ours as I would have thought they’d be. And besides, the Earthians never really did explain how they beat the Shongairi. Perhaps there was some sort of virus on the planet the Shongairi succumbed to, and the Earthians didn’t do anything more than just steal their equipment once they perished? That would explain some of the holes in their story.”
“All of this is conjecture,” the chief of staff said in summation, turning back to Myrcal. “The truth of the matter is we don’t know what their capabilities are, any more than we know what their true intentions are regarding us. The Earthians appear to say one thing, but then they do something else entirely, and most of the time, their methods don’t make any sense!”
Myrcal shared a wry smile with ous staff.
“No one knows better than I the truth behind that statement,” ou said. “I wis
h Dwomo had sent the Earthians somewhere else … but Ou didn’t, and we have to deal with them. Worse, now that the Earthians seem to be beginning to suspect we had something to do with the attacks, we need to be prepared for the possibility they might decide that as a certainty. What are our options?”
“One thing we know for sure,” Tarquo said, “is that they can drop things on us from space. Even if they’re afraid to face us—soldier-to-soldier—for some reason, they can still drop asteroids or other bombs on us from their spacecraft if they decide we were responsible and choose to retaliate, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them. They can do that with impunity, any time they wish.”
“Then we need a way to prevent them from exercising that option,” Myrcal replied. “You seem to have given this some thought. What would you recommend?”
Tarquo shrugged. “In order to make them come to us, we have to take away their ability to drop things on us from space. There are only two ways to do that—either we need to go up there and take away their ability to do so, or we need to take away their desire to do so.”
“The first of those is … problematic at this moment,” Myrcal said with a chuckle. “I suspect you have a way for us to accomplish the second option?”
“I do,” Tarquo said, shaking her head. “The Earthians would be retaliating because of the attacks on their people and, especially, because of the Earthians who died. So the trick would be to create a situation in which they can’t bomb us from orbit without endangering still more of their fellow Earthians. If we can create a situation like that—put Earthian lives in peril in the event of any attempt to bomb us from orbit—they would have to come down here to face us, instead. Assuming, of course, that they had the spiritual fortitude to do anything of the sort.”
“So just grab a few of the Earthians and hold them hostage?” the chief of staff asked.
“No,” Tarquo said with a smile. “I’d advise the Minister to grab all the Earthians we can that are currently resident in the Empire and the Alliance’s member states. If we could capture enough of them, we could them put them in all the places we think might be targeted by the Earthians and use them as a de facto shield against anything dropped from space.”
There was a collective intake of breath around the conference table at the sheer audacity of the plan. Not to just grab a few Earthians … but to grab all of them? Myrcal shook ous head slowly. Ou liked it. And the more ou thought about it, the more ou liked it. In fact, the plan was exactly what ou—what the Empire—needed. An exceptionally audacious strategy that hit the Earthians throughout all of Qwernian territory! Capturing all the Earthians would show the ones in space the lengths to which the Empire was prepared to go to achieve dominance over the Republic. And then, once they’d captured some of the Earthians, the others wouldn’t be able to bomb them from orbit! They would have to negotiate with the Empire, but now, the Qwernians would be the ones in power. They would hold the cards for once, and the Earthians would have to come begging if they wanted their people back.
Yes, this strategy had real potential. Myrcal might have bungled ous first meeting with Abu Bakr, but this approach was sure to prove which nation on Sarth was most prepared to do—and most ruthlessly capable of doing—whatever it took to accomplish the next step towards the stars. The Earthians would probably be furious, at least at first, but ultimately they would realize it only proved that the Empire was their absolute best ally here on Sarth.
“You’re right,” ou said, smiling at Tarquo, then turned to ous chief of staff. “I endorse this plan. Have Hyrkyl instruct our operatives to begin planning the capture of the Earthians.”
“But what about the Earthian soldiers and the armor they wear?” the chief of staff asked. “Surely, after the other attacks, the Earthians will be more on guard. Won’t that preclude capturing their personnel?”
“Have we seen their soldiers wearing the armor in the last two day-halves?” Myrcal asked.
“No,” Tarquo said. “Only the ones who came to assist Earthians under attack actually wore the armor. In the days since, none of them have been wearing it.”
“Good,” Myrcal said. “Make sure our operatives know to grab the Earthians and get under cover before any of those forces show up to assist. If there are other soldiers or guards in the area, they should kill them first.”
* * *
“SIR, I DON’T have a clue,” Arthur McCabe said from Lyzan, shaking his head in the com image projected onto Abu Bakr’s corneal implants.
The younger man’s expression was weary, almost haggard, and Abu Bakr felt a stab of sympathy. Apparently McCabe and Trish McGillicuddy had grown even closer then Abu Bakr or Dvorak had realized. Her death had hit him hard.
“I’ve never even spoken to Minister Myrcal,” McCabe continued, “and I can’t think of a single reason he’d want to talk to me now.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that,” Abu Bakr said dryly. “And in case you were wondering, no one thinks you’ve done anything to convince him you’re more highly placed in our chain of command than you actually are.” He smiled ever so slightly. “I’ve known a few weasels over the years, especially since the invasion, who wouldn’t be above doing exactly that. One thing about fighting a guerrilla war against alien invaders is that you don’t have to worry about careerist empire builders. I’ve seen plenty of them since I got shanghaied as a diplomat, though, and you’re not one of them.”
“I appreciate that, Sir, and I’m glad to know you don’t think of me that way. But I still can’t come up with a reason for Myrcal to single me out as important to the process. I mean, I have a fairly cordial relationship with Charioteer Consort Zyr here at the Nonagon. I like her and I respect her, and we’ve gotten into the habit of touching base over coffee and terahk every two or three day-halves. I’ve passed summaries of most of our conversations to Secretary Dvorak.”
Abu Bakr nodded. All of the mission staff summarized any contacts with Sarthians for the mission data base, and actual copies of those contacts were on file from their translation software for review, if that seemed necessary.
“But however well she and I may get along,” McCabe continued, “she’s only their representative to the Nonagon, which isn’t exactly a critical posting in the Qwernian diplomatic service.” The sad-eyed young man quirked a faint smile. “I guess what I’m saying is she’s not a whole lot farther up the Qwernian totem pole than I am on ours.”
“I understand.” Abu Bakr nodded. “I can’t say you’ve been able to tell me anything I didn’t already know, but, then, neither has anyone else!”
“Maybe not, Sir, but even if I can’t think of a reason for Myrcal to think I’m important enough for oum to be officially communicating with me, I think I have to agree with you that that’s exactly what he was suggesting to Ted. And I have to say, that worries me.”
“It does?” Abu Bakr asked, eyeing him thoughtfully.
“Yes, Sir.” McCabe shook his head again. “If the Qwernian Foreign Minister is misreading who’s in charge now that Secretary Dvorak’s down so badly that ou thinks I’m the one—or one of the ones, at any rate—ou needs to be talking to, then what other mistakes is ou making? And for that matter,” those weary brown eyes turned remarkably dark and hard, “what other mistakes has ou already made?”
Abu Bakr nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. No one had shared the Diantians’ evidence that the Chelthists might have been manipulated by someone outside the Republic with McCabe, but it would seem the same suspicion might already have occurred to him independently. That said some interesting things about him. Things Abu Bakr wouldn’t have anticipated from a member of the “the Hegemony might not be all bad” crowd.
“I don’t know the answers to those questions any more than you do,” Abu Bakr said out loud. “Not yet, anyway. But just between you and me, I have an unhappy feeling they may be turning up soon.”
* * *
“I HAVEN’T SEEN you in several day-halves, Myrcal,” Juzhyr not
ed as ou started the meeting. “I hope that’s because you’ve been planning something extraordinary to get us back in the good graces of the Earthians.”
“I have, Clan Ruler,” Myrcal replied with a shake of ous head. “My staff and I have been working on contingency planning, and we’ve come up with a strategy that will do more than just get us back in their good graces.”
“And … it’s going to work, this time?” Juzhyr’s nasal flaps indicated irony … as if Myrcal hadn’t been able to discern it from ous voice. “Perhaps you’d be willing to enlighten all of us?”
Myrcal nodded. “I think it’s better if you aren’t aware of it, Clan Ruler. There is some risk involved. I believe it’s manageable, but I would prefer not to involve you in those risks. The plan is audacious, however, and it will show the Earthians exactly who on this planet is willing to do what it takes to be part of their clan. Perhaps, once the dust settles, they may even decide they want to be part of our clan, and not the other way around.”
“And you’re confident this plan will work?”
“Yes, Clan Ruler, we believe it will, or we wouldn’t have put the pieces for it into place. With the failure of our last operation—”
“The fault for which has been laid almost entirely at your feet.”
“—Yes, Clan Ruler. Because of its failure, though, I’m sure we became weaker in the eyes of the Earthians. By proving the Empire’s ruthlessness and strength—your ruthlessness and strength, Clan Ruler—with this operation, we’ll be able to convince the Earthians for all time that the Empire is a stronger and more efficient ally than the Republic.”
“And it’s going to work?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Let’s hope so, then,” the clan ruler said, ous nasal flaps closing menacingly. “For your sake, if nothing else.” Ou smiled. “At least my hands are clean.”
* * *