by Chris Bunch
Besides, what would Jagasti’s death get him? Bayanti didn’t seem to have much interest in Jagasti’s constant military maneuvers and evolutions, or, at any rate, said nothing publicly.
Njangu didn’t discard little brother entirely, but thought him not a likely candidate for this completely unknown Master Schemer.
A local lad? Or lass? Somebody who’d decided enough of tyranny, now was the time to make a stand? But the scarce populace Njangu encountered were completely terrorized and worn down, and so he discarded that option.
What made matters a little worse was Jagasti’s habit of weekly banquets, like any decent techno-savage, at which he would praise the few who pleased him, and castigate the failures. Those, of course, included Njangu, and it didn’t help that Jagasti couldn’t be specific about Njangu’s failures, but merely rail on at him for being an ignorant, boastful alien, whose only talent appeared to be fripperies and con games.
A couple of Jagasti’s goons thought that meant Jagasti was calling Njangu a womanish sort, and decided to lie in wait for him after a banquet.
Yoshitaro handily demolished both of them, not bothering to pull any punches, and, when questioned, shortly admitted to Jagasti he’d killed both of them, and why couldn’t the Kuril control his own court?
But that got little accomplished, except to raise the general hostility level.
Meantime, the circus continued performing for the soldiery, even more popular than before.
Especially popular was the tiny Jia Yin Fong, whose mother had made a small Protectorate uniform for her. She cannonballed around the top of the tent, from her parents’ teeterboard to ra’felan high above to Lir, swinging from a trapeze, giggling happily. The soldiers thought she was their mascot.
Njangu gloomed over maps of Gegen’s fortress. Dammit, Angara should have let them take a nuke along … assuming he had some stashed somewhere in a secret armory. Maybe he could put a force atop Gegen’s fortress, slide the nuke into an elevator, send it down, and …
Gegen’s quarters were probably shielded.
And besides, he didn’t have a nuke in Big Bertha.
Njangu thought maybe the late Confederation wasn’t quite as dumb as he’d thought.
He checked military holidays, thinking that Gegen might come out to review his troops, and he could get Montagna and her hellshooter in range.
But Jagasti’s younger brother seemed content to sit far underground and wait.
For what, Njangu knew: the assassination of his brother, Jagasti.
Njangu considered that briefly. It would be fairly easy to smuggle some sort of gun in and give Jagasti a third eye. And then what? He wasn’t about to mount a suicide mission.
A bomb suggested itself, but after the incident with the lim, Jagasti had all rooms swept twice before he entered them.
The worst of it was all of these complications were caused by Njangu Yoshitaro being a terribly, terribly clever intelligence operative.
Garvin couldn’t decide whether to worry or think the whole mess funny. He compromised by keeping the Legion members ready for any eventuality, and spent many hours plotting with Yoshitaro, trying to figure a way to the next stage.
It came of itself.
Maev, who’d taken to going to the banquets with Njangu more out of pity than thinking he needed body-guarding or because she’d developed a taste for the overcooked game animals Jagasti served, automatically cased the situation as they went up the aisle to their assigned table. Jagasti’s table ran across the large hall, once the museum cafeteria, and long tables ran down the room at ninety degrees from it.
“Back door’s not locked,” she whispered to Njangu as she’d been trained. “Stairs look open, only one guard. There’s an exit behind Jagasti, as always, but guarded.”
Njangu nodded, not needing to reply. He was wondering what, if anything, he could do to get out from under the inevitable harassment.
He sat down, and the room filled. He winked at Delot Eibar as she entered with Bayanti, sat at the head table.
Jagasti, flanked by four guards, came in almost last, as was his custom.
He took his place at the head of the table, unbuckled his combat harness, and hung it from his chair. Then he poured a glass of ice water and drained it.
He banged it down, and picked up a pitcher of the very light, almost nonalcoholic wine he favored, filled another glass. So far, very much according to custom.
“I greet you, guests, friends, and warriors,” he called. Again by custom, everyone at the table filled glasses from their own pitchers, held them ready.
“To the Protectorate, and to the Confederation we all serve, and to the oath that we shall restore it soon!”
He drank, and so did everyone else.
Next, he would set the glass down, call out introductions of people who hadn’t been there before, sit down, and wait for the first course.
Instead, Jagasti lowered his glass, and coughed. At first it was experimentally, then harder and harder.
The glass spun from his fingers, shattered, unnoticed, on the floor.
Njangu noted Jagasti was turning several interesting shades of purple.
His mouth flapped open, shut as his eyes bulged.
Both hands reached for his throat, and he spun, fell into the table, knocking it skidding away.
In an instant, Bayanti was kneeling over his brother. He picked him up in his arms, moaning, “Oh, brother. Speak to me. Speak to me. Don’t die. Please don’t die.”
Jagasti made a disgusting noise like he was trying to vomit, convulsed, was still.
The hall was frozen.
Bayanti let his brother’s body down, stood, and, from nowhere, a gun was in his hand.
“Guards!” he shouted. “To me!”
Doors banged open and gray-uniformed soldiers ran toward him, blasters ready. The doors were secured, and a grim-faced line of men stood between Bayanti and the banquet guests.
“Murder,” Bayanti breathed. “Foul murder. Poison! Someone in the kitchen is an assassin. You! Maj! Take a detail to the kitchen, and arrest everyone! Hold them in close arrest, ready for transport for interrogation!”
The officer saluted, and ordered men off. In seconds, from the kitchen, Njangu heard screams, shouts of fear.
“My brother … my brother is dead,” Bayanti said, brokenly. “Now it is … now it must be … my task to carry on his duty. I shall try to fulfill his mission, though I am hardly worthy of standing in his boots.
“Yes, Jagasti. I promise, and everyone here promises, we shall restore the Confederation.
“And we shall not wait, we shall not delay, there shall be no more war games or sporting bouts that kill the best of us, but we shall move at once.
“I declare Operation Jagasti. First, my brother will be cremated, as he wished, and his ashes held, to be scattered over Centrum when we seize it.
“But first we must destroy the traitor Gegen, the one who ordered this vile murder.
“I order, within the week, all my armed forces ready to begin an attack on Gegen.
“He shall die for his fratricide, and any of his men who dare stand with him shall do the same.
“Now, I bid all of you, from soldier to statesman, yes …” and his eyes caught Njangu’s “… even those who think they can give no more than a moment’s laughter to ease the way of our warriors, now is the time.
“The battle is at hand.
“This is the beginning of the final war to bring back the Confederation, and I can only wish my dear brother Jagasti could be here to cheer and witness it!”
On the way out Maev leaned close to Njangu and lifted her eyebrow.
“Not bad,” he said judiciously. “He could have used a little old-fashioned glycerin on his cheeks to make it perfect. Now, as soon as he has the body burned and all the cooks shot after somebody confesses, there’ll be nothing to hold back Bayanti the Magnificent!”
A soldier heard the last part, missed the sarcasm, and nodded in appro
val, rubbing his red eyes, his tear-stained face.
“I suppose,” Yoshitaro said, “this was one way to get matters up and running.
“I just don’t think it’s a very good one, and liable to get us all body-sacked.”
CHAPTER
22
Bayanti, in the days that followed, put shame to the idea that younger brothers always follow in their elders’ shadows. Dalet Eibar found time on her hands to report his doings, for Bayanti was in constant motion, from Protectorate world to world, fleet headquarters to shipping companies.
He had not been speaking emptily when he said everyone would be part of this battle. Training battalions were pronounced ready for battle as they stood, and fed into the battle roster. Merchant ships were given hasty armaments, often no more than a pair of missiles mag-clipped to the ship’s hull and a simple computer and launch mechanism hung somewhere on the bridge.
To those who worried about losses in the invasion of Degasten costing them dear when they moved against Centrum, his answer was brief:
“The replacements, though they don’t know it, now serve with Gegen. After we destroy my brother, his men and women will be given one chance to redeem themselves for their treason.”
• • •
Garvin was mildly surprised when Bayanti summoned him, to give him his orders for the invasion.
“I chose to do this personally,” he explained, “because you are aliens, and know little of our struggles.
“Also, to be personal,” and he colored slightly, looking at Dalet Eibar, who sat primly beside him, “since your circus brought this woman to me, who appears to have luck with her, I feel I owe you a debt.”
“No, Kuril,” Garvin said. “You owe me nothing.” Except to let Big Bertha go on her way, and he couldn’t quite figure a way to put the request, and then it was too late.
“But I do, and so I will give you an opportunity to serve me, and to be present for my triumph, at which time you and your crew will be rewarded.
“I propose to keep you and your ship in our rear echelon during the landing on Degasten. When a landing zone has been cleared and is secure, we shall send for you.
“I envision your men, women, and animals being of great use in helping our wounded recover their morale before returning to battle, as part of our Retraining Force.”
There was nothing to do but bow, offer profuse thanks, and not look at Eibar, who was trying not to laugh.
There were fifty troops, under the command of a Tain Kaidu, assigned to Big Bertha. Kaidu, who looked to be a fairly competent soldier, if not a hardened warrior, explained that the soldiers were to ensure there was no hint of mutiny while the circus was with the military. “I know civilians, for some unknown reason, fear and hate serving under us. Think of me, Gaffer Jaansma, as your strong right arm.”
Garvin looked at him carefully, saw no trace of irony.
“Now what?” he asked Njangu.
“Now we deploy our people, to make very close friends with these guards, and wait for the time being right to haul ass away from these lunatics.
“Speaking of very close friends” — he sighed — “and of battlefield conversions, at least we won’t have to worry about rescuing our Dalet. I got a message, through the means I set up before we chased her into Bayanti’s bedroom.
“I saved and printed it.”
He passed a slip of paper across. All it read was:
He may be a son of a bitch, but right now he’s my son of a bitch.
“Oh, grand,” Garvin said sarcastically. “No worries about rescuing her now, and of course it’d never cross my mind that Eibar might really, really fall in love and start singing to Bayanti about everything, starting with us and what we’re after.”
“ ‘Course not,” Njangu said. “That would be a good example of befouling one’s own nest, also known as crappin’ on the old mess plate, wouldn’t it?”
But he held up crossed fingers.
• • •
“Twenty-seven seconds to lift, sir,” the watch officer told Liskeard.
“Got it … somebody want to gimme a ship count of all those zoomies out there?” Liskeard asked.
It was just dusk, and the horizon was lit with ships taking off.
Garvin lost track at eighty-two.
Tain Kaidu, beside him, was starry-eyed, watching the might of the Protectorate move against Degasten.
“Ten seconds to takeoff,” the bridge talker said.
Liskeard poised his hand over the sensor.
“Counting … four … three … two … one … lift!”
Big Bertha shuddered, came free of the ground, hovered tentatively, decided to keep on climbing.
“And so, the bountiful battlefleets of the proud Protectorate coolly climbed toward space, their glorious goal the degenerate dissolutes of the ghastly Gegen,” Garvin said.
Liskeard snorted.
“Poetry,” Kaidu breathed. “Real poetry. Damn, but I’m glad I lived to see this day.”
N-space
“When,” Kekri Katun asked Ben Dill, “will we take them?”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t play innocent, Benjamin! Remember, I’m the spy that found out everything!”
“Not quite,” Ben said. “There are secrets within secrets.”
“Like what?”
“Like when we take them,” Ben said. “Besides, nobody told me, either. Probably when they least expect it.”
“How superbly analytical,” Kekri said sarcastically. “I’m going to the gym. The least I can do is be in some kind of shape when we start hitting people.”
“We?”
“Who else do I have to side with now that I’ve snitched off my employer?”
“Strong point,” Dill said. “But can’t we get in some kind of shape right here?”
“Doing what?”
Ben whispered in her ear, bit it, and Kekri yelped.
“Later!”
“Later I might not have the steam for something that exotic,” Dill muttered.
“Then that’ll be your tough luck, won’t it, mister?”
• • •
“I have decided,” Tain Kaidu said, “to require the circus to turn in all firearms. We shall hold them safe until needed.”
“Not sure if that’s a good idea,” Njangu said. “Although, of course, we’ll cheerfully obey. But you’ve got to remember that most of the firearms … the handful that we do have … are required in the event any of the animals break free.”
“If that happens,” Kaidu said, “my soldiers will be able to respond within seconds.”
• • •
“Morning, gentlemen,” Dr. Froude said cheerfully as he, Fleam, and two other men wearing coveralls carried toolboxes and piping into the long bay assigned to the Protectorate’s security detachment.
“Whazzat you’re doing?” a noncom grumbled.
“You’ve got more people in here than the present conditioner can cycle,” Froude said. “We’re running an extra line.”
“Well … that’s damned thoughtful,” the warrant said.
“Thought the smell was your feet,” a soldier called to his mate, and the workmen set to.
By the end of the ship-day, the new line ran down both sides of the compartment, out, and down the corridor and into another, smaller compartment. There it was linked to a small pump, entirely separate from the ship’s air-conditioning system.
• • •
Two dozen weapons were turned in to the Protectorates. Four of them were archaic, hand-worked projectile weapons, two were blank-only show weapons, and the rest were blasters Njangu said were normally handed out when Big Bertha made a landing on an unknown world.
Of course, many more, and the crew-served SSWs, were still hidden about the ship in search-proof hideys.
Kaidu, who said he was a reasonable man, told Njangu he had no interest, of course, in the missiles in the aksai or Nana boats.
“Just trying to keep myself and
my men safe,” he said.
“Couldn’t agree with you more,” Yoshitaro said heartily.
• • •
“I do not understand this about guns,” Sunya Thanon said to Ben Dill. “I asked Alikhan, and he said an explanation might be more logical coming from a human, since all Musth are always armed.”
“Ask,” Ben said, who knew the two elephant handlers were trying to learn to be soldiers, and had laughed his ass off watching Alikhan learning to ride an elephant.
“These Protectorate men who took our guns,” Thanon said, “now have power over us, is that not correct?”
“Correct.”
“Then, is it not true that, in an equal society, all men ought to have guns, to keep from being downtrodden?”
“Uh …” Ben hesitated, remembering great heaps of people he knew were incompetent to have any weapon beyond a basic rock. “Sort of. Maybe.”
“So then,” Phraphas Phanon said, “anyone who tries to not permit you to have a gun is a budding tyrant, and should be killed.”
“That’s taking things a bit too far,” Ben said. “Like, maybe several light-years. Tell you what. I’m just a common, ordinary weightlifter. Whyn’t you ask somebody intelligent, like Dr. Froude?”
“Good,” Thanon said brightly. “We shall do just that.”
But Froude didn’t have a good answer to the question either.
• • •
Felip Mand’l curled around the overhead duct, watch in hand, as the four Protectorates went by. They didn’t look up, and if they had, wouldn’t have thought to find a little person above them.
After they were out of sight, he made a note of the time, went down a doubled-knotted cord to the deck, and off to report to Maev Stiofan, who had the security watch.
• • •
The soldier held out a bit of fruit to Loti, the smaller of the two baby elephants. Loti, a polite sort, curled her trunk up as she’d been trained, came forward, daintily plucked the morsel, and swallowed it.
A second later she squealed in pain and then rage as the pepper-packed fruit went down her throat.