by David Weber
The last group seemed to be the poorest, and was armed with spears and not much else. Physically, they were shorter than the average Mardukan, and their horns were strange—very dark in color, and curving sharply back along the skull. Their senior clan leader wore light chain armor over boiled leather and bore a huge and obviously ancient battle ax. From a combination of Pedi’s previous briefings and overheard comments, Roger knew that these were clans from the very back of the high country; Shin that were seen only once in a generation—so seldom that many of the Shin considered them to be little more than a legend.
“There is an agent of the IBI in the port,” the Gastan continued. “He is presently out of communication with his superiors, but he has been acting against the governor, waiting for one of his contacts to turn up. It was he who contacted me and began sneaking humans he believed to be at risk out of the port. He was asking for some rather extraordinary help in your regard, so I forced him to tell me why. He told me much—not all, I’m sure, but much—and gave me this.” The Gastan handed over a data chip. “Your ‘Empire’ is in sore straits, Prince. I fear I have very bad news.”
“What?” Roger asked. He shrugged and took a sip of wine. “As bad as it’s been on this planet, how much worse can it be at home?”
“The port is closed to you. The governor has sold his soul to your enemies, the ‘Saints.’ They aren’t always in the system, but they often are, and no Imperial spaceship has come to here in nearly a year. As far as anyone can tell, everyone here has been forgotten by the Empire. Without a ship, even after taking the port, there is no way off the planet, and if the Saints detect that their bought governor has been overthrown, your lives will be worth nothing.”
“We’ve gotten that far in our own assessments,” Roger told him. “On the other hand, your analysis of just exactly how piss-poor our chances are brings a question rather forcefully to mind. If our odds are so bad, and if the Saints are going to rain down so much grief when they swat us, why should you risk helping us?”
“The governor has allied himself with the Krath. He has not yet used your human weapons against us, but if the Krath do not overwhelm us with this attack, it will be only a matter of time until he does. He has already done so in support of the Son of the Fire closer to your port. Sooner or later he will do so here, as well, and when he does, we will be unable to resist. The IBI agent promised me that if we aided him, he would ensure that we were supported when the planet was retaken. It is a slim hope to cling to, but better than none.”
“Well, in that case, let me fatten it up for you,” Roger said. “We don’t begin to have time for me to explain to you exactly how many of our laws the governor and his cronies have broken here on Marduk. Let’s just say that the conditions he’s created, alone, would force the Empire to step in to repair the damage. But in addition to that, I personally guarantee that the gratitude of House MacClintock will follow, as well. If it’s the last thing I do, the Krath and their depredations will be stopped.”
“But for that to happen, one must assume that Her Majesty can be bothered to find Marduk on a map,” the Gastan sighed. Roger stiffened slightly, and the Mardukan made a quick gesture of negation. “I question neither your laws, your word, nor your honor, Prince Roger, but at times even the most honorable of leaders must look first to problems closer to home, and there is worse news than I have already given you.”
Roger sat very upright on his cushion, gazing at the Mardukan war leader narrowly, and the Gastan raised both false-hands in a complex gesture of sympathy.
“There was an attempt to overthrow your mother, the Empress,” he said levelly. “Units of your Marine Raiders attacked the palace. They were repulsed, but not without heavy loss of life and much damage to the palace.”
“Mother?” Roger was stone-faced, all expression locked down in almost instant reaction, but the cold of interstellar space swirled suddenly through his heart and belly, and for all his formidable self-control he knew his voice was flat with shock . . . and fear. He felt the sudden, frigid silence of the other humans behind him, but he never looked away from the Gastan. “My mother is alive?” he asked in that same, flat, level voice.
“She is,” the Gastan said, “although she was injured in the fighting. But there is worse, Prince. Much worse. I grieve to tell you that your brother and sister are dead. So also are your brother’s children. He and they were killed in the attack upon the palace; your sister’s ship was destroyed in an ambush in space.”
“Bloody hell,” Julian whispered into the stunned stillness. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“I think not,” the Gastan said. “Not, if you mean what I believe you do, at any rate. Because the word of the Empress is that the plotter who was central to the attempt is none other than her youngest son, Prince Roger MacClintock. And for his crimes, he and all with him have been outlawed for treason.”
“The general outline is the same as the one the Gastan gave us,” Julian said as he transferred the data from his pad to the others’ systems. The Marine meeting had really been narrowed down for this one; everyone but the core command staff had been excluded. Decisions had to be made based on the information on the chip, and the nature of those decisions would determine the actions of what remained of Bravo Company for the foreseeable future.
“If anything,” the intelligence sergeant continued, “the details are worse.”
“The coup appears to have been an attempt by the Fleet to take control. That’s the official analysis, anyway, but the reasoning is really nebulous, and no one has actively taken responsibility for any of the actions. All of the Raiders were killed, either in the assault, or in a response drop by Line Marines. As nearly as I can tell, virtually the entire Empress’ Own was wiped out holding the attackers until the line beasts could take them from behind.” He looked up from his pad, grim eyes meeting those of the other Marines. “It looks like we’re effectively all that’s left of the Regiment, Skipper,” he told Pahner.
“I’d already assumed as much,” the captain said quietly. Silence hovered for a moment as he and his subordinates thought of all the men and women they would never see again. The men and women they had assumed were safe at home while they battled their own way across the steaming hell of Marduk.
“Go on, Sergeant,” Pahner said finally, his voice still quiet but unwavering.
“Yes, Sir.” Julian glanced back at his notes, then resumed. “This IBI agent—Temu Jin—included a group of articles from various e-news outlets, as well as analysis articles from Jane’s, Torth, and AstroStrategy, as well as full e-news loads from the top outlets. They’re all indexed, and he highlighted some of them. I’ve only skimmed those.
“Apparently, the coup caught the IBI flat. A flier bomb was set loose in IBI headquarters—it’s a pile of rubble, now. The head of the IBI was at Home Fleet headquarters at the time. It was also struck, but it managed to survive and launch a counterattack, including calling down a drop by the Marines of Home Fleet. Nefermaat, the IBI’s second-in-command was off-planet at the time, and he’s now wanted for questioning. There’s a note on that from Jin. He thinks Nefermaat’s disappearance is probably an indication that he’s dead rather than linked to the coup in any way.”
“Reason?” Pahner asked flatly.
“It turns out that Nefermaat was in Jin’s line of control. Jin’s orders to lie low came in about two days after the coup, along with a note that said basically that the real legal situation was unclear, and that all agents were to ignore orders from any higher authority, unless they could verify that they were valid.”
“That could just be Nefermaat cutting out a section of the IBI,” O’Casey mused. “Or this could be disinformation directed at Roger.”
“What in the world makes you think that?” Roger asked. “How would anyone even know we’re here—that I’m here—to be disinformed in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” O’Casey said. “But when you start getting into these labyrin
thine games of empire, you have to be aware that some of them are very deep and very odd. And that some are just odd, but look deep and mysterious because the people running them are so confused.”
“For now, until something else presents itself, we’ll take Jin’s data as valid,” Roger decided. “Just keep in mind that it could be wrong.”
“Very well, Your Highness,” Julian agreed. “We’ll get to Jin’s speculation in a moment, but for right now, I’ll just say that I agree with it. And if he’s right, that means Nefermaat is a scapegoat. A dead one. Or, at least, on the run and in hiding.”
He referred back to his pad once more and nodded.
“Your mother is alive, Your Highness, but according to the reports, she was injured. It’s only the last article in the queue which has her back in public at all . . . accompanied by Prince Jackson and the Earl of New Madrid.”
“My father?” Roger stared at him in stark disbelief.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Julian confirmed. “He’s now established as a pro-consort, engaged to your mother.”
“Holy shit,” Roger said very, very quietly. “I can see why you think there’s something fishy in Denmark.”
“According to the news accounts, we were all reported dead, along with Roger, when the DeGlopper failed to arrive at Leviathan on schedule,” Julian continued. “It looks like our ‘demise’ made quite an impression on the news services . . . until the coup attempt came along and pushed us to the back of the queue.”
“I thought the story was that I’m behind everything,” Roger said.
“Yes, Sir, but that’s a recent development. A very recent one, in fact. It’s only turned up in the last news from Sol, and it represents an entirely new twist on the original story.
“In the immediate aftermath of the coup, our disappearance was linked with Alexandra’s death, as part of the general attack on the Imperial Family, but that didn’t last. I can’t tell from the data where the suggestion first came from, but eventually someone pointed out that we’d disappeared well before the rest of the Family was attacked. The new theory is that what really happened was that we dropped out of sight as the first step in a deep, complicated plan on Roger’s part to kill off everyone between him and the Throne.” He grinned tightly at his silent audience. “At least we’re no longer dead; now they want all of us for treason.”
“Standard protocol,” Pahner said. “How much?”
“Lots,” Julian told him with an even tighter grin. “There’s a forty-million-credit reward on your head, Captain.”
“I hope I’m around to collect it.” Pahner grinned back, but then his expression sobered once more. “You’re right, though. This doesn’t add up. What are the fleets doing?”
“Prince Jackson ordered all fleets, with the exception of Home Fleet, away from the Sol System. In fact, he ordered most of them into his sector of control, but that’s also along the Saint border, so it makes some sense. Sixth Fleet hasn’t been able to move yet, though. According to reports, they’re having trouble scaring up the logistic train they need to shift stations so radically. Especially with every other Fleet command moving at the same time and scrambling to meet its own logistical requirements. For now, they’re still in the Quarnos Sector.”
“Admiral Helmut can’t find the lift capacity he needs?” Roger stared at Julian for a moment, then snorted harshly. “Oh, yeah. Right!” He shook his head. “And what are the Saints doing while all this is going on?”
“As far as I can tell, nothing. And that has me worried.”
“Why would they sit this out?” Roger wondered aloud. “I’d expect them to pick off a few systems, at least. Like, well, Marduk.”
“From what Julian’s saying about Prince Jackson’s redeployments, plenty of Fleet units are headed this way,” Pahner pointed out. “Presumably, they know that, too. So maybe they’re lying low, figuring that now is a bad time to attack.”
“And maybe they were told that if they lie back now, they can have a concession later,” Roger said harshly.
“And maybe that, too,” Pahner admitted.
“Okay.” Roger drew a deep breath. “We won’t make any assumptions about their motivations for the moment, simply note that they haven’t moved—yet—and hope it stays that way.” He looked back at Julian. “That still leaves a few dozen other burning questions, though. Like who’s in charge of the Fleet? What happened with Home Fleet? And what the hell happened with the IBI to let them blindside Mother this way?”
“General Gianetto has been given the position of High Commander for Fleet Forces,” Julian said.
“Ah,” Pahner said with his first real smile of the meeting. “Excellent!”
“Uh,” O’Casey cut in. “Maybe not so excellent.”
“Why is it excellent?” Roger asked. “And why maybe not? Armand first.”
“I’ve known Guy Gianetto on and off for nearly half a century,” Pahner said, frowning at O’Casey. “He’s ambitious, but he’s also solidly in favor of a strong Empire, a strong imperium. He would never betray the Empire.” He started to say something more, then made himself visibly change his mind. “What does Eleanora have to say?” he asked instead, his tone half-challenging.
“That you’re entirely correct,” she replied. “General Gianetto would never betray the Empire. As he sees it.”
“You’re saying he might feel that some action is necessary to save the Empire from itself?” Roger asked. Pahner opened his mouth, but the prince raised a hand gently. “Let her speak.”
“He and Prince Jackson have gotten closer and closer over the last decade,” O’Casey said. “Both of them favor a strong defense, although Jackson’s interest in such questions is . . . complex. For one thing, his family fortune is closely tied to defense industries. For another, he’s the most prominent noble of the Sagittarius Sector, so he’s constantly aware of the threat from the Saints. That gives him two reasons to favor a strong defense, which is why he’s so consistently found on defense-related committees.”
“What’s wrong with wanting a strong defense?” Pahner asked. “It’s a big, ugly galaxy out there, Councilor.”
“Preaching to the choir here, Captain,” O’Casey said seriously. “But there are inevitable questions. There’s a lot of corruption in the procurement process—you know that even better than I do—and Jackson and his family have fingers in all the pies. He’s also cultivated very friendly relationships with the majority of the senior officer corps. Very friendly relations. He not only hosts them to parties and junkets, but he’s even gone so far as to countersign loans for some of them. Even covered some of them when they defaulted.”
“That’s against Fleet Regulations,” Pahner said. “If it’s true—I’m not saying it isn’t, mind—but if it’s true, where the hell has the IG been? And why didn’t I get invited?”
“At a guess, you didn’t get invited because you were too junior until you took this command,” O’Casey said. “And, yes, where was the Inspector General?” She looked Pahner straight in the eye. “What was Gianetto for the last seven years?”
“Oh,” the captain said in a flattened tone of voice, and his mouth twisted bitterly.
“Gianetto is considered a paragon of virtue,” the chief of staff went on. “That’s why he was made IG in the first place. And, okay, he’s a much . . . smoother guy than Admiral Helmut. And Her Majesty initially trusted him. But over the last couple of years, she’s been getting more and more indications that—Well, let’s just say that I’m not surprised to see him in this. Saddened, but not surprised.”
“So what do we think is happening?” Roger asked. “Julian.”
“I think the coup succeeded, Your Highness,” the sergeant said flatly. “I think Jackson is either directly or indirectly controlling the Empress. I think Gianetto and your father, at least, are in on it.”
“Who’s got Home Fleet?”
“That’s still Admiral Greenberg, Sir,” Julian said after a quick reference to his notes. �
�Commodore Chan, his chief of staff, was fingered as the local planner of the coup. He was ‘killed resisting arrest’. . . .”
“And you can believe as much or as little of that as you like,” Roger added bitterly.
“At any rate, Greenberg managed to retain command and acted as his own chief of staff for at least a few days, maybe a week or two. It’s hard to tell. Eventually, though, Chan was replaced by Captain Kjerulf, the fleet Operations officer,” Julian added.
“Greenberg is a snake,” Pahner said. “Unless you have something countervailing to add, Ms. O’Casey?”
“I concur entirely,” the chief of staff said. “Snake. I recall that Chan was well thought of, on the other hand.”
“He might have fallen in with bad companions,” Pahner said with a grimace of distaste. It was clear he was still unhappy and unsure about Gianetto. “But it’s more likely he was a convenient scapegoat. But Kjerulf, now. That’s an interesting datum.”
“You know him?” Roger asked.
“Oh, I know just about everyone, Your Highness,” Pahner told him with a bleak smile. “Maybe not all of them as well as I thought I did, I suppose. But Kjerulf is Gronningen with five years of college, then Staff School and Command College, plus thirty years of experience.”
“Hmmm,” Roger said. “So what does that tell us?”
“He was probably a ready pick,” O’Casey replied. “They couldn’t justify letting Greenberg operate permanently without proper staff backup, and he was the first person logically available, whether the real conspirators wanted to use him or not. If that’s the case, it tells us the coup isn’t fully spread through the Fleet. And that not everyone may be quite as convinced by the ‘party line’ as they’d like. Not if they need to worry so much about window dressing and allaying suspicion that they’ve put a man like Kjerulf into such a sensitive position.”
“Everyone agree with that?” Roger asked, looking around his advisers’ faces. “There was a successful coup. Its control may not be entirely solid yet, but it’s heading that way. And Mother’s under duress.” Heads nodded around the table, and he grimaced. “Wonderful. Because if it was, there’s just one problem.”