Empire of Man

by David Weber

“I am Prince Roger Ramius Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock, of the House MacClintock, and Heir Tertiary to the Throne of Man,” he said formally. “I greet you in the name of the Empire of Man and as the representative of my mother, Empress Alexandra.”

  He really hoped that the toot was getting these terms right. He was becoming increasingly convinced that the translation software was screwing up something major. Little glitches were appearing in translation left and right and this was too important a meeting to get things wrong.

  The “repeat” of his translation which the software played back to him had his mother momentarily as a male, which was a hoot. It had actually formed an image of her as a guy, and she really wasn’t all that bad looking. His lips twitched, fighting to smile as he visualized her response to the image, but then, in response to another repeat query, he got an image of himself dressed as a fairy-tale princess, which quashed all humor. This software was definitely buggy as hell.

  “We are travelers from a far land who have been stranded in this one,” he continued with the story which had been decided upon as easier than trying to explain the truth. “We are passing through your kingdom on our way to a place where we can obtain passage to our home.

  “We bring you these gifts,” he continued, and turned to O’Casey, who deftly handed him one of the Marine multitools.

  “This device can change its form into any of several useful objects,” Roger said. It wasn’t the sort of thing one commonly gave to a ruler, but they didn’t have anything else that was better, and Roger quickly demonstrated the settings to Xyia Kan. The king watched closely, then nodded gravely, accepted the gift, and handed it to his son. The younger Mardukan was no more than a child, judging from what Roger had seen in Cord’s village, and looked much more interested in the multitool, but restrained his curiosity admirably.

  “Estimable gifts,” the king said diplomatically. “I offer you the hospitality of the visitors’ quarters of my home.” He looked at the line of Marines and clasped his hands together. “You should be able to fit your force in there.”

  Roger nodded his head again in thanks.

  “We appreciate that kindness,” he said, and the king nodded in return and gestured to a hovering guard.

  “D’Nok Tay will lead you to the quarters, and we shall meet more formally in the morning. For now, take your rest. I will have food and servants sent to your quarters.”

  “Thank you again,” Roger said.

  “Until then,” the king responded, and walked out of the bastion, trailed by his son. The younger Mardukan, unlike his father, kept looking over his shoulder at the Marines until they were out of sight.

  Roger waited until the king was decently gone, and then turned to the guard.

  “Lead on.”

  D’Nok Tay turned without a word and walked out of the far door, but whereas the king had turned to the left on exiting, the guard turned to the right.

  They proceeded across an open bailey and up a steep ramp. The ramp ran between the outer curtain wall and the base of the citadel proper, and the fairly narrow way was dark and dank. As they started to ascend it, the skies opened up in another monsoon-quality rainstorm and filled the narrow track with vertical water. The sound of pouring water and flying spray in the slotlike space was like the underside of a waterfall, but D’Nok Tay paid it no more attention than Cord or his nephews, and the humans did their best to emulate the natives. Fortunately, the ramp turned out to be well designed for the storms, and a slight outward slope carried the water to regular openings in the outer wall and thus out of the castle.

  The whole town had obviously been designed to take advantage of the regular rains. The main road up which they’d traveled from the city gate had switched back and forth with very little rhyme or reason, but it, too, had been well designed to handle the water. Both sides had been lined with gutters which linked with others to carry the water around to the river side of the hill, where, presumably, it was dumped into the river.

  The efficient storm water system also reduced, but did not eliminate, the problem of hygiene in the city. Clearly, the Mardukans had never heard of the concept, for the road had been strewn with feces from the Mardukans and their pack beasts. According to O’Casey, this was normal in lower technology cultures, but at least with the rains the majority would get washed away.

  And it certainly explained The People’s epithet for the townspeople.

  The narrow ramp finally opened out to the level of the curtain wall’s battlements, and the company was afforded a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside. The clouds had broken momentarily, the rain had stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and the larger moon, Hanish, was rising over the mountains to the east. They were about a hundred meters above the floodplain, and the valley of Q’Nkok spread out below them in the moonlight. The city was surprisingly dark to humans who were used to the streetlighting found in even small towns on the meanest worlds of the Empire, but the valley was a fairy-tale place under the primary moon.

  The river glittered a silver tracery across the plain and the shimmer of water through the fields and irrigation ditches echoed it. The evening fires of farmers dotted the plain here and there, and the coughing roar of some beast from the jungle across the river could be heard even at their height.

  Roger paused to take in the vista and found Despreaux beside him. Her squad had never been taken off “close protection,” and she was still following him doggedly.

  “You can probably drop back into the Company now,” he said quietly, and raised one arm of his armor with a smile. “I don’t think anything local is coming through this.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. “You’re probably right, but we haven’t been relieved by our CO.”

  Roger started to open his mouth to object, but decided not to for two reasons. One was that scathing ass-chewing from Captain Pahner about interfering with the chain of command. The other was, frankly, that it was a pretty night and Despreaux was a pretty young woman, and he would be a fool to trade her for a random choice replacement. He looked back over the valley as the company passed, and smiled in the gathering darkness.

  “When it’s not awful, this can be a pretty place.”

  Despreaux sensed that the prince wanted more than a simple “yes, Sir; no, Sir,” and nodded her head.

  “I’ve seen worse, Your Highness.” She thought about one assignment, in particular. The planet Diablo had the highest tectonic instability rating of any inhabited planet in the Empire, with air quality so low children were routinely kept inside until they were old enough to wear a breath pack properly. “Much worse,” she said.

  Roger nodded, and sensed that the tail of the company was catching up with them in the darkness of the ramp. He didn’t want to break the spell, but it was time to move on again.

  “We need to get moving, Your Highness,” Despreaux said, as if she’d read his mind.

  “Right,” he said with a sigh. “Time to find out what new joy awaits us.”

  The “guest quarters” of the castle were odd. To reach them, the company passed through a doglegged tunnel sealed with two gates. At the far end, the tunnel led into a small open area, a bailey, and a single door into the building which was, effectively, a separate keep. The entryway was very low for a Mardukan—low enough that D’Nok Tay had to bend nearly double to lead the way—but about right for the humans.

  The building beyond had three levels. There were no interior partitions on the first two levels, and no windows on the lowest one. The second level had small windows and a simple wooden floor that was accessible through a single trapdoor. The third level was also accessed through a single trapdoor, but was separated into six wooden-walled rooms grouped along a common corridor. All six of the rooms had large windows, with wooden shutters to seal them. On the ground floor was a simple latrine kept “flushed” by rainwater from the roof.

  Roger stood in the largest of the rooms, looking out over the vista of the valley once again, with his hands on
his hips.

  “This is the strangest building I’ve ever seen,” he commented to Pahner.

  Matsugae had been laying out Roger’s bedroll when the company commander entered the room. He looked up at the captain and winked, but Pahner just shook his head.

  “Not really, Your Highness. It’s a fort designed for visiting dignitaries. We can defend it even if the King turns on us, and he doesn’t have to worry about us trying to take over from within. The gates in the tunnel may seal us in, but getting in here without our permission would be hard. For example, that door is offset so that you can’t get a good run up with a ram. I’m happy with it.”

  Roger turned away from the view and looked at the Marine. The captain stood in the pool of shadow cast by the camp light in the corner, and his face was obscured. Not that Roger could have gotten anything from seeing it; except when he was really enraged, Pahner was very hard to read.

  “Do you think Xyia Kan would turn on us?” the prince asked. The idea surprised him. The Q’Nkok monarch had seemed friendly enough to him.

  “I didn’t think there was a toombie onboard the DeGlopper, Your Highness,” Pahner said bitterly, and Roger nodded.

  “What are we going to do about it?” he asked reasonably.

  “Get our stuff traded, get the supplies we need, and get out of town as fast as possible, Your Highness,” Pahner said, and Roger nodded again and clasped his hands behind him.

  He started to reply, then stopped himself. O’Casey’s little lecture had been perking at the back of his mind, and he decided that now was a good time to start biting his tongue. And he had no specific problems with what Pahner had just said, only vague reservations. Until and unless they became more specific, it would be much smarter to just let it ride.

  “I suppose we’ll see tomorrow,” was all he said.

  “I’ll go see about the arrangements downstairs then, Your Highness,” Matsugae said. He’d set up the prince’s sleeping area and laid out a fresh uniform.

  The sight of the uniform sent a fresh prickle through Roger from the itch down his back, and he felt a sudden overwhelming desire to get out of the armor. The equipment had a cooling unit, so he hadn’t suffered from the heat and humidity as much as the rest of the company, but it was still uncomfortable to wear hour after hour.

  “I’m going to get out of this damn armor and have a good rubdown with a cleaning cloth,” he announced.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the captain said, with a faint frown.

  “What?” Roger asked, stripping off the uniform.

  “Well, Your Highness,” the captain said carefully. “You might see about your rifle first.”

  The officer chuckled and shook his head at the prince’s frown. “Just thinking of an old service poem, Your Highness. It ends ‘mind you keep your rifle and yourself just so.’”

  Roger nodded. “I take your meaning, Captain.” He glanced at the weapon and nodded again. “I know better than to go to bed with a fouled weapon; you never know if you’ll wake up with a banshee in your tent. I’ll take care of that first. But I’m not sure I’ll be down for supper. I might just have a ration and go to bed.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Pahner said. “If not tonight, I’ll see you in the morning. We should discuss the audience beforehand.”

  “Agreed. In the morning then.”

  “Goodnight, Your Highness,” Pahner said, and vanished into the shadows.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Roger bowed to the king and presented his documentation as a member of the Imperial Family. The piece of paper was in Standard English, utterly unintelligible to the locals, and he had no idea if it was a protocol that they observed. But the king looked it over, and it was certainly impressive enough with its gold lettering and vermillion seals. He handed it back after several moments, and Roger launched into his prepared speech.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, throwing back his head and interlacing his hands behind him. “We visit you from a distant land. In our land we have come far in the areas of technology, the knowledge of making things, yet we continue to seek more knowledge of all aspects of the world, and that search often takes us upon long journeys. We set out on such a voyage of discovery, but our ship was blown far off course, and we crashed on the eastern shores of this land.”

  Eleanora O’Casey stood back and watched the prince’s performance. The toot seemed to be adequately translating the speech into the clicks and growls of the local dialect. It was impossible to be certain without any reliable native to return the translation, but Roger had tried most of it out on Cord, who had pronounced it fit, so it should be okay. At least so far there’d been none of the laughs or grimaces which were normal signs of a flop.

  “The eastern shores are beyond the high mountains,” Roger continued, gesturing out the windows which ringed the throne room. The room was near the pinnacle of the citadel, and had high windows on every side to catch the breezes. It was, for Marduk, remarkably cool and comfortable, with a temperature that couldn’t have been much over thirty degrees Standard.

  The throne itself was elevated and elaborately carved out of some lustrous wood. The room was paneled in carefully contrasting multihued and grained woods, and each panel was itself a work of art. The panels depicted scenes of everyday Mardukan life, alternating with images of the various gods and demons of the local pantheon. Given the monsters the local wildlife gave the natives as models, the demons were particularly good.

  It was a beautiful and obviously expensive display, and, just as clearly, no expense was spared for the security of the king. The walls were lined with guards in the same leather apron armor as the ones who’d escorted the humans to the palace, but this armor was reinforced in strategic spots by plates of bronze. And instead of clubs, these guards carried spears that were nearly three meters long. Those spears were apparently designed not only for stabbing, but also for slashing, given the keen edges of their broad, meter-long heads.

  “We traveled over those mountains,” Roger was continuing, “for we do not share your form or your desire for damp and heat, and met upon the edge of them with my good friend and companion, D’Nal Cord. He has since guided us to your beautiful kingdom, where it is our desire to trade and prepare for a great journey.”

  The prince had a deep, rich baritone which had been trained (often over his strenuous objections) as an oratorical instrument, and it seemed the Mardukans responded to oratory in many of the same ways humans did. O’Casey had begun to develop a feel for Mardukan body language, and the speech had so far evoked a positive response. Which was good, because Roger was about to shock them.

  “We know little of your lands, but we do know a place where a trading mission from our own land exists. It is a long journey from here, which will take many, many months. And it will take us through the lands of the Kranolta.”

  The group of Mardukan nobles gathered at the audience began to buzz with conversation, and there were occasional grunting laughs, but the king simply looked grim.

  “This is sad news,” he said, leaning forward in the throne. His son, sitting on a stool at his feet, on the other hand, looked very excited at the pronouncement. But he was young. “You know that the Kranolta are a vast and fierce tribe?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Roger nodded gravely. “Nonetheless, we must pass through that region. Far to the northwest lies an ocean we must reach. I have spoken with Cord, and he tells me that most of your trade goes to the south. As you know, the ocean in that direction lies several months’ journey further away. We . . . don’t have that much time.”

  “But the Kranolta are fierce and numerous,” Xyia Kan’s son put in. He glanced at the team of armored Marines, and tapped his half-hand fingers nervously.

  Roger had been surprised by the amount of backstage negotiations which had gone on to set up this meeting. Pahner and O’Casey had been up half the night negotiating with the local equivalent of the palace chamberlain about who was going to be allowed into the king’s presence.
/>   The problem was the guards.

  Pahner wasn’t about to let Roger wander into the king’s presence without at least a squad of guards. First of all, it wasn’t done. A member of the Imperial Family didn’t meet with a barbarian king without some retainers. But even more to the point, there was no reason at all to trust the monarch, so both protocol and sense dictated having guards in attendance. But the locals were no dummies. It was clear that the town was highly factionalized, and the king had long since mandated specific limits on the number of guards permitted in his presence.

  Commoners and merchants weren’t allowed to bring guards or weapons of any form into the royal presence. Nor were members of the lesser houses of the city-state. The heads of the Great Houses who made up the town council could each bring up to three guards, but no more than fifteen total as a group. Since the council numbered fifteen, it had become the custom for each counselor to bring a single guard as a token of his status. Which meant that Pahner’s insistence that it was impossible for the prince to travel with less than eight guards was a major sticking point.

  The number finally settled on was five, and despite the stubbornness with which he’d held out for eight, Pahner had to admit that Roger in armor and Julian with his Bravo Team, also fully armored up, probably had the king’s guard outnumbered.

  Hell, they probably had all of Q’Nkok outnumbered!

  “Even with your fierce guardians and your powerful weapons, you will surely be overwhelmed,” the king commented now, in apparent agreement with his son.

  “Nonetheless,” Roger said grimly, “it is to the north we must go. We will try to make peace with the Kranolta.” He shook his head and clapped his hands by his waist in an attempt to replicate the Mardukan version of a shrug. “But if they will not have peace, then we will give them war to the knife.”

  The king clapped his upper arms and grunted in agreement.

  “I wish you luck. Well it would be to be rid of the Kranolta. They have never attacked this side of the mountains. Indeed, they have been much weaker in my generation than in my father’s. But the mere fear of them keeps many traders from coming up the river. Any aid we can give you will be proffered.”