Empire of Man

by David Weber

  “So you think that if the Marshad army is on the Pasule side of the river—and stays there—then the Company can relieve us?” Roger asked carefully.

  “Yes,” the Marine said after a moment’s thought. “We’ll still take some casualties. But if we can get some assurances that the Pasule forces will cover our retreat, we should be all right. However, we still face the problem of how to keep them from cross . . .” His voice trailed off. Then—”Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking, Your Highness?” He asked carefully.

  “Maybe. It depends on whether or not we can smuggle one of the Mardukans out of the visitors’ quarters.”

  “Yeah,” Julian and Kosutic said almost simultaneously. The two NCOs looked at each other and laughed.

  “If we can get some armor for one of the Three Musketeers, I can rig a camera and radio,” Julian said. “I’ve got the gear packed.”

  “I can coach him through the rigging, and Denat is fairly good with knots,” Kosutic added rubbing her ear.

  “What are we talking about?” Jasco asked.

  The group trooped back into the stifling kitchen to confront the spies.

  “We’re in agreement,” Kosutic said. “However, we have a few questions to ask and some requirements that must be met for us to be willing to proceed.”

  “Oh?” Bijan said. “And if I reject your demands?”

  “We tell the king about your treason just before we tear this pathetic city to the ground,” the sergeant major said quietly. “It will practically wipe us out to do it, but the ‘not difficult’ plan you just suggested will do the same thing. So are you going to listen? Or do we start now?”

  The spy looked down at her for a moment, then grunted in laughter.

  “Very well, Sergeant Major Kosutic. What are your demands?

  “Questions first,” the NCO said. “How secret are all these passages?”

  “There’s only one to this building,” Bijan said, “which is why we came in here, but there are a few others in strategic spots throughout the city. As far as I know, Radj Hoomas doesn’t know a thing about this one . . . or about any of the others, for that matter. This one was created during the construction of this building, which predated the rise of the House of Radj.”

  “Then how did you know of it?” Jasco asked, deciding that he had to get at least one word in.

  “I showed him,” the female spy replied. “My mother’s family was involved in the construction. They were masons from Voitan, and my mother knew of it from her mother.”

  Kosutic was sorely tempted to ask why Voitan women seemed to be the only ones on Marduk with any freedom, but decided it was a side issue. Fixing the problems of the Company came first. Although, she reflected, Roger’s plan would certainly free up a few social constraints in Marshad.

  “Okay,” she said. “That has that covered. The reason we needed to know is that we need to smuggle one or two of our Mardukan allies out.”

  “Why?” Bijan demanded angrily. “This will make it much more likely that we’ll be discovered! Those barbarians don’t even speak the language!”

  “What?” Julian snapped. “You have no barbarians in your city? No visitors whatsoever?”

  “A few,” Bijan admitted reluctantly. “But they’re mainly from Kranolta tribes, and there are very few at the moment. They’re mostly traders in hides and jungle medicines.”

  “Good,” Kosutic said. “We have a mass of those we collected on the march, and he can take some with him as a cover. Also, before he goes, he’ll need an armor apron and a helmet.”

  “No!” Bijan snarled. “No fighting. I don’t know what your plan is, but he won’t destroy all I’ve worked for! I’ll wait for a better chance, if that’s what it takes!”

  “No, you won’t,” Kosutic told him with another toothy smile, “because if this goes wrong, I will follow you to Hell to spit on your soul. Do I make myself clear?”

  They stared at one another for a long time, until, finally, the Mardukan clapped his hands reluctantly.

  “Very well. One of them. I’ll get appropriate armor and a helmet.” He paused. “But if he gives away our preparations, on your head be it.”

  “He’ll have a mission, which he’ll divulge to you as he goes,” the sergeant major said. “You will support it fully.” She gestured with her head at the female spy. “And that one will be the primary control. Do you understand?”

  “I’m in charge here—” Bijan started to say.

  “No,” Kosutic interrupted with a shake of her head. “Fate, chaos, and destruction are in charge here, spy. The faster you figure out how to ride the whirlwind, the better.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Denat padded through the trackless dark of nighttime Marshad, following the dimly perceived shape of the female in front of him.

  The stench of the lower warrens was unbelievable, an effluvia of chemicals from dyes, rotting carcasses, shit, and misery. He’d visited Q’Nkok often, and although there had been many poor, it had never seemed as if the entire city was destitute. But in Marshad, he hadn’t seen a single sign of relative wealth. It appeared that there were only king’s advisers, and the penniless.

  As his guide passed one of the tunnel-like alleys, a figure emerged from the deeper shadows and grabbed the little female by the arm.

  Denat’s orders had been to follow and, as much as possible, to avoid notice, so he stepped sideways into the deeper blackness along the alleyway, turning to put the heavy sack he carried against the wall. The little guide, Sena, had heartily endorsed the importance of his avoiding attention, and added an injunction against coming to her aid. She was confident of her own abilities. Or so she said.

  Now Denat saw why. The confrontation was brief, and ended when the accoster suddenly flew into a wall. There was another flicker of movement as the two shapes merged, a horn flashed, and then the little female continued on, leaving a crumpled, life-oozing shape sprawled in the noisome alley.

  Denat stepped around the growing, sticky puddle and followed his guide into the deeper blackness. There was just enough filtered light in the intersection for him to see that the thug’s head was barely attached to his body. He’d heard of the enat techniques, but Sena was the first practitioner of the art he’d ever met, and he resolved to treat the guide with the greatest possible respect.

  They took a fork away from the slightly wider alley they’d been following into a smelly path barely wide enough for the broad tribesman to pass. The alley’s clay walls were intermittently coated in waterproofing, but much of it had worn away, exposing the walls to the rains. There were runnels in the material, and if it wasn’t fixed soon, the houses to either side would collapse.

  The narrow slit dropped into one of the tunnels that was a bit wider. It was impossible to see in the lightless passage, so the guide took the tribesman’s hand and put it on her shoulder. The passage was half-flooded with a river of sludge—runoff from the evening’s rains and rancid beyond compare—through which they were forced to wade. Denat steeled himself and refused to wonder what the things bumping against his legs or disintegrating beneath his feet might be.

  That passage was blessedly short, however, and soon Sena led him up onto a slightly elevated platform and stopped. There was an almost unheard tapping, and the creak of a hinge, and then the guide stepped forward once more.

  Denat started to follow . . . and slammed his nose into a lintel. He stifled a venomous curse, ducked through the doorway and stepped forward until he felt a hand on his chest. There was another creak behind him, a thump as a door closed, and the click of a bolt shooting. Then light flared from a tinderbox.

  The candle that the tinder lit revealed a space which seemed too tiny for the group filling it. Besides his guide, there were three other females of about the same age, two older females, and half a dozen children. The only male in the room was obviously old, the lighter of the candle.

  Two of the younger females cringed back at the sight of the armored tribesman
in their midst, but the rest simply regarded Denat calmly.

  “Unexpected visitors, Sena?” The old male sat creakily on a stool and gestured for the visitor to seat himself, addressing Denat’s guide in the Voitan dialect which Denat, now that he was paying attention, could fuzzily understand.

  “Yes,” the guide agreed, wiping the filth of the sewer off her legs. “A requirement of the humans. They must have one of their own perform some mission. Also, we must smuggle communiqués to and from their commanders. They must have permission to help us.”

  She added something else in the dialect, speaking much too rapidly for Denat to follow.

  “That was to be expected,” one of the older females said, coming forward. “Welcome, tribesman. I am Selat, which my daughter would have told you, if she’d any manners.”

  “D’Nal Denat.” The tribesman bowed. “I greet you in the name of The People.” He hoped he’d gotten all the sounds right. Some of the words were the same, but accented so differently as to make them nearly unintelligible.

  “Denat,” Julian said over the earbud the intel NCO’d installed, “if you’re having translation problems, ask me. I’ll give you the right words. You just said ‘I sneeze you in the name of The Idiots.’”

  The Mardukan had been seeded with more listening devices than a Saint embassy, and the company now had a way out of the building. The sergeant major was hard at work tracing out the other hidden passageways, and if Denat truly needed help, it was possible the Marines could come to the rescue.

  The locals looked at one another, and then the older female bowed slightly towards him.

  “I . . . greet you in the name of our house. Won’t you take a seat?”

  Denat nodded as reassuringly as possible at the worried females in the corner, guarding the children, and sat on the floor. The walls of the room were well-set stone and the room itself was a snug, out-of-the-way burrow.

  “I . . . have . . .”

  “A mission,” Julian prompted.

  “. . . a mission to put a human . . .”

  “. . . thing . . .”

  “. . . thing on the . . .”

  “. . . bridge . . .”

  “. . . bridge,” the tribesman finished with a snarl and a triple cough, the agreed-upon code for: GO AWAY.

  “Okay, okay,” the NCO whispered. “Going into lurk mode.”

  “Are you quite well?” his host asked. The old Mardukan leaned forward in concern; if the contact became unwell, it would ruin all their plans.

  “Yes,” Denat answered. “I am well.”

  “What is this device?” the older female asked as she poured their visitor a drink of water and proffered the cup.

  “I don’t know,” Denat lied easily. He’d quickly learned the expression Poertena called a “poker face,” an apt description. “However, the humans say that it’s vital to their plans.”

  “How large is it? How do you have to attach it? And where?” Sena clapped her hands in agitation. “It will be difficult to do. The bridge is well guarded.”

  “It has to be attached anywhere on the underside,” Denat said.

  “ . . . underside,” Julian corrected. “You just said anywhere on the ‘butt.’ Well, ‘ass’ is closer.” The NCO chuckled.

  “Underside,” Denat amended.

  “Ah,” his host said. The old Mardukan male looked at the ceiling of the dwelling. “This is perhaps possible.”

  “How large is this package?” Sena asked, taking a seat as well.

  Denat pulled the sack he’d been carrying around in front of him and opened it. Pulling out several hide-wrapped packages and partially prepared hides, he removed a final package covered in red leather. It was done up with thongs, which he untied to reveal a strange shape. It looked like a small box attached to a cube of clay the size of his hand.

  “How do you attach it?” Sena asked, for there were no strings or ropes in evidence.

  “They told me that if I pushed it on stone, it would stay.” Denat tried it, and it adhered to the nearer wall, which was in easy arm’s reach. He pulled at it, and it came away with difficulty.

  “Like glue,” Selat observed. The older female looked at the device curiously. “Very interesting. What does it do?”

  “That I don’t know,” Denat lied again. He knew very well what it did, but he wasn’t about to tell the locals. “I also need to be near the river on the day of the battle,” he added.

  “That won’t be hard,” Sena assured him. “Right on the river would be difficult, but there are several places on that edge of town where you’ll be outside the walls and within easy running distance. Will that do?”

  “Yes. Now, how do we get the item attached?”

  “How well do you swim?” Sena asked with a handclap of humor.

  “Well enough to swim that little puddle you call a river.”

  “There’s a landing beneath the bridge,” the little female said. “We can put you in the river upstream. You swim down to the bridge, climb up and attach your item, then swim downriver to another point, where someone will meet you to lead you back.”

  “Very well,” Denat said with satisfaction. “Now, I suppose we wait.”

  “Indeed,” Sena said. “And starve,” she added sourly.

  “Oh, it isn’t that bad, dear,” the host rebuked. “We have enough to share with our guest. The House of T’Leen is not so fallen as to be unable to provide hospitality!”

  “T’Leen?” Denat repeated, startled. “Was that a common name in Voitan? Because I know a T’Leen Targ.”

  “T’Leen Targ?” The host sounded surprised. “I am T’Leen Sul. He’s my cousin on my father’s side! Where do you know him from?” he asked eagerly. “I haven’t seen him since before the fall of S’Lenna! How is he?”

  “He’s well,” Denat said, glad to be able to impart some happy news. “He was one of the leaders of the force that relieved us in Voitan. They’re rebuilding the city, and he’ll be one of the leaders of that, as well.”

  “Ah!” Sul clapped his hands in joy. “The shining city shall rise again!”

  “Let it not be too late for us,” his wife said quietly. “Would that we could go to it before our deaths.”

  “We shall,” Sul said with quiet firmness. “We shall return to the shining city. We might have only our hands to offer, but it will be enough.”

  There was no doubt in his voice, but the whole group had lost its animation. Even if they returned to Voitan, it would be as beggars.

  “I was surprised by your choice of messengers,” Denat said, deliberately moving away from what was obviously a painful subject. “My people wouldn’t have entrusted such a grave responsibility to a female.”

  “Because we’re worthless and unintelligent?” Sena snorted. “Good only for birthing babies and cooking?”

  “Yes,” Denat said calmly. “I was surprised that the people of Voitan were so accepting of women working other than in the fields and home. You keep to the Voitan customs?”

  “With difficulty,” T’Leen Sul said. “Marshad doesn’t agree with those customs. A female cannot own property and she must obey the orders of any male. Such are both customs and law in this land, so it’s hard for one raised among the customs of Voitan to put up with. Females are common in weaving, but that’s because it’s work males don’t want.” The old male grunted in laughter. “But Sena was raised in the Voitan way, and she’s proof that not all females are worthless and weak.”

  “So she is,” Denat grunted. He looked at the little female out of the corner of his eye. “So she is.” He gave himself a shake. “But returning to the matter of starvation.” He reached back into his sack. “I brought some food. When that runs out, we’ll have to see what we can think of.”

  “Well,” Sena said, clapping her hands in resignation, “that means we can stay out of sight until we have to go to the bridge. Of course, staying out of sight means being stuck in the company of a smelly tribesman for all that time, but at least one pa
rt of the plan is working.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  “This is going too smoothly,” Pahner complained, shaking his head.

  “Really?” Roger looked around the room and chuckled. “I suppose Voitan was your idea of just the right amount of friction?”

  “Yes, Your Highness, it was.” The captain turned dark eyes on the prince and nodded. “We survived.” He shook his head again. “Something is bound to screw this up, and there’s not much in the way of a backup.”

  “Blow the town down and take what we can?” Despreaux suggested.

  “More or less.” The CO straightened and kneaded the small of his back with both hands. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  “Seventy isn’t old,” Roger told him with a laugh. “Look at my grandfather. He lived to the ripe old age of one hundred and eighty-three senile years.”

  “Not a record I hope to beat, Your Highness.” The captain smiled. “Time for bed. We’d better be on our toes tomorrow.”

  Roger nodded a good night to Pahner as he left the room, then looked over at O’Casey.

  “You’ve been particularly quiet this evening, Eleanora,” he observed, taking off the borrowed helmet he’d been using to monitor the operation.

  “Just thinking about our host,” the chief of staff replied with a smile. “And about universality.”

  “How so?” Roger asked, mopping at his sweaty forehead. The evening was unusually hot, even for Marduk. It usually cooled off a bit after nightfall, but not tonight, apparently.

  “If you don’t mind, Your Highness,” Despreaux said, “I’m going to turn in as well. I have guard duty in a few hours.”

  “Take off, Nimashet.” Roger waved one hand in a shooing gesture. “I think we can guard ourselves for a while.”

  The sergeant smiled at him and left the room behind the captain. Roger watched her go, and then turned back to O’Casey.