Empire of Man

by David Weber

  “You were there,” Kostas said.

  “Sam held the rearguard for quite a time,” Fullea responded. “But then he was wounded, and some of his men brought him down to the docks and loaded him on one of the ships. It was almost the last one out.”

  The nobleman clapped his hands in a Mardukan shrug. “After that, it got very bad. The final ships out . . . what they saw wasn’t good.”

  “Sacks of heavily defended cities are like that,” O’Casey said. “Fortunately, we humans, as a society, are pretty much past that. We had a bad period about a thousand years ago—the Dagger Years that caused the formation of the Empire. But since then, we haven’t experienced organized pillaging. Not of major cities, at any rate.”

  The chief of staff toyed with the limp vegetables of a side dish.

  “Are you going to go back?” she asked. “When the Boman settle down or move back north?”

  The nobleman made a gesture of uncertainty.

  “The Boman have vowed to remain on the southern lands until all of the cities of the south are destroyed, including K’Vaern’s Cove,” he said. “So we can only return if the Cove survives, and even if the Boman don’t overwhelm the city walls, the Cove is weakening day by day while they squat on the timber and ore and fields. When the Boman leave, there may not be any reason to return.”

  “For me, I don’t know,” Fullea said. “I lost everything in the ferry efforts and the Battle of the Bay.” She pointed at the two small necklaces she wore. “Would I wear a pair of simple coll pearl necklaces if I had more left? No bracelets, no rings. No ships, no funds. For me, it’s all to do over.” She made another gesture of regret. “I’m old. I’m not sure it’s in me to start over again.”

  “There’s also a labor problem,” Tre pointed out. “We lost much of our population fighting the Boman. At least, much of our labor force. All we have left are . . .”

  “Women and children,” O’Casey said with a glance at Matsugae.

  “Yes,” the nobleman confirmed.

  “And then there’s the whole sticky political question,” the widow added with a grunt of laughter, and the nobleman sighed.

  “Too true. The Council lost all its political capital when its members tried to flee, and all the noble houses are now stained with the same reputation.”

  “But the nobles had portable funds,” Fullea pointed out, “so they’re the only ones with the money to rebuild the city.”

  “And no one trusts them to rebuild it and stay the course?” the valet murmured. “I can think of half a dozen ways to fix that.”

  “So can I,” O’Casey said. “More, of course, but I think your half dozen are probably the same as the ones on my shortlist. Just one would be to offer shares in ownership to K’Vaernian interests. That’s your funding problem solved right there. Offer lesser shares and a small stipend to volunteers from K’Vaern’s Cove interested in rebuilding the city. Things like that. You’d end up with a limited corporation managing the city. However, it would be an economic vassal of K’Vaern’s Cove.”

  “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Tre said. “Who’s in charge?”

  “The chief executive, strictly limited by a binding charter,” Matsugae said, and glanced at O’Casey. “Therean Five?”

  “Something along those lines, anyway,” the chief of staff replied, taking an absentminded bite of limp vegetables. “But, in general, societies like that are lousy in wartime. Therean Five was a special case of a homogenous militaristic agrarian society.” She paused and chuckled. “With a really funny charter, if you’re a history buff.”

  “‘And this time, we really, really mean it,’” Matsugae quoted. “And the majority and minority opinions of the framers are required for every amendment.”

  “Right,” O’Casey agreed, then turned back to Fullea and Tre. “But if that wouldn’t work here, you could try a limited monarchy, like the Empire. The nobles get an upper house with specific powers, the commoners get a lower house with specific powers, and there’s a hereditary executive that must be approved by both houses. Various other restrictions and controls have to be cranked in as well, of course. The judicial branch, for example. And it’s very important for long-term success to provide for ongoing periodic replenishment of the upper house. Like I said, lots of details, but that’s the broad outline.”

  “Do you know all the details?” Fullea asked after a moment’s pause.

  “You could say I have a firm academic grasp of them,” O’Casey replied with a smile. “One point about it—whatever system you use, you really need to have either unlimited suffrage or citizenship through service. Muzzling half your population won’t work as technology advances.”

  “You’re speaking of giving women political power,” Tre said.

  “Yep.”

  The nobleman glanced over at his dinner partner, his body language clearly troubled.

  “While there are certainly individuals . . .”

  “Oh, shut up, Sam,” the widow said tartly. “There was no reason—outside of some truly stupid laws written by men—why Tareim should have inherited, and he squandered it all until I forced him to give it back. And there are other women who could do just as well as I did—possibly better.”

  “But few are prepared for it, or able for that matter,” the nobleman argued.

  “How do you know until you try?” O’Casey asked. “I’ve heard this argument throughout this entire journey, but look at K’Vaern’s Cove.”

  “Well, the Cove isn’t necessarily what we’d want to become,” Fullea said. “But it is a good argument and case in point.”

  “You’re going to need them as a work force,” Matsugae told the nobleman. “And I think they’d probably surprise you. I’ve worked with women from many of your people’s societies on this trek, and almost all of them were more than their men were willing to admit. Even the ‘open-minded’ ones,” he added.

  “Ayiee. I get your point.” Tre picked up one of the overcooked tubers. “But I’m definitely choosing the restaurant next time.”

  “All of this is extremely interesting, and probably valuable, but doing anything about it depends on retaking D’Sley,” Fullea pointed out.

  “What we don’t have is the funds to hire enough mercenaries to do that,” Tre said with a sigh. “Even if there were enough mercenaries in the entire world.”

  “So you have to convince K’Vaern’s Cove that it’s vital to them,” O’Casey countered. “Everyone seems to agree that if the Boman squat on the resources, K’Vaern’s Cove is going to wither away. So why aren’t they taking the fight to the Boman?”

  “Because the Boman have smashed every army that’s dared to face them.” Tre made a gesture of resignation. “They far outnumber the K’Vaernian Guard, and this branch, at least, is ably led. Leaving the walls would be suicide.”

  “And you don’t have the traditions, techniques, or tactics for conscript armies, so there’s no structure to allow for rapidly increasing the size of the Guard,” O’Casey said, nodding in understanding.

  “But all of those are easy enough to get,” Matsugae put in. “Right?”

  “If you’re willing to pay the political cost,” the historian agreed. “But for that to happen, someone with a significant political base has to see the light.”

  “I think that you’ll find it difficult to have ships commissioned under the current conditions,” Fullea said. “And you have some political capital.”

  “No,” O’Casey corrected gently. “Rus From and Bogess have some political capital, and we’ve given them sufficient information to be able to take the fight to the Boman. Perhaps the wrong people are having this dinner?”

  “No,” Fullea retorted flatly. “Neither Bogess nor Rus From show a clear understanding of the techniques and technologies you’ve given them. It’s unfortunately clear that they’re still feeling their own way into adapting to these new ways of war, and because it is, the K’Vaernians are understandably reluctant to depend
on them. They won’t follow the direction of Bogess in the field the way that they would your Captain Pahner, who Bogess has told them is a military genius.”

  “Captain Pahner is very good,” O’Casey said with a smile, “but not a genius. He does have that ability to stay calm in a crisis which is critical in a military commander, but generally he draws on historical background to fight his battles. ‘Genius’ implies innovation.”

  “But Bogess doesn’t know the same history,” Tre observed shrewdly. “Does he?”

  “No.”

  “There you go.”

  “Fullea, Sam Tre,” O’Casey said, “I understand your desire, but we have a schedule to keep. We must keep that schedule, and we’re already far behind where we need to be. We can’t dally in K’Vaern’s Cove to help you fight your battles, and we most especially are not going to fight the Boman for you. We’re not mercenaries.”

  “What would it take to convince you to help?” Fullea asked. “Besides a decent dinner, of course.”

  Eleanora smiled faintly. “I’m not the person who makes those decisions, and if I told you anything it would be the minimum requirements for us to consider assisting.”

  “Understood,” Tre told her. “And those minimum requirements are?”

  “We’d require more information about the Boman, their location, and numbers. We’d require a real plan, and the wholehearted support of K’Vaern’s Cove, and that would have to include full support for the building of our ships and the outfitting of the army. We’d need to ride roughshod over some of the largest businesses in the city, and they’d have to take it and smile.”

  Tre winced and sat back, but Fullea remained leaning forward, all four hands clasped, as still and calm as a Vedic statue.

  “And if all those requirements were met?”

  “Impossible!” Tre exclaimed. “The K’Vaernians just aren’t like that!”

  “And if all those requirements were met?” the widow repeated.

  “If all of them were met, Pahner would consider it,” Matsugae said. “Especially if the campaign took no longer than building the ships did.”

  “There’s no way to guarantee that,” Tre said firmly.

  “No, but by the time the ships were finished he’d have been able to train someone else and help them develop the experience and knowledge to take over,” O’Casey pointed out. “And by then either the Boman would’ve been pretty well shattered or else they’d be at the walls.”

  “So we have to get the whole Council behind it?” the widow asked. “I can see getting most of them . . .”

  “Even more important, you have to get the whole body of the citizenry behind it,” O’Casey clarified. “Not because they control the Council, but because they’d have to work willingly for the cause.”

  “Do you have any ideas about that?” Fullea asked, taking a sip of wine.

  It’s not going to be a short dinner, is it? O’Casey thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Roger slumped onto the pillow and nodded to Despreaux. The sergeant had arrived early, and she looked up from her own pillow to nod back. At least her stiff acknowledgment was no longer actively hostile, but it wasn’t exactly brimming over with joyous welcome, either, he reflected. Sooner or later, they were going to have to sit down and iron out their problems . . . assuming they ever managed to find the time to.

  His asi settled quietly behind him as Julian and Tratan entered. They were followed by the rest of the staff and senior commanders, until the spacious room was rather full. Fortunately, it had large windows open on two sides to the sea breezes, so it wasn’t stuffy even with the gathered staff.

  Pahner arrived last, accompanied by Rastar and Rus From, who quickly took their seats.

  “All right, we have to make some decisions,” the Marine CO said. “Or, rather, I have to make some decisions. But we all need to know the parameters, so I want everyone to present what they’ve learned as succinctly as possible. Then we’ll decide what we’re going to do.

  “Poertena, you start.”

  “Si, Cap’n.” The Pinopan checked his pad. “I’m gonna say t’is one more time: we don’ wanna cross no blue water in t’ose tubs. We could convert one o’ t’em to a schooner sail plan in about a mont’, but it’d turn turtle in tee first good wind, no matter what we do.”

  “Can you explain that for us nonsailors?” Julian asked. “They sail them just fine now, right?”

  “Sure, but t’ey only sail in t’is little millpond,” Poertena replied, gesturing out the window at the K’Vaernian Sea, “an’ t’ey don’ get out o’ sight o’ land, either. T’ey can’t, even if t’ey wanted to, ‘cause t’ey gots no way to navigate. What t’ey gonna use for noon sights on t’is planet?” This time his gesture took in the solid gray overcast. “So t’eir ships’re buil’ for shoal water an’ what t’ey calls ‘Mediterranean conditions’ back on Terra.”

  “Mediterranean?” Kosutic repeated, and the Pinopan shrugged.

  “You see any surf on t’ose rocks?” he asked, pointing to the rocky coastline far below the citadel. “No? T’at’s cause t’is little puddle of a K’Vaernian Sea ain’t big enough for real swells to build—not wide enough for tee wind to build a good, heavy sea. Oh, shallow water like t’is, it can blow up nasty quick when a heavy wind does come ‘long, but t’at’s not what tee normal conditions are, an’ if t’ey sees a blow comin’ up, t’ey heads for shore or drops anchor an’ lies to to ride it out. ‘Cording to all t’eir hist’ries, t’at’s how come K’Vaern’s Cove ever got settled in tee first place, an’ I believe it. But you ain’t gonna be able to do t’at out on no ocean, Smaj.”

  “Um.” The sergeant major nodded slowly, and Poertena shrugged again.

  “T’ese ships is shoal built,” he went on. “T’ey gots no depth of keel an’ t’ey flat-floored as hell—t’at’s partly so’s t’ey can beach t’em jus’ ‘bout anywheres t’ey wants to—an’ t’ey still figurin’ out how sail plans work. Frankly, I surprised t’ey uses square sails an’ not a lateen rig, and t’at’s part o’ tee problem.”

  “‘Lateen’?” Julian repeated plaintively, and O’Casey chuckled.

  “Sailor technospeak is much older than your kind of jargon, Sergeant,” she said, not unkindly but with a wicked glint in her eye. “Sailors have had thousands of years to develop it, so you’re just going to have to ride it out.”

  “But what does it mean?” the intel NCO pressed, and the chief of staff glanced at Poertena.

  “I don’t know the nuts and bolts as well as you do, Poertena, but perhaps I can help establish a context for what you’re telling us?” The Pinopan nodded for her to continue, and she turned her attention back to Julian.

  “Back on Earth, two different types of ship designs evolved before the emergence of steam power and propellers. Think of them as the ‘Mediterranean type’ and the ‘Atlantic type.’ The Mediterranean is very much like the K’Vaernian: essentially landlocked, shallow, and with very moderate normal wind and wave conditions. The Atlantic is a much rougher body of water, and typical mid-Atlantic conditions would be extremely dangerous for a ship designed to survive only in Mediterranean conditions.

  “So the Mediterranean powers developed galleys and, later, galleases—light, shoal-draft, low-freeboard vessels, very like the K’Vaernians’—and with sail plans which utilized what was called a lateen rig, a single, loose-footed sail on a yard set across the mast at a fairly sharp angle.

  “The Atlantic type evolved as a much deeper-hulled ship, to provide the sort of stability a vessel would require under typical conditions there, with more freeboard to move the deck higher to keep it clear of normal wave conditions. And unlike the Mediterranean sail plans, the Atlantic type gradually evolved a multimasted rig with two or three square sails on each mast and triangular fore-and-aft headsails—the ‘jibs’ Poertena and Roger keep talking about. It was a much more powerful arrangement, allowing the Atlantic type to depend primarily upon wind power rather than muscle
power delivered by way of the oars, which also meant that they could be built bigger, heavier, and sturdier. Not to mention freeing up the sides of the ships to mount heavy batteries of cannon once the oar banks were out of the way.”

  She considered what she’d just said for a moment, then shrugged.

  “It’s not really my area of expertise, so I’m sure I didn’t get it all right, and I’ve probably left out a good bit, but that may give you some idea of the kind of design incompatibilities Poertena has to overcome.”

  “Yep,” the diminutive armorer agreed. “Even t’eir merchies, t’ey too shallow draf’ for blue-water conditions, an’ as for t’eir warships—!” He rolled his eyes. “Forget it. You gets a good blow, an’ t’ey goin’ over, no matter what you do. An’ t’ey ain’t never heard o’ jibs or foresails—all t’ey gots is t’ose big pock—I mean, all t’ey gots is t’ose square spritsails t’ey sets under tee bowsprit. T’ose help some beatin’ to windward, but not a lot. An’ t’ey gots no drivers—no fore-and-aft sails on tee stern to help t’ere, neither. Nope, t’eir sail plans, t’ey suck for blue-water. T’at’s why t’is design go ‘way on Eart’ after t’ey learn tee jib sail.”

  “So we teach them.” Julian shrugged.

  “Mebbe,” Poertena conceded. “But we gots to do it pretty quick if we gonna get t’ese ships built. An’ even if we do, I been down to tee local museum and took a look at tee log from t’at one ship t’ey say crossed tee ocean from tee ot’er side. We not only gots to worry ‘bout building somet’ing can handle blue-water, we gots to build somet’ing can stand up to whatever ripped up t’at ship, too.”

  “Ripped it up with what?” Roger asked. “Tentacles? Claws?”

  “Seem like a big fish, You’ Highness,” Poertena said. “You gotta remember, I didn’ read it direct, only tee partial translation tee locals worked out, an’ tee guy writin’ tee log was half outta his mind even t’en.”