The Game Of Empire

by Poul Anderson

  Presently the moon Icarus rose in a confusion of silver which coalesced to a half shield as it climbed.

  The forests ashore were full of shadow, but the river sheened like mercury on its murmurous course.

  Diana did not reckon up how long she stood rapt, watching the hours unfold. When the deck shivered beneath hoofs, and a bone-deep basso rumbled forth, she came back to herself with a shock like falling off a cliff.

  "Ah, a beautiful, incredible sight indeed," said Axor. "What an artist the Creator is. This experience might almost justify our making the journey we are on."

  Misgiving pierced Diana. "Almost?"

  "Why, I fear ours is a bootless expedition. I have been in the saloon, speaking with person after person, crew and passengers, including the two humans. None can attest to any objects that might be Foredweller remains. One did bespeak large ruins under the northern mountains, but another, who had actually been there, said they are remnants of a Terran mining operation, abandoned centuries ago when the ore gave out." A sigh boomed. "We should have stayed on Imhotep and completed our investigation as planned. Now we are confined on Daedalus for an indefinite time and … I am no longer young."

  Guilt took her, however lightly, by the throat. "I'm sorry."

  Axor lifted a hand. "Oh, no, no, dear friend. I do not blame you in the least. You urged upon me what seemed best to you in your—your impetuosity. Nor do I pity myself. That is the most despicable of emotions. I should not have let you rush me into taking this passage. My mistake, not yours. And we are seeing wonders along the way."

  Diana braced herself. "We may even find what you're after," she said, as stoutly as possible. "These are just regular river travelers aboard with us, and, uh, one outworlder. In Lulach we'll find people who get around more on this planet." She hesitated. "A Zacharian, maybe. That island is mysterious. You've talked to me about how the Ancient relics on Aeneas have influenced the whole culture of the settlers. Could something like that be on Zacharia?"

  "Well, we may hope." A bit of cheer lifted in Axor's tones. " 'And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity,' " he quoted. "Yet hope is no mean member of the triad."

  Again she hated what she was doing to him, and wondered whether the need could ever justify it. She knew so little thus far. She had in fact, she realized, acted on faith—faith in Targovi—with hope for adventure and accomplishment, but damn small charity.

  She squared her shoulders. Maybe some Daedalan place really did hold something for her old pilgrim.

  Axor stretched luxuriously, an alarming sight if you didn't know him. "I thinking, before going to bed, I would like a swim," he said. "Do you care to come along? I can easily catch up with the boat when we are finished, and carry you with me."

  For a moment Diana was tempted. To frolic in yonder mightily sliding current—But she had no bathing suit, and didn't want to risk the men aboard seeing her nude. They appeared decent enough, in a rough-hewn fashion. However, after the incident in Paz, she'd rather not give anybody the wrong impression.

  More important, she suddenly and sharply realized, here was her chance to talk to Targovi. "No, thanks," she said in a haste that drew a quizzical glance. "I'm tired and, uh, I want to watch this spectacle more. Go ahead. Have fun."

  The Wodenite undulated over the rail. It was astonishing how gracefully he could move when he chose. He entered the water with scarcely a splash. Suffused light shimmered off his scales and spinal sierra. His tail drove him cleanly away.

  Diana glanced aft. A Cynthian lookout perched atop the bridge, within which the pilot was occupied. Neither was paying her any attention, nor would they overhear low-voiced conversation. Everybody else had gone below; most of them were used to the magical ring, as she was not. She pattered over the planks.

  Behind the after deckhouse, an awning had been stretched to shelter the cage which held Wo Lia's performing beast. It cast a degree of darkness over Targovi. She saw him as a shadowy figure rhythmically astir—exercises, to keep in condition while imprisoned. She hunkered down.

  His catlike eyes knew her instantly. "Aaah, s-s-s, at last," he breathed, and crouched to face her. "How goes it, sprite?"

  "Oh, I'm all right, but awful puzzled, and poor Axor's terribly discouraged," she blurted. "What's goin' on, anyway?"

  He changed his language to Toborko, in a monotone which lost many nuances of that most musical tongue, but which would seem to a casual passerby as if the animal were crooning some weird song while the human, curious, listened.

  "Well deserve you what explanation I can give, O valiant child, the more so when I shall belike call upon you to render services and take hazards such as neither of us can foresee. Vast are the stakes in this game, but the rules poorly known and capriciously changeable.

  "You understand I have not been entirely a huckster but also an agent covert of Imperial Intelligence. My part was mainly to pass on to my superiors whatever I came across that seemed of possible interest, on this world near the Merseian marches and visited by beings of countless kinds. Yet did I help uncover one espionage undertaking, and found leads to others.

  "Nevertheless, when I scented something truly enormous upon the wind, not only did my warnings go unheeded, I was forbidden to utter them or to continue in my search. More of that later, when we can talk freely and at length. Enough tonight that I have cause to believe Magnusson's revolt is not simply another uprising of angry men against bad masters. And from Zacharia the forbidden come breaths of still more strangeness than erstwhile.

  "Aye, in Axor I saw a movable blind for myself. Attention will be upon him, but unlikely ever a suspicion. He can go in his harmlessness where most folk are banned, and I, I can perchance skulk behind. You, Diana Crow-feather, walk betwixt and between. What part you may play is, as yet, hidden in dawn-mists. I think you will play it well. You know my Tigery nature—sorry would I be to lose you, but sorry am I not for putting you at risk. Nor do I suppose you are ireful. You stand to win glory, with all that that may bring in its train. However this may be, clear was that only through you could I recruit unwitting Axor.

  "Ill was our luck, that the rebellion erupted just as we were approaching Daedalus. Else we could have landed and gone our ways, disappearing into the hinterlands by virtue of nobody thinking to keep watch over us. As was, knowing what standard procedures are, I foresaw that my reappearance at the time of crisis would automatically provoke precautionary detention if naught else. Whereupon the gigantic plot I have smelled would roll unhindered onward.

  "Accordingly, I escaped. It seemed likely that you and Axor would be released after interrogation, for you did in fact know nothing. The question was how to keep myself free when the hue and cry was out for me, and how to rejoin you afterward.

  "Therefore did I hide until after I felt sure the patrol would have visited Ju Shao's inn in Lowtown, and then sought it. She and I are friends of old, and I have in the past done her some favors when, hm, the Imperial authorities grew overly officious. You understand that an Intelligence agent has need of such connections. She tucked me away, kept me fed, and meanwhile conducted discreet inquiries.

  "These soon turned up Wo Lia. She is actually an adventurer among the stars—aye, from Catawrayannis, albeit a return to her birth-world would be inadvisable—mainly a gambler, but not above occasional racketeering.

  The ship whereon she arrived had departed again; the interdict on civilian space travel left her stranded; uproar, and preoccupation with public events, gave her scant opportunity in Aurea. Hence she proved quite willing to take the role of intinerant showperson. In Lulach she can establish herself, one way or another, until the Empire calms down, one way or another. Ju Shao helped me disguise myself, and Wo Lia persuaded our good captain that, if he sought you out, he could belike sell a couple of tickets.

  "Thus are we bound off. Needs must I remain in confinement till we reach Lulach. There will I slip free, and folk will feel sympathy for Wo Lia, whose per
former escaped and may well starve to death in an inedible jungle. As for me, I have … business in Lulach."

  "Can you trust her?" Diana whispered. "She might turn you in for the reward. I s'pose there is one."

  "She, like Ju Shao, expects reward far more substantial, should our cause triumph. Why not? Funds ought to be abundantly available then, together with openings to the stars."

  "But what is our cause? If you're on the side of Emperor Gerhart—why? To head off a civil war? But you can't; it's already begun. Mightn't Olaf Magnusson be the better man anyway? And what can we possibly do, stuck here on Daedalus, that'd make the slightest difference?"

  She had, unthinkingly, used Anglic. "S-s-s-s!" Targovi warned. "Abide your time. Later we will talk." He settled back into a beast posture, as if falling asleep.

  Diana sensed another presence. Turning her head, she saw that a human male had come on deck and was approaching. "Ah, hi," he called. "I thought I'd find you enjoying the view and the fresh air. But what's so interesting about the livestock?"

  She rose and walked out from beneath the awning. "Oh, it's a kind new to me," she answered. "I don't know what planet it's from. Do you?"

  "No. Wo Lia was evasive when I asked. Maybe export of that kind is illegal." The man beamed. He was young and rather good-looking. "Uh, care for a stroll around the deck? Such a lovely night. I'm still wide awake."

  "Well, I am too, sort of." Diana joined him.

  They paced. "We should get better acquainted," he said. "We'll be on this boat for a fairish while. I can show you around our ports of call, if you want, and Lulach when we get there. My pleasure."

  She smiled. "Why, thank you." A flirtation should be fun, if she took care to keep it within limits. Besides, she might learn something useful.

  Chapter 11

  A dozen light-years off, the twin blue giant suns that were Alpha Crucis dominated heaven. Even as images in a viewscreen they left burning after-images, and it would have been dangerous to let an unprotected eye dwell upon them.

  The immediate danger, though, was closer at hand, where the Merseian task force clashed with a Terran flotilla that had been unfortunate enough to intercept it. Cyntath Gadrol of the Vach Ynvory, called Cannonshield, commanding from the dreadnaught Ardwyr, had sprung his trap and set to work inflicting maximum destruction before the outnumbered Imperials should break off and flee. Where missiles burst, new stars bloomed in dreadful brief beauty. Where a rosy cloud swelled from one of them, rapidly fading away into blackness, a ship and her crew had died. The battle raged through a volume trillions of kilometers across.

  Yet it was principally a holding action, cover for the squadron that slipped free and made for the real destination at utmost pseudovelocity. Qanryf Bryadan Arrowswift, Vach Hallen, watched a yellow light-point swell hour by hour, until at the end of five it outshone Alpha Crucis and magnification revealed its disc. Despite his nickname, well-earned at home, Bryadan could stay quiet like that for a span like that: for he was on a hunt. Faint but marrow-thrilling, the energies driving the cruiser Tryntaf pulsed through him. Air from the ventilators, cold because his home was on an arctic shore of the Wilwidh Ocean, bore a likewise half-sensed exhilaration in reeks of ozone and oil. Telltales flashed, meters quivered, displays danced through his cave of control machines. Their operators poised alert, speaking only when needful but then softly singing the words, as if in dreams of the triumph to come.

  When his ship and her companions pierced the comet cloud, Bryadan tapped an intercom button. The face that sprang into the small screen was youthful, handsome, the green of the complexion slightly yellow because of partial Lafdiguan ancestry. It was also startled. "Foreseer!" exclaimed Afal Uroch of the Vach Rueth. He slapped hand to breast and tail to boots in salute. "At the captain's orders."

  "In the name of his Supremacy the Roidhun," Bryadan responded with equal formality. "Are you prepared?"

  "Yes, foreseer. The crew are ready and eager. Does the qanryf have some new word for us?"

  "Yea and nay." Bryadan leaned forward. "I want to lay stress upon certain details in your orders. Yours will be the most precarious part of this entire operation. If you carry it off well, it will be the very heartspring."

  Uroch dared grin. "Khraich, they don't call me 'the Lucky' for nothing."

  "With due heed to your honor," said Bryadan carefully, "I remind you that young, ambitious officers are apt to confuse courage and rashness. Your record of exploits has caused you to be chosen for your present assignment. Yet those same deeds required more dash than wisdom. Not that your judgment was ever unsound—in the particular circumstances you encountered. These will be different. We are to wield the surgeon's knife rather than the sword. In your case, it is especially important to uphold the distinction. Exactly what will happen, only the God knows. You may find yourself taken by surprise, in desperate straits, and tempted to unleash your entire firepower—since you are responsible for your crews, and thus for their wives and children. Or else you may see the enemy wide open to total destruction. In either instance, afal, you will resist the lure. Die if you must, together with those who have trusted you; or retreat unsuccessful if you must, taking years to live down the scorn of brother officers to whom you are forbidden to explain; but confine yourself to the precise goal given you."

  A slight change of color and posture, a barely visible twitch of lips away from teeth, were all that Uroch revealed. "Yes, foreseer."

  Bryadan made the gesture of affection, rare from a senior to a junior, and softened his tone. "I repeat, afal, my regard for your honor is of the highest. And so is my regard for your intelligence. Would I otherwise have approved you for this task? The God willing, and I believe He is, you will return with glory upon you. True, we cannot proclaim it in the universe—not yet—but your peers will know, and perhaps even your Roidhun."

  Hurt in the face turned to stiffly controlled joy.

  "I have this to add, and it is my real reason for addressing you now," Bryadan went on. "Before we lost contact with the main force, Cyntath Gadrol issued an announcement. Scout-ships have reported Terran reinforcements approaching, but at such low strength that he can hold them, too, in play. We will have days, if necessary, to complete our task here, before the opposition can bring up sufficient power that we must withdraw. Therefore, afal, take your time. Explore the options before you choose. Remember that, useful though it be, our undertaking is only a fractional part of the great unrevealed plan by which our superiors direct us. The destiny of the Race reaches ahead through millionfold years. Good hunting, afal."

  "And to you, foreseer," Uroch answered. As the screen blanked, exultation blazed from him.

  The Merseians ran on hyperdrive as deeply into the gravity well of the Gorrazani sun as they dared. When they reverted to relativistic state, they assumed intrinsic velocities carefully arranged beforehand, aimed at the habitable planet of the system. They crossed the gap in less than three hours, under decelerations that would have made molecular films of living tissue if interior forcefields had not compensated.

  The Gorrazanian home fleet got no chance to muster. Such units as were in orbit near the planet deployed and put up a gallant defense. Bryadan's command smashed it. Squadrons began to arrive from farther away. He broke them in detail. Meanwhile his broadcasters trampled local transmissions underfoot as they blared in the principal languages of the region:

  "All folk heed, we wish you no harm. We are here expressly at the request of your rightful chieftains, the Liberation Council which wills an end to centuries of oppression. His Supremacy the Roidhun recognizes the Liberation Council as the legitimate government of the Gorrazanian Realm. Even so, we of Merseia have no desire to intervene in your affairs. Consider simply how remote our dominions are. It is the sheerest altruism for us to cross such stretches of space, under peril of attack by the aggressors of Imperial Terra, in answer to an appeal—not to give military aid, no, not for any warlike purpose, but to convey hospital supplies to the valiant ar
mies of your Liberation Council. If we come armed, it is for self-defense. If we fight, it is because we were set upon, without the least provocation on our part. Note that we do not pursue the fleeing units of the lawless and discredited Folkmoot regime—"

  Uroch wasn't listening. It was enough for him that the leaders of the Race had, in their wisdom, decreed certain actions be carried out here, and that a certain amount of blat must accompany the doing. Besides, he was busy.

  As Tryntaf whipped in hyperbola close by the globe, his escadrille shot from her launch ports. It numbered a score, Fangryf-type gunboats, about midway between the Terran Comet and Conqueror classes—six-male craft, lean and deadly, equally at home in atmosphere and interplanetary space. They hit air at speeds that sent shudders through their hulls, made red flames around them, and left thunders trailing behind that rolled from horizon to horizon.

  Braking, at the pilot console of his own vessel, Uroch saw land and sea sweep away beneath him: wrinkled mountains, multitudinously verdant plains, shining waters. Such buildings as he spied in magnifying screens were mostly low, rounded, widespread; few towers speared aloft, as they pridefully did on Merseia or Terra. It was in the nature of this species to expand underground—"in the bosom of the Mother," they often said. Despite scanty landmarks, he knew where he was going. He had been through exhaustive briefings.

  What he did not know was what he would encounter along the way—Haa, yes, he did now! Warcraft flocked over the curve of the world to meet him.

  "Evasive action," he said coolly into the outercom. "Close formation. Do not fire on them until ordered. Concentrate on defending yourselves." Underneath, his heart thuttered.