Shiva in Steel

by Fred Saberhagen

  When Colonel Khodark came in, obviously ready to discuss some other business, she forestalled him by asking: "So how did Julius and his people know about our appeal for volunteers? If the communications between settlements on Gee Eye are as spotty as you say-but they must have been listening in." All communication between Hyperborea and Good Intentions had been routinely coded, as well as tight-beamed, on the assumption that berserkers or goodlife could be almost anywhere, and anything that could make it harder for them to listen in was worth a try.

  Khodark nodded. "That's quite possible, ma'am. Or Julius may have had some spy or agent in the other settlement-among the citizens who elected R and G, I mean-someone who clued him in on what was going on. All he'd really have to know is that we'd asked them for help and had been turned down. Then as soon as he found out that R and G were refusing to help us, naturally he called on his people to volunteer-just to irritate his local enemies, if for no other reason."

  "But he didn't only call for volunteers among his people. He came here himself. Putting yourself in harm's way is a rather extreme step if your only goal is to irritate someone."

  "All right, maybe he's serious. But is he really asking for a combat assignment, or does he plan to establish himself here at headquarters and furnish us with strategic advice?"

  "If he tries that, he's on his way home, without his ship. But give the old boy credit-he sounds like he really hopes to lead his people from a position out in front of them."

  People on the base who regularly paid attention to events on the surface of Good Intentions had been aware for some time of reports describing unrest, and even violence, flaring among the various factions of settlers there. When someone mentioned this problem to the emperor, he listened serenely and then went on trying to involve himself in the planning for the upcoming battle. Having left Gee Eye behind him, and determined to assume his rightful place as the supreme leader of Galactic humanity against the dreadful foe, Julius wasn't going to allow himself to be distracted by petty concerns such as what might be happening on a world in which he was no longer interested. "I have shaken the dust of that planet from my feet." Actually, the trouble down there on Gee Eye was nothing new; it had been endemic since the arrival of the cultists some years back, and had flared up just before the emperor's departure. Hopes that his absence would put an end to it now seemed to have been in vain.

  The cult wasn't really a new story to Harry; but still he found himself fascinated, distracted against his will.

  They tended to drive Captain Marut near to a frenzy. "Why would people claim to have a fleet when they don't? Gods of spacetime, it's not as if we were enemies they were trying to bluff."

  Harry shrugged, displayed a slightly crooked smile. "People are strange. You'll catch on to that eventually." Marut only turned and walked away, muttering exotic obscenities.

  Every hard fact Commander Normandy could discover, as opposed to publicity statements and rumors, confirmed that the cult had never possessed any real fleet-maybe at one time a squadron of three or four ships at the most. Still, the emperor hadn't always been such a total loser as he now appeared. He and his party, or cult, had performed interstellar migrations several times over some undetermined number of years, moving from one settled planet to another, looking and looking for a place where they could settle down and live, free of what they saw as unwarranted interference from co-inhabitants and neighbors. Everywhere they'd settled, conflict with their co-inhabitants had flared up, generally sooner than later. Meanwhile, their numbers had gradually diminished. From their point of view, of course, the ideal situation would have been an entire planet of their own, one friendly and hospitable to human life. But such plums were not easy to come by.

  So far, the ideal had never come close to being realized. Such worlds were rare indeed.

  Twenty or thirty years ago, on a world halfway across the settled Galaxy, as some witnesses remembered, and as history in the database confirmed, almost a hundred thousand people had acknowledged Julius as their leader. And at least a thousand had been ready to hail him, with ferocious sincerity, as their god. The database had holographs of their great roaring, chanting meetings. Not really very many people, not when the Galactic population of Solarians added up to more than a trillion. Now there might be one thousand who were still faithful; only about a hundred had come with him to war, but that was probably because no more could be crammed aboard his ship.

  Still, the commander did not give up all hope that Julius could prove a valuable ally. The handful of his followers who remained on Hyperborea, the people he said were essential as his flagship's crew, presented a motley appearance that did not tend to inspire confidence-but that was probably an unfair judgment, comparing them to the generally trim look of the Space Force and other mainstream units. And the emperor himself, in most of his contacts with people outside his group, proved surprisingly mild-mannered-though flashes of charisma were still to be detected.

  Once the emperor settled in aboard the base, in personal quarters reserved for high-ranking dignitaries, he got out of his distinctive uniform and took to wearing a space-crew-coverall, almost like everybody else. His was a civilian garment, like Harry's, sidestepping the question of rank. The admiral and his lesser followers hastily abandoned their own fine uniforms as soon as they saw what their deity had done.

  Julius made matters a little easier for everyone by making it clear at the start that he had no intention of disputing Claire Normandy's authority in whatever operations might be planned. Now and in the foreseeable future, his authority would be confined to the spiritual domain. When something of the current military situation had been explained to him-as much as the commander thought good for him to know-Julius, His Imperial Highness, proclaimed himself willing to take whatever part the Space Force wanted to assign him.

  If Admiral Hector was disappointed at this turn of events, he concealed it well.

  Ever since the arrival of the shattered task force, the commander had been doing her best to keep higher authorities abreast of what was happening. She had fired off a succession of automated couriers, outlining her situation, to headquarters-Commander in Chief, Sector, more commonly known as CINCSEC-back on Port Diamond. The next message included all that she had been able to learn about the man who called himself the emperor.

  Emperor Julius had evidently made Good Intentions the site of his final effort to establish a seat of power, to create what he and his followers hoped would be a safe haven for their now-persecuted people.

  It was about five years ago that the emperor and his entourage had come to this solar system from another, at a considerable distance. Before that, his people had been on yet another world, and before that, on another.

  At least on Good Intentions, the members of his sect had had plenty of room to avoid bumping into their neighbors. Not that that had prevented the outbreak of conflict. Reports from down there, readily confirmed, said that a standard year or two ago, his sect had splintered, with a schismatic faction moving away a hundred kilometers or so to establish its own settlement.

  "So," the commander observed, "there are now three towns down there on Gee Eye."

  "Right." Harry nodded. "The original settlement, the cultists' first camp, and now the place where the schismatic bunch has settled."

  Most of the people in each of the three towns detested those in the other two, though matters had never reached the stage of actual warfare. So far, all factions had managed to share the single spaceport, under conditions of an uneasy truce. Actually, most liftoffs and landings required no such facility, and the Galaxy had managed quite easily without it.

  During the time Harry Silver had spent on Good Intentions, he'd naturally taken note of the various conflicts among the people there. The situation held little interest for him-he found most human power struggles boring-but he could now offer Commander Claire more details than she cared to hear about the emperor and his cult. Harry's information was somewhat dated, of course-a lot might h
ave changed in the years since his last visit.

  Strangely, the emperor actually seemed pleased every time he saw or heard some bit of evidence confirming the smallness of the force that he was reinforcing and how heavy the odds were likely to be against them in the coming battle. Frequently he asked to be given more details. But neither he nor the handful of his followers who'd been allowed to remain on Hyperborea were briefed any more thoroughly than the commander thought absolutely necessary. Now the last of Julius's surplus supporters were on their way back to Gee Eye, and Normandy was confident that they could have gained very little military information to carry with them.

  Unlike Harry Silver, the emperor was perfectly willing to accept on trust whatever the commander told him regarding the military situation. Captain Marut of course backed up what she said-but Julius did not need convincing.

  Once the emperor asked: "Am I correct in thinking we are about eight hours in flightspace from berserker territory?"

  He had begun to take an interest in the berserker situation some time ago. His interest had grown, until now he saw it not only as a menacing problem, but as a great solution to some of his other problems.

  The commander's situation holostage was in her office, some distance away, and she wasn't about to bring this visitor there; no telling how many questions such a display might provoke. But she tried to be helpful. "From here to the berserkers' nearest known base is eight standard hours in flightspace, given favorable conditions. Unless that's recently changed." A flange of dark nebula creeping in between would be one factor that could drastically slow things down, and there were several others. Here was where a little more genuine weather forecasting would help.

  The emperor persisted in getting a direct answer to his original question. "Which means, I take it, that they're only eight hours away from us as well?"

  "In flightspace, it doesn't necessarily work that way. But yes, in this case that's approximately right. And we must assume they know we're here."

  Over the last year or so, the berserkers had mounted some probing, harassing raids within the sector. Until recently, the Hyperborean system had been spared. Of course berserker recon devices might have come and gone at any time, managing to escape detection. "If they've come near, they never got close enough to this rock to activate our ground-based shields and weapons." Berserkers, like Solarians, or like any other force waging war, had to budget their available assets, concentrate their efforts in the areas judged to be of the greatest importance.

  The commander went on: "So far, they haven't made any serious move against this base. Maybe they intend to do so soon. Or maybe they're content for now just to maintain an outpost on Summerland, while planning their next offensive somewhere else."

  "Well, if we know they're there-?"

  "Yes, they likely know this base is here." The commander wasn't going to spend any more time in explanations than she had to. She didn't want to tell these crackpot cultists any more than they needed to know to do whatever job she was going to assign them.

  Yes, Commander Normandy assured Captain Marut firmly, she really did believe that Mr. Silver intended to join them as a pilot. He'd said as much, and she wasn't going to push him to go through the formalities.

  "I doubt that's going to work, Commander. With a man like him."

  "We'll see, Captain. It's my responsibility."

  "Yes, ma'am. Until our task force moves out, and then we'll see if he's with us or not. If he is, it'll be under my command."

  Another courier came in even while Commander Normandy and the captain were conversing. Sadie routinely decoded and displayed the latest news from Earth, or from Port Diamond.

  The latest Intelligence reports from distant sectors were discouraging; there was nothing but bad news from the Omicron Sector, which had once contained some forty colonized systems. That territory was now, as far as could be determined, a lifeless wilderness, extending over hundreds of thousands of cubic light-years. Of the once-Earthlike planets in that sector of space, nothing was left but clouds of sterilized mud and steam. No records were available of precisely how their defenses had been overcome.

  Invited at last to a formal dinner with Commander Normandy and several chosen officers-the dinner was in the commander's quarters; Harry Silver, who had not been told about the event, much less invited, was in the bar-the Emperor Julius arose to speak. No one had actually asked him to do so, but no one was surprised when he stood up and called upon such eloquence as he had at his command. Death, he said, was spreading like a river of black mud, covering up this corner of the Galaxy. "The great black pall of death, the smoke of burning human worlds and bodies, of lives and dreams, of an end that we must not, will not, allow to happen…" Julius could still impress many people when he spoke.

  Solarian fleets operating in that particular volume of space had not fared much better. Few battles were won by the forces of life, and the survivors of the battles that were lost told terrible tales indeed. Losses totaled in hundreds of fighting ships, thousands of live crew.

  TWELVE

  Among Commander Normandy's skills were those of a capable and veteran pilot, and every now and then she found herself being tempted by the idea of turning command of the base over to Lieutenant Colonel Khodark and joining Murat and his people in their mission, as unlikely as their success must be. She could argue with herself that if any such desperate scheme was going to be attempted, then it was her duty, as the ranking officer on the scene, to do everything in her power to make it work. For a short time, she even considered trying out that argument on Sadie. But ultimately she simply put it out of her mind. There was one unanswerable objection: She could not possibly abdicate her responsibility as base commander. Particularly not on this base.

  Meanwhile, Harry Silver experienced another interesting encounter in the mess hall. This time it was the Emperor Julius who, carrying his own tray, stopped to inquire whether the seat across from Harry was taken. The room was more crowded than usual, and somehow the emperor seemed to have become accidentally separated from his usual entourage.

  Or maybe-Harry couldn't tell-this time it was by deliberate choice that Julius wasn't sitting with his own people.

  "No, it's not taken. Help yourself." Harry was aware that many eyes were turned in their direction, though he kept his own gaze fixed on the man across from him. None of the regular occupants of the base were quite sure what to make of either the emperor or Harry Silver. .

  "Mr. Harry Silver, I believe."

  "That's right. And you must be the ruler of the Galaxy. Or am I thinking of some other galaxy?"

  That didn't seem to make a dent. "Are you engaged in business, Mr. Silver?"

  "Interstellar trade."

  "Oh? What sort?" Julius sounded genuinely curious, in a friendly way. He took a mouthful from his tray and seemed to savor it.

  "Mineral rights and related matters," Harry amplified, squinting across the table. After a pause, he added: "I understand that you're in government."

  The dark eyes probed him lightly, confidently. "I do my best to serve my people."

  "Your people, eh?"

  "So I call those who have chosen freely to give me their loyalty. As I give them mine. What are your loyalties, Mr. Silver?" The question was not loud, but it carried a charge of electricity.

  A sharp retort leaped up in Harry's mind, but then he didn't use it. Damn it, there was something about the man on the other side of the table that suggested that he had the best, the noblest, of reasons for everything he said, everything he did. That good old Julius was Harry Silver's best friend-or would be if he were given half a chance. More than that. That if nature and destiny were allowed to take their proper course, then soon the great devotion that they must share, an allegiance to some marvelous, idealistic cause, would bind the two of them inseparably together.

  When the emperor spoke again, the momentary sharpness was gone from his voice. "Right now, it seems that all ordinary matters of commerce and business will
have to wait. Until some questions of vastly greater importance have been decided."

  "So it seems." Harry nodded. Then he shook his head, like a man trying to clear it of something, and started on his soup.

  The man across the table said, with evident sincerity: "I look forward to our coming to grips with the enemy."

  Harry grunted something. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he accepted the manly handshake offered by the emperor.

  That about did it for the conversation.

  Maybe that encounter was what pushed Harry over the edge. Whatever the reason, the time had come when he couldn't avoid it any longer. Harry Silver raised his hand and swore an oath, so now they could issue him a uniform. Like each of the original six Gee Eye volunteers, who'd gone through all this a little earlier, he was assigned a temporary rank. Like most of the others, he got one suitable for a junior pilot.

  As soon as the oath was sworn, the commander put down the book that she had used and shook his hand. The very hand shaken by an emperor, not all that long ago. "Congratulations, Lieutenant."

  "Thank you, ma'am. I guess."

  Captain Murat, who just happened to be present, shot him a look of mingled satisfaction and anticipation. There'd be no more heckling from the civilian safety zone, outside the hierarchy of rank.

  When the commander handed Harry the insignia to put on his new coverall, he stood tossing the little metal pins in his hand, looking at them with an expression that fell way short of enthusiasm.

  A little later, Harry joined the six original volunteers in the simulator room for a joint exercise in which Captain Marut's new tactical plan was going to be tested in virtual reality.