by Phil Geusz
Jean's eyes closed slowly, and he smiled. So did I. "When and where shall our negotiating party land?" he asked.
From there it was all a downhill ride. Lord Sebastian was delighted when he saw that our proposal called for no armed occupation, no payment of tribute, and above all no hangings except in the case of war criminals duly convicted before a military tribunal. He was also pleased to learn that we already had orders complete with down payments waiting in our hands for heavy steel and alloy products from his factories, primarily intended to help rebuild war-shattered Wilkes Prime. But most of all, he was absolutely thrilled when I offered to make a live-holo appeal to the Rabbits and Dogs of Vargus Three, asking them to peacefully go back to work and wait just a little longer to be free. "It's like this all over the Empire," Sebastian explained to me, when I not only granted him his audience but sat down with him in private and treated him with dignity and respect where he expected humiliation. "The Rabbits seem cooperative enough on the surface, but nothing ever gets done anymore. When no one's looking they sabotage valuable equipment, vandalize or steal everything in sight, even sometimes kill policemen or government officials when they can catch them alone."
I had to force myself not to smile—goodness, but I was proud of my fellow slaves! "How terrible," I said instead. "We'll see what we can do about it. In the meantime… You've read the agreement, have you not?"
He looked down, then met my eyes again and nodded. "You're being more generous than I ever dreamed."
"That's because I want a real peace," I explained. "You can't build brotherhood and amity on reparations payments and declarations of war-guilt. It's been tried before, and didn't work out very well." Then my face hardened. "And yet… I must make it absolutely clear how strongly James and I feel about what few terms there are. Your Rabbits, for example—there are to be no punishments for their recent disobedience, and the new Freedman's Bill of Rights will be adhered to as scrupulously here as on any other Royal world. For that is precisely what you must understand that Vargus Three is to be from now on; just another Royal world, on our end as well as yours."
"Of course, Your Highness," the former Imperial replied, bowing from the neck. "And speaking for myself at least, I intend to throw myself into the project wholeheartedly." He smiled softly. "I'm not fool enough to make you angry, you see."
I smiled back. "Let's not speak of such things. Instead, let's finalize our business and put all unpleasantness behind us forevermore. Is there anything else that you feel should be brought to my attention?"
Vargus frowned theatrically, clearly trying to reach a decision. "Well," he said after a long moment. "There's one thing you should know about. I'd rather hide it away, but if you're to be my sovereign I'm obliged to speak the truth."
My eyebrows rose. "Be honest with me and you've no reason to fear. Ever."
He nodded back. "So I'm beginning to see." Then he sighed and looked away. "I can surrender the orbital batteries," he explained. "And our defensive fighter forces. Even our army. Some individuals won't like it, but they'll follow orders." Then he shook his head. "But the Association of the Emperor's Students, well… They've promised a last-ditch defense against any invasion for over a year now, and foreseeing this moment have sworn to assassinate any high-level official who meets with a Royal leader for purposes that might even possibly lead towards surrender."
I frowned. "Young hotheads."
"Hotheads with backing from key VIP's, I fear. And with access to Imperial Treasury funds. This makes them a force to be reckoned with. I can't know, but I suspect they were organized specifically to make your life difficult at just this sort of moment, when only an insane man would turn away from such a generous offer." He lowered his eyes. "I can't control them, Your Highness. And I beg not to be held accountable for their actions. I'll cooperate in every way possible with any counter-measures you might choose to put in place."
You'll cooperate fully in everything no matter what for a few years before you're fully trusted again, I thought to myself but didn't say aloud. After all, His Lordship seemed to be perfectly sincere, and had done everything asked of him. What good could it possibly do to insult the dignity of what was clearly at heart a decent man? "I'll warn the Governor," I assured my guest. "And… If you wish, I'll leave a detachment of marines to serve as a personal bodyguard for you, as well."
He smiled and shook his head. "If they get me they get me," he replied. "I've lived a good life, and frankly if I hadn't once been part of some very foolish decisions, well… I'd not be in the spot I'm in today. I made the bed, I'll lie in it. Besides, I trust my own internal security divisions. Thank you for not disarming them."
I smiled—we were confiscating only the heavy weapons, such as artillery and aerospace fighters. With luck, soon no one would need those anymore anyway. "You're quite welcome."
"Yes. And… Er…. Sire?"
"Yes, Lord Vargus?"
"I… In a few minutes, I'm going to kneel before you and pledge my eternal fealty in front of the cameras. And… It's not going to be easy, you see. Because I'm going to mean it, as much as I meant it all the other times I've done it. Which was always to His Imperial Majesty before today, you see."
I nodded again, but said nothing.
"It's going to hurt, breaking that oath after so much, so very much… Because of that, well… I hoped I might…"
"Right," I agreed. "You'd like to do it here in private first."
"Exactly, Your Highness," he replied.
"Then do so, Lord Vargus," I replied, rising to my feet for the occasion. "Because I have no wish to make this any harder for you than necessary."
"Thank you, sire," he replied as he fell to his knees. It was just as well that we did it that way, I suppose. Because he broke down sobbing not once, not twice, but three times before the deed was done. It was only later that I learned he'd lost four sons and three grandchildren during the endless wars.
And that either I or forces I'd been in direct command of had killed three of them.
9
The next five planets all followed the same successful pattern we'd set at Vargus Three. The nobles in charge proved eager to surrender, once it became clear that we meant to allow them to do so in prosperity and dignity. While a few bad apples were permitted to keep their heads when they probably should've lost them, for the most part our waging of peace was proving the most successful military campaign of the war. We liberated world after world from the grasp of the Empire, all the while making idle machines hum and filling empty bellies. Our marines grew bored while our economic specialists worked themselves into frazzles. Peace was breaking out everywhere these days, it seemed.
Another advantage to our system was that the Imperial archives and communications logs were instantly made available to us—it was one of the conditions of our standard agreement. We made use of this new gold-mine of information in a dozen different ways. One thing that the old log books confirmed was that the Imperials were indeed terrified of a Rabbit uprising—on at least one world, such a rebellion had actually already succeeded. While our plans called for breaking up the Third Fleet into independent task forces anyway once we were sure that our plan was sound, well… A successful Rabbit rebellion was something we hadn't counted on. "It's an agricultural world," I pointed out at our hurriedly-convened staff meeting on the subject. "So no matter how chaotic conditions have become, there probably can't be mass-starvation."
"But little details like public sanitation might well be compromised," Jean pointed out. "Same with medical services, water treatment, distribution systems…"
"Right," I agreed, leaning back in the ornate, oversized chair that I kept finding at my place at the head of the table no matter how much I complained about it. I suspected that my Chief of Protocol had a hand in the matter, but I'd never quite found the time to confront him on it. "I mean, I obviously think as much of Rabbits as anyone here. But in their current state of ignorance, well…." I sighed and made a decision. "Nesto
r?"
His ears rose. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"I'm going to give you a task force and send you off to deal with this mess," I replied, meeting his eyes steadily. "One heavier on marines than most, in fact. This could be quite a delicate situation, as I'm sure you can see—the humans are probably being held as prisoners, if they're alive at all. So I want a Rabbit in charge. You'll be in a better position to deal with the local bunnies than any human I could possible send." I smiled slightly. "Yes, I know you planned on staying here and assisting me, and I assure you that you'll be sorely missed. But who else can I delegate that has half as much chance of making things right? One must work with one has, not what one might wish for."
Once upon a time, Nestor had been the lowliest of navy servants and even something worse. And now… "Sir!" he protested. "I can't… I mean, I haven't—"
"Yes you have," I interrupted. "And both of us damned well know it by now—or at least we should know it." Then I smiled again. The next step was maybe a bit beyond the pale—it couldn't be justified in any military sense whatsoever. Yet… There was more to effecting true social change—and to friendship—than mere military necessity. "Take Frobisher as your personal ship," I continued with a smile. She was an old battlewagon, the second-most-prestigious vessel in the ragtag Third Fleet. "I'll detail the rest of the task force later. But for the time being, if I were you I'd get busy picking out what staff you'll be needing for your team and which Governor you think would be best left in charge after you leave."
"Uh… I… I mean, Your Highness…"
I looked across the table at Jean, who was smiling too. As a non-officer, Lord Nestor wouldn't be—couldn't legally be!—in command of a King's ship, much less in charge of a task force. But how would the officer actually in charge's orders read? To do whatever Nestor asked, of course. Now the abused cabin boy was effectively in command of a battleship and more. What wonderful times we lived in! "You have your instructions, Your Lordship," I cut him off, though my smile removed any sting the seemingly harsh words by themselves might've carried. My best friend knew what I truly meant. "Now please be so good as to execute them immediately."
Not everything was all sweetness and light during these days. The Association of the Emperor's Students proved to be a major irritant. They succeeded in assassination after assassination, to a degree I'd once have found it impossible to credit. The explanation for this lay in their equipment and training—these so-called "students" had been provided with and taught to use the finest and in some cases even the costliest of military hardware. Their killers were equipped with old-fashioned slug rifles that far outranged any blaster and could kill at over a mile, for example, while one group employed a dozen demolition charges of the sort I'd used to defend Zombie Station in one operation. The Yans were convinced that the Empire had seen their defeat looming in sufficient time to make at least hasty preparations for making our life miserable on their worlds, and that said preparations consisted mostly of the Association. They offered to try and penetrate the chapter on Vargus Nine, but I asked them to leave the matter to the locals. There were several reasons for this. One was that I figured the Vargus internal security types had advantages and contacts the Yans could never match. Also, if anyone was going to risk their lives de-Imperializing one of the Absent House's planets it might as well be their people rather than ours. But most of all I wanted to save the Yans for something far bigger. Once I told them this, they waited with considerably more patience.
There were also other enormous complications that few laymen would ever have imagined. One of these was that the Imperial worlds had been welded into a monolithic trade bloc, designed to exclude our cheaper and generally better Royal consumer goods. Except for a few luxuries, the Emperor had sought complete autarky in his supply chain. Now that we were sweeping up a significant number of his worlds, well… Sudden shortages were bound to appear all over Imperial space, and some of these shortages would be of goods so essential that a lack of them could kill in short order. Vargus Three, for example, manufactured the air-recycling equipment for virtually every ship and fixed-location space facility in Imperial space. Even though Imperial warships were also dependent on these same parts, well… If we cut off the supply of spares and filters cold, without warning, millions of civilians living in space habitats and such would surely die of atmospheric poisoning. It was better, we decided, to issue trading licenses that would permit their bearers through Royal lines to supply such gear—indeed, we were extra-liberal with our permits because we suspected that deliveries were probably already critically behind schedule. Yes, some of this enviro-gear ended up helping our enemies support their fleet. But many non-combatants also lived where otherwise they certainly would've died, and we decided that since the enemy fleet was so inferior anyway the tradeoff was worthwhile. Besides, how could the news of our wonderful surrender terms—and even more importantly, of the happy results on the planets that'd already accepted them—spread far and wide through the Empire if there was no trade?
And spread the good news did, like wildfire! We hadn't been at it for more than a few months before white-flagged Imperial envoys began seeking us out and surrendering their homeworlds before we even got around to visiting them. Though we feigned delighted surprise, it was what we'd hoped would happen all along. Where we'd started out liberating only one system every month or so due to the long travel times, soon we were up to one or two a week as the delegations came rushing to bend their knee before me and plead for a merchantman or two full of whatever they so desperately needed.
That big rush of surrenders was the effective end of the war, of course—the absolute, total end of any hopes the Emperor might yet harbor of someday dominating the sentient races via sheer military might. No sane monarch would fight on when all they had left were a handful of starving, bankrupt worlds surrounded by an ever-tightening noose and defended by an undersized fleet of half-functional ships whose skilled maintenance crews and precision support tooling had been lost at Wilkes Prime. At the rate things were going soon the entire Empire wouldn't control even so many worlds as a moderately decrepit Noble House. What had once roared like a lion now squeaked like a mouse in every conceivable way, and His Imperial Majesty had to know the game was up. I'd gone far out of my way to prove the matter beyond the shadow of a doubt to anyone at all who might be paying attention.
So… Surely His Imperial Majesty was paying attention. Wasn't he?
I have to admit that I was beginning to wonder if we'd have to direct-assault Imperious after all, complete with all the blood and misery and I-told-you-so's that would surely go along with such an awful campaign. But just as I was roughing out the earliest bones of an invasion plan a brand-new, snappy-looking Imperial light cruiser, Emperor's Justice, showed up under a white flag. Most likely she was the only fully-effective vessel left in the Imperial Fleet, still too new to require much in the way of maintenance. I hissed a small sigh of relief as I put away my notes for the Imperious campaign and listened in on Captain Blaine as he oh-so-insufferably recognized the flag of truce and ordered our humbled foe to take up station right in the place where Javelin's broadside would be most effective if unleashed. "Hold that relative position until we contact you again," Blaine ordered. "Take no other actions whatsoever."
"Yes, my Lord," agreed the Imperial captain, whose name I hadn't caught. "But before you sign off, I'd like to make one special request."
"Perhaps," Lord Leslie replied, chin held high. "What is it?"
"Prince Jason of the Empire is aboard, sir, serving as a special envoy. He's requested the opportunity to meet with your Prince David and present his diplomatic credentials as soon as reasonably possible."
10
I'd expected for a very long time now that my fellow wargamer Jason Tallsdale would re-emerge as an important factor before all was said and done. Given his position in the family bloodline and special relationship with the kingdom as our highest-ranking and most valuable spy, well… He was
the most trustworthy Imperial high-ranker that anyone knew of, and highly deserving of some sort of reward for what both my brother and I considered exceptional service to mankind as a whole. It was a given that we'd eventually want him to end up in charge of the reconstituted House of Boyen—a no-brainer, even. And yet…
…how were we to get him there?
Now that I was Prince of the Realm, no files were closed to me. Though the espionage people had screamed bloody murder about my not having a genuine "need to know", I'd studied every single secret message that Jason Tallsdale had ever sent us, from his first awkward attempts while still barely an adolescent to one that arrived by special courier just a week before the Third Fleet's departure. Early on he'd begun to divide his messages into two parts. The first always consisted of a terse, unemotional report on everything he'd seen or heard that he thought might hold any value for us. My jaw dropped at some of these—it was no wonder that Intelligence was so fearful of risking such a gold mine of information! But it was the second parts that proved most valuable to me in my role as war-ender. For in them, he'd poured out his soul for everyone to see.