Sivaganga Zamindari barely noticed the servants prostrating themselves as he stepped into the Imperial Palace. They were beneath his notice, men and women whose sole role in life was to carry out orders, no matter what those orders happened to be. He allowed one of them to take his cloak, then walked up the stairs and down the long corridor towards the throne room, pausing every so often to study a piece of particularly ornate artwork. The palace had been crammed with golden trinkets by the Rajah’s predecessors, men who had founded their society and then worked hard to maintain it. He reached the final set of doors and stepped into the antechamber.
A dozen women, wearing the red and yellow robes of Imperial courtesans, threw themselves to their knees and placed their heads to the floor at once. Their pale skins marked them out as Brahmins, women whose breeding made them suitable to carry the Rajah’s children to term. It was a sign of prestige, he knew; no one else, even the Rajah’s heir, was allowed courtesans from the highest caste. It was a grave insult for anyone else to even suggest the possibility.
The four guards at the far end of the room – also Brahmins – didn't prostrate themselves. Instead, two of them stepped forward and carried out a brief search, then ran a sensor the palace had purchased from an off-world trader over his body. The sword he carried as a mark of his rank was removed and placed on a table, just to ensure the Rajah’s safety. Once the search was completed, the guards nodded for him to enter the throne room.
He sucked in his breath, as always, as he stepped inside. The throne room was covered in gold and silver leaf, casting an eerie light over the chamber. At the far end of the room, the Rajah lounged on his throne, watching his subordinates with a gimlet eye that belayed his indolent appearance. Rajah Gangadhar, the absolute ruler of Lakshmibai, had survived a power struggle with his brothers after his father had died, eventually claiming the throne for himself. It would be dangerous to underestimate him.
Sivaganga bowed, then lowered himself to his knees and pressed his head against the carpeted floor. It was a display of respect he found more than a little humiliating, but failing to prostrate himself could have resulted in his immediate beheading. The Rajah might decide that Sivaganga’s family was too powerful to irritate by beheading their patriarch, or he might decide that he could endure their displeasure. It was never easy to tell which way he might jump, if pushed. And Sivaganga had no shortage of enemies who would drip poison in the Rajah’s ear, given half a chance.
“Rise, my loyal servant,” the Rajah ordered, in his high-pitched voice. “It is Our pleasure to speak with you.”
“I thank you, Most Honoured Rajah,” Sivaganga said, feeling his bones creak as he stood upright. One day, he suspected, he was going to be unable to rise when commanded, despite the rejuvenation treatments he’d purchased from an off-world smuggler. Rumour had it that off-worlders lived for thousands of years, but they’d never offered those treatments to his world. “It is my pleasure to attend upon your person.”
The door opened again, revealing Mirza Khwaja – the Rajah’s oldest son and heir – and Ramnad Zamindari, one of the interior ministers. The Rajah’s son bowed shortly to his father, but didn’t prostrate himself, even though his father could order him beheaded. But then, he was the only grown son the Rajah had. He was immune to his father’s rage until his younger brothers reached adulthood. Sivaganga had a feeling that the boys would never see their twenty-first birthdays.
“The off-worlders have arrived,” Sivaganga said, once the formalities had been completed. “They have announced their intention of heading to the capital in two days, where they will move into the old Imperial residence.”
The Rajah scowled, his chubby fingers playing with the sword he wore at his belt. “It does not please Us to have interlopers in Our city,” he said.
“Then we destroy them, father,” his son said. “I have heard that the rumours have been confirmed. The Empire is gone.”
“Then they are vulnerable,” Ramnad said. “We could wipe them and their influence off our world, permanently.”
Sivaganga kept his face expressionless. Like his fellow minister, he wouldn't shed a tear for any off-worlders who happened to die on his world, not after the Empire had turned their society upside down. The introduction of new ideas from the damned refugees – they should have just slaughtered or enslaved them all – had convinced the lower castes that they didn't have to be patient and work their way up the ladder to paradise. And then the Empire hadn’t succeeded in exterminating the rebels. And sold the warriors weapons they barely knew how to use ...
... He hated the Empire and all other off-worlders. But he also had a healthy respect for their power.
“They have brought heavy forces with them,” he warned. “Destroying them may not be easy ...”
The Prince rounded on him. “We have them heavily outnumbered,” he hissed, lifting one hand as if he intended to slap Sivaganga across the face. “They can be destroyed!”
“And then their influence can be purged,” Ramnad added. “We can rebuild our society along proper lines.”
Sivaganga had his doubts. Even now, whispers of rebellion were making their way from city to city, suggesting to the lower castes that there might be another way to live. The priests and warriors were doing their best to keep it under control, but he suspected that it would take years to remove the poison from their society. If nothing else, they needed to exterminate the rebels to prove that open resistance was futile. But the warriors had been unable to carry out even that task.
“Most Honoured Lord and Master,” he said, addressing the Rajah, “the off-worlders are powerful – and their worlds are beyond our reach. We should merely allow them to hold their summit and then depart in peace.”
“But that would not be the victory we need,” the Prince said, coldly. “We need to show our people that the off-worlders can be beaten.”
Sivaganga understood. The Prince wanted – needed – something that would secure his position in the event of one of his younger brothers reaching adulthood. A victory over the off-worlders would make him untouchable. He might even be able to push his father into honourable retirement and take the reins of power for himself. And it would also solidify the position of the Imperial Family against challenges from the aristocracy.
But it might also cost them everything.
The Rajah’s face became a blank mask. “We shall lure them into a position of overconfidence,” he said, softly. “They will come to our city and they will hold their talks. And then we shall strike.”
He looked over at his son. “It will be led by you, a rogue operation,” he added. His voice lightened and became mocking. “If you wish to take it.”
The Prince flushed angrily. “I shall, father,” he said. “And I shall purge our world of outsider filth.”
Sivaganga smiled, inwardly. If the whole operation went badly wrong, it would be blamed on the Prince – who would never survive to be handed over to the off-worlders. The Rajah wouldn’t be overthrown or forced to pay colossal reparations. Once he was dead, the Prince would make a convenient scapegoat – and anyone who knew better would have a very strong motive to toe the party line. The off-worlders would never know the truth.
“They have also requested permission to deploy their forces away from the garrison,” he said, smoothly. “Would that suit our plans?”
“It would indeed,” the Prince said, touching his belt where his sword should have been. Even he wasn't allowed to carry a weapon into the throne room. “The garrison is not an easy place to attack. But on the mainland, away from the sea, they can be overwhelmed and destroyed.”
“Yes, My Prince,” Sivaganga agreed.
It was frustrating, but they had to face up to the facts. The garrison had been effectively impenetrable. All the attempts to get a force over the causeway or land from the sea had been ruthlessly smashed. He’d worried that the off-worlders would intervene in the rebellion, either by providing fire support or weapons to the rebels, but s
o far they’d done neither. Indeed, they hadn’t even received any shuttles for nearly five years.
But if the off-worlders happened to be in the countryside, they could be targeted. They could be destroyed.
“Then We shall grant them Our permission,” the Rajah said. “Let them come. Let them be treated as honoured guests. Let them suspect nothing until we strike. And then let them be exterminated like the vermin they are.”
Sivaganga bowed his head. He still had concerns about the whole idea, but he knew better than to say them out loud, not now that the Rajah had made up his mind and his son was definitely rising to power. It would merely get him beheaded and accomplish nothing, nothing at all.
“I will have the Imperial Residence prepared for our guests,” he said. If there was one thing all off-worlders seemed to have in common, it was that they wanted food, drink and women – and someone to take care of the laundry work. He’d provide them with all they wanted, knowing that his people would spy on the outsiders for him. “And, once they arrive, do you wish for them to be presented at the Palace?”
The Rajah grimaced. “We do not wish to set eyes on them,” he said. No doubt he remembered how his honoured father and grandfather had been humiliated by envoys from the Empire. What sort of barbarians believed that a mere demand was sufficient to approach the Rajah in all his glory? “You will inform them that we will receive them after they have settled their own differences.”
“Yes, Most Honoured Rajah,” Sivaganga said.
“Go,” the Rajah said. “Give them Our word. Ensure that they suspect nothing.”
Sivaganga bowed again, then backed out of the throne room. He didn't turn around until after the doors had slammed closed, blocking his view of the Rajah. The guards returned his sword, then motioned for him to leave the antechamber. He couldn't help noticing that the women had vanished, probably afraid of spending too much time near the Prince. The guards had been fixed to prevent them from taking any interest in the women – assuming they dared, knowing that it would mean a painful death for both of them – but the Prince would inherit the harem after taking power.
But until then, they would be killed if they shared their favours with anyone else, Sivaganga thought, as he walked out of the Palace and down past the gardens that countless monarchs had built up over the centuries. He would have liked to spend a few hours merely contemplating the wonders of the gardens, which included a number of plants imported from off-world, but there was no time. The Rajah would not be understanding if he delayed purposefully.
He stepped through the gates and into the litter waiting for him. The four porters picked it up as soon as he sat down, carrying him back towards his own palace. Shaking his head, he pushed the curtains to one side and peered out into the city, marvelling – yet again – at the network of palaces and temples that made up the inner city. Outside the walls, he knew, there were countless hovels belonging to the untouchables, but they weren't really part of his home. No one cared about them. They existed to work and nothing else, to lead blameless lives that would see them start climbing towards paradise. It was something the off-worlders would never understand.
But it was the off-worlders who called it into question, he thought, as the litter lurched onwards. He allowed the curtain to fall back and leaned back into the cushions, forcing himself to relax. The die was about to be cast. They didn't care about what they did to our world.
***
Michael couldn't help feeling nervous as the Warrior nosed its way along the causeway, even though he knew that it was perfectly safe. Imperial Engineers had designed the road along the line of rocks, ensuring that it could take the weight of tanks and heavy transports, let alone a relatively-light AFV. Even so, every time he looked towards the rolling waves he had the unpleasant sense that they might slip off the road and fall into the water, trapping them in the vehicle. The atmosphere filtering systems would keep them alive, if they battened down the hatches in time, but it still bothered him.
“Coming to the end of the causeway now,” he said, pushing his fears aside. “Driver, take us onto the beach and hold us there.”
The Warrior lurched slightly as it drove onto the sand. Michael wasn't sure what he had expected from the coastline – perhaps something like a fishing village on Avalon – but it was more than a little shocking to see the desolation. The beach was littered with debris, the remains of boats damaged or destroyed during the first attempt by the locals to force their way along the causeway, but the damage seemed far more extensive than he would have expected. A number of buildings at the far side of the beach had clearly been burned to rubble.
“The locals didn't want fishermen to live here,” Sergeant Grieves suggested. “They destroyed their own fishing industry during the fighting.”
Michael grimaced. The briefings they’d heard in the day since they’d landed had made it clear that the local government didn't really give a damn about its own people, but it was still shocking to realise the degree of malice they’d shown towards anyone who might just have been a rebel or a rebel supporter. He picked up his binoculars and looked around, hunting for signs that someone was alive nearby, yet he saw nothing apart from wild animals and birds. The sound of the second Warrior, approaching over the causeway, sent them fleeing for their lives.
His radio buzzed. “You are cleared to advance to the first waypoint,” Brigadier Yamane said. “Keep a careful watch for any signs of trouble.”
“Understood,” Michael said. The Warrior lurched back into life and advanced towards the road leading inland. “We’re on our way.”
The landscape only became stranger as they advanced towards the city. He could see it in the distance now, a towering mass of strange buildings that were brightly illuminated by the sunlight, yet there was still no sign of people. There were more and more hovels by the side of the road, but half of them appeared to have been destroyed and the other half appeared to be deserted. He caught sight of a pig nosing through a bucket of scraps and felt a hint of pity for anyone who had to live in such conditions. No doubt they were hiding from the newcomers. The briefing had made it clear that most of the locals feared and hated off-worlders.
It wasn't until they reached the very edge of the city that they saw their first locals. Most of them looked beaten down and dispirited, staring at the Warriors as if they expected to be crushed under their treads – and not moving, as if they would placidly accept that fate if it were written in the stars. He couldn't help noticing that the locals seemed almost painfully thin, their bones clearly visible against their darkened skin. The stench of sick or dying humans hovered in the air as he took a long breath. He had to fight down the urge to don his mask.
“We should help them,” he muttered, as he caught sight of a young girl who was missing an arm and one eye. Someone had removed it, leaving a sightless socket that chilled him to the bone. It was sickening, particularly when he knew that replacing a damaged eye was relatively simple. As it was, he had a nasty feeling that the girl wouldn't survive for much longer. The briefing had hinted that the ill or crippled – or the elderly – were often simply exposed to the elements and left to die. Their relatives just didn't have the food to keep them alive when there would be no return.
“If we handed out every MRE in the garrison,” Sergeant Grieves said, equally quietly, “it wouldn't keep the population of this city alive for more than a few weeks.”
“And to think I thought that the pirates were bad,” Michael snarled. “Look at this!”
He keyed his radio. “Holding position at Point Beta,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “No visible threats; I say again, no visible threats. Should we enter the city itself?”
“Negative,” Brigadier Yamane said. “Hold position and wait for reinforcements.”
Michael nodded, then looked back at the people outside. Some of them were clearly begging, others were offering themselves ... he swallowed hard as he saw a young girl undoing her tattered skirt and exposing her
self to his men. It was impossible to be sure – she was all skin and bones – but he would have been surprised if she was of legal age. But how else could she survive?
“We can’t feed them,” the Sergeant said, softly. “They’d all come after us, demanding food.”
“I know,” Michael said, bitterly. It didn't make looking at such poverty any easier. “I know.”
Chapter Nine
To some extent, this also took place after Hitler broke his word in 1939 and annexed the Czech Rump State (after poor Czech diplomacy had ensured that the Czechs were largely defenceless.) It underlined the fact that Hitler (and thus Germany) simply couldn’t be trusted and provided the impetus for a unified front against the aggressor.
-Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.
“Sickening,” Leo muttered.
He stared down at the live feed from the advance forces, the drones and the orbiting platforms and shuddered. The Empire tried to ensure that each Earth-compatible world could feed itself before anything else – hell, a healthy surplus was something that could be used in trade with off-world colonies – but politics and war could interfere easily. Here, it was clear that most of the local population was starving.
It was worse than it seemed, he realised, as he parsed his way through the images. The higher castes were clearly eating well, while leaving the lower castes to struggle to survive. He knew that politics often had as much to do with food shortages as anything else; here, there wasn't any practical reason why Lakshmibai couldn't feed its own population. If nothing else, they could have set up an algae-plant and produced ration bars for the lower castes.
He gritted his teeth as the shuttles flew onwards towards Maharashtra. If it had been up to him, he would have removed the local government and replaced it with something more humane. But he knew that the Commonwealth would never sanction such an operation, no matter how much the targeted government deserved to be removed. They’d had too much experience of the Empire’s meddling in planetary affairs to allow themselves to go the same route.
The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores... Page 8