Cluster Command: Crisis of Empire II (16 page)

“You won’t do that!” Jomu snapped.

“You can’t do that!” Treeling cried. He balled a fist; Senda gripped the manager from behind.

“Commander Jomu,” Merikur said steadily, “I win either way. You surrender and accept my proposals for restructuring Teller’s administration—”

“You have no authority!” Treeling began, until the pressure of Eitor’s hands on his wrists reminded him of the situation.

“—which I believe I can convince you are in your interests also,” Merikur continued. “Or you shoot me, the warhead goes off, and Pact forces put down the scattered remnants of your rebellion. Only a handful of my troops will be in the blast radius.”

“Merikur!” Treeling blurted so amazed that the personal implications of the threat had apparently escaped him. “If you
dare
destroy Haiken Maru property, you and your Governor Windsor are
dead!”

“This is a whole
city
full of your people!” Jomu said. “You won’t dare—”

“Haiken Maru’s people,” Senda said quietly. “Believe him, Brother.”

“I can’t believe him,” Jomu said. He began to turn deliberately toward the tent flap.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” said Merikur. He drew and fired.

The speed of the motion shocked Jomu even more than the slap of the repulsor. Jomu had been very optimistic when he thought he could draw and shoot before the intruder reacted . . .

Treeling’s head exploded upward as the colloid of his brain tried to follow the path of the hypersonic glass bead slapping through it. Blood and brains thumped the tent roof violently.

The bead’s impact drew Treeling’s expression into a perfect blank. His body began to crumple as the guard whirled into Jomu’s tent shouting, “Father!” His rifle was caught in the canvas, but—

“No!” Jomu cried, grabbing the guard with both hands. “No, everything’s all right. Go back to your post.”

“Father?”

Jomu thrust the guard gently back through the flap. “It’s all right,” he repeated, wondering if it was . . . Wondering if
anything
was right anymore.

Merikur laid his pistol on the desk instead of holstering it. “The warhead is real too,” he said. “And the switch.” He blinked his left eye. Part of Treeling was dripping down that side of his face.

Eitor turned his back to mop at his own face. “We’ve been through Treeling’s records,” he said in a rigidly emotionless voice. “Ten regiments of Cernian regulars are on their way to Teller now.”

“Now?”
Jomu repeated with emphasis. He straightened. “Then detonate your warhead, General. The liberation of the planet is assured anyway.”

“Not liberation, Brother,” Eitor said, facing around to meet Jomu’s eyes. “They’re coming in Haiken Maru ships. The War Party has made a deal with Haiken Maru.”

“Impossible!” Jomu snapped.

“Read Treeling’s records,” Merikur said. “It’s all there.” He smiled, an expression very like that he wore as he shot the Haiken Maru administrator. “A profitable arrangement benefitting everyone—except the Mak slaves that would be brought in to replace the Cernians now in the mines.”

“Brother Jomu,” Eitor said, “I am not a traitor. Not to Cernia, not any group on Cernia that the Nest Senda could support and retain its honor.”

Jomu Senda rubbed his knuckles together fiercely. “I didn’t . . .” he began, staring at his scarred, powerful hands.

He looked up, met his brother’s eyes, met Merikur’s. “I haven’t spent two years out—” he gestured crisply, dismissively “—out there so that Cernians could rule as many slaves as the Haiken Maru does.”

Jomu shook himself before continuing. “General Merikur,” he said, “for now we’ll declare a cease-fire. If the records are as you claim, you’ll have my surrender. On the honor of Nest Senda.” Jomu bowed deeply to Eitor before adding, “And since my brother vouches for you, there can be no doubt of what the records will show.”

As the brothers clasped arms, Merikur felt a soft buzz in his ear. It was his AID. “You may feel suicidal but I don’t. With your permission, I’ll summon the weapons techs to defuse that bomb.”

Merikur looked down at the black box in his hand. Suddenly, the pack weighed a thousand pounds. “Yes,” he said, “I think that’s a very good idea indeed.”

###

Three hours later, the bomb was defused, a bilateral cease fire was in effect, and Jomu was Merikur’s guest at the firebase. Wary negotiations had begun and all parties were seated around the cluttered table in Merikur’s bunker.

Present were Merikur, Eitor, Jomu, Nugumbe, Horsehide, Fouts and lesser functionaries from both sides. A mixed meal of human and Cernian food had been served and eaten. Now there was little left except a litter of empty plates and dirty utensils. The humans enjoyed a final cup of coffee while the Cernians sipped cool fruit juice from tall glasses.

“They lied to me,” Jomu said sadly. “They knew what I would say about any kind of agreement with the Haiken Maru, and because of that, they misled me into thinking a Cernian fleet was on the way. And it would have worked, too. Once the Haiken Maru ships dropped out of orbit, there would not be much I could do.”

Jomu looked from Eitor to Merikur. “But even that I could forgive. I am a soldier and as you humans say, ‘war makes strange bed fellows . . .’ But the enslavement of the Mak, that is something else again.”

“Exactly,” Eitor agreed. “I have collaborated with the humans in order to end slavery, not extend it.”

Jomu took a thoughtful sip. Like all Cernians he preferred drinking through a straw. Doing so simulated drinking from the stem of the Lekuna, or ‘sweet water’ plant native to Cernia. “This Governor Windsor . . . he’s serious about alien-human equality?”

“My presence as his representative would suggest that he is,” Eitor said with a smile.

Horsehide’s bright brown eyes flashed as they moved from Eitor to Merikur. Glass beads had left new scars on the ceramic surface of his body armor. They reminded Merikur of the price Company C had paid to make this conversation possible. Only twelve had survived. “So,” Horsehide said, “does the governor’s belief in alien-human equality go so far as to permit a coalition government?”

“If it is consistent with and true to the laws of the Pact, then he does,” Merikur responded.

Both Jomu and Horsehide were visibly surprised. They looked at each other and then back. “Then let’s talk,” Jomu said.

And talk they did. Through the afternoon and far into the night. Form of government, laws, worker compensation and much, much more. Most issues weren’t resolved, simply identified and put aside for further discussion.

But by the time the sun rose, one important decision had been reached. The marines and rebels would merge forces and meet whatever came as a single force. When the Haiken Maru fleet orbited, every effort would be made to negotiate. With all the workers free citizens of Teller and a coalition government in the offing, perhaps the Cernian war party would reconsider and abandon their plans. This was the option most favored by all concerned. But if the Cernians refused to listen and began to land troops—

Then the combined human and rebel forces would engage them.

The prospect troubled Jomu, for as a Cernian regular it not only went against his training, it made him a traitor as well. Yet to free Cernians by enslaving another race, that too was wrong, and a perversion of his mission. Well, he could always suicide later.

He remembered the wrinkled face of Mother Mafa, the ancient instructor of military ethics at the Cernian military institute. She’d never lectured them like their other instructors. Mother Mafa told stories instead. Stories of ancient wars and battles described so clearly that he could still feel and taste them. And when her students were completely enthralled, lost in the middle of some ancient conflict, the main characters would be confronted with an ethical dilemma. Through gentle questioning, Mother Mafa would bring the main issues to light, encourage her students to discuss them, and when all sides had been presented, she’d finish the story.

Sometimes, the students and the ancient characters resolved the problem the same way, though that was unusual. But in neither case did Mother Mafa pass judgment. She said that while hindsight might be perfect, it wasn’t fair. Not unless the people looking back were doing so under the same pressures and conditions as those being judged.

But she said something else as well, something which applied to Jomu’s present situation, something which no other instructor had ever said.

She said the purpose of the military was to fight, but to do so within the framework of civilian law, because to do otherwise would lead to the destruction of that which they’d set out to defend. Jomu was on Teller to help free Cernians enslaved there. If that meant killing the slave masters, then so be it. But to free Cernians by enslaving others, that was a violation of legal purpose . . . and would make him just as guilty as the Haiken Maru.

Jomu remembered Mother Mafa’s wrinkled face, the way she’d smile when he got something right, and her voice as she said, “Not bad, Little Father. Keep it up and someday I will tell a story about you.”

Jomu smiled to himself. Maybe she would. He wondered what she’d think of it.

* * *

The few days were busy for all concerned. The Haiken Maru fleet could arrive at any time, so a sense of urgency prevailed. To have any chance at success the defense had to be as organized as possible, yet there wasn’t enough time to effectively combine forces. With the exception of some liaison personnel, the troops weren’t integrated.

But they were deployed under a unified command structure with a single plan of battle. Merikur was in command, with Jomu as his XO (Executive Officer) and Fouts and Horsehide as battalion commanders. Though invited to join, the other human leader—a rebel named Travis—declined. Even though she’d been a slave herself, Travis wasn’t about to fight side by side with trolls.

Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, orders were given and troops began to move. It takes months to really combine diverse military units into a single entity. In this case, the members of those units belonged to different races, spoke different languages, and had different training. Although the Cernian upper classes spoke Pact Standard—and did so better than most humans—the lower classes did not. Add to that the fact that most of the rebels, Cernian and human, had no formal military training, and there was a tremendous potential for disaster.

Merikur left the internal structure of the units alone. If the Cernian rebels wound up fighting their own land, they’d be confused enough without humans to contend with as well. And, since the rebels were used to jungle warfare and his marines weren’t, Merikur used each differently.

The marines were placed in and around Port City where they could use their heavy weapons in a head-on clash with Cernian regulars, while the rebels were hidden in the surrounding jungle, ready to ambush and harass the enemy flanks.

Important mining stations and farms were defended in a similar manner: marines manned the outposts’ heavy weapons, while a mixture of human and Cernian rebels lurked in the surrounding jungle.

If an outpost was overwhelmed, the surviving marines would use rebel tunnels to escape and fade into the jungle. Then, as soon as the Cernians were settled in, the rebels would touch off the demolition charges the marines had left behind. Meanwhile, other rebels would lead the surviving marines to prearranged staging areas where they could be reformed into larger units and resupplied.

So while he would have preferred more time to prepare, Merikur felt fairly good about their overall readiness and thought his combined ground forces had a chance of winning.

The situation in space was another matter. After giving it a lot of thought, he’d arrived at a difficult decision. He sent for Fouts.

She showed up about fifteen minutes later. There were dark circles under her eyes. She’d been working around the clock. She sighed as she dropped into a chair and put her boots up on an empty rations box.

“That feels good. By the way General, it’s good to have you back.” She grinned. “I never realized generals did any work until you disappeared.”

Merikur laughed. “Thank you, Major. It’s good to be back. And my compliments on the way you held everything together. It was an outstanding job under difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, our difficulties aren’t over . . . which brings me to the matter of our ships.”

Merikur sat on the edge of the makeshift conference table. “I’ve decided to send most of them back to Harmony. As you know, we’re facing Haiken Maru ships loaded with Cernian troops. Ships which are almost certain to get hit if a fight develops. After which the conglomerate will swear it was an unprovoked attack on unarmed transports carrying contract laborers or some other crap like that. We might prove otherwise, but we’d be old and gray by then, and I don’t think it’s worth it.”

Fouts frowned. “But what if they use their ships against us on the ground?”

It was a good question, and one Merikur had wrestled with for some time. If they wanted them to, the ships could sit in orbit and pound them into molten slush. He gave her the same answer he’d given himself and prayed he was right.

“It’s possible, but it would destroy a lot of company property, and I doubt they’ll do that. No, the decision point is here on the ground, and that’s where we’ll fight.”

Fouts slipped behind her professional mask. She thought, “Yes, Sir, you’re completely out of your mind Sir, but I’ll do anything you say Sir.” She said, “Yes, Sir. Is there anything else, Sir?”

Sensing her unhappiness, Merikur smiled, not because Fouts was funny, but because she was so transparent. “Yes. Round up my wife and make arrangements for her to go aboard Captain Yamaguchi’s ship. Tell her I’ll see her back on Harmony.”

“Yes, Sir.” Fouts got to her feet, popped him a perfect salute, and disappeared.

Merikur went to work on the task he hated most, logistics. For the next few hours, he scanned computer screens, matched needs to supplies, and dealt with constant interruptions.

Outside, shuttles came and went in a constant non-stop roar of sound. Before the fleet could leave, tons of supplies and ammo must be landed, stored, and dispersed. Bethany would be on one of those shuttles. He’d miss her, but he’d also feel better knowing she was on Harmony, and out of harm’s way.