Hidden Empire (57 page)

Through the all-seeing eye of the
thism
, Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h understood far more than the most well-trained Adar. A Mage-Imperator was more than any other Ildiran,
the sum of their race, its pinnacle; his actions, thoughts, and decisions dictated the entire story of the Ildiran Empire.
Kori’nh could not challenge the decision, but that did not make him condone the darker necessities. The Mage-Imperator knew
what was best for all Ildirans, even if some people had to pay a terrible price.

It was not Adar Kori’nh’s place to understand everything.

He muttered a quiet curse and sagged into the rounded seat of the lead warliner’s command nucleus. Even though the Mage-Imperator
knew best, even if the outcome served the Ildiran race in some mysterious way, Kori’nh did not believe these sinister Dobro
experiments could ever be viewed as heroic deeds. They would never be included in the
Saga of Seven Suns
.

“Our course is set for the Hyrillka system, Adar,” said the navigator, himself a septa commander who had been taken from his
smaller grouping of ships to serve on the vanguard warliner. The navigator and all of the bridge crew looked similarly relieved
to be departing from Dobro.

At Hyrillka, on the edge of the Horizon Cluster, they would perform one of the Solar Navy’s more traditional duties. His full
cohort of fabulous warships would engage in spectacular sky parades to demonstrate the performance skills they had learned.
The jovial Hyrillka Designate loved such spectacles and enjoyed hosting feasts and celebrations to honor Ildiran accomplishments.

Recently, the Mage-Imperator had encouraged increasingly grand exhibitions, even commanding Adar Kori’nh himself to lead the
next aerial parade to commemorate the leader’s birth anniversary. After so many years of flawless service, the Adar had grown
bored with these childish displays of boisterous bravado. He wanted to do something more significant, more substantial.

But after seeing the unpleasantness on Dobro again, he was glad to participate in an event that was far less emotionally taxing.

The cohort of warliners cut like hatchets through space, continuing in perfect formation toward the Horizon Cluster. When
the stardrives had powered up to cruising speed, he excused himself. “I will be in my quarters, reviewing military strategy.”

His crew knew their tasks, and he expected no problems. In fact, during his full military career, he had never expected problems.
The Solar Navy was a magnificent fleet, the best ever created in the Spiral Arm… yet for many long Ildiran generations they’d
had no real enemy to fight. He had never understood why the succession of Mage-Imperators, for thousands of years, had insisted
on maintaining such a huge military force when they faced no outside threat.

But a Mage-Imperator knew many things, understood much about the galaxy and the living story of their race.

Kori’nh sat in his cabin and studied the
Saga
, a private copy of certain relevant portions he always kept aboard his flagship. Many times he had been tempted to employ
a rememberer for the fleet, a dedicated historian to regale the soldiers with heroic tales between their duties. But Kori’nh
suspected he was the only one with such a specific and obsessive interest in military history.

The Ildiran race was a unified organism, composed of billions of people connected through the gossamer threads of
thism
. Ildirans had no outside enemies, no internal strife, no major civil wars. Except for one tragic story, which Kori’nh reread,
adjusting the blazer panels in his quarters to a high brilliance that more closely simulated Ildira’s seven suns.

One beloved Designate had suffered a serious head injury, but after recovering had been unable to tap into the
thism
. He could feel no connection with his Mage-Imperator, could receive no instructions. He was alone, adrift… separate.

The Designate had had a vision of independence. He led his hapless planet into a civil war against the Mage-Imperator, trying
to break away from the Ildiran Empire, to begin his own story. The rogue Designate convinced his people that he was still
receiving guidance from the
thism
, and they—knowing nothing else—had followed him. Yet his vision of independence brought only bloodshed and death. In the
end, the insane son of the Mage-Imperator had been murdered, his misled people brought back into the fold of untainted
thism
. The appalling civil war had left deep psychological scars in the Ildiran psyche. For centuries, rememberers had sung ballads
of the tragic event.

Feeling an oppressive sense of gloom after rereading the sad legend, Kori’nh put the
Saga
documents away. Then he opened his storage drawers and withdrew the weighty selection of medals and ribbons he had earned
in his career. He took up cloths and creams and began to polish the metal and the jewels.

Disappointingly, he’d received most of the glittering awards for traditional service: presiding over spectacular test performances
and military parades, successfully effecting rescue missions such as the one on Crenna, or using his soldiers to complete
difficult civil-engineering feats.

The Ildirans had never met a great enemy for epic conflicts. Although the humans were troubling, they were obviously too disorganized
to pose a real threat. The Klikiss had vanished eons ago, and the other life forms encountered in the Spiral Arm were still
far too primitive to become spacefarers.

He wished he could one day seize significant glory for himself. Before he died, he wanted to achieve something vital and glorious
that would warrant his inclusion in the epic history of his people. Adar Kori’nh had spent his entire career waiting for a
worthy opponent.

For now, though, his only duty was to demonstrate the Solar Navy’s prowess in order to amuse the Hyrillka Designate.

With Adar Kori’nh watching proudly beside him, the chubby Hyrillka Designate rose to his feet and applauded. In another comfortable
seat in the permanent viewing stands, Thor’h, firstborn noble son of the Prime Designate, also seemed to be enjoying himself.
Though Thor’h was not much younger than his brother Qul Zan’nh, the noble son seemed much less mature, pampered and untested.
The young man had more than a century yet before he could expect the responsibility of the chrysalis throne in the Prism Palace,
and he took blithe advantage of his freedom.

In the sky, brilliant nearby stars shone like colorful jewels sprinkled across the vault of heaven, bright enough to be seen
during daylight. At night, the glory of the Horizon Cluster filled the Hyrillka darkness like fireworks, showering even the
deepest evening with enough light to comfort a shadow-fearing Ildiran.

Thick vines full of brilliant flowers grew in tangles around the tall buildings, filling the stands with sweet perfume. Immaculately
dressed pleasure mates surrounded the Designate’s observation chair, and he looked at them adoringly, though Thor’h could
not tear his eyes from the aerial display.

Two big warliners hovered above the primary city. “Have them do the last part again!” Thor’h said, his eyes bright with boyish
wonder.

The Hyrillka Designate tore a pastry in half and fed the two morsels to the closest women. “Indeed, Adar. Those flips are
breathtaking. Can we have an encore?”

“As you wish, Lord Designate.” The Adar spoke into a communications link at his wrist.

The fast interorbital craft turned about in a long sweep and streaked back toward the primary Hyrillka city. Behind them,
the vessels trailed kilometers-long streamers made of reflectorized metal that sparkled like electrified whips in the sky.
The ships flew so low and fast that they rippled the colorful and gentle fields of enormous blooming nialias, making their
dusty blue petals flap. The mobile male forms of the plantmoths broke from some stems and took panicked flight.

The Hyrillka Designate and young Thor’h both cheered with delight.

Rusa’h, the Hyrillka Designate, was the Mage-Imperator’s third son. He bore patrician features similar to Jora’h’s, but the
younger Designate was more corpulent than his eldest brother, his round face more closely resembling that of the godlike leader.
Before the arrival of the cohort of ships, the Designate had already announced a day of celebration, feasting, and dancing
for all kiths across the primary city, from the Grand Citadel all the way down to the farm fields. He wanted to welcome the
soldiers of the Solar Navy, to offer them music and treats and trained pleasure mates.

“Your crews have such incredible skill, Adar Kori’nh,” said young Thor’h. “Your pilots, your weapons specialists. They are
aerial acrobats!”

“They have nothing else to do but practice,” Kori’nh said, feeling oddly disappointed. “One of my best pilots is your brother
Qul Zan’nh.”

The fast vessels roared overhead again, long streamers crackling behind them. The crowd yelled; some climbed the thick vines
to get a higher vantage. The ships turned about and made one last run past the reviewing stands.

Enduring the long Hyrillka celebration proved more difficult than Kori’nh imagined a real battle could ever be. He was bored
within an hour, but did his best to look entertained and appreciative. Both young Thor’h and his uncle seemed to find everything
amusing.

The celebration continued in the faint twilight under brilliant jewel-tone stars from the nearby cluster. Wide irrigation
canals extended in straight lines out to the nialia fields, shimmering silver from the luminous gelfish that filled the waters.
Young Thor’h seemed exhausted and preoccupied, but not willing to leave the celebrations. He consumed a fair amount of stimulant
extracted from the fertilized nialia seedpods, one of Hyrillka’s drug exports.

The laughter, carousing, and music gave Kori’nh no enjoyment. He chose no pleasure mate for himself, though the Designate
repeatedly offered the Adar his personal favorites. Finally, with good grace, the Mage-Imperator’s son laughed and instructed
the pleasure mates all to go to his steamy bath pools, where he promised to make up for the Adar’s lack of interest.

As the celebration began to blur and fade, Kori’nh politely suggested that the Designate entertain his women; then he took
a small shuttle back to his nearly empty flagship.

He spent hours in his cabin reading, but this time he put aside the
Saga of Seven Suns
and perused human military history instead. Over the past decade, Kori’nh had become quite enamored of all the wars and holocausts
the Terrans had inflicted upon themselves. The desperate strategies of human generals—Kori’nh’s spiritual counterparts—surpassed
the wildest imaginings of Ildiran soldiers.

He was constantly amazed that a single race, confined to one planet, had engendered such incredible strife, such terrible
struggle. Humans had pursued more warfare in a handful of centuries than the Ildiran race had in all the empire’s recorded
history. While Kori’nh did not envy Earth its bloodshed, he remained fascinated by the “thought experiments” he could conduct
by analyzing Napoleon, Hitler, Hannibal.

While he waited for the celebration to end on Hyrillka, an idea brewed in his mind. Adar Kori’nh decided to call an important
meeting of his subcommanders as soon as the Solar

Navy departed from the Horizon Cluster.

The Adar gave instructions to his navigator that the cohort was to be brought to a dead halt in an empty desert of space far
from any stars or planets—or observers.

Flustered, the Qul subcommanders who led the seven maniples, as well as the Tal overseer of the entire cohort, answered the
Adar’s summons to come aboard the flagship warliner. Kori’nh surveyed them coolly in his private briefing room under dazzling
lights.

Most of the maniple commanders sat quietly awaiting orders, but Tal Aro’nh, senior leader of all 343 ships, was taken aback
by the unexpected change in plans. “But Adar Kori’nh, we have a schedule. We have a new pageant to perform in two weeks’ time
at Kamin. The Designate has erected an entirely new arena for our arrival celebration. Volunteers from seven kiths have been
recruited to sew banners and stage a welcome ballet—”

“Thank you, Tal Aro’nh,” Kori’nh said in a clipped voice. “I will consult you if ever I have difficulty establishing priorities
for the Solar Navy.”

The conservative old Tal subsided into an embarrassed silence.

Kori’nh regarded the subcommanders until he saw that he had their full attention. Through the
thism
the Mage-Imperator understood Kori’nh’s general aims, and approved. The Adar could feel the all-seeing leader sensing his
actions, watching the movements of the fleet like a benevolent deity.

This was an impulse, Kori’nh knew, but an important one, and he was curious to see how the Solar Navy would perform. He also
dreaded what might happen.

“I have obtained several Earth military strategy games, computer simulations the humans constructed primarily for entertainment.”
He handed out imprinted datacards that contained the simulations, converted to a form readable by their warliner command systems.
“You will study them for a day, and then I challenge you to play against me.”