Throne of Stars (64 page)

“I don’t have a practice blade,” Roger pointed out.

“Your sword was remotely measured,” Ral said and gestured to one of the hovering Althari. The male brought forward a sword that looked very much like Roger’s, except that the blade was blunted and seemed to be made of carbon fiber.

Roger stood up and weighed it in his hand. The balance was right, and so was the shape—about a meter and a half long, slightly curved with a thin but strong blade. The weight felt very close, as well, although it might be a tad heavier.

While he was examining the blade, a young Althari female appeared, bearing padding and a sword. The weapon she carried would have been a two-handed blade for a human, something like a claymore in design, but with a straight blade and broad cross guard. The Althari was a bit older than the two previous competitors, fully mature with a broad band of black running up and over her shoulders. She carried the sword with a measure of assurance Roger found somewhat intimidating. Most of his fighting had been in harum-scarum battles, where formal ability counted less than simply making sure the other guy died.

“This is Commander Tomohlk Sharl, my husband’s sister’s husband’s cousin,” the admiral said. The relationship was one word in Althari, but Roger’s toot translated ably. “She has some knowledge of
tshoon
, our traditional sword art.”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Roger said, shaking his head when the padding was offered. “That won’t help me much,” he observed dryly, looking up at his outsized opponent. He did, however, take the helmet after a murderous glance from Despreaux. It was something like a zero-G ball helmet, carbon fiber, padded, with a slotted mask. And he donned the scoring harness, mentally noting that if the monstrous Althari
did
score, it was going to be pretty obvious.

There were two marks, about four meters apart, and Roger moved to one of them, taking the carbon fiber sword in a two-handed grip and settling his shoulders.

“
Gatan
,” the admiral said, and sat back down in her chair.

Roger and the Althari approached one another cautiously, reaching out to touch blades, and then backing off. Then the Althari started the match by springing forward, striking quickly from
quarte
towards Roger’s chest.

Roger parried on his foible and stepped to the side, measuring his opponent’s speed. The Althari followed up quickly, pressing him, and he turned to the side again, rolling her blade off of his and springing to his left and back.

She spun again, bringing her blade down in a forehand strike. But this time he took it on his sword, rolling it off in a neat parry and moving inside the blade, driving past her with a snake-quick slice towards her unprotected stomach. He ended up behind her, and cut down at the hamstring. Both strikes scored in less than a second.

“
Adain
,” the admiral said, and Roger returned smoothly to a guard position. The commander was rubbing her leg and shaking her head.

“That’s not a legal blow in
tshoon
,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that,” Roger admitted. “I haven’t been in any encounters where the term ‘legal blow’ had meaning.”

“I think you’re lucky in that,” the Althari said. “I’ve never had the opportunity to battle with the sword in truth. Or, for that matter, to battle more than the occasional pirate with any weapon. Wars are few these days.” She made a sound Roger’s toot interpreted as a sigh of envy, then produced an Althari chuckle. “You’re quick. Very quick.”

“I have to be.” Roger grinned. “You’re huge. But, then again, so are most Mardukans. I’ve had to learn to be quick.”

They resumed their places, and the admiral gave the signal to reengage. This time, the Althari worked to keep Roger outside, using her superior reach against his speed. Time and time again Roger tried to break through the spinning blade, but he couldn’t. Finally, the Althari scored on his arm. He partially blocked the blow, but she’d closed slightly, and the leverage was enough to break down his defense. The score was relatively light, but it hurt like hell.

“
Adain
,” the admiral said. “One score apiece.”

She beckoned them back to their marks.

“Gatan.”

They closed again, with the Althari pushing Roger this time. He had to back away, spinning to stay inside the fighting circle. They worked back to the center, and then the commander feinted a stroke, stopped it in mid-blow, and sprang forward in a lunging strike with the point, instead.

The feint fooled Roger completely. He’d been set to block the stroke and found himself abruptly forced to fumble up a parry against the unanticipated thrust, instead. He fell backwards, then bounced back up like a spring, using the weight of his sword for balance. It was a desperation move, but it placed him inside the Althari’s defense. He came up to one knee, then struck up and across. The move left a bold purple slash across the commander’s stomach.

“
Adain
,” the admiral said. “Very nice.”

“Hell with nice,” Roger responded, rubbing his back. He’d pulled something there. “On the battlefield, I’d have been dead if I didn’t have someone at my back.”

“You’re quite fortunate in that regard,” Ral noted, waving at the
Basik
’s Own.

“I’ve got a lot of friends, that’s true,” Roger admitted.

“Which is due to your leadership,” the admiral pointed out. “Do not discount yourself.”

“A good bit of it had to do with Captain Pahner,” Roger replied sadly. Then he turned his head. Three groundcars were approaching from the far side of the warren. Roger had already noticed a large shuttle landing, but there’d been a fair amount of comings and goings during the morning, so he’d thought little of it. This caravan seemed pointed towards them, however.

“We seem to have company,” he observed.

“Sreeetoth,” the admiral agreed, standing up. “And others.”

Roger just nodded his head and looked over at Eleanora. The chief of staff shrugged.

The party was still going on overhead, but the meeting had been moved to one of the underground conference rooms. It had the indefinable look of a secure room. Admittedly, getting a bug into any of the Althari rooms would have been difficult, but this one looked as if the walls were encased in a Faraday cage, and the door had sealed like an airlock.

The surface of the table within was adjustable to three different levels, and the chairs about it were also of different heights, with contours which reconfigured at the touch of a control, obviously designed to provide for humans, Althari, and Phaenurs. Another Althari, not the admiral, took the chair at its head, while a Phaenur Roger had not yet met took an elevated, padlike “chair” at the far end. Sreeetoth was seated beside the new Phaenur, with Tchock Ral to the left of the new Althari.

“I am Sroonday, Minister of External Security,” the Phaenur at the foot of the table said. “Sreeetoth, Chief of Customs, you know. My coleader is Tsron Edock, Minister of War. We apologize for the . . . informal fashion in which you have been greeted, Your Highness, but . . .”

Roger held up a hand and shook his head.

“There can be nothing formal in my greeting, Minister, given the circumstances,” he said. “And I thank you for the indulgence of this meeting.”

“It is more than indulgence,” Tsron Edock said, leaning forward. “The Empire of Man has been a competitor for the Alphane Alliance’s entire existence. But it has been a
friendly
competitor. We do not have to station war fleets on its border with us, which makes it the
only
border we do not have to defend. We maintain fair and equitable trading relations with it. All of this will pass if it breaks up into internecine warfare, or if the Saints are able to establish large inroads into its territory. We have always looked to it as an ally against the Saints, but under current circumstances . . .”

She looked at the Phaenur, and made a head gesture.

“Everyone has sources of information,” the Phaenur said sibilantly. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Roger replied. “Although the Alphanes are notoriously hard to penetrate.”

“This is so,” Sroonday admitted. “And Imperial internal security is also quite good. But we do have sources of information . . . including sources in the Adoula faction.”

“Ah.” Eleanora nodded. “And you don’t like what you’re hearing from there.”

“No,” the External Security Minister said. “We do not. Our source is very good. We knew, long before you arrived, that the supposed coup was Prince Jackson’s doing. And, yes, your mother is being held under duress, Your Highness. A combination of control of her implants and psychometric drugs. Other things as well . . .”

Sroonday’s voice trailed off uncomfortably. Roger simply sat there, brown eyes like stones, and after a moment, the Phaenur continued.

“Opinion among the plotters over the long-term disposition of the Empress is divided. Most, yes, wish her to have a terminal event as soon as the Heir is born. New Madrid wishes to keep her alive, but our analysts believe that is because she is his only hold on power. Furthermore, our source tells us that Adoula intends to . . . change the relationship between the Empire and the Alphane Alliance. Specifically, he intends to invade the Alliance.”

“Is he
nuts
?” Roger blurted.

“We have a fine fleet,” the War Minister said, glancing at Admiral Ral. “The Empire, however, has
six
rather fine fleets, the smallest of which is the size of our
entire
fleet. We could go down fighting, but we will probably be offered some sort of local autonomy, as a separate satrapy of the Empire.”

“And how will that sit with the Althari?” Roger asked.

“Not well,” Tchock Ral said angrily. “I did not know this. My clan will not be slaves to the Empire. Not as long as one Tshrow remains alive.”

“None of us will allow it,” Edock said. “The Altharis can be destroyed, but not conquered.”

“The Phaenurs have a somewhat more philosophical approach,” Sroonday hissed. “But given that the bulk of our armed forces are Althari, and that we and our dwellings are intermingled with them, our philosophical approach will be of little use. Taking one of our worlds will require sufficient firepower to ensure that the survivors will be so few in number that—”

“Adoula has to understand that,” Eleanora interjected. “I mean, that’s a known fact in any intelligence estimate about the Alphane Alliance. You can destroy it, but you can’t simply absorb it. All he’d get in a war is a bunch of battle casualties and twelve destroyed planets.”

“Prince Jackson is fully aware of the estimates,” the Phaenur said. “And disbelieves them.”

“That’s insane,” Roger said flatly.

“Perhaps,” Sroonday replied. “It is possible that his understanding of us suffers from his own lack of a multispecies outlook. Whereas all three of the Alliance’s member species have been forced to come to comprehend the strengths, weaknesses, and fundamental differences which make all of us what we are, Prince Jackson has not. More importantly, he is a creature of the deal. He believes that after our orbitals are taken, he can ‘cut a deal’ with us, thereby adding our not inconsiderable economic base to the Empire, and placing the Caravazan Empire between two enemies. His long-term goal is to force the Caravazans to . . . retreat. To become less threatening. He believes he can accomplish this by creating a balance of force which is overwhelmingly weighted against them.

“But to accomplish this, he must conquer us, and that will not happen until the entire Alphane Alliance lies in smoking ruin. It brings one of your own folk tales—about a golden avian, I believe—rather forcibly to mind. Unfortunately, he would appear to be unfamiliar with that particular tale’s moral. And thus, Prince Roger,” the Phaenur concluded, “we have an
immense vested interest in considering support for your endeavor.
If
you can convince us it is even remotely likely to succeed.”

“We need access to current intelligence,” Roger said. “As current as available. And we’ll need a ship, and quite a bit of cash. We also need some read on the . . . reliability of Navy units. Our plan relies, perhaps too much, upon the . . . irregularity of the Sixth Fleet. Do you have any current information on it?”

“A replacement for Admiral Helmut was sent out a month ago,” Edock said with an odd roll of her shoulders. “The carrier transporting him apparently had severe mechanical problems and had to pull into dock in the Sirtus System. It remains docked there, having twice had major faults detected in its tunnel drive. Absolutely valid faults, as it happens, which apparently appeared quite suddenly and unpleasantly. In one case, it would seem, due to a couple of kilos of well-placed explosives. Helmut’s replacement, Admiral Garrity, unfortunately, is no longer concerned about the delays. According to our reports, the good admiral’s shuttle suffered a major malfunction entering the atmosphere of Sirtus III shortly after the second tunnel drive malfunction. There were no survivors.”

“You don’t pock with the Dark Lord of the Sixth,” Julian said.

“This has got to stop,” Despreaux protested. “I mean, I know why it’s going on, but killing fleet commanders—legally appointed fleet commanders . . .”

“Some question about the legality of the appointment,” Kosutic replied grimly. “But I have to agree with the general sentiment.”

“Unfortunately, it’s part and parcel of the way the Empire has been trending for a long time,” Eleanora said with a shrug. “The fact that Admiral Helmut probably doesn’t think twice about going to these lengths—certainly not under the circumstances—and that other segments of the Navy are supporting Adoula in this coup, is a symptom, not the disease. The disease is called factionalism, and the level of internal strife is reaching the point of outright civil war. That disease is what your mother was trying to head off, Roger. Unsuccessfully, as it turns out.”

“It’s not
that
bad,” Despreaux said. “There’s a lot of political infighting, sure, but—”

“It
is
that bad,” Eleanora replied firmly. “Largely due to Roger’s grandfather, in fact.

“The Empire is going through a very rough period right now, Nimashet, and unfortunately, that’s not sufficiently apparent for most people to be worried about doing something to prevent it.