Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 41

"Yes. Does that fit in with my taking D'vra back? Does it allow for a future for our people? Have you ever really believed that nonsense? We have a very short time to settle our power structure before word of our actual losses gets out, and then even if we keep control of the Holding, a century at the most to learn to. . . ."

He hesitates.

"Rework the foundation of the Braxana culture. And come to terms with applied genetics."

"You said it, not I. At any rate, closed-minded conservativism is something we can't afford. I didn't always feel this way, mind you. But I do now. And I'm ready to act in support of that conviction."

"What changed your mind?"

Thoughtfully, giving his hands something to do in order that he might not have to speak for a moment, Yiril pours more wine into their gla.s.ses. Already the strong drink has given him a semblance of color. "When I looked up one day and saw that where there had once been an angry, impetuous youth there was instead a fit ruler for Braxi."

He gives Zatar's gla.s.s back to him and takes up his own again. For a long while the two men look at each other in silence, dark eyes meeting in careful curiosity, each trying to read the thoughts that serve the other as motivation. Finally, very cautiously, Zatar nods.

Yiril smiles, and raises his gla.s.s.

"To revolution, then?"

"With your help," he answers, accepting the offer. "To revolution."

Harkur: He who controls the soldiers, controls the throne.

Twenty-One.

The Most High and Ill.u.s.trious Patriarch of the planet Keyegga-under-Braxi shook his head with fine determination. "We're willing to discuss these things, yes," he said. "With you, no."

The Braxana facing him was angered, not so much by the man's obstinacy as by his obvious belief that his behavior was entirely reasonable. "Look: I am the agent the Kaim'eri sent to you in order to settle these problems. I am the official envoy of the Holding."

"You are the official envoy of the Kaim'eri," the Patriarch corrected him. "You are not, however, an envoy of the Holding's ruler."

Exasperated, the Braxana told him once more "There is no single ruler."

The Patriarch steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "You understand that I want very much to cooperate with you in this matter. Keyegga recognizes the absolute sovereignty of Braxi over her lands and people. But regarding the tariffs in ques- tion, I must speak to someone who is truly in charge, or else his chosen representative."

Forcing his voice to remain even, the Braxana tried again. "The Holding is ruled by a body of men whose consensus opinion is law. When the problem with Keyegga arose, the Kaim'eri discussed the issues involved and chose to send someone to help work out the difficulties. That someone is me. I represent," he said slowly, in the manner of persons who, not being understood, a.s.sume their listeners to be either simpleminded or hard of hearing, "the ruling majority vote of that body of men."

"A vote is not a creature; a vote is not a man. A vote,most respected Lord, is subject to change tomorrow as chance and circ.u.mstance dictate. Can you answer for the Kaim'eri's state of mind when they decided this thing? Can you tell me they won't change their minds tomorrow-and again the day after that, if they so desire? With the laws that govern voting as complicated as they are, can you say with any certainty that Keyegga's supporters will always be present when this situation is discussed? You can't. No one can. Is it unreasonable of us to demand a little more security than that?''

Frustrated and angry, the envoy told him, "Subject planets don't 'demand'

things of the Holding."

"They do when they've been designated avoke'ur cla.s.s- wholly voluntary submission, no lack of cooperation noted at any point, successful and immediate absorption into the Holding-I quote conquest law. Would you like a paragraph reference?"

"It won't be necessary," he snapped. "I understand the rating, and I know you've got it. Is that your final word, then?"

Unshakably calm, the Patriarch nodded. "Tell the Kaim'eri that we of Keyegga- under-Braxi welcome the envoy of their leader and intend to work out this trouble regarding the tariffs in a manner acceptable to him, as befits a planet of our cla.s.s."

The Braxana scowled acknowledgment, then turned and quickly left the room.

Only then, alone, did the Patriarch seem less formidable, and perhaps less certain of himself. Slowly he walked to the side of the airborne audience chamber in the hovering palace reserved for Keyeggan royalty; through the window he looked down at his world, and his people.

"Have I done the right thing?" he wondered aloud. He remembered the impetuous young Braxana who, years ago, had sought him out. "Braxi is coming,"

he had warned the Patriarch, "and soon its might will be turned against your independence. There's no way the limited technology of Keyegga can stand up to that. If you try to defy us, there'll be great destruction and perhaps even the enslavement of your people. But if you choose to submit, and you do it in this one particular way, you can spare your people that suffering and even retain some degree of autonomy."

The Patriarch had considered it, long and hard. The young man had showed him maps and battle plans and at last the absolute monarch of the proud planet agreed that, yes, they stood little chance of turning back the coming Braxin inva- sion, and the cost if they tried would be terrible. At last he had agreed to the submission. The young Lord-Zatar, his name had been-had counseled him through all the intricate maneuvers of diplomacy and had gotten him past the grasping claws of greedy Kaim'eri and Commanders who would rather see Keyegga subjugated and stripped of wealth than more peaceably absorbed.

His people-had they prospered? More so, he had no doubt, than if Braxi had entered their system treading a carpet of blood, as they would have done otherwise. Yes, Keyegga owed much to this Zatar, and the Patriarch had promised to repay the favor if ever there were the means of doing so. And now, apparently, the time had come. Stand up to the Kaim'eri, he had said, and be steadfast in demanding your rights. You will not be overrun. Trust me.

Trust a Braxana? The Patriarch sighed; well, this one was better than most, so perhaps there was a chance.

But he trembled as he heard the envoy's shuttle take off from the palace landing field.

("I want to break the Peace."

Silence.

"The Plague has weakened them, Torzha. If we move now, when they least expect it, and we can take them!" Silence. Then, quietly: "This has occurred to me, Anzha.") * * *

At last all the commanding officers of the War Border were gathered together.

At the head of the table sat Herek, flanked by his subordinate Commanders and the captain of his fighters. The others had brought a similar array of companions and so the conference room, despite its size, was hard pressed to accommodate them all. They were five deep about the table, with additional men seated on or leaning against any other reasonable surface the room had to offer.

Herek stood. "Commanders of the Great War: first, let me thank you for coming. My talon has received an a.s.signment which concerns you all, in that it asks us to move into a peaceful system and take action against one of the Holding's own planets. Not to put down a rebellion in the making," he clarified, "nor to avenge any wrong committed against our rulers, our race, or our fleet." All of these were legitimate causes for action and he didn't want them confused with the truth. "Keyegga-under-Braxi is an avoke'ur of the Holding; a voluntary subject who is to be protected from military and political abuse. In a recent altercation with those who would poison their economy, the Keyeggans demanded to speak to a Braxin authority. Specifically, to the master of the Holding-or his representative."

There were snickers at that, quickly stifled. "But there isn't such a master," one of the Commanders pointed out.

"Exactly, so the Keyeggans have refused to negotiate a settlement, and we've been ordered to move in. Commanders . . ." He drew a deep breath, for courage.

"I have no intention of moving against Keyegga."

A chaos of protests, of disbelief, of fear. Nevertheless, when Herek studied the men staring at him, he found that more than one was calm and pensive. They weren't surprised by this, any more than he had been. Discontent had been growing among the Border officers for a long time. Now, he thought, how much can be made of that? "Listen to me, my comrades-in-arms. Fortune has granted us an opportunity which may never come again. Keyegga has made a demand which is wholly within its avoke'ur rights; Braxi must crush the planet or satisfy it. If we move as ordered, what will happen? Keyegga will fall, the other avoke'uri will tremble, and life will go on as it has. We'll continue to serve a body of men who can't unify behind any single purpose, and the War will suffer accordingly.

The men who give us orders would never dare to come out here themselves-no, their Braxana skin is too precious to face the fire-but they will debate us into corners and bury us under administrative details while they argue amongst themselves over who deserves the most profit from our work."

He leaned toward them, eyes gleaming. "We have a chance to change all that.

Think: If we don't move on Keyegga as ordered, what will happen? The strength of the Holding has always been based on its power to destroy anything that stood in its path. What happens when that power is compromised? Braxi must meet the demands of the Keyeggans or face the consequences! And just what are those demands? That a single man act as figurehead of the Holding-something that most of us have wished for at least once, I'm sure."

He had hit a nerve there. The current system, designed to encourage compet.i.tion among the Braxana, was not without its toll upon the military. And for the most part these were men of common blood. Their culture didn't venerate a nomadic oligarchy that had preferred primitive steel to civilization, but an absolute monarch who had unified Braxi and then conquered the stars. There was not a man in the room who hadn't dreamed of that time, when a leader's Name might be worn into battle like armor for the soul. Herek saw it in them now; he knew it was his to manipulate.

"Commanders, there is no risk. If we act together in this, simply refuse to move into the Keyegga system, we can't be hurt! The same law which protects the rights of an avoke'ur planet forbids us from moving in unless there's some direct threat to the Holding. And there isn't. Even the Kaim'eri must realize that. We will be blameless."

"There's Whim Death," someone muttered.

Herek smiled. "No, there isn't."

Commander Darov stirred. "A Kaim'era of the Holding has the right to commit to death any individual, for any reason, providing said person or alien is not of the Braxin upper cla.s.s. Meaning Braxana." He looked around the room. "An awful lot of us haven't got enough of that blood to save us."

There was commotion following that; Herek shouted it down. "Commanders!

Listen to what I have to say. The law you quote no longer exists. Or rather, it still exists, but it no longer involves us."

That quieted them-stunned them, in fact. "Since when?" a man demanded, and another asked, "What do you mean?"

"Simply this: A short while ago, the Kaim'era Zatar introduced legislation to render Commanders of the War Border immune to such a threat. After much debate, the Kaim'erate pa.s.sed it. I have a copy here-" He held up a flatrendering of the edict and then offered it to the man nearest him. "Have a look at it, all of you. There's one man in the Holding who does know what war means. He's been out here among us, risking his neck with the rest of us. He knows what we need in order to triumph. Ever since he left the Border he's been working to free us from the policies that stifle our efficiency. This commanders, is proof of it. How much more could he accomplish if the system were . . . say, simplified?"

He let the plastic make its rounds. He knew the shock they were feeling; he had experienced it himself, when the news was first made known to him. There was no logic behind such a reaction; no Commander of the Border fleet had ever been executed without good cause. But the threat still existed. It had made it clear to all of them that they were worth no more in the eyes of the Braxana than the sc.u.m who populated a thousand planets. This move of Zatar's gave them independence of spirit, something most of them had never tasted. It confirmed them in their sense of their own importance. And it showed them that one man- one Kaim'era-valued the War more than he valued his own fleeting pleasure.

That was a startling concept.

"You see," Herek said at last. "Fortune has dropped the perfect tool into our laps. By simple non-action we force the Holding's hand, at no risk to ourselves.

The Kaim'eri will consolidate their power in a single man, and we will know war as Harkur's troops knew it."

"They'll move in another fleet," came the protest. "Pull in the yerren talons, or those working rimside. Any of which could deal with a single planet."

Herek smiled; if they were arguing details, the main point was won. "The yerren fleet won't move. The rimside fleet is too far away to make a difference; by the time it reached Keyegga, the Holding would be much too unstable."

"You know for a fact that the fleet won't budge? That front isn't known for heroes," a Commander remarked.

"The fleet will not budge," Herek a.s.sured them. "I have it on excellent authority."

What could they say? They were offered a dream-independence, respect. They were offered a status that no common-blooded man had attained since the Braxana first took over. All this, for the simplest non-action. What could they say but yes?

"It would be Zatar?" one man challenged. Zatar alone was acceptable; he had fought the War. Stories of his exploits had won him respect from these men, even awe. And he had been the one to grant them their freedom. "No one else?"

"It will be Zatar." Herek grinned. "I guarantee it."

(". . . but it's not our way, to break a treaty."

"It's not our tradition-does it have to become a fieldclad rule? Torzha, they're weak. They're confused. There's some trouble inside the Holding and the Border fleet is refusing to take orders. You were a Starcommander. You know the implications of that! If the chain of command isn't functioning properly-"

"I know. But we can't do it, Anzha."

"It would be completely unexpected."

"Yes."

"It could give us the edge, Torzha!"

"I don't doubt it. But there are things we simply can't do. And this, I regret, is one of them."

"Because it would be too much like them?"

"Because it would be too much like what we've tried so hard to escape. Think of the Founding, Anzha. Think of what it meant. A chance for a clean start-a chance to do things right, to set meaningful standards for ourselves. Our national honor is one of those standards. We can't give it up just because the moment doesn't favor it.") * * *

The Prince looked out over his domain. Golden sky silhouetted the great city in the plains below, streaked with the orange of the setting sun. From up on the mountain peak he could see as far as Oru-Hani in the west, and far down the dividing line of the mountain range to the north and south. All along the plains the Tsamaka grew, its leafy vines turning the land a deep orange and the sweet fragrance of its slowly drying fruit rising even as far as the milk-white castle which ruled over the fertile plains. Soon the fruit would be ready, its concentrated juices fermented and mixed with resins and drugs until the Holding's headiest wine-and its finest vintage- came forth.

Yet where there should have been pleasure in him, there was instead darkness.

A new parasite had attacked his fields this spring and he had called to Braxi for help. That such a thing should happen was not unexpected; with millions of humans planet-hopping on a regular basis, and a large number of them coming to taste of the richness of Sedanka-Muraam, it was only logical to expect foreign insects and illnesses to invade the fertile vineyards.

But help had been too slow in coming. Half the crops had been lost by the time specialists had arrived-an inexcusable delay, to the Prince's way of thinking.

Only recently had he heard rumors of the cause, and although they were merely rumors, they were exceedingly disturbing. Could the Kaim'eri's private economic wars really be so terrible that they would be willing to sabotage the finest Tsamaka in the Holding? Could there be a man who would deliberately tie up the xen.o.botanists in red tape long enough for Braxi to lose its favorite vintage?

Kaim'era Janir had invested in the Prince's crops, and Kisil in Prince Otoma's.

Could it be true that disagreements between these men were enough to cause them to make Sedanka-Muraam barren?

Righteous anger filled the Prince, and indignation moved him. Above him in the growing night the star of Keyegga was newly visible, and he regarded it. That planet had demanded its rights. And though the Kaim'eri had threatened it, the military had refused to move in. Unheard of. But if such things were becoming possible . . . perhaps an alliance of the Princes might accomplish something. And if there were a true ruler of the Holding, then there might be someone to turn to for justice, someone not under the thumb of his fellow Kaim'eri.

Yes, he thought darkly. The time has come for Sedanka-Muraam to make itself heard. I will speak to the others.

("The planets are rising up, one by one, in protest of the seeming anarchy. A few, no doubt, genuinely desire 'the best for the Holding.' For the rest of them it's a matter of economics, politics, custom . . . a stable monarchy would benefit every planet and colony now suffering the whims of the current regime, and they know it. And the Border fleet won't get involved. It's only a matter of time before the Kaim'eri's hand is forced. A more efficient government, Torzha, means a more efficient War. We have to move-we have to stop it-"

"But we have to do so within the system, Anzha. Or we can't do so at all.") * * *

Ground Commander Lamos came to the address given him. Soon after his arrival the door opened again, and a figure he remembered from his past entered the darkened building.

"You're looking well," Zatar told him, his speech mode one of mild amus.e.m.e.nt.

He was indeed. Life on Garran had not only stripped the excess meat from his frame, it had given him a taste for pleasures that only existed where there was new territory to be conquered. Lamos was a changed man-a man no longer exclusively interested in excesses of the flesh. The ancient Braxana blood, running true in his veins despite a bad beginning, had sated itself at last in combat. Not the star-and-Void stuff, where a man was so wrapped up in machinery that he made no contact with his work, but real combat. Ground combat. Somewhere in between the Wood and the dirt, the violence and the rapine, Lamos had found himself at last.

"I said I owed you one," he told Zatar. "I'm ready to make good on it."

"Tell me about your influence among the officers of your fleet."

"That depends on what you want. The Commanders like having a Braxana among them-provided he doesn't threaten their precious pecking order. I've done my bit to make life easier for them now and again and they'll do theirs when the time comes. Be sure of it. What is it you want?"

"You know about the business with Keyegga."

"Does this mean you were behind it?"

The years might have taught Lamos to look and act like a Braxana, but it would take centuries to begin to teach him subtlety. "Your fleet will be called in next.