EMPIRE: Warlord (EMPIRE SERIES Book 5)

by Richard F. Weyand

  Winger laughed.

  “That’s Dick. Always puttering something. And the kids are fascinated with the animals. I guess their behavior – which has never been bad – notched up a bit, too. They’re trying to emulate Matt. He’s quite a young man.”

  Murphy nodded.

  “So far, at least, it’s working out great.”

  “Thanks again, Rob. I just didn’t know what to do.”

  “That’s all right, Gerty. We got it straightened away. Hopefully it was an unnecessary precaution. Just a summer vacation on the farm.”

  “So now what’s happened?” DP Prime Minister Harold Pinter asked.

  “The Alliance nations pulled their navies in to protect their capitals,” Foreign Minister Jules Morel said.

  “To protect their rulers and elites, clearly,” Pinter said.

  “Yes. And then Sintar attacked the capitals and wiped out half of the remaining Alliance navies.”

  “All gathering their forces together did was give Sintar more concentrated targets, Jules.”

  “Apparently so, Harold. It was another mass missile attack, this time from conventional warships, not picket ships. Rough numbers are twenty-four thousand warships fired a single salvo of almost two million missiles.”

  “Damn. Was this Sintar’s new construction finally?”

  “No,” Defense Minister Pavel Isaev said. “It was more box launchers, mounted on their current-technology warships.”

  “We need to work on this box launcher thing, Pavel,” Pinter said.

  “We’re working on it, Harold. More troubling about these attacks, though, is they used some new kind of weapon to destroy space stations and space docks across the Alliance nations. We have no clue what it is. There was no missile or visible beam or anything. They just heated up so hot the steel lost its temper and they broke up. That’s very troubling.”

  “What are we doing about that?”

  “We’ve dispatched some technical people to Annalia to analyze some of the debris and see what they can figure out. There must be some sort of signature to this thing they can work back from. But so far we have no clue.”

  “So how many warships do the Alliance nations have now?” Pinter asked, looking back and forth between Morel and Isaev.

  “They might be able to scrape up three and a half million among them, Harold,” Isaev said. “All their old, home-grown warships.”

  “Sintar could just envelope them all,” Pinter said. “They couldn’t stand against the Emperor Trajan now.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure that’s what he wants to do, Harold,” Morel said. “When this latest round of attacks were over, as far as the Alliance nations could tell from their hyperspace scanning, he withdrew his forces into Sintar.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. Well, with one exception. A large Sintaran force has moved into Estvia. There’s been no fighting, though. Instead, they are setting up a defense regime there over the whole kingdom. King Michael is now Sintar Sector Governor Michael Roberts. Estvia apparently requested annexation into Sintar.”

  “That’s unexpected.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Recall that King Michael warned the Alliance Council against going to war with Sintar. He predicted they would rue the day. He removed Estvia from the council, and did not participate in any of the hostilities. Now he finds himself on the direct route between Annalia and Sintar. Or between the DP and Sintar, for that matter.”

  “You think he’s just getting the best deal he can, Jules?”

  “It’s better than getting run over.”

  “How big is Estvia? Five thousand planets, something like that?”

  “More like ten thousand, Harold.”

  “OK. Small, in any case. Yeah, so I can see where it makes sense from his point of view. It does mean Sintar’s in an annexing mood, though.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Pinter thought about it for several seconds.

  “Pavel, how are those plans coming. Do you have some options for me?”

  “Yes, Harold. We’re finalizing some things, but, depending on what you want to do, we have options for you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to do anything yet. But keep those plans up to date.”

  “Will do.”

  “I knew it!” King James said.

  He walked back and forth, raging. By necessity, his ministers, Foreign Minister Francis Schmitt-deVries and Defense Minister Mortimer Hollifield, stood when the king shot up out of his chair when they told him of Sintar’s annexation of Estvia.

  “I told you there was a traitor, deVries, and there you have it. That little prick Michael’s been conspiring with Sintar all along. That’s how they knew we were preparing for war. He went to that goddamned white-eyed bastard and told him.”

  “Sire, the internal plans for the invasion and the locations of the mustering points were not available to King Michael–“

  “Which matters nothing at all, deVries. How would they even know to be looking, if he hadn’t told them of the war vote? Oh, no. Not this time. I want to fry that little prick, and I’m going to do it. I’ve been talking to Gustav and Peter, and they’ll agree with me on this one.”

  King James was talking about Gustav Adolph, the Autarch of Annalia, and King Peter III, King of Berinia, Schmitt-deVries knew.

  “Sire, an attack on a city would kill tens of millions.”

  “Sintar has killed ten billion Alliance spacers. So what?”

  “But the Alliance spacers weren’t non-combatants, Sire. I really can’t recommend any attack on a Sintaran planet. The consequences could be–“

  “That’s it, deVries. You’re fired. Get the fuck out of here.”

  Schmitt-deVries bowed his head to the king and left the room.

  “Hollifield. Get me the plans for Estvia. I need to have something to show Gustav and Peter.”

  “Of course, Sire.”

  His Excellency Baron Francis Schmitt-deVries left the palace and considered his options. Widowed years before, his children all grown and out of the house – and not in Flower, thank God – he only had to worry about himself. Probably best to get far enough away from the king that he was hard to find if James changed his mind and sought to have him arrested. James probably wouldn’t have him executed, but if he was held in Flower and the king did what Schmitt-deVries expected him to do, it might well amount to the same thing.

  He had actually prepared against this eventuality, once he had known of the volatile nature of his superior. So instead of going home in the limousine, he took a taxi from the palace to a storage facility, the sort that had various-sized lockers you could rent. He went to his locker and got his bug-out bag. It contained several changes of non-descript middle-class clothing, several alternate IDs with associated bank accounts, and a large supply of currency.

  He took the bag into the bathroom, and changed out of his expensive suit and shoes, leaving them in the stall. He then walked a mile across town before flagging down another cab. This one took him to a small garage in which he had rented a stall for a used pickup truck with a cap on the back. Rare in Flower, they were universal and anonymous in the country. And you could hide anything under the cap.

  “Fishing again, Mr. Snyder?”

  “Yeah, she’s been riding me pretty hard lately, Frank. Time to get some space for both of us, I think.”

  “Well, she’s already to go. I checked it just last week.”

  “Great. Thanks, Frank.”

  Schmitt-deVries put his bag in the back with the fishing gear he had never used but had been careful to get dirty, then climbed behind the wheel.

  Thirty minutes later, he crossed the city limits into the suburbs on his way out of town. He ran over the events of the last several months in his mind as he drove.

  The war had gone about as he had expected it would. His own reading of Sintar’s military strength and political unity had not agreed with that of James’s pet moron, Mortimer Hollifield. The defense minister had fed Jame
s’s ego – not that it had needed it – while encouraging his military adventurism. Schmitt-deVries had not been able to hold the king back against his own impulses with Hollifield urging him on.

  But this time King James was going to well and truly step in it, and, for the first time, it made sense to think in terms of a time after James. What would be possible then? In the meantime, though, the idea of standing aside while the reckless king killed millions of non-combatants was something his conscience wouldn’t bear.

  Two hours’ drive out of the city, he stopped in a small town and sent a message to an old friend. Most of Estvia’s population did not have direct neural VR, and message services existed to send local and interplanetary mail. He used one to send a short message, and hoped it was enough.

  The Vice Governor for Trade of the Pannia Sector of the Sintaran Empire, Benjamin Wheeler, looked at the message curiously. He had been foreign minister of Pannia before the annexation to Sintar, and the then-king, now sector governor, Howard Walthers, had put him in the spot best suited to his talents and experience.

  The message was very cryptic.

  BW: Fired. Hiding. KJ to break ToE re Estvia. FSdV

  Then it hit him, all at once, and he sent an emergency message to Governor Walthers. Walthers joined him in a VR meeting room seconds later.

  “What’s the emergency, Ben? I have an important event beginning in minutes.”

  “Sorry, Governor Walthers, but this is more important than any event you might have. You know a number of the foreign ministers of the smaller independent star nations kept in pretty close touch, right?”

  “Well, yes. Promoting trade and such, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Some of us became close over the years. I just got a message from one of them.”

  Wheeler put the message up on the wall of the VR meeting room, and Walthers stared at it curiously.

  “BW is me, of course, the addressee,” Wheeler said. “FSdV can only be Francis Schmitt-deVries, foreign minister of Garland, which means KJ is King James. Now read ToE as the Treaty of Earth.”

  “Oh my God,” Walthers said. “You’re right, Ben. Much more important. Push me that message.”

  It was three in the morning in Imperial City when Dunham was awakened by a priority alarm. Only the Imperial Guard could put through such an alarm to the Emperor after hours. Laying in bed, Dunham answered in VR.

  “What is it?”

  “An emergency message from Pannia Sector Governor Walthers, Sire. He knows what time it is here, and says he must nevertheless speak with you immediately.”

  “Very well. Channel 22.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Dunham entered VR channel 22 without getting out of bed. It was just as easy to VR in from bed as anywhere. He was in the simulation of his office, his avatar dressed in a business suit with the Sintar Cross on his lapel. Walthers appeared seconds later.

  “Yes, Sector Governor Walthers.”

  “I apologize for waking you, Sire, but time may be short. My vice governor for trade, Ben Wheeler, was my foreign minister in the kingdom. The foreign ministers of the smaller independent nations kept in touch – trade conferences and such – and many became friends. He received a message from one of them that you need to see.”

  Walthers pushed the message to the Emperor, which the simulation played out as him handing a paper message to the Emperor.

  “Sire, FSdV has to be the foreign minister of Garland, Francis Schmitt-deVries.”

  “And ToE is the Treaty of Earth. I see it. Thank you, Governor Walthers.”

  And with that Dunham dropped Walthers from the VR and put an emergency message through to Saaret and Leicester. It was mere seconds before one then the other joined him on channel 22.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, gentlemen, but this needs our immediate attention.”

  Dunham pushed them the message.

  “This was just received by Ben Wheeler, vice governor for trade in Pannia Sector. He was the foreign minister of the kingdom, and the foreign ministers of the smaller star nations stayed in touch. Some were friends. FSdV is Francis Schmitt-deVries, foreign minister of Garland.”

  “And ToE is the Treaty of Earth,” Saaret said. “By God, he’s going to do it, isn’t he?”

  “Apparently our annexation of Estvia allowed King James to put two and two together, and he’s decided he doesn’t like Sector Governor Roberts very much,” Dunham said.

  “And Schmitt-deVries likely objected, was fired, and is in hiding. Our response?” Saaret asked.

  “Admiral Leicester, I think James will go after the capital, go after Sector Governor Roberts himself. We need to make sure we have enough firepower around Estvia to ward this off. We also need to positively identify whose ships make any attack on the planet. If it’s just Garland, or if others are involved.”

  “I understand, Sire.”

  “And get Sector Governor Roberts off the planet.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Dunham turned back to Saaret. His eyes were cold.

  “Our response, Mr. Saaret? Well, if the Treaty of Earth no longer applies, then we have many options.”

  A Chance Encounter

  Dick Winger and Anita Murphy had gone to town in the old stake truck to pick up supplies. They were just loaded and about to get in for the trip to the farm when Winger spotted a fellow nearby who was looking a little lost, like he didn’t know where to go from here.

  The fellow was standing next to a middle-aged pickup truck with a cap on the back. He turned to look down the street in their direction and Winger caught his breath.

  “Anita, you know I’m a script writer, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “And I write political dramas?”

  “That’s what you’ve said. I’ve never seen one, though. Sorry.”

  “That’s OK. But one outgrowth of that is I’m a political junkie. And that fellow standing there looking a little lost is His Excellency Baron Francis Schmitt-deVries, the foreign minister of the Kingdom of Garland.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. That’s him all right.”

  “But what’s he doing hanging out in Rock Falls, in casual clothes, driving a pickup truck? Shouldn’t he be in a limo or something?”

  “Yup. The only answer I can think of is he decided to get out of town, too. And incognito, at that.”

  Winger watched the fellow a couple of minutes.

  “Anita, there’s still that one bedroom at the farm. What do you think?”

  “Would it be dangerous to harbor him?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. We don’t know who he is, after all, right? He’s just the hired hand.”

  “But why would we do it?”

  “Because he knows what’s really going on, how much danger we’re really in, and whether staying out of the capital is a good move and for how long.”

  “OK. If you think so.”

  Schmitt-deVries was trying to figure out what to do next. He was three hundred miles from Flower. That was more than enough. He could take a room in a bed and breakfast here in this small farm community. Unlikely anyone here would recognize him, but he would still be a stranger in a community where almost everyone knew each other. That was bound to raise questions.

  Maybe it would be best to keep moving, head for some resort town used to having lots of strangers in and out. Then again, it would be more likely he would run into someone politically informed or connected enough to recognize him. His presence here was more unlikely, more out of context, and that was an anonymity of its own.

  A local walked over from a stake truck a couple of stores down and walked up to him.

  “You look a little lost. Can I help you find something?”

  “Oh, no, thanks. I was just taking in the nice weather.”

  “It’s a pretty day, no doubt about it. And lots nicer being out here than in the big city. ”

  The local was leaning up against the fend
er of the truck. He caught Schmitt-deVries’s eye, then looked down at the fender by his arm. Schmitt-deVries looked down to find he had written in the dust of the fender with his finger. ‘FSdV.’

  Schmitt-deVries’s eyes shot to his face, but the local just smiled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve gotten your truck dirty.”

  The local took a shop rag from his back pocket and wiped the dust – and Schmitt-deVries’s initials – from the fender.

  “Yeah, a lot nicer here than in the big city, that’s sure.”

  “Oh, I think I can agree with that,” deVries said.

  “I actually live in Flower. I decided this might be a great time to spend some time out in the country. Well away from the city.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” deVries said. “A really good idea.”

  “I thought you might say so. My name is Dick Winger, by the way,” the local said, reaching out his hand.

  “Frank Smith,” Schmitt-deVries said as they shook hands.

  Winger nodded, as if Schmitt-deVries had confirmed something.

  “Well, I don’t know if you’re hanging around here or planning to move on. If you were looking for a place to stay for a bit, my friends have a spare bedroom to let in their big farmhouse. Room and board, in exchange for helping out with some chores. Nothing too heavy, just an extra hand here and there. One thing, though. It’s out in the boonies. You won’t see anyone else out there at all.”

  Schmitt-deVries turned it over in his head. The setup as described was perfect. Completely out of sight. No need to be in town at all. And Winger clearly knew who he was, and was happy to keep that to himself and his familiars. He could always move on from there if it didn’t work out.

  “Well, Dick, that’s just the sort of situation I was looking for. For a while at least. Sounds good.”

  “All right. We’re heading back to the farm right now. Just follow us.”

  Winger thought about it, then added, “You might want to hang back a bit, to let the dust settle.”

  “Understood. All right, Dick. I’ll follow you.”