EMPIRE: Conqueror (EMPIRE SERIES Book 6)

by Richard F. Weyand

  “That said, I can’t know exactly what is going on from outside the government. But, when the official information provided to the shadow government dries up like this, is this sparse, it usually means it’s bad.”

  “All right. Let’s move the no-confidence vote and see what happens. Let’s recast it in terms of mismanagement of the war, and see how far we get.”

  Totten looked out the window of his office toward the Executive Building at the other end of the Central Mall.

  “Pack your things, Harold, because I’m coming for you.”

  They were in the Empress’s office, on the Co-Consul’s office floor of the Imperial Palace. Valery Markov had come in response to a request by the Empress.

  “I thought I might ask for an update on my little project, Mr. Markov. How to win the peace. Hear what kinds of ideas are being bandied about, however early in the process they are.”

  “Of course, Milady.”

  Markov consulted his notes in VR as he organized his thoughts.

  “First, anything we do that is a mercy to their servicemen is of benefit. Demanding and accepting surrenders rather than killing everybody outright. Treating our prisoners of war well. Joyous family members and returning servicemen speaking well of us is a lot better than grieving family members and lingering resentments.

  “Second, a lot of wars occur between what I like to call structural antagonists. Countries whose geography, or political systems, or cultures naturally set them at odds to each other. Removing those differences can be a big help.”

  “So, in the case of the Empire and the Democracy of Planets, for example, the difference in our political structures is a natural source of friction, Mr. Markov?”

  “Yes, but not just that, Ma’am. We are heavily VR-driven and entrepreneurial. The DP has a much lower penetration of VR in its population, and the economic system is much more stratified, with big corporations and plutocrats carving out huge sections of near-monopoly markets over masses of people with little economic leverage and no pricing pressure.”

  “I see. Carry on, Mr. Markov.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Another benefit to peace seems to be the existence of a frontier.”

  “What kind of frontier, Mr. Markov.”

  “Any kind of frontier, Ma’am. As odd as it seems, there are some people who are not content with a life of peace and prosperity. They find it stifling. They want conflict, or at least struggle, against larger forces than a mere business competitor or job assignment. Most people meet their smaller need for this in reading adventure novels or watching documentaries or fiction in VR. But for some people that’s not enough. They cause trouble, invent conflict. They have a need for it. If a frontier exists, though, they have a place to go to tilt against bigger windmills, as it were.”

  “And those people who prefer peace and prosperity can remain behind, safe from the machinations of their more struggle-oriented fellows, Mr. Markov?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. It struck me as odd when one of the teams brought it up. It is counterintuitive, but one sees it again and again. As just one example, in the North American continent of Earth in the latter part of the nineteenth century, the catchphrase was ‘Go west, young man,’ even though the east was a much easier life. The people who remained in the east filled their need for adventure by reading about the adventures of those who went west. The ‘western’ was a specific genre of fiction at the time and for decades later.”

  “Give the troublemakers some place to go, some obstacle to fight against, some way out of polite society. That’s very interesting, Mr. Markov.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Sometimes it was even more explicit. The continent of Australia on Earth was originally settled by criminals transported there for being trouble at home.

  “Another big indicator is prosperity. If both belligerents, after the war is over, become prosperous, the likelihood of another war is greatly reduced. A shining example is the Great War, which occurred during the first half of the twentieth century on Earth. At the end of the first portion of that war, reparations demanded of the losers by the victors kept the losers in penury. Germany became the sex capital of Europe between the wars, as the wives and daughters of the middle and upper classes resorted to prostitution to feed their families. Men with money from across Europe would go to Germany for sex holidays, because one met a ‘better class of prostitute.’

  “The end result was predictable. Just twenty-one years after the conclusion of hostilities, humiliated Germany rose again, more powerful than ever and now much more belligerent. It conquered most of Europe under a regime that became renowned for its brutality and the genocide of those it imagined to be its persecutors.

  “In contrast to the first portion of that war, the second portion ended with the victors helping to rebuild the defeated nations. While Germany and Japan, and to a lesser extent Italy, were incredibly brutal regimes and committed atrocious war crimes, the victors this time rebuilt all three countries. Those countries became prosperous and remained at peace for over a hundred years. The Great War of the first part of the twentieth century was followed by the Great Peace of the late twentieth and twenty-first.”

  “I find that fascinating, Mr. Markov. So when Sintar defeats the Democracy of Planets, our best path to peace is to make the DP as prosperous as we can.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Not the elites. The elites are always prosperous. Make the masses prosperous. Raise the median standard of living. Even a dictatorship has a hard time pursuing war if the vast bulk of its population doesn’t support a war, and people who are living the good life are usually uninterested in sending their sons off to die in such schemes. The elites don’t fight wars, the lower classes do.”

  “What else, Mr. Markov?”

  “Those seem to be the major themes emerging right now, Ma’am.”

  “So let me review and be sure I have it right. First, treat the DP spacers well. Second, try to reduce or remove political and cultural differences that are a source of continuing friction. Third, establish a frontier as a natural lure for adventure-seekers. And fourth, work to make the population of the defeated DP prosperous.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Cogently summarized.”

  “Thank you very much for the briefing, Mr. Markov. This has been most helpful.”

  “You’re very welcome, Milady.”

  Amanda Peters, in addition to being Empress Consort, was a senior analyst in the Co-Consul’s office, a position she had held for over eight years. As a senior analyst, she was self-dispatching. That is, she studied inputs from all over the Empire and beyond, following her nose and her interest.

  What she saw troubled her greatly. The military assessment of the current readiness of the Democracy of Planets formations in Sintaran space indicated they were likely low on food and reaction mass. They were maintaining only 0.1 gravities acceleration, to keep from being completely weightless. In particular, they did not have enough reaction mass to get home.

  Which didn’t matter that much. They would starve before they got there.

  Meanwhile, in the Democracy of Planets, the government was likely to fall. The opposition was moving a no-confidence vote, and it was meeting surprisingly little resistance. If it succeeded, the government would fall, and the prime minister would likely call snap elections. It would be six weeks minimum – probably more like eight – before the new government would even be in position. By which time all the DP spacers in Sintaran territory would be dead, starved to death in zero gravity in the cold of space.

  Which was exactly the opposite of Valery Markov’s recommendation. She couldn’t think of any image more likely to tear at the families. At least being blown up with the ship was fast.

  But what could be done?

  She bent to her research.

  They were in the living room of the family apartment after dinner. Dunham and Peters sat in the club chairs, and the twins were all in a jumble on the sofa. They were in VR, whether doing schoolwork, free read, or play.

  “Tha
t’s almost eerie,” Peters said.

  “What is?” Dunham asked.

  “That they’re so quiet.”

  Dunham shrugged.

  “They’re probably making plenty of noise in VR.”

  “I suppose.”

  After a few seconds, Peters continued.

  “I was going to wait until they were in bed, but this will work just as well. We have a big problem, Bobby.”

  “What’s that, Amanda?”

  “The DP formations are running out of food and reaction mass. That’s an open invitation for somebody to do something stupid, which is bad enough. But Valery Markov is researching building the peace for us. You and I talked about that a while back. One of his biggest things is how well we take care of their spacers. Letting them surrender, treating prisoners of war well, all that sort of thing. I can’t think of anything worse than having thirteen billion of their people starve to death.

  “And the DP itself can’t do anything about it. We’re blocking any shipments, of course, but they can’t even negotiate a peace treaty. The opposition is moving a no-confidence motion that looks like it will pass. If it does, they’ll have snap elections and install a new government. But all that takes time. Time their spacers don’t have.”

  “And in the meantime, their government is going to let their spacers starve, and somehow it’s our fault?”

  “Look, Bobby. I know their system is screwed up. You won’t get any argument out of me there. But I think having thirteen billion of their spacers starve to death in our space is a stain on our reputation, or could be turned into one. Consider the contrast of that with the image of us rescuing their people when their own government leaves them hung out to dry.

  “It’s not like they can do anything. If they so much as twitch, we can blow them all to dust bunnies any time we want. This is better. For long-term peace, this is much better.”

  “I assume you’ve looked into what it would take to do that.”

  “Yes. Of course. Best scenario is about forty to fifty freighters per formation. Half reaction mass, half relief & rescue supplies.”

  “That’s ten thousand freighters, Amanda.”

  “Annexation department right now is running fifty thousand freighters day in and day out. They have like seven loading, seven unloading, with eighteen in transit loaded and eighteen in transit unloaded. Load up ten thousand of those unloaded freighters with supplies and send them out.”

  Dunham looked at her as he thought it all through.

  “It’s worth it, Bobby. Long haul, it’s really worth it.”

  “You’re probably right. All right, Amanda. Let’s do it.”

  “Tricia Milner, Government Sales.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Milner. This is Sean Dunworthy.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Dunworthy. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, what I thought might happen has happened, Ms. Milner. I need one-point-two trillion meals or meal substitutes per month for at least the next two months.”

  “I’m glad you gave me that heads up, Mr. Dunworthy. I think we can probably actually meet that requirement.”

  “Let’s get it all headed to orbit then, Ms. Milner. I have freighters coming available almost immediately.

  “By the way. What planets are these supplies on, anyway?”

  “On the measure expressing this Body’s lack of confidence in the current government, the Ayes are two hundred and forty, the Nays are two hundred and thirty-two, with twenty-two Abstaining and six Not Present.

  “The Ayes have it.

  “Elections will be held thirty days from today.

  “This Parliament is dissolved.”

  When the gavel fell, a cheer went up in the Chamber.

  Rescue Mission

  Fleet Admiral Conrad Benton considered his situation with something like despair, mixed with anger.

  They had cut way back on the use of reaction mass, maintaining only one-tenth g. That would run out soon. More seriously, they were running out of food. At some point, he would have to surrender to Sintar, pack all his crews into empty containers like cattle, and ferry them to the ground with the small cargo transfer shuttles. How many people would be injured or die being crammed into cargo containers like cattle for the trip down to the planet was an open question, but it was better than starving.

  Those bastards – those fucking bastards – back in the DP. The politicians, the brass, all of them. The war was lost and they knew it. And instead of trying to negotiate some kind of peace, they were content to let him and his six hundred and fifty million men starve while they played politics back home.

  Who gave a damn which party controlled the government? There were thirteen billion spacers out here in the twenty different fleets, all stranded in hostile space with no hope of resupply. Benton didn’t know who dreamed up this stupid war, who ignored the intelligence, who came up with the seriously flawed strategy, and he didn’t care. If he ever did run into that guy, though, Conrad Benton would probably spend the rest of his life in prison for his murder.

  The worst was trying to keep a good face on it. The command face. He knew, and they knew, and he knew they knew, and they knew he knew. They had been abandoned.

  It was probably just as well they were out of food and reaction mass, or Benton would be tempted to space back to the DP, space right into the Olympia system, and demand accountability from some people at the end of an impeller tube.

  “Sir, we have a large down-transition. I’m reading ten thousand so far, and it’s still underway. Sintaran warships. Out-system from us. Way out of missile range.”

  Admiral Benton said nothing. What was this? The coup de grâce?

  “Stable at thirty-two thousand sources now, Sir. One of their main formations. We’re being hailed. Fleet Admiral Maria della Espinoza is asking for the DP commander.”

  “Put her though to me, Comm.”

  “Yes, Sir. You’re live now.”

  The communication was face-to-face in VR. Espinoza’s avatar was dressed as a Sintaran fleet admiral, and seated in her command chair on her flag bridge. She was in her early fifties, with raven-black hair just starting to go gray, and the air of command. Benton knew his own avatar would be similar, in age, in starting to go gray, in air of command. It was the game they played.

  “Good morning, Admiral Espinoza. What’s it to be, then? You know I can’t fight you.”

  “Yes, I’m aware, Admiral Benton. We’re not here to fight you or demand your surrender. We have more important things on the table. We are concerned about the well-being of your men. We know you’re low on reaction mass, running at that low of an acceleration. We suspect you’re low on food as well.”

  “Yes, Admiral. I am approaching the time when I will have to surrender to the planetary governor and try to take my men down to the surface in cargo containers, as risky as that is.”

  “I think we can do better than that, Admiral.”

  As if on cue, Benton’s flag scanning tech called out from his console.

  “Sir, we have a new down-transition. Fifty point sources. From the mass readings, they’re freighters – big ones – and they’re running heavy.”

  “I brought the groceries, Admiral,” Espinoza said.

  “You’re– You’re restocking us, Admiral Espinoza?”

  “Yes, Admiral Benton. It would be inhospitable to have thirteen billion fellow spacers die of starvation within Sintar’s borders.”

  A tear rolled down Benton’s cheek. He ignored it, and so did she.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Espinoza waved his speechlessness away with a gesture.

  “I’ll caution you, however, Admiral Benton. We will transfer all these supplies to you, but you’d better have all your weapons consoles locked down. No loose cannons over there. If we have a Balmoral here – if any of your ships fires on our freighters – my force will blow all your ships away. While you must have figured out by now that our warships are unmanned, our freighters
are manned. We will not stand by if our spacers are harmed while on a mercy mission.

  “As for the supplies themselves. I have enough reaction mass here you will be able to maintain normal gravity on your ships. I also have enough food so everyone can eat. It’s what we scrounged up that can be used in space, because with unmanned warships we don’t make a lot of space-prepped food any more. It’s basically relief supplies.

  “But you won’t starve.”

  “What about the other DP formations, Admiral?” Benton asked.

  “All of them are getting the same treatment, Admiral. We have ten thousand freighters of supplies being delivered in the next week, with more to come. We are not prepared to let you starve.”

  “That’s extraordinary, Admiral Espinoza.”

  “It is at the Emperor’s direct order, Admiral Benton. He will not allow you to starve within the Sintaran Empire. Apparently the one man who rules Sintar cares more about you and your men than the five hundred men that rule the Democracy of Planets. That’s something for you to consider during your eventual long trip home.

  “In the meantime, however, we have some stores to transfer. Make sure those weapons consoles are locked down, and we’ll get started.”

  Once Admiral Benton made sure all his commands knew that they were getting relief supplies, and they had cut their engines entirely, the transfers started. The fifty big freighters – overloaded, with twenty-five hundred containers each – moved up to the edge of the DP formation.

  Heavy cargo shuttles – the big freighters’ parasite complement – each latched to a sixteen container block, then flipped over and latched to another sixteen container block. The shuttles moved into the center of the DP formation and simply cut the blocks loose before heading back to the freighters.

  The light cargo-transfer shuttles carried by the DP warships went to those drifting blocks and took one, or two, or four of the containers in a block, and transferred it back to its ship. The battleships’ shuttles could handle four containers, the cruisers’ two, and the destroyers’ just one.