Kingdoms Fury

by David Sherman

  The general was impressed. The waiting room was more like a book-lined private study than a place to cool one's heels. The furniture, covered with genuine leather, was a bit heavy for the general's personal taste, but it blended well with the ceiling-high bookshelves stuffed with hundreds of volumes printed on paper. Casually, Lambsblood inspected the spines, and after looking at a few of them, gasped in surprise. They were forbidden volumes! Obviously confiscated, he concluded quickly. One caught his eye, a thin, leather-bound volume with bright gold lettering: The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam in the English translation by Fitzgerald. Lambsblood had heard of that volume of salacious poetry by the apostate Khayyam, but had never seen an actual copy. He was alone and the room was dimly lighted from widely spaced lamps. He was just pulling it from its place between a volume of Lord Chesterfield's letters to his son bound in buckram and Hogarth's etchings when—

  "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Archbishop General," a voice boomed from behind him. Lambsblood started and whirled around, his face turning a dark crimson. There stood Dominic de Tomas, dressed in the black uniform of the Special Group, a golden goshawk on each lapel. "Interested in English literature?" De Tomas grinned, nodding at the shelf of books behind the general.

  "Ah, well, um, confiscated items, I presume?" Lambsblood stuttered.

  "Yes, Archbishop General," de Tomas replied, still grinning. "Some from the public library system, but most from the private collection of J. Benton Pabst, Master Librarian to the Ecumenical Council. Do you know him, perhaps?"

  "Uh, yes . . . yes, I do. Haven't seen him in a while, though," Lambsblood answered nervously. There were rumors about Pabst . . .

  "Nor will you be seeing him again." De Tomas grinned unpleasantly. "Please be seated." Grateful to be dismissed on the matter of the books and the late Master Librarian, Lambsblood plopped down in one of the leather armchairs. The cushions hissed as his weight gently settled into them. "All the books you see in here, General," de Tomas took in the shelves with a sweep of his arm, "are, as you say, ‘confiscated.’ But I did not burn them as we usually do with such filth. I have the works of all the ancient philosophers; Bertrand Russell, Ayn Rand, Norman Vincent Peale, terrible filth. But I keep them here on display because you must know your enemy, yes, General? Cigar?"

  Lambsblood took the humidor offered and selected a cigar. "Anniversarios!" he exclaimed quietly. "These must cost a fortune," he said as he cut the end of his. He leaned forward as de Tomas offered a light.

  De Tomas lit a cigar too, and they both smoked for a few moments. "Archbishop General," de Tomas continued, "I know you are spending valuable time here and you're anxious to get back to the front, but I have something to discuss with you. We both know that a successful soldier must know his enemies. Do you know who yours are, Archbishop General?"

  Caught off guard by the blunt question, Lambsblood hesitated and then blurted, "Brigadier Theodosius Sturgeon!"

  De Tomas smiled cryptically. "Yes, I was there at the meeting, when he insulted you so grievously. That was uncalled for. But Sturgeon will leave here one day and we will be faced with putting our world back together again. Let me put it to you this way: When that time comes, who will be your friend?"

  Again Lambsblood hesitated. He shrugged. Whatever his failings as a military commander, he had always followed his orders to the best of his ability. He never thought like a politician.

  "Archbishop General," a strong note of iron in de Tomas's voice now, "I want to show you something." Lambsblood's armed escort, responding to some secret signal de Tomas had evidently triggered, came back into the room. Lambsblood stood as de Tomas got up, gesturing that he should follow the escorts. The four of them returned to the elevators, aromatic cigar smoke trailing behind them, and descended rapidly to another floor. "This is the deepest level of Wayvelsberg," de Tomas said as they exited the elevator. "It's where we conduct our interrogations. One is in progress just now, and I would like you to sit in on it."

  Lambsblood was ushered into a small soundproofed room. The one-way glass looked into an interrogation chamber where a middle-age man lay naked, strapped to an operating table. His body was covered in a sheen of perspiration. A technician dressed in white stood on the other side of the glass. He put a question to the man on the table, something about the Koran. Lambsblood could not quite hear the man's answer, but then the technician threw a switch on a console in front of him and Lambsblood jumped involuntarily as the man on the table screamed in agony. This went on for ten minutes. Lambsblood's cigar had gone out by the time the man on the table was fed feet first into a blast furnace.

  "Archbishop General, it is time you were getting back to your command," de Tomas said, clapping Lambsblood heartily on the shoulder.

  "Why—Why . . .?" Lambsblood croaked. His clothing was soaked with perspiration and he felt sick to his stomach.

  "I want you to know that you have a friend and ally in me, General," de Tomas answered. "I support and reward my friends. My enemies, well . . ." He gestured toward the interrogation chamber where the technician was busy cleaning things up. "That business with Sturgeon—forget it. It will clear up by itself and you will get back the command of your armies. I will be calling on you soon."

  De Tomas shook Lambsblood's hand. Somewhat dazed, Lambsblood allowed his escort to take him back to the surface. On the way up he reflected on what de Tomas had told him, especially, "you will get back the command of your armies." Yes. The Dean of the Collegium was a powerful man on Kingdom. His powers exceeded even those of the army commander and the Council of Ecumenical Leaders. This fact was so well understood that Lambsblood had never even bothered to ask what the man on the table down there had been accused of, that his life should be ended so horribly. The Archbishop General had just assumed the man had committed some terrible heresy and deserved what he got.

  De Tomas's next guest proved not to be as educable as General Lambsblood.

  "I do not approve of your methods," the visitor announced as soon as de Tomas entered the room.

  "A cigar, Reverend?" De Tomas offered him the humidor, ignoring the remark. He knew very well what his visitor thought of the Collegium.

  "I don't engage in that dirty habit," the guest replied curtly, waving the humidor away.

  "A seat, then?"

  The Reverend, as he was known to members of his sect, sat. "I want to know why you felt it was necessary to get me here personally, Dean. I have important business to attend to. This is a time of crisis, and change is in the air."

  De Tomas nodded. "Change," he repeated. "Sometimes that can be a good thing. Your sect has long advocated change in the way the Convocation does its business."

  "Yes. I wonder why you haven't made any of my people ‘disappear’ because of our opposition to the Convocation." The Reverend was a small red-faced man with orange-red hair, which many suspected he dyed. His small, almost elfin features disguised a monumental ego combined with a powerful intellect. Born into a society where the benefits of genetics were loudly denounced, one of his legs was several millimeters shorter than the other, forcing him to wear one shoe with a built-up sole. While the sect he led was not the largest of the many to be found on Kingdom, it was one of the most vocal, and people listened to what its leader said. He had a deep and powerful voice that could mesmerize even those who disagreed with him.

  "Mind if I smoke?"

  The Reverend waved a hand indicating he did not care. De Tomas took his time lighting up. He blew a large cloud of smoke into the space separating them. The Reverend winced and waved it away.

  "I could have crushed you a long time ago," de Tomas announced.

  "Yes. So why didn't you?"

  "Because I happen to agree with you."

  The Reverend was not prepared for this degree of frankness. "You do?" he asked hesitantly.

  "Yes. And change is in the air. This invasion changes everything. We have suffered terribly. The entire City of God sect, for instance, was wiped out."

&
nbsp; "Yes, I can see the tears forming now in the corners of your eyes," the Reverend replied cynically. They both laughed.

  "I have studied the military situation very carefully," de Tomas said, "and while I do not know the precise details of this Brigadier Sturgeon's battle plan, it is evident to me that he is devising a master stroke to break the siege here and expel the invaders. These creatures are powerful and ruthless, but I do not believe they are as smart as we humans. They have suffered enormous casualties bringing about this siege. I do not believe they are very good strategists. The Marines will break this siege, and then . . ."

  The Reverend leaned forward, interested now. "And then?"

  "And then we will have to go about rebuilding our world. We will have to restore the people's faith in themselves. Changes will have to be made in how we do things here."

  "Precisely how?"

  De Tomas hesitated. He looked into the Reverend's eyes. There was interest there, ambition too, vast ambition. How far would that take the man? Would he be a rival? Yes, de Tomas concluded. But not for long. He smiled. "Consolidation of decision-making authority," he replied.

  The Reverend leaned back. "How do I fit in?"

  "I need a spokesman," he responded. "I need a propaganda minister."

  The Reverend did not respond at once. "When?"

  "Soon. I will let you know."

  "My dear dean, you are planning to overthrow the Convocation, that is very clear to me. That is treason. What makes you think I won't run to the Convocation and warn them?"

  "That is a very stupid question, my dear fellow. Do you care for a demonstration?" De Tomas's voice was hard now.

  "No!" the Reverend answered quickly. "You can count on me." They shook hands.

  Several other guests visited Wayvelsberg that day. Two of them were never seen again. By the time Dominic de Tomas retired to his private rooms to enjoy a quiet bottle of Katzenwasser '36 before bed, he was ready to move.

  He toasted Brigadier Sturgeon. All he needed now was for the Marines to do their thing.

  In person, Dominic de Tomas's handsome face radiated goodwill, and this often fooled people. But his eyes were cold, expressing an extraordinary degree of intelligence, but utterly devoid of humanity. Sympathy, much less love, were not qualities he possessed or even understood in others; he didn't even "like" anyone in the ordinary sense of that word. There were people he tolerated because they were useful to him, but he didn't have a friend in the world. He didn't need any, and if he had any, he wouldn't have known what to do with them.

  Naive people, seeing the books in his library, thought de Tomas must be a cultured man, a person who appreciated art and ideas. In fact those volumes represented all areas of human endeavor. Personally, de Tomas found books meaningless things. His "library" was there for a special purpose: de Tomas monitored his visitors carefully, to see their reaction to the bound volumes. Depending on what interested a visitor, a lot could be learned about them; because he understood that anyone who entered the library and was not impressed by the books shared some of his own traits, and so had to be dealt with carefully; those who showed any interest in them, as apparently Archbishop General Lambsblood did, were vulnerable because they could be distracted. Lambsblood, for instance, had an interest in the venal. That was useful to know, because if the Archbishop General's ego was not sufficiently big to be used, his weakness for the flesh could be exploited when the time came.

  The men recruited into the Special Group had been selected because they possessed some of the same traits as de Tomas, and during their rigorous training program those who resisted indoctrination were eliminated. Ruthlessness was ingrained into them. By the time their indoctrination was finished, they believed completely that Dominic de Tomas was their infallible leader and that everyone who came into the clutches of the Collegium were the worst enemies of the state, people who deserved degradation and punishment.

  His men were far from goons, however. De Tomas insisted they be free of bad habits, literate, educated at least through secondary school level, and have no criminal records. While horrible tortures and beatings of prisoners were routinely conducted, they were executed only on higher orders, and anyone who exceeded his authority was severely disciplined. De Tomas realized that sparing selected individuals was good propaganda—it spread fear of the Collegium in general and of the Special Group in particular. And those spared could be counted on to cooperate in any way necessary.

  The members of the Special Group were highly trained, devoutly dedicated men armed with the latest weapons and technology and sworn personally to Dominic de Tomas. Their zeal and ruthlessness more than compensated for their relatively small numbers. Furthermore, de Tomas had organized a vast system of informants throughout the sects on Kingdom—people, not only former victims of the Collegium, who, for the right price, were willing to betray even members of their own families. But Dominic de Tomas's goal had never been to enforce orthodoxy among the sects, although he wanted people to believe as much. From the beginning of his selection as dean of the Collegium, a position he had occupied for years before the Skink invasion, he had been quietly consolidating his hold.

  The authority of the Collegium spread everywhere on Kingdom. The media and the schools, when not run directly by the Collegium, were heavily monitored, so that news and school curricula were subject to its direction. Thus, millions of people, regardless of their religious convictions, were convinced Dominic de Tomas was a brilliant leader who had everyone's best interests at heart. His portrait hung in many homes and people admired him as the one man who could hold their world together. Most of the members of the Convocation of Ecumenical Leaders concurred, looking to de Tomas to keep not only their own sects in order, but the others as well. Those who did not fall for this carefully engineered propaganda—such as the neo-Puritans, the Anabaptists, and the Scientific Pantheists—were not powerful enough to oppose either the Collegium or the Convocation, and where de Tomas was not able to penetrate their congregations and eliminate their leadership, he was content to wait. He would deal with them when he had all the reins of power in his mailed fist.

  Chapter Twenty

  "Good afternoon, Commodore," Brigadier Sturgeon said.

  Commodore Roger Borland looked at the main hatch into the bridge of the Grandar Bay and grinned at the Marine. "Welcome aboard, Brigadier. Come on in." He gestured toward the vacant commander's chair, which stood next to his own.

  "Thank you, sir." Sturgeon took the three steps to the chair. He sat and looked at the display Borland had been gazing at. An arc of Kingdom filled the lower quadrant of the large screen. The terminator was visibly advancing along the planet's surface. Above the planet, stars speckled the heavens.

  "I never tire of that view," Borland said softly. "The sight of an inhabited world from orbit, with the stars in the firmament above, stirs something positively atavistic within me."

  "It is a magnificent sight," Sturgeon agreed.

  "It is a most potent reminder of how far we have come since our ancestors first gazed upon the stars and wondered what they were," Borland said. "And how much farther we have to go before we can visit them all."

  Sturgeon chuckled. "And after the Milky Way, other galaxies?" It wasn't quite a question.

  "I'd love to know the answer to that, but I never will."

  The two watched the screen for a few moments, the silence broken only by the bips of the instruments and the susurration of voices of the crew members who monitored them.

  "But you didn't come all the way up here to join me in stargazing," Borland said in a firm voice. "You came because I have something less philosophical to show you."

  "That's true, but a spell of stargazing is good for the spirit."

  "If you will come with me, Brigadier."

  "I am at your service, Commodore."

  They stood, and Borland led the way off the bridge. A bos'n's mate third stood ready nearby with a shipboard runabout. The two boarded it and the bos'n drove away w
ithout instructions.

  "I think you're going to get quite a kick out of the briefing Engineering has prepared for you," Borland said when they were under way.

  "I expect so. Your message inviting me up was intriguing." Sturgeon shook his head. "Unfortunately, it didn't offer a hint as to the nature of the ‘great discovery.’"

  "I think you'll grasp the reason for the mystery fast enough."

  They didn't bother with small talk for the remainder of the eight-minute ride. They dismounted and Borland led the way into the engineering wardroom.

  "Attention on deck!" one of the engineers shouted when he saw the commodore.

  "As you were," Borland said to the engineers, who were scrambling to their feet.

  Five officers and three chief petty officers were in the wardroom. There was also a petty officer second class, but Sturgeon didn't recognize the rating symbol on his rank insignia. Four of the officers had been sitting in a conversation group in a corner of the room. The other officer and the chiefs stood in front of a table, while the petty officer third worked on a trid unit. They all stood easy; only the PO third returned to what he had been doing.

  "Gentlemen, you probably recognize this Marine with me as Brigadier Theodosius Sturgeon, commander of Marine Expeditionary Forces, Kingdom," Borland said. "But I'll treat the entire department to a party if he has any idea of your names, so," he turned to Sturgeon, "I will make introductions. Commander Foderov, head of the Engineering Division."