by Grant, Peter
“No, thank you. You’re the senior officer remaining on Laredo – I mean, Termaz.” The renaming of the planet had taken effect as of the previous day. “Have you compiled casualty lists yet? What’s the status of our forces?”
The Colonel glanced at the young Lieutenant who got out of the vehicle behind the Prince. Her name and reputation had already spread far and wide. He forced himself to refocus on his Crown Prince.
“Your Highness, it’s too early to be sure of our casualties, but they’re extraordinarily severe. The arena is the worst concentration. There were at least seven to eight thousand dead there, military and civilian, with as many again wounded, most of them seriously. Many have lost limbs. I’m afraid the arena is now known among my forces as the ‘Red Arena’, thanks to the amount of blood that was spilled there. Until this rain started the interior surfaces, grass and plascrete alike, were literally blood-red almost from top to bottom. Bodies and body parts were everywhere – one could almost have walked from one end of the arena to the other on them without ever touching the ground.”
“I’m aware of that, Colonel. I was there, remember?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Many of the young conscript troops detailed to the cleanup there have had to be relieved. They simply can’t take it.”
“I don’t blame them. About the casualties?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” The man visibly made an effort to collect himself. “Many bodies are still buried under rubble, and we can’t get into some buildings at all due to nanobugs and flitterbugs still lurking inside, looking for targets. The best I can say right now is that we have at least four thousand military fatalities, including those at the four garrisons the rebels attacked to get their hands on the assault shuttles they used to such terrible effect. We have more than three thousand wounded and over a thousand still missing. The Security Service contingent on the planet has been almost wiped out. Of their thousand-plus personnel, only fifty-five answered muster this morning.”
He took a deep breath. “I… I’m very sorry to report that we inflicted several hundred of our own casualties, Your Highness. The rebels were using captured assault shuttles to attack us, and captured vehicles to escape. In their attempts to defend themselves and prevent escapes, I fear our forces often fired on each other in the confusion. We shot down at least five of our own shuttles and destroyed at least forty of our own armored cars, trucks and transporters, to say nothing of soldiers firing at individuals without taking time to identify them.”
The Crown Prince nodded. “That was probably unavoidable under the circumstances. What about civilian casualties?”
“They’re heavy, Your Highness; certainly in excess of six thousand dead, with a similar number injured or not yet accounted for. Almost all are military and civil administrative employees who were at the arena or on duty in the buildings and installations that were destroyed. The rebels seem to have taken great care to avoid hitting residential areas. Many of the wounded will die, of course, because we have nothing like enough hospital beds or medical personnel to treat them all. Also, most of our medical supplies were destroyed in the depot.”
The Prince’s face fell. “Yes, I understand. I’ve turned over the Satrap’s Palace to your medical staff for use as an auxiliary hospital, and I’ve told them to fill Oxyartes with amputees who have a reasonable chance of surviving the journey. I’ll take them to Bactria with me for further treatment and the fitting of prosthetic limbs until new ones can be cloned.”
“That’s very good of you, Your Highness.”
“No, it’s not! It’s no more than they deserve. What about rebel casualties?”
“Relatively few in comparison to ours, Your Highness. We’re still collecting their dead, but I suspect they had no more than three hundred people in all on this operation. More than half appear to have died, and we’re not sure how many managed to escape. We stopped those fleeing the arena, and some in the city, but three shuttles and a few ground convoys made it out through our perimeter. They were helped by the fact that much of it had to be left unguarded, because forces stationed there had to be sent to Tapuria.”
“That couldn’t be helped. What about prisoners?”
“We took only eighteen rebels alive, Your Highness. All of them were injured and lost consciousness before they could commit suicide. That’s the only reason we were able to capture them.”
“Let’s not deny their courage, Colonel. It’s going to force us to re-evaluate our whole approach on this planet. Where are they?”
“We’ve assembled them under guard in that building, Your Highness.” He pointed to a nearby warehouse. “As you directed, we treated the rebel doctor’s injuries. Fortunately, they were light. When she regained consciousness we gave her medical supplies and asked her to help look after the other rebel wounded. She was astonished they hadn’t all been executed out of hand. She took care of their immediate needs, then helped us treat our own civilian casualties.”
“That was good of her. Have we any idea who the prisoners are? Is there anyone of importance among them?”
“The doctor was the wife of the rebel General, Your Highness. She was supervising the loading of casualties onto a shuttle at the arena when our missile destroyed it and killed her husband. The SS claim she’s an influential figure in her own right. We captured only one other officer. His vehicle was blown up as he tried to escape. The doctor says he’s been blinded by his injuries. She claims not to know his name or rank, but I suspect she’s lying. We’ll have to ask him when – if – he regains consciousness. All the other prisoners are enlisted troops and NCO’s.”
“You’ve ordered that they’re to be well treated?”
“Yes, Your Highness, but the Security Service is disputing that. In fact, here they come now.” He indicated a black transporter that was slowing down and turning off the road towards the warehouse.
“We’ll see about that! Come with me – and you, please, Lieutenant Yazata.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the young officer answered, limping after him, favoring her bandaged leg. The Colonel noticed that her arm was bandaged too, and she had a plaster across her forehead.
A Major in the black uniform of the SS was marshalling a squad of riflemen as they came up. He turned to face them, frowning, then his eyes widened with astonishment to see the Crown Prince. He snapped to attention and saluted. “Major Moshira at your service, Your Highness!”
“What are you doing here, Major?”
“Your Highness, I came to execute the rebel prisoners held here, in accordance with our standard policy.”
“I ordered them to be treated well and not harmed. Were you not informed?”
Moshira drew himself up indignantly. “Your Highness, you are not yet Satrap. Until you are officially installed and gain the authority to change them, the policies approved by your late father are still in force and effect. I am therefore acting in accordance with my lawful orders.”
“And I am ordering you now to ignore those policies as far as captured rebels are concerned. They are not to be harmed.”
“Your Highness, with respect, you do not yet have the authority to issue that order.”
“Oh, really? Lieutenant Yazata, would you please demonstrate to this cretin the extent of my authority?”
“With pleasure, Your Highness.”
She drew the pulser from her holster in a single smooth motion, aimed it at Major Moshira’s face and pulled the trigger. The round struck the bridge of his nose, splattering blood and brains out of the back of his shattered head, and his body collapsed to the soggy ground. The black-clad riflemen behind him gaped in utter astonishment and disbelief.
The Crown Prince transferred his gaze to the equally astounded Colonel. “Do you have any questions about my authority, Colonel? The late Major Moshira was correct that I am not yet Satrap, but I’ll be installed in that office within days of reaching Bactria. As soon as that happens, I’m going to send a team of my guards back here. They’ll
have orders to publicly hang – not shoot, hang – anyone who’s disobeyed my instructions concerning the cessation of reprisals and repression against the citizens of the former Laredo, and good treatment for the prisoners captured here. Do you understand me?”
The Colonel drew himself to attention and saluted stiffly. “I understand, Your Majesty.” He emphasized the honorific, reserved for the Satrap and his wife alone.
“Thank you, Colonel. You seem to have the right attitude. If that continues, I assure you it’ll do wonders for your military career.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Good. By the way, take charge of all surviving Security Service personnel – including these clowns – and put them to work on the cleanup. They’re all going to be recalled to Bactria in disgrace for failing to warn us about this catastrophe. They may as well do something useful until we can arrange that. If they argue, tell them it’s on my authority. If they still argue, remind them of what happened to the last SS officer who questioned that – and feel free to repeat the lesson as often as required, also on my authority.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.”
“There’s another thing you can do for me. You know of my father’s awards to those who helped to save us at the arena?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I’ll be announcing the award of the Star of Bactria to them at my installation ceremony, and conferring it on Lieutenant Yazata at the same time – my first official act as Satrap. However, there’s something more I want to do. I intend to appoint her in command of a company of the Satrap’s Guard – the very company that protects me on my journeys, as a matter of fact. That’s at least a Captain’s position, if not a Major’s. Since I’m not yet Satrap I can’t personally promote her right away; but I understand that as Senior Officer of our forces on Laredo – I mean, Termaz – you have planet-wide promotion authority up to your own grade and rank. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, and I agree that she’s proved herself worthy of promotion.” He turned to face the young woman. “Lieutenant Yazata, in recognition of your selfless valor in defense of the late Satrap and the Crown Prince, you are hereby awarded a battlefield promotion to the rank of Captain, to take effect from March 31st,2850, Galactic Standard Calendar, the date on which you distinguished yourself.”
She came to attention as she listened to him. “Thank you, Sir.” She saluted smartly, and he returned it.
“I don’t have new insignia of rank to give you, Captain, but – ”
“If you’ll please allow me, Colonel, Sir?” his adjutant said. He unbuttoned his shoulder straps and removed his epaulettes. “Captain Yazata, I’d be most honored if you’ll please use my insignia until you can obtain new ones. No need to return them – I have a spare set in my kit.”
“Thank you very much, Captain.” She smiled gratefully at him as he removed her old insignia, slid his epaulettes over her shirt’s shoulder straps and buttoned them in place.
“I thank you as well, Captain. I’ll remember your kind assistance to the future commander of my personal guard company,” the Crown Prince assured him.
“It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty. Word of Lieutenant – I mean, Captain Yazata’s heroism has spread throughout the Army here in Tapuria.”
“And deservedly so. I certainly wouldn’t have survived without her aid. Thank you, Colonel. Please return to your duties. Captain Yazata and I will depart for Bactria in a few hours. It’ll be a longer, slower trip than usual in that converted freighter, but that can’t be helped given the destruction of my father’s yacht.”
The Colonel and his adjutant saluted, then headed back to the command shuttle. As they moved away the Crown Prince smiled at the newly-minted Captain.
“I hadn’t mentioned commanding a company in my guard. I hope you don’t mind being co-opted like this.”
She frowned slightly. “I hate to leave here with so much still to do.”
“I know, but… I need you, Zeba.” She blinked at his use of her first name. “I haven’t forgotten that you came up with the plan that helped me survive at the arena. Major-General Huvishka spoke highly of you, too. I need someone I can trust, someone I can rely on. I’m very young to become Satrap, without the experience most of my predecessors had. That means Palace insiders and the political administration will try to ‘manage’ me, coach me into letting them do things their way and simply rubber-stamping their decisions. I don’t wish to speak ill of my father, but they did that to him. I think it has a lot to do with why things went so badly wrong here, so I’m determined not to allow them to do the same to me; but I’m going to need a lot of help.”
“I’ll do my best, of course, Your Majesty, but I’m still a junior and relatively inexperienced officer, despite my promotion – for which thank you very much!”
“That’s all right. I’ve seen you at work under the most difficult circumstances imaginable. Believe me, your references are good!” They laughed together, a little shakily.
“To get back to the Palace and Administration, I’m going to take advantage of an old custom. It’s traditional for every appointed official and office-holder to submit their resignations to the new Satrap when he ascends the throne. In the past the new ruler has simply issued a decree confirming almost everyone in their posts. That’s not going to happen this time. We’re going to make a clean sweep and a fresh start, even though it’ll take some time to find suitable replacements. I’ll probably have to make a lot of temporary reappointments, or shuffle people around to break up their personal fiefdoms within the Administration. Those who’ve grown used to the trappings of power are going to scream in outrage, of course. They’re not going to take it lying down. I expect there’ll be more than a few plots to assassinate me or forcibly make me into a figurehead ruler, controlled by the ‘old guard’. I’m going to rely on you to help nip such ideas in the bud.”
“I’ll gladly do that, Your Majesty, as far as I can. I learned a lot from General Huvishka about the damage caused by fossilized thinking. I agree that if you have an opportunity to clean out the Augean stables, you should seize it.” She hesitated. “As a matter of fact, I suggest you take a number of combat veterans with you from this planet to join your bodyguard. You’re going to need replacements for those who died at the arena. Combat veterans will understand and appreciate what you’re trying to do to stabilize the situation here, and they’ll be able to tell your other guards about their experiences. That should help to buttress the Satrap’s Guard against any attempts by the ‘old guard’, as you called them, to suborn its loyalty, and also improve relations between it and the regular Army.”
“That’s a good idea, but where would I find such soldiers at short notice?”
“I’d begin by recruiting the late Major-General Huvishka’s bodyguard, Your Majesty. He was wounded at the arena, but not too badly. He can suggest more names. If we can get fifteen to twenty good people, I think that would be enough for a start.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s helping to sort out the mess at the Military Governor’s compound. He refused to stay in hospital, saying there were many who needed his bed more than he did.”
“He sounds like just the kind of soldier we need. We’ll go there right away.” They began to walk back towards his vehicle. “I also want your help in radically reassessing our security organs. I haven’t forgotten what my father said at the arena about the Security Service. They failed us abominably. It was their job to predict events such as this massacre, yet they didn’t issue a single warning – instead, they kept mouthing pious platitudes about how well things were going for us. If they hadn’t already suffered so many casualties during the attack, I can assure you that heads would have rolled among their local command structure. I understand you worked with them for a short time?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”
“You can give me the benefit of that experience when I restruc
ture them. I think it’s long gone time they were made more accountable to the Throne and lost their status as a privileged private fiefdom.” He stopped walking, clearly searching for the right words. “More important than any of that, though; I need a personal advisor whose courage and commitment are unquestionable, someone of the same age group as me who can act as a counterweight to older advisors who are more set in their ways. I want someone who can speak from personal experience about what needs to be done here on Laredo – I mean, Termaz. I think you’re that person.”
“I… I’m very junior, and my experience isn’t nearly as extensive as you seem to think, but if that’s what Your Majesty wants, I’ll do my best.”
“It’s not just ‘His Majesty’ that wants it – it’s me, the person inside the title. I need a confidant. I’m sick of the pettiness of Court politics, nobles trying to influence me on behalf of their sons and their wives scheming to get me into bed with one of their daughters – or all of them! Even if I don’t marry one of them, to have a Satrap’s by-blow in the family has traditionally been a source of influence and profit. You aren’t like them. You’re down-to-earth. If I’m to have any woman at all in my life at a time like this, I need someone like you.”
She fell back a pace, her face aghast. “Are you asking me to be your…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“No. No, I’m not. All I’m asking right now is for you to be my friend and confidant.”
She looked at him narrowly for a long moment, then sighed. “Very well, Your High – I mean, Your Majesty. I’ll do my best.”
“Good. In that case, when we’re alone my name’s Rostam, all right?”
Her eyes widened. “You – you can’t be serious! How can I, a commoner, be on first name terms with the Satrap?”
“Because the Satrap wants you to be on first name terms with him, at least in private. How about it?”
A slow smile dawned on her face. “I don’t know how this is going to work out, but… all right, Rostam. Let’s see where this takes us.”
