-Scolari had other reasons as well. The stronger the military was, the higher taxes were, and there were some very powerful organizations that disliked high taxes. Organizations that would help those who helped them, and with only five years left to retirement, it was time for Scolari to consider the future. She chose her words with care.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll start by saying that all of your forces are on Level Five Alert, or will be, as soon as the message torps have had time to reach the most distant outposts.”
The Emperor nodded gravely. “Excellent. We must be ready for whatever the Hudathans do next.”
“Which raises a question,” Scolari said smoothly. “What will the Hudathans do next?”
“Push their way towards the center of the empire,” Mosby predicted confidently, “destroying everything in their path.”
Scolari frowned. Her question had been rhetorical rather than real, and Mosby’s response had caught her by surprise. She forced a smile.
“Thank you for your opinion, General, but I would like to offer mine first.”
Mosby saw what she thought was a sympathetic look from the Emperor and inclined her head. “My apologies. I was thinking out loud.”
Chien-Chu’s respect for Mosby went up a notch. The woman might be a bit liberal for his tastes, but she was nobody’s fool, and knew her stuff. The Hudathans had created an advantage. Of course they’d follow up. To do otherwise would be stupid.
“So,” Scolari continued, “I have dispatched scouts to find the Hudathan fleet and report on its activities. Intelligence is critical to a well-reasoned response. We know very little about this race and their motivations.”
“And in the meantime?” Chien-Chu asked softly.
“And in the meantime,” Scolari answered irritably, “we can discuss some of the more obvious alternatives.”
Mosby sensed the merchant’s approach, saw the twinkle in his eye, and joined in.
“What alternatives are those?” the general inquired.
Scolari had lost control of the situation and knew it. She hurried into the alternatives in hopes of regaining the upper hand.
“The first alternative is to do nothing beyond what we’ve done already. Our forces are on the highest level of alert, our scouts are gathering intelligence, and the argument could be made that a reactive posture is best.”
Scolari looked at the Emperor, hoping for some sign of agreement, but found little more than polite interest.
“The second alternative is to assume that the aliens have ambitions beyond Worber’s World, and based on that, to pull our outlying forces back into a defensive posture. That would give us more strength with which to defend the empire’s more populated and industrialized systems.”
“It would also leave the rim worlds open to the kind of destruction we saw in Colonel Norwood’s report,” Mosby said grimly.
Scolari looked to Worthington for support, found him staring at the expensive carpet, and decided to press on.
“Last, and in my opinion least, we could locate the Hudathan fleet and launch all-out attack.”
The Emperor raised a well-plucked eyebrow. The voices in his head had grown louder again, echoing the disagreement in the room, and vying for his attention. It was hard to think.
“Why do you consider an all-out attack to be the least desirable option? It’s the kind of advice that I’d expect from some of my more timid citizens. A great deal of blood was shed when my mother created this empire. Are you afraid to shed a little more?”
Scolari felt an emptiness in the pit of her stomach. The Emperor was more lucid than usual. It was a direct question and demanded a direct answer. An answer in which she would be forced to commit herself. Scolari took a deep breath.
“It is the empire that concerns me. It has grown since your mother pieced it together from the ruins of the Second Confederacy. Grown and prospered. But how large can the empire grow before its own weight pulls it down? That which expands must eventually contract.”
The Emperor nodded. He pressed fingertips against his temples. Many of his internal advisors agreed with Scolari and urged him to support her. But the Emperor sensed that to do so would severely lessen his chances of having sex with General Mosby. And that was something he looked forward to. No, it was better to say something sympathetic and let the debate continue.
“Thank you, Admiral. It’s refreshing to hear a military advisor propose something other than massive retaliation. However, duty requires that I hear all sides of an issue prior to a final decision, and I suspect that General Mosby has other views. General?”
For the first time that evening Mosby wished that she was wearing something less revealing. Scolari looked silly in her armor, but it did lend a martial air, and that served to support her arguments. Still, the Emperor had been careful to seek out her opinion, and that boded well. She made an effort to minimize her cleavage and summoned her most serious expression.
“With all respect to the admiral, I disagree with her recommendation. To pull our forces back, and abandon the frontier, would signal weakness and encourage the aliens to attack. We have other enemies as well, like the Clone Worlds, the Itathian Hegemony, and the Empire of Daath. One sign of hesitancy, one sign of weakness, and they could join forces against us.”
“The operant word is ‘could,”’ Scolari interjected. “There’s no certainty that they actually would.”
Mosby shrugged her rather plump shoulders. “Nor is there any certainty that they wouldn’t. Why take the chance? Let’s find the Hudathans, hit ’em with everything we have, and settle the question once and for all.”
Worthington spoke for the first time, and in doing so, earned Scolari’s eternal gratitude. “I like your spirit, General, and am sympathetic to your basic instincts, but what makes you so sure that we can win? Wouldn’t it make more sense to see what the scouts are able to find out? And make a decision at that time?”
“No,” Mosby said stubbornly, “it wouldn’t. Weeks could pass by then, reducing the possibility of an effective counterattack, giving the enemy what they’re trying to take.”
“I think General Mosby has a point,” Chien-Chu said carefully. “Time could be critical.”
“Yes,” the Emperor replied, “but so is information. And I want more of it before making a final decision. Thank you for taking the time to visit with me ... and I trust you will return to the ball. The evening is still young.”
The Emperor’s comments were an obvious dismissal. The advisors rose, made their way to the door, and turned to bow. Mosby had made her curtsey, and was about to back out of the room, when the Emperor lifted a hand.
“General Mosby ...
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Stay for a moment. I wish to discuss your forces and their readiness for battle.”
Scolari had already made her exit but was close enough to hear the Emperor’s words and see Mosby reenter the room. Damn! It was her body that the Emperor wanted—there was little doubt of that—but would Mosby find a way to use the situation? She would certainly try.
Scolari, with Worthington at her side, and Chien-Chu trudging along behind, headed for the ballroom. Their thoughts were very different. Scolari’s seethed as she plotted a course through the obstacles before her. Worthington’s were more measured, considering, analyzing, and evaluating. Chien-Chu’s were uncharacteristically dark as he remembered what he had seen and worried about his son.
The marines who stood to either side of the Emperor’s door looked straight ahead. As with all such assignments, it was important to know what to acknowledge and what to ignore.
Mosby closed the door behind her. The Emperor got up, came around his desk, and crossed the room. He was a little shorter than she’d thought he’d be, but still over six feet, and slim. He was dressed in a high-collared jacket, a pair of bloused trousers, and the knee-high boots that she’d noticed before. He brought an aura of expensive soap and cologne with him. He stopped only inches away
.
“You are very beautiful.”
Mosby smiled. “Thank you, Highness. You’re rather attractive yourself. And you waste very little time.”
The Emperor laughed. It was a deep throaty chuckle that Mosby found to be very sexy.
“You must call me Nicolai, and yes, there is little time to waste. I sense that you and I are alike in that respect. We know what we want and are not afraid to grasp it.”
So saying, the Emperor brought his hands up to cup Mosby’s breasts and brushed her lips with his.
Mosby stood on tiptoe, placed her hands behind his head, and kissed him. It was soft at first, and grew steadily more passionate, until both were short of breath. Mosby allowed a hand to slide down and rest between his legs. What she found was more than satisfactory. Their lips parted and their eyes met.
“You’re far from shy.”
Mosby smiled. “Why? Does the Emperor have a preference for shy generals?”
“Apparently not,” the Emperor responded dryly. “Come, let’s retire to my bedroom. We can be more comfortable there.”
The Emperor took Mosby’s hand and she followed him across the room. A sensor detected their approach, a section of bookcase slid aside, and a doorway was revealed.
“How sneaky.”
“Yes,” the Emperor agreed. “Sneakiness is an extremely important prerequisite for the throne ... as my mother would have been happy to tell you.”
As with the Emperor’s study, one wall of his bedroom was taken up with high arched windows, but that’s where the similarity ended.
The walls, the carpet, and the enormous bed were white. The windows were open, it was raining outside, and the curtains billowed into the room. Music came from somewhere and blended with the sound of the rain to make new harmonies.
Mosby looked around but was unable to find any of the accouterments that she might have expected. No mirrored ceilings, specially crafted furniture, or camera arrays. She felt reassured and disappointed at the same time.
The Emperor raised an eyebrow. “You approve? Shall I close the windows?”
Mosby smiled. “I approve, and leave the windows open. I love the rain.”
The Emperor was very gentle, almost surprisingly so, given the fact that he could take whatever he wanted. His hands were warm, slow, and patient. They removed her gown, panties, and stockings. And then, when she lay naked on the bed, he touched her hair.
“Shall I remove this? Or would you prefer to wear it?”
Mosby looked up into his eyes. “That’s entirely up to you, Nicolai. Do you want me? Or the woman I chose to impersonate?”
The Emperor smiled and removed the wig. Her real hair was short, so short that it was little more than fuzz, and he ran a hand across it.
“You are very beautiful.”
She held up her arms, and he took a moment to enjoy what he saw, before accepting her embrace.
It took time to undress himself, to kiss her from head to toe, and to make long, slow love. And, when the climax finally came, it was like the first act of a two-act play. Satisfying, but lacking in finality, as though more could be said, done, and felt.
That was when the Emperor kissed her nose and ran the palm of his hand over the stubble on her head.
“Did you like it?”
Mosby grinned. “And if I didn’t? Would you change my opinion by Imperial decree?”
The Emperor nodded solemnly. “Of course. More than that, I would declare your opinion a state secret and swear you to silence.”
Mosby giggled. “Save yourself the trouble, Nicolai. It was good.”
“So you liked it?”
“Yes, I liked it.”
“Enough to try it again?”
Mosby made a purring sound deep in her throat. “Definitely.”
“Good, and that being the case, I took the liberty of inviting a friend to join us.”
Mosby felt a momentary sense of alarm as another hidden door slid open and a second man entered the room. She didn’t recognize him at first, but that changed when he stepped into the light. The Emperor? Or an exact replica ... right down to the erection that jutted out in front of him.
The emperor ran a hand down her arm. “There’s no need to be alarmed. He’s a clone. You have no idea how many boring ceremonies he attends on my behalf.”
Mosby knew about clones, and had fought a brigade of them during a border dispute five years before, but had never interacted with any. She forced herself to sound blase. “He looks good ... but does he share your taste in women?”
“Oh, he most assuredly does,” the Emperor replied. “Now relax, while I show you that if one emperor is good, two are even better.”
Mosby did as she was told and found that the Emperor was absolutely right.
7
You legionnaires are soldiers in order to die and I am sending you where you can die.
French General Frangois de Negrier
Standard year 1883
Legion Outpost NA-45-16/R, aka “Spindle,” the Human Empire
The Hudathan assault ships came out of the sun. The light, heat, and radiation that emanated from the brown dwarf covered their approach at first, but the legionnaires had excellent detection gear and picked them up.
“Here they come, Captain, right on time.”
The electronics tech had bright red hair, freckles, and the inevitable nickname of Red. He wore a brightly colored floral shirt and sat before a large console. It boasted hundreds of red, green, and amber indicator lights, a multiplicity of screens, displays, and readouts, plus a multilevel keyboard similar in appearance to those that had controlled pipe organs hundreds of years before. The keyboard, and the alternative voice-recognition system, linked Red with “Spinhead,” the planetoid’s central computer.
Though intended for scientific and commercial purposes, Spinhead, along with a few million imperials’ worth of ancillary equipment, had been pressed into military service after the attack two days before. And Red, though still a civilian, had become an honorary member of the Legion.
Captain Omar Narbakov was a tall thin man with black skin and quick brown eyes. His head was shaved and gleamed when he moved. The officer looked at his watch and swore. Red had bet him that the next attack would come at exactly fifteen minutes after the hour and it had. He reached into a pants pocket, found a wad of crumpled currency, and removed a ten-spot.
“Here. Buy yourself a decent shirt. That one makes my eyes water.”
“You were suckered, Omar.”
Graceful after nine months of near weightlessness, Narbakov turned towards the sound of Leonid Chien-Chu’s voice. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
Those who knew both men said that Leonid Chien-Chu resembled his father, though the son was a good bit taller and as slim as a commando knife. There were laugh lines around Leonid’s eyes and mouth. They grew deeper when he spoke.
“Red took all the data from the last seven attacks, ran it through Spinhead, and came up with an estimated time of attack.”
Narbakov turned on Red. His expression would have turned many people to stone. “Is that true?”
“Of course,” Red answered cheerfully. “What? Do I look stupid?”
“Yes,” Narbakov replied. “Thanks to that shirt. I want my money back.”
Red grinned as the officer snatched the money out of his hand.
“So,” Leonid said, doing his best to sound unconcerned, “are you going to do something about the incoming ships?”
Narbakov looked surprised as if unable to understand why the merchant would ask such a silly question.
“Sure ... they should be in range about a minute from now. That’s when operation boomerang goes into effect. Then, after the geeks sort that out, my cyborgs will open fire.”
“And the combination will be sufficient to hold them off?”
Narbakov glanced at the screens. “Yeah ... for the moment. But who knows? Hell, there’s a miniature fleet out there. They have enough firepower to open
this roid like a can of baked beans. It might be different if we had some ships, or fighters, or some idea of when help might arrive. But we don’t, so if the geeks really want this chunk of real estate, they’re gonna take it.”
Leonid thought about that. The Hudathans had the power ... but would they use it? The planetoid called “Spindle,” and the equipment on it, were critical to obtaining the substance known as “stardust.” An all-out battle might destroy the very thing they wanted, which would explain why the aliens had held some of their forces back.
But what if he was wrong? Or the Hudathans grew tired of the prolonged battle and moved to end it? What then?
The lights dimmed as power was drained away from the main fusion plant and Narbakov spoke into his mike. Every legionnaire on Spindle heard what the officer said and knew what he meant.
“Remember Camerone.”
Rulon Mylook-Ra watched the asteroid fill more and more of his heads-up wraparound visual display. The planetoid was more than three hundred units long and half that at its widest point. One end was larger than the other and permanently pointed towards the sun. This was rather convenient from Mylook-Ra’s point of view, since the closest end boasted some of the best targets and put the sun behind him.
The boat had its own navcomp, but to avoid any possibility that their assault craft could be used against them, generations of Hudathan war commanders had placed most of the processing capacity on board their larger ships. This approach had a number of negative implications, including a heightened susceptibility to electronic countermeasures, and a potentially disastrous effect should one or more of the mother ships be destroyed.
But none of these problems confronted Mylook-Ra as he vectored in on the asteroid, chose a high-priority target, and gave the necessary order.
Legion of the Damned Page 10
