Ideal War

by Christopher Kubasik

  21

  Portent, Gibson

  Principality of Gibson, Free Worlds League

  27 February 3055

  Masters and Maid Kris had little trouble getting to their next stop—Dystar Castle. The chopper pilots and security guards knew Maid Kris well, and she introduced Masters as a new servant hired from outside the Old Walls. He kept his head bowed under his hat, pretending to be embarrassed and uncomfortable. The guards accepted the story, and the two of them passed the checkpoints, flew up to the castle, and got off at the helipad.

  Things became a bit trickier once inside the castle, however. The guards around the countess' chamber would not bend rules. Maid Kris took Masters as far as she could, then gave him directions to the countess. They decided Maid Kris would not confront the countess in order to protect her cover. Instead, she would contact another GFL operative in the castle who would arrange for all the GFL sympathizers in Portent to begin spreading rumors of an impending power struggle. Their task was not to fire bullets, but to assault the city with lies.

  * * *

  Masters made his way through the corridors with Maid Kris' Sternsacht, crept up to a few guards, surprised them, tied them up and gagged them. One, two, three guards. He moved smoothly, lightly, more relaxed than he'd been in years.

  He found the door exactly as Maid Kris described it: huge, carved ornately from dark wood, a golden ring for a handle. With a look down either side of the corridor he assured himself the area was clear, took the ring in hand, and pulled it.

  As the door opened, he heard a series of moans, then the countess crying out,"What is it! You know I'm not to be disturbed!"

  He fumbled along the wall and quickly found the light switch. As the lamps went on, he saw three men and the countess sprawled about the bed in a state of undress.

  "You!" she said.

  "Um," said Masters, startled. Had Lancelot ever encountered anything like this? "The three of you, the men, out of the bed and against the wall."

  They looked to the countess, and she said, "Go on, dears. I'd probably be dead by the time you reached him." She rolled over toward Masters, resting on her right side, her lovely left thigh curving up wonderfully. "Some men are good for some things, but you can't count on them to come through when you need them to for other activities."

  "We've got a lot to talk about."

  "Talk? Oh, I had hoped you'd charged in here out of some desperate need."

  "The matter is desperate."

  "Then why are you waving that gun in my face, instead of something much more interesting?"

  "Assistant Precentor Starling has seized Precentor Blane. ..."

  "Are we really going to discuss politics?" She pouted like a child.

  "From what I understand, you're quite political."

  "But I never discuss politics with men I want to bed. It makes everything so complicated."

  "I don't want to be bedded by you."

  "As if I care, young man. I'm the countess." She turned to the three men, who stood quite docile, their faces to the wall. "Right, boys?"

  Each one mumbled something or other in awkward reply.

  "So I would have been just one more for the group?" Masters asked.

  "Well, it depends. I try everyone out, and see how they do. If I like a man, but he doesn't quite have the spark, I might keep him around, but match him with some others of the same nature." She turned back to the three again. "No offense."

  "You have a stable?"

  "Somewhat. Actually, these three are paid by my people's tax dollars. They're mercenaries hired from off world to fight the GFL."

  The image of the corpses hanging from the tree came to mind, and a tight fury began to buzz around in Masters' head.

  "You needn't look so upset. At least I'm keeping them safe from the war."

  "Precentor Blane must be freed."

  "Bosh. That's a Word of Blake internal issue. Come here to bed."

  Masters leaned against the wall, realizing that she was probably frightened, but trying to throw him off balance with her brazen attitude. It was working. He had to seize the initiative again.

  "Not true, Countess. It is not only a matter for Word of Blake. It has a great effect on you as well."

  She yawned and rolled onto her back, stretching like a cat. "Yes, of course it concerns me. Blane is rather a stick in the mud. I think things will work out quite well with Precentor Starling."

  "Despite the fact that he plans to push Hsiang out of office?"

  Her languid stretch stopped. "What?"

  The lie began. "The Captain-General supplied me with a report gathered by ROM—"

  "The Captain-General received a report from ROM?"

  The bigger the lie, the more it will be believed. "He was once a ComStar adept, Countess. His connections didn't simply die out. The report warned of Precentor Starling's ambitions. Thomas sent me here to keep an eye on Starling, but we never dreamed he'd act so swiftly. It is clear he means to carry out his coup soon."

  The countess tried to sound nonchalant, but the look in her eyes was one of deep thought. "What does all this matter to me? Hsiang is an idiot. A puppet."

  "But he is your idiot, your puppet." Masters was guessing, but he went on. "Blane helped keep the peace these last two years, correct? You were able to push the buttons hard because Blane worked as a peacemaker."

  "Yes."

  "With him gone, and Hsiang removed from power, the entire world of Gibson will rise in revolt. It will be all too apparent that Word of Blake is about to take away their rights. Their fear of a Word of Blake inquisition will drive them to a frenzy. They'll turn on you, seeking help from anywhere they can."

  "This is nonsense!" she said, sitting up and drawing a sheet up over herself. "You have no proof."

  "The GFL has already made strong ties with the Regulan government."

  "Fanatic mercenaries from Regulus who think Gibson can be wooed back ..."

  Put as much truth into the lie that you can: "Not at all, Countess. That is what they would have you think. I was at one of the bases. The Principality of Regulus has given their blessing."

  She turned to him, caught by his deceit. "We have to stop them."

  "We? Who is we? The people don't trust you."

  "Then who will they follow? The GFL? The GFL is tearing the countryside apart. They don't want to be ruled by those terrorists!"

  "Countess Dystar, the simple truth is this: people will always accept oppression from their own government over oppression from invaders. Gibson has a strong history with Regulus. None with Word of Blake. You must act quickly. My operatives tell me Word of Blake will begin their assault on the government offices in six hours."

  "Operatives? Six hours?"

  "You don't think Thomas sent me down into this hotbed of intrigue alone, did you?"

  "But you didn't know."

  "Oh, we knew. We knew enough to be concerned."

  "We must get word to the Captain-General," she said. "Help won't arrive for days, but we have to prepare."

  "Of course. The only problem is that the one person I would trust to take the message is under Word of Blake lock and key."

  The countess stood up and draped the sheet around herself. "You three, get out of here now." The men turned awkwardly, looked around for their clothes, found them, and rushed out the door half-dressed.

  "All right," she said,"I really don't believe you, but I can't afford to ignore you. I'll look into it."

  "We have to get Precentpr Blane."

  "They arrested him on a matter of religious heresy. I have no jurisdiction."

  "My God, woman, you can think of something."

  "All right. I suppose we can find some technicality or other." She stood and gripped the sheet to her body as she walked to a window overlooking the city. "Good God," she said, her shoulders tightening visibly.

  Hearing the almost abject terror in her voice he crossed quickly to her side. The sight startled him as well. Hsiang had moved so qu
ickly. In the gray light of dawn, Masters could make out the Principal's Loyalist troops running along the sidewalks while armored personnel carriers rolled down the streets. Martial law had been declared. The conflagration was about to erupt.

  Staring down at the streets, he said, "And now, if you'll forgive me Countess," then quickly grabbed her by the waist and brought the sheet up around her wrists. "I'm a wanted man, and I can't have you using me as a bargaining chip." She tried to scream after the first surprise, but it was too late. Masters stuffed a corner of the sheet into her mouth and carried her to the bed. "I must say you are a very attractive woman. Physically."

  "Hmmphamph."

  "Yes, I'll send someone for you as soon as I'm safe. Goodbye."

  He met up with Maid Kris at her chamber, and the two of them rushed to the castle's helipad. "How'd it go," she asked.

  "I left her speechless."

  Masters and Maid Kris waited in an alley near the Word of Blake building. They waited for hours, and Masters began to wonder if something had gone wrong. With the soldiers all over the streets someone should have started shooting by now.

  Every half hour or so Maid Kris put in calls to her contacts. For most of the day she received very little news, but in the early afternoon she came back with a full report.

  "Both the Countess and Hsiang are demanding that Precentor Blane be released into their care."

  "Are they working together?"

  "Not at all. The Countess called Hsiang as soon as a maid came into her room and freed her. Hsiang, of course, thought it was a trick. When he rebuffed her it made the Countess think that your information was somewhat incorrect and that Hsiang was really working with Word of Blake."

  "Good. I was hoping her fear and greed would fill in some gaps."

  "Meanwhile, Hsiang called his troops back from their rural outposts, though most of them haven't reached the city yet. The same is happening with the countess' mercenaries and the Word of Blake Mech Warriors." Maid Kris' eyes revealed great excitement in these last details, for now the field was open for the GFL. Masters had to remind himself that though they currently worked for a common goal, a gulf of policy and goals separated them.

  "All well and good, but something better happen fast before they all get a chance to sit down and compare notes. Does it look like Word of Blake is going to give the Precentor to either Hsiang or the Countess?"

  "Best guess is no. If they knew what was going on, or if the Countess and Hsiang presented a united front, they might give in. But everyone is too edgy."

  At that instant they heard the rapid popping of machine gun fire, followed by reports of shells fired by tanks. Explosions echoed down the streets, followed immediately by the roar of stone walls collapsing.

  "This is it," Masters said. "Let's go."

  They rushed out of the alley and took up positions behind a large truck. Across the street stood the big Word of Blake building. Around them men and women were cutting each other down with gunfire, as well as hitting innocents on the street and inside buildings. Tanks rolled along the broad avenues, firing one shell after another, sometimes at tanks, sometimes at buildings. Mortars let loose shells that lobbed up, then fell and caused horrible explosions. Craters and rubble began to appear everywhere. Masters had never seen fighting inside a city before, and the sight tore at his heart.

  Word of Blake soldiers had taken up positions in the windows and at the large front doors of the building. Tanks from Hsiang's loyalist guard fired into the building, ripping huge holes in it. All around the city, Masters knew, madness was taking hold. But as long as it stayed within the Old Walls he could live with it.

  "Come on, let's go."

  The two of them rushed across the street, ducking for cover behind parked and ruined cars. They approached the Word of Blake building from the south side. Already huge cracks ran through the base of the building. "I hope he's still alive," Maid Kris said.

  They slipped through a crack just wide enough for each of them to pass through, and found themselves in a hall lit only by the sunlight behind them. "Stairway," Masters said, for he saw the glint of a railing through a door. "Come on."

  With each step they took, the building shook from the assault of shells. Just as they reached the stairwell, a circle of light passed over them. "Stop!" someone shouted. They did not, but jumped in through the doorway. When a burst of bullets slammed into the door frame, Masters' flesh felt alert and warm, and a perverse thrill bubbled up in his chest. He and Maid Kris ran down the stairs at top speed, but in the darkness Masters didn't see that they'd reached a landing. His knee buckled as he tried to continue stepping down, and he tripped. From behind Maid Kris slammed into him, sending them both sprawling into the wall opposite the stairs.

  A beam of light fell on them. Masters grabbed Maid Kris and rolled her over him as bullets crashed down where she had been. Then he rolled himself out of the way, bullets following him across the landing, splintering the concrete floor behind him.

  Breathing heavily, frightened, they stood under the stairs from where the Word of Blake soldier had fired. "Go down the stairs and shut the door loudly," Masters whispered. She touched his hand in confirmation and took the stairs, this time more carefully.

  Masters waited, watching the beam of the flashlight bounce along the wall as the soldier also descended the stairs. He came down cautiously. He had no reason to rush. He had the light.

  Suddenly Maid Kris slammed the door below, and the soldier began to run down the stairs, thinking they had escaped. As the man turned the corner of the landing, Masters swung blindly into the soldier, catching him in the abdomen. The man gave out a cry and doubled over, and Masters pushed him into the concrete wall. The soldier's Rorynex, with the flashlight taped to the barrel, clattered down the stairs, the beam of light flying wildly about the stairwell.

  "Give up," Masters said through his teeth, pressing the man to the wall with all his might. He pulled the Sternsacht out of his belt. "Blake shall prevail."

  "To the death, then?"

  "Yours!"

  Masters pulled his trigger, the blast muffled by the close press of their bodies. The soldier fell against Masters, the body going slack as Masters stepped away and let it drop to the floor. Blood soaked his cotton tunic, but he had not noticed until now. The feeling of being in danger and somehow pulling through—the heat of battle—was like no other. He loved it.

  A light fell on him and he turned to see Maid Kris on the stairs holding the soldier's Rorynex toward him. "Why didn't you just kill him?"

  "I didn't want to."

  She lowered the flashlight beam so he could see the stairs. "Point the light back up here," he said. She did, and he used the beam to find a set of keys on the soldier's belt. "All right, let's go."

  22

  Portent, Gibson

  Principality of Gibson, Free Worlds League

  28 February 3055

  Explosions from street level traveled through the foundations of the building. Thick dust floated across the flashlight's beam as they made their way through the basement passages.

  They found the cell area quickly, then located Precentor Blane, the only prisoner, in the last cell. Masters shined the flashlight's beam through the door's small window and over the Precentor's face. The man's elaborate, curled mustache seemed to glow white.

  "Are you all right, sir?" Masters asked, and moved the light so that it illuminated his own face.

  "Blake's ghost," Precentor Blane said. "Sir Masters, what are you doing here? Half the planet is after you."

  "I thought I'd save them the trouble," he said, using one of the keys on the soldier's ring to open the lock.

  Precentor Blane walked to the door of his cell. "What's going on up there?"

  "A war. A short one, I think, but a war." Seeing Maid Kris as he stepped into the hallway,

  Blane greeted her and said, "Good to see you're all right. So what is it, then? Has the GFL invaded the city? I would have thought such a thing imposs
ible."

  "Actually, no. The GFL is right here," Masters said with a gesture to Maid Kris. "Hsiang, the countess, and Starling are going at it up top."

  Precentor Blane ran his hand through his thinning hair and stared at Maid Kris. "Well, this is a surprise. As for the other three, it's what I expected. But what started it?"

  "We did," said Maid Kris. "Come, we'll tell you about it as we go."

  * * *

  They left the building the way they had come. As they neared ground level the sound of the fighting increased in intensity. With a good shove Masters forced Precentor Blane's thick body through the crack in the wall, and then the trio made their way back out into the sunshine.

  "Oh," said Precentor Blane, his mouth round with grief, "Oh, my city."

  Where once the city had been a model of perfection, it now resembled a still photo of some war in times long gone. Fractures ran down walls. Stone blocks lay scattered about the street.

  "Come on," said Masters. "We've got to keep moving." They ran down half a block, with snipers taking pot shots at them as they moved, then ducked into an alley.

  "Where?" asked Precentor Blane with heavy breath,"Where are we going?"

  "To the hyperpulse generator station. The fighting will probably be heavy there, but we need you to get word to Thomas."

  Precentor Blane looked at him in confusion. "What word?"

  "We've got to let him know what's going on. Sir, do you know what the relationship between Hsiang and the countess is?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Oh, has she been carrying on with him as well?"

  "No, no. I mean the way they manage the world."

  "Well, no, actually. I've tried not to meddle too much in the local politics. In fact, until the refugees arrived, Word of Blake pretty much stayed out of the affairs of state. But then, we were a small bureaucracy at the time. Now we're trying to assimilate our people onto the planet. We're only starting to work with the government."