King David's Spaceship (codominion)

by Jerry Pournelle

“He has already been examined by Inspector Solon, and the man who struck him was an expert. There is no permanent harm. He should be joining us in an hour, perhaps less.”

  “Then get on with it.” MacKinnie sipped the bitter stuff, never as satisfactory as Earth Stock coffee. Only a few things were that you found among the stars. Men had colonized Prince Samual’s World nearly a thousand standard years ago, but they had lived on Earth for millions.

  “Tell me what you know of the plans the Imperial Navy has for Prince Samual, Colonel MacKinnie.”

  “Precious little. They appeared less than a year ago, and almost immediately settled in Haven. At first they didn’t interfere with the planetary governments, but then they made an alliance with your King David—”

  “Your king also, Colonel,” Dougal interrupted.

  “With King David. They helped you conquer the other city-states around Haven, and finally did for you what no Haven army had ever been able to do. They gave you Orleans. I don’t know who’s next, but I presume this goes on until Haven takes all of North Continent. After that … who knows, the Southies, I suppose.”

  “And then what will they do, Colonel?”

  “Your newspapers keep telling us they’ll help us, give us all kinds of scientific marvels, but I’ve yet to see any of them. You Havenites have kept them all.”

  “We haven’t, because there have been none. Every assistance the Imperials have given us has been direct, with their Marines operating the weapons and none of my people even allowed to see their new technology. Go on, what after that?”

  “Once you have conquered the whole blasted planet, I guess they take you into their Empire, with David Second as planetary king.”

  “And you find that unpleasant?” Dougal smiled.

  “What do you want me to say, Citizen Dougal? You’ve told me you head the secret police. You want me to say treason out of my own mouth?”

  Malcolm Dougal poured more chickeest, carefully, not spilling a drop, and took a long sip before replying. “Appreciate your situation, Colonel. If I meant you harm, it would happen to you. I need no evidence, and there would be no trial. No one knows you’re here but my most trusted men, and if you never leave this room, why, who will know it? I’m interested in what you think, Iron Man MacKinnie, and it’s damned important to Haven and the whole planet. Now stop being coy and answer my questions.”

  It was the first spark of emotion MacKinnie had seen in Dougal save for the slight tightening of the lips when he mentioned Earth. MacKinnie paused for a moment, then answered.

  “Yes, I find that unpleasant. I can think of more unpleasant things, such as domination of the planet by one of the Southie despots, but after what you’ve done to Orleans, damned right I find it unpleasant.”

  “Thank you.” Dougal was speaking in his normal tone, an apologetic note to his voice, but the resemblance to a rabbit was gone. Now he merely looked like a businessman. “Would you find absolute domination by an Imperial Viceroy even less pleasant?”

  “Of course.”

  “And why?” Dougal waved in an imperious manner. “I know why. For the same reason that you drink chickeest, bitter as it is. Because he is an outlander, a foreigner, not of Samual at all, and we belong here. This is our world and our home, and I tell you, Colonel MacKinnie, that we will never be slaves to that Empire. Not while I live and not while my sons live.”

  “So you hope to escape that by using the Imperial Marines and Navy to conquer the planet?”

  “No. I had hoped to do so, but it won’t work. Colonel, once their colonists and viceroy land here, King David will have no more influence over this planet than your sergeant. I thought you knew little of them. Few know anything at all.” He reached under the desk for a moment. Within seconds, MacKinnie heard the door open behind him.

  “Yes, my lord,” a flat voice said. Before he turned to look, MacKinnie knew it was Inspector Solon. The voice fit him perfectly, cold and toneless, like a voice from a tomb.

  “Bring that book, Inspector,” Dougal said quietly.

  “Yes, my lord.” The door did not close, and seconds later Solon crossed the room carrying a sheaf of papers held by a strange clasp.

  “Thank you.” Dougal dismissed Solon with a wave and pointed to the papers. “This is the only Imperial artifact we have been able to obtain. It appears to be some kind of work of fiction, about the adventures of a naval officer on a newly settled planet. But it also gives us much information about the structure of the Imperial government, just as one of Cadace’s best-sellers would tell them a lot about the government of Haven even though there’s not a line in it intended to do so. Do you understand?”

  MacKinnie nodded.

  “Then,” the policeman continued, “understand this. The Empire has several kinds of planetary governments within it. There is Earth itself, which is the honorary capital, but is mostly uninhabitable because of the aftermath of the Seccession Wars. For their own reasons they keep some institutions including their naval and military academies there, but the real capital is called Sparta, and is in another planetary system entirely. After the capitals there are what they call Member Kingdoms, which are planetary governments strong enough to give the Imperial Navy a good fight if the Empire tried to interfere with their internal affairs.”

  “All monarchies?” Nathan asked.

  “There is at least one republic. Many are monarchies.” Dougal sipped at his chickeest. “Then there are Class One and Class Two worlds. We can’t tell the difference between them, but they have less authority over their own affairs than the Member Kingdoms. They do have representation on the capital in one house of a multi-house advisory council, and some of their people are officers in the Imperial services. The two classes refer to some differences in technology which we do not understand, but the relevant factors are the technology levels when admission to the Empire takes place. They both seem to have something called atomic power which fascinates the physicists at the University, and their own spaceships.”

  MacKinnie nodded, recalling some remarks made by the drunken lieutenant in the Blue Bottle. He mentioned this to Dougal, who nodded.

  “Good,” Dougal said. “You are here because you overhead him. You see, Colonel, after the Class One and Class Two worlds, there’s nothing left but colonies. And that’s what we’ll be.”

  “What’s the status of colonies?” MacKinnie asked.

  “They have none. Imperial citizens are imported as an aristocracy to impart civilization. A viceroy governs in the Emperor’s name, and the Navy keeps a garrison to see that no trouble develops. The colonists end in complete control of everything, and the locals do as they’re told or else.”

  “How can they govern a whole planet against everybody’s will? What good does it do them to burn half the world to ashes like Lechfeld?” MacKinnie drank the last of his now cooled chickeest, then answered his own question. “But of course they don’t have to fight their own battles, do they? There’s always a local government ready to toady to the Imperials. Someone to do their dirty work for them.” He looked significantly at Dougal.

  Malcolm Dougal pretended not to notice. “Yes. There is always one. If not King David, then one of the Southie despots. But it won’t happen, MacKinnie. I’ve found a way to win this fight and get Class Two status for Samual. I’ve found a way, a chance, but I can’t do it alone. I need your help.” Dougal leaned across the desk looking intently at Nathan MacKinnie.

  Colonel MacKinnie stood, slowly, stretching to his full height before lifting the copper pitcher and pouring another mug of chickeest. Still moving very carefully, he strode to the couch, examined Stark for a moment, then returned to his chair. “Have you a pipe and ’robac, my lord?” he asked. “This promises to be quite a night. … Why me?”

  “I hadn’t intended it to be you until tonight. I had no real plan before, merely studied a series of actions I might be able to take, made preparations for an opportunity, any opportunity, but now that young fool has told us how to
save the state. You heard him, of course.”

  “If I did, I didn’t understand. What are you going to do?”

  “But you must have heard him. You were there when he babbled about the Old Empire library on a planet at the Eye of the Needle.”

  MacKinnie thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, but I don’t see how that can help us.”

  “You haven’t thought about this for months, as I have. We found that book not long after they landed, Colonel, It took only a few weeks to understand most of the language. It’s not all that different from ours, at least the written forms, which is why the Imperials get around Haven so easily.”

  The policeman lit a ’robac cigar, leaned back in his chair, and glared at the ceiling. “Ever since I could read that thing, I’ve thought of little else but ways to escape this trap. There’s no way to avoid being part of the Empire, but by the Saints we can make them take us in as human beings, not slaves!”

  “If you had the book so early, you must have understood what they wanted before Haven made the alliance with them.”

  “Of course. It was on my advice that His Majesty entered the alliance. Unless we consolidate Prince Samual’s World under a planetary government, we have no chance at all of escaping colonization. And unless it’s under King David, I won’t have any influence over the planetary government, and you will pardon me if I think I may be better at this kind of intrigue than some of the, shall we say, more honorable men of the other city-states?”

  “All right,” MacKinnie said. “So you’re a master of intrigue. I still don’t see what we can do.”

  Dougal laughed. “You’ve drunk too much whiskey, Iron Man MacKinnie. Tonight and other nights. You’re not above a bit of duplicity yourself. You used several very clever dodges on us. Your record, Colonel — I have it here — your record says you are more than just a simple combat soldier. But it’s pleasing to be able to instruct you.”

  Dougal poured more chickeest. “That library is the key to it all. If we had the knowledge that must be there — our people at the University, and the industrial barons of Orleans and Haven, and the miners of Clanranald — what couldn’t they do? We could build a spaceship. A starship, perhaps. And by their own rules the Imperials would have to admit us as a classified world, not a colony. We’d still have to knuckle under to them, but we’d be subjects, not slaves.”

  MacKinnie took a deep breath. “That’s quite a plan.”

  “It’s the only possible plan.”

  “I don’t know — Look. Suppose it’s true. With knowledge, construction plans even, with a planetary government to bring together the technology of North Continent and the resources of South Continent, perhaps it could be done. Perhaps. But we haven’t the time. It would take years.”

  “We’ll have years. The Imperials won’t move until we consolidate the kingdoms. They’re in no great hurry. They’ve made it clear they want as little bloodshed and destruction as possible. I can see that it takes time to bring in all the city-states. That will give us time to build the ship. It won’t be easy, building a thing like that under their noses, but they won’t have very many people on this planet, and they won’t suspect a thing until it’s done.”

  MacKinnie shook his head. “I don’t see how you can keep them from finding out, but you’re better at that than me. But you can’t get at the library without a ship, and we can’t build a ship without the library. Even if we had one, we couldn’t operate it. There’s been nobody on this planet who ever saw the inside of a starship for hundreds of years. Until the Imperials came, most of the population thought that history before the Secession Wars was just a lot of legends. How in hell do you propose that we get to the Eye of the Needle?”

  “That’s the simplest part of the plan, Colonel. The Imperials have already offered to take us there.” He smiled at Nathan’s startled look. “They’re not all Navy and Military, you know. Some Imperial citizens are Traders. There’s one batch of them right now negotiating with King David over the rights to grua. They think our brandy will be worth a fortune on their capital.

  “They want platinum and iridium, too; those metals seem to be very useful to them and in short supply. But there isn’t much they can give us in return, because the Navy won’t let them sell us what we really want — technology. The Navy rule is, you can’t trade anything more technologically advanced than what your customer already has without special permission from the Imperial Council. We offered to buy those little devices they all carry around like notebooks. ‘Pocket computers,’ the Navy men call them. They seem to be machines. They can’t sell those.”

  “What can they sell?”

  “Not much, it appears. But they have offered the king transportation to a world less advanced than ours, someplace where we can try out luck at selling. They suggested a planet at the star we call the Eye of the Needle as the closest, and we are already discussing an expedition to go there and try to organize trade …”

  “The Navy will permit this?” MacKinnie asked.

  “Under conditions. Stringent conditions, I might add. We can’t take anything more advanced than the natives already have. The Navy inspects our trade mission and goods before we go to the planet. But they will let us go. It appears that the Imperial Traders Association has a good-sized block of votes in the Imperial Council. I don’t pretend to understand capital politics, but the ITA seems very influential. They can force the Navy to let us trade with that planet, Makassar, it’s called.”

  “Won’t they be watching to see that we don’t get near the library?” MacKinnie asked. The whiskey fog was gone from his mind now, but more than that, he felt useful again, as if there were something he might do which could not be taken away by a whim of fate. He listened to Dougal with keen interest, not noticing that Sergeant Stark was stirring on the couch to his right.

  “They have never mentioned the library,” Dougal said. “Until that young lieutenant babbled about it in the Blue Bottle, I never knew it existed. I think the library’s an anomaly in their records, hot listed as an advanced artifact because it’s so old and the people on Makassar don’t know how to use it. That’s only a guess. I do know they’ve been willing to let us go there.”

  Dougal paused and again looked intently at MacKinnie. “That leaves me with the problem of one Colonel MacKinnie, who knows about the library. I decided when I heard about it that we’d have to try to get the knowledge there, and since you know about the library, I’d either have to kill you or send you on the expedition. I don’t know how to get those books, and I’m not sure that anyone on this planet does know. But I’d rather have you on our side than dead. You were very resourceful against Haven, Colonel. Will you swear allegiance to King David and work for Haven now?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TRADER

  MacKinnie woke to the stale taste of ’robac and the sick feeling of whiskey in his stomach. He lay for a few moments on the caltworm-silk sheets, slowly recalling where he was. There were no windows to the room, and the only light was from a soft glowplate on one wall. To his right there was a rest room with marble appointments, and through it was a connecting door to a room similar to the one where he was lying. He knew it was there, because Sergeant Stark had lumbered unsteadily into it when they left Dougal’s office. They were in the same building, but beyond that MacKinnie had no idea of his location. The only doors leading outside the suite were locked, and he had no doubt that Dougal’s guards stood watch in the hall.

  He raised himself on one elbow. To his left a closet stood open, revealing racks of rich clothing. His own kilt and jacket, freshly cleaned and pressed, hung neatly on the door, and with them hung his service pistol. MacKinnie wryly slipped from the bed to examine it, not surprised that there were no cartridges. His watch was in the pouch hanging with his clothes, but it had stopped. He had no idea of the time.

  Now that he was up, he decided he might as well stay up. He took his time in the rest room, using luxurious shaving equipment and treating himself t
o a double dash of the most expensive lotions and powders he had ever seen. If all guests of King David’s secret police fared as well as he, there would be long lines of people hoping to be arrested for high treason, but he suspected there were more dungeons in the building than guest suites.

  As he finished shaving, Stark knocked at the door, then waited for MacKinnie to finish. The sergeant had shaved and dressed by the time Nathan had put on his kilt and was buttoning his coat. Stark seemed no different from the hundreds of mornings they had spent in garrison as he expertly straightened MacKinnie’s jacket and made tiny adjustments in the kilt and fall.

  “What have we got ourselves into, Colonel?” Stark asked. As he spoke he made tiny signals with his hands, indicating the walls, then his ears.

  MacKinnie nodded. “I’m not sure, but it beats chasing Southies. This could be a job worth doing. Tell me, can you round up some of the Wolves who can keep their mouths shut and act like Traders’ guards?”

  “Many as you want, Colonel. How many do you think we need?”

  “All of them, but I don’t think the Imperial Navy will let us take a regiment to Makassar.”

  “We’ll get as many as you want. Going to be funny calling you Trader, but I reckon I can get used to it.” Stark looked around the chamber, noting the carved wooden furniture, and the crystalline rock formation patterns in the parts of the floor not covered by carpets woven in the Archipelago. “Fancy quarters, uh, Trader, sir.”

  “Yes. Well, I suppose we might as well get on with it. We wouldn’t want to keep Dougal and Inspector Solon waiting.”

  “Yes, sir. Begging your pardon, sir, I hope he won’t go with us to that crazy place. Going up high like that, off the world even, that’s enough without that walking corpse to give me the creeps.”

  “He won’t be coming along. Nervous, Hal?”

  “No, sir, not if you say not to be. But I am having a little trouble getting used to the idea.”

  “That’s two of us. All right, Hal, tell them we’re ready for breakfast.”