Rise of the Terran Empire

by Poul Anderson

  "Clouds?" Falkayn said. "Oh, yes. So nobody who wasn't cleared for Top Secret could figure out where it is."

  "Its name among them was Pharaoh. Conveys that aught to you?"

  "No."

  "Maybe 'tis outside of known space altogether."

  "Hm, I doubt that. Explorers keep expanding known space, and might well come upon it. I'd guess Pharaoh was visited once and is down in the catalogues with a number, not a name, as a not particularly interesting globe, compared to most others . . . . Okay. The army lived and trained there, till lately it shipped out and found it was working for Babur against the Commonwealth and possibly against the League. Has that shaken morale?"

  "I really know not. My folk—like all true Hermetians—haven't gotten exactly intimate with them. My impression is that most of them still feel entirely confident. If anything, they're glad to lash out at a Technic civilization that kicked them aside. Surely the Merseians among them are. If any individuals do have qualms, military discipline keeps them quiet. That's a highly disciplined outfit."

  Athena bowed her head. "I'm afraid I can't tell you more about them," she finished.

  Falkayn laid his hand over hers, where it rested on the rail, and squeezed hard. "Judas priest, Mother, what are you apologizing for? You've missed your career. You should've been in charge of Nick van Rijn's intelligence corps."

  Meanwhile he could not help thinking what an epic the gathering of the host was. Somebody very high-powered had been at work.

  "Let's go on," Athena said. "I need to exercise the misery out of me."

  Falkayn flinched as he matched his pace to hers. "Yes, it must be a foretaste of hell, having to sit helpless day after day while—Am I correct in thinking the Baburites originally promised no interference in our domestic affairs?"

  "More or less."

  "And then, once they were firmly based here, they reneged; and they've been pouring in additional troops, stationed over the entire planet, to deter revolt."

  "Right. They planted a High Commissioner on us who's going ahead mostly as he pleases. If Lady Sandra gives him not a minimum of cooperation, 'tis plain he'll depose her and put us completely under martial law. But the poor brave lass stays on, with Christ knows how many struggles, in hopes of preserving some representation for Kindred, Followers, and loyal Travers . . . some part of our institutions."

  "At the same time, by remaining Duchess, she does give a certain cachet of legitimacy to his decrees . . . . Well, who am I to criticize? I'm not there on the throne. Tell me about this High Commissioner."

  "Nobody knows much. His name is Benoni Strang. That means naught to you either, not? Well, he claims being Hermetian, Traver born and raised. I did manage to have birth and school records checked, and they bear that out. Bad experiences early in life seem to have turned him into a revolutionary. But instead of becoming a Liberation Fronter, he went offplanet—got a scholarship from Galactic Developments to study Xenology—and nobody here heard a word about him for the next three decades, even his relatives, till suddenly he reappeared among the Baburites. He's very familiar with them, belike as much as is possible for an oxygen breather. But he's also been in topflight human circles; he's sophisticated."

  Falkayn frowned across the fields. A loperjack padded from a hedge and over the stubble, small furry shape whose freedom was untouched by ships and soldiers. "And he's taking this chance to get revenge. Or to right old wrongs, he'd say. Same thing. Does the Liberation Front cheer him on?"

  "Not really," Athena said. "Their leader, Christa Broderick, made a televised speech after the Commissioner proclaimed his intention of putting through basic social reforms. She welcomed that. Quite a few Libbies promptly resigned, declaring they're Hermetians first. And later, he's made no effort to enlist her organization as such; he's bypassing it entirely. She's grown resentful. Censorship won't allow her to denounce him openly, but her public silence indicates how she now stands. His Traver supporters are moving to form a new party."

  "I'm not surprised at Strang's action," Falkayn observed. "He wouldn't want a strong native group for an ally. He'd have to give it a voice, and the voice wouldn't always echo his. If you plan to restructure a society, you start by atomizing it."

  "He's said, through the throne, there'll be a Grand Assembly to draft a new constitution—as our present constitution provides for, you know—as soon as suitable procedures for the election of delegates can be set up."

  "Ye-ih. That means as soon as he can rig it, without being too blatant about the fact that everything's happening under Baburite missile launchers. Do you know what changes he plans to make?"

  "Naught's been definitely promised yet save 'an end to special privilege.' But we're hearing so much about one 'proposal' that I'm sure 'tis scheduled to be enacted. The domains will be 'democratized' and will conduct all their operations through a central trade authority."

  "A good, solid basis for a totalitarian state," Falkayn said. "Mother, I did do right to come back."

  She regarded him for a while before she asked, "What do you intend?"

  "I'll have to learn more and think a lot before I can get specific," he replied. "Basically, though, I'll take over the presidency of this domain as I'm entitled to, and then organize resistance among the rest."

  Appalled, she protested, "You'll be jailed the minute you reveal yourself!"

  "Will I? Unlikely. I'll come onstage with fanfare. What have I done that was illegal? Nobody can prove how or when I arrived here. I could have been meditating in a backcountry hermitage since before the war. And . . . the Shenna episode made me a standard-model hero. Never mind modesty—the fact has often been a damned nuisance—but a fact it is. If Strang's proceeding as warily as you tell, he won't move against me without gross provocation, which I won't give. I believe I can rally the Kindred and Followers, get them out of their demoralization, and appeal also to plenty of Travers. When the Grand Assembly is called, we'll pull some weight in it. Probably not much, but some. We may at least be able to preserve elementary civil liberties, and keep Hermes enough of a symbol of that that the Commonwealth can't bargain us away."

  "I'm afraid you're overoptimistic, David," Athena warned.

  "I know I am," he answered grayly. "At best, I'll hate the next few years, or however long the war lasts—separated from Coya and our kids, with the same emptiness in their lives—

  "But I've got to try, don't I? We can only lose all hope by giving up all hope."

  Falkayn had left Adzel and Chee in the woods before he hiked the last several kilometers to the manor. Among his earliest concerns was to get them safely tucked away without too many people learning about them, even at Hornbeck.

  Athena had been able to arrange it immediately. When the Baburites made known their intention to occupy, Duchess Sandra had distributed among trustworthy households those Supermetals personnel she had evacuated from Mirkheim. Athena took charge of Henry Kittredge, the ground operations chief. She sent him to a hunting lodge off in the wilderness. None but she and a few ultratrusted underlings who brought him his necessities knew he was there. He was delighted when the Wodenite and the Cynthian were guided—on their impellers, after dark—to keep him company.

  In the morning, the three of them settled down for intensive talk. Kittredge sat on the porch of the log cabin, Chee perched on a chair beside his, Adzel lay at ease on the ground outside with his head rearing above the rail. Sunlight streamed past surrounding trees, turning vivid what leaves remained, yellow, russet, white, blue. Animal life made occasional remote drummings and flutings that drifted through speckled shadows. Otherwise the air was quiet, pungent, a little chilly.

  "Books, music tapes, television," Kittredge said. "Chatter whenever somebody brought me more grub. It got lonesome. Worse, it got boring. I've caught myself wishing something would happen, anything, good or bad."

  "Could you not take recreation in the forest?" Adzel asked.

  "I've never dared go far. I might get lost, or come to grief
in a hundred unpredictable ways. This planet is too unlike mine."

  Chee flicked ashes off her cigarette at the end of its holder. "Vixen has a human-habitable hemisphere," she said, "including woodlands."

  "But not like these, except in superficial appearance," Kittredge replied. "Hell, you know that, as many worlds as you've seen." Wistfully: "Me, I'd settle for just seeing Vixen again, and never stirring my butt off it anymore."

  "Nor the rest of you, I presume," Chee muttered.

  "I sympathize," Adzel said gently. "Home is home, no matter how stern."

  "Vixen's a better place to live than it was," Kittredge said with an upsurge of pride. "Our share in Supermetals has paid for founding a net of weather stations, which we badly needed, and—Well, we've gained that much, whatever becomes of Mirkheim in the future."

  Chee stirred restlessly. "It may make a difference in determining what gets done with Mirkheim if Adzel and I can continue our mission," she declared. "Have you any notion of how we might get a ship?"

  Kittredge shrugged. "Sorry, none. No doubt it'll depend on how things are going elsewhere."

  "You must have some idea about that," Adzel urged. "You've spent considerable time here watching broadcasts, and must also have talked to Hermetians at length viva voce."

  Kittredge raised his brows. "Talked how?"

  "Never mind him," Chee advised. "He gets that way occasionally."

  "Well, I'm a total foreigner to this planet," Kittredge said. "And you two, what do you know about it, starting with its type of society?"

  "A fair amount," Adzel assured him. "David Falkayn discussed it with us, over and over. He had to."

  "Yes, I suppose he would," Kittredge said compassionately. "Well, then, as near as I can discover, the Baburites, through their human honcho, intend to mount a revolution on Hermes—from the top, though doubtless they expect to get support from the bottom. The whole scheme of law and property is to be revised, the aristocracy abolished, a 'participatory republic' established, whatever that means."

  Adzel straightened his neck and Chee sat stiffly upright with her whiskers dithering. "Chu-wai?" she exclaimed. "Why in cosmos would the Baburites care what kind of government Hermes has, as long as they're in control?"

  "I think they intend to stay in control," Kittredge answered. "Also after the war—for which purpose they'll have to have a pro-Babur native regime, since otherwise too much of their strength would be tied down here." He tugged his chin. "I figure this takeover of theirs is not just to forestall the Commonwealth's doing the same thing."

  "Which was a poison-blooded lie from the first," Chee snapped. "The Commonwealth never had any such intention, and the Baburites can't be too stupid to know that."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure. Van Rijn would have gotten at least an intimation, and told us. Besides, we come straight from the Solar System. We've seen what disarray the war effort is in there—military unpreparedness, political uproar, a substantial party howling in terror for peace at whatever cost . . . The Commonwealth is not and never has been in shape to practice imperialism."

  "Then why in the name of all that's crazy did the Baburites invade Hermes? And why do they want to keep it in the empire they'd build around Mirkheim?"

  "That is a mystery," Adzel said, "among other mysteries, largest of which is the reason for Babur's launching a campaign of conquest in the first place. What does it hope to gain? As a world, a sophont species, it can only suffer a net loss by replacing peaceful trade with armed subjugation. Napoleon himself remarked that one can do everything with bayonets except sit on them. Of course, there may be a small dominant class on Babur which stands to make a profit—Hro-o-oh!"

  He bounded to his feet. Chee snatched for the blaster she wore holstered. A car had appeared above the trees.

  "Easy, easy," Kittredge laughed, getting up himself. "It's lugging in extra supplies to feed you two."

  Adzel eased. Chee did so more slowly, as she inquired, "Isn't that a bit risky? An occupation patrol might notice."

  "I asked the same question," Kittredge assured her. "The Lady Falkayn said the family's always let its servants use this lodge when they're off duty if it's not otherwise in demand. Nothing unusual about them flitting here for a few hours."

  The car landed in the open before the cabin and the pilot got out. Kittredge recoiled. "I don't know him!" Chee's hand snaked toward her gun.

  "I'm a friend," the stranger called. "Lady Athena sent me. I've brought your food." He approached, short, stocky, weatherbeaten, plainly clad, with a slightly rolling gait. "My name's Sam Romney, from Longstrands."

  Introductions were made and hands shaken. Kittredge fetched beer and everybody settled down.

  "I'm a fisherman," Romney related. "An independent shipowner, but I've done most of my business with the Falkayns, we've gotten pretty close, and in fact, uh, a lad of yours from Mirkheim is currently being supercargo on a herder of mine out at sea. The Hornbeck pantries can't supply a bonzer your size, Adzel, not without making a conspicuous hole on the shelves. So last night Lady Athena sent a messenger asking me to come with a lot, explaining roughly how matters stand. She also thinks, and I believe she's right, she thinks it might be useful, when nobody knows what'll happen next, it might be useful for you to have outside contacts."

  "Perhaps," Chee muttered, coiled herself on a cushion, and started a fresh cigarette. Whatever harm had been done, was done.

  Adzel gave the newcomer a searching look. "Excuse me," he said, "but are you of the Traver class?"

  "Sure am," Romney replied.

  "I do not mean to impugn your loyalty, sir, but I had been given to understand that considerable conflict exists on Hermes."

  "The Travers on this manor can be trusted," Kittredge pointed out. "Otherwise I'd've been clutched weeks ago."

  "Yes, of course, the phenomenon of the faithful retainer is reasonably general," Adzel said. "And obviously Captain Romney is on our side. I merely wonder how many more like him there are."

  The seaman spat. "I don't know," he admitted. "That's one hell-wicked thing about having the enemy amongst us, we can't speak our minds out loud any longer. But I can tell you this, plenty Travers never swallowed that Liberation Front crock. Like me. I begrudge not the Kindred and the Followers an atom. Their ancestors earned it, and if they maintain it not, they can still lose it, fair and square. Besides, once a government starts dividing property up, where does it stop? I worked hard for what I have, and I mean for my youngsters to have it after me—not a cluttle of zeds who can't be bothered to do anything for themselves save fart in unison when their glorious leader says to."

  He took out a pipe and tobacco pouch. "Also this," he continued, "several Libbies have told me, because you know people will talk now and then regardless, confidential-like, several Libbies have told me they're not happy either. They want not change pushed down everybody's throats by those creepie-crawlies; and Babur's using a traitor like Strang to do it makes the whole affair stink worse. And they, the Libbies, that is, they've not been invited into any conferences. Strang's given them a glop of praise for the, what's he say, the noble ideals they've long upheld—ptui!—he's given them a few fine words, like a bone thrown to a yellow dog, but that's been it."

  Having stuffed his pipe, he applied fire before he ended: "Oh, we've got a fair-sized minority of yellow dogs, who're overjoyed at the prospects before 'em. I'll say to her credit, Christa Broderick, the Libbie leader, Christa Broderick's not among those. But what means that, save that the only thing she has left to lead is a powerless rump of the old organization? Maybe the Duchess will keep some small voice when the Grand Assembly gathers. But not Broderick, no, not Broderick."

  Adzel met Chee's eyes. "Partner," he said, "I suspect we had better make sure that before he reveals himself or does anything else irrevocable, David talks with Lady Sandra."

  XVII

  The image of Benoni Strang stated: "I am calling you about Elvander's Birthday, madam."
r />   For a moment Sandra could not brace herself. She had had to do that too often, until now she sat back and waited in weariness for the next blow. Then thunder resounded outside, she heard anew the trumpet of wind and march of rain, it was as if Pete rode by. She straightened in her chair and replied coldly, "What of it? The date is still a month off."

  "We're wisest to be beforehand, madam," Strang said. "My request is that you announce there will be no public celebrations of the holiday this year, in view of the emergency—that demonstrations of any kind are forbidden."

  "What? On our planetary day?"

  "Exactly, madam. The danger of emotions avalanching is too great. Citizens may quietly observe it at home if they wish; but we can't allow any large private parties either. Churches must be closed."

  No real surprise, Sandra thought. Yet her earliest memory was of her father holding her high above a crowd on Riverside Common, to see the fireworks cascade upward off a barge draped in flags. The water was alive with their light. "What if I don't issue your proclamation?" she challenged.