Victory at all costs (Spinward Book 3)

by Rupert Segar

  The vid screen flared bright white once more as the final missile was destroyed. The Emperor read that it had succumbed to the triple onslaught of ion cannon. In three groups of five, fifteen missiles were launched towards the enemy ship. The targeted vessel was preparing to go to hyper drive. There was little to be done to prevent its escape. The conflict was over. The Imperial cruiser had won convincingly.

  The Brood King shifted its bulk to sit beside the dull metal box bolted on to the control desk. The spider lord’s mouthpiece head was half on and half off hanging on the corner of the table.

  “So what do you think of my little creation?” said the dismembered head.

  “The box appears to be a remarkable feat of cybernetics,” said the Emperor. “Your achievement even outshines the Sentinel.”

  “What?” grunted the mouthpiece. “This is no robotic trick, no box of chips, crystals and wires. Have I not told you that we spiders will control every space ship?”

  “My Lord, I apologise,” said the Emperor, abjectly. “I merely thought this automated box was the means by which your offspring would control our vessels.”

  “You fool! This box is not the means to an end, it is the end. Look!”

  At the far end of the control panel, ‘Mad’ Peter squatted on his haunches and pounded his chest like a gorilla. The Brood King, ignored his assistant’s antics and cracked open the lid of the metal box, folding it back on its hinge. Inside there were no wires, crystal chips or data boards. Instead, the entire box appeared to be filled with a black veined, green jelly. On top of the gooey surface there were three spiders, each with a body the size of a small bird.

  “Any one of my children can pilot this ship,” said the Brood King, patting each in turn with the end of one of his thinner legs. “Underneath the box are basic transformers reducing the power of all the inputs from the control panel. The low energy outputs from my offspring are similarly scaled back up again. Controlling something as crude as a space ship is really very easy when you are a superior species.”

  The Brood King closed the lid on the box.

  “Will your children stay in the box all the time?” asked the human king.

  “Of course, the green jelly is also their food. If that runs out they can eat each other. My children are dedicated to me.” The Brood King looked up at the Emperor. “You will turn over the two space bays on Orion for the installation of my little boxes.”

  At the far end of the control desk, ‘Mad’ Peter rolled onto his back and kicked his legs in the air, laughing.

  Chapter 12: Slave World

  Plymouth was the largest township on Arcadia. Nevertheless, the two story town hall was no bigger than any of the other 51 municipal buildings on the planet. Robert flicked off the flakes of snow before he allowed a young marine to take his coat. The doctor joined a queue of guests, lined up to enter main assembly chamber. Another marine in dress uniform scanned Robert’s ID chip in his arm.

  “Dr Robert Fillips of Plymouth” shouted an orderly at the entrance door.

  All the seating in the chamber had been removed opening up a large space 20 metres wide and 30 metres long. The public galleries on the sides were bedecked with two types of flags: a sheaf of corn against a green and white background, the flag of Arcadia; and, many more, black flags with the eagle and serpent, the insignia of the Empire.

  “So nice of you to come,” said the Intendant, shaking Robert by firmly the hand. “I would like to have a conversation with you, Dr Robert, as soon as this tiresome ritual is done; there are too many limp and sweaty hands to be shaken on Arcadia.” He pointed at one of his aides. “William here will introduce you to some of the elders, although I expect you know most of them already.”

  The aide took the doctor over to a group of self-important looking elders. Robert only recognised a couple of them. The new chief elder of Plymouth was there, predictably. The brown haired, portly, middle aged man had manoeuvred himself into the job when his predecessor died the month before. He waved imperiously at Robert and continued his oration.

  “… The other advantage of the new military order is that productivity rates have shot through the plastiform roof,” said the chief elder, who Robert remembered was called Atlee Clemence. “The demand for labour for construction projects means those left behind, in agriculture and industry, are having to work smarter. We now have businesses where four or five employees are doing the work of ten.”

  “Don’t forget automation,” said a woman in her fifties wearing a jacket over a white blouse and bright red sash. “On Falkland Isle, our sugar beet processing plant now requires no workers at all, just a repair engineer. She’s not even full-time, just on call,.”

  “There are undoubted benefits,” said another pompous man wearing a chief elder’s sash, “in Southampton, we have seen a 450% increase in metal forging. That is, of course, due to demand for parts for the new space yard. They tell me our workforce has nearly completed the construction, and in record time too.”

  “But at a cost,” said Robert, angry at the collaborationist elders’ enthusiasm for the occupation. “How many young men and women will have to have their arms or legs regrown? And how many have died?”

  “There have been seven fatalities,” said the aide still at Robert’s elbow, smiling genially, looking around the rest of the group. “It is unfortunate that sometimes rapid progress demands reasonable risk. These brave young men and women have set an example for others to follow. In addition, the heroic dead workers’ families have been amply compensated.”

  The chief elders looking on all smiled nervously. The town hall leader of Plymouth, Chief Elder Clemence, stepped over to Robert’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce Dr Robert Fillips,” said the brown haired man with a bright red sash. “He has a reputation for being somewhat outspoken. However, I understand, he has the ear of the Intendant. Unlike us, he does not have to deal with the pragmatic nature of politics. The good doctor may not always appreciate that what we do, we do for the betterment of our people.”

  “You all seem to be ignoring that we are now a slave world,” said Robert.

  “Very soon, with the efforts of my colleagues here, we will be a Protectorate planet,” said Clemence, grinning, with a smug smile of self-satisfaction.

  “Arcadia has already been granted preferred status in the bid,” said the aide. “Also, by royal decree, some Arcadians have already been made semi-citizens of the Empire.”

  Robert looked around the group. He was certain he knew who had been bribed with semi-citizenship; all the chief elders in front of him.

  “I am sure citizenship, in whatever form, will be a comfort for those of you who are no longer officially slaves,” said the doctor. “The rest of us poor slaves will have a long wait. My understanding is that it takes years, if not decades, to become a Protectorate.”

  “Ah the exigencies of conflict,” said the drawling voice of the Intendant, who had joined the group next to Robert. “There is a war on, so all the normal bureaucratic rigmarole of imperial administration goes out of the airlock. Thank Einstein!”

  The Intendant stood in front of Robert, with his back to most of the rest of the group.

  “Dr Robert, the decision about Arcadia’s future, slavery or protectionism, is down to me. Your political leaders have embraced the benefits of our, shall we say, Imperial intervention. My problem is deciding what’s best for the common man or woman, which is why I asked you here tonight.”

  Robert looked at the Intendant and then at the group of chief elders. The politicians all looked surprised by this announcement from the Intendant. Robert wondered what they expected him to say. The Intendant intervened by putting his hand up.

  “Dr Robert, this is not the forum for our discussion,” said the Intendant, putting his hand on the doctor’s breast. “I know speaking in front of this august assembly is rather off putting.” The Intendant winked as he said ‘august.’ “My aide,
William, will accompany you to my office.”

  As the aide led him away, the doctor could hear the Intendant addressing the fawning crowd of chief elders. Robert did not have a very high opinion of politicians. Even before the occupation, most of those who strove for high office were self-serving, more interested in feathering their own nests than looking out for the people. After the occupation, those few honest elders, who were rash enough to speak their mind, ended up before a firing squad. The combination of fatal stick and a carrot made up of semi-citizenship had persuaded every chief elder, who wanted to stay in office, to embrace the occupation. The Empire has already won over the politicians, so why does the Intendant need to speak to me? Robert asked himself.

  +

  In the Intendant’s office, a very tall, elegant woman in her thirties leant forward to place a tray on the occasional table next to Robert’s chair. As she put down the coffee and Greek sweets, her low cut dress fell forward revealing her ample cleavage. The sophisticated woman saw him glance at her breasts and smiled back at him. Robert looked away embarrassed. The woman walked out of the room, her long dress swaying as her hips moved side to side.

  “Ah, I see, Thea has offered you some sumptuous delights,” said the Intendant entering his office and sitting down on the sofa opposite Robert’s chair.

  “One of your slave girls, I take it.”

  “If only. I’ve always wondered what life would be like with a succession of slave girls each prettier than the damsel before. The Lady Thea, Imperial Spouse, to give her full title, is my legally wedded wife. And, before you ask, I have just one spouse. Thea likes to accompany me on all my campaigns. Two reasons: firstly, she likes to keep me on the road of virtue, hence the absence of slave girls; secondly, and more importantly, she reports directly to her great uncle, the Emperor.”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed that I am sitting opposite a man who is related by marriage to the King of Ten Thousand Worlds?”

  The Intendant looked at Robert for a moment with a dark stare, and then he laughed out loud.

  “Ha, ha, I expected to be impressed, Dr Robert, with the forthright nature of your oration,” said the dark haired man undoing the magnetic clasps at the top of his dress jacket. “It is certainly quenching after being floated in the sweet sycophantic sherbet spouted by your chief elders. They are the worst of all politicians. I’m afraid, doctor, due to the necessities of occupation, we shot most of the best, and the rest have gone to ground.”

  “What do you want of me?” asked Robert, worrying that he was beginning to like the Intendant. The despot’s language might be flowery but it was frank.

  “Well, Dr Robert, there are two things I want you to do, if you can be persuaded it is the right course,” said the Intendant getting up and pouring out two small cups of strong black coffee. The two saucers were ridiculously large compared to the tiny size of the cups. Onto each, the dark haired man loaded a selection of sweets from the tray. He offered one cup and saucer to the doctor.

  “You might find the coffee a little strong. Real coffee is an acquired taste.”

  Robert smelt the cup then took a sip. He immediately gasped and swallowed down the small amount of liquid in his mouth. Were the circumstances not so intimidating, he might have spat it out.

  “It is a waste but no matter. I am sure you will find my wife’s sumptuous delights are more to your taste. Try the broken orange peko jelly with almond. It’s my favourite.”

  Robert picked up the orange jelly and placed the small morsel in his mouth. Before he had even bitten into the sweet, the flavour was overwhelming; a cross between tea and fresh orange juice but more intense. Crunching down on the concoction, he tasted roasted nuts and an edge of aniseed. He gulped down the delicious morsel almost despairing that the delight was done.

  “If you are hoping to bribe me with confections,” said Robert, “you are doing a good job.”

  “Bribery with sweets is my wife’s occupation. But, seriously, I hope you will perform willingly the service I require of you.”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  “I want you to be a king maker,” said the Intendant, taking a sip from his coffee. “As I’ve already said our current crop of chief elders are a brown nosed lot of dishonest, self-serving toadies. When Arcadia becomes a Protectorate planet, we will all need to have a proper government. You have observed I said ‘when’ not ‘if’. Of course, I will be here for a while to, shall we say, keep a steady hand on the constitutional tiller. There are no rigid rules for the transfer of power but you would expect the administration to be made up of chief elders. Those who are currently at the top have risen to the surface of the body politic because they are scum. These corrupt councillors have served their purpose. I needed those who were prepared to make the changes we required. In a war, the sole purpose of a conquered population is to provide war materiel for victory. In short, we require your people to do what we want, as quickly as we want, and to be willing to do so.”

  “Making Arcadia a slave planet was not a good move if you wanted our willing cooperation,” said Robert.

  “On the contrary, it is standard procedure, a tried and tested way of eliminating all outspoken opposition. We have established the parameters. Now, we can relax the regime and appear as enlightened benefactors.”

  “Do you honestly think the people will swallow that?” said Robert.

  “Yes, the great majority will, especially when I declare Protectorate status. My wife now tells me, by the indulgence of her great uncle, the Kargol King, I am empowered to do just so.”

  “What about all the forced labour and the prostitution of our young women?”

  “These occupations will stop being, shall we say, compulsory. Of course many young men and women may want to continue in their new professions. You see our radical overhaul of your quaint yet inefficient economy has stripped away many of the old superfluous jobs. Those who want to carry on as construction engineers or whores will find their pay and conditions dramatically improved.”

  “And what is my role in this grand plan of yours?”

  “I want you to form the next government. You will not be part of the regime. We will give you a stand aside role like, let us say, Protector of the Protectorate, if that’s not a too repetitive a title. I want you to find a dozen or so of your best elders from a range of townships. They will constitute Arcadia’s new administration.”

  “What about the current crop of corrupt chief elders?” asked Robert, beginning to mimic the Intendant’s style of speech. “Won’t they protest at being pushed from power?”

  “I admire your alliteration, Sir, but as to your inquiry, I will answer it thus: they will not have any choice but to accept your recommendations and step aside. The thing about semi-citizenship is that it can be removed as easily as it is granted. And most will have seen enough executions to want to avoid that particular fate.”

  “So let me get this straight. You want me to go round the dozen or so biggest townships and find decent, right minded elders who would be willing to govern the planet on your behalf, to make your life easy.”

  “No, I want you to find the people who will form an efficient administration free from corruption. This government should work for the benefit of your people while fulfilling Arcadia’s obligations towards the war effort.”

  Silence reigned as Robert thought for a long minute. The Intendant waited patiently.

  “If I accept, there are conditions: you are to close down your so called recreation centres immediately and make sure the space yard construction workers are properly equipped.”

  The Intendant smiled. “I have anticipated your demands and have already confined the troops to their barracks. When the centres re-open, as is inevitable, the soldiers will have to undergo a re-education programme, improve their manners, and so on. As for the construction crews, a consignment of expensive, armoured space suits arrived this morning. Health and safety will be bywords for all our civilian workers.”
<
br />   “Then I accept,” said Robert offering his hand to the Intendant. “But what was the other thing you wanted?”

  “Oh, yes, it is a simple matter of the guardians,” said the Intendant, smiling but staring straight at Robert with a glint in his dark eyes. “They will try to liberate Arcadia. You were their contact when they came here before. When they return, notice I said when, please put them in touch with me.”

  +++

  “Dr Robert, something for you.”

  Robert was waiting for an elevator when he heard the melodic voice calling. He turned and found the Intendant’s wife, Thea, standing only a metre away.

  “Terrance, my husband, tries to be a good man. The cosmos is a cruel place and we all have to work within its rules, especially in the Empire, yes?”

  Robert looked at the tall, gracefully elegant woman. The Intendant had said she was the Emperor’s great niece. He wondered if she was the actual power behind the occupation.

  The Lady Thea, Imperial Spouse, waited for Robert to speak but he said nothing. She smiled and handed him a small wicker basket.

  “Please, help Terrance do the best he can for Arcadia. He is a man of great sensitivity.”

  In the lift to the ground floor, Robert opened the small wicker basket. Inside, nestled in crumpled sugared rice paper, were five broken orange peko jellies.

  Chapter 13: Surrender or Die

  “I suggest we have a little chat,” said Art addressing the imperial commanders facing him on the pilot’s vid screen. Art was pleased to see all three control rooms had subdued lighting, which meant he had disturbed them in the middle of the night, according to imperial ship time. In his triptych third of the picture, Vice Admiral Putin was closing the studs on his dress tunic; the other two officers, both captains, were properly dressed. They probably sleep in their uniforms, thought Art.