The Game Of Empire

by Poul Anderson

  "The crews of his ships had somewhat to do with it. Many died, many live crippled."

  "Sure, sure. That doesn't change the fact that Sir Olaf provided the leadership that saved us. 'Twasn't the first time he'd done that sort of thing, either. And still he wants peace. A strong and honest man on the throne, a man who's dickered with the Merseians in the past and made them respect him—maybe he really can give us what nobody else can, a lastin' peace. Maybe that really is worth all the blood and sorrow that Gerhart's resistance is costin'."

  "And mayhap not."

  "Who can tell? I can't. The Empire's had succession crises before. It'll prob'ly have them again in the future. What can we ordinary people do except try to ride them out?"

  "This crises may be unique." Targovi marshalled his words before he proceeded:

  "Let me give you the broad outlines first, details afterward. Terran personnel are not the only ones whom last year's clash left embittered. The Merseian captains were wholly inept. It wasn't like them in the least. Nor were the issues worth fighting over, save as a pretext for launching a total war against Terra, and everybody who has studied the matter knows Merseia isn't ready for that. Seemingly the eruption happened because their diplomats blundered, their lines of communication became tangled, and some hotheaded officers took more initiative than proper.

  "But once conflict was rolling, the Merseians should have won. They did have superior strength in these parts. Altogether like them would have been to break our defense, take this sector over, then call for a cease-fire; and at the conference table, they would have held higher cards than Terra. They would have come out greatly advantaged.

  "But they lost in space. Magnusson's outnumbered fleet cast them back with heavy casualties. We hear this was due his brilliance. It was not. It was due stupidity in the Merseian command.

  "Or was it?"

  They walked on mute for a spell, in the shadowy, steamy, twittering jungle.

  "Later will I explain how I collected this information from the Merseians themselves," Targovi said at length. "Some was readily available, if anybody had directed that statements made by war prisoners should be recorded and collated. Nobody did. Strange, ng-ng? The gathering of more exact, higher-level data put me to a fair amount of trouble. You may find the story entertaining.

  "Now I had also, in my rovings, picked up tales of things seen—spacecraft, especially, coming and going oftener than erstwhile—around Zacharia. This struck me as worthy of further investigation. No doubt the Zacharians have ever used their treaty-given privileges to carry on a bit of smuggling. Their industries need various raw materials and parts from elsewhere. In return, they have customers beyond the Patrician System. Why pay more taxes on the traffic than is unavoidable? The Zacharians never, m-m, overindulged in contraband. Rather, the slight measure of free trade benefited Daedalus in general. But of recent months, folk on the mainland or out at sea—on this horizonless planet—have marked added landings and takeoffs, offtimes of ships that belong to no class they recognized. They thought little of it. I, who put their accounts together, thought much."

  "You're worried about the Zacharians? Those cloned people? Why, how many of them ever set foot off their island?"

  "Not cloned, precisely," he reminded. Having rarely been on this globe before, and then as a child, she had the ignorance which follows from lack of interaction. She had better get rid of it. "They reproduce in the common fashion. But they are genetically near-identical, apart from sex. A hermit society, theirs, despite its far-flung enterprises. Nobody really knows what goes on inside it, unless they be other Zacharians dwelling elsewhere in the Empire."

  "Well, but, Targovi," Diana protested, "an individualist like you should be the last to think somebody's up to no good, just because they're different and value their privacy."

  "In times of danger—and the winds were foul with danger, already then—you cannot afford to assume that anyone is trustworthy. Certainly not ere you've investigated them. A shame, from the moral viewpoint; but secret agents cannot afford morals, either."

  "What'd you do?"

  "What doctrine called for, my dear. Having found all this spoor, I reported to my superior. As it happens, he was at top of Intelligence operations on Daedalus, Captain Jerrold Ronan. That was logical, when the Patrician System had never hitherto required surveillance of the truly intensive kind. What was not logical was Ronan's reaction. He forbade me to follow the trail any farther or bespeak it to anybody whatsoever, and ordered me straight back to Imhotep, despite the fact that this was an implausible move for a trader whose cargo was half unsold."

  "And you didn't give up!" Diana cried. "You took it on yourself to keep on trackin'. Oh, you are a Tigery!"

  "Well, it was irresistible," he said. "I had not flatly been barred from Daedalus, simply warned that I might be marooned—which was, itself, queer, for why should the sector command await any new emergency? In you and Axor, I found what seemed the perfect—stalking horses, is that your human phrase? Gently nudged this way or that on your innocent quest, you would draw attention off me. Never meant I to endanger you—"

  "Though you didn't hesitate to take a chance with us." Diana caught his hand again. "Don't you mind. I don't. And who'd want to shoot at gentle old Axor? Killin' him would be a contract job anyway."

  Fangs flashed as Targovi grinned. "What a waste, him a pacifist!" Soberly: "Well, the rebellion began—not a complete surprise to us—as we were approaching Daedalus. Needs must I pounce on my decision. We could return to Imhotep and abide there, safe and impotent, while events played themselves out. Or we could plunge forward and land. Did we do so, then belike a computer program had my meddlesome self listed for indefinite detention. I chose to risk that. If I decamped, you and Axor should not suffer worse than inconvenience.

  "The rest of the story you know, until this day."

  They walked on. The trail bent out of the woods, toward the verge of the riverbank. Long green blades rustled under a slow breeze. They resembled grass, but were not. A few boats traversed the water. The absence of aircraft overhead had begun to seem eerie. Patricius was declining toward mists that it turned sulfurous, that veiled the distant sea. Although this was summer, and Daedalus has an axis more tilted then Terra's, daylight is always brief; or else, if you reckon the sun-ring, it is never absent.

  "Tell me about today," Diana said softly.

  Targovi did. She clapped hands together in glee. "Hey, what a stunt, what a stunt!"

  "Let us hope nobody looks too closely at the mise-en-scène." Targovi had acquired a good many-tag-ends of human languages other than Anglic. "I think your main part in the act will be to divert thoughts away from it."

  She squinted westward. "You aim to get us to Zacharia, then?"

  "Yes, and snoop about."

  "What do you think you might find?"

  Targovi shrugged with his tendrils. "It is a capital mistake to theorize in advance of the data. I have my suspicions, naturally. Clear does it seem, the Zacharians have close connection to Magnusson. For example, the lady Pele casually mentioned bringing in another person soon—which means by air, at a time when air traffic is restricted. Mayhap they've decided Magnusson will be the best Emperor, from their viewpoint. In any case, what support have they been giving him? Unmistakably, it's of importance. What hope they to gain? I doubt they nourish any mystique of the Terran Empire as an end in itself."

  "Who does, any more?" Diana mumbled.

  "Some of us deem its survival the lesser evil. But no matter that." Targovi paused. "Here is where I fall silent. Did I tell you my guess, you could well become tense, nervous, wary—and the Zacharians would see. They are not stupid. Ai, they are not stupid! For that matter, I seldom voice my thoughts to myself. They could be mistaken. I hope to arrive open-minded, no blinkers upon my senses."

  "How about me?" Diana asked slowly.

  "Relax and enjoy," he answered. "That will be your best service."

  "And keep ready." She tou
ched the haft of her Tigery knife.

  "And, aye, prevent Axor from blurting out awkward information," Targovi said. "Can you?"

  She deliberated. "M-m-m … well, he scarcely knows any more than you want him to. The main inconsistency, I think, is that you say you sold him passage to Daedalus—you bein' a huckster with an eye for any credits you could make—while he thinks you carried us out of benevolence. I'll slip him a hint that I paid you, from a bigger money stash than I'd admitted havin', for the sake of the trip. Not that anybody's likely to quiz him, but if they do, that should satisfy them. Otherwise … m-m-m … he did see you run from arrest in Aurea—Yes. Got it. You panicked because Tigeries can't stand long imprisonment. You were embarrassed to tell Pele Zachary that, because in fact the patrol soon caught you. Havin' been cleared anyhow and released, you followed us on an express boat the way you said." Laughter. "Yay, that should make you out to be the kind of half-civilized bumbler you want to seem!"

  His gaze drew downright respectful. "You have it, I believe." Just the same, he felt compelled to add: "Remember, do not let yourself get caught up in this. Play calm, play safe. The last thing we want is an uproar."

  "I understand," she said, "though I'll bet we get one regardless."

  Chapter 16

  The aircar came from the east.

  That meant, almost surely, from Aurea; and that in turn could mean trouble—fight, flight, outlawry proclaimed across the entire planet. Ordinarily Targovi would have felt no such forebodings. A number of vehicles still flew, some of them touching at Lulach, and they weren't all military. Not even a majority were. Civilian needs must still be served, if Daedalus was to continue providing Magnusson with the stuff of war.

  But Pele went to meet this arrival.

  At first Targovi knew no cause for apprehension. Rather, his blood flowed quick when she emerged from her building and strode off toward the airfield. He had grown weary of waiting. His stakeout had degenerated into routine, which never took long to bore him.

  For a large part of each fair-weather rotation period he settled down under a shading kura tree beside a main street. There he eked out his dwindled exchequer by telling Toborko folk tales to whomever would stop, listen, and eventually toss him a coin or two. It was quite plausible that he would do this, and the fact that his position gave him a view of Zacharia House signified nothing, did it? At other times he wandered idly about; when nobody was looking, he might scramble onto untenanted boughs from whose leafage he could invisibly observe; he seldom left the place out of his sight, and then it was by prearrangement with Diana.

  The girl passed her time in "a lot of pokin' around and people-watchin'," so it was no surprise that she occasionally lounged beneath the kura and followed the passing scene. Cynthians often paused to exchange banter with her. Several male human residents did likewise, and tried to get her to accompany them elsewhere. She accepted a few of their invitations, but just for times when Targovi would be on watch and—as they discovered—just to go sightseeing or canoeing or to a tavern for a little drinking and dancing.

  She had persuaded Axor to postpone acceptance of the job he was offered, in hopes of something better. He took rambles or swims that covered a great many kilometers, and else usually sprawled in front of a terminal screening books from the public database. When Diana asked him if he wasn't lonely, he replied, "Why, no. You are kind to think of me. However, I always have God, and am making some splendid new friends. All of yesterday I visited with Montaigne." She didn't inquire who that was, not having hours in which to sit and hear him.

  Since Targovi kept most of the vigils, it was only probable that Pele should set forth under his gaze. That was on an overcast afternoon, when odors of wilderness lay rank and dank in windless heat. Yet a tingle went through him. She had frequently emerged on errands that proved to be commonplace, or else to saddle a horse she kept at the inn and ride it away in the night, down game trails through the forest. He had been unable to track her then, and didn't believe it mattered. Today she walked fast, an eagerness in her gait that he thought he also glimpsed on her face; and the path she took among the trees wound toward the airfield.

  Targovi had been yarning to half a dozen adult Cynthians and the young they had brought. He was becoming popular in that regard. "—And so," he said hastily, "the warrior Elgha and her companions heard from the wise female Dzhannit that they must make their way to the Door of the Evil Root. Ominous though that sounded, Dzhannit assured them that beyond it lay wisdom—not money, as Terrans might suppose, but knowledge of many new things. Long and hard would the road be, with more adventures upon it than can now be told." To a chorus of protests: "No, no. I must not keep you past your sleep-times. Besides, it looks like rain, and better to stop here than in the middle of, say, a thrilling combat with the horrible, ravenous Irs monster. Tomorrow, my dears, I will resume."

  As he bounded off at the speed which high-gravity muscles made possible, he wondered whether he would in fact ever finish the story. Well, if not, maybe someday one of those cubs, grown up, would hear it on Imhotep and remember him; or, a fonder hope, another Tigery would come to Lulach and get a request for it.

  Pele had disappeared from view. That was desirable. She mustn't know she was being trailed. Targovi's tendrils picked the faint traces of her individual scent-complex out of the air. Yes, she was definitely bound for the field. He turned his pace into a soundless, casual-looking saunter that kept him in every shadow or behind every bole he could find. The intermingling of town and woods was a blessing to detectives.

  It was also the reason why cars did not lower themselves at their destinations, but required a landing field like larger vehicles. That was a paved hectare on the outskirts, with a couple of hangars and a repair shop for whoever had need. A wire mesh fence surrounded it against stray wild animals. Periodic charges of poison kept the Daedalan jungle at bay. Everywhere yonder mass crowded murky beneath the low gray sky.

  Pele Zachary waited at the gate. Hardly anyone else was in sight. The last part of the way here had been deserted. Nobody had reason to come nowadays, except to meet a specific flight. She must have gotten a call about this one. Targovi sidled into a thicket.

  The teardrop shape of a car glinted downward. He bared his teeth. It was coming not from the west but the east!

  It braked in racer style and dropped into a parking stall. A man got out, carrying a suitcase. He proceeded to the gate, where he and the woman kissed briefly before trading words. Side by side, they started toward the settlement.

  When they had gone by Targovi, he stole after them through the brush that walled the street. The turf that made a tough surface for traffic was genetically engineered to kill any invading growth.

  He required all his hunter's skill to move without rustle or crackle. It would have been easier at home. The dense Imhotepan atmosphere carried sound more loudly, but also let him hear better, providing added feedback. In Terran-like air he had often slipped small amplifiers into his ears. Those were in the secret compartments of Moonjumper, along with the rest of his specialized gear. He must make do with what nature had provided him.

  That was not a gross handicap. He heard almost as well as a normal human; and his tendrils picked up vibrations too, which gave him useful cues. They whom he stalked were speaking Anglic. The accent was unique, but Targovi was accustomed to a variety of dialects. He caught most of what reached him and could deduce the rest. It was not the sort of conversation that called for whispers. Whoever accidentally overheard a part would make nothing special of it.

  "I expected someone like Ares or Cernunnos," Pele was saying, "and sooner."

  The man shrugged. He was her male counterpart, aside from being apparently younger. His height was greater by some ten centimeters, shoulders more broad, hips narrow, build generally muscular and masculine; but as athletic as she likewise was, the difference became less striking than it might have been. The same smooth olive complexion contrasted with brief white garments, the same
brown hair clustered on a similarly brachycephalic head. His visage was distinctive, but almost entirely because of being a version of hers—larger, bonier, yet just as regular. When he spoke, his baritone had a harmoniousness of its own.

  "They didn't delay consideration of your word on Zacharia," he said, "but inasmuch as I was in Aurea, they decided to have me stop on my way home and do the further investigating. If nothing else, I might have picked up some relevant information."

  Targovi's pelt stood on end. The information could include those data he had been at such pains to suppress locally.

  Well, if so, he'd be forewarned, and would hurry off to make what escape arrangements he was able for himself and his comrades. That was what justified the risk he took in this shadowing.

  "Did you?" Pele asked.

  Straining to hear, Targovi blundered. A withe whipped past him and smote a stand of cane. Leaves swished, stalks clacked. The man halted, as instantly alert as any Tigery. "What was that?" he barked.

  Targovi was bound up the nearest tree. No human could have done it that fast. Besides his strength, he had agility, reaction time, and claws on his feet. Bark and vines alike he seized. A leathery-winged creature croaked alarm and fluttered out of the foliage.

  "It was only—" The woman went unheard. The man left the path and thrust into the brush, peering about, a hand on the grip of the pistol belted at his waist. Zacharians had various legal privileges … Targovi flattened himself on a branch.

  "You are too nervous, Kukulkan," Pele said. "We always hear animals blundering around. They aren't edible, you see, and they don't devour crops, so they're hardly ever hunted."

  The man satisfied himself. "No doubt you're right," he said. "I admit I am rather on edge."

  "Why?"

  He and she resumed walking. In a minute they would be beyond earshot. Targovi gauged his chances. He was no Cynthian, to try arboreal feats, but—He crouched and sprang. Soaring above the humans, he caught a limb ahead of them and did his best to blend with it.