Anna glanced back at Rebecca to see if LK had frightened her. She kept doodling, appearing to ignore the conversation. Anna knew she was listening to every word and filing it away in her head. She wasn't stupid, just being complacent. Best not to frighten her.
“I'd rather we try something than wait for Salena to pick her up here – in a bar mind you,” Anna seethed.
“I'm sorry. I didn't quite have child care in mind when I bought the place,” LK snapped back. “You should have made your own way to the space port after the attack on your apartment. I didn't ask you to stay. I've done the best I can do for now.”
Anna stood up and stepped quickly towards the table. She leaned over it, very much imposing herself on LK's personal space. That was a dangerous move towards an escaped Mason intelligence operative, but she was willing to take that risk, her fury that so great.
“Let me make one thing clear to you,” she began quietly. “Damien and I are not your concern. I couldn't very well just leave Filipov there and we couldn't very well take him with us either. He's more valuable alive. I put the mission ahead of my own personal agenda.”
LK peered at her, obviously uncomfortable with her proximity. The other players were politely trying to ignore the situation, but probably enjoyed the drama. Poker games were often punctuated by the antics of one player or another, but in this case this was the best they'd likely get.
“And where would you take Rebecca if you could get her off Magdeborg? Damien is off to Goteborg to fight the Dominion and you can't take her to any world owned by a house that swore its loyalty to Salena. What other house would willingly take her in? What corporation would risk its stockholder's loyalty to protect her? You're also neglecting Azuren inspections at every stargate. Unless you plan to take her out of the Commonwealth, she is no safer off world than she is here. We and the other Weathermen are your best bet,” LK said then tossed a few chips into the pot to try to get her to be quiet.
It was a desperate move and the other players knew it. They would take advantage of his carelessness. So would Anna.
“We are hiding here when we need to be aggressive,” Anna pushed. “Salena's not going to wait until we're good and ready before coming after Rebecca.”
LK sighed and scratched at his chin. “Have I ever explained to you my theory of poker and interstellar relations?”
Several of the players snickered to each other. They'd heard this before.
“The actions of groups, be they political, military, religious, whatever, and of people in general can be predicted -”
“Oh no, not the Permi Equation,” Anna moaned and collapsed into an empty chair.
“Well hold on now,” LK continued. “The Permi Equation is not set in stone. We have not identified all the variables, nor can we define those variables, yet. I'm not talking about mathematical equations, I'm talking about poker. Instinct, not math.”
Anna rolled her eyes,.“Poker?”
“Of course. It's all one big metaphor. The actions of individuals all the way up to the actions of entire interstellar empires can be predicted. It's all about power and the projection of power. Signaling.”
“I know about signaling.”
The dealer collected the bets then burned a card and put down the top three cards of the deck. The King of Diamonds, the Queen of Spades and the nine of hearts came up.
“But you don't know about poker. Let's take Bob for example. I know his stated power, the chips he has in front of him just like I know the power of House Mason or House Teton or whomever. I don't know what cards he is holding, that's his protected power, the secrets he's not letting anyone know about that can change the course of an engagement in his favor. But based on his actions, his signals I can take a pretty good guess. My actions will therefore be based on whatever I assume he is holding and on what I am holding and the stated power and how he uses it. That means I can try to guess his hand based on the timing and strength of his bets.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“So you said play aggressively. If Bob were playing aggressively he becomes easier to trap especially if he overplays his hand. If I force him into a trap, I can knock him out of the game. That's really the point of all politics, eliminate your enemies.” LK said then tapped his knuckles on the table twice.
Bob hooked an eyebrow then looked down at his hand again, perhaps taking LK's words into consideration. He checked.
“And what about the cards face up on the table?”
“Ah. Now we can bring the flop into play. The flop just represents the current situation that all players know. Salena is in charge of Magdeborg,” he said, tapping one of the face up cards in the center of the table, the Queen of Spades. “These cards represent the random events we can't control. Sometimes they are helpful to us, sometimes useless and sometimes they aid our enemies and we don't know it. Sometimes they help both us and our enemies, but one more than the other.
The dealer burned another card and placed down the Ace of Spades.
“The randomness of the cards can help us or harm us,” he said again. “We can't control what comes next.”
LK checked. Bob paused and considered the table then bet about a third of his chips. LK scratched his head and stared at the cards then at Bob. Bob was impassive, well practiced. LK shrugged then called the bet.
“You don't seem to be doing very well,” Anna said.
“I never am.”
The dealer turned over the river card. The King of Clubs.
LK checked and Bob bet again, pushing all of his chips into the center then sat back and said, “Listen to her, mate. You're out of position.”
Anna sighed and stroked Rebecca's hair. The girl was still busy drawing, pretending to ignore the conversation around her.
“I call,” he said and pushed in enough chips to match the other Theorist's bet.
Bob turned over two Aces giving him three.
“And so what are we supposed to do?” Anna asked.
Rebecca looked up at her mother and shrugged as if to agree with her: well you tried.
LK turned over his hand, two Kings, giving him four. Bob scoffed and muttered an expletive. LK smiled and drew in his winnings.
“We need a better hand which means we need some friends with a lot more weapons than we do.”
“So what exactly are we going to do about that?
“I'm working on it,” he grunted as the cards were passed to him and he began shuffling. “There's just one rule when it comes to poker and politics.”
Anna creased her forehead. “Which is?”
“Never play with the Azuren,” LK said, taking a long draw from his whiskey canter. “They stack the deck.”
Lord Damien Sten
Duke of Hidelborg, Defender of the Border, The Gray Knight
31 March, 23,423
Crimson Lady, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth
______________
When the Crimson reemerged at the Goteborg nadir point, the Azuren immediately sent patrol vessels to intercept. Their pilots demanded the ship stop and allow boarding parties to conduct their investigations. They were quite insistent, but after several terse conversations between Damien, Conrad and Dietrich and the Goteborg legate, the patrol ships were called off and the Crimson continued on her way to Goteborg Prime.
Most of the Dominion fleet that had carried Pershing and his allies here had been dispersed across the solar system and unable to mount an effective defense. Two small Dominion frigates moved out of orbit around Goteborg and fled to rejoin the main fleet. Behind him came the remainder of the Goteborg Defense Fleet, enough firepower to decimate the Dominion and hold Goteborg's system long enough to do what he'd come for.
An hour ago, several drop ships had been dispatched from the Crimson and were a few minutes from landing. Two of them were loaded with the Sten House Guard, fully rearmed, repaired and prepared for a fight. However, Damien was not about to order them into combat. They were there only to assist the Goteborg survivors i
n evacuating by providing them adequate cover fire. Then they would conduct an orderly withdrawal from the planet utilizing the Crimson and the civilian ships Damien had bribed or coerced into service.
At least, that was the plan.
“Nothing ever goes exactly to plan,” Damien murmured to himself.
“What?” Conrad looked up.
Damien blinked, suddenly remembering that his uncle was in the room. Conrad sat on the other side of his shuttle on a couch that had seen better days. Damien would have preferred to take one of his own shuttles, but the arrival of the army's Lord General on board a Sten House Guard ship seemed so much more symbolic. Conrad was correct in that regard.
Dietrich Sørensen stood at the window, watching silently. Damien nearly warned the man that the burn through the planet's atmosphere would be treacherous, especially for one so advanced in years, but Dietrich seemed to have no trouble and he'd have angrily refused Damien's advice. He had a replacement cane, but declined to use it. Stubborn bastard, Damien thought.
“Nothing, I was just thinking aloud,” Damien said, then leaned back in the chair. “Just thinking about the welcoming we're going to receive.”
“Has Aaron been in touch with you about the defenses?” Conrad asked.
“No. He knows to keep radio silence. The danger that messages would be intercepted by the Dominion – or the Azuren – is too great. He will deliver that report in person.”
“If he's still alive,” Conrad said quietly.
Damien shot him a look. Of course, the possibility that Aaron had been killed had crossed his mind, but he refused to allow himself to ponder it. Even though he spent hours watching the jumping flames, his mind would not think of contingencies as if it didn't want to accept Aaron's mortality. He was, after all, the closest thing Damien had to an heir. Damien had grown fond of the young man and helped train him while he was away from his late family. His daughter, Rebecca, was still too young. As much as he wanted, even considering begging Conrad Sten, he could not go back for her. For Ithix's sake, Salena may have found her already and killed both her and Anna. For a moment, Damien felt dizzy and gripped the edge of the couch to stabilize himself. To lose any of Aaron, Anna or Rebecca would be devastating. To lose all of them would be unthinkable. He might end up like his sister-in-law, Ciara Sten, babbling to herself and moaning endlessly on the frigid wasteland that was Anarrk.
Damien pushed the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time. “Yes. He is a good warrior and a capable captain. I'm sure he has left us something to work with.”
“The cities are burning, Damien,” Dietrich remarked quietly from his post at the window. “We were not able to avoid civilian casualties I fear.”
“Aaron probably mobilized the militias to supplement his forces,” Conrad said. “Even if he had all of the border troops at his command, he'd still be outnumbered. Even with the Guard and the few Sørensen warriors we have with us we'd be hard pressed to match Pershing in numbers,” Conrad sighed deeply. “I'm still amazed someone could coordinate his release and transport. Someone somewhere screwed up very badly.”
Damien nodded. The fact that Pershing had been sprung from a prison convoy was bad enough, but that someone had actually been able to get him across the border was even worse. Now here he was, leading troops against Damien once again. Capturing Pershing at was a major victory, one that should have knocked the Dominion out of the war. But Pershing's subordinates kept the army intact and now he was back at its head. He would be intrigued to see how Aaron fared against him. Aaron was no pushover, but Pershing was his better in every way. The report would not be good.
The shuttle slowed and veered in for a landing. They would set down in a military camp with a company of the Guard and send the remaining sections to other smaller units across the planet. The evacuation ships would land a few hours from now, after Damien had surveyed the situation. No doubt Pershing knew there were incoming ships, likely bringing reinforcements, but Damien hoped the empty evacuation ships would fool Pershing long enough and prevent him from making a last ditch push to annihilate the troops on the ground. It was a gamble that might just give them enough time to complete the evacuation.
The shuttle bumped as it landed on the uneven ground. Damien sighed and stood, feeling his vertebrae crack and pop. The pressures of atmospheric travel and high burn space travel were taking their toll. Damien didn't quite consider himself old, but he was not the young warrior he once was. The weight of the previous month's activities rested heavily on his shoulders and it was beginning to drag him down.
Damien led the two other nobles out of the ship onto the soft grass of Goteborg. The sun felt wonderful on Damien's face. Being cooped up in a star ship for so long was beginning to take its toll, but now Damien felt oddly at peace, despite being on a planet ravaged by war. He took a deep breath, thankful for something other than the recycled air he'd been breathing.
A few steps away were the officers in charge of the planet's defense who had gathered when they spotted the shuttle. Aaron stood at the center, Reyna on his right and Slader on his left. They all looked tired. Even Slader who at times appeared robotic in his demeanor, seemed to have had the wind taken from his sails. Aaron seemed to be purposefully ignoring both of them and Damien wondered what sort of confrontation had occurred between them. Even further from their group stood Lady Evers. Her back was to him and she looked across the plains at the other ships touching down and discharging destriers and other vehicles.
There were a few individuals noticeably missing.
“Where is Archduke Kristoffer? And the Princess Claire?” Dietrich asked, cutting directly to the point.
“Back at the base being kept under guard,” Aaron answered without much emotion.
Damien wondered if “under guard” meant “in custody.”
“We should see them as soon as possible. They don't know, yet,” Damien said.
Dietrich nodded. “Colonel, take me there immediately.”
Aaron looked at Damien for direction. He was now the ranking military officer on planet and Aaron once again deferred to his orders. “Have Reyna do it. I need a situation report.”
Reyna seemed disappointed that she had been assigned to babysit the Sørensen. Aaron waved her off and Dietrich followed her with a youthful cantor Damien had not seen in the man in years.
Aaron fell in step with Damien as he marched towards Lady Evers. Slader followed more slowly at a distance like a pet that knew it had done something wrong.
“Walk the Path, my Lady,” Damien said softly as he neared the Evers matriarch. He was uncomfortable with the religious greeting, but the Evers were a religious house. It rolled off the tongue now.
She turned to face the trio of Sten warriors. Tears had wet her face, but she still carried herself with grace. She seemed to be carrying the weight of the planet on her shoulders and they sagged visibly.
“You have arrived in time to save Goteborg, but not to save my family,” she said.
Damien took a breath. “You have my condolences. I arrived with all possible speed, but my sister's plans slowed us considerably. How bad are your losses?”
“Most of the professional sections have been broken and the militias are crushed. I don't think they even have a company of household troops left,” Slader cut in.
Aaron shot him a look of disgust at his abrupt interruption. Slader didn't bother to return the look.
“I am sorry, Lady. I am sure Amrah has taken your lost warriors into Paradise,” Damien said, invoking the Goddess he knew the Evers worshiped.
Lady Evers grunted. “Those words are empty coming from a Vagabond like you. We are finished and there is nothing left to save. Only Goteborg.”
Damien cleared his throat, awkwardly, ignoring the jab. “My Lady, I am very sorry to hear of your losses. I am sure we can help you rebuild-”
“Rebuild? Can you bring the dead back to life, my lord?” She asked, arms crossed.
Damien sniffed in indignation.
“My heir is dead. My daughter and over a hundred thousand others were murdered by Pershing's Vertoxx gas. Your own lieutenant,” she accused, pointing at Slader, “butchered an entire village of my people to prove a point.”
Damien raised his eyebrows in surprise. He looked over at Slader who didn't have the decency to appear ashamed.
“Is this true, Slader?” Damien asked him, though he already knew the answer.
“They harbored our enemies, my lord. They sealed their fate. We killed them and the Dominion warriors they protected,” Slader boasted.
Damien sighed inwardly. Aaron could not contain his cousin. His actions reflected on Damien and his army. Slader has gone out of control. I'll have to think of a creative way to punish him at the appropriate time.
“My lady, I am very sad to hear of the loss of your children. They were valiant people. I promise you, Sir Slader will certainly pay for his indiscretion on the field and, I suspect, indiscretion elsewhere.”
“Uncle,” Slader began, his voice suddenly cowed.
“Enough. Get out of here,” Damien snapped at him.
Slader growled and whirled, his black and red cape fluttering angrily after him.
Slader's done enough damage. What's the point of the people fearing Pershing if they fear us just as much.
“My lady, perhaps we should see to the defense of your world,” Damien said. Indicating the command tent. “Let's see what Sir Aaron has left us to work with.”
Sir Magnus Teton-Sten
Knight Scion of House Teton, The Iron-Handed
31 March, 23,423
Sten Palace, Magdeborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth
______________
Years ago, Magnus had stumbled upon a book, an illegal one according to the Azuren, about the benefits of properly kept gardens. Magnus couldn't recall why the book had initially drawn his interest, he was a soldier, he shouldn't care about gardens. Maybe he had a secret green thumb or maybe the thought of defying the will of the Azuren just intrigued him. He thought for a moment and recalled the foreign word: kaiyu-shiki, a strolling garden. It was included in some sort of ages-old philosophy about spiritual well being. Paths and bridges made of stone took the observer on a trek through the gardens. Uneven surfaces prompted the observer to look down at specific points, while other paths were intended for the observer to look up at ornaments or trees. The entire purpose of the garden was the improvement of the observers' spirit. The book claimed the best warriors were able to achieve sound body and mind. Some warriors wrote poetry, others painted and some philosophized. Perhaps that's why the Azuren banned such things, they encouraged too much thinking.
Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) Page 41
