by Peter Grant
“So we’ll have time to receive our new ships and missiles from Marano?”
“Gods, I hope so! If not, we’ll be hard pressed to defend ourselves against whatever the rebels have in mind. They’ve gone very quiet on the military front – too quiet. They’ve got to be up to something, but the SS can’t seem to find out a thing.”
“What happens next?”
“I’ll watch that documentary over lunch with the War Cabinet. We’ll have to decide what to do about it. You heard me tell the Watch Commander at System Control not to permit transmission of its contents over any circuit. The Gods bless him for having the sense to call me directly on the hotline! I’ll have to see he’s commended for that. We’ll try to embargo the material until we can figure out how to deal with it – and of course we’ll do our best to stop it reaching Termaz. It would undermine everything we’re trying to achieve through Doctor Aldred.”
“Oh, Gods, yes! Thank fortune she left yesterday morning! If she’d learned of it before she returned to Termaz, it might have derailed all our careful work with her over the last three months.”
“Let’s make sure she doesn’t learn about it for as long as possible. Let her talk herself into a public position from which she can’t withdraw without destroying her own reputation. That’ll force her to quibble about its accuracy rather than attack us. We can use that to our advantage, not just on Termaz but at the United Planets as well.”
She stood up. “I can’t sleep now. I’m going to start putting down some ideas on how I can minimize the damage from my perspective – and I want to watch that documentary, darling. I know I’m not a member of the War Cabinet, but I’m sure you can make an exception for me.”
“For something like this, consider it done.”
She hesitated. “When word of this gets out – as it’ll inevitably do sooner or later – it’s going to outrage the conservatives in the House of Nobles, isn’t it? They’re going to demand you denounce it as a lie from beginning to end.”
“Yes, they are. If I don’t, they’re going to mobilize against me with everything they’ve got. In particular, they’ll insist that our original report on the destruction of the rebel capital was true and the rebel allegations are lies, no matter what evidence is presented. Too many of their own members, or their sons and daughters, were part of our invasion force. They daren’t let them be tarred with the brush of complicity in crimes against humanity.”
She nodded soberly. “If they’re going to be that angry, you’re going to be at even greater risk; so I want to take an additional precaution.” She explained what she had in mind.
He looked at her for a long moment. “You really think that’s necessary?”
“I don’t know, but I’d rather do it and never need it than need it and not have done it!”
“You have a point. All right. Go ahead.”
~ ~ ~
“Chief Sergeant Indic reports as ordered, Your Majesty!” The crash of the NCO’s boots on the marble floor rattled the old-fashioned sash windows in their frames.
Zeba smiled at him. “At ease, Chief Sergeant. It’s good to see you again.”
“And you, Ma’am. It’s been a while.”
She couldn’t help grinning. Such familiarity to the Satrap’s wife from a commoner would have horrified most people, but then-Staff Sergeant Indic had been the personal bodyguard to the late General Huvishka. It wasn’t his fault he’d been excluded from the General’s party at the Arena. He’d been vociferously grateful for her efforts to protect his boss, even though they’d ultimately been unsuccessful. As he’d comforted her later, “Sometimes the conditions are against you. Sometimes the enemy’s just too good or just too strong. Sometimes you’re screwed no matter how well equipped and trained you are or how hard you fight. The Arena was all of those things.”
He’d been injured in the same battle. At her recommendation, Rostam had appointed him to the Satrap’s Bodyguard before returning to Bactria, and asked him to nominate a score of combat veterans to accompany him. Together with others recruited since then, they’d worked wonders in reinvigorating, retraining and transforming what had become, by default, a largely ceremonial force into something much more combat-capable.
“How’s the training going?” she asked as she motioned to a chair in front of her desk.
“It’s going well, Ma’am. They’re not bad material – just improperly trained and poorly prepared for combat. Until we shook things up, their main focus was on drilling sharp and looking smart, but neither of those things ever won a battle. Some of them just couldn’t take the pace, and transferred out. Others decided they wanted to learn how to stay alive, particularly after we showed ’em some battle vids from Termaz. I’d say more than half the Regiment’s in good shape now, and we’re whipping the rest into line as fast as we can. It was a real good idea of yours to give us a training base far away from towns and cities. They can’t slip out for a beer. They have to concentrate.”
“I know that’s giving you plenty of opportunities to train in open terrain, but what about urban combat? That’s a more likely scenario for the Satrap’s Guard.”
“It is, Ma’am. A few of us put our heads together. We’re building a town in one corner of the training base; houses, shops, offices, even part of the Royal Palace. Instead of handing out punishment PT or extra drill sessions for making mistakes, we assign offenders to the building squad.” They grinned at each other. “It’s all simulated, of course, but it looks real enough for the purpose. We’re already running fire teams through parts of it. As soon as it’s finished we’ll start working with squads, then platoons, then companies. I don’t think it’ll be big enough to put a full battalion through it, but we’ll do what we can with what we have.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. Now, let me get to the point. I’ve got a problem. It affects the Royal Family at the moment, but it might affect this entire nation if things go wrong. I need the best man I know to handle it. That means you.”
He grimaced. “It already sounds like I’m not going to enjoy it, Ma’am.”
“I think I can guarantee that, so I’m not going to order you to accept. If you’ll volunteer, I’ll be eternally grateful to you, but it’s going to be your choice.”
“Sounds fair, Ma’am. What’s the job?”
She rose from behind her desk and began to pace slowly back and forth. “You know the protocol for a birth of a royal child?”
“Yes, Ma’am. They discussed it on the news when you podded your firstborn a few months ago. The transfer has to be witnessed and attested by two members of the House of Nobles, two from the House of the People, and two priests from the High Temple.”
“That’s right. It was pretty embarrassing, I can tell you, having to be naked from the waist down on a delivery table in front of them while the doctor removed my uterine lining and transferred it to the gestation pod.” She paused, stared at him, and burst out laughing. “Why, you’re blushing!”
“I guess I am, Ma’am. It’s pretty embarrassing just having to hear about it!”
She shrugged. “It’s been done that way for a long time. I’m told that a couple of centuries ago, a Satrap became impotent before he could father a child, and tried to pass off the baby of a friend of his as the Royal Heir. They found out about it a few years later when the kid got sick, and his DNA profile didn’t match his parents. If it hadn’t been for that he might have become Satrap. The witnesses are there to guard against that, as is the DNA swab taken from the fetus at the time of transfer. It’s compared to the parents’ DNA in front of the witnesses, to prove that the kid’s theirs, and the results are kept on the child’s permanent medical file. When it’s grown to full term, another swab is taken and the results compared to guard against any switch having taken place.”
“They really do go to a lot of trouble.” Indic sounded impressed.
“Yes they do. Another aspect of that is a special guard detail that’s appointed to watch over the fetus as it
grows to term in the clinic, and then during infancy. It goes on to form the basis for an expanded security detail when the child is old enough to need one.”
“Yeah, I saw the orders appointing a dozen of our people to the guard detail for your first child. They’re stationed at the clinic for the duration.”
“That’s right.” She sighed. “What I’m going to say to you now is utterly confidential and off the record, Chief Sergeant. If you ever talk about it without my permission, I’ll shoot you myself. Clear?”
“Clear, Ma’am.”
“Very well.” She spent a few minutes explaining the growing resistance to her husband’s reforms, and the upsurge in reports of plots against the Satrap. “We’re doing our best to keep tabs on the situation, but we probably haven’t identified all the disaffected groups. I’m pretty sure there may even be some officers of the Satrap’s Guard who aren’t exactly happy with him.”
Indic scowled. “Tell me who they are and I’ll see about arranging a ‘training accident’, Ma’am.”
“I might just take you up on that. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we believe there’s a genuine risk of a coup attempt – perhaps more than one, if the first one fails. There may also be attempts to kidnap or kill our first child, even prior to term. If there’s no direct heir when the Satrap dies, it opens the throne to other claimants. There are at least half a dozen with similar degrees of consanguinity. That means…”
“Yeah.” The Chief Sergeant’s voice was flat, deadpan. “That might mean civil war if none of them will back down in favor of someone else. It’s happened before.”
“That’s right. I – my husband and I – want to prevent that at all costs. We want to ensure that even if something happens to both him and our firstborn, we have a backup plan.” She took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m pregnant again.”
“But, Ma’am, your first child isn’t even born yet!”
“I know. This is all very unusual and irregular. However, if we can transfer this foetus to a gestation pod, using witnesses we can trust to keep their mouths shut, and guard it in a very secret place, it’ll succeed to the Throne if anything happens to its parents or older sibling.”
He sat down again slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Y’know, that’s pretty sneaky. It’s not a bad idea at all. You’ll certify the birth in the normal way, but keep it confidential at first, announcing it when you think it best.”
“That’s right.”
“What if you aren’t around to make the announcement? Sorry to be so blunt, Ma’am, but…”
“No, you’re just being realistic. There’ll be all the usual witness statements and DNA evidence.”
“And if others call the witnesses liars, and something happens to the DNA records?”
“I see you’re thinking along the same lines we are. We’ll defend against that in two ways. One will be to take certain trusted priests at the High Temple into our confidence. If necessary, they’ll announce that the Temple was aware of the birth and certify the child as genuine. The other is to have a very special guard detail to look after the infant in its gestation pod until it’s born, then protect it as it grows. We may have to keep it secret for some time if the risk is very high, so we need someone we trust absolutely to raise and command that unit; someone who can and will use his initiative and combat experience to do whatever it takes to protect the line of succession.
“Uh-oh. Why do I suddenly get the feeling that a target’s just been painted on my ass?”
She laughed aloud. “Oh, it’s so refreshing to hear real soldier-talk for once, instead of having to listen to so many pompous primping courtiers! Yes, Chief Sergeant. I’m asking you to accept that burden. I don’t trust anyone else to do this job. I need the best.”
He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I was right, Ma’am. I thought I wasn’t going to enjoy this, and now I’ve heard about it I already hate it … but because it’s you asking, and because I reckon Major-General Huvishka would have wanted me to, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m more grateful than words can say.” She grinned. “There are compensations. For a start, traditionally the commander of a royal infant’s guard has to be a Major.”
“Oh, no!” She was startled by the vehemence of his reaction. “Dammit, Ma’am, I’m no officer! A lot of ’em are noble sprogs, way better educated than I am and used to high society. I’d feel right out of place in the Officer’s Mess. I wouldn’t be able to talk to them, relate to them… no, Ma’am. I’m an NCO, and that’s what I’m going to stay.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “I can see you really mean that. I might point out that I’m from commoner stock, not the nobility, and I managed as an officer, but that’s beside the point. Very well; I won’t insist on your accepting a commission, but I’m going to twist the Regulations until they beg for mercy. They lay down that a Major has to command a guard detail like this, so I’m going to have my husband promote you to Sergeant-Major. That way a Major will be in command – just a hyphenated Major instead of the sort the Regs have in mind.”
He began to laugh. “Dammit, I like it, Ma’am! It’ll cause a fuss, though. That’s a two-step promotion for me. Some of the other senior NCO’s may be uptight about it.”
“I daresay you can sweet-talk them into a better mood,” she suggested, an impish grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye.
“Sweet talk, eh? That’s something I can honestly say I’ve never heard in the Army, Ma’am – apart from now, that is.” They laughed together. “Still, I can be real persuasive if I try.”
“I just bet you can! Select a dozen people for your guard detail – anyone you want, and more than twelve if you think you need them. I know the Regs list desirable attributes for the job, but I want you to pick men and women who also have combat experience and battlefield smarts; people who you’d be willing to trust with your life if necessary. If things go to hell in a hand basket, you may have to get the baby to safety in unknown circumstances. There may not even be a safe place to get to. You may have to move fast and think on your feet. I want everyone in your team to be able to do the same if necessary. As far as equipment’s concerned, make a list of everything you think you might need. I’ll see you get it as quickly as possible.”
“Sounds good to me, Ma’am.” He hesitated. “Some of ’em won’t want this job. If I can offer the carrot of a promotion to go with it, like you offered me, that’ll help.”
“Pick your team, bring me their names, and I’ll guarantee them all a one-step promotion right away. If you want one or two to get more than that, we’ll see what can be done.”
“Thanks, Ma’am. That’ll make things much easier. It won’t bother you that we won’t have an officer in command?”
“I’ll have you in command. That’s the most important thing as far as I’m concerned. At a later stage, if things quiet down, we can appoint officers you trust to lead the team; but you’ll help choose them, and have the right of veto over the final selection. What’s more, the Satrap will personally sign the promotion warrants for your entire team. That’ll make them Royal Appointments, so no-one will be able to be demoted below that rank or discharged from service without the Satrap’s approval. It’ll be a little bit of extra job security for everyone.”
“They’ll like that, Ma’am. When do we start?”
“The transfer to the pod will take place next week. You’ll have to be on duty at that time, and from then onward.”
A look of horror dawned on his face. “I won’t have to actually watch it, will I, Ma’am?”
“The Commanding Officer of the guard team is supposed to be there, but if you think that’s too much you can pick a female team member to stand in for you.”
He heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks, Ma’am. I know what to do when people are shooting at me, but watching that would be just too much!”
~ ~ ~
The narrator’s voice intoned, “And so a dark and savage
conflict continues. The blood of more than half Laredo’s pre-war population continues to cry out for justice… so far, without response… but the day will come.”
The image of the ruined city of Banka faded to black. Music swelled, a sorrowful lament for the dead, as the credits began to roll. After a few seconds Rostam clapped his hands twice, and the recording shut off. There was a deafening silence in the room. The War Cabinet sat frozen, most of its members still staring at where the now-inert holographic display had been projected.
Eventually Rostam stirred. “All right. We’ve seen it. Your thoughts?”
The Foreign Minister shook his head. “Your Majesty, quite frankly my initial reaction is to tender my resignation and return to my country estate. Maybe I’ll try my hand at farming again. I’m certainly not going to be able to do you much good in the interplanetary arena for very much longer.”
“That bad?”
“Your Majesty, if the rebels raised a fleet of warships and sent it into the Bactria system to destroy our entire space-based economy, all our asteroid mines and the Space Elevator and our orbital factories and power satellites and communications network, and then bombarded vital planetary installations like dams, harbors and bridges from orbit with kinetic projectiles… if they did all that, they still wouldn’t cause as much damage to us as this documentary will inflict. Producing it and the accompanying book was an absolute masterstroke of diplomacy. If the evidence they cited in the documentary is ratified as genuine by the United Planets…”
“So to put it in a nutshell, Simar, you’re saying we’re screwed?”
“That’s not a very diplomatic expression, Your Majesty, but yes, that’s about the size of it. In a year or two we’ll probably be under interplanetary sanctions. The rebels may even gain access to real warships now, not just converted freighters, because the UP is almost sure to call on its members to offer them support.” He twisted in his chair to look at the Minister of Defense. “I know you weren’t in office at the time, Griga, so I’m not blaming you; but I have to ask how it’s possible that our military could have committed such inhuman atrocities. Even worse, if they did so – which, on the basis of what we’ve just seen, I presume they did – why in the name of all that’s holy didn’t they destroy the evidence? That failure has handed the rebels more than enough rope to hang us. The late General Strato might as well have gift-wrapped it with that damn fool ultimatum to his rebel counterpart! Of all the idiotic, mindless, imbecilic…” He threw up his hands in disgust and despair.
