“Please, be seated,” General Flora O’Donnell said. “There is little need for formality here.”
Leo nodded. According to the notes provided by Governor Brown during the long pre-negotiation negotiations, she was his military representative – although there had been no trace of her in the files. General was an Imperial Army or Civil Guard rank, but she wore the uniform of an Imperial Naval officer with the rank stripes removed. It was impossible to tell if she was trying to confuse them or if she had absolutely no right to claim to be a military officer at all.
She looked formidable, he had to admit. The General wasn't as muscular as Jasmine or any of the other female Marines, but she was definitely no slouch. Her hair, cropped close to her skull, was brown; her eyes were sharp and moved restlessly from Leo to Colonel Stalker and back again. It was impossible to be sure of her age, yet it was clear that she was old enough to be quite self-confident in herself.
Alistair Lockhart – her companion - wore his uniform loosely, as if it wasn't something he was used to wearing. He was a paunchy man, although there was a glint in his eye that reminded Leo of the Dean of Imperial University, a shrewd man who had made himself the master of a small bureaucratic empire. Leo had to tell himself, firmly, not to confuse the two men; the Dean had been an ambitious little toad, incapable of looking beyond his own interests, but Lockhart might be very different. Governor Brown had trusted him to negotiate a treaty, after all. The man had to be trustworthy.
Unless Governor Brown doesn't have many people he can trust, he thought, remembering his studies of the empire Admiral Singh had built. She’d sat on top of an edifice built of human misery and fear, ensuring that anyone who dared step out of line was reported at once by their fellows, who were rewarded for their betrayal. But when cracks appeared in her foundations, her structure had shattered remarkably quickly. Governor Brown might be no better than her, merely more willing to consider co-existence as a viable possibility.
He wondered, vaguely, just what they knew about the Commonwealth’s two representatives. The Empire’s famously-complete files probably included references to Colonel Stalker – although they would probably identify him as a Marine Corps Captain rather than anything connected to Avalon – but he doubted there would be anything on him personally. All of his work had been wiped from the Imperial Datanet when he’d been unceremoniously sacked from Imperial University; it was quite possible that he was a non-person as far as the remnants of the Empire were concerned. It still irked him that all of the copies of his first papers, including his own personal copies, had been destroyed. No matter what he did, he was unlikely to be able to reconstruct his first pieces of work.
“That is good to hear,” Colonel Stalker remarked, dryly. “Particularly as few people have any idea how to carry out a diplomatic meeting these days.”
Flora gave him a smile that made her seem years younger. “Very true, Colonel,” she agreed, lifting a hand to indicate the chairs. “Shall we be seated?”
She waited until they were all sitting down before continuing. “I meant to ask,” she added, smoothly. “Was your promotion confirmed by the Promotions Board or was it merely handed out by the Commandant of the Marine Corps?”
Colonel Stalker smiled, although his eyes were very cold. “Honesty compels me to admit that I do not know,” he replied. “I assume that the paperwork was handled in line with regulations. Even if it wasn't, the Commandant would have the authority to promote someone up to the rank of Major without requiring the Promotions Board to sign off on it.”
“It is hard to tell these days,” Flora said. There was a rueful note in her voice as she leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk. “Far too many people have been promoting themselves in the wake of the Empire’s fall.”
Lockhart cleared his throat.
“But my companion wishes me to proceed,” Flora continued, without missing a beat. “I believe that we should start with an assessment of the current situation.”
Leo studied Lockhart as covertly as possible. One of the other details the briefing papers had forgotten to mention – and he would have bet half his savings that it wasn't a simple mistake – was which of the two representatives was actually in charge. He’d assumed that the General was in command, but was it really Lockhart? And, if he was clearly no military officer, what was he? Secret Police? Or merely a trusted ally of the Governor?
“We have only heard rumours of the Fall of Earth,” Colonel Stalker said, unable or unwilling to disguise his interest. “It would be interesting to hear what you know about it.”
“The planet collapsed into chaos two years ago,” Lockhart began. He spoke in an accent that dripped of Earth. “Details are scarce; apparently, there was a food shortage, followed rapidly by a breakdown into civil war. There was a major exchange of fire above the planet’s atmosphere, ending when debris fell down and struck the planet’s surface. It was the end of the world.”
Leo shuddered. Earth had been building up its orbital installations for over five thousand years, a project that had started long before the Unification Wars. If a handful of the larger stations or habitats, particularly the ones built out of asteroids, had fallen out of orbit and impacted against the planet’s surface, the results would have been disastrous. Earth’s towering cityblocks would have fallen like ninepins as earthquakes swept over the planet. The death toll would have been utterly immeasurable.
There were eighty billion people on Earth, he thought. He’d known it was a possibility that Earth was gone – he’d worked out just how dependent Earth was on supplies from beyond the planet’s atmosphere – but he’d shied away from considering the possible consequences. Eighty billion – officially. God alone knows how many actually died.
Colonel Stalker leaned forward. Only someone who knew him very well would have heard the hint of ... fear in his voice. “And the Childe Roland? The Grand Senate? The Commandant?”
“We do not know,” Flora admitted. She gave Stalker a long considering look. “We do know that the Grand Senators started fighting before the fall – and that civil war raged through many of the Core Worlds. However, we do not know any specifics.”
Or are unwilling to share, Leo thought. The concept of keeping information private was not something that sat well with him, but he knew enough to know that it was done on a regular basis. After all, sharing one’s information with someone else might allow them to steal a lead and move ahead – and claim all the credit. Besides, if the situation in the Core Worlds was really as bad as they claimed, it was quite possible that they didn't know anything for sure.
Flora smiled, although it didn't quite touch her eyes. “As the Governor sees it, the Empire is gone and it won’t be coming back,” she continued. “That leaves us effectively independent of any central authority – and you too, of course. Do you agree with our position?”
“We certainly have no intention of challenging your independence,” Colonel Stalker assured them, calmly. He made a motion that suggested that he was laying something on the table. “We agree that the evidence suggests that the Empire is gone and that we’re effectively on our own.”
“Good,” Flora said. “It is our intention to agree on precisely-delimited spheres of influence between Wolfbane and Avalon. We do not wish to have any other form of treaty at this time, merely an agreement on borders and ... and on which worlds fall within which sphere. In particular, we wish to limit trading contacts between our worlds and your own.”
“The Commonwealth Government does not limit the activities of independent traders,” Colonel Stalker pointed out. “And, in any case, we do not control the Trade Federation.”
“The Trade Federation is a different issue,” Flora countered. “If you please, we need to discuss borders ...”
***
Endurance was one of the prime requirements for passing the Crucible and donning the Rifleman’s Tab that separated a recruit from a qualified Marine. Edward had marched and fought and marched again for days dur
ing the final examinations, somehow forcing himself to keep going when flesh and bone demanded rest. Few civilians really appreciated just how long a Marine could keep going, even without limited enhancement.
But if that were true, he asked himself dryly, why can't I endure more than a couple of hours of talks?
It was a relief when they finally separated for lunch, if only because the talks were going nowhere fast. The Commonwealth was going to be disappointed, Edward knew, if the representatives were telling the truth about wanting nothing more than delineating spheres of influence. He knew that the Council would accept that Wolfbane had political influence – just like the Commonwealth itself – but without diplomatic relationships it was hard to imagine it lasting. Besides, they knew almost nothing about the Wolfbane Sector’s internal structure. There was no way to know if Governor Brown was barring them from worlds he controlled or worlds he intended to take under his wing.
There was another possibility, he acknowledged, as they walked back to their section of the Imperial Residency. Governor Brown might be trying to parse out the worlds controlled by the Commonwealth. After all, there were quite a few worlds that had chosen to remain independent – or join the Trade Federation instead. The Governor might be quietly assessing their potential strength before launching an invasion – or merely satisfying himself that they didn't pose a threat.
“I wonder how many times we can go over the same ground,” the Professor mused, once they were back in the secure room. “They told us the same thing time and time again.”
Edward heard the disappointment in his voice and felt a pang of sorrow. The Professor had been one of life’s innocents, back when he’d been working at Imperial University. He’d learned hard lessons since, including the bitter truth that being right was no defence when someone wanted to shoot the messenger – or that power came out of the barrel of a gun. The Professor deserved much better ...
... But if he’d been on Earth, if the representatives had been telling the truth, he would be dead by now, along with his family.
Edward’s first deployment, after graduating from the Slaughterhouse, had been to a planet that had been struck by an asteroid. The civilisation had been nowhere near as compressed and integrated as Earth’s and it had still been torn apart by the impact. Millions had died in the first moments; millions more had perished over the following weeks and months as the effects raged around the globe. And that had been one asteroid, tipped onto the planet by a revolutionary cell. If all of Earth’s vast orbital network had been dumped onto the planet, everyone on the surface would die. They’d said that there were so many in orbit that they blocked out the sun, although Edward knew that was nothing more than hyperbole. Not that it would have mattered. Anyone who survived the first strikes would starve to death when the food supplies ran out.
“We can hold out for diplomatic relations as the price for considering establishing a border,” he said, pushing his morbid thoughts aside. Who knew what had happened to the Slaughterhouse? The Marine Corps had had enough enemies to guarantee that at least one of them would try to destroy the training world, once the Empire collapsed into chaos. “But we really need to know more about what territory Wolfbane actually controls before we agree to a fixed border.”
“And the traders won’t stick to a border in any case,” the Professor commented. “Mandy said that they’d go anywhere and do anything.”
Edward smirked. They’d said that about the Marines too.
“They may well be trying to assert their own authority over the traders too,” Edward theorised, pushing that thought aside too. “Or they may wish to separate us from the Trade Federation.”
He shook his head, tiredly. The Commonwealth had a small tax on HE3 and interstellar trade, but the constitution had been carefully written to prevent the formation of shipping cartels like the ones that had done so much harm to the Rim’s economy. Small traders were less efficient, but they weren't used as weapons against the colonies by interstellar corporations. Most of the corporations were gone now, or reduced to their local stations, but it was quite likely that others would form in the future.
But there was no attempt – there could be no attempt – to control the independent traders, let alone the Trade Federation. The Commonwealth could advise them not to enter space controlled by Governor Brown, but it couldn't forbid it. And, even if it could, Edward wasn't inclined to do it. The traders might be their only source of true intelligence.
He shook his head. “We've invited them to a formal dinner tomorrow evening,” he reminded him, instead. “By then, we should have time to go over everything they said and make our counterproposals. If nothing else, they should be amenable to using this planet as a permanent point of contact ...”
“If the locals don’t object,” the Professor noted. He’d taken the evidence of poverty and near-total neglect badly. “Or maybe we should set up a base in interstellar space we can use as a diplomatic station, now that we’re actually talking.”
Edward nodded as they reached the Residence and stepped through the doors. Lieutenant Coleman saluted, then ran a scanner over their bodies, looking for bugs or other unpleasant surprises. There was nothing, something that both pleased and worried Edward. It pleased him because it suggested that the representatives, for all their stubbornness, were being honest; it worried him because he hadn't been trained to be optimistic. He had to admit that it was quite possible that they were missing something.
“Get some rest,” he suggested, once the scan was complete. “We’ll discuss progress later.”
The Professor nodded and started to walk towards the corridor leading to his quarters. “And tell your wife to plan out a dinner for them,” Edward called after him. “She can source foodstuffs from the locals if she wants.”
“I’ll tell her,” the Professor said. “Can she go out into the city?”
“If escorted,” Edward stated, firmly. The planetary government would have to be insane to pick a fight with either diplomatic mission, but it wouldn't be the first time some rogue actor saw an opportunity and did something stupid. “Take a squad of Marines with you and have them escorting you at all times.”
The Professor didn't bother to argue, although Edward suspected that his wife would complain once she realised that she wouldn't be free of the Marines until after she returned to Avalon. Camelot had been a relatively safe environment; he rather doubted that Maharashtra was safe for anyone, even the higher castes.
He watched the Professor go, then looked over at Coleman. “Is there any update from the garrison?”
“They’re deploying most of the CEF near the causeway,” Coleman reported. “Apart from that, nothing specific.”
“No news is good news,” Edward said. Still, he had to admit that he felt nervous about being so distant from most of his command. “Anything else?”
“Private Doncaster was caught having his knob sucked by one of the servants,” Coleman reported. “The Major took a dim view of it and ordered administrative punishment.”
Edward rolled his eyes. Why was he not surprised?
Chapter Eleven
This requires an accurate understanding of the balance of power. Imperial China, for example, never really grasped the disparity between the Chinese army and the invading Westerners. Instead of using diplomacy to buy time and refit their armies, they followed a course that brought them into inevitable conflict with a vastly superior foe.
-Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.
“This place,” Jasmine muttered, “is far too like Han for comfort.”
She looked around her as the small patrol made its way through Jhansi, wondering – again – just how anyone could live in such conditions. Vast piles of rubbish were scattered everywhere, flies buzzing angrily over food and human wastes. The stench was appalling; she’d had to admit defeat and order her escort to don their masks, just to allow them to keep walking through the city. The older buildings looked decayed, as if the
y were permanently on the verge of falling down; the only buildings that seemed reasonably clean were a handful of temples and a couple of large mansions for local government officials.
The sea of human misery was horrifying. Jasmine saw hundreds of young men wandering listlessly around the city, many of them carrying makeshift weapons and trying to look tough and nasty. There were few young women; the handful they’d seen had clearly been prostitutes or beggars. The majority, she guessed, were kept firmly indoors by their parents, something that had also been common on Han. There was no hope of bringing a rapist to justice in such an environment, assuming the girl survived the experience. It was much more likely that she’d be blamed for the heinous crime of being raped and killed by her own family. Jasmine found the concept sickening beyond belief.
From what the garrison’s intelligence staff had said, Jhansi was technically under the control of the local government, but the rebels had a strong presence within the city’s boundaries, priming the local population for an uprising. Jasmine suspected that they were right, although the more she looked around, the more convinced she became that resistance had been ground out of most of the population. Even if there had been some fire left in them, the near-starvation – she had yet to see a well-fed person outside the upper castes – would ensure that their uprising wouldn't last long.
But then, Han turned into a nightmare very quickly, she reminded herself. This world might explode too.
She looked across at Emmanuel Alves as they made their way down the road and out of the city, towards where they had set up their Forward Operating Base near the causeway. The reporter had been silent ever since they’d entered the city, barely taking the time to take photographs of their surroundings and what few people could be seen. Jasmine wondered, absently, if he’d been shocked into submission by the sight, or if he was trying to understand just what sort of people would do this to their fellow men. Even the Nihilists didn't try to grind an entire population’s face in the dirt.
The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores... Page 10
