by Lindsay Peet
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We reckoned we had three days until the P. U. forces showed up. Although the Union had many communities scattered across the continent, for military purposes only Solip City was useful, because that’s where all the weapons and training were. Thus, the P. U. wouldn’t waste time rounding up militias from Paluta, or Cyron, Zembla, or any of those others; in fact, since the P. U. had been promoting complete reliance on the P. U. for security and control of tax revenues, they’d pretty much ensured that their allies could offer only moral support in this little war that was brewing.
So, we had three days to prepare a defense. During that time Wanliet, Lordano and I flew south on Aspe’s speeder to Chugtallis and found they were eager to pitch in. When we left next morning the Chugtallians had already outfitted one hundred men and horses, pack mules too, and they were all headed up to help out Caliuga City, figuring to arrive next day, just in time.
When we got back the quaint Caliuga we’d stumbled into a few weeks before had been transformed. Around the outskirts trenches had been dug with pointed poles bristling out, like spines on one of those animals that predators quickly learn to avoid. In another area men and women were practicing with firearms, although from what I’d seen in the forest skirmish I believed they were pretty accomplished already. Elsewhere riders were taking ponies through their paces, cutting, starting, stopping.
It wasn’t clear to me what the P. U.’s plan could be – if they came quickly it would be without foot-troops, which meant they’d have a tough time occupying the land. If they came quickly all they could manage would be a raid; devastating enough, but there wasn’t a lot of infrastructure to demolish. The crops could be burnt, but Solip City was a food importer, and any serious disruption to the food supply would cripple them, too.
All they could accomplish, as I read it, was assert their supremacy, squash the holdouts, and avenge their losses. Oh, and kill me and Wanliet. Don’t know how I left out that last part. Maybe that alone would be enough for them.
Under my direction the Caliugans put some work into subtly shaping the approach to their city from the northwest, the direction the attack would have to come from. By moving this, or building that, we would funnel the attackers into the zone that was the best defended. I’d never been in a battle before yesterday, but pretty quickly I figured out how I might give my side an edge, and where the safest places would be.
As I rode about this dreary business I reflected some on the crazy events since Mobahey, and how my strategy for armed struggle wasn’t much different from my normal approach –try to trick them, use their anger and force against them, make them over-confident and stupid. And never reveal your strengths until it’s time to use them. Where you’re weak make them think you’re strong, and where you’re strong make them think you’re weak. This wasn’t anything new for me, after all; I was seeing that war was just the con-game with the biggest stakes. Once I had realized that I came up with more ideas, like using the feinted falling back again as we had in the woods, to help the attackers allow their eagerness to overwhelm their caution.
So we finished up the day, and then scrambled to find the Chugtallians some quarters. The afternoon rain had passed, and they had tents, but that still left a sudden demand for latrines and water. It was funny – to have the services of a man’s body for a few minutes of death-dealing mayhem you had to accommodate all his bodily needs for days before and, if he survived, after. It’s an odd kind of package deal. We’d been so focused on the battle to come that we’d forgotten about the battlers that were coming. Ultimately, we scattered them into little groups, fed them, arranged emergency latrines, and put some up in homes and even in our little mansion. Wanliet and I shared my room, while Chugtallis’ mayor took Wanliet’s. I’m incorrigible, I guess, because I would gladly have shared with the mayor, but some thought it unseemly. As it was, Sirah’s visits were purely business, deployments and tactics, updates on forces and such, and as Wanliet and I still seemed to be in authority I was kept informed. The tension was nearing the boil, I was getting antsy and jittery and I had no outlet – I could only pace so much. I sensed it in Sirah also. But it wasn’t as if we could sneak off to the copse again and relive our first rendezvous; the way things sat we’d be lucky if we were only caught with our pants down, and not shot by a sentry. We did talk more, though.
“Have you decided if you’re going to stay or not?” she asked me.
“Still thinking. I believe your people are well set up to repel any attack, but if things go wrong I feel it’s essential that word gets back to the Empire about this planet, and what’s going on here. There are some very good people and things here, and I’d hate to see them all swallowed up by the Planetary Union.”
“One moment you say we’ll be fine, the next you’re figuring how to deal with a loss. Maybe that’s your way, Jaf, to try to play things out so the decision is made for you, but I don’t think that will work this time. Stay and fight, or leave, and don’t look back. Because, if you abandon us, and we win, and you try to come back here, I’ll be the one who wants your hide.” The fierce storm in her eyes underlined her words.
So that’s how it was. Wanliet and I could take our balls and go home. That might mean the P. U. might win, and Sirah might be injured or killed. I’d never see her again, never know her fate in any case. And should the PU lose, Caliuga win, and Sirah survive, I’d still never see her again. But I’d be safe, and home, and I’d eventually forget about her, I reasoned.
Or, I could do the honorable thing, stay behind and lead the Caliugans with Sirah in their battle for freedom. Again, Sirah might be injured or killed, and I might too, especially as that was kind of a major point of the whole invasion. Even if we won, having a ‘most wanted’ target on my back didn’t enhance my prospects. Can’t say I cared for that outcome much at all.
But if we won, and we both survived – oh what a glorious future I saw for us, anywhere! But was the chance of a happy life with Sirah worth the risks? Were the possible joys of watching her age, of seeing our lives entwine and entrain our children’s lives and so on to quiet oblivion, would it all be worth it? Looked at in a calm, dispassionate way, it was easy to make up my mind. I just had to restrain my hormones and ego, and I’d be fine. I’d out-distance those Valkyries.
