Princess Valerie's War

by Terry Mancour

  “It’s our pleasure, Highness,” Nick assured her. “There is something else. From the Sword Worlds, this time.” He looked back at Karffard for elaboration.

  “A coded message from another one of my friends,” he explained, “I won’t describe the circuitous route by which it came, but it originated on Morglay, about thirty-two hundred hours ago.”

  “Why, that means its four months old!” she said, thoughtfully.

  “That’s actually pretty recent, considering the distance involved,” Nikkolay pointed out.

  “The gist of the report is that Morglay and Joyeuse are both beginning to build ships. And they both have considerable resources. Now, this might not mean much to you, Highness, but I consider that significant. One possibility is that there’s about to be war amongst the great houses of the Sword Worlds. That would likely be a good thing for Tanith, actually, since many of the Space Vikings have direct ties to one great house or another, and would be recalled for duty in a war like that. Or at least willing to sell their services as mercenaries at lavish prices.”

  “One possibility? And by the tone of your voice, one you don’t think is likely, I take it.”

  “No, as much as I hate to say it, I don’t think that Konrad and his cronies would try to consolidate rule of the Sword Worlds under one house. As close together as the Sword Worlds are to each other, that is widely seen as a potentially disastrous move by all concerned. And since most of the royal houses are firmly entrenched in their thrones, none of them is likely to give up power lightly.”

  “So what is the more likely possibility?” she asked, her heart sinking.

  “There’s been a lot of talk lately in the Sword Worlds about just how vulnerable the Old Federation is to attack,” Nick supplied. “The fact that the Space Vikings seem to roam around, unimpeded, is convincing many back home that it wouldn’t take much to invade.”

  “Invade – whom?” she asked, startled.

  “Invade – everyone,” Karffard sighed. “It’s a fool’s dream, I know, but it’s a politically popular dream in the Sword Worlds. Blame it on our ancestors, who fought and lost a bitter war in the Old Federation, but there’s always been the idea that the Sword Worlds have a natural right to rule, especially over our ancestral enemies. It’s stupid and foolish – but it distracts the masses from the corrupt politics going on around them.”

  “But . . . but they couldn’t really do that, could they?” Valerie asked, surprised and confused.

  “Could they?” Alvyn Karffard asked, rhetorically, gesturing flamboyantly with his hands. “Of course not, they’d get bogged down before they got to the heart of the Old Federation. They don’t have an organizational structure or political will to seriously conquer. Would they try? That, my Princess, is a different story.

  “Between them all, the navies of the Sword Worlds have maybe eighty regular warships between them. Between those and the scores of independent Space Vikings they would enlist in the effort, they could make up a credible invasion force. And the report from Morglay seems to indicate that some, particularly Konrad of Haulteclere, are speaking more and more openly about the manifest destiny of the Sword Worlds, the legacy of the System States Alliance, and the need for a civilizing influence among the neobarbarians of the Old Federation, the divine right to rule, you name it, he’s screaming about it. He’s hauling out all of the old chestnuts.”

  “That’s . . . Great Satan, Alvyn,” she exploded, “that’s insane!”

  “That’s not insane, Val,” Nick said, apologetically. “It’s just far-fetched. I mean, the Sword Worlds can build all the ships they want, but it takes men on the ground to conquer. They just don’t have the population. It’s madness! Look, we’re going to continue looking into this, Highness, and we’re going to try to see behind the public blustering and political posturing and determine what the real motives of Konrad and Viktor might be . . . but I don’t have to tell you that an invasion of the Old Federation would probably be a very bad thing for Tanith.”

  “Or Marduk!” she exclaimed. She still found it hard placing her loyalties on Tanith, exclusively, any more than Lucas or Nick found it hard to forget the allegiances and sense of patriotism they’d learned on Gram. But a full-scale invasion . . . that would be bad for everyone.

  She knew how hard the Sword World folk could fight. She had witnessed it herself, when Lucas and his friends had swooped in to rescue her homeworld after her people foolishly elected a regicidal, power-crazed madman. The fighting had been brutal, not like the almost- gentlemanly combat employed between the civilized worlds. Parts of the Mardukan Affair had been real bloody street fighting with guns and knives and swords.

  She remembered Space Vikings plowing their way through the enemy-held city of Drepplin, demolishing the units of the rebel People’s Watchmen and looting their strongholds with business-like efficiency. To think of tens-of-thousands of such deadly soldiers in hundreds of such well-armed ships unleashed across the galaxy at once made her shiver involuntarily.

  “Yes, gentlemen, please look into this. There might even be a connection between Gram and Xochitl’s beef with Tanith.”

  “It is being explored already, Highness,” Karffard agreed as the two men rose and bowed.

  “One last thing,” she said, as her cold blue eyes narrowed. “Our . . . emissary from the Wizard. Has he given us any useful information?” On the same day that Spasso stole her daughter, a mysterious man appeared in Rivington, off of a Gilgamesher ship, declaring himself a representative of the enigmatic interstellar figure known as “the Wizard”. Since a man sent by the Wizard, Sam Gatworth, had sacrificed himself to save her and Lucas from Spasso’s first assassination attempt, she was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. But she was not in a mood to be trusting of anyone these days, least of all someone who refused any closer scrutiny.

  “He is with Duke Harkaman, Highness,” Nick answered. “On the Corisande, where Otto can keep an eye on him. And yes, he has provided at least some useful intelligence. The existence of a spy for at least one of the ‘civilized’ powers, right here on Tanith. He was hazy on details, but did provide some convincing evidence. I can get you the file, if you like.”

  “No need. What about anything about Spasso? Does he know anything?” she asked, her voice tinted with desperation.

  “No, Highness,” admitted Karffard, quietly. “Though he had plenty to say about the Great Powers of the Old Federation. Apparently the Wizard’s crystal ball doesn’t extend to Spasso. He did venture an opinion that Spasso was probably acting without the consent or endorsement of anyone in the Sword Worlds. I happen to agree, but that is no proof of his trustworthiness.”

  “Thank you,” she said, hoarsely. “You both have been a continuous source of comfort and guidance, gentlemen. You have the thanks of both me and the Realm.”

  “Take care, Val,” Nick finally sighed, as he was about to withdraw. “Lucas will find his way home. We Trasks are as tough as collapsium,” he reminded her.

  “I’m more worried about the baby,” she confided. “Of course. I might even fly out to your place tomorrow and spend some time with my baby cousin, if Cecelia is game. I miss my baby-time!” she said, trying to sound cheerful, and failing.

  “She’d love nothing more,” he promised, giving her a kinsmanly embrace. “Perhaps you can take the baby out in the snow – he’d love that.”

  She waited until their aircar lifted and sped off through the storm before she let herself cry. But then she couldn’t stop, her tears falling like snowflakes.

  Chapter Three:

  The Trials Of Lucas Task

  “Lucas Trask,” the low, gravelly voice pronounced from the shadows. “Self-styled Sovereign Prince of Tanith. Former leader of the pirate colony inhabiting said planet.”

  “I think ‘former’ is a little premature, don’t you agree?” Lucas asked, peering fruitlessly into the gloom. His jacket had been roughly removed before he’d been thrown into a solitary little cell for
a day or so, and his shirt was half-way unbuttoned. His hands were bound behind him, bright lights shining in his face. As interrogations went, it was almost comically quaint. “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  “Me? Why, I’m your interrogator,” the man said, with a low chuckle. “I am the one who is asking the questions.”

  “And . . . you’re afraid of telling me your name? Because you fear any potential future retribution for this illegal and immoral act? Or are you attempting to create some sort of psychological suspense that you can leverage into fear, and thus break me down? Really, sir, that’s just insulting.”

  There was another chuckle, this one a little more genuine. “Very well, Trask. I suppose it won’t matter in the end. I am Wilhelm Blackmar, the Political Officer for this ship. My rank is unimportant, save that I outrank the Captain, if I need to. What’s most important is that I am the Planetary Republic of Aton’s representative, the agent of the Planetary Nationalist Party of Aton that will bring you to justice.”

  “Justice,” Lucas laughed bitterly. “You almost said that with a straight face. Come now, Mr. Blackmar, let’s be candid. After all, your government doesn’t send a fleet to capture ‘pirates’ far beyond your sphere of influence without an ulterior motive. Dressing up your gamesmanship with ‘justice’ cheapens the word. Show your face and let’s speak plainly.”

  “So be it, then, Trask,” Blackmar said, emerging from the darkness. He was a small man, but strongly built. Clean shaven, short hair, sharp nose and chin, and a thinning patch of gray hair, neatly cut, perfectly complimented the charcoal-gray service uniform he wore. “Since I doubt you’d succumb easily to simple interrogation techniques, we can begin with a casual conversation. Candor? That’s a dying art form, on my world. But I think I can manage. You are correct, of course, it wasn’t a sense of ‘justice’ that sent a squadron to capture you. You have made some enemies, apparently. Powerful enemies. Why, I don’t know.”

  “But you suspect,” Lucas said, cautiously. “I’d be very interested in what a man like you suspects would get powerful people on Aton angry enough with a man like me to spend money on a fleet to capture me. Kill me, I could understand, perhaps,” he conceded.

  “Mere speculation,” Blackmar dismissed. “Unprofessional of me. But if I was to speculate, I would have to say that you have upset the plans of many, many people, Trask.”

  “Just playing my role in the universe,” Lucas shrugged, as he thought furiously. “Political officer” was likely Atonian code for “secret police”; from the man’s age, bearing and manner Lucas felt that he was likely a career field agent, one whose ambitions were tempered by his caution, not his lack of competence.

  If he had persisted in the hot-lights-faceless-voices routine, then Lucas would have pegged him as a loyal party tool, someone to be endured, not engaged with. The revelation that his captor was willing to speak calmly to him, instead of – or at least before – torturing him told him that the man could think independently. While that made him more pleasant and reasonable, it also made him more dangerous and unpredictable.

  “As are we all,” Blackmar said, sympathetically. “Your real crimes, Trask, the ones who brought a fleet to find you, revolve around your sudden and unforeseen relief of Marduk, and the re-establishment of the Mardukan monarchy. No one saw that possibility,” he admitted.

  “Wait – Aton was involved in the Marduk Affair?” Lucas asked, surprised.

  “Oh, I’d hate to get a reputation for telling secrets,” Blackmar chuckled, “but considering where you are headed, I think it’s safe enough. Yes, Aton was involved. Or a faction of the Party was involved. Did you know that there are four competing intelligence and security agencies on Aton, Trask? Four. Four bureaus of spies, assassins, and secret agents, all working to keep the people of Aton safe, and secure our place in the future of the galaxy. I work for one of the two the public knows about. And while my office was not involved, to my knowledge, it’s commonly understood that one of my colleagues in another agency was. It was he, I heard, who introduced Andray Dunnan to Zaspar Makann.”

  “Great Satan!” Lucas exploded. “Why?”

  “Because of all of the so-called ‘great civilized powers’, Trask, Marduk is by far the most rotten and ripe to fall,” Blackmar said, leaning in over the table until he was just inches from Lucas’ nose. “It’s been a hair’s bredth away from decivilization for a century or more. It stands to reason that if it does fall, then Aton is perfectly positioned to assume its role and prerogatives – and most of its trading empire. Not to mention gain some strength in a leadership role amongst the other Great Powers.

  “Again, this is speculation, but it’s been long understood in certain circles that a revolution on Marduk would be good for Aton. Indeed, using your sworn foe as a foil was an elegant idea: not only was the regime transformed and the government destabilized, but the involvement of a cruelly oppressive – and undeniably insane – Space Viking leader like Andray Dunnan? That was inspired. I don’t know who was in charge of planning that operation, but I have a lot of professional respect for that man.” He sighed and drummed his fingers on the table before he spoke again.

  “But then you went and gummed it all up, didn’t you Trask?”

  “I like a lot of attention,” Lucas shrugged.

  “See, if Marduk had succumbed to the regicidal lunatics for six months or a year, letting political divisiveness gnaw at the strength of the Mardukan military, then a perfect little crisis would have been staged to goad them into a war . . . and then Marduk could be conquered and transformed from a moldy old monarchy to a bright, energetic democracy—”

  “Authoritarian dictatorship, you mean,” Lucas corrected. “I’ve read a lot about Aton.”

  Blackmar shrugged. “Our people vote. They vote for who we tell them they can pick from, but they vote, so we’re a democracy. But my point was, Trask, that the operation was well on its way – and then a twenty-ship fleet falls out of hyperspace and restores the monarchy. Not just restores it, but hands it over to a young, vibrant, visionary prince who isn’t in a position to be bribed, blackmailed, or bullied the way the former monarch was. Oh, no, Prince Simon Bentrik learned a trick or two from his Space Viking allies, Trask. From you in particular. He emerged from the Marduk Affair stronger and more independent than ever. And that, Trask, is what I suspect irritated a number of people in my Party.”

  “But why would Aton want to undermine Marduk?”

  “Historical reasons, mostly – we were a Mardukan colony, remember. There are always all sorts of important issues between a colony world and the mother world. Surely you have a few on your own.” Lucas considered the current state of war between Tanith and Gram, and further the problems that still entangled Gram to Haulteclere well over a hundred and fifty years after colonization. That was reasonable enough. “But I suspect that there are more practical issues, as well. Such as the domination of the Mardukan merchant fleet in certain corners of the galaxy, certain choice monopolies on trade planets, the usual meat and drink of the Great Powers. But the big reason is political. Aton has been decrying the Space Viking menace for over a hundred years now, ever since that fateful raid that brought our people together.

  “But then Marduk went and made friends with a Space Viking colony – and not just made friends, but made a military and trading ally. And that’s a problem, Trask. Because – and this time, I’m not speculating – I do know that a great deal of Aton’s Central Bureau’s planning is based on fighting Space Vikings, not trading with them.”

  “Fighting them? We tend to stay away from planets as civilized as Aton. Well, we do after Havilgar raided Aton. There’s lower hanging fruit out there.”

  “You still don’t understand,” Blackmar sighed, as he dragged a folding chair out of the gloom and sat to face Lucas. It was a lot easier communicating at eye-level, and Lucas suspected that Blackmar didn’t mind giving up whatever slight psychological advantages he’d have by remaining sta
nding. “The Central Bureau’s policy about Space Vikings has almost nothing to do with the potential danger that Space Vikings pose to Aton. Aton will fight Space Vikings not because they’re a threat to Aton, but because they are a threat to the civilizations of the Old Federation.”

  Lucas snorted. “What ‘Old Federation’? There is no Old Federation, any more, just a bunch of squabbling so-called civilizations jockeying for power and control over the poorer planets.”

  “At the moment,” Blackmar conceded. “But consider what might happen to those ‘squabbling civilizations’ if, say, a large existential threat appeared? Like the squabbling nations of Aton did, after our Space Viking horror—?”

  “The civilized worlds would band together,” Lucas nodded. “At least theoretically. And once you had them together, you could assume control.”

  “There are elements within the Party that feel the time is ripe for Aton to spread its influence more broadly, and more efficiently order the old civilizations,” Blackmar explained, diplomatically. “The time is ripe to re-assemble a new Federation, if the political will is there. Aton,” he chuckled, “is just supplying the political will.”