Princess Valerie's War

by Terry Mancour

  “To Sir Sam!” he said, raising his glass in toast when the bartender brought the drink and explained its origin. “It’s said you’re his kinsman?”

  Dawes smiled quietly and nodded. “I am,” he agreed. “Distant, but related. I’ll actually be leaving in a few weeks and taking his body home.”

  “And where might that be?” Nogal asked, conversationally.

  “Someplace distant and hidden,” Dawes said with a chuckle. “I’ll be taking the next Gilgamesh freighter that comes in and is headed in the right direction. They’ll see me to where I need to go. But excellent attempt, Sir Nogal.”

  “You know my name?” Nogal asked in surprise.

  “I’ve taken a lot of notes on Tanith,” the stranger confessed. “The Wizard will want a complete report, of course. Among them are the names and positions of important people within the Realm, yours and your father’s among them.” He glanced back at his notebook for a moment, and then looked up suddenly. “You’re a native of this world, correct? I’m curious about something, then: do you see the process of recivilization as a good thing, all together, for the common people of Tanith?”

  “Us ‘mudfoots’, you mean?” he asked, sourly using the derisive term some Space Vikings used for natives – and which had become his nickname back during Golden Hand training. “It has its points. I lost two sisters and a brother in childbirth, and almost lost my mother, before the Space Vikings came. My younger sister-mother is pregnant again, and she’ll probably get to keep that baby, thanks to civilized medicine.”

  “So it’s been a good thing?”

  Sir Nogal shrugged. “Yes and no. I guess it depends on where you are in Tanith society. My father is no longer the most powerful man in the land. I won’t inherit the most powerful kingdom in the world, just a prosperous barony with a tourist trap in the middle. So maybe it would have been better –for me – if they hadn’t come. But then again my father has a Prince to appeal to now in troubled times. Getting across the continent in minutes, advanced firearms, plenty of food and work for all . . . of course this has been a good thing for Tanith,” he declared. “If the Space Vikings hadn’t come, I’d be a spoiled noble’s son looking forward to the day I’d come to the throne of Tradetown. Now I’m a knight and an officer in an elite military unit, and inheriting that dreary old town is the last thing on my mind.”

  “Interesting,” Dawes nodded. “I’ll add that to my report. Thank you, Sir Nogal, you’ve been very helpful.”

  “My pleasure,” the young knight said automatically, and finished his drink. “And thank you, my lord, for your service to the Realm.”

  “Oh, I just make a few suggestions, when I see the need,” the Wizard’s representative dismissed. “It’s quite easy to do that, when it’s not your own planet. Your own service to the Realm has been more spectacular, I must say. Outstanding work with Spasso,” he said, raising his drink in toast. “You stopped him from doing something truly terrible. The chemicals he was mixing would have turned into—”

  “Cataclysmite,” Nogal said, his voice low. “I know. One of the most powerful non-nuclear explosives known to man.”

  “And he would have used it to blow out the foundations of the Planetary Building,” continued Dawes, “which would have set civilization on Tanith back decades. Until you stopped him.”

  “I let him get away,” Nogal said, guiltily, in what was almost a moan. “I had him, right there in my hands . . .”

  “Don’t let it bother you, son,” Dawes said, reassuringly. “You haven’t seen the last of him. You’ll get another chance to finish him off. I’m not actually a Wizard myself, but some things you can see without a crystal ball.”

  “I still feel like I failed,” Nogal said, sulkily. “My House, my father, and my Prince.”

  “Don’t look at it that way, Sir Nogal,” Dawes said. “Blaming yourself when you performed so gallantly is unworthy of you, sir. Think of it like this: you began this war as a mere pawn in the game. You took Spasso’s space and were advanced to Knight. And a Knight is a far more powerful piece than a pawn. A game-winning piece, potentially.”

  Nogal nodded – he understood chess. The game, at least, had survived Tanith’s centuries-long fall from civilization, and he’d played it as a boy with his tutors constantly. “And a knight can move in unconventional ways,” he added, feeling a little better. The man was right: self-pity and recriminations had no place in the Golden Hand.

  “That’s the spirit,” Dawes said, agreeably. “You’re just a few moves into the game. Give it time. Your chance to stick a dagger in Spasso is coming. He’s a nasty piece of work. To be honest, you’re lucky to have come away from the encounter alive.” Dawes shook his head. “The infamous Count Spasso. I’ve studied him as exhaustively as I can, from here. Quite the rogue – and he has some important connections to the halls of power, in some small way. In my opinion, he’s going to continue to be important, unless one of his own cut-throats puts a knife in him. Yes, Sir Nogal, you can count on seeing Count Spasso again.”

  “So, Mr. Dawes, I’m curious,” Nogal said, after he recovered himself. “I know that this Wizard you serve has a special interest in Tanith, and I have some idea of why.” He wouldn’t elaborate – he’d overheard plenty of discussion about the matter during his long shifts guarding the Royal Family, but propriety and security would not allow him to discuss the details. “But I would like to know just how committed he is to our survival? And what resources he can bring to us in this time of need?”

  “You know,” Dawes said, thoughtfully, “I wish I knew. I know that it’s vital to his interests for Tanith to stay out of Sword World hands, however. And Atonian hands, for that matter. So whatever it takes to make that happen, the Wizard will be committed to it. As to what resources he can lend . . . well, that will be up to him.

  “But as vital strategic points go, in the grand scheme of things Tanith is pretty important. I’m going to recommend that he make it a top priority. I can tell you that he’s been very impressed how Prince Lucas has been running the Realm, and that’s always a good thing. That was . . . unanticipated. In fact, Prince Lucas has become the largest unknown factor in all of this. And I think I can use that to persuade the Wizard to continue lending you further assistance. Intelligence, if nothing else.”

  “Thanks,” Nogal grunted. “And any word of Spasso, you send it along, won’t you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Dawes agreed. “Count Spasso. Another unknown factor that has had an unanticipated effect. As a result, I’ve studied him as exhaustively as I can, from here. In my opinion, he’s going to continue to be important. You can count on seeing him again, as I’ve said.”

  “Do you think he’ll continue his vendetta against us?”

  “Absolutely,” Dawes agreed. “He’s as vindictive and ambitious a villain as you could ask for. And that kind of villainy has a market, unfortunately. As Viktor continues to build his little empire from Xochitl, and tries to incite the Sword Worlds, you can count on a man of Spasso’s talents and experience to find a patron in his orbit.”

  “Then I will have to hunt him down before he becomes a problem,” Nogal said, with an air of resolve. “After I heal, of course,” he added, reluctantly.

  “Good hunting,” Dawes said. “And having seen you Golden Hand in action, I have every confidence that you will find him. And may whatever gods he prays to have mercy on his soul when you do.”

  Chapter Seventeen:

  Tanith Goes To War

  Sir Boake, Count Valkanhayn, Captain of the Space Scourge smiled as the ship faded into view as it came out of hyperspace. The coordinates and schedule that Mardukan Naval Intelligence had provided – unofficially, of course – were as accurate as he could have asked for. The merchantman was only three thousand miles away, well within the range of the Space Scourge’s missiles.

  She was only a thousand-foot merchant ship, the Belvoir, six hundred hours out of Aton by way of Enlil, making a regularly-scheduled run to this far corne
r of Aton’s trading empire. Below the big blue-green orb of Nuit bobbed.

  He hadn’t wanted to come back to Nuit – he’d been here only a few thousand hours ago, when he’d watched the Queen Flavia and fifteen hundred crew incinerated by an Atonian patrol ship. But Nuit was the closest of Aton’s treaty worlds to Tanith, so it figured prominently in the smoldering war between the civilized power and the upstart Space Viking planet.

  The skies had been clear above Nuit when they’d arrived – there weren’t any Atonian ships lurking around. If there had been, then they would have faced not just Valkanhayn’s ship, but the Golden Hand and the Moon Goddess. Both ships had departed for other assignments when it was clear their assistance wasn’t needed. After all, Valkanhayn wasn’t here to raid. He’d done that before the Flavia had been destroyed, looting Nuit’s coffers until his holds bulged. The Atonian-backed local government had screamed bloody murder, but considering they’d been running an anti-insurgency campaign against local opposition – and running it pretty brutally, considering the number of prisoners that Valkanhayn had liberated from its prisons on that raid – he didn’t feel sorry for them one bit.

  The Nuitians were generally a peaceful, pastoral people, cultivating a type of wool-analog from a native nomadic herbivore. They practiced a form of Buddhism called Vajrayana, whatever that was, and enjoyed a modest level of civilization before Aton had decided that they were a good candidate for exploitation. The modest theocracy that had ruled the planet for centuries was overthrown by local revolutionaries backed by Atonian soldiers and automatic weapons – the monks didn’t have a chance. Now the Nuitian Planetary Unity Party claimed to control the world for their Atonian masters.

  Of course, that meant that they were utterly dependent upon Aton for supplies and support, too. That’s why the Space Scourge had returned, to interrupt that vital artery. And that’s why he transmitted his screen code to the Belvoir using the Old Federation Universal Merchant Access Code, instead of Sword World Impulse Code. And in moments, the ashen face of the Belvior’s captain came into view.

  “Captain Hollister of the SS Belvoir, out of Aton,” the man said, uneasily, as he drank in the sight of Valkanhayn’s bridge. “Oh, God, did we get here in the middle of a Space Viking raid?” he asked, horrified. He wore the same gray tunic that every functionary in Atonian space seemed to wear, four tiny dots on his shoulder and a golden Atonian sunburst pin on his breast. But there were coffee stains on the front of the tunic. He even wore the silly little gray cap they favored.

  “Not at all, not at all,” Valkanhayn reassured him. “We’re not out here to raid the planet Captain – it was raided recently, and there’s not much left, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, thank God!” he said, visibly relieved. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Count Valkanhayn, of the Royal Navy of Tanith, commanding the Space Scourge,” he said, affably.

  “Tanith . . . Tanith . . .” the captain said, searching his memory. “Where have I heard . . . ?” Then his eyes widened even more. “Isn’t that where that Space Viking prince . . . was . . . ?”

  “Illegally captured, tried, and imprisoned from?” Valkanhayn said, finishing the sentence with a wicked grin. “Why, yes it is, Captain Hollister. Which means that my Realm and your sniveling little empire are at war. Which makes this communication, technically, a call for your surrender.”

  “My . . . but you said you weren’t raiding!” the other captain protested.

  “I said I wasn’t raiding the planet,” Valkanhayn pointed out. “I’m not. I’m practicing piracy, if you want to be technical. Privateering, if you want to be precise. My government and yours are at war. I’m taking your ship, Captain. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

  “I’ve . . . you can’t do that!” he said, in a panic. “I’ve got two platoons of Atonian army reinforcements aboard, a full compliment of passengers, supplies for the base, medicine—”

  “Which will all be used by the rebels in the hills who are fighting your puppet regime,” Valkanhayn said, smiling. “Not the soldiers and civilians, of course – they’ll be headed to a nice POW camp on Tanith. As will you. If you don’t choose to get everyone on your ship blown to Emceesquare,” he added, with a hint of menace in his voice. And Valkanhayn could present plenty of menace – with his facial scar, his scruffy demeanor, and his gravel-like voice; he had the art of the threat down to a science. And he was still quite irate with the Atonians for the destruction of the Flavia. He’d had a couple score friends who were now radioactive vapor, thanks to the Atonians.

  “I . . . I’ll have to inform the crew,” the captain said. “I . . . give me a moment, will you?”

  “Take your time,” Valkanhayn said, “all five minutes of it. Any more, and I’ll start lobbing missiles across your bow, and perhaps that will crystallize your thought.”

  “Just a minute,” urged the captain, leaving the screen. Valkanhayn looked over to his pilot, Lt. Com. Reedy Leath, a stout lad from Curtana who was adept at steering the mass of his ship around like it was a child’s toy aircar. “Reedy, you think he’s going to run?”

  “He won’t have time to charge his Dillinghams for more than a microjump,” reasoned the pilot. “Not after coming out of hyperspace so soon. So yes, I think he’ll try to run.”

  “Call the pinnaces in – let’s box him in to help him make up his mind.” Both of the Space Scourge’s pinnaces were deployed, the two-hundred foot craft having remained dormant and undetected in nearby orbits. It took only moments for the signals-and-detection officer to relay the order, and then the tactical board lit up as they moved into position around the merchantman. Captain Hollister got back on the screen mere seconds under the five-minute deadline. He looked anxious and defeated.

  “Captain Valkanhayn, I’m giving you my surrender. But the army captain is giving me problems – he doesn’t think we should surrender without a fight.”

  “He’d prefer to get the entire ship destroyed then?” Valkanhayn asked, casually. “Because I’m not about to risk my men if I don’t have to. Not over the likes of the Belvoir. Captain, I’d prefer to take your ship whole and intact, without a shot fired. But it suits my Princesses’ purpose just as well if I merely destroy you. I urge you,” he said, emphasizing the word, “to get those soldiers under control, or I’m afraid the consequences will be . . . unfortunate.”

  “I’m working on it!” the man nearly screamed – clearly, Capt. Hollister was out of his depth. “They said this would be a milk run! That Nuit had already been raided!”

  “And it has,” conceded Valkanhayn. “Now it’s being blockaded. That’s what happens when you steal our Prince. I guess you should have put in for combat pay. Too late for that now, I’m afraid. You have ten minutes to open your airlocks, or I fire my warning shot. After that, I’ll just start firing. That isn’t military-grade collapsium shielding on your ship by chance, is it? Because it doesn’t look like the Belvoir could stand more than a couple—”

  “I’m working on it!” Hollister repeated, and abruptly left the screen. Valkanhayn couldn’t contain his laughter – he didn’t envy the poor merchant captain’s position.

  It took another twenty minutes and a direct conversation with the Atonian army commander – a pugnacious infantry captain who finally had to grudgingly admit to surrender – but eventually both pinnaces docked with the ship while it was under the Space Scourge’s guns, and installed a prize crew.

  It took another eight hours to contact the rebels on the planet and arrange for both ships to put down in the extremely rugged hinterlands where they were based. Suspicious and trigger-happy, Valkanhayn himself had to go out and meet with him to convince the man that Tanith was merely giving the rebels a gift to fight their common enemy.

  The wizened old leader, a former monk in the previous government, finally understood that the crates of medical supplies and small arms that the Tanith men unloaded were his, without the need to trade or make any concessions. “Just poke a stick in
the Atonians’ eye,” Valkanhayn encouraged him, “while we kick them in the hindparts!”

  After that the rebels insisted on a brief celebration, which included an enthusiastic burning of the Atonian flag and assorted Party memorabilia. Once they realized that they had allies – real allies – in their struggle, the air of hopelessness they carried seemed to dissipate.

  Valkanhayn added an additional presentation of arms, as well: the two-thousand light militia rifles that Aton had secretly traded to disaffected Tanith natives, in an effort to start an insurgency back home. It tickled Valkanhayn’s sense of irony that they’d now be used against the very government that had purchased them, and once some arch bueracrat traced the serial numbers, that should play hob with their bloated bureaucracy. But with the company’s worth of battlefield weapons, the rebels could equip thousands of new insurgents. And that didn’t count the loot from the Belvoir, originally intended to be shot at them: submachine guns, light infantry support weapons, combat rations, first aid supplies, even things like a crate of five-hundred boots – they all would be useful to the insurgents.