Princess Valerie's War

by Terry Mancour

  “Excellent,” Alexi said. “Then Farrinrose University is now declared a Strategically Important Resource, and is therefore seize-able under the laws of war.”

  “What?!” Chancellor Cintovera shrieked. “You can’t possibly seize a university!”

  “I think I can,” Sir Alexi assured. “I want a complete staff roster and list of students in my hand in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, every single staff member -- and heck, any graduate student -- should go back to their quarters and pack their bags and gather any essential notes and books. If you have any last-minute correspondence, you might want to finish that off, too.”

  “You . . . you’re going to kidnap the entire faculty?” Cintovera said, aghast.

  “I am accepting your surrender,” Sir Alexi corrected. “You do wish to surrender, don’t you? Or are you willing to defend yourself?” he asked, unsnapping the holster on his sidearm. The pudgy little man looked distressingly from Sir Alexi to his pistol to the ship overhead and the aircars buzzing around to the smoldering ruins of the clock tower in the main quadrangle. .

  “YES! Yes, we surrender! Just don’t hurt anyone!” he wailed, unhappily.

  “We don’t want to,” Alexi assured. “So don’t give me a reason to. If everyone cooperates, there won’t be a reason to. So go get that list, then go get packed, because this entire institution is about to be relocated to Tanith for the duration.” He looked around, and spotted a cluster of frightened-looking young women. “You,” he said, addressing them. “You don’t look old enough to be faculty, so you’ll probably be staying. Go fetch a desk for me out here, and a pitcher of lemonade or juice or whatever you people drink. This is going to take some time and it looks like a hot day. Scoot!” he added for emphasis, and the young women scattered.

  “No aircar will lift without my permission,” he called to the crowd at large. “Or it gets shot down. And don’t think you can escape through the forest -- my men are patrolling this entire installation, and they have orders to shoot anyone caught fleeing.”

  While the majority of the assembled gasped angrily at such a casual mention of violence, not everyone was suitably cowed. An aging woman with dark gray hair and spectacles boldly approached Sir Alexi, and even had the temerity to jab her bony finger into his chest.

  “You, sir, are nothing but a common thug!” she snarled. “This is an illegal attack, and I won’t stand for it!”

  “Madame, I am a soldier of the Princely Realm of Tanith, and my conduct has been in exact accordance with the commonly-accepted rules of war. Our two planets are at war. Now, I could have dropped a couple of tactical atomics on this place and be done with it, but considering what strong supporters of higher education my lieges are, I thought I would do them -- and you -- the courtesy of not evaporating every living soul in a square mile. As a Strategically Important Resource, that would have been perfectly legal and acceptable. Indeed,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “that’s likely what’s happening to the people around the new military base. My ship is attacking it even now. Of course, I could reconsider my decision . . .”

  The woman paled. “So what will become of us?”

  “You will be treated humanely, as prisoners of war,” he assured her. “We’ll voyage back to Tanith -- making a few stops in between -- where your ultimate disposition will depend on Her Highness, Princess Valerie, Sovereign Princess of Tanith -- and your own authoritarian and corrupt government, of course.”

  “We -- we won’t be . . . ravished?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “Of course not, Madame,” he said, chuckling. “You are prisoners of war and will be treated as such. Just go back to your quarters and pack.” She went away, and Alexi couldn’t quite tell if she was relieved or disappointed at the guarantee of her virtue.

  It took five hours to organize the detainees on the quadrangle, but just as the Moon Goddess was finishing off the last of the Atonian resistance in the capital, Alexi had determined that two hundred and eighty of the University staff and their families were now prisoners of the Realm.

  He wasn’t positive that Her Highness would see his move in the same light he did. It didn’t do much to harm Aton -- a back-woods university on a barely civilized world was hardly a strategic game-changer -- but it did bring almost three-hundred trained professionals back to Tanith, where they could serve out their POW terms teaching their subjects to Tanith students.

  He also had the library cleaned out, taking every precious volume and thousands of technical microbooks aboard the Moon Goddess when it finally came to retrieve the team and its academic booty. That was to appease the Warlord, of course, who would want every historical work in the room. And there were a couple of paintings in the tiny university museum, pieces on loan from Aton's public collection, that he figured Count Van Larch would fancy.

  It wasn’t gold and jewels, he reasoned. But when it came to the game of civilization, a second-year grad student in physics was more valuable to Tanith than a room full of Zarathustra sunstones.

  Chapter Eighteen:

  Baroness Cragsdale

  The day was already starting to get warm in Rivington the morning that Mr. Dawes left Tanith. Clear skies and a balmy, fragrant breeze from over the grasslands presented an ideal send-off at the Royal Pavilion at the Spaceport (which was otherwise the VIP Travelers Lounge, when not required by the Realm), where Princess Valerie and a small group of senior officials and great nobles of Tanith gathered to bid the Wizard’s emissary good-bye. He had booked passage on the Gilgamesh freighter Valuestar, bound for Odin with a cargo of luxury goods. The body of Sir Sam Gatworth had been stowed within by an honor guard of Golden Hand troopers, resplendent in their black-and-gold dress cloaks.

  After the brief ceremony, at which both Princess Valerie and Duke Otto felt compelled to say a few words, the party retired to the Royal Pavilion for a short reception.

  “I don’t know how Tanith can thank you for all of your assistance, Mr. Dawes,” the Princess said, after Alvyn Karffard led a brief toast. “You’ve provided us valuable intelligence and insight, and allowed us to see this conflict in a much wider context. I pray the Wizard returns you to us soon.”

  Dawes shrugged. “Hard to say, Highness, considering everything that’s going on. I’ve done what little I could do for you, and that’s little enough. I expect that the Wizard will indeed continue to support Tanith, if for no other reason than to keep it out of Sword World hands. No offense,” he said, cutting his eyes to Otto.

  “None taken,” the big duke shrugged. “I’d like just as well to keep it out of Old Federation hands. No offense.”

  “I think it’s in the proper hands, as it is,” Dawes nodded. “Truly, what you people have built here is remarkable. It’s just a start towards civilization, but it’s a remarkable start – and in just a decade, too! I intend to offer the opinion that Tanith and the current regime should be resolutely defended, when I’m debriefed. And, Wizard willing, I’ll be back in six months. Possibly with more help,” he added.

  “And if you happen to hear any tale of Prince Lucas on your way,” Alvyn added, from the bar where his rotund mass yielded to inertia as he nursed his drink, “do pass that along to one of our mutual friends, won’t you?”

  The spymaster and the Wizard’s agent had spent much time conspiring how to keep the channels of communication open between clandestine quasi-criminal organization and rogue upstart Space Viking colony. In fact it had been easier to do than expected, as Tanith’s intelligence agency and the Wizard used certain sources and conduits of information in common in the Old Federation. Particularly through the Gilgameshers. The star-trading religious zealots were ideal for passing coded messages from one point to another with little fear of interception. And Tanith’s nearly unique relationship with them – extending to an official exchange of ambassadors – made the long-coated merchants more willing than usual to perform the service.

  “Of course,” nodded Dawes. “My only regret is that I did not get the opportunity to meet Pr
ince Lucas myself. The Wizard has expressed a lot of interest in him, personally. And you will let us know if there’s any sign of an impending Sword World invasion? That might be helpful.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” assured Valerie. The boarding klaxon sounded, and a cheerful female voice came over the intercom and announced final boarding for the Valuestar.

  “That’s my ship,” Dawes said, downing his last sip of Lyran spirits. “My dear friends of Tanith, let me leave you with one last piece of advice. You are a brave and valiant people, and you are in the middle of a contest between powers so vastly greater than your own that the chances that one of your foes will eventually come at you in strength is almost certain.

  “I therefore advise you to move cautiously, with great forethought and wisdom, before you act too strongly in your defense. The longer you can escape the direct notice of your enemies, the stronger you can grow. Build your strength, conserve your resources, and prepare for a struggle of a long duration. But, if the stars are in the right position, then you may just find yourselves counted amongst the great civilizations of the new age.”

  “There’s a new age?” Duke Morland asked.

  “Of course, Paytrik,” Karffard said. “Don’t you pay attention to any of my drunken ramblings? Regardless of what happens in the next few months – or the next few years – things have definitely changed. The Space Vikings have finally managed to get the attention of the civilized worlds, and from that conflict – who knows? An era of brutal warfare, more than likely, and then a re-centralization of political power. After discussing the matter with my colleague with the crystal ball, over there, I’m convinced: one way or another, a new Empire will be born of this. Whether it’s the New Federation of the Atonians or a Sword World-run Star Empire, too many connections have been made between too many planets for humanity to sink back into oblivion.”

  Dawes nodded. “Exactly so. All that remains is to figure out who is going to win, and ensure that they have everyone’s best interest in mind. Or if they don’t . . . destroy them.”

  Dawes made one more bow before departing, and the rest of the court waited until the Gilgamesher was a dot in the sky before they began drifting back to their duties. Princess Valerie was about to board her aircar when one of her Golden Hand guards informed her than an unscheduled ship had just emerged from hyperspace, bearing a carefully-guarded pass code that indicated that a person of some importance was aboard, with a message of utmost importance. Her pulse quickened when the Guard also informed her that this ship – a five-hundred foot yacht – was from her homeworld of Marduk. Further, the code used indicated that absolute discretion was required, or that the information being sent was of the most sensitive importance.

  There could only be one thing that would make Mardukan Naval Intelligence use that code that she could think of: they had news of Lucas. Good news or bad news, she would not know until the courier arrived. As it would take at least six hours to descend from orbit, Valerie elected to return home rather than wait at the Spaceport. But it was a long six hours.

  Valerie cleared her afternoon schedule, which hadn’t been particularly busy (playtime with baby Elaine and some domestic spending authorizations) and had the Blue Room of Trask House prepared for the messenger’s arrival. When the vessel finally did slip into a berth specially prepared for such sensitive missions, the diplomatic courier wasted no time in requesting and receiving an audience with Her Highness.

  Valerie summoned Duke Alvyn and Nikkolay Trask to hear the message, too. She would have included Otto and Paytrik, but they were already over on Beta continent for the next two days, investigating potential sites for a second naval base. She would brief them as soon as they returned.

  To her surprise, it wasn’t a discreet spy who emerged from the aircar bearing the Mardukan Diplomatic seal at Trask House – it was a kid she used to baby-sit.

  “VALERIE!” a teenaged girl squealed excitedly, breaking into a run towards the Princess and nearly getting herself shot by the hyper-alert Golden Hand guards – who were nearly shot by the Mardukan Palace Guards tending the teenaged princess. Luckily both units were quick to re-assess the situation and lower their weapons before a regicidal firefight broke out.

  “Oh my God, it’s Princess Myrna!” she gasped, and then accepted a full-contact hug at a dead run. After a heartfelt embrace she pulled her former charge out to arm’s length and visually inspected her. Valerie gasped again. “You’ve gotten so big!”

  “And you went and got pregnant!” Myrna accused. “I’ve been so excited about seeing the baby I’ve almost burst the whole way from Marduk!”

  “She’s down for a nap now,” confided Valerie, “but the moment she’s up, she’s all yours. So what in heavens are you doing here on Tanith, Myrna?” she asked, scoldingly.

  “Inside,” whispered the teenaged Princess conspiratorially. “It’s, um . . . sensitive.”

  Myrna had not come alone – her old tutor, Sir Thomas Kobbly, was with her as an “aide” (because the Princess was too old to have a “babysitter” any more).

  The venerable old Naval captain had been a part of the Royal Household for years – in fact, he and Valerie had organized an escape plot together that had managed to smuggle Princess Myrna offworld to Tanith during the Marduk Affair, after arming the rest of the servants at a remote hunting lodge and stealing a space ship. She greeted the gallant old knight affectionately, though he looked a little apologetic for his presence. He remained as tight-lipped about the purpose of the visit as Myrna was.

  “So, tell me this important message,” Valerie instructed, after the Princess has become re-acquainted with Karffard and Nikkolay. “It must be pretty vital if Prince Simon dispatched the heir to the throne to deliver it.”

  “He didn’t . . . exactly send me,” Myrna said, guiltily. “I, uh, discovered the message was headed out through Naval Intelligence channels, and I took the opportunity to ensure that it got here. I had to be sure, didn’t I?” she asked, defensively. “It concerns Prince Lucas, after all!” Valerie did a double-take at that last statement – Myrna had delivered it with the kind of fervor only a teenage girl in the depths of a crush could manage. And that was more than enough intensity to make her forget about the issue of harboring a fugitive monarch.

  “What about my husband?” Valerie asked, her levity forgotten.

  “We received some intelligence from one of our agents on Aton,” explained Myrna, seriously. “Things are pretty rotten there right now, because of that stinky ol’ Party of theirs, but those Atonians love a good bribe. It seems Prince Lucas has been sent to the Atonian prison planet. ‘Planet X’, they call it – it’s a secret prison where they send all of their political prisoners. They even sent their old king there!” she said, scandalized. “But we’re certain that Lucas was moved to Planet X over six months ago. Right after his so-called ‘trial’,” she added with disgust.”

  “That’s great news!” Nikkolay exclaimed. “So where’s ‘Planet X’?”

  “No one knows,” admitted Myrna, discouraged. “It’s one of their most closely held secrets. Only senior Party officials and highly-placed members of their secret police know its exact location. But we do know it’s on the other side of Federation space,” she added. “And from the two accounts we’ve gotten from people who’ve been there, it’s a pretty depressing place.”

  “Were all of his men sent, too, your Highness?” asked Karffard, politely.

  “Apparently so,” nodded the teen, gravely. “But that’s not all. The Atonians are positively squirming right now, thanks to your raids!” she said, triumphantly. “They’re screaming publicly about piracy and ‘rogue Space Viking regimes’, but privately they’re starting to get worried. Apparently they didn’t expect you to start raiding shipping – they figured that you’d try a direct attack on Aton. They were ready for that,” she added. “But you took ‘em by surprise when you started hauling in whole spaceships. And blowing up bases. They didn’t expect that at
all!”

  “So, is it having an effect?” asked Nikkolay, hopefully. “Are they willing to give back Lucas?”

  “They . . . I . . . well, it’s complicated,” Myrna said, after struggling to come up with the words. “Uncle Simon and I had a sit-down with their so-called ambassador a few weeks ago. We still have diplomatic relations, of course, but just barely, and that might not survive for long. Apparently the Atonians were a lot more involved with the Makann fanatics who enslaved my grandfather than we thought. Anyway,” she continued, “I was in the meeting with him, being future head-of-state and all, and my gut feeling was that they’d consider it.”

  “That’s almost as good as a clear battlefield victory,” Nikkolay nodded, enthusiastically.

  “Well, kind of,” Myrna said, biting her lip. “When you guys captured the fourth or fifth ship, some of the commercial interests in their Party started screaming bloody murder, and demanded that the Party settle the matter. They wanted to give Lucas back in exchange for a truce. But . . . well, just before I left, we got another intercepted transmission, this one highly urgent, very hush-hush, senior Party eyes only, that sort of thing.” She paused, apparently for dramatic effect, and Valerie had to restrain herself from choking a girl she’d known since she was six years old to death.