Lord of Janissaries (56 page)

“Is that your advice also?” Rick asked Camithon.

“Aye.”

“Elliot?”

Sergeant Major Elliot shrugged. “You know these people better than I do, sir. But I’d feel some better if we could be
sure
we’ll get home—and after, who knows what they might do? How can it hurt?”

“Majesty?”

Ganton shrugged. “I must heed the advice of those wiser than I.”

Rick sighed. “It’s no substitute for a policy,” he said. “Even if it is traditional. But I dine tonight with Marselius, and I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

There were only Rick, Marselius, and Lucius at the dinner; Publius had to see to the ordering of the troops and the final surrender of Frugi’s camp.

Rick waited until the dinner was finished and they had both had wine. “Some of my officers are concerned,” he said.

Marselius frowned. “About what?” he demanded.

“Loot, for one thing.”

“Ah. There was little fighting, thus few fallen enemies to despoil.” Marselius shrugged. “I will see to it. There should be ample gold in Titus Frugi’s camp. I will arrange a donative to our gallant allies.”

“Thank you. There is another concern.”

Marselius looked puzzled. “Of what? The victory could not be more complete. With few casualties on either side. A brilliant stroke—”

“Which increased the size of your army,” Rick said. “But leaves us in desolate territory, dependent on rations we do not have.”

“Food is coming,” Marselius protested. “Wagonloads of grain. The first arrive tomorrow.” He drained a goblet of wine. “What are you saying?”

“That some of my soldiers are afraid they’ll never leave Roman territory alive,” Rick said. “And Drumold fears that the strength of Rome may be sent against Tamaerthon, now that Rome has no civil strife. My apologies, Caesar, for being so blunt.”

“Better to be blunt,” Lucius said. “Tell me, Caesar, would you not be, ah, concerned, also, were you in his situation?”

“I suppose I might,” Marselius said. “And what do you suggest I do?”

“Drumold wants hostages,” Rick said.

“And you?”

“I want only to return to my University. There is much more I must do before The Time—”

“But you do not protest. You prefer to take hostages.”

Rick said nothing.

Marselius frowned. “Then you do not trust me—”

“Nonsense,” Lucius said. “Caesar, are you under the illusion that you are immortal?”

Marselius looked thoughtful. “I think I see an answer,” he said at last. “My granddaughter has asked me to visit the Lady Gwen. Now I shall let her. Lucius, ride to Benevenutum, and inform Octavia that it is my desire that she continue her studies in Tamaerthon. Choose suitable companions and servants to join her—but she is to meet the Lord Rick’s forces and accompany them on their return. It is fitting that she be escorted by our allies.” He turned to Rick. “Will that be satisfactory?”

“Certainly.”

For a few moments the room seemed cold; then Lucius smiled broadly. “It is a scheme that has merit. May I join her, after we have taken Rome?” The old man sighed. “I have often dreamed of retiring to some center of learning. I would appreciate the opportunity to see this place. And the Lady Octavia will be very pleased.”

“You will always be welcome,” Rick said. “Caesar, this is inspired. The Lady Octavia can learn much to aid Rome during The Time; and not even the most suspicious will believe that you or your son would endanger her.”

And beyond that, Rick thought. Beyond that, she’ll meet young Ganton—and who knows what might come of that. It’s time Ganton got a systematic education. Golden years and all that—he can’t object to being a student prince for a while. Where he’ll be with Octavia. Gwen says she’s intelligent and attractive, and Ganton’s young. . . .

“An excellent plan,” Rick said again.

INTERLUDE
LUNA

18

Earth, blue and fragile and lovely, swirling storms and shining seas, filled one wall of the office. Les had seen half a hundred planets, and none were lovelier.

I suppose it could depend on your viewpoint, he thought. Humanity came from there. A lot longer ago than most of them suspect. But home is always the nicest place . . .

Stupid thought. I haven’t got a home.

Les stood in the doorway a moment longer, then entered the office. The room was panelled in wood, with a Kashdan carpet and luxurious furniture; but Les noticed little of that. Despite the opulence, the office was dominated by the Earth.

The colors swirled gently. Earth wasn’t really visible from that office, but a real-time holographic display was trivial among the honors and privileges earned by the man Rick Galloway had known as Inspector Agzaral.

Even so, neither Agzaral nor any other human had earned the right to do what Agzaral did next. He opened his desk drawer and took out a small electronic device. After inspecting it carefully, he nodded to Les. “Hail, slave,” Agzaral said.

“I greet you, Important Slave,” Les replied formally. He fell silent as Agzaral adjusted the electronic gear. After a moment, Les could hear faint voices: his and Agzaral’s, speaking meaningless pleasantries in the official Confederation Standard tongue for civil servants.

Agzaral nodded in satisfaction and leaned back in his chair. “That should be sufficient,” he said. “Sit down. Have some sherry. I regret that the shipment of Praither’s Amontillado has been delayed, but Hawker’s is a substitute I have found acceptable. Did you have a pleasant journey?”

Les waited as Agzaral poured sherry into a crystal glass, then solemnly tasted it. “Excellent,” he said. He glanced at his hands. No tremble. Voice all right. Emotions nicely under control. It was difficult to deceive Agzaral, but not impossible. “Pleasant enough trip going,” he said. “Dull coming back.”

Agzaral smiled faintly. “Ah. You found it pleasant to learn that the woman was pregnant?”

“How the hell—?”

“Gently,” Agzaral cautioned. “That goblet would be difficult to replace. There is no cause for alarm. Our employers do not know. Your efforts to deceive the recorders were entirely successful with regard to the
Shalnuksis
. But tell me, did you really expect to deceive
me
?”

“I’d hoped to.”

“Unwise,” Agzaral said. “Most unwise. You would do far better to trust me.”

“Trust you? How the hell can I trust you when I don’t even know what side you’re on?”

Agzaral spread his hands wide and let them drop to his lap. “Side? You would seriously have me choose a faction? Now, when the alternatives are still forming? Try not to be too great an ass, my friend.

“And don’t protest. When it comes to politics, you are an ass. I can admire your courage. Your skill with languages. Your prowess as a pilot, and—Yes. I envy your success with women. You even seem to understand some of Earth’s political quarrels. But when it comes to the important skills, the ability to know the High Commission and the Council—” He shrugged. “You’re an ass.”

“At least I take a stand. I’m not a damned trimmer like you—”

Agzaral laughed. “Some day one of your stands will be against a wall. As to being a trimmer, is it unwise to have every faction think I am its agent?”

“When they find out—”

“If,” Agzaral said. “And think upon it, my fellow slave. If
you
do not know which faction I truly favor, then
they
cannot know either.” He chuckled again. “So. You have taken a stand. Tell me where.”

“Well—”

“Come, come, a simple question. Which faction do you favor? Who is its leader? Which race champions your position?”

“All right, so I don’t know,” Les said. “But I know this. I’m for leaving Earth alone. And Tran, too. Leave them develop by themselves.”

Agzaral nodded. “The position taken by many of the more powerful Ader’at’eel. Unfortunately not all of them. They are joined by the Enlightenment Party of the Finsit’tuvii. But I fear that coalition is not the most powerful faction.”

“Is that true?” Les demanded. “The Ader’at’eel want Earth and Tran left alone?”

“Substantially. Of course they don’t know that Tran exists. But four of the Five Families do indeed support that position.”

“Then—?”

“But then there are the Fusttael,” Agzaral continued smoothly. “Their opposition is formidable. They hold no overpowering advantage, but they have the most strength at the moment.”

“And what do they want?” Les demanded.

“They want to destroy Earth . . .”

“Destroy the Earth!”

“More or less.”

More or less. He looked at the holograph again. A beautiful planet, filled with humans. Wild humans, not slaves of the millennia-old Confederation. Humans who would soon burst into space, find their way to the stars—who were about to come uninvited into Confederate territory.

More or less meant more. Bomb Earth civilization back to the Stone Age, and trust there’d be enough humans left for breeding stock. They only needed enough wild genes to temper the corps of slave soldiers. Enough to improve the breed of Janissaries . . .

“What does the Navy think of this?” Les demanded. “Or your service?”

“The opinions of slaves do not matter—”

“Come off it.”

“But certainly the Navy has divided opinions,” Agzaral said smoothly. “It is likely that some ships would refuse to take part in the necessary operations. But—enough would obey the orders.”

“We can’t let that happen!”

Agzaral spread his hands. “How do we prevent it? But I agree, it would be regrettable. And there is the third alternative.”

Sure, Les thought. Human membership in the Confederation. Forced membership, imposed now while the Earth was helpless. A junior membership, with Earth controlled by the High Commission. Peace, unity, and—stagnation. A static society. Stasis for a thousand years. Still, it had to be preferable to bombardment and destruction . . .

“The balance of the Ader’at’eel would bring Earth into the Confederacy now,” Agzaral said. “But enough of this. Your report. Will they be able to grow
surinomaz?”

“Possibly,” Les said. “Of course there will be the mutiny. It will be settled by now.”

“Yes. With what outcome?”

“Either of the mercenary leaders should be competent with those weapons against that population.”

“Ah. So the survey ship will not be wasted.”

“I think not. And the soldiers will want resupply. Ammunition, soap, penicillin—”

“You understand their needs,” Agzaral said. “I will send you to Earth to procure for them. I recall that you enjoy that work.”

“I’ll do it, but I want to pilot the ship that goes back to Tran.”

“To what purpose?” Agzaral asked.

“Why do you ask? I’m a pilot. I know Tran exists. Not too many pilots do. I’d think you’d want me to.”

“It’s reasonable,” Agzaral said. “You will not be able to take the first ship, however. One leaves immediately. Piloted by
Shalnuksis
. Tran is not too far off their course, and they want to see for themselves how Tran has revived since their last series of visits.”

“Last time they went there, they bombed out half the civilization. What will they do this time?”

“On this journey, nothing—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Les said.

“I know. But I have no better answer.”

Les nodded in submission. “Is their first ship carrying supplies?”

“A few. Whatever we had. The mercenary leader Galloway had made suggestions before they departed, you may recall. We used his list. Some of what they wanted was easily obtained. For the rest—your task, now.”

“All right. Provided I get to go back myself.”

“Why are you so anxious to go back?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might.” Agzaral was silent, obviously waiting for Les to speak, but Les said nothing. “Very well. I took the trouble to look up your ancestry,” Agzaral said finally. “Rather a lot of wild human strain.” He paused. “They’ll never allow the child to live if they learn of it.”

“How will they learn?” Les demanded.

“Gently.” Agzaral glanced at a timer on his desk. “We do not have much longer to speak freely. Let us not waste these minutes. They will not learn from me. But I must know what you intend.” He pointed to the Earth. “You have lived long among wild humans. In some ways you act like them. Many wild humans mate for life. This seems unnatural to me, but I know they do it. Is this your intent?”