Читать книгу Revenge of the Damned (Sten #5) - Allan Cole - Страница 10

CHAPTER FIVE

THE TWENTY-SEVEN members of the Tahn High Council slumped in bored inattention as their elder secretary droned through another day’s legislation.

“… HCB No. 069-387. Titled: Negative Pensions. Arguments for: A graduated tax on guaranteed incomes for retirees—not to exceed 115 percent—will relieve a heavy burden on the state and result in key military enlistments. Arguments against: None.”

The elder secretary did not bother to look up as he asked the routine question. “Opposed?” There was the usual silence. “Then it’s unanimous.”

“Next. HCB No. 434-102. Titled: Fuel Allotments. Subsection Medical Emergencies. Arguments for increase: The commandeering of private emergency vehicles for military use without compensation is proving an undue hardship on an already overburdened civilian health care system. Staff recommendation: No increase.”

Once again the routine question. And once again silence indicated unanimity. It was the way the business of governing had always been done. However, the lords and ladies of the Tahn High Council were hardly mere rubber stamps for their chairman, Lord Fehrle. On the contrary, each member had very strong opinions and powerful allies. Otherwise, they would not have been named to the council.

Lord Fehrle was their chairman as the result of a delicate balancing act. Over the years he had shored up his position through key appointments. For instance, he had recently raised Lady Atago from associate status to full member. True, she was a military hero. Still, she had her detractors.

He glanced over at Colonel Pastour as the secretary mumbled on. Sometimes he thought his decision to support the old colonel’s appointment a mistake. It was not that the industrialist was outwardly difficult. He just seemed to have a way of asking innocent questions that were difficult to answer. More importantly, he was, as time went by, becoming a voice Fehrle could not always depend on.

Hmmm. How to deal with Pastour? The problem was that Pastour not only was a successful industrialist, he was also a miracle worker in finding new bodies to hurl at the Empire. He also carried the expenses of many regiments out of pocket. Perhaps it would be better to live with the old man for a while longer.

Then there was Lord Wichman. Absolutely loyal. Absolutely committed. That was his problem. He was an absolutist who knew nothing of the art of compromise. It was a fault that several times had nearly upset Fehrle’s balancing act.

Compromise was the key to Tahn politics. All proposals were discussed in labored detail before any meeting. All viewpoints were considered and, whenever possible, included in the eventual program under consideration. With rare exceptions, all decisions were therefore unanimous.

Unanimity was as necessary to the Tahn as breathing. They were a warrior race who had suffered humiliating defeat in their ancient past and had been forced to flee across eons past the fringes of the Empire to their present home. It was a place no one wanted except for the natives, who proved reluctant to move aside for the Tahn. Genocide convinced them of their faulty logic.

Slowly the Tahn rebuilt themselves, and in the rebuilding of their warrior society they created a new racial purpose. They would never again flee. And someday they would revenge their humiliation. Meanwhile, it was necessary to prove themselves.

They turned to their neighbors. First one, then another, and then more and more fell to the Tahn. They used two skills for those victories: a native genius for negotiation as a screen for bloody intent, and a resolve to win at all costs. At times their wars required a sacrifice of up to eighty percent of their military. After each war the Tahn quickly regrouped and struck out again.

It was only a matter of time before they bumped into the Eternal Emperor. The result once again was war.

“…HCB No. 525-117. Untitled. No arguments. Opposed?”

The silence was broken.

“Not opposed, exactly. But I do have one question.”

The other twenty-six members of the council were startled out of their boredom into absolute shock. First, an untitled High Council bill was always a personal proposal from a council member. Such a bill would not even be presented if there was the slightest controversy. Second, and even more shocking, was the identity of the questioner.

It was not Pastour for once. It was Wichman. And the number 525 meant that it was Pastour’s bill. All the members of the council leaned forward, eyes glittering in anticipation of a battle of a different sort. Only Fehrle, as chairman, and Lady Atago remained aloof. Atago had a soldier’s disdain for politics of any kind.

Pastour leaned back in his seat, waiting.

“Now, as I understand the proposal,” Wichman said, “we are creating a program in which we will rely on prisoners of war to build our weapons. Am I right so far?”

“Poorly put,” Pastour said, “but basically correct. What is your question?”

“Simply this: A soldier who surrenders is a coward. True?” Pastour nodded in agreement. “Cowardice is an infectious thing. I fear we may be taking a grave risk with the morale of our own work force.”

Pastour snorted. “There is no risk at all,” he said. “If you had bothered to read my plan, you would not have asked the question.”

“I read your proposal,” Wichman said flatly. “And I still ask it.”

Pastour sighed. He realized that Wichman was intentionally putting him on the spot. He wondered what kind of compromise he would have to offer and whether it would doom the success of his plan.

“Then you certainly deserve an answer,” he said, trying and failing to keep an edge of sarcasm out of his voice. “The problem we seek to address is simply described but thus far difficult to solve.

“We have factories and material in barely sufficient quantities to fight this war. But we have less than half of the work force required to man the machines.

“I’m mainly a businessman. I see a problem, I immediately assume there is some way to fix it. A lot of times the solution is found in another problem. And with luck, you can fix two things at once.”

“Such as?”

“I looked for a surplus of people. I found it in our prisoner-of-war camps. But that is only the tip of the matter. Our worst shortages are in the technical skills. So, not just any POW would do. Where to find the largest pool of untapped skills? Among the troublemakers, of course. Especially the habitual troublemakers.”

“Where is the logic in that? A difficult prisoner equals a skilled being?” Wichman asked.

“The logic is simple. If these prisoners are still alive after all this time, then our prison officials must have had good reason not to have them killed. Those were my instincts, and after study, my instincts proved correct.

“Regardless. I’m satisfied, and as far as I know, my lord, so are the other members of the council.”

Wichman ignored that. “So you’re guaranteeing us that this program of yours will solve the problem.”

“I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Pastour gritted out. That was one trap he would not spring. “First off, the program is experimental. If it doesn’t work, it affects nothing, especially since I am paying for it out of my own pocket.”

“Good. Very good. You have answered almost all of my questions. But I still have one small worry.”

“Which is?”

“The staffing of the first prison. I note a lack of hard experience in this field.”

Here it is at last, Pastour thought. Wichman wanted a man in some key position. Was it someone Pastour’s people could live with? There was no time to find out. He had to make up his mind quickly.

“Perhaps you could help in that area, my lord,” he purred.

“Delighted,” Wichman said.

There was immediate relaxation around the table.

“Once again,” the elder secretary said, “is anyone opposed?”

In an instant HCB No. 525-1717 was law. Lady Atago put another check mark on her agenda. There were half a dozen items to go before it was her turn to face the Tahn High Council. Although it would be her debut report as a full member of the body, she was not nervous at all.

Atago had a list of facts to present on the war. It did not matter to her whether the facts underscored gloom or optimism. The emotions the report elicited from her colleagues was not her concern.

It was plain to her that they were quickly approaching a crucial point in the war. And it should have been equally clear to the others that the way events played out in the near future would determine the eventual winner and loser. She was confident, however, that the plan she and Lord Fehrle had already partially implemented would assure the Tahn of final victory.

“… a special report from Lady Atago… I’m sure we will all…”

Atago did not bother listening to the routine platitudes from the elder secretary. When she heard her name, she stood.

She was an imposing figure even among a group of beings not easily impressed, and she was well aware of that fact. She was much taller than most Tahn, and she wore her hair in a dark spill almost to her waist. Her eyes were large, her lips generous, and she had a lush body set off perfectly by her tight-fitting uniform.

Only the very stupid were fooled by her sensuous looks. Lady Atago’s sole passion was war.

“My lords, my ladies,” she said. “You will have my full report before you shortly, so I won’t bore you with a lengthy summary of its contents. You can review the facts later at your leisure. Here, in brief, is where we find ourselves:

“From the beginning, we have managed to always take the war to the enemy. We have won vast areas from the Empire.

“There are two key reasons for our success. First: We are always willing to risk all. Second: The very size of the Emperor’s military machine has worked to our advantage. By the time his forces react, it has been too late. This is an advantage we are about to lose.”

That got Lady Atago the full attention of the council.

“Here are the basic reasons,” she went on. “One. At this moment in time, each success brings an equal burden. Our supply lines are stretched well beyond any safety factor. We are wasting valuable resources garrisoning new territories. Two. The Emperor’s intensive efforts to shift from a peacetime to a wartime industrial economy are about to bear fruit. Soon we will not only be outgunned but outmaneuvered because of the sheer size and number of his fleets.”

She paused to let that sink in. Then it was time to spell out the plan.

“Before this can happen, we need to find a place to sink our knife. Lord Fehrle and I are confident we have found it.”

Atago palmed a switch, and the far wall shimmered into a vidscreen. The council members leaned forward when they saw the starmaps. They were looking at two systems in relative proximity. There was nothing that unusual about them—except that they were deep inside the Empire.

The first system, Lady Atago explained, was called Al-Sufi, a major depot for Anti-Matter Two, the fuel that powered the Empire—and the Tahn. It was not necessary for Atago to explain that the Eternal Emperor’s control of all AM2 made him the ultimate ruler.

“Obviously, Al-Sufi is a prime target,” she said. “For some time now we have been building up our forces in that area. And if we captured it, the setback to the Emperor would probably be fatal.”

“Isn’t that also obvious to the Emperor?” Pastour asked.

“We hope so,” Lady Atago said. “Because the buildup I spoke of is only on paper. It is a shadow buildup. A fake.”

“I don’t understand,” Wichman said.

“Without arousing suspicion, we have allowed the Imperial Forces to believe that we intend to attack Al-Sufi. And we have confirmed reports that the Emperor is responding with an equal buildup in that region. Now, let me show you our real target.”

They saw a tight view of the second system, Durer. It was also a well-known area, as important to industry and transportation as Al-Sufi was to the handling and storage of AM2.

“As you can see, the Imperial buildup at Al-Sufi has left Durer exposed. It is ours for the taking.”

It was not necessary to explain to the others what that would do. A warrior race could instantly see when the enemy had been outflanked.

From Durer the Tahn High Council could see the beating red heart of the Empire. All they had to do was give Lady Atago permission to use her dirk.

The vote was unanimous.