Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 26

Herek was startled. "You know?"

"I guessed."What need has that kind for a transmitter? "Tell me details."

"The system was stripped of certain key facilities. Signal augmentation, relay input . . . they're working on a complete a.n.a.lysis now. Enough hardware missing to drop the fighter's basema.s.s below its normal range. Although to accept such a handicap . . . I just can't understand it."

Zatar did, but said nothing to enlighten him. Now was not the time; there were political ramifications to what the Conqueror had done, and he wanted them firmly in hand before he revealed the truth.

This, too, would ultimately serve his purpose.

"It's not necessary to understand it," he counseled. "It's been done; it remains for us to respond effectively. And we mustn't a.s.sume that because the equipment is missing, the fighter was out of touch with its mothership." Just the opposite.

"It's more than likely that they compensated elsewhere."

"They must have," he agreed, but his expression said How?

"As for the rest of it: You've been fighting one enemy, Herek, though the truth has been obscured by your circ.u.mstances. The Starcommander of the Conqueror is your nemesis; a.n.a.lyze his strategy, and you will find the key to victory. And there'll be other benefits, as well. When we attributed the Conqueror's battles to other commanders, we were handicapped in a.n.a.lyzing their work as well. Garran certainly has its a.n.a.lytic work cut out for it," he mused.

"With all due respect to House of War," Herek dared, "I've begun such work myself. When you first mentioned your suspicions to me-"

"No need to excuse yourself, Talon-Commander. I commend your initiative, and your skill. I have no doubt that you will be able to adapt to this new information, and adjust your plans accordingly."

Trembling slightly, Herek bowed his head. "Of course, Lord Commander."

You are mine, Zatar thought. It was an excellent start. "I had hoped-"

YOU HAVE A VISITOR, the computer informed him. In confirmation, the portal chimed.

"Who is it?"

FIRST SWORD SEZAL.

"Let him in."

The door hissed open.

Sezal was a ma.s.s of bruises, even as Zatar was, but he bore his wounds with naked pride, having no cosmetics to disguise them. His eyes were rimmed in red but they were alert, and if his face tightened in pain as he forced himself across the room that was only to be expected. Unlike Zatar, he was merely human.

"My Lord," he whispered. There was awe in his voice, a depth of emotion as new to him as it was to Zatar. Perhaps it was the memory of what the Braxana had done, and against what odds, that overwhelmed him; perhaps it was simply the unflawed visage which the Braxana presented, bruises masked by makeup and a body that refused to acknowledge pain. Either way, the image had its desired effect.

Painfully lowering himself onto one knee, he extended his arms in the manner required by the rites of formal submission. "It is an honor to serve you," he said.

It was worth all the pain to receive such a gesture. Pain was but temporary; the loyalty of such men as these was priceless. Zatar approached Sezal, moving with a grace that belied his suffering, and set his hands about the pilot's wrists. "You don't know what you're offering," he warned him, "but that which you understand, I accept." He released his wrists without saying the ritual words: I choose not to bind you. Sezal didn't know that his gesture of submission, inspired by the pa.s.sion of the moment, made him Zatar's property according to Braxana tribal law. And there was no reason to tell him; that he was moved to do it in the first place was enough.

"You'll be going back to Garran?" Herek asked quietly. There was a hint of regret in his voice.

"Back to Braxi," Zatar corrected. He helped Sezal to his feet, though he barely had the strength to do so. "After sending a full report to Garran, of course. But I have things at home that require my attention." Such as research. Politics.

Planning.

What would you say if you knew that your enemy was psychic?

"Will you be returning to the Border?" Herek asked quietly.

He looked at the Talon-Commander, read his expression for what it was and smiled. You are mine, he thought. You and the pilots-you and your crew.

"I will," he promised them. "In my own ship. When the time is right."

The future was beckoning.

Viton: The relationship between hatred and desire is this: That they are born of the same pa.s.sionate source; that, being observed, they are often confused; and that each one intensifies the other.

Fifteen.

1.

Sila opened the door noisily, that the Kaim'eri might be warned of her entrance.

"Ah, what timing! Zatar, your Mistress is unequaled in her choice of servants."

"I pick them out myself, you know that, Sechaveh-or you should. Have some wine."

The delicately built Duveix woman knelt before him, extending the jeweled tray with its three full gla.s.ses. Sechaveh removed one and nodded her toward Yiril.

"The air of fragility appeals to me."

Zatar smiled. "I thought it would."

"Am I so predictable?"

His dark eyes were eloquent over the rim of his goblet as he sipped the wine.

"Sometimes."

They took the moment to taste the vintage and comment in low voices upon its quality; not until the woman had left and the soundproofing was reset did they take up their conversation again.

"I'm with you," Sechaveh said. "For my own reasons, of course. And I don't necessarily approve of your methods. But I'll support you."

Zatar raised an eyebrow in Yiril's direction.

The Kaim'era shrugged. "Who am I to defy the great Zatar?"

"I want more than that, Yiril."

"What can I give you? You show me plans based on superst.i.tious fears. You tell me how you'll manipulate fools. I have to ask if that's enough."

"The time is right." Zatar put his gla.s.s down and pushed it away from him, the motion underscoring his modal intensity. "Century after century the Kaim'eri have considered alternative structures for our government. If there's a change to be made, it must be made soon. Before our numbers are too few. Before we're so weakened that the Holding rises against us. Then it will be too late."

"All agreed-many, many times over. But Zatar, there still has to be a man willing to bring the issue up for a vote, and enough men willing to sacrifice their own power to avert a catastrophe that might not come in their lifetime. You tell me they can be manipulated psychologically. I tell you that they're selfish-and in any battle on Braxi I have utter faith that the latter quality will triumph."

"And I agree. Therefore they must believe that the restructuring is necessary for them personally. Now, not later."

"There are still a lot of Braxana left," Sechaveh said dryly. "Even at an average loss of fifty percent per Plague season we have centuries to go before the Kaim'erate is depopulated."

"Just so." Zatar nodded his agreement. "But I contend that there are other dangers facing us besides racial extinction."

"Equally threatening?" Yiril asked sharply.

"In many ways more so. Now consider: a lone monarch such as Harkur has power that other men can never equal- and also more responsibility. That, I think, is the crucial point. So far we've been thinking of a Braxana figurehead position as something only favorable for the person gaining that position, something any man would want. But I contend there's a reverse side to the issue, and that's the part I mean to play upon."

"The Braxana aren't known for cowardice in the face of responsibility."

"But they're cowards when it comes to facing the truth- certain truths, at least.

Watch this."

He reached over to the wall and flipped a panel open. "How long since we've received a complete military report in session?" he asked, fitting a chip into the input slot.

The other two, startled, looked at each other. Now until that moment had they realized that the standard mapped presentation had recently been abandoned, and that the messengers delivering military news had been, if more dramatic, also more vague.

"Right." He swung back into position. "Watch this."

The lighting in the room dimmed and a starmap took shape before them. Fully half the room was taken up by the three-dimensional display, with points of light proportionately placed in the darkness to represent stars and thin colored fog, red and blue respectively, to represent the territory held by Empire and Holding.

"The War Border five zhents ago." He tapped the controls and the fog shifted slightly. "Four." Again. "Two." The red crept slowly forward like a living thing, engulfing the cooler s.p.a.ce before it. "Last zhent." He let that sink in for a moment, then: "Our last report."

The two were speechless.

"Yiril?"

"I can see why this wasn't presented to us," he said quietly.

"Yes," Sechaveh agreed, "And I think a few messengers have much to answer for."

"Granted." Zatar regarded the starmap with a mixture of pride and affection.

"But for the moment, ignore that problem. Because we've got one much more worthy of our attention. Kaim'eri, we are losing the War."

"Exchange of Border territory is old news," Sechaveh protested.

"Very true. But look at this." He walked into the map and indicated a peninsula of red extending well through the Border and approaching true Braxin s.p.a.ce.

"Kaim'eri, I ask you this: how will Braxi react when for the first time in ten thousand years our secure inner border is breached?"

Pensive silence; at last Yiril muttered, "Very badly."

"Let's be more specific. We've never lost a war. I contend we don't know how to lose a war."

Sechaveh smiled. "And it follows therefore that the Braxana have a great emotional stake in keeping that from happening during their rule."

Viril was less convinced. "The loss of a minor star or two-that is Birsule, isn't it? I thought so-is not in and of itself the loss of the Great War."

"But they'll be afraid."

Sechaveh nodded. "Oh, it's a vile omen."

"And it won't hurt that it happened without most of them knowing about it."

"So you can add to it the feeling of being out of control. It's still not enough."

"All right." The map faded and the lights came on. "What if the enemy were female?"

There was a pause as that information was digested. Sechaveh darkened noticeably, ominously, but said nothing. Yiril broke the silence. "You mean that female Director of-"

"I don't. The lead ship among those due to break the Braxin border is commanded by a female, as is the whole move from start to finish. And there's more." He paused, savoring their tension. "She's a telepath. Fully Functional, to use the Empire's terminology. She's employed at least one psychic in the past, and may be planning to bring in even more. Kaim'eri, what we're facing here is a change in the very nature of the War! A change which will destroy us. I ask you, will that frighten them?"

"If it doesn't, I would question their sanity. But is it the truth, Zatar? Or convenient fabrication?"

"Unfortunately, it's the truth. I realize there have been psychics among the Azeans for centuries; why have they joined the fleet only now? I can't tell you that. But this I know: communication is the key to all transluminal warfare. We are limited only by the range of our instruments. What happens when the Azeans extend their range-to infinity? I say to you in all honesty, Kaim'eri, that this woman is the start of something which-if allowed to continue-will mean our defeat."

"At the hands of a woman," Sechaveh muttered.

"Combine the loss of all power with the threat of the shem'Ar. Draw them a picture of the Holding on its knees to a woman. Bowing down to a psychic-we, who have killed our own children to keep that mutation from ever dominating us!

If they don't fear that, Kaim'eri, then they aren't Braxana."

"It's a good scare," Yiril agreed. His voice was tense. "And it would seem that this woman knows it."

Pleased that he understood, Zatar nodded. "That's the irony of it. In actual trade of territory across the length of the Border we're in a stronger position than before. Did either of you notice that in the map? Did either of you think to ask?

The concept of being defeated by a female-by a psychic female-is so disturbing that it overwhelms your reasoning. I believe she's counting on that. I believe she's fighting to break into Braxin s.p.a.ce for just that reason: because the move will dishearten us, giving her the psychological advantage. Her psychic abilities give her a unique advantage in that arena." He paused; the tension in the room was palpable. "She means to win the War, Kaim'eri. And given her nature, she could possibly do it."

"Who is she?" Yiril asked quietly. "I gather you know."

"Her name is Anzha lyu Mitethe. Daughter of Darmel lyu Tukone and heir to his insight. Technically non-Azean; she had the misfortune to inherit a gene- grouping from some foreign ancestor, and the racial authorities raised enough of a fuss to have her denied citizenship. A living paradox-and a dangerous one. I propose getting rid of her. Now. While it's still possible."

"Very good," Sechaveh agreed. "How?"