Authors: Kennedy Hudner
I must confess here that men have
not
been hitting on me. No trips to the lake in the foreseeable future. I am too old for most of them. And something else. I try to hide the fact that I have a college degree, let alone a master’s, but my education keeps seeping through. It’s my vocabulary, I think. Cookie says I talk funny. “Girl, where you learn them
words
?” She started to call me “Professor,” but I threatened her that if she kept it up I would tell some of the other fledgling Marines that she keeps a teddy bear hidden in her bunk. A friendly truce prevails.
Two others merit note here. Hiram Brill is this gangly, shy, nervous kid who always walks around with a notebook, jotting notes on everything under the sun. When Blue Company was formed, he went around to every soldier and asked them about their background, their hobbies and their skills. Want to know who can fix a truck? Brill has it in his notebook. Who used to hunt? Go rock climbing? Who used to run on the cross-country team in high school? Brill can tell you. He also takes notes on the battles we’re in, and analyzes them endlessly. No college degree. Too bad, he’s a natural student. (He also promised to scrounge me a notebook so I don’t have to keep using this damn toilet paper!)
The other one is Grant Skiffington, son of Admiral Skiffington.
The
Admiral Skiffington, from the Battle of Windsor, where he defeated the Dominion fleet. Mauled them, from all accounts I have read. Admiral Skiffington has a reputation for being arrogant, prickly, and ruthless in battle. Some of it has rubbed off on his son. Young Skiffington knows there is nothing the drill instructors can really do to him. He doesn’t flaunt it, exactly, but you can tell he thinks this is all a big game. Did I mention that he is as handsome as sin? He is not lacking for girls to go to the lake for a little stroll in the woods.
Lights out in five minutes. Thus endeth this entry.
“W
e are all aware of the Emperor’s beneficence,” Hudis said smoothly, careful to keep any sense of irony out of his voice.
“The problem facing the Emperor is ready access to ziridium,” Prince RaShahid explained. “The Arcadians have large amounts of ziridium in their asteroid belts, but they deny us our rightful share.”
“I think I understand,” Hudis said.
“The Arcadians, you realize, must send their ore freighters through Tilleke space to reach the markets in Victoria, yet the Darwin Trade Accord forbids us from charging a tariff on the Arcadian cargoes. This is a terrible affront to the Emperor’s sovereignty. Not only do the Arcadians mine ziridium that rightfully belongs to the Tilleke Empire, but they flaunt their theft each time one of their ships passes through Tilleke space. What is more, when the Emperor graciously offered to
buy
the ziridium from the Arcadians at a very fair price, the Arcadians refused to sell at that price, citing the Darwin Robinson-Patman Accord.” The Robinson-Patman Accord prohibited any of the signatory nations from selling the same types of goods at different prices to different buyers. All buyers were to get the same price. Hudis knew that the Emperor had offered to buy the ziridium at ten percent of the price Arcadia usually sold it for. The Arcadians had laughed.
Prince RaShahid pursed his lips together. “My father, the Emperor, protested to the Arcadians. Do you what they did? They sent a
lawyer.”
He shook his head in wonderment. “They sent one of their senior trade diplomats and a
lawyer!”
Hudis knew from his briefing that there were no lawyers in the Dominion. All law came from the Emperor, and he enforced it with a will.
“The lawyer actually had the temerity to lecture my father on the Darwin Robinson-Patman Accord, as if the Emperor of the Great Tilleke Empire was a schoolboy in need of a lesson.” The Prince’s face flushed at the memory of this insult. “The Emperor correctly pointed out to the Arcadians that the Empire was not a signatory to the Robinson-Patman Accord, but the Arcadians refused to reason. The lawyer even suggested that perhaps the Emperor did not understand the need for the laws against price discrimination.
Did not understand?”
the Prince sneered
.
“The Emperor of Tilleke
did not understand?
”
The Prince sighed deeply. “My father is a patient man, but this was too much even for a man of his tolerance and benevolence. Oh, he respected all the forms. The diplomat was sent back to Arcadia unharmed. The lawyer, of course, had to be punished for his impudence. My father had him impaled in the center of the Throne Room.” The Prince smiled at the memory. “Do you know what his last words were as they put him on the stake? He said,
‘There must be some mistake.’
” The Prince gave a short, barking laugh. “Really, where do they find these people? ‘
There must be some mistake?’”
Hudis had heard the story, of course. The DID colonel had shown him the video. It was a major breach of diplomatic immunity and the Assembly of the League of Human Worlds had voted to sanction Tilleke. As for the Arcadian lawyer, he was still there in the Emperor’s Throne Room. Emperor Chalabi had ordered his body preserved and lacquered, still impaled on the stake. It had been left as a reminder to diplomats and other visitors to mind their manners.
The Prince laughed again, then abruptly sobered. “Meanwhile, the Empire has needs for energy that cannot be met. Our industrial development has fallen behind schedule. Food production is not sufficient to meet our needs. If we had the ziridium that the Arcadians stole from us, we could solve our energy shortage overnight. Instead we must go into the market to buy necessary stores. Those purchases, of course, go through Victorian brokers, who take a commission that is charged against the Empire.”
The Prince leaned forward, tapping the table in emphasis. “The Emperor is a great man. His patience is vast, but not limitless. The Arcadians have not mended their criminal ways,
and
have insulted the Emperor’s honor. They leave us no choice: the Tilleke Empire will invade Arcadia and take back the ziridium ore that is rightfully ours.”
The room fell into an abrupt silence. Hudis nodded in satisfaction. The Tilleke were ready to go to war! They did not have to be convinced or bribed. They were ready, even eager. Then Elizabeth Dreyer spoke.
“The Victorians will stop you,” Dreyer said flatly. “Their fleet is twice the size of yours and its ships are newer and more powerful. If you attack Arcadia, the Vickies will come running and when they are finished, your fleet will be a smoking ruin and you still won’t have the ziridium.”
Hudis cast a cautious glance at the Savak bodyguard standing against the wall and cleared his throat. “Unless…unless of course the Empire has the support and help of its allies. As the Assistant National Security Advisor said, the Victorian fleet
is
twice the size of the Tilleke fleet. But it is not twice the size of the Tilleke fleet, the Dominion fleet and the Cape Breton fleet combined.” He smiled. “Perhaps we can accomplish together what no one of us could accomplish alone.” He glanced at Dreyer, who nodded imperceptibly. “We have been thinking of a way to distract the Vickies, forcing them to divide their fleet. It is still risky, Prince RaShahid, particularly for your Empire. The Victorian fleet is formidable.”
Prince RaShahid nodded thoughtfully. “What you say is true, Citizen Secretary, but perhaps the Victorian fleet is not as formidable as you think. We have developed…ah, a
device
that could help us in our effort.”
Talk suspended while servants brought in refreshments. When the last of them had left, Hudis outlined his plan for conquering Victoria. When he was done, he sipped his wine and looked at the beautiful woman from Cape Breton and the haughty prince from Tilleke. “There are many details, of course, but first we must make a collective decision: Will our three nations join together in this crusade or not?”
Elizabeth Dreyer nodded once. “Cape Breton will join.”
Prince RaShahid stood. “His Most Sovereign Majesty, the Emperor of Tilleke, welcomes your allegiance in his war against the Arcadians. He will cooperate with your effort against Victoria.” He tilted his head and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The two Crèche-born Savak stepped forward and flanked the Prince as he swept from the room. Hudis was mindful to keep beyond the proscribed ten feet.
For a long moment after the Tilleke had left, neither of them spoke, then Dreyer combed her hair back with her fingers. “You realize, don’t you, that the Tilleke will turn on us once the Vickies are destroyed?”
“The Tilleke want Arcadia and the ziridium,” Hudis replied neutrally.
Make her show her hand first.
Dreyer nodded. “And once they have it, fifty percent of the known ziridium reserves in the Inhabited Universe will be in the hands of the most xenophobic, psychotic race in the League of Human Nations.” She cupped her chin in her hand, pursing her lips in a mime of thought. “Tell me, Citizen Secretary, do you think that is a good idea?”
Hudis sighed.
Cards on the table, then.
“The Tilleke are vicious attack dogs. We can use them, but we can never trust them. I don’t know what this new weapon is that they have, but I am satisfied that they will make the Vickies pay dearly. Will the Tilleke win?” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, as long as they hurt the Vickies badly. We need either a victorious Tilleke or a victorious but badly battered Victoria. In either case we will have our prize.”
Dreyer studied him, her eyes wide and unmoving. He realized wryly that she was no political neophyte. More like a very sleek, dangerous cat. “Ah, yes, our prize. Victoria, its planets and its resources.” She smiled lazily. “And of course, its location – the very
center
of the human universe. All that commerce passing through every day.” She straightened and clasped her hands together.
Here it is,
thought Hudis.
Now comes the hard bargaining.
“Thanks to the Vickies, Cape Breton is a poor nation. When we defeat Victoria-” She paused, inclining her head to Hudis. “When we
and
the Dominion defeat Victoria, we want something to repay us for the harm they have caused.”
Hudis frowned. “We have already agreed that we will jointly govern the planets-”
“We want the Titans,” Dreyer said firmly. “Independent control and exclusive rights to their total output.”
The Titans. Victoria had built two enormous ship building and repair facilities, each one larger than any ship building yard in any other sector. They named them after the early Greek gods, Atlas and Prometheus. A third facility, Hyperion, was under construction, but years away from completion. In their smug belief of their own superiority, Victoria used the Titans to produce mostly freighters and merchant ships, but whoever held the Titans would be able to build more warships than the rest of the worlds combined. It was a staggering logistical advantage and would make them invulnerable from attack.
Hudis smiled wryly and held up one finger. “One,” he said. “We’ll each take one.”
Dreyer considered for a moment, then smiled in return. “Very well, Citizen Secretary. Cape Breton will take Prometheus.”
She had played it well, Hudis thought. Prometheus was the newer of the two, with more advanced computer aided manufacturing capability than its older brother. Still, each of the Titans was a treasure beyond measure.
“Done!” he said warmly.
We can always take it back later.
A
nother three weeks without an entry. I can only plead exhaustion. Years of sedentary living did not get me ready for this! Some days I think they intend to run us to death, then other times they throw us into a four day combat maneuver where we are lucky to get three hours of sleep a night. Funny, everyone gets real macho about staying awake for thirty hours straight, but the fatigue kicks in. People start making mistakes, tripping, forgetting to bring extra battery packs for their rifle. “Friendly fire” incidents go up. We actually had one recruit fall asleep while he was on a night march and walk into a tree. Broke his nose. Sergeant Kaelin field-packed it with toilet paper and made him continue for the rest of the maneuver. “If the soldier is combat effective, he fights,” he told us. “The mission comes first.” On the other hand, maybe if the soldier were allowed a little more sleep, he wouldn’t walk into trees. Dream on, Emily.
Other lessons as well. Every day they select one of us to be a squad leader, platoon leader or company leader. No training or instructions on how to
be
a leader, just, “You’re it. Take this position” or “Hold this hill.” As my statistics professor would have said, the results are ‘variable.’ What is interesting, though, is how quickly you learn who is good and who isn’t. First lesson: The bad ones get more of us killed than the good ones. Second lesson: the tough, swaggering guys often can’t plan their way out of a paper bag. No feints, no maneuver, no psychology, just charge straight in and damn the torpedoes, or machine guns, or whatever. Enormous casualties. Sometimes they take their objective, more often not. When they do win there seems to be a perverse pride that they won the battle despite the dire losses suffered by their men. Stupid, just stupid. And God help us if the idiot wins like this, it makes him more prone to do it again in the future. Foolhardy bravery + lack of imagination = disaster.
Which brings me back to Grant Skiffington, the Admiral’s son. I
know
he is smart enough to plan a decent, imaginative attack, but he doesn’t bother. He just likes to fight and isn’t too concerned with actually winning. He doesn’t seem to care much if people get wounded (which hurts like a sonofabitch). After one skirmish I told him he was a jerk and that a lot of his people had been killed for nothing (he didn’t even take the objective). He laughed and called over one of the FOFs. “How you feeling?” he asked the guy. “Fine,” replied the soldier. Then Skiffington leaned over to me and said
sotto voce,
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Tuttle; he’s not really dead.” Then he laughed and walked away. I told Cookie about it and she said I should have shot him in the ass. “He feel some pain then, girlie. He most certainly will.” Cookie is ambivalent about Skiffington. She admires him for his ferocity in battle, but doesn’t like the casualties. “He’ll take the hill that needs takin’ real bad, but he might be the only one left standin’.” Sergeant Kaelin just shakes his head and asks Skiffington if he can really be
that
stupid. He’s not, of course.