Artifice (Special Forces: FJ One Book 2) (10 page)

Never mind that (a fact of which of course the high command was completely ignorant) the men were in a country where the absence of facial hair was seen as unmanly; all that mattered to the generals was that the soldiers weren’t compliant with regulations about their grooming. Those in command had
absolutely not the first idea
about the country they were conquering…

This was the genius of HM and her organization – the
Fallschirmjäger
was lean, mean, self-policing for incompetence and inadequacy. There was no thick rank of majors and colonels and generals. Sergeants reported to captains, who reported to HM. Pragmatism was the only General Order – what works, where? If it doesn’t work somewhere else, change it. Adapt to your world, respect the natives, work with them not against them when at all possible.

But his promotion had come in handy, for that very reason. The Tiamatans were rank-obsessed. They’d treated him like shit on their heels when he was a Lieutenant, once they understood the human ranking system. But hey presto, when Captain Chen, a respected leader, promoted him to equivalent rank, the Tiamatans were ready to listen to him, work with him, and now, follow his lead. In this case, rank
was
relevant, and so the FJ adapted.

Now he was doing what he’d told the Hierarch to do – watch and wait. Follow the Norwegian Resistance protocol in World War II: Lie low, go slow.

And once he knew that the High Tiamatans had taken just about all they could take, that they were this close to “Point FTS,” as it was known in 6C lingo, he was ready to take the next step, before the natives at last said “fuck this shit” and started a useless insurrection.

It was risky, leaving his lair to meet with Hierarch Gabari. But also unthinkable that His Majesty would enter…slave quarters, for any reason. He didn’t have a mask fabber that would have let him pass on the streets as a Tiamatan, so instead he was sewn into a light linen corpse bag and laid out on a stretcher.

Through the thin fabric, he could see that the city of Rumbra already looked different. The Rhal had their own ideas about public décor, clearly. The pastel colors that had made the capital’s banks and temples and palaces so reminiscent of ancient Greece had been whitewashed, so as not to clash with the massive banners hung from the rooftops, a white four-petal flower on a red background.
Fascist optics
, Orlov thought with a grimace,
were the same all across the galaxy.

The Rhal security detachment at the Great Gate wasn’t concerned with outgoing traffic, and the clearly Low Tiamatan litter bearers with their repulsive burden were quickly waved out of the city. Once outside the range of sight of the city, the Tiamatans tore him out of the shroud.

“My apologies, Captain,” said the Low Tiamatan, Bracalac. “I will atone for my offense…”

“I absolve you,” Orlov said. His status was equivalent to that of a High Tiamatan, which left him little choice but to act like one, as both High and Low would expect it. Although he hoped his meeting with the Hierarch was about to change the order of their society forever...

“Are your people ready?” Orlov asked Bracalac.

Bracalac purred. “Everything Captain Chen and his team left us is in shipping shape.”

Orlov nodded, not bothering to correct him on the “ship shape” bit. “Good. Let’s hope the Hierarch is ready for a change.”

They took a ferry across the river to the Low side, where the buildings were wood and mud rather than marble and stone, though they were just as brightly painted with the local lichen extracts. The Rhal hadn’t even bothered to occupy the Low side of the river – they’d only come across to declare their victory, and to let the Lows know that they were now subject to the Rhal and not to the High. Other than that, their miserable lives had gone on as before, save that they now kept more of their agricultural produce, and less of their livestock as it was “requisitioned” for the carnivorous Rhal dining tables.

To his dismay, the High Tiamatans had displaced the Low from their better structures, leaving the Low to sleep in the barns now empty of the local version of cattle.

There were no trumpets to welcome the Captain to the Hierarch’s new Palace, no red carpet up marble stairs. Only a creaky wooden door opened by a herald in dirty livery, into what had been the Low temple.

They had managed to recreate as much pomp as possible, building an elevated wooden platform for the throne, itself hastily constructed of stone blocks, with a sufficient number of steps on which to throw oneself in submission.

Orlov did exactly that, and waited for Hierarch Gabari to speak before he rose.

Instead, the Hierarch merely sighed, no doubt reminded how far he’d fallen from the last time he’d seen the human.

“Well, now, Captain,” Gabari said with a slightly wheezy voice, clearly plagued with some feline respiratory problem. “We’ve saved you, we’ve watched and waited, we’ve been…degraded in our stations. And for what?”

Orlov raised his head. “Majesty, I have a plan. But it will require cooperation, between High and Low. On an equal footing.”

Hisses and snarls erupted from around him, the displaced nobility already infuriated with their very presence here on the “wrong side of the river.”

Orlov went on. “When Captain Chen was here, he worked with the Low Tiamatans. He taught them many skills, including the use of a number of mechanical devices.”

“This is an outrage!” one of the nobles hissed. Orlov had been expecting Bigbard to object. His own family was rumored to have once been Low, so of course he was the most elitist and status-obsessed of all the High.

“We were informed that the Low were the ‘working class’ of Tiamat. We notified His Majesty that we would be equipping the Low to do their work more efficiently. There was no objection.”

Bigbard had to retreat – the Hierarch had approved it, so there was nothing to debate.

Orlov took a breath. He thought of another concept of Empire, “Networks of domination.” An Empire works best when the social ties between the occupier and the elite of the conquered are strong. And Orlov had strong ties on both sides of the river.

“In the face of attack,” he began, “local populations are weak when divided. It’s the function of an evil Empire to keep them that way. Keep their ire pointed at each other, and away from the real enemy.

“The Low are the same species as you are, and there is no difference biologically, other than the caste system into which they have been born. They have provided you with servants, scribes, warriors, masons. They have had to work harder than the High. They have had to become faster, craftier, quicker to learn. And they have learned.”

With that, Bracalac and a handful of his people entered the palace, carrying projectile weapons. At least, the most advanced projectile weapons the Captain could fab up with what had been left for them, along with what he could “transfer” from the colony before the Rhal arrived. Another aphorism Orlov treasured – amateurs talked tactics, professionals talked logistics. Before any plan could be made, he had to know what sort of arms he could bring to the table.

“It’s time for the Tiamatans to unite, as one,” he said, while the shock of seeing Lows walking so straight, so proud, and so well-armed was still keeping the Highs quiet.

“The Eastern Tiamatans and the Western Tiamatans must come together to repel the invader.”

The Hierarch was silent. “Eastern and Western, you say…would you have us rename ourselves? Overthrow our civilization, our culture, our social order?” Murmurs and nods from the nobility greeted his questions.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, the Rhal have already overthrown your social order.”

Orlov knew that it would take time for the “High” to accommodate the mental transition, and he’d planned accordingly.

“There will be two roles to play, one in the country and one in the city. The Eastern Tiamatans are ready to practice what we humans call ‘guerrilla warfare.’ They will spread out, hide out, pick off foraging parties, sneak into the human colony and disrupt the occupiers.”

“Disrupt…violently, I presume.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And your fellow humans?”

Orlov shook his head. “I’ve had no contact with them since the occupation. Now that I’m out of the city, though, I have some freedom of motion, and I’ll be feeling them out. The Rhal may be treating them better than your people, if only to placate humans back on Earth. But somehow I doubt it.” If the Rhal had descended without bothering to put on their soft, friendly avatars, they probably didn’t give a shit what Earth thought anymore.

“And the role of the…so called Westerners in this?”

“Passive resistance, sabotage, espionage. Appear to be cooperative, ‘rub the leg,’” he said, using the local term for sucking up. “Create obstacles to their food supply, disrupt their routines, start fires, whatever keeps them off balance, but always discreetly – don’t get caught, make it appear as if ‘these things happen.’ Coordinate with the Easterners so that resistance activities are timed to be as effective as possible.”

“Hmm.” Gabari thoroughly licked his fur for a good five minutes, a sign that he was giving this decision the momentous thought it required. Orlov tried not to hold his breath. If the High refused to stop being “High” and work with the “Low” rather than order them around… Well, then he’d have to find his way into the human colony and start over.

“If I may offer a thought from one of our finer thinkers on warfare,” Orlov said. “His name was Krepinevich. He created the ‘law of conservation of enemies.’ Which is to say, never make more enemies than you need to have at once. If the Tiamatans are each other’s enemies, and the Rhal are the enemies of both…”

Orlov felt a buzzing in his pocket that made him jump. He’d deactivated his earcomm, his contacts, and his vocalizer when the Rhal had landed. He’d wondered if he should just destroy them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, to let go of his last hope of help from 6C.

Now they had activated themselves. He warily extracted the earcomm and inserted it. If the Rhal had discovered him, then the damage was done. If not…

“Captain Orlov, are you there?”

“Holy shit,” Orlov cried out. “Is that you, Sergeant Archambault? Have I got news for you…”

“Captain Orlov,” said Dieter Chen.

“Captain Chen! I was sure you were dead. Are the units…”

“Later. Where are you now?”

“I’m with the Hierarch. Captain, the Rhal have landed here, and they’re not the little green men. They’re some kind of reptilian…”

“We know.”

“And they’re here as conquerors, Captain, none of the friendly visitor stuff we got on Earth.” He clenched his jaw to open the speaker on the earcomm so the Tiamatans could hear.

“FYI, it’s General Chen now. By unanimous accord of the FJ, I’m afraid.”

Chen smiled, hearing the cap…general’s disdain for the trappings of rank. But he could see the point – optics, again, especially back on Earth. A captain would lead an illegitimate
coup d’état
; a general would lead a legitimate army.

“General Chen,” the Hierarch said. “It’s good to hear your voice. Are you approving the actions the Captain suggests?”

“Probably. What have you been up to, Captain?”

“I’ve been training the
Eastern
Tiamatans and arming them as well as I can for insurgency in the mountains. The
Western
Tiamatans are weighing whether they will take a sabotage and espionage role, in and out of the city.” He wanted to be sure that Chen knew he was trying to remodel the society into a more cooperative resistance, even if it meant accelerating the sociological timetable for eliminating the caste system.

“I see. And the imperial model the Rhal are following?”

“Brutalist, sir. Enslavement, strip mining, uncompensated requisition of foodstuffs, capital and corporal punishment…the works.”

“And you’ve been busy, I can tell.”

“Yes, sir. Sort of a one-man FJ unit.” He couldn’t help but brag about it.

“That you are. Your Majesty, I hereby Elevate Captain Orlov to Colonel Orlov, two jumps in rank. In all matters, he speaks for me.”

The court rustled. Chen was respected, admired, and the granting of more of his status to Orlov could tip the balance.

“General,” the Hierarch said after another pause. “I approve of this plan. The…Eastern and…Western peoples will work together to repel the invader. If, that is, we are not alone in this. Our resistance could be easily crushed without some…outside assistance.”

“That, Your Majesty, is something we have acquired. We’ll be in touch soon with more information but yes, you are not alone. And when it comes to the Rhal, remember, as your people say – the biggest cat is not always the fastest cat. Chen out.”

Colonel Orlov looked at the Hierarch. The Hierarch narrowed his eyes at him.

“Well? What are you standing there for? Get to work.”

Diplomacy, HM reflected, could be hazardous to your health. She had been brought to Rhalbazan as a hostage, as a prop, and to neutralize her as an obstacle on Earth. But like any Empire, the Rhal was not a monolithic entity with a single will. There were other factions in play – factions that wanted to see Vai Kotta fail, factions that wanted to see him win because they believed in his strategy, factions that wanted him to win because their own status was tied up with his…

She was welcome at Court now, and she spent every day there, harvesting data. The RhalVai was the absolute ruler, and there was no legislature. But the aristocracy paid taxes and tribute, and he couldn’t run roughshod over them. And the military…well, the military dictated imperial policy. Or had, until recently.

She found herself having the local version of tea with DuRhalVai Jekkita every afternoon in the xeriscaped garden she’d seen on her first day. The tea tasted terrible, but it didn’t make her sick, and part of diplomacy has always been about enduring the disgusting cuisine of other nations. Besides, there was good reason to accept the DuRhalVai’s invitation every day – a single day without taking tea could be interpreted as a loss of favor, of protection.

“I’m curious,” she said on the fifth day of tea-taking, having allowed the conversation to remain innocuous until then. It was clear that her protector would not be volunteering any information, so it was time to pry. “In terms of succession…forgive me if I’m unfamiliar with your reproductive systems, or if it’s rude to even ask…”

Jekkita waved it away. “Of course. The RhalVai has been mated before, to a female, and produced, as you say on Earth, ‘an heir and a spare.’”

Hmm
, HM thought,
so he’s been doing his homework on us
.

“Having accomplished that, His Imperial Highness separated from his mate and joined with me.”

“A love match?” HM couldn’t help but ask, after the DuRhalVai had mocked that of Vai Kotta and his clearly unsuitable wife.

His laughter wasn’t translated by the device at his throat, but came out as a croaking, snapping sound. All the same, it was obviously amusement.

“Yes…and no. The RhalVai and I were childhood friends. And our houses have been allied for some time. The former DuRhalVai…” He broke off, realizing he was saying too much. “More tea?”

“Yes, please, I’d love some,” HM lied. She knew it was time to change the subject. “Vai Kotta has been extremely kind and generous, to me and to my people. But, and forgive me, I’ve been watching your mass entertainments and…well, the way Earth has been…approached is somewhat unusual for you?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I suppose you’re on to us there. We are not a peaceful people. War is the basis of our prosperity – perpetual conquest keeps all this going,” he said, waving a hand at the garden around them.

“And, Director, I’ll be honest with you. There are some among us who believe that this model is not sustainable. There have been…setbacks recently. Dishonor has fallen on certain Vais and their houses, including that of the former DuRhalVai.”

HM could feel her spine tingling. This was the sort of information she needed, but also the sort that could get her killed, if the wrong Rhal knew she had it. All the same, it all her willpower not to lean forward, hungry for more.

“My cousin Vai Kotta is from an old family, a great house. A family so old that they were the patrons of the family who now holds the throne. Which is why Vai Kotta’s ideas have been…tolerated. It was simply too difficult to remove him from the game board.

“His ideas are heretical, or nearly so. The Patriarch of our church would have him burnt at the stake, if he could.”

“The idea that a new form of conquest is required,” HM couldn’t help say out loud. “One that is less resource-intensive, less destructive, that incites less rebellion and is more lucrative.”

“Aren’t you the clever one,” the DuRhalVai smiled. “And the recent… setbacks have… adjusted the balance at court.”

HM filled in the blanks for herself. The old DuRhalVai was part of a house that was responsible for a military loss, a significant one. Perhaps for the Rhal, any military loss was a disgrace. Who knew, after all, the level of technology they’d encountered on their conquered worlds… And so one faction fell, and another rose, and Vai Kotta had his opportunity, especially once his cousin was sitting at the RhalVai’s right hand.

HM continued carefully. “When one gets to the point that more resources are expended in conquest than are attained in its achievement, the economic imbalance is hard to ignore.”

He nodded. “There are many at court, Director, who are hoping that Vai Kotta fails. That Earth resists. And proves that only a heavy heel can be brought down on a new planet.”

“And so…it would be in Earth’s best interest to…cooperate
.” In other words
, she thought grimly,
for me to cooperate.

The DuRhalVai smiled. “Yes. Now, I must be honest with you. For you’ll find out soon enough, I suppose, court gossip being what it is. Someone will tell you in an effort to undermine your support for this plan.”

“Now the bad news,” HM said bluntly.

“Yes. A deal had to be struck with the military. To leave Earth alone, Vai Kotta will have to surrender the colonies. Once Earth is pacified, of course. We can’t have the news come home to your people and disrupt that plan, as it surely would.”

HM felt sick. The boot…coming down on all the new worlds, all the humans, all the natives… The whole of human progress wiped out…

But not yet. Diplomacy was an economy – what you bought and sold with its currency was time. Time for something to happen that would prevent the worst possible outcome, for a mobilization to complete, for a politician to die, for a truth to be revealed...

“I see that you’ve become somewhat familiar with our world,” HM said. “Do you know the difference between bees and wasps?”

The DuRhalVai narrowed his eyes. “I’m familiar with the insect, but I’m afraid I don’t know that story.”

“Bees build their hives tightly, compactly, out of beeswax. Wasps build recklessly, casually, out of paper or wood pulp or even mud. Because those aren’t scarce resources, so there’s no need to conserve. Bees must be more…resourceful.”

“I see. And would a bee’s resourcefulness extend to condemning the
Fallschirmjäger’s
attack on our ship as a traitorous and unauthorized act?”

“The…I beg your pardon?”

“Ah, of course, you weren’t aware. It appears that your FJ units gathered on Eden One to plan the destruction of the Earth’s new benefactors. And then launched an unprovoked attack on a Rhal vessel, killing all aboard. Not, of course, before most of the insurrectionists were eliminated, including your Captain Chen, the ringleader. But some, it appears, may have escaped. And it would behoove you, and your people, to denounce these treasonous elements. To ensure that no aid and comfort is given to them.”

Her mind reeled.
Chen.
Dead… Who could reform the remnants of the force? What would the survivors do, where would they go? What chance did Earth have without them? Was there anyone among them who could step into his shoes, replace his experience, his knowledge…

She would grieve later. She shut the door on all the feelings that tried to rush in and interfere with her. She had to think now, cry later.

And this, she realized, was the heart of the matter. The reason for all the kindness the DuRhalVai had given her. She had to denounce her own forces, take away their legitimacy, their ability to gain support. To do otherwise would give the old school ammunition in their campaign to unseat Vai Kotta, it would show that Earth was a combatant, and only force could bring Earth to heel. Which in turn would disgrace and defeat Vai Kotta’s cousin, the DuRhalVai, and jeopardize his place at the RhalVai’s side.

“I must…craft a statement. It would take some time for me to think on...”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Director, but I’m afraid you have two hours to write your statement. The announcement has been made, the communication links have been set up, and humanity is expecting to hear from you.”

She nodded. “Two hours, then,” she agreed, the wheels turning in her head.

For what she had in mind, it would be more than enough time.