David Drake - General 3 - The Anvil(1).pdf

(773 KB) Pobierz
385294063 UNPDF
THE GENERAL, Volume Three
David Drake & S. M. Stirling
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
"Raj!" Thom Poplanich blurted.
Raj Whitehall's mouth quirked. "You sound more shocked this time," he
said.
The way you look, I am more shocked, Thom thought, blinking and
stretching a little. There was no physical need; his muscles didn't
stiffen while Center held him in stasis. But the psychological
satisfaction of movement was real enough, in its own way.
The silvered globe in which they stood didn't look different, and the
reflection showed Thom himself unchanged -- down to the shaving nick
in his chin and the tear in his tweed trousers. A slight, olive-skinned
young man in gentleman's hunting clothes, looking a little younger than
his twenty-five years. He'd cut his chin before they set out to explore
the vast tunnel-catacombs beneath the Governor's Palace in East
Residence. The trousers had been torn by a ricocheting pistol-bullet,
when the globe closed around them and Raj tried to shoot his way out.
Everything was just as it had been when Raj and he first stumbled into
the centrum of the being that called itself Sector Command and Control
Unit AZ12-bl4-cOOO Mk. XIV
That had been years ago, now.
Raj was the one who'd changed, living in the outer -- the real --
world. That had been obvious on the first visit, two years after their
parting. It was much more noticeable this time. They were of an age,
but someone meeting them together for the first time would have thought
Raj a decade older.
"How long?" Thom said. He was half-afraid of the answer.
"Another year and a half."
Thom's surprise was visible. He's aged that much in so little time? he
thought. His friend was a tall man, 190 centimeters, broad-shouldered
and narrow-hipped, with a swordsman's thick wrists. There were a few
silver hairs in the bowl-cut black curls now, and his gray eyes held no
youth at all.
"Well, I've seen the titanosauroid, since," Raj went on.
"Governor Barholm did send you to the Southern Territories?"
Raj nodded; they'd discussed that on the first visit. After Raj's
victories against the Colony in the east, he was the natural choice.
"A hard campaign, from the way you look."
"No," Raj said, moistening his lips. "A little nerve-racking sometimes,
but I wouldn't call it hard, exactly."
observe, the computer said. The walls around them shivered. The perfect
reflection dissolved in smoke, which scudded away --
***
-- and returned as a ragged white pall spurting from the muzzles of
volleying rifles. From behind a courtyard wall, Raj Whitehall and
troopers wearing the red and orange neckscarves of the 5th Descott shot
down an alleyway toward the docks of Port Murchison. Each pair of hands
worked rhythmically on the lever, ting, and the spent brass shot
backward, click, as they thumbed a new round into the breech and
brought the lever back up, crack as they fired.
There were already windrows of bodies on the pavement: Squadron
warriors killed before they knew they were at risk. Survivors crouched
behind the corpses of their fellows and fired back desperately. Their
clumsy flintlocks were slow to load, inaccurate even at this range;
they had to expose themselves to reload, fumbling with powder horns and
ramrods, falling back dead more often than not as the Descotter
marksmen fired. A few threw the firearms aside with screams of
frustrated rage, charging with their long single-edged swords whirling.
By some freak one got as far as the wall, and a bayonet punched through
his belly. The man fell backward off the steel, his mouth and eyes
perfect O's of surprise.
A ball ricocheted from one of the pillars and grazed Raj's buttock
before slapping into the small of the back of the officer beside him in
the firing line. The stricken man dropped his revolver and pawed
blindly at his wound, legs giving their final twitch. Raj shot
carefully, standing in the regulation pistol-range position with one
hand behind the back and letting the muzzle fell back before putting
another round through the center of mass.
"Marcy!" the barbarians called in their Namerique dialect. Mercy! They
threw down their weapons and began raising their hands. "Marcy, migo!"
Mercy, friend!
***
Both men blinked as the vision faded -- Raj to force memory away,
Thom in surprise.
"You brought the Southern Territories back?" Thom said, slight awe in
his voice. The Squadrones -- the Squadron, under its Admiral -- had
ruled the Territories ever since they came roaring down out of the Base
Area a century and a half ago and cut a swath across the Midworld Sea.
The only previous Civil Government attempt to reconquer them had been a
spectacular disaster.
Raj shrugged, then nodded: "I was in command of the Expeditionary
Force, yes. But I couldn't have achieved anything without good troops
-- and the Spirit."
"Center isn't the Spirit of Man of the Stars, Raj. It's a Central
Command and Control Unit from before the Collapse -- the Fall, we
call it now."
Neither of them needed another set of Center's holographic scenarios to
remember what they had been shown. Earth -- Bellevue, the computer
always insisted -- from the holy realm of Orbit, swinging like a
blue-and-white shield against the stars. Points of thermonuclear fire
expanding across cities . . . and the descent into savagery that
followed. Which must have followed everywhere in the vast stellar realm
the Federation once ruled, or men from the stars would have returned.
Raj shivered involuntarily. He had been terrified as a child, when the
household priest told of the Fall. It was even more unnerving to see it
played out before the mind's eye. Worse yet was the knowledge that
Center had given him. The Fall was still happening. If Center's plan
failed, it would go on until there was nothing left on Bellevue --
anywhere in the human universe -- but flint-knapping cannibal
savages. Fifteen thousand years would pass before civilization rose
again.
Thom went on: "Center's just a computer."
Raj nodded. Computers were holy, the agents of the Spirit, but Thom's
stress on the word meant something different now. Different since he'd
been locked in stasis down here, being shown everything Center knew.
Nearly four years of continuous education.
"You know what you know, Thom," Raj said gently. "But I know what I
know." He shook hi head. "We slaughtered the whole Squadron," he went
on. Literally. "Made them attack us, then shot the shit out of them."
"And how did Governor Barholm react?" Thom asked dryly. By rights, Thom
Poplanich should have been Seated on the Chair; his grandfather had
been. Barholm Clerett's uncle had been Commander of Residence Area
Forces when the last Governor died, however, which had turned out to be
much more important.
"Well, he was certainly pleased to get the Southern Territories back,"
Raj said, looking aside. That was hard to do inside the perfectly
reflective sphere. The expedition more than paid for itself, too --
and that's not counting the tax revenues."
observe, Center said.
***
-- and men in the black uniforms of the Gubernatorial Guard were
marching Raj away, while the leveled rifles of more kept Suzette
Whitehall and Raj's men stock-still --
-- and Raj stood in a prisoner's breechclout and chains before a
tribunal of three judges in ceremonial jumpsuits and bubble helmets --
-- and he sat bound to an iron chair, as the glowing rods came closer
and closer to his eyes --
***
Raj sighed. "That might have happened, yes. According to Center, and I
don't doubt it myself. I was a little . . . apprehensive . . . about
something like that. I'm not any more; the Army grapevine has been
pretty conclusive. In fact, when the Levee is held this afternoon, I'm
confident of getting another major command."
"The Western Territories?'
"How did you guess?"
"Even Barholm isn't crazy enough to try conquering the Colony. Yet."
"Yes." Raj nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "The problem is,
he's probably too suspicious to give me enough men to actually do it."
Thom blinked again. Raj has changed, he thought. The young man he had
known had been ambitious -- dreaming of beating back a major raid
from the Colony, say, out on the eastern frontier. This weathered
young-old commander was casually confident of overrunning the second
most powerful realm on the Middle Sea, given adequate backing. The
Brigade had held the Western Territories for nearly six hundred years.
They were almost civilized . . . for barbarians. Odd to think that they
were descendants of Federation troops stranded in the Base Area after
the Fall.
"Barholm," Raj went on with clinical detachment -- sounding almost
like Center, for a moment -- "thinks that either I'll fail -- "
observe, Center said.
***
Dead men gaped around a smashed cannon. The Starburst banner of the
Civil Government of Holy Federation draped over some of the bodies,
mercifully. Raj crawled forward, the stump of his left arm tattered and
red, still dribbling blood despite the improvised tourniquet. His right
just touched the grip of his revolver as the Brigade warrior reined in
his riding dog and stood in the stirrups to jam the lance downward into
his back. Again, and again . . .
***
" -- or I'll succeed, and he can deal with me then." observe, Center
said.
***
Raj Whitehall stood by the punchbowl at a reception; Thom Poplanich
recognized the Upper Promenade of the palace by the tall windows and
the checkerboard pavement of the terrace beyond. Brilliant gaslight
shone on couples swirling below the chandeliers in the formal patters
of court dance; on bright uniforms and decorations, on the ladies'
gowns and jewelry. He could almost smell the scents of perfume and
pomade and sweat. Off to one side the orchestra played, the soft rhythm
of the steel drums cutting through the mellow brass of trumpets and the
rattle of marachaz. Silence spread like a ripple through the crowd as
the Gubernatorial Guard troopers clanked into the room. Their black-
and-silver uniforms and nickel-plated breastplates shone, but the
rifles in their hands were very functional. The officer leading them
bowed stiffly before Raj.
"General Whitehall -- " he began, holding up a letter sealed with the
purple-and-gold of a Governor's Warrant.
***
"Barholm doesn't deserve to have a man like you serving him," Thom
burst out.
"Oh, I agree," Raj said. For a moment his rueful grin made him seem
boyish again, all but the eyes.
"Then stay here," Thom urged. "Center could hold you in stasis, like
me, until long after Barholm is dust. And while we wait, we can be
learning everything. All the knowledge in the human universe. Center's
been teaching me things . . . things you couldn't imagine."
"The problem is, Thom, I'm serving the Spirit of Man of the Stars.
Whose Viceregent on Earth -- "
bellevue, Center said.
" -- Viceregent on Bellevue happens to be Barholm Clerett. Besides the
fact that my wife and friends are waiting for me; and frankly, I
wouldn't want my troops in anyone else's hands right now, either." He
sighed. "Most of all . . . well, you always were a scholar, Thom. I'm a
soldier; and the Spirit has called me to serve as a soldier. If I die,
that goes with the profession. And all men die, in the end."
essentially correct, Center noted, its machine-voice more somber than
usual. restoring interstellar civilization on bellevue and to humanity
in general is an aim worth more than any single life. A pause, more
than any million lives.
Raj nodded. "And besides . . . in a year, I may die. Or Barholm may
die. Or the dog may learn how to sing."
They made the embrhazo of close friends, touching each cheek. Thom
froze again; Raj swallowed and looked away. He had seen many men die.
Too many to count, over the last few years, and he saw them again in
his dreams far more often than he wished. This frozen un-death
disturbed him in a way the windrows of corpses after a battle did not.
No breath, no heartbeat, the chill of a corpse -- yet Thom lived.
Lived, and did not age.
He stepped out of the doorway that appeared silently in the mirrored
sphere, into the tunnel with its carpet of bones -- the bones of
those Center had rejected over the years as it waited for the man who
would be its sword in the world.
Then again, he thought, stasis isn't so bad, when you consider the
alternatives.
***
"Bloody hell," Major Ehwardo Poplanich said, sotto voce. "How long is
this going to take? If I'd wanted to sit on my butt and be bored, I
would have stayed home on the estate." He ran a hand over his thinning
brown hair.
He was part of the reason that Raj Whitehall and his dozen Companions
had plenty of space to themselves on the padded sofa-bench that ran
down the side of the anteroom. Nobody at Court wanted to stand too
close to a close relation of the last Poplanich Governor. Quite a few
wondered why Poplanich was with Raj; Thom Poplanich had disappeared in
Raj's company years before, and Thom's brother Des had died when Raj
put down a bungled coup attempt against Governor Barholm.
Another part of the reason the courtiers avoided them was doubt about
exactly how Raj stood with the Chair, of course.
The rest of it was the other Companions, the dozen or so close
followers Raj had collected in his first campaign on the eastern
frontier or in the Southern Territories. Many of the courtiers had
spent their adult lives in the Palace, waiting in corridors like this.
The Companions seemed part of the scene at first, in dress or walking-
out uniforms like many of the men not in Court robes or religious
vestments. Until you came closer and saw the scars, and the eyes.
"We'll wait as long as His Supremacy wants us to, Ehwardo," Colonel
Gerrin Staenbridge said, swinging one elegantly booted foot over his
knee. He looked to be exactly what he was: a stylish, handsome
professional soldier from a noble family of moderate wealth, a man of
wit and learning, and a merciless killer. "Consider yourself lucky to
have an estate in a county that's boring; back home in Descott County
-- "
" -- bandits come down the chimney once a week on Starday," Ehwardo

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika:

Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin