Hegemony at dalou, p.13
Hegemony at Dalou, page 13
“Heather?”
“Command Centurion Lau,” Makara said automatically. He thought of them as Phil and Heather, in spite of their official titles. “Captain of the Aquitaine flagship Urumchi. Between her, the squadron, and the Yaumgan Immortal Zhang Guolao, I was not called upon to fulfill my oaths.”
“But you would have,” the Shogun pronounced quieter than he had at any point so far.
Makara shrugged. He would have. Had given the order, and expected it to be his death.
In that one thing, at least, he had failed.
Makara could live with that failure, though he supposed that more enemy captains might have nightmares about Morninghawk these days, to quote Beridze’s line just before that battle.
The Shogun watched him. It was not unlike the Emperor doing the same. He wondered if this man was also operating without a net or a plan.
They all seemed to be, caught up in circumstances greater than any of them and at risk of being carried down the side of a mountain while trying to stay ahead of a wall of snow.
For Makara, that was almost a way of life, whereas the others still seemed to be trying to find a new equilibrium.
There was none. Phil Kosnett has assured that.
“I would ask what you need of me,” Makara said. “For now, that seems to be, as your daughter said, to embody all that Morninghawk implies. I can do that. Afterwards, I will go back to what I have always been.”
“And that is?” the man asked.
“The fourth son of a minor lord of a lesser Komyo, Shogun,” he said. “Nobody that matters, save that I have a duty and I will fulfill it.”
“And a promotion of any kind threatens to take you away from the place you most desire,” the Shogun of Dalou spoke.
“In serving Kosnett’s will, I serve yours,” Makara fell back on platitudes. The man had cut him almost to the quick. “In bringing glory to my house, it is reflected upon yours. Dalou is seen as a place of importance. As the leader of Dalou, that brings you power and glory.”
“And the revolution that you have brought to my doorstep?” the Shogun asked.
If the man hadn’t been smiling, Makara might have tried to will himself to just die right there and be done with it.
“Sir?” Makara managed to sputter.
He didn’t even drop his tea.
“No enemy squadron has ever visited Ellariel, Morninghawk,” the Shogun replied. “No enemy captain has ever walked these corridors.”
“Kosnett is not your enemy,” Makara managed.
“No, but the others might be,” the man said with a half-smile. “And an emperor has stepped outside the rigid bounds of protocol and duty as well, so the revolution appears to be catching. How virulent do you suppose it is?”
Makara opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. The answer was a contagion of galaxy-shattering consequences, but he didn’t dare say that. Did he?
“Speak, Morninghawk,” the Shogun ordered in a harder voice. “I do not fear what you will say.”
Oh, but you should.
He didn’t say that, either. Thought it maybe too loud.
Makara swallowed. Facing down the Emperor of Dalou did not raise to the level of Wulfa. Speaking his mind with his sovereign lord, right here, right now, might.
“What could be so bad, Morninghawk?”
“Revolution, Shogun,” Makara said. “It is probably worse than you imagine, because the Zen-Mekyo Syndicates and the Emperor are merely symptoms. Kosnett is the vector, though he did not realize it at the time. At least not all the implications of it.”
“What threatens my throne?” the Shogun asked in a hard, cold voice. “What fool thinks that the Hegemon of Dalou can be toppled?”
Makara nodded.
“At Meerut, we encountered pirate warships, sir,” Makara said. “Their guardships were equipped with condors and cranes. Lesser ships had falcons as well, even a few shrikes.”
“Powerful weapons,” the Shogun said. “As well they should.”
“Those powerful weapons were utterly nullified by Aquitaine, Shogun,” Makara said, finding his voice matching the man’s hardness as he chopped a hand down like a butcher splitting meat. “Irrelevant. Urumchi and her corvettes simply blasted them into ghosts with their rapid-firing beams. At Vilahana, one of those corvettes took a crane to the bow and barely noticed.”
“What are you saying?”
“Kosnett’s current force might not be sufficient to overwhelm our fleet, Shogun of Dalou, but ship for ship we are no match at all for Aquitaine’s technology,” Makara said. “We need to send diplomats to the east. To Aquitaine and probably Fribourg, so that we can gain access to their technology. Otherwise, we might become as irrelevant on the greater stage of Balhee as Ewin already threatens to be. Our military superiority is a thing only when measured against Aditi and the lesser nations. And then only today, because the Consensus has allied themselves with Kosnett. Yaumgan is already beyond us. Now Aquitaine is as well. The revolution need not be political. At least not much. It must also be social, only in that we as a culture never move with any great alacrity. Such reticence would be a terminal mistake today. We must find a way to build new ships with new technology. New fleets, before pirates or conquerors from outside the Cluster discover that we are too primitive to stop them. We must start over. And we must do it now, because tomorrow will be too late.”
Makara fell silent, certain, yet again, that he was about to be struck down for his effrontery. And yet, he wouldn’t have said anything different. These were words that needed to be heard. This was the one man who needed to hear them.
All the others might scoff and ignore him, even as Morninghawk was being honored.
The Shogun would hear him. Or they were all doomed.
More than once, losers in some terrible social fracas had fled into the wilderness of those uncolonized stars, waiting for a time until they were either hunted down or managed to arrange marriages that created new alliances, allowing them to return.
You might run into all manner of such folks in certain places he’d seen. Exiled Gloran warriors. Ewin Barons in disgrace. Even, it was rumored, the older brother of the man seated across from him now, though Makara had never heard of a place offering Ichiro Kugosu succor.
He also hadn’t looked.
The silence stretched. Makara dared a lightning bolt and sipped at his tea.
The Hegemon of Dalou watched him intently.
Makara had a moment of pure evil levity pass through his mind, and worked hard not to let it into his eyes. It had been his mother’s favorite saying when he’d been young.
Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.
The Shogun had asked. After instructing him to speak freely.
Fool.
The honored guest could always run like hell later when nobody was looking.
The Shogun opened his mouth. Closed it. A second time. A third.
And now it was Makara’s turn to panic.
Makara waited. He’d thrown enough kerosene on the fire for one night.
“Tell me, Morninghawk,” the man finally said. “How would you do it?”
Oh.
Shit.
MORNINGHAWK
THIRTY-ONE
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC NOVEMBER 16, 411 APPROACHING ELLARIEL-JO ORBITAL PLATFORM
Phil figured he had probably spent more time arguing about shuttles than he had the reception, in the lead up to this night. Who would be allowed to land on whose ship, when such a thing represented a tremendous risk, had anyone the notion of a Trojan Horse.
He’d given concessions elsewhere, because it would be his pilot or he wouldn’t come. Simple as that.
The landing was just as smooth as he’d expected. These crews were all prepared to handle ambassadors and important visitors, so he’d made it a point not to allow Heather to have anyone like Keller’s old favorite Gaucho flying around. Not that there were many like him, but the RAN was a big place, and that man had been insane. Probably still was, retired, assuming he hadn’t broken his neck somewhere.
They landed and gravity took hold. Phil unbuckled and rose faster than anybody except Xochitl, not that he was surprised. He had picked her out personally, since it would be his ass she ended up protecting. Executive prerogative, and all that.
The others rose almost as quickly.
“Phil, you’ll want to see this,” Heather said, so he made his way next to her and the screen showing the flight lounge beyond the airlocks.
“Huh,” he grunted.
Sobol he recognized. Enough arguments with her over these negotiations. The other woman with her was taller. Bigger. Felt young. Like, even younger than his daughter Yi Wen. Shogun’s colors, so he assumed someone with important connections.
Nobody else, save the obvious bodyguards that went everywhere with big players. Phil was not armed. Nobody was. Xochitl had a lifetime of beating up people bigger than her, and that described just about everybody. Again, exactly why he’d hired the woman.
Harinder was there on his other side.
“Casual, it seems,” he observed in a light tone. “Somebody might have actually listened, for once, though I’m both shocked and concerned.”
“Waiting for the other shoe to drop?” Harinder grimaced.
“Something like that,” he agreed. “You suppose the Emperor broke them, somehow?”
He asked that last, glancing back to Kaur, but she just shrugged. They were all operating in the dark. Fortunately, he’d spent years planning for these sorts of things.
Mostly, the open-mindedness to just roll with punches. Like now. Absolute worst case scenario, Iveta could escape and call for help. Pet could bring down a big enough sledgehammer to rescue him.
Or avenge him.
He forced the snarl deep and let the smile relax. Friendly event with loosely allied neighbors. Stiff and a bit stuffy. Rather like how most of Fribourg had been, right up until the moment the Commandant of the Seventeenth Imperial Police Protectorate himself had pinned a medal on Veitengruber’s chest for valor.
He studied the screen as the bay pressurized, but nobody was making to roll out a red carpet and bring in a brass band.
“We’ll do this like a mob,” he decided aloud, turning to include everyone. “Captains and Command Centurions up front.”
He nodded at Fleet Ambassador Aliza Babatunde to step close and felt her smile. She would end up paying off on her bet later, because she’d been certain that the whole thing would be a performance lasting into the wee hours of the morning with nobody ever actually saying anything of any value.
Like most diplomatic events. The point wasn’t to negotiate treaties over canapés. It was to become close enough to the other person that you could call them at seven in the morning when new instructions had arrived from home and meet them for breakfast somewhere quiet, where all those little details could be hammered out quickly and politely, for the big shots to include in a major news release later.
Chatting.
He let Xochitl open the hatch. Heather followed her out, and both women watched for him and the rest to emerge. Harinder. Kaur Singh off Aranyani. Fleet Ambassador Aliza Babatunde. Cruiser-Captain Adham Khan of Juvayni. Striker Gotzon Solo from Shadowbolt. Captain Xue Dao Zhiou off Li Jing, with both Stunt Dude and Sam, the three of them forming a little knot of whispers and occasional giggles that probably would have concerned another First Centurion. Another dozen or so after that, the Centurions and Yeomen that made the Navy work.
Markus would have been here, but he had more important things to do right now. As long as the man still had ten fingers when Phil got back, he didn’t care. No greater threat.
“Dar, you lead us in,” Phil said, following Xochitl as she moved.
He felt like he sat at the center of a fighting squadron, escorts up front and on the wings. Support ships back a bit for safety.
The only thing that was missing was Morninghawk, down in his forward shadow challenging every other ship and threat on the board. Phil smiled.
Hopefully, the best part was yet to come, as Omarov had traveled here aboard Morninghawk, while his father and eldest brother had come on Wraithruin, a vessel that apparently had almost as much prestige in Dalou as the name Auberon did, back home.
The twin airlock doors did their thing with all the deliberate speed you built into equipment designed to protect your life in an emergency. Phil watched everyone settle and put on their game faces, as it were. The inner hatch opened.
Phil was standing between Heather and Harinder, and the three of them stepped forward together.
Samnang Sobol was to the right of the young woman, as a herald or escort, so Phil addressed himself to her, stopping the polite, requisite distance Dalou preferred, rather than getting close enough to touch hands in greeting, like Aquitaine did.
“Inspector,” he nodded as the mob of people came to rest.
“First Centurion,” she replied, a hint of a smile in her eyes that didn’t show on her face. “Allow me to introduce you to Lady Kohahu Kugosu, daughter of the Shogun.”
Yeah, that made sense. The Shogunate was an aristocratic thing, dating back to a civil war that had elevated the winning lord and generals to a position of control over the imperial house that had been on the losing side.
Phil supposed that just keeping the Emperor in place helped with long-term stability, as opposed to those places that would have replaced the entire house. York and Lancaster would have made for a more interesting history, but might have also brought the Hegemony down, since there was no Channel in place to keep invading armies at bay.
You might have ended up with the chaos of Renaissance Germany instead.
Phil bowed deeply to the young woman. She was obviously the representative of his host, important enough and trusted enough to handle this. Phil had already caused enough revolutions, just being here with the mob around him. He could be exquisitely polite now.
He came back to his full height and smiled at the young woman. Teenager. Tough and well-trained, but fourteen or maybe fifteen at most. It was there in the eyes. Tall. Almost as tall as Heather. Black hair. Dark eyes. Broad shoulders tapering down to hips that hadn’t yet begun to develop curves.
“Lady Kugosu,” he said. “Thank you for hosting me and allowing me to have this event on your station. Your loyal retainer greatly impressed both myself as well as my squadron with his performance.”
She returned a lesser bow, but that was to be expected. He was here not quite hat in hand, but close enough to try to charm these folks.
He needed Dalou. Needed them intact. Needed them in a position to push back on Aditi on some future date, should it become necessary, much like Fribourg was going to be needed in a few generations to keep Aquitaine honest.
“First Centurion Kosnett,” Lady Kugosu replied. “We are honored to host you. The Shogun has proclaimed that we should move quickly to the investiture for Lord Morninghawk, so that we can have more time to converse as individuals, rather than listening to prepared speeches. Come, I will convey us to the place.”
She and Sobol turned and began to walk.
Lord Morninghawk? What the hell had happened in the last six hours? Something big.
He supposed that he would find out shortly, when he went to pin a medal on the man’s chest. Perhaps the Shogun or the Emperor had sought to blunt the effectiveness of the Republic Cross by elevating the man at the same time? A cunning move.
Phil fell in behind the two women as they walked to the exit, with Dar handy and everybody else trailing behind that. The rumbles of quiet conversation behind him let Phil know that the others had seen the radical changes from what had been on the schedule.
Had the Emperor made his opinion known? Was that man being catered to or scoffed at? Phil had wanted as relaxed as he could manage without insulting his host. Looked like the Shogun had suddenly decided to do it, instead of formality.
With any luck, the wheels weren’t coming off of Dalou right now, while Phil had a front row seat to the festivities.
And if they did, how the hell would he put it all back together again later?
THIRTY-TWO
THE SHOGUN’S PALACE
Osamu had gotten all of the servants out of the room. He and Shingo were alone, with whatever monitoring devices were pointed at him. Hopefully, the Shogun hired competent spies. He could deal with that. It was the gossip of retainers he distrusted.
They were dressed in imperial finery dating back centuries, to a happier time. At least he supposed so. Were emperors ever happy? Or were they merely pretty songbirds?
It would not be wise to ask him today, which one he felt like.
“We have a few minutes,” he said to Shingo. “All I ask is that you learn well from all the mistakes I have made, and will continue to make tonight.”
“Father?”
“We appear to be engaged in a dance to the death, my son,” he expanded. “Kugosu and I. Each of us is stepping farther and farther from anything anybody else would recognize as proper protocol. The man even fired his Minister of Protocol and handed us off to his daughter. I cannot tell if that was a mark of desperation on his part, or a masterstroke, as I cannot say anything to her without offending him, even as he makes me wait on a girl child.”
Shingo, smartly, kept his mouth shut. Osamu approved.
“So there are no precedents for today,” Osamu continued. “None, whatsoever.”
“Could this not form the basis of a new pattern, Father?” Shingo asked now.
“How do you mean?”
“No emperor has been here in many decades,” the Crown Prince said, gesturing to the room about them. “Just as you have never done many things because it has been several generations since such activities might have been acceptable. I was allowed to train for fleet service, though both of us understand that I will never be allowed to serve properly. Never put at risk. Instead, I will be a different kind of symbol, at least until such time as you, like your father, choose to retire to a period of quiet contemplation.”
