Hegemony at dalou, p.15
Hegemony at Dalou, page 15
“Only if we maintain our strength, Captain,” Sobol replied. “Otherwise, the Consensus might decide to push everyone out of their way and take charge of the entire Cluster. You would already be doing that, but for the pirates that Kosnett has smashed. Who will stop you tomorrow?”
Kaur started to reply, then held her tongue.
Who, indeed? Phil had hinted to her that he would force Aditi to hold existing lines, if they started to trespass on Dalou territory. Warned her to warn her bosses explicitly not to tamper in Hegemony politics. No wars, as it were, but spies would be acceptable.
Was he setting up a duality to hold the Cluster in the future? Ewin and Gloran, as Sobol had noted, were weak and fading with every day that passed. Aquitaine technology could disarm an Ewin fleet without even working up a sweat. Yaumgan gave all impressions that they would return to their pocket and hold their current lines.
Should Aditi draw hard lines and force everyone to remain contained within them? Was that Phil’s goal? As a conqueror, it made no sense whatsoever. That would be the last thing he would want, when he might cause every nation to fall on their neighbors and destroy themselves.
Ergo, Phil wasn’t here to conquer. And it had to be an official position, because his superiors would have to know what he was up to, and could overrule him. Could send that warfleet that he occasionally threatened, in order to get people to behave.
Kaur decided to take a risk. Possibly a tiny one. Maybe career-ending, if the wrong people chose the worst interpretation.
“Phil Kosnett warned me,” Kaur said, watching the woman’s own curiosity drag her around, until they were almost face-to-face. “He said that if something had happened to the Emperor, and Dalou descended into any sort of civil war, he would order all Consensus ships to depart. And for me to convey to my superiors specifically that Aditi meddling would not be tolerated. That he would enforce such a thing.”
“Why in heavens would he say that?” Sobol asked.
“I have been wondering the same, Inspector,” Kaur replied. “He is not a man given to make light of threats, so this was serious. In fact, if something happened to him, my orders were to immediately fly to Aditi itself and tell them. Even as Urumchi headed off to Meerut.”
She fell silent. Sobol watched her. Neither of them had anything to add to that, and it became irrelevant as two guards bracketing a hatchway on the far side of the room suddenly lifted spears they had been holding and slammed them to the deck in unison, causing all conversations to cease.
Heads turned. Bodies turned as well. Silence.
The hatch opened and two figures emerged. Kaur had wondered where Omarov was. He was with the Shogun, obviously.
More interestingly, the two men walked side-by-side. Kaur was aghast. Omarov was being treated by the Shogun as something of an equal, if she understood Dalou Court culture adequately.
More revolution.
Where would it end?
THIRTY-FIVE
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC NOVEMBER 16, 411 ABOARD ELLARIEL-JO ORBITAL PLATFORM
Phil felt a charge in the air. Like lightning gathering, in the way all the hair on his arms suddenly rose. All the maneuvering to get here, then all the craziness that had occurred over the last forty-eight hours, it all came down to this moment.
Kaur Singh was having a conversation with Samnang Sobol that seemed involved. Sam and Stunt Dude were having a chat with some locals, with Captain Xue close by, possibly being protected, or possibly protecting the other two. Sam was the key here, once you got below the level of command politics.
She’d been Buran, once upon a time. The enemy across the battlefield that became a friend. There was fantastic power in that. Just look what Jessica Keller had been able to do to Fribourg.
And Casey.
Solo and Khan were talking to Darra Omarov and some of the folks from Ishiokoh. Safe, as they all knew each other a little before today. A dozen other clans were hovering nearby.
Aliza and Harinder had stepped forth, forming little knots on his right and left as they worked their magic on Dalou. A few brave folks had even come over to greet him before withdrawing. Nobody of earth-shaking importance, but people who might wish to establish trade later.
And that was what this was all about. Fribourg had accepted a bad treaty and forced Aquitaine to trade with them. That had given way to negotiations for better ones, to the point that the thing that had been an armed frontier when Phil was a lowly Centurion was now mostly just a line on a map indicating that you were subject to a different tax regime.
Hopefully, it would stay that way for the rest of his life, too. Denis’s letters did not fill him with imminent dread, but they both had low opinions of what the future would bring. Fribourg had to catch up to the Republic. Lincolnshire might never, nor would Salonnia. But if the Balhee Cluster remained intact, it became a place to go. Far enough away to not entice an invasion. Big enough to be worth sailing with goods.
Phil studied the approaching Shogun. Maybe one hundred and eighty-five centimeters, compared to Morninghawk walking beside him. Built solid, so the two men might weigh the same. Phil would be between them in height.
Everyone was dressed in their good stuff. He had on his best uniform, the one that he only wore for things like this, with the array of weird medals and ribbons he had accumulated from Fribourg as well as the RAN. Diplomacy in bronze and gold, as it were.
The Shogun wore crimson and gold, as was to be expected. The clan colors. Morninghawk wore black with green. In that, he was a dark spot in the middle of a room that was otherwise colorful.
Except that Aquitaine wore black and green. Phil’s dress uniform was different than his day gear. The same gray/black pants and shoes paired with a white undershirt that had a standing collar. Instead of a tunic, the dress uniform was more of a blazer, buttoned up the front in bronze and with no collar. Gold epaulets with fringe, going back to the days when they were called Fleet Lords. He would have been a First Fleet Lord then. He even had gold cuffs on each wrist, with two small, bronze decorative buttons on each.
This jacket was cut to fit him, and he had a tailor on staff to keep it perfect. Aquitaine Green—which just happened to split the difference between Omarov and the Emperor—with the same gray/black covering his upper arms and a broad stripe across his chest.
It would make his people look like Morninghawk to the casual glance. Or make Morninghawk look like he belonged to the RAN. Not the worst thing. Let folks draw their own conclusions.
Phil watched the whole room pivot inwards to watch the Shogun and Morninghawk walk directly his way. Centurion Dar shifted sideways like she did. Not in the way. Not out of the way, either.
Phil found it instructive that the Shogun’s bodyguards took up stations around the room, rather than surrounding him as he walked. Here was a man fully in control of the situation. And he knew it.
That would help with what was to come. Especially as the original plan had called for speeches and formality utterly at odds with what Lady Kugosu had delivered them to.
Phil drew himself up and smiled as the two men stepped close.
“First Centurion, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Shogun of Dalou,” Morninghawk said now. “Jirou Kugosu. Shogun, this is the Aquitaine First Centurion, Philip Kosnett.”
They all three matched bows now. Interesting. Just as Morninghawk was allowed to walk beside the Shogun, the man was acknowledging Aquitaine as the equal of Dalou, and him the Ambassador.
Phil could work with this.
“First Centurion, welcome to Ellariel-jo,” the man said now.
He had a rich voice. Used to issuing orders and having them obeyed the first time. Sharp. Raised from birth as the son of a Shogun, though Aditi Consensus folk always tittered with nervousness when talking about how this man had outmaneuvered his own brother to ascend, driving the other into hiding from which he had never emerged.
Phil nodded.
“Thank you for allowing me to so honor your man, Shogun,” Phil replied. “Captain Omarov has set an exceptionally high bar for others to strive against in the future.”
He paused, glancing around at the audience which he and the other two men were playing for.
“I am at your disposal, sir,” Phil continued. “How shall we proceed with the events that we had planned?”
Past tense. They were already off the script that Samnang Sobol and Aliza Babatunde had spent weeks negotiating. Not that he could blame anyone.
At no point had an emperor intruded on their thinking. And yet the man stood about fifteen meters away right now, watching with shining eyes.
Kugosu’s eyes glittered as well.
“I have spoken with my representatives, First Centurion,” he replied. “Let us move quickly to lionize Lord Morninghawk, that he may have the longer to accept the congratulations of his friends and peers.”
Lord Morninghawk? Again, that title.
Phil was certain he had heard the man correctly. At the same time, it appeared that the Shogun was about to wander further afield than they already had.
Maybe it was time to just chuck all his plans for the Dalou Hegemony. Go with the flow of things and let Dalou handle it. Eventually, they would settle into a new stability. The only question at that point was how weird, dangerous, or violent the interim would be.
The Shogun turned and located his daughter, nodding her close. Inspector Sobol, standing next to Kaur Singh, got the same, though Phil caught a hint of concern that those two women were talking.
Nobody but the Aditi Consensus represented any sort of military threat to the Hegemony, after all.
Lady Kugosu and Sobol moved quickly, gesturing folks into a pattern. Interestingly, the Emperor and the Crown Prince remained in place, and everyone moved around them, like moons orbiting a gas giant.
Phil found himself at one point of a triangle, with the Emperor close across the base and the Shogun somewhat removed at the top. All his people were along this flank, along with Lord Sugawara and Omarov’s father and brother. Between him and the Emperor, a clan whose colors were purple and jade stood formally, as if instructed to separate the two parties.
Phil knew where that order originated, but he wondered how far out of date those instructions were already. He kept his face somber and let the smile only show in his eyes.
At the head of the triangle, Makara Omarov stood next to the Shogun, with Samnang Sobol on his outer side and Lady Kugosu standing next to her father. To Phil, it looked like the start of a new gravity well forming. What he didn’t know was how that would impact on Dalou politics.
At some unheard signal, Kohahu Kugosu stepped forward into the open triangle of space, pausing to bow to the Emperor first and then in his direction. Both were of equal depth. Interesting.
To Phil, he had to wonder if that young lady recognized that the old ways, with the Shogun dominant and everyone else submissive, were in the process of giving way. Her behavior spoke the loudest, as she was advising a Shogun, but could not become one herself.
Not without a civil war, he amended himself.
And that was the thing Phil most wanted to avoid. Aditi as Empire would be no better than Aquitaine as Empire.
“Servants of the Hegemony and welcome guests,” the woman called now, drawing the room to silence so stark Phil could hear blowers in the corners circulating air. “We are gathered to recognize one of our captains for exceptional service to the Shogunate. All the more so, because those offering honor are strangers only recently come to our lands. We have heard stories of distant Aquitaine, but it has been generations since the two spoke directly. Now they have arrived, and chosen to honor Captain Makara Omarov, of the Sugawara. First Centurion Kosnett, would you join me please?”
He stepped into the arena now. Xochitl Dar had apparently won an arm-wrestling tournament to be the one to accompany him. She held a small, purple pillow, upon which rested the Republic Cross. Only the Legion of Valor was higher in the Republic of Aquitaine Navy. Technically, it wasn’t even his authority to award it, as such things had to come from the First Lord herself. However, Petia Naoumov had specifically authorized him to speak in her stead on something like this.
And it was appropriate. Especially here.
Morninghawk stepped out now, moving with brittle stiffness, as if he was afraid that he might shatter if he moved too quickly. Phil understood the man well enough to appreciate that he was only doing this out of a sense of duty to his nation and his various clans. Nothing for himself.
That would just make it all the better, because Omarov wasn’t any sort of gloryhound. Others would take note, hopefully, and work towards that quiet excellence that was Makara Omarov.
Never to be intimidated, regardless of the odds.
The man came to rest and they were both turned sideways, with the Shogun and his staff to Phil’s left, and the Emperor on his right forward flank. Heather had his back, as always.
The Professor figured he’d never have another moment like this, so Phil paused and looked once around the room. Morninghawk had fallen into more of a relaxed stance.
“The First Lord of the Aquitaine Navy charged me with exploring the unknown west, as we see if from our home at Ladaux,” Phil lectured nicely. “Our wars were over, so peace and trade could break out everywhere that upright, honest people might gather. We came to Balhee, because it was midway to the next galactic arm, where it might be a place to rest on a greater journey. But it also became a place where we could make friends. And fight common battles against the enemies of civilization. Those wolves at the edge of the firelight that seek to bleed the nations of the cluster and tear them down.”
Phil smiled at folks. A few tentatively smiled back, but nobody relaxed as much as Omarov or Sobol. They’d been there. They understood. It was necessary for the rest to do the same. To join them on a new plateau.
“At Meerut, we faced a place that some might have called a pirate kingdom,” Phil nodded to the man standing across from him. “It exists inside the walls of the cluster, and thus outside the lands claimed by others. The pirates had assembled a mighty fleet to protect themselves from the forces of law and order. When attacked, they fought like cornered rats.”
Again, a pause, letting people settle on those words. He’d spent years teaching young officers how to be better at their jobs. Better thinkers. Better sailors. Better people. It worked here as well. Everyone was leaning forward, hung on his words. Even Makara Omarov wasn’t immune, and he’d seen it with his own eyes.
At the same time, Phil supposed that the man might be there right now. His eyes had a faraway look to them.
“At the climax of the battle for Meerut, the pirate Salvager Wulfa locked in a course to ram my flagship,” Phil let his voice drop now, causing more lean from all directions. “Rather than attempt anything fancy or elegant, Captain Omarov ordered his crew to intercept Wulfa. To ram the enemy vessel with the expectation that both Wulfa and Morninghawk would be destroyed, so that Urumchi would be safe. Ladies and gentlemen of the Court, I am not aware of many officers who would not hesitate one bit before issuing such orders. The Republic Cross is awarded to recognize bravery in battle that is frequently but not always posthumous. Morninghawk did not pause as he fought his own battle with the pirates. For that, it is my exceptional privilege, speaking in the name of the First Lord of the Fleet, as well as the Senate of Aquitaine, to award Makara Omarov, Captain of the Dalou Heavy Escort Morninghawk, the Republic Cross.”
Xochitl was there, calmly poised. Phil took the ribbon and medal from the pad and turned back to Morninghawk. They were both there again at Meerut. Omarov had gone a little white, and his teeth were clenched, but you had to be this close to know it. And Dar would never gossip.
Phil pinched cloth and attached the back of the ribbon. It had an adhesive that would hold for several days, after which Omarov could mount whatever backing he needed to make it a permanent part of his uniform, much like some of the ones on Phil’s chest right now, put there by Karl VIII herself. Others would see that and remember Meerut. And that Dalou had stood with Aquitaine on that day.
Thus were friendships forged in the crucible of battle.
Phil stepped back now and turned to face the Emperor and clans on that side of the triangle. Xochitl slid behind him and out of sight. She was good at that.
Before Phil could speak, the Shogun sudden strode forward, coming to rest as the third point of a much smaller triangle. Himself, Omarov, Kugosu.
Phil and Makara were poised and ready for action. Off script, if they had ever been on one.
“Let it also be known from this day forward that the Shogunate can do no less to honor one of our own,” the man said in a calm, loud voice.
Surprisingly, the Shogun turned to Phil’s side of the group.
“Lord Sugawara, with your permission, I will remove one of your captains from Sugawara service,” the Shogun said.
Phil heard the gasp all the way around the room. Almost silent, but multiplied by nearly a hundred mouths, all drawing that little bit of air simultaneously.
“It is good,” Lord Sugawara replied serenely.
Phil wasn’t watching the man, but his voice suggested that Sugawara, at least, had seen some of what was coming. There was no surprise there. Nor resentment. Calm acceptance, tinged with happiness.
“Servants of the Shogun’s Court, I present to you Lord Morninghawk,” the Shogun continued now. “As our Emperor himself suggested was most appropriate for the man.”
If Phil understood things correctly, and he had people he could ask, Makara Omarov had just been promoted to roughly the same political and social rank as Lord Sugawara. Komyo. Lesser clan lord, or rather, Lord of a lesser clan, when there were several Daimyo around them for this event.
Makara bowed. Once to Phil. Once to the Shogun. The third time to the Emperor himself, standing so close. Phil could see the tears in the man’s eyes, but wasn’t certain what they heralded.
