“Um, yes, Marget, I was not aware of that. However, and be that as it may,” he rushed ahead, “Oktar Profirio is the behind the Rebel use of artillery. He designed accurate and stable gun tubes. Your Majesty is aware that, of all things, this is what makes artillery the deadly weapon it is. It took us nearly half a century to develop such tubes. Profirio achieved the same in less than half a year. He is either a magician or a defector from our own military. Personally, I have never believed in magicians.” No one laughed. “The troops we sent Upcoast were lightly armed—no art’ry, no cavalry, no weapons heavier than the standard crossbow. It is no surprise that they were smashed, now that we know the enemy’s advantage. Profirio’s men may be provincial rabble, but his guns are damn accurate.”
“Fortunately, the Royalists have some artillery, too. The most recent reports are from my Picchiul agents; they aren’t too specific about the Sfierranyii. Apparently the Loyalists managed to steal some of Profirio’s guns. Without this theft, the perfidious Profirio would now control all Picchiu Province. Instead, the Loyalists chased him north, to Kotta-svo-Picchiu. The Rebel command took refuge in rooms beneath the observatory. Loyalist fire destroyed that complex, and parts of the city. We know Profirio escaped with a large part of his army—”
“Excuse me, Minister Wechsler,” said Svir.
“Certainly. Don’t hesitate to ask your question, my man.”
Svir ignored Wechsler’s tone. “About the men who report from some vantage point on the accuracy of the artillery fire—”
“You’re thinking of the Forward Art’ry Observators.”
“Yes, that’s who I mean. With all this rain, how can they report back to the artillery batteries with fire control directions? I mean, isn’t there some new communication technique involved here?”
Wechsler stared for a moment; obviously, the question hadn’t occurred to him. Without FAOs, artillery was blind, and therefore useless. Then he saw the answer and smiled. “I fear you have been studying the stars so long, you’ve forgotten the state of things on the ground. At the fortieth parallel, the latitude of Kotta-svo-Picchiu, there are a number of clear days, even during the Waterfall. So heliographs may be used efficiently and—”
“Besides,” spoke Tatja as she stood up, “we’re talking about the foothills of the Doomsday range. That’s rugged country. If the Sfierranyil art’ry were based on the highlands south of the river, the gunmen would be in line of sight of Kotta-svo-Picchin—they wouldn’t need Forward Observators.” She walked swiftly to the head of the table and motioned Haarm Wechsler to be seated. Her comment had an absentminded tone.
Usually Tatja let cabinet meetings drag on and on, till the ministers actually thought the plans decided upon were their own. But when she was truly impatient, she would let the ministers talk for a bit, then break in and tell them—in great detail—how to do their jobs. This was exactly what she did now. “I think we have the facts. You’ve seen the other reports that the fastboat brought back. Through no fault of your own, we were smashed. According to the reports, Profirio still has thirteen thousand men and two hundred gun tubes of six-inch caliber. Apparently the Sfierranyii have something like eight thousand men and perhaps one hundred and fifty gun tubes. North of Profirio are the uncommitted Doomsdaymen.
“We’ve three goals: to prevent the destruction of any more astronomical artifacts, to destroy Profirio’s army, and to capture Oktar Profirio himself.” There was uneasy shifting among her audience; the high ministers saw no particular necessity for the first and third.
“Now, here is how we will accomplish these goals.” She sat down and spoke more rapidly and with less inflection. “In four or five days the Waterfall will end, and we will be in the Turnabout. Before that happens we will dispatch every fastboat in our command Upcoast. I will accompany the expedition.” Around the table, Svir saw the incredulous faces; the Crown never went on military expeditions. “We won’t bother with ships of the line. They’re too slow and would be caught in the Turnabout. I figure we can transport something like fifteen thousand men with supporting equipment and art’ry by fastboat alone. This time we won’t try a pincers. We’ll land on the Loyalist side of the lines and depend on the mountains and the Doomsdaymen to keep the enemy from retreating further north.
“Here is the order of operations: the 336th and 403rd Infantry Battle Groups will compose the landing force, with the direct support of the 25th and 50th Art’ry Batteries. At present the following fastboats are available: Five to Eight, Eleven, Thirteen, Seventeen to Thirty-five …” The high ministers recovered from their shock and began writing as fast as they were able; stenographers were barred from cabinet meetings. Once before, Marget had rattled off a battle plan like this. The awful thing was that no matter how off-the-cuff her comments seemed, they were consistent with the facts. Marget knew her military establishment like no leader in history. Her orders extended to the third level of organization. It would have taken the military staffs of the various services ten days of coordinated planning to produce the order she was creating now.
The first time this happened, there had been audible snickers from the ministers. They had repeatedly stopped and questioned her. That had been the only time Svir had seen Tatja enraged. Her outburst had equaled the tantrums attributed to the Mad Kings of the sixth and seventh centuries; several ministers had reverted to common status after that incident. Experience is a good teacher, and Tatja’s plans worked, so this time no one interrupted with questions or suggestions. It was probably the most efficient and one-sided committee meeting in history. Tatja spoke for half an hour.
Finally she stopped. The ministers looked at their notes, and saw with glazed relief that the order was complete. She smiled pleasantly and asked, “Are there any questions?” There was an exhausted chorus of “No” from around the table. It would be several hours before they or their aides could devise any questions. “Very well,” said Tatja, “I will be available to answer any questions that do occur to you. If there is to be a deviation from this plan, I want to hear of it immediately. With this matter, I don’t believe in delegating decisions. It’s another of my … quirks. I expect to be on my way by the night wake period on the third. I’ll see you then, if not earlier.”
It was a dismissal. Svir followed the others toward the door. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. The plan did not require his services. He had rather enjoyed watching the other ministers sweat a little, especially Wechsler. On the other hand, it all bolstered his suspicions that his post was a sop for his silence. With a great show of courtesy he offered Haarm Wechsler the door. Wechsler grunted and walked out. Just then Tatja spoke. “Stay a minute, Svir.” From the corner of his eye, Svir saw Wechsler’s retreating back stiffen at these words. He could imagine the other’s suspicion and puzzlement.
When the others were gone and the door shut, Tatja spoke again. “Have a seat, Svir. I didn’t include you in my order of operations because your duties will depend on factors I can’t predict, while the military situation will probably work according to plan—though not the plan I just gave our friends.” Svir sat back in the chair, rather enjoying being the confidant of the most powerful person in the world. “I have a feeling that we are going to be dealing with the Doomsdaymen. Ostensibly we needed their support in order to keep this Profirio from retreating further north. As an astronomer, you’re the only cabinet member who can speak to their priests with sympathy. And I know they respect your work in astrometry.”
“But you would be just as competent to handle them.”
“Sure, and I’m competent to do anything my cabinet ministers can do. But there’s only one of me. During the next few days, there will be times when my actions are so contrary to the interests of Crownesse that the ministers will balk. Since the Mad Kings, the civil service has found ways of defending itself against the arbitrary ruler—and still maintain a tradition of selfless loyalty to the crown.
“There are only three people I really trust.
You and Cor are two of them. You know enough of my motives to go along with my plans even when they seem absurd to my faithful ministers.” She gave a lopsided smile. “Cor’s going to have to take a vacation from her publishing business. I want you two to handle those chores I don’t have the time for—and which the others might … misunderstand.”
Ugh. This was beginning to sound like old times. Still, her frankness was a welcome change. It was nice to be on the inside of a conspiracy for once.
She sat back in her chair. Svir had seen this change before, but it always seemed spectacular to him. At one moment she was taut, intense, directing a mesh of plans that stretched across the planet and beyond. Then, in an instant, she was a relaxed, seductive woman.
“I only wish Ked Maccioso were here too. He has most of your qualifications—and he’s a native of Picchiu. By now he’s probably gotten over the way I used him and the barge.” The Tarulle company had received the Bayfast Fantasie collection and much more when Tatja had come into power.
She crossed her long, smooth legs, and leaned back. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted in a dreamy smile. Her figure was slender compared to four years ago—but both he and Cor agreed that these curves were her curves. Puberty had come late and lasted long, but Tatja Grimm was truly a young woman now, perhaps the equivalent of a fifteen-year-old. Svir felt sudden guilt to be here and watching and … attracted. He wanted so much to go to her, put his arms around her—all the more because he was sure that she wasn’t pretending, that in fact she had forgotten his presence. He hunted desperately for something to break the spell.
Then he guessed the cause of her sudden mood. “You really think Wechsler’s ‘Perfidious Profirio’ is a godling in disguise?”
“Mmmhmm … . There’s a good chance. He could be a defector from our own art’ry labs, but I think Haarm Wechsler’s spies would have discovered that. If he’s not a defector, then he’s probably of my—caliber. There is no straightforward way to make practical artillery pieces from nonmetallics. A rather complete grasp of ceramic and impregnation chemistry is required. Even then, several years of trial-and-error experimentation are needed unless you use optimization techniques that I’ve never bothered to write up. And if Profirio has built all these gun tubes as fast as it seems, then he’s using factory schemes I’ve never seen before. If only he is what he seems.” A frown crossed her face, and her business personality nearly surfaced.
Svir got up and moved toward the door. The fact that her desire was not directed at him had no effect on his desire for her. He vaguely wondered what violence would greet an advance. And that thought made him feel even more guilty. If he left now perhaps he could forget the feeling.
As he reached the door, he remembered the folder he was carrying. Damn. His escape must be delayed a few moments. He returned and set the folder on the table before Tatja. “Marget”—he used the official name-of-address—“here are the latest reports from the High Eye.”
Her eyes opened wide, and her back straightened with a little start. She didn’t seem irritated at the interruption, just a little bewildered, as if she had been awakened. “Uh, oh yes. Thanks.”
He turned to go. “Stick around, Svir. You can have these back.” Tatja read the reports faster than he could browse light fiction. She paused only at the last sheet. Svir remembered the report. It was one of the most peculiar he had seen in a long time. He wondered what her reaction would be. He looked over her shoulder. There were the typical salutations which, in the case of the Doomsday astronomers, had to be sarcasm. The Doomsdaymen had always resented the crown, submitting only because that power could protect them from nearer enemies. They hadn’t counted on the rise of Tatja Grimm, who exercised an unwelcome interest in all things astronomical, and who required quarterly reports. At first they had patronizingly referred her to the standard journals, where a few of their results appeared. Even now that they sent her complete reports, Svir felt they did it with an air of condescension. The report began:
Summer 52, 936 YD
To Her Most Gracious Majesty, Marget of Sandros, Queen of All Crownesse, High Mayor of Bayfast, Lady Protector of the Coasts and Deserts, Greeting: Herein we present the 129th consecutive astronomical report of our humble search across the Face of God. We beg Your Majesty’s indulgence with this unworthy and trivial tabulation entitled:
Six Abnormal Objects in the Constellation of the Running Thief
In the course of a routine sky patrol session, picture plate 2879 was exposed at approximately 1:47 Heavensgate Meridian Time on the 16th of Spring, 936. A new object in the negative first magnitude was revealed by this exposure. Ten acolytes were assigned the task of maintaining a night-round watch on this area of the sky.
(Svir winced at this offhand reference to what must have been one of the most tortuous projects in the history of astronomy. He could scarcely bear to imagine sitting in the cold and rarified air, hours at a time—watching for a barely visible twinkle light-years away. The Doomsday astronomers were famed for this sort of sadomasochism.)
During the next two quarters, the images of five more such objects were captured on picture plates. Data concerning all six objects are tabulated below.
*According to our amended usage, 0°RA is the zenith meridian at the High Eye on the 1st of Winter, 920 YD, at 00:00:00 HMT. Right ascension increases in the same sense as the sun travels across the Celestial Face.
**The magnitude given for (0) defends on the assumption that the object was uniformly bright during the plate’s exposure, which is a reasonable approximation if the light curve of (0) was similar to that of the other objects. As is our custom, error estimates are not provided.
Objects (1) through (5) were subjected to spectroscopic examination. Their light appears entirely due to continuum radiation. The light curves for objects (1) through (5) appear identical except for the overall change in magnitude, indicated above by the column for maximum magnitude achieved.
The 206/23 region will be below our horizon at the critical time of evening on the 14th of Fall. However, a close watch of this area will be maintained in the coming quarters.
This concludes the 129th report of astronomical activities to Your Majesty. It was prepared by Your Majesty’s unworthy servant Mikach G., First Archobserver and Chief Instrumentalist to the High Fye.
Tatja stared at the report for a full ten seconds. When it came, her laughter was explosive. She doubled up in her chair and her face became red. Finally she sat up and wiped tears from her eyes. “Talk about ‘words writ large upon the sky,’” she gasped.
Svir picked up the report and looked at it once more. He could guess what she meant by that remark, but he couldn’t see how the lights described could be a message. It certainly was an abnormal sequence, but did she think that every unexplained phenomenon was evidence of extraplanetary intelligence?
She saw his look. “You mean you don’t see it?”
He donned pedant’s armor. “With only the information in this report, I don’t. Perhaps you’re drawing on information I don’t have.”
“Oh, I suppose that’s possible,” she said slowly. “But you are an astronomer. At least that’s what you keep telling me. Perhaps you aren’t aware of the key facts necessary to solve this puzzle: there are four quarters to a year, fifty-five days to a quarter, forty hours to a day, sixty minutes to an hour, and sixty seconds to a minute. Light travels at one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second, and what’s more—” she pretended to strain after some subtle detail “—oh yes, the world revolves about the sun at a distance of ninety-two million miles, and not vice versa—as you may have been led to believe. Got all that?”
“Urk.” Svir felt his face grow hot; he guessed the point. And he a parallax astronomer! “I’ll give it another look,” he said, backing toward the door.
FIFTEEN
Svir was very suspicious of skoats. They were used mainly as draft animals in the Chainpearls. The fat brown quadrupeds were fine for pulling wagons,
but now he was riding one! He watched the brown neck and pointed ears warily. Cor claimed this one was gentle; he was not convinced. The animal had the unsettling habit of bringing its head around and taking a so-called playful nip at his legs. And even if the beast was a great humanitarian, the ride was torture. His rear must be one big bruise. His legs ached from being splayed over the tubby animal’s back. What’s more, the skoat smelled, and its acrid sweat mixed itchily with his own.
He lurched forward as the skoat started downhill. The Crown’s Men were on a wide, paved road. It was almost ten feet across, the second-best highway in this part of the Continent. But they were well into the highlands south of the Picchiu River, and the road switched back and forth more miles than it went forward. Now their battle group was headed into a narrow valley. Almost two hundred feet below, he could see the stream that had—over millennia—gouged this channel through the limestone. As they descended, the sunlight filtered through progressively thicker layers of leaves until they rode through green twilight. It was cool and pleasant. The air moved slowly and was laden with the musty smell of hundreds of years of decomposing leaves. This scent was strange to Svir, who had never seen a deciduous tree before.
The tranquillity of the scene barely registered over his fatigue.
He crossed the stone bridge at the bottom of the valley, then twisted in his saddle and looked back. Where was everyone? Only one gun carriage behind him was visible, yet he heard the creaking of carriage wheels, the snorts and clatter of a thousand skoats. As his mount climbed the north side of the valley, he finally saw them. The splotch camouflage rendered the army virtually invisible in dense foliage, the wagons’ outlines like heat shimmers above a fire.
There was a louder clatter, and Svir saw a rider overtaking him. Cor. She urged her animal up the slope with baby talk and lots of enthusiasm. He couldn’t get over the fact that she was actually fond of the creatures—even thought she could talk to them. He put her superior riding ability to the fact that she had grown up on the Llerenitos, where skoats were popular.