Use of Weapons (52 page)

The
General radioed the Court High Command. The order to advance on the city was
given the following day.

He
watched the terminally worried-looking priests leave from the train station
under the citadel. In the end he had to dissuade them from ordering the
decapitation attack. Let me try this first, he'd told them.

They
could not understand each other.

The
priests looked at the territory they had lost, and the fraction they had left,
and thought it was all over for them. He looked at his relatively unscathed
divisions, his fresh units, his crack squads, all positioned just where they
should be, knives laid against and inside the body of an over-extended, worn-out
enemy, just ready to cut... and thought it was all over for the Empire.

The
train pulled out, and - unable to resist - he waved cheerily. The high priests
would be better out of the way, in one of their great monasteries in the next
mountain range. He ran back upstairs to the map room, to see how things were
going.

He
waited until a couple of divisions had made it through the pass, then had the
units that had held it - and mostly retreated into the forests around the pass,
not gone down the pass at all - take it again. The city and the citadel were
bombed, though not well; the Hegemonarchy's fighters shot most of the bombers
down. The counter-attack finally began. He started with the elite troops, then
brought in the rest. The Air Force still concentrated on the supply lines for
the first couple of days, then switched to the front line. The Imperial Army
wavered, line crinkling; it seemed to hesitate like some wash of water almost
but not quite capable of overspilling the damming line of mountains save in one
place (and that trickle was drying, still pushing for the city, leaving the
pass, fighting through the forests and fields for the shining goal they still
hoped might win the war...), then the line fell back; the soldiers too
exhausted, their supplies of ammunition and fuel too sporadic.

The
passes stayed with the Hegemonarchy, and slowly they pushed down from them
again, so that it must have seemed to the Imperial soldiers that they were
forever shooting up-hill, and that while advancing had been a heavy, dangerous
slog, retreating was only too easy.

The
retreat became a rout in valley after valley. He insisted on keeping the
counter-attack going; the priests cabled that more forces ought to be deployed
to stop the advance of the two Imperial divisions on the capital. He ignored
them. There was barely enough left of the two tattered divisions to make one
whole one, and they were being gradually eroded further all the time. It was
possible they might make it to the city, but after that they would have nowhere
to go. He thought it might be satisfying to accept their eventual surrender
personally.

The
rains came on the far side of the mountains, and as the bedraggled Imperial
forces made their way through the dripping forests, their Air Force was all too
often grounded by bad weather, while the Hegemonarchy's planes bombed and
strafed then with impunity.

People
fled to the city; artillery duels thundered nearby. The remnants of the two
divisions that had broken through the mountains fought desperately on towards
their goal. On the distant plains on the far side of the mountains, the rest of
the Imperial Army was retreating as fast as it could. The divisions trapped in
Shenastri Province, unable to retreat through the quagmire behind them,
surrendered en masse.

The
Imperial Court signalled its desire for peace the day what was left of its two
divisions entered Balzeit City. They had a dozen tanks and a thousand men, but
they left their artillery in the fields, bereft of ammunition. The few thousand
people left in the city sought refuge in the wide parade grounds of the
citadel. He watched them stream in through the gates in the high walls, far in
the distance.

He'd
been going to quit the citadel that day - the priests had been screaming at him
to do so for days, and most of the general staff had already left - but now he
held the transcript of the message they'd just received from the Imperial
Court.

Two
Hegemonarchy divisions were, anyway, on their way out of the mountains, coming
to the aid of the city.

He
radioed the priests. They decided to accept a truce; fighting would stop
immediately, if the Imperial Army withdrew to the positions it had held before
the war. There were a few more radio exchanges; he left the priests and the
Imperial Court to sort it all out. He took off his uniform and for the first
time since he'd arrived, dressed as a civilian. He went to a high tower with
some field glasses, and watched the tiny specks that were enemy tanks as they
rolled down a street, far away. The citadel gates were closed.

A
truce was declared at midday. The weary Imperial soldiers outside the citadel
gates billeted themselves in the bars and hotels nearby.

He
stood in the long gallery and faced into the light. The tall white curtains
billowed softly around him, quiet in the warm breeze. His long black hair was
lifted only slightly by the gentle wind. His hands were clasped behind his
back. He looked pensive. The silent, lightly clouded skies over the mountains,
beyond the fortress and the city, threw a blank, pervasive light across his
face, and standing there like that, in plain dark clothes, he looked
insubstantial, like some statue, or a dead man propped against the battlements
to fool the foe.

'Zakalwe?'

He
turned. His eyes widened in surprise. 'Skaffen-Amtiskaw! This is an unexpected
honour. Sma letting you out alone these days, or is she about too?' He looked
the length of the citadel's long gallery.

'Good
day, Cheradenine,' the drone said, floating towards him. 'Ms Sma is on her way,
in a module.'

'And
how is Dizzy?' He sat down on a small bench set against the wall which faced
the long line of white-curtained windows. 'What's the news?'

'I
believe it is mostly good,' Skaffen-Amtiskaw said, floating level with his
face. 'Mr Beychae is on his way to the Impren Habitats, where a summit
conference between the Cluster's two main tendencies is to be held. It would
appear the danger of war is lessening.'

'Well,
isn't this all very wonderful,' he said, sitting back with his hands behind his
neck. 'Peace here; peace out there.' He squinted at the drone, his head to one
side. 'And yet, drone, somehow you do not seem to be overflowing with joy and
happiness. You seem - dare I say it? - positively sombre. What's the matter?
Batteries low?'

The
machine was silent for a second or two. Then it said, 'I believe Ms Sma's
module is about to land; shall we go to the roof?'

He
looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded, stooa smartly and clapped his hands
once, indicating the way forward. 'Certainly; let's go.'

They
went to his apartments. He thought Sma seemed rather subdued, too. He'd
imagined she'd be bubbling over with excitement because the Cluster looked
like it wasn't going to go to war after all.

'What's
the problem, Dizzy?' he asked, pouring her a drink. She was pacing up and down
in front of the room's shuttered windows. She took the drink from him, but
didn't seem interested in it. She turned to face him, her long, oval face
looking... he wasn't sure. But there was a cold feeling somewhere in his guts.

'You
have to leave, Cheradenine,' she told him.

'Leave?
When?'

'Now;
tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.'

He
looked confused, then laughed. 'Okay; I confess; the catamites were starting to
look attractive, but...'

'No,'
Sma said. 'I'm serious, Cheradenine. You have to go.'

He
shook his head. 'I can't. There's no guarantee the truce will hold. They might
need me.'

'The
truce isn't going to hold,' Sma told him, looking away. 'Not on one side,
anyway.' She put her glass down on a shelf.

'Eh?'
he said. He glanced at the drone, which was looking non-committal. 'Diziet,
what are you talking about?'

'Zakalwe,'
she said, eyes blinking rapidly; she tried to look at him, 'A deal's been done;
you have to leave.'

He
stared at her.

'What's
the deal, Dizzy?' he said softly.

'There
was some... fairly low-level help being given to the Empire by the Humanist
faction,' she told him, walking towards one wall, then returning, talking not
to him but to the tile and carpet floor. 'They had... face invested in what's
been happening here. The whole delicate structure of the deal did rather depend
on the Empire triumphing here.' She stopped, glanced at the drone, looking away
again. 'Which is what everybody agreed was going to happen, up until a few
days ago.'

'So,'
he said slowly, putting aside his own drink, sitting down in a great chair that
looked like a throne. 'I messed things up by turning the game against the
Empire, did I?'

'Yes,'
Sma said, swallowing. 'Yes, you did. I'm sorry. And I know it's crazy, but
that's the way things are here, the way the people are here; the Humanists are
divided at the moment, and there are factions within them that would use any
excuse to argue for getting out of the deal, however insignificant that excuse
might be. They might just be able to pull the whole thing down. We can't take
that risk. The Empire has to win.'

He
sat, looking at a small table in front of him. He sighed. 'I see. And all I
have to do is leave?'

'Yes;
come with us.'

'What
happens after that?'

'The
high priests will be kidnapped by an Imperial commando squad brought in by
Humanist controlled aircraft. The citadel here will be taken over by the troops
outside; there are raids planned on the field HQs; they should be pretty
bloodless. If necessary, the Hegemonarchy planes, tanks, artillery pieces and
trucks will be put out of action, should the armed forces ignore the call put
out by the high priesthood to surrender their arms. Once they've seen a few
planes and tanks laser-blasted from space, it's expected the fight will go out
of the army.'

Sma
stopped pacing, came to stand in front of him, on the far side of the little
table. 'It all happens at dawn tomorrow. It should be fairly bloodless, really,
Zakalwe. You might as well leave now; it would be best.' He heard her exhale.
'You've done... brilliantly, Cheradenine. It's worked; you did it; brought
Beychae out, got him... motivated or whatever. We're grateful. We're very
grateful, and it's not easy...'

He
raised one hand to stop her. He heard her sigh. He looked up from the small
table, up to her face. 'I can't leave right away. There are a few things I have
to do. I'd rather you left now and then came back. Pick me up tomorrow; at
dawn.' He shook his head. 'I won't desert them until then.'

Sma
opened her mouth, then closed it, glanced at the drone. 'All right; we'll be
back tomorrow. Zakalwe, I -'

'It's
all right, Diziet,' he interrupted calmly, and slowly stood up. He looked into
her eyes; she had to look away. 'It'll be as you say. Good-bye.' He didn't hold
out his hand.

Sma
walked to the door; the drone followed her.

The
woman looked back. He nodded once; she hesitated, seemed to think the better of
saying anything, and went out.

The
drone stopped there too. 'Zakalwe,' it said. 'I just want to add -'

'Out!'
he screamed, and in one movement turned, swooped, caught the small table
between the legs and threw it with all his might at the floating machine. The
table bounced off an invisible field and clattered to the floor; the drone
swept out and the door closed.

He
stood staring at it for some time.

II

He
was younger then. The memories were still fresh. He discussed them with the
frozen, seemingly sleeping people sometimes, on his wanderings through the
cold, dark ship, and wondered, in its silence, if he really was mad.

The
experience of being frozen and of then being woken up had done nothing to dull
his memories; they remained keen and bright. He had rather hoped that the
claims they made for freezing were over-optimistic, and the brain did indeed
lose at least some of its information; he'd secretly desired that attrition,
but been disappointed. The process of warming and revival was actually rather
less traumatic and confusing than coming round after being knocked unconscious,
something that had happened to him a few times in his life. Revival was
smoother, took longer, and was really quite pleasant; in truth quite like
waking up after a good night's sleep.