The Armageddon Inheritance fe-2 Read online

  And what of me? Tsien frowned at his own thoughts. I am a servant of the Party, sworn to protect the State, yet what am I to do when half the Central Committee has vanished? Can it be true so many of them were traitors—not just to the State but to all humanity? Yet where else have they gone? And how am I to choose when my own decision has suddenly become so all important?

  He looked up at the sleek vehicle waiting on the taxi way. Its bronze-sheened alloy gleamed dully in the cloudy afternoon, and the olive-brown-skinned woman beside its open hatch was not quite Oriental-looking. The sight touched him with something he seldom felt: uncertainty. Which made him think again of what Quang had been saying. He sighed and paused, keeping his face utterly impassive with the ease of long practice

  “General, your words are not new. They have been considered, by your government and mine—” what remains of them, idiot “—and the decision has been made. Unless his terms are utterly beyond reason, we will comply with the demands of this Planetary Governor.” For now, at least.

  “The Party has not been well-advised,” Quang muttered. “It is a trick.”

  “A trick, Comrade General?” Tsien’s small smile was wintry as the wind. “You have, perhaps, noticed that there is no longer a moon in our night skies? It has, perhaps, occurred to you that anyone with a warship of that size and power has no need of trickery? If it has not, reflect upon this, Comrade General.” He nodded in the direction of the waiting Imperial cutter. “That vehicle could reduce this entire base to rubble, and nothing we have could even find it, much less stop it. Do you truly believe that the West, with hundreds of even more powerful weapons now at its disposal, could not disarm us by force as they already have those maniacs in Southwest Asia?”

  “But—”

  “Spare me your comments, Comrade General,” Tsien said heavily. Especially since they are so close to my own doubts. I have a job to do, and you make it no easier. “We have two choices: comply, or be deprived of the poor weapons we still possess. It is possible they are honest, that this danger they speak of is real. If that is true, resistance would spell far worse for all of us than disarmament and occupation. If they are lying, then at least we may have the opportunity to observe their technology at first hand, possibly even to gain access to it ourselves.”

  “But—”

  “I will not repeat myself, Comrade General.” Tsien’s voice was suddenly soft, and Quang paled. “It is bad enough when junior officers question orders; I will not tolerate it in general officers. Is that clear, Comrade General?”

  “I-It is,” Quang managed, and Tsien raised an eyebrow over one arctic eye. Quang swallowed. “Comrade Marshal,” he added quickly.

  “I am relieved to hear it,” Tsien said more pleasantly, and walked towards the cutter once more. Quang followed silently, but the marshal could feel the man’s resentment and resistance. Quang and those like him, particularly those with a base in the Party, were dangerous. They were quite capable of doing something utterly stupid, and the marshal made a mental note to have Quang quietly reassigned to some less sensitive duty. Command of the air patrols and SAM bases covering the Sea of Japan, perhaps. That once prestigious post had become utterly meaningless, but it might take Quang a few months to realize it.

  And in the meantime, Tsien could get on with what mattered. He did not know the American Hatcher who spoke for the … beings who had seized control of Earth, but he had met Chernikov. He was a Russian, and so, by definition, not to be trusted, but his professionalism had impressed Tsien almost against his will, and he seemed to respect Hatcher and the Englishman Amesbury. Perhaps Hatcher was truly sincere. Perhaps his offer of cooperation, of an equal share in this new, planet-wide military organization, was genuine. There had, after all, been fewer outrageous demands by his political masters in the “Planetary Council” than Tsien had feared. Perhaps that was a good sign.

  It had better be. All he had said to Quang was correct; the military position made resistance hopeless. Yet that had been true before in Asia’s history, and if these Westerners meant to make effective use of Asia’s vast manpower, some of their new military technology must fall into Asian hands.

  Tsien had used that argument with dozens of frightened, angry juniors, yet he was not certain he believed it, and it irritated him to be unsure whether his own doubts were rational or emotional. After so many years of enmity, it was difficult to think with cold logic about any proposal from the West, yet in his heart of hearts, he could not believe they were lying. The scope of their present advantage was too overwhelming. They were too anxious, too concerned over the approach of these “Achuultani,” for the threat to be an invention.

  His waiting pilot saluted and allowed him to precede her into the cutter, then settled behind her controls. The small vehicle rose silently into the heavens, then darted away, climbing like a bullet and springing instantly forward at eight times the speed of sound. There was no sense of acceleration, yet Tsien felt another weight—the weight of inevitability—pressing down upon his soul. The wind of change was blowing, sweeping over all this world like a typhoon, and resistance would be a wall of straw before it. Whatever Quang and his ilk feared, whatever he himself thought, they must ride that wind or perish.

  And at least China’s culture was ancient and there were two billion Chinese. If the promises of this Planetary Council were genuine, if all citizens were to enjoy equal access to wealth and opportunity, that fact alone would give his people tremendous influence.

  He smiled to himself. Perhaps these glib Westerners had forgotten that China knew how to conquer invaders it could not defeat.

  Chapter Three

  Gerald Hatcher and his fellows rose courteously as Marshal Tsien entered the conference room, his shoulders straight and his face impassive. He was a big bastard for a Chinese, Hatcher reflected, taller even than Vassily, and broad enough to make two of Hatcher himself.

  “Marshal,” he said, holding out his hand. Tsien took it with the briefest of hesitations, but his grip was firm. “Thank you for coming. Won’t you sit down, please?”

  Tsien waited deliberately for his “hosts” to find seats first, then sat and laid his briefcase neatly on the table. Hatcher knew Frederick and Vassily were right in insisting that he, as the sole charter member of Earth’s new Supreme Chiefs of Staff with no prior connection to the Imperials, must serve as their chief, but he wished he could disagree. This hard-faced, silent man was the most powerful single serving military officer on the planet, critical to their success, and he did not—to say the least—look cheerful.

  “Marshal,” Hatcher said finally, “we asked you to meet us so that we could speak without the … pressure of a civilian presence—yours or ours. We won’t ask you to strike any ‘deals’ behind your leaders’ backs, but there are certain pragmatic realities we must all face. In that regard, we appreciate the difficulties of your position. We hope—” he looked levelly into the dark, unreadable eyes “—that you appreciate ours, as well.”

  “I appreciate,” Tsien said, “that my government and others which it is pledged to defend have been issued an ultimatum.”

  Hatcher hid a wince. The marshal’s precise, accentless English made his almost toneless words even more unpromising, but they also showed him the only possible approach, and he reached for it before prudence could change his mind.

  “Very well, Marshal Tsien, I’ll accept your terminology. In fact, I agree with your interpretation.” He thought he saw a flicker of surprise and continued evenly. “But we’re military men. We know what can happen if that ultimatum is rejected, and, I hope, we’re also all realists enough to accept the truth, however unpalatable, and do our best to live with it.”

  “Your pardon, General Hatcher,” Tsien said, “but your countries’ truth seems somewhat more palatable than that which you offer mine or our allies. Our Asian allies. I see here an American, a ConEuropean, a Russian—I do not see a Chinese, a Korean, an Indian, a Thai, a Cambodian, a Malaysian. I do not even see
one of your own Japanese.” He shrugged eloquently.

  “No, you don’t—yet,” Hatcher said quietly, and Tsien’s eyes sharpened. “However, General Tama, Chief of the Imperial Japanese Staff, will be joining us as soon as he can hand over his present duties. So will Vice Admiral Hawter of the Royal Australian Navy. It is our hope that you, too, will join us, and that you will nominate three additional members of this body.”

  “Three?” Tsien frowned slightly. This was more than he had expected. It would mean four members from the Alliance against only five from the Western powers. But was it enough? He rubbed the table top with a thoughtful finger. “That is scarcely an equitable distribution in light of the populations involved, and yet …”

  His voice trailed off, and Hatcher edged into the possible opening.

  “If you will consider the nations the men I mentioned represent, I believe you’ll be forced to admit that the representation is not inequitable in light of the actual balance of military power.” He met Tsien’s eyes again, hoping the other could see the sincerity in his own. The marshal didn’t agree, but neither did he disagree, and Hatcher went on deliberately.

  “I might also remind you, Marshal Tsien, that you do not and will not see any representative of the extreme Islamic blocs here, nor any First World hard-liners. You say we represent Western Powers, and so, by birth, we do. But we sit here as representatives of Fleet Captain Horus in his capacity as the Lieutenant Governor of Earth, and of the five men I’ve named, only Marshal Chernikov and General Tama—both of whom have long-standing personal and family connections with the Imperials—were among the chiefs of staff of their nations. We face a danger such as this planet has never known, and our only purpose is to respond to that danger. Towards this end, we have stepped outside traditional chains of command in making our selections. You are the most senior officer we’ve asked to join us, and I might point out that we’ve asked you to join us. If we must, we will—as you are well aware we can—compel your obedience, but what we want is your alliance.”

  “Perhaps,” Tsien said, but his voice was thoughtful.

  “Marshal, the world as we have known it no longer exists,” the American said softly. “We may regret that or applaud it, but it is a fact. I won’t lie to you. We’ve asked you to join us because we need you. We need your people and your resources, as allies, not vassals, and you’re the one man who may be able to convince your governments, your officers, and your men of that fact. We offer you a full and equal partnership, and we’re prepared to guarantee equal access to Imperial technology, military and civilian, and complete local autonomy. Which, I might add, is no more than our own governments have been guaranteed by Governor MacIntyre and Lieutenant Governor Horus.”

  “And what of the past, General Hatcher?” Tsien asked levelly. “Are we to forget five centuries of Western imperialism? Are we to forget the unfair distribution of the world’s wealth? Are we, as some have,” his eyes shifted slightly in Chernikov’s direction, “to forget our commitment to the Revolution in order to accept the authority of a government not even of our own world?”

  “Yes, Marshal,” Hatcher said equally levelly, “that’s precisely what you are to forget. We won’t pretend those things never happened, yet you’re known as a student of history. You know how China’s neighbors have suffered at Chinese hands over the centuries. We can no more undo the past than your own people could, but we can offer you an equal share in building the future, assuming this planet has one to build. And that, Marshal Tsien, is the crux: if we do not join together, there will be no future for any of us.”

  “So. Yet you have said nothing of how this … body will be organized. Nine members. They are to hold co-equal authority, at least in theory?” Hatcher nodded, and the marshal rubbed his chin, the gesture oddly delicate in so large a man. “That seems overly large, Comrade General. Could it be that you intend to—I believe the term is ‘pad’—it to present the appearance of equality while holding the true power in your own hands?”

  “It could be, but it isn’t. Lieutenant Governor Horus has a far more extensive military background than any of us and will act as his own minister of defense. The function of this body will be to serve as his advisors and assistants. Each of us will have specific duties and operational responsibilities—there will be more than enough of those to go around, I assure you—and the position of Chief of Staff will rotate.”

  “I see.” Tsien laid his hands on his briefcase and studied his knuckles, then looked back up. “How much freedom will I have in making my nominations?”

  “Complete freedom.” Hatcher very carefully kept his hope out of his voice. “The Lieutenant Governor alone will decide upon their acceptability. If any of your nominees are rejected, you’ll be free to make fresh nominations until candidates mutually acceptable to the Asian Alliance and the Lieutenant Governor are selected. It is my understanding that his sole criterion will be those officers’ willingness to work as part of his own command team, and that he will evaluate that willingness on the basis of their affirmation of loyalty under an Imperial lie detector.” He saw a spark of anger in Tsien’s eyes and went on unhurriedly. “I may add that all of us will be required to demonstrate our own loyalty in precisely the same fashion and in the presence of all of our fellows, including yourself and your nominees.”

  The anger in Tsien’s hooded gaze faded, and he nodded slowly.

  “Very well, General Hatcher, I am empowered to accept your offer, and I will do so. I caution you that I do not agree without reservations, and that it will be difficult to convince many of my own officers to accept my decision. It goes against the grain to surrender all we have fought for, whether it is to Western powers or to powers from beyond the stars, yet you are at least partly correct. The world we have known has ended. We will join your efforts to save this planet and build anew. Not without doubts and not without suspicion—you would not believe otherwise, unless you were fools—but because we must. Yet remember this: more than half this world’s population is Asian, gentlemen.”

  “We understand, Marshal,” Hatcher said softly.

  “I believe you do, Comrade General,” Tsien said with the first, faint ghost of a smile. “I believe you do.”

  Life Councilor Geb brushed stone dust from his thick, white hair as yet another explosive charge bellowed behind him. It was a futile gesture. The air was thin, but the damnable dust made it seem a lot thicker, and his scalp was coated in fresh grit almost before he lowered his hand.

  He watched another of the sublight parasites Dahak had left for Earth’s defense—the destroyer Ardat, he thought—hover above the seething dust, her eight-thousand-ton hull dwarfed by the gaping hole which would, when finished, contain control systems, magazines, shield generators, and all the other complex support systems. Her tractors plucked up multi-ton slabs of a mountain’s bones, and then the ship lifted away into the west, bearing yet another load of refuse to a watery grave in the Pacific. Even before Ardat was out of sight, the Terra-born work crews swarmed over the newly-exposed surface of the excavation in their breath masks, drills screaming as they prepared the next series of charges.

  Geb viewed the activity with mixed pride and distaste. This absolutely flat surface of raw stone had once been the top of Ecuador’s Mount Chimborazo, but that was before its selection to house Planetary Defense Center Escorpion had sealed the mountain’s fate. The sublight battleships Shirhan and Escal arrived two days later, and while Escal hovered over the towering peak, Shirhan activated her main energy batteries and slabbed off the top three hundred meters of earth and stone. Escal caught the megaton chunks of wreckage in her tractors while Shirhan worked, lifting them for her pressers to toss out of the way into the ocean. It had taken the two battleships a total of twenty-three minutes to produce a level stone mesa just under six thousand meters high, and then they’d departed to mutilate the next mountain on their list.

  The construction crews had moved in in their wake, and they had labored mightily ever
since. Imperial technology had held the ecological effects of their labors to a minimum impossible for purely Terran resources, but Geb had seen Chimborazo before his henchmen arrived. The esthetic desecration of their labors revolted him; what they had accomplished produced his pride.

  PDC Escorpion, one of forty-six such bases going up across the surface of the planet, each a project gargantuan enough to daunt the Pharaohs, and each with a completion deadline of exactly eighteen months. It was an impossible task … and they were doing it anyway.

  He stepped aside as the whine of a gravitonic drive approached from one side. The stocky, olive-brown Imperial at the power bore’s controls nodded to him, but despite his rank, he was only one more rubber-necker in her way, and he backed further as she positioned her tremendous machine carefully, checking the coordinates in her inertial guidance systems against the engineers’ plat of the base to be. An eye-searing dazzle flickered as she powered up the cutting head and brought it to bear.

  The power bore floated a rock-steady half-meter off the ground, and Geb’s implants tingled with the torrent of focused energy. A hot wind billowed back from the rapidly sinking shaft, blowing a thick, plume of powdered rock to join the choking pall hanging over the site, and he stepped still further back. Another thunderous explosion burst in on him, and he shook his head, marveling at the demonic energy loosed upon this hapless mountain. Every safety regulation in the book—Imperial and Terran alike—had been relaxed to the brink of insanity, and the furious labor went on day and night, rain and sun, twenty-four hours a day. It might stop for a hurricane; nothing less would be permitted to interfere.

  It was bad enough for his Imperials, he thought, watching the dust-caked woman concentrate, but at least they had their biotechnics to support them. The Terra-born did not, and their primitive equipment required far more of pure muscle to begin with. But Horus had less than five thousand Imperials; barely three thousand of them could be released to construction projects, and the PDCs were only one of the clamorous needs Geb and his assistants had to meet somehow. With enhanced personnel and their machinery spread so thin, he had no choice but to call upon the primitive substitutes Earth could provide. At least he could lift in equipment, materials, and fuel on tractors as needed.