"They are dead, Baron," said Milomir Tattar, the guard captain. "Both the woman and the boy are surely dead."
The Baron Nikusha Seppanen sat up in the sleep suspensors of his private quarters. Beyond these quarters and enclosing him like a multishelled egg stretched the space frigate he had grounded on Dyuna. Here in his quarters, though, the ship's harsh metal was disguised with draperies, with fabric paddings and rare objets d'art.
"It is a certainty," the guard captain said. "They're dead."
The Baron shifted his disgusting body in the suspensors, focused his attention on an ebaline statue of a leaping boy in a niche across the room. Sleep faded away from him. He straightened the padded suspensor beneath the fat folds of his neck, stared across the single glowglobe of his bedchamber to the doorway where Captain Anzor stood blocked by the elektrobarrier.
"They're surely dead, Baron," the man repeated.
the Baron noticed the trace of ranide dullness in Tattar's eyes. It was clear the man had been deep into the drug's rapture when he received their report and had stopped only to take the antidote before rushing here.
"Here is the full report," Tattar said.
Let him sweat a little, the Baron thought. One must always keep the tools of statecraft---power and fear----sharp and ready. Sharp and ready to cut like a knife.
"Have you seen their bodies?" the Baron rumbled.
Tattar hesitated.
"Have you?!"
"Milord....they were seen to dive into a sandstorm....winds over eight hundred kilometers. Nothing survives such a storm, milord. Nothing! One of our own craft was destroyed in the pursuit."
The Baron stared at Tattar, noting the nervous twitch in the scissors line of the man's jaw muscles, the way the chin moved as Tattar swallowed.
"Have you seen their bodies?" the Baron repeated.
"Milord...."
"Why do you come here rattling your sabers?" the Baron roared. "Would you dare tell me such a thing is certain when, in fact, it is not? Think you that I would praise you for such idiocy, that I would advance you in rank yet again?"
Tattar's face when bone white.
Look at the chicken, the Baron thought. I'm surrounded by such useless clods. If I scattered sand before this creature and told him it was grain, he'd peck at it.
"Ah, I see," the Baron said. "You forced the man Ukrainia to lead us to them."
"Yes, I did, milord."
"What more is there to this....report?"
Look how he blurts out his answer, the Baron thought. He said: "They were attempting to flee the Szganys, yes?"
"The Imperial Planetologist, Holstein, is involved, milord. Ukrainia joined this Holstein under peculiar circumstances.....I might even say suspicious circumstances."
"And.....?"
"They....ah, fled together to a place in the desert where it's apparent the boy and his mother were hiding. In the excitement of the chase, several of our groups were caught in a phasgun-barrier explosion."
"How many did we lose?"
"I'm....ah, not sure yet, milord."
The lying bastard! the Baron thought. We have no doubt taken unacceptable casualties.
"The Imperial lackey called Holstein," said the Baron. "He was playing a double game, yes?"
"I'd stake my reputation upon it, milord."
His reputation! BAH!
"Have the man killed," the Baron said.
"Milord! Holstein is the Imperial Planetologist, His Highness's own serv...."
"Make it look like an accident!"
"Milord, there were Sordoi with our forces in the subjugation of this Szgany nest. They have Holstein in custody now."
"Get him away from them. Say I wish to question him."
"And if they demur? What then?"
"If you handle it correctly, they will not."
Tattar swallowed. "As milord commands."
"No man helps my enemies and lives!" the Baron rumbled.
Tattar shifted from one foot to the other.
"Captain?"
"Milord, the Sordoi have---2 persons in custody who might be of interest to you. They've caught the Duke's Master of Assassins."
"They have Eugene Botkin?"
"I've seen the captive myself, milord. It is indeed Botkin."
"I'd not believe it possible!"
"They say he was knocked out by a stunner, milord. In the desert where he couldn't use his barrier. He's virtually unharmed. If we can get our hands on him, he'll provide great sport."
"This is a Technopath you speak of," the Baron growled. "One doesn't waste a Technopath. Has he talked? What does he say of his defeat? Could he know the extent of-----no."
"He's spoken just enough, milord, to reveal his belief that the Lady Alexandra was his betrayer."
"Ah-h-h-h-h!"
The Baron sank back, thinking, then: "You're sure? It's the Lady Alexandra who attracts his anger?"
"He said so in my presence, milord."
"Let him think she's alive, then."
"Milord?"
"Furthermore, i wish Botkin treated kindly. He must be told nothing of the late Doctor Rasputin, his real betrayer. Let it be said that Doctor Rasputin died defending his Duke. In a way, this might even be true. We will, instead, feed his suspicion against the Lady Alexandra."
"Milord, I don't....."
"The way to control and direct a Technopath, Tattar, is through his information. False information leads to false results."
"Yes, milord, but...."
"Is Botkin hungry? Thirsty?"
"Milord, Botkin's still in the custody of the Sordoi?"
"Yes. Indeed, yes. But the Sordoi will be as anxious to get information from Botkin as I am. I've noticed a thing about our allies, Tattar. They're not very devious....politically. I do believe this is a deliberate thing; the Sultan wants it that way. Yes. I do believe it. You'll remind the Sordoi commander of my renown at obtaining information from reluctant subjects."
Tattar looked unhappy. "Yes, milord."
"You'll tell the Sordoi commander that I wish to question both Botkin and this Holstein at the same time, playing one off against the other. He can understand that much, I think."
"Yes, milord."
"And once we've got them in our hands...." the Baron nodded.
"Milord, the Sordoi will want an observer with you during any----questioning."
"I'm sure we can produce an emergency to draw off any unwanted observers, Tattar."
"I understand, milord. That's when Holstein can have his accident."
"Both Holstein and Botkin will have accidents then, Tattar. But only Holstein will suffer a true accident. It's Botkin I want. Yes. Ah, yes."
Tattar blinked, swallowed. He appeared to ask a question, but stayed silent.
Botkin will be given both food and drink," the Baron said. "Treated with kindness, with sympathy; in his water you'll administer the residual poison developed by the late Yakov Sverdlov. And you'll see that the antidote becomes a regular part of Botkin's diet from this point on....unless I say otherwise."
"The antidote, yes." Tattar shook his head. "But...."
"Don't be dense, Tattar. The Duke almost killed me with that poison-capsule tooth. The gas he exhaled in my presence deprived me of my most valuable Technopath, Yakov. I need a replacement."
"Botkin?"
"Botkin."
"You're going to say Botkin's totally loyal to the Romanovs. True, but the Romanovs are dead. We'll woo him. He must be convinced he's not to blame for the Duke's demise. It was all the doing of that Bala Garrasaid witch. He had an inferior master, one whose reason was clouded by emotion. Technopaths admire the ability to calculate without emotion, Tattar. We'll woo the formidable Eugene Botkin."
"Botkin, unfortunately, had a master whose resources were poor, one who couldn't elevate a Technopath to the sublime peaks of reasoning that are a Technopath's right. Botkin will see a certain element of truth in this. The Duke couldn't afford the most efficient spies to provide his Technopath with the needed information." The Baron stared at Tattar. "Let us never deceive ourselves, Tattar. The truth is a powerful weapon. We know how we overwhelmed the Romanovs. Botkin knows, too. We did it with wealth."
"With wealth. Yes, milord."
"We'll woo Botkin," the Baron said. "We'll hide him from the Sordoi. We will hold in reserve---the withdrawal of the antidote for the poison. There's no way of removing the residual poison. Botkin need never suspect, Tattar, for the antidote will not betray itself to a poison sniffer. Botkin can scan his food until he's blue in the face and he wouldn't detect a scrap of poison."
Tattar's eyes opened wide with understanding.
"The absence of something can be as deadly as the presence," the Baron said. "The absence of air, yes? The absence of water? The absence of anything else we're addicted to." The Baron nodded. "Do you understand me, Tattar?"
Tattar swallowed. "I do, milord."
"Get busy, then. Find the Sordoi commander and set things in motion."
"At once, milord," Tattar bowed, turned, and scurried away.
Botkin by my side! the Baron thought. The Sordoi will give him to me. If they suspect anything at all, it's that I wish to destroy the Technopath. And this suspicion I'll confirm! The fools! One of the most formidable Technopaths in all history, a Technopath trained to kill, and they'll toss him to me like some silly toy to be broken. I'll show them what use can be made of such a toy.
The Baron reached beneath a drapery beside his suspensor bed, pressed a button to summon his older nephew, German. He sat back, smiling.
And all the Romanovs dead!
That idiot of a guard captain had been right, of course. Certainly, nothing survived in the path of a sandblast storm on Dyuna. Not an ornimajigger---or its occupants. The woman and the boy were dead. The bribes in the right places, the unthinkable expenditure to bring overwhelming military force down onto one planet.....all the sly reports tailor-made for the Sultan's ears only, all the careful scheming was here at last coming to full fruition.
Power and fear---fear and power!
The Baron could see the path ahead of him. One day, a Seppanen would be the Sultan. Not himself, and no spawn of his loins. But a Seppanen. Not this German he'd summoned, of course. But German's younger brother, young Ram-Gurgen. There was a sharpness to the boy that the Baron enjoyed......his ferocity.
Such a lovely boy, the Baron thought. A year or two more---say, by the time he's seventeen, I'll know for sure whether he's the tool that House Seppanen needs to take the throne.
"Milord Baron."
The man who stood outside the doorfield of the Baron's bedchamber was low built, gross of body and face, with the Seppanen paternal line's narrow-set eyes and bulge of shoulders. There was yet some rigidity in his fat, but it was obvious to the eye that he'd come one day to the portable suspensors for carrying his excess weight.
A muscle-minded tank brain, the Baron thought. No Technopath, my nephew----not a Yakov Sverdlov, but maybe something more precisely devised for the task at hand. If I give him freedom to do it, he'll grind over all in his way. Oh, how he'll be hated here on Dyuna!
"Hello, German," the Baron said. He let go of the doorfield, but pointedly kept his body barrier at maximum strength, knowing that the shimmer of it would be visible above the bedside glowglobe.
"How may I serve you, milord?" German said. He stepped into the room, flicked a glance past the air disturbance of the body barrier, searched for a suspensor chair but found none.
"Stand closer so that I can see you easily," the Baron said.
German advanced another step, thinking that the damnable old codger deliberately removed all chairs, forcing a visitor to stand.
"The Romanovs are dead," the Baron said. "The last of them. That's why I summoned you here to Dyuna. This planet is yours again."
German blinked. "But I thought you were going to advance Yakov Sverdlov to the...."
"Yakov, too, is dead."
"Yakov?"
"Indeed."
The Baron reactivated the doorfield, blanked it against all energy penetration.
"You finally tired of him, yes?" German asked.
His voice fell flat and lifeless in the energy-smothered room.
"I'll say a thing to you just this once," the Baron rumbled. "You insinuate that I obliterated Yakov as one obliterates a trifle." He snapped his fat fingers. "Just like that? I am not stupid, Nephew. I will take it unkindly if ever again you suggest by word or action that I am so stupid."
Fear showed in the squinting of German's eyes. He knew within certain limits how far the old Baron would go against family. Seldom to the point of death unless there were outrageous profit or provocation in it. But, oh, the excruciating pain of family punishments!
"Forgive me, milord," German said. He lowered his eyes as much to hide his own anger as to show subservience.
"You do not deceive me, German," the Baron said.
German kept his eyes lowered, swallowed.
"I make a point," the Baron said. "Never obliterate a man unthinkingly, the way an entire fief might do it through some due process of law. Always do it for an overriding purpose---and know your purpose!"
Anger rose in German: "You have obliterated the traitor, Rasputin! I saw his body being dragged out as I arrived last night."
German stared at his uncle, suddenly frightened by the sound of those words.
The Baron merely smiled. "I'm very careful about dangerous weapons," he said. "Doctor Rasputin was a traitor. He gave me the Duke." Strength poured into the Baron's voice. "I suborned a doctor of the Suk School! The Inner School! You hear, boy? But that's a wild kind of weapon to leave lying around. I didn't obliterate him casually."
"Does the Sultan know you suborned a Suk doctor?"
This was a penetrating question, the Baron thought. Have I misjudged this nephew?
"The Sultan doesn't know it yet," the Baron said. "But his Sordoi are sure to report it to him. Before that happens, though, I'll have my own report in his hands through CCOAM Company channels. I'll explain that I luckily discovered a doctor who pretended to be conditioned. A false doctor, that is. Since everyone knows you cannot counter the conditioning of a Suk School, this will be accepted."
"Ah-h-h-h-h, I see," German murmured.
And the Baron thought: Indeed, I hope you do see. I hope you do see how vital it is that this remain secret. The Baron suddenly wondered at himself. Why did I do that? Why did I boast to this fool nephew of mine---the nephew I must use and toss away? The Baron felt anger at himself. He felt betrayed.
The Baron sighed. "I give you different instructions about Dyuna this time, Nephew. When last you ruled this place, I held you in strong rein. This time, I have but one requirement."
"What, milord?"
"Income."
"Income?"
"Have you any idea, German, how much money we spent to bring such military force to bear upon the Romanovs? Do you have even the first inkling of how much the Guild charges for military transport?"
"I presume it to be expensive."
"You presume right!"
The Baron shot a fat arm towards German. "If you squeeze Dyuna for every kopek it can give us for sixty years, you'll just barely repay us!"
German opened his mouth, closed it without speaking.
"Expensive," the Baron sneered. "The damnable Guild monopoly on space would've ruined us if I hadn't planned for this expense long ago. You should know, German, that we bore the whole brunt of it. We even paid for the transport of the Sordoi!"
Not for the first time did the Baron wonder if there ever would come a day when the Guild might be circumvented. They were insidious----bleeding off just enough to keep the host from objecting until they had you in their iron grip and force you to pay---and pay---and pay!
Always the exorbitant demands rode upon military ventures. "Hazard rates, the oily Guild agents explained. And for every agent you managed to insert as a watchdog in the Guild Bank structure, they put two agents into your system.
Insufferable!
"Income then," German said.
The Baron lowered his arm, made a fist. "You must squeeze."
"May I do anything I wish as long as I squeeze?"
"Of course."
"The cannons you brought," German said. "Could I...."
"No," the Baron said.
"But I...."
"You won't need such toys. They were a special innovation and are now useless. We must have the metal. They cannot go against a barrier, German. They were merely the unexpected. It was predictable that the Duke's men would retreat into cliff caves on this abominable planet. Our cannons merely sealed them in."
"The Szganys don't use barriers."
"You may keep some phasguns if you wish."
"Yes, milord. Have I got a free hand?"
"You do as long as you squeeze."
German's smile was gloating. "I understand perfectly, milord."
"You understand nothing perfectly," the Baron growled. "Let us have that clear at the outset. What you do understand is how to carry out my orders. Has it occurred to you, nephew, that there are at least five million souls on this planet?"
"Does milord forget that I was his regent sirdar here before? And if milord will forgive me, his estimate may be low. It's tough to count a population scattered among sinks and pans the way they are here. And when you consider the Szganys of...."
"The Szgany aren't worth considering!"
"Forgive me, milord, but the Sordoi believe otherwise."
The Baron hesitated, staring at his nephew. "Do you know something I do not?"
"Milord had retired when I landed last night. I----ah, took the liberty of contacting some of my lieutenants from----ah, before. They've been acting as guides to the Sordoi. They report that a Szgany band ambushed a Sordoi force somewhere southeast of here and wiped it out."
"Wiped out a Sordoi force?"
"Yes, milord."
"That's not possible!"
German shrugged.
"Szganys defeating Sordoi," the Baron sneered.
"I repeat only what was reported to me," German said. "It is said this Szgany force already had captured the Duke's redoubtable Eugene Botkin."
"Ah-h-h-h-h."
The Baron nodded, smiling.
"I believe the report," German said. "You've no idea what a problem the Szganys were."
"Maybe, but these weren't Szganys your lieutenants use. They must've been Romanov men trained by Botkin and disguised as Szganys. It's the only possible answer."
Again, German shrugged. "Well, the Sordoi think they were Szganys. The Sordoi have already launched a program to wipe out all Szganys."
"Good!"
"But...."
"It'll keep the Sordoi occupied. And we'll soon have Botkin. I know it! I can feel it! Ah, this has been a day! The Sordoi off hunting a few useless desert bands while we get the true prize!"
"Milord..." German hesitated, frowning. "I've always felt that we underestimated the Szganys, both in numbers and in...."
"Ignore them, whelp! They're rabble. It's the populous towns, cities, and villages that concern us. A great many people there, no?"
"A great many, milord."
"They worry me, German."
"Why?"
"Oh----ninety percent of them are of no concern. But there are always a few----Houses Minor and so on, people of ambition who might try something dangerous. If one of them should get off Dyuna with an unpleasant story about what happened here, I'd be most displeased. Have you any idea how displeased I'd be?"
German swallowed.
"You must take immediate measures to hold a hostage from each House Minor," the Baron said. "As far as anyone off Dyuna must learn, this was a straightforward House-vs.-House battle. The Sordoi had no part in it, do you understand? The Duke was offered the usual quarter and exile, but he died in an unfortunate accident before he could accept. He was able to accept, though. That is the story. And any rumor that there were Sordoi here, it must be laughed at."
"As the Sultan wishes it," German quipped.
"As the Sultan wishes it."
"What of the smugglers?"
"Nobody believes the smugglers, German. They're tolerated, but not believed. At any rate, you'll be spreading some bribes in that quarter---and taking other measures which I'm sure you can think of."
"Yes, milord."
"Two things from Dyuna, then, German: income and merciless fist. You must show no mercy here. Think of these clods as what they are----slaves envious of their masters and waiting only the chance to rebel. Not the slightest vestige of pity or mercy unless you show them."
"Can one exterminate an entire planet?" German asked.
"Exterminate?" Surprised showed in the swift turning of the Baron's head. "Who speaks of exterminating?"
"I assumed you were going to bring in new stock and....."
"I said squeeze, Nephew, not exterminate. Don't squander the population, merely drive them into utter submission. You must be the carnivore, my boy." He smiled, a baby's expression in the dimple-fat face. "A carnivore never stops. Show no mercy. Never stop. Mercy is a chimera. It can be defeated by the stomach rumbling its hunger, by the throat crying its thirst. You must always be hungry and thirsty." The Baron caressed his bulges beneath the suspensors. "Like me."
"I see, milord."
German swung his gaze right and left.
"It's all clear then, Nephew?"
"Except for one thing, Uncle: the planetoligist Holstein."
"Yes, Holstein."
"He's the Sultan's man, milord. He can come and go as he pleases. And he's very close to the Szganys---married one."
"Holstein will be snuffed out by tomorrow's nightfall."
"That's dangerous work, Uncle, killing an Imperial servant."
"How do you think I've come this far this quickly?" the Baron demanded. His voice was low, charged with unspeakable adjectives. "Besides, you need never have feared Holstein would leave Dyuna. You're forgetting that he's addicted to the spice."
"Of course!"
"Those who know will do nothing to endanger their supply," the Baron said. "Holstein must certainly know."
"I forgot," German said.
They stared at each other in silence.
Presently, the Baron said: "Incidentally, you'll make my own supply one of your first concerns. I've got quite a stockpile of private stuff, but that suicide raid by the Duke's men got most of what we'd stored for sale."
German nodded. 'Yes, milord."
The Baron brightened. "Now, tomorrow morning, you will assemble what remains of organization here and you'll say to them: 'Our Sublime Pbejtibi Sultan has charged me to take possession of this planet and end all dispute."
"I understand, milord."
"This time, I'm sure you do. We'll discuss it in more detail tomorrow. Now, leave mem to finish my sleep."
The Baron deactivated his doorfield, watched his nephew walk out of sight.
A tank-brain, the Baron thought. Muscle-minded tank-brain. They will be bloody pulp here when he's through with them. Then, when I send in Ram-Gurgen to take the load off them, they'll cheer their rescuer. Beloved Ram-Gurgen. Benign Ram-Gurgen, the compassionate one who saves them from a beast. Ram-Gurgen, a man to follow and die for. The boy will know by that time how to oppress with impunity. I'm sure he's the one we need. He'll learn. And such a lovely body. Really a lovely boy.128Please respect copyright.PENANAIWVsf37Y0g
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