Upsetting the Balance

“Tell me, Rokois,” Atvar interrupted. “What do you regret to report now?”

“Exalted Fleetlord, the Big Uglies appear to have discovered our custom of honoring the Emperor’s hatching day,” the adjutant’s assistant answered. “Certain of them were invited to perform with their trained Tosevite beasts at observances of the day in cities on the eastern part of the main continental mass: this is in the large, populous not-empire known as China. Due to inadequate security, they were able to smuggle explosives in amongst our officers and administrators along with their beasts.”

“They died themselves, then?” Atvar said. Defending against males willing to do that was next to impossible. Fortunately, such fanatics were rare even among the fanatical Big Uglies.

“Exalted Fleetlord, in many instances they did,” Rokois answered. “We captured a couple of these males and disarmed their explosives before detonation. They insist they were duped, that they thought the bombs were, in fact, video equipment to allow us to record their performances.”

A rising mutter of anger and outrage came from the shiplords. Atvar understood that; he felt it himself. If you told lies, you didn’t need to recruit fanatics without fear of death. Any race, the Race included, had its share of dupes.

As he usually did in the face of misfortune, he tried to look on tin bright side of things. “If we have some of these beast exhibitors in custody, they may be able to lead us to the males who induced then to undertake their missions.”

“May events prove you correct, Exalted Fleetlord,” Rokois said. “The timing devices on the captured explosives are of Nipponese manufacture, although the males unanimously insist Chinese were the intermediaries who paid them and arranged for their performances.”

“More than one level of dupery may have been involved,” Atvar said. “Or, conversely, the timers may have been used merely to deceive us. Further investigation should shed more light on that. What else have you learned?”

“There is one other thing to support the view that this was a Chinese blow against us,” Rokois answered. “In the areas surrounding several of our administrative centers, we have found small handbills that, if translated correctly-the Chinese write with a peculiarly abominable script-demand the return of the hatchling taken from the Big Ugly female Liu Han for purposes of research.”

“The Big Uglies may not make demands of us,” Atvar said indignantly. Then he wondered why not. In matters military, they had earned wary attention if not full equality. “We shall have to evaluate this further.”

“Truth, Exalted Fleetlord.” Rokois held no responsibility there, and was blithely aware of it. He disseminated policy; he did not shape it. After a moment’s hesitation, he went on, “Exalted Fleetlord, reports indicate that casualties among senior administrators and officers in China may be especially heavy. They naturally had seats closest to the Big Uglies presenting the beast shows, and so took the full brunt of the blasts.”

“Yes, that does make sense.” Atvar sighed again. “No help for it. Some junior males will get new marks and colors for their body paint. Some of them won’t have the experience or the sense to do their jobs as well as they should. As they show that, we’ll cull them and put others in their place. We shall rule China. We shall rule Tosev 3.”And I shall drink enough hudipar-berry brandy to forget I’m orbiting above this miserable, hateful world.

Despite that gloomy thought, his outward demeanor inspired Rokois, who exclaimed, “Itshall be done, Exalted Fleetlord!”

“Yes, spirits of past Emperors aiding us, it shall.” Now Atvar paused before resuming, “When you came in here, I feared you were bringing me word the Big Uglies had touched off another nuclear device. The Emperor be praised, I was wrong.” Instead of lowering his eye turrets, he turned them toward the hologram of his ruler.

“May it not come to pass,” Rokois burst out, also gathering strength from the image of the Emperor.

“Indeed. May it not” The fleetlord squirted a long pull of brandy down his throat.

Teerts’ radar gave him a new target. He didn’t have it visually, not yet. All he saw through his windscreen were clouds and, through occasional rents in them, the wave-chopped surface of the ocean that stretched between the main and lesser continental masses.

He was just as glad not to be flying over Deutschland any more. Maybe Munchen had deserved what the Race gave it; he was no targeting specialist or shiplord, to be able to judge such things from full knowledge. Flying over the glassy ruins of what had been a large city, though, left him glum. The sight made him think of Tokyo, which, but for him, might still be standing. To hate the Nipponese was one thing, to visit on them nuclear fire quite another.