A rumble of laughter echoed in the audience chamber. The Shata were rugalga, the equivalent of the herds of semi-intelligent beasts which had once wandered the home world, unable to defend themselves, the hunting of which was considered an exercise merely to fill the stomach, since there was no glory or challenge. How any beings could be so stupid as to come to Kilrah making loud pleas of peace, offering their secrets of interstellar travel and then be totally unable to defend themselves was a source of wonderment and amusement even now, several hundred years later.
"My father, in his war against the Varni, went into the fight knowing their technology was superior. That is exactly why we fought them then, to take their secrets. His father before him against the Wu, his father's father against the Eyoka, and now we shall take this Confederation as is our right and destiny."
"What I caution is our lack of knowledge," Vakka replied. "It is as if we hear something on the far side of the hill, and the hunting pride charges towards it with roars of blood lust, but know not what is upon the far side of that hill."
"We know enough," the Crown Prince sneered. "This colony your clan captured. It was they who first made us aware of this Confederation. You yourself said they were powerful and the issue of their existence should be addressed."
Vakka sighed. That point was indeed true and he cursed the luck of it all. Five years back all the clans had been expanding outward, encountering systems devoid of any foe, and then he had stumbled upon a world that aliens, humans of this Confederation, had arrived at only weeks before. Taken by surprise, they had been captured, their ship torn apart and looted of information, thus revealing much about who this new neighbor was. Within half a year after that, contacts started all along the sectors bordering towards this Confederation, and something of an unofficial war was even now under way.
There seemed to be a tacit agreement, established through one official communique from the Emperor, barring all humans from crossing into sectors claimed by the Empire and ships of neither side entered these realms, at least not officially.
But it was the world they had taken with the colonists that troubled Vakka. Normally he would have killed them out of hand, but there was something different about these aliens, and curiosity compelled him to keep them alive. From them he had learned much, not in the manner of the Emperor's official "questioners," who had tortured human captives for information, but rather by simply talking. He found that in many ways he liked these aliens, but even more, he feared them; a fact he could never admit before this gathering.
"We have learned this, at least," Vakka finally replied. "If they have an advantage it is in their depth, their web of alliances with half a dozen races, the sheer number of worlds they have colonized. Such a depth of organization could be of infinite help if the challenge from within the core is to one day be met. We lack that depth. We annihilate or enslave everyone on the worlds we take."
"So?" the Crown Prince replied, his tone obviously conveying total confusion over the intent of Vakka's statement.
"Yes, we have a fleet, the best in the galaxy, but we don't have the infrastructure, the web of commerce. We conquer, destroy, populate a new world like a fiefdom, placing a few tens of thousands of our own blood where billions once existed. Those whom we suffer to live, labor in our factories as slaves, not allies. Then we expand yet again. We are like a hollow shell, the Confederation is a solid mass."
"That is why we must attack now," the Crown Prince snarled. "We are the superior. One fierce blow will smash that solid mass, a blow from which they will never recover. Even if, as in your worst projections as presented earlier, they somehow survive the first blow, they will be so weakened that we shall hold what we have taken, then finally push the blade into their heart."
"Better to take it and use it in our own way," the Crown Prince cried, turning to face the other clan leaders. "We can see this truth. If our places were reversed, we would laugh at such an alliance, and simply use the Confederation as a buffer to absorb the first blow of the enemy, as they would do to us. And besides, the point is meaningless. It will be at least eight times eight years before the darkness even begins to approach our outer borders."
Vakka looked about the room for support and saw only blank stares. He knew those clan leaders whose realms bordered in towards the galactic core might see his side, but the promise of war, immediate war, rather than long boring years of preparation for a threat that might never actually come, superseded all other concerns.
"The war will train a new generation such as my son," the Crown Prince pressed. "For all our sons this fight will be their blooding and their chance to rise in honor and gain glory for their clan names. And this war, I predict that it will be finished before it has even started. After the first hammer blows, we will pluck the flesh off the bones of the Confederation at our leisure."
"As for the rumor that they are preparing to declare war upon us-" and he chuckled softly, " — let them. We shall use the classic maneuver of the Haggin."
Laughter erupted at the reference to an old hunting trick, of sending a lone warrior out and letting him feign injury to draw the prey in. The prey would then be so focused on the Haggin that they would not notice that they in turn were being encircled.
"We will show weakness and confusion in the opening days, even pull back. Then will come the killing blow."
Vakka turned and looked back at his own son, Jukaga, the same age as the ignorant whelp, Ratha. Jukaga was eager for the fight, that was obvious by the pained, embarrassed expression in his eyes at his father's display. Would Jukaga survive this war? He scanned the rest of the assembly. All visible support was gone. Some were already looking towards the door into the feasting hall, the immediate needs of their stomachs far more important than this last hope for turning the decision back.
As he gazed upon them he did see one clear truth. They needed war, perpetual war, for if they did not have it the Empire would turn upon itself in bloody civil conflict, to satiate the need for combat, for glory, for blood. If for no other reason than that, the Emperor, in his cunning, would demand an attack upon the Confederation in order to insure his own place upon the throne.
So it would be the Jak-tu, the war of surprise. It was, of course, the way, for only a fool would warn his prey of intent. Picking up his dagger, he walked to the ceremonial circle in the center of the room. Raising the blade high he closed his eyes, hesitating, a dark warning of fear rippling in his heart. But there was now no other way, short of provoking a civil war, a breaking of the clans… he flung the blade so that it stood quivering beside the knives of the other clan leaders and the golden blade of the Emperor. A roar of approval erupted and Vakka looked back towards the dais. There was a rustling behind the curtains, the Emperor was standing… a howling roar erupted from behind the screen, the first cry of the hunt, joined an instant later by those assembled in the room, a mad ululation of abandon and joy, for the scent of blood was in the air. Vakka could feel it overcoming him as well, the primal instinct of the pride, the vast steppes filled with game, the hot sun overhead, the air thick with the smell of blood… and now it was the vastness of space, the cold silence, the swooping dive and the shudder of guns… it was still the same, the hunt. The spirit finally seized his soul even in its torment and, tilting his head back, the scream erupted from him, mingling with those who were of the blood of Empire.
Confederation Service Academy-Houston
"Admiral, hell of a good speech, the kids ate it up."
Admiral «Skip» Banbridge turned to see his old comrade, Commander Winston Turner, coming towards him, hand extended and holding a drink. Banbridge smiled sarcastically as he accepted the heavy crystal glass and took a long, grateful sip of well-aged single malt Scotch.