...It was Admiral Ramos Broder (5966-6063 G.E.) who not only brought some measure of stability to the military after the fearful events of 5993, but also managed to ferret out Wain Connough, the prime mover in the death of the Oligarchic Era... —Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement ...It is this author's opinion that neither Connough and Boron were so black, nor Broder so white, as history paints them. For while it is true that Connough was executed for treason within a month after the fall of the Oligarchy and Broder's conduct during that period and for the next seventy years was exemplary, it seems unlikely that the entire situation could have arisen without the mysterious death of Broder's superior, Admiral Esten Klare (5903-5993 G.E.). Be that as it may, it can safely be said that no other body of similar power ever fell as swiftly as the Oligarchy...
—Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 8 “Blame it on Grath,” said Broder, looking at a small, illuminated, three-dimensional map of the galaxy. “He's been dead for more than eighty years,” replied Quince. “I don't really see what he has to do with it.”
“He was the first,” said Broder. “He showed them how far one man could come. It was only a matter of time before the other warlords would figure out just how much farther they could get if they banded together.”
“But even Grath never managed to win them over to his side,'’ protested Quince. “He tried right up until his final push toward Deluros.”
“First they had to see that it could be done,” said Broder. “They had to know that an outlaw force, properly marshaled, could attack the Navy and get away with it. Also, Grath didn't need them.”
“In the end he did.”
“They wouldn't have done him any good,” said Broder. “There couldn't have been a hundred million men
in the employ of all the warlords in Grath's heyday. Now things are different. They number between four
and five billion. Look at the map.” The two men turned their eyes to the illuminated spiral. “They've made huge inroads, absolutely huge. And since they haven't got anyone with Grath's talents, they're content to pick the Oligarchy to shreds, bit by bit, along the outskirts of the frontiers.” “Then why worry?” asked Quince. “It'll be eons before they turn their eyes toward Deluros.” “I doubt it.”
“Why?” asked Quince.
“Two reasons,” said Broder. “First, sooner or later they've got to realize what Grath knew all along: that the quickest way to conquer the Oligarchy is to conquer Deluros. And second, that the only other way to conquer the Oligarchy is to pick it to pieces, which means they'll be thirty generations removed from the warlords who finally land here.”
“Then you expect a strike on Deluros?”
Broder shrugged. “If it was me, yes, I'd buck the odds and attack. With them, who knows? Hell, they probably spend more time fighting among themselves than against the Navy. Still, they'll be coming one of these days.”
The conversation ambled on a little longer, and then Broder returned to his office. As second in command of the Navy's defense forces at Deluros, it was his job to keep troops and fleet in a state of preparedness ... and wait.
It had been a long wait. Grath had made it to within almost two thousand light-years before the Navy lowered the boom, and no warlord had had the temerity to come that close again. Sooner or later they'd try again, get a couple of light-years closer, and be repelled or destroyed again. And he, Admiral Ramos Broder, honor graduate from the Deluros Military Academy, author of two highly-praised volumes on the tactics of space war, former ambassador to Canphor VI, would grow old and die, awaiting the opportunity to prove his mettle in battle. On course, he thought with a tight grin, there was job security aplenty. But one of the problems with job security was that the men ahead of you also had it, and you weren't likely to advance until they died or retired. That was all right for men like Quince, but not for him: He wanted a position commensurate with his abilities, and he wouldn't be getting one unless and until those abilities were tested. At which time, he concluded, half the people above him would have been killed and he'd advance anyway. Neither the thoughts nor the frustrations were new to him. Far from it. He'd lived with them for years now, though the passage of time hadn't exactly mellowed him. Which was why he had agreed to see the man who was being ushered into his office. “Connough?” he asked, extending his hand. The man nodded. He was very tall, quite rangy, with large blue eyes that darted back and forth across the office, taking in windows, intercoms, and all the paraphernalia of bureaucracy. Broder turned to his aide. “No calls, no visitors, no communication of any sort and no monitoring. Understood?”
The aide acknowledged the orders and left the office.
“I realize that you've taken a great personal risk in coming here,” said Broder. “May I assure you that no record of this meeting will be kept, and that should your presence become known, I will authorize safe passage for you to whatever destination you desire.” Connough grunted, still looking around. “You are free to examine the room,” offered Broder. Connough took one last look, then shook his head. “That won't be necessary.” “Fine,” said Broder. “Now let's get down to business. First of all, just how did you manage to get here without credentials?”
“I have credentials,” said Connough, flashing them. “I expressed myself poorly,” said Broder. “I realize, of course, that you would have the necessary identification to reach my office. What I'm curious about is how you ever got out to the Rim and back without being detained at one end or the other.” “I have my ways,” said Connough.
“Not good enough,” said Broder. “If I am even to consider entering this enterprise I must have straight answers. Otherwise you're just wasting my time and yours.” “It's a big galaxy, Admiral, and it's impossible to guard every spaceway. My organization has numerous small trading ships, and it was a simple matter to forge credentials to the effect that I owned and operated one, and that I had trading rights to several of the frontier worlds. Belasko knew I was coming, and I had no problem getting through his military cordon around the Belthar system.” “Belasko!” said Broder. “You met him in person?” Connough nodded.
“Can you prove that to me?”
Connough withdrew a small plastic card. “You'll find Belasko's thumbprint on this. Run it through your computer and check it out.”
Broder did so, and a few minutes later the computer reported that the thumbprint did indeed belong to Belasko, the kingpin of the loosely knit confederation of warlords. “How did Belasko react to your proposition?” “Pretty much as I anticipated,” said Connough. “In exchange for Sirius V, Lodin XI, and their spheres of economic and military influence, he'll do what we ask.” “And what, precisely, is that?”
“That he make a feint at the Binder system when instructed, and that he publicly acknowledge his loyalty
to Deluros in exchange for total amnesty.” “In that order, I hope,” said Broder with a smile. “This is deadly serious business, Admiral,” said Connough. “I fail to see any humor in the situation.” “No, I don't suppose you would,” said Broder. “All right, on to the next point. How many men are in your organization?”