He could see Hazin up on the bridge, rendering the proper ceremonial salute as they passed the emperor.
So unlike anything I ever imagined of their race, he thought. Always my father called them beasties; barbarians fit only for extinction. Yet in the brief time he had spent among them, he had seen things never imagined.
Suzdal, even Roum, when compared to the glittering capital city, were but stink holes. Smoke-belching factories surrounded Suzdal, sometimes blackening the sky even at midday, and Roum was but a shadow of her former glory, a fair part of it still in ruins from the Great War.
Even the poorest of Kazan lived better than many in Suzdal. None were left to starve. Food and shelter were given by the emperor, and entertainment provided. While in Suzdal many still worked twelve-hour days in stygian darkness in the mines or choking in the great foundries.
Even the entertainment now intrigued him, a demonstration of remorseless courage unlike anything he had ever imagined. If that was how the Shiv performed in battle, nothing, not even all the veterans of the legendary 35th Maine, could stand up to them.
They were the future, he realized, not the grasping of the Republic, which seemed so divided against itself, which pitted rich against poor, state against state, all a mad babble of voices, led by men like his father who bellowed and drank. There was no elegance, no culture, no unity of purpose, and that was what truly intrigued him, the single mind that could control all and offer a dream of the future.
In a month’s time the fleet of the Republic would be gone, swept away in its first encounter, and for that he felt true regret. Though he no longer loved what he had once served, nevertheless he had taken an oath and more than one friend would be on those ships.
But, as Hazin said, the price of power, the price of glory, must be paid in blood.
Once defeated, once the Shiv and the imperial umens had landed on the Bantag coast and Constantine pounded into surrender, the Republic would disintegrate. The internal bickering, the pulling to different goals, the resentment of south to north and frontier to the settled west, would ensure that.
What Hazin offered, though, and what had been the factor that had captivated him, was a final ending to the divisions.
Hazin held out a dream, of human and nonhuman united in one empire, which the Republic could never achieve. That was his reason for being here now, he realized. It was not Karinia, though she had opened the door. It was the dream of a final ending without total annihilation of one or the other.
Once achieved, the secrets of the Portals could at last be explored, revealed, and opened. Then everyone would see the truth behind the Order and all that it promised. An escape from this mad world, a quest to places undreamed and, if need be, to conquer them.
He knew that even now his thoughts were still laced with drugs that coursed through his soul, altering his dreams, shaping his every wakeful moment, but he did not care. He felt liberated by the joy of the moment, the unity of purpose, the chanting of the emperor’s name, the great power of the ship he rode that, alone, could crush any who resisted.
Facing back to the bridge, he saw Hazin and raised his clenched fist in salute. To his amazement, Hazin turned, smiled, and returned the salute, a gesture that brought tears to his eyes.
THIRTEEN
“Well, Commander Cromwell, all this fuss and excitement simply because we fished you out of the water.”
Still standing at attention, Richard figured it was best not to reply. He stepped forward and laid the briefcase on Admiral Bullfinch’s desk.
.“Do you know what’s in here?” Bullfinch asked.
“Sir, the presidential seal is intact.”
“Damn it, man, I can see that. But you must have a sense of what the hell it is they are doing up there in Suzdal.”
“I attended several meetings, sir, if that’s what you mean.”
“Relax, Cromwell. I told you to be my eyes up there, I want to know.”
Richard took the word relax to mean that he could stand at ease, and he did so.
Bullfinch leaned back in his chair, looked appraisingly at Richard. “Hard to believe you are old Tobias’s son.” Richard stiffened slightly, and Bullfinch put out his hand and waved it in a conciliatory gesture.
“No, no, don’t take offense. It’s just, remember, I served under your father for over a year. They pushed my class out of Annapolis early because the navy was desperate for officers. I’d hoped for one of the new steam frigates; instead I got a transport ship. Damn, how your father hated that. I mean the ship, not me. He wanted action the same as I did.” Bullfinch smiled wistfully. “We both got more than we’d bargained for.”
As he spoke he popped the seal on the case and opened it, pulling out several thick folders that, in turn, had been sealed as well.
“Looks all very official and businesslike. Now tell me, Cromwell, what did you see, and what do you think about all this?”
“The president’s speech, I read it in the papers on the way down. I think he laid it out quite clearly. The Kazan are coming, so now is the time to mobilize and present a unified front.”
“I read that as well,” Bullfinch snapped. “Andrew at his best, but that’s not what I asked for. What is it that you really saw?”
Richard hesitated. He was being asked to comment on things political, a realm he wished to avoid whenever possible.
“Out with it, Cromwell.”
“Indecision and confusion, sir.”
“Ah, now we are getting down to facts.”
“No, sir, just my opinion as you asked for it.”
“They trained you well at the academy, Cromwell.”
“Sir?”
“The military and politics to be forever kept apart. Facts versus opinion. Cromwell, politics has precious little to do with facts and everything to do with opinion, so go ahead.”
“President Keane clearly understands the issue.”
“In other words, he completely believed you.”
“I wouldn’t venture an opinion on that, sir. He said that we have to believe my report, for to do otherwise is folly.” Bullfinch grunted, his one eye baleful, gaze locked on Cromwell.
“You realize, Cromwell, that if you are wrong, if it should turn out that these bastards are not attacking, then the entire navy will look like fools. Half the senate will scream we cooked the whole thing up to ram through another appropriation. I do not take kindly to being made to look like a fool. Do you get my drift, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, thinking it best not to correct the admiral concerning his new rank.
“The father of Sean O’Donald is one of my closest friends, Cromwell. On the other hand, your father was one of my most bitter foes. The fact that I now have to accept the word of one son over another, an accusation that Sean O’Donald cannot even defend himself against, is an outrage to me.”
“You know about Sean, sir?” Cromwell gasped.
“The whole damn Republic knows about him.” He reached over to the table behind his desk and picked up a copy of Gates’s Daily.
“Some damn congressional assistant spilled it last night, and Gates printed it, damn his hide. Sherman was right: every damn newspaperman should be given a choice, either hang them or hand them a gun and put them on the front line. This will break old Pat’s heart. It will kill him, Lieutenant, kill him.”
Richard did not reply.
“You were in this office less than two weeks ago, still dripping wet from your alleged adventure. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this? As you commanding officer you should have reported to me any allegations you might have against a brother officer first rather than have it spill out like this.”
As he spoke, he coiled the paper up and slammed it several times on his desk and then in disgust threw it so that it landed at Cromwell’s feet.
“Sir.” He struggled to control his voice, to not let a hint of anger show. “I kept it in confidence because I believed it proper to first inform Senator O’Donald personally.”