"How could the Frenchman fail to be pleased?" The Flower Priest made an expansive gesture, mostly lost in the narrow focus of the v-pane pickup. "Four Mitla-class fast dreadnaughts, a dozen Kasei-class heavy cruisers and a veritable armada of smaller ships. Two Marine regiments, thousands of support personnel…everything an ambitious junior admiral could want."
"Everything he needs to fight a minor war on some forgotten planet on the edge of the Empire. A pity his reputation will be stained by the inevitable result…" Itzpalicue turned a portion of her attention to the officer rosters flipping past in her secondary data-feed. The documents opened, paged and closed with blurring speed. An unexpected sense of relief glowed for a moment as she digested the information. "Have your analysts examined the commanders' list for the battle group?"
"Yes, my lady. They are entirely acceptable for our purposes. Almost all are barbarians…or at least not citizens born of the Four Hundred Houses. No one important is liable to be killed or injured."
"Well, your enterprise should go well, then." Itzpalicue inclined her head. "Did you expect the presence of the prince Tezozуmoc?"
"Yes!" The priest's face swelled fat with self-congratulation. "A lucky stroke! The Light of Heaven recently spoke with our master about his youngest son's poor reputation. Of course we were happy to oblige his desires…as they run alongside our own. The boy will be thrust into the forge fire…"
Itzpalicue snorted delicately, a dry whispery sound. "Forge fire? In this flowery war you're arranging? More like the flame of a candle, I think."
"Not so!" The priest had forgotten his earlier trepidation and now soot-blackened eyebrows converged over a sharp nose. "The Xochiyaoyotl is not play-acting, my lady! The divine fluid will be spilled in full measure, pleasing both the Holy Mother and her Son. The boy may die gloriously, as befits a Mйxica prince on the field of battle, or he may triumph as Imperial arms will surely prove victorious over the barbarians. Either outcome will suit our purpose – and please the Light of Heaven! – well enough. Prince Tezozуmoc's reputation will be given new luster, whether he lives or dies, you may be assured of that."
I would not call the Jehanan 'barbarians,' the old woman mused, as their civilization predates even the simians of Anuhuac who gave birth to our noble race…and the thrice-blest Light of Heaven. She considered the Fleet rosters on the secondary displays. "Have you chosen the ship to sacrifice as Elder Warrior?"
"No…" The Flower Priest sniffed, annoyed at having his contemplation of the Emperor's incipient favor disturbed. "My acolytes are reviewing the Fleet records now." He paused, peering at her with a tinge of apprehension. "Do…do you have a recommendation?"
Itzpalicue made a show of pausing to consider, though she had already grasped sufficient detail from the data-stream to know that while there were commanders on the list who could play the traditional role, none of them were just right. Then she said: "The Mirror bows to the experience of the xochiyaotinime in this matter." She favored him with a tight, wintry smile. "Should circumstances change, however, do not fear but I will render any advice deemed necessary."
"Of course." The Flower Priest managed to nod genially.
The old woman could see fear pricking in his face, making the priest twitchy and nervous. Most Imperial citizens had a remarkably similar reaction when confronted with an agent of the Mirror Which Reveals The Truth. Itzpalicue, who had served the Imperial security ministry for her entire adult life, would have been affronted if she had not been regarded with trepidation and near-horror. And not without cause, for the Mirror wielded enormous power within the Empire, answering only to the Emperor himself, and keeping many secrets.
One lowly Flower Priest could easily disappear, particularly with Xochiyaoyotl in the offing.
Flower War exercises were not usually the domain of the Mirror – Itzpalicue's presence on Jagan had already thrown the priests' usual planning into confusion – and awareness of the Mirror's interest in this particular War of Flowers was causing more lost sleep for their analysts than the presence of one junior, ill-regarded and expendable Imperial Prince.
The Flower Priests operated on the fringe of Imperial space, allowing themselves a generous margin of anonymity and distance in case of some unforeseen disaster. While they took some care in picking a suitable 'honorable enemy,' past events indicated that even the most placid-seeming world could unleash untold devastation on the Imperial combat forces sent in harm's way. Not every alien civilization was pleased to have the Mйxica engage them in unexpected warfare, just for the purpose of blooding freshly raised regiments and newly promoted Fleet commanders. Still, Itzpalicue thought, with a rather amused air, the xochiyaotinime and their games do serve a purpose, both for the people and the military, and for the Emperor. Even, sometimes, for the Smoking Mirror.
The modern implementation of the Flower War was a far cry from the ritualized combats waged by the ancient Mйxica against their neighbors in the Heart of the World. Long gone the glorious mantles, feathered cloaks and elaborate head-dresses for the favored combatants. No more the cleared fields of honor scattered along the frontiers of the early Empire. No year of pampered luxury leading to the altar of divine sacrifice awaited those honorably overcome in combat. Only simple death, spilling precious fluid on some forgotten world.
Itzpalicue sighed aloud, wondering if the reality of those lost times was as clean and elegant as the official histories related. Not likely! Blood and shit smell much the same, regardless of the age.
Jagan was a remote world, but introducing the Light of Heaven's personal interest, even if through the disreputable person of Tezozуmoc, raised the stakes enough to make everyone sweat. And with a high-ranking Mirror agent in residence…well, Itzpalicue knew for a fact the Flower Priests were twisting themselves into a knot trying to second-guess her purpose.
"Any advice you might deem fit to relate," the priest continued, trying to keep his head above water, "would be as jade and turquoise to us. You have our priority channel, of course."
"I do." Itzpalicue quashed her smile. "Please let me know before the horns and flutes sound. I will remove myself from Parus for the duration of the…contest."
"Oh, there's no danger…" The priest stopped himself. A trail of sweat trickled down the side of his head and disappeared into a starched white collar. "Your pardon, my lady. There will be some danger. We are not fighting with macauhuitli wrapped in cotton, oh no! The barbarians have only modest arms to hand, but a knife still cuts! No, no…I would be remiss to tell you there was no danger once our own troops are engaged by the rebellious elements among the Jehanan."
He tried to show a controlled smile, but the pasty color of his flesh beneath the ceremonial paint made him look much like a defleshed skull. "I fear the substance of most buildings in Parus – grand city though it is – will not be able to stop even the small-caliber railgun rounds fired by our Fleet shuttles or Tonehua-class combat vehicles. You should take care."
"I will." Itzpalicue made a sitting bow, indicating the conversation was over. "Good day."
The channel folded closed on the v-pane even before the Flower Priest could respond.
Sighing, Itzpalicue shook her head in dismay at the man's lack of control. Even the most dim-witted Flower Priests probably guessed the Mirror agent had full access to all Imperial communications in Jaganite near-space and on the surface of the ancient world. Yet he still tried to keep her informed of developments, even though her own communications network was superior to his own. The Mirror's reputation of omniscience was not vigorously reinforced by all the power available to the Imperial government for nothing.