He barely noticed the interesting fact that there were eight Gurkhas at the salute as he boarded, other than that they looked inordinately dumb wearing white gloves.
As the aide led him into a paneled conference room, the Normandie's Yukawa drive hissed, and the ship lifted.
Sten was not all that surprised to find Warrant Officer Alex Kilgour in the room. Alex was grunting—loudly.
"Clottin' Emperor. Clottin' hae me, ae Ah'm supervisin't thae unloadin't ae cargo ae marble f r my dinin't chambers. Clottin' lairds wi' nae clottin' understandin't ae naught.
"Clottin' chop m' leave wi'out clottin' sayin't ae word, an' next week wae the openin't ae shootin't season!"
He paused in his diatribe long enough to register Sten.
"Boss. Sorry the clottin' pismire scragged you, ae well. Clottin' Emperor. Whae w' need't here is ae some sanity an' nae a little anarchy."
That was a little much. Sten's fingers flashed in Mantis sign language: Shaddup, clot. The room's bugged!
Kilgour sneered. "Clot him, clot his snoops an aye th' Empire! Ah'll speakit ae Ah wan'. Wha'es the clot't' do? Send us back twa Heath?"
"That, in fact, is very much what I had in mind."
The dry voice, of course, came from the Eternal Emperor.
Fleet Marshal Ian Mahoney let the outrage from the babble of politicians die into silence. He walked to the conference room's window and looked pointedly overhead.
Twelve Imperial superbattleships hung over the capital city of Gorj, their screens ringing the ships.
Mahoney turned back to the assembled rulers of Gorj.
"I shall reiterate the situation. Gorj determined to stand neutral in this war. The Emperor respects that decision.
"However, under the original treaty signed between the Emperor and Gorj, your world requested our support and aid if, at any time in the future, Gorj was threatened with attack.
"You agreed in that treaty that Gorj would provide any necessary logistical aid to that support.
"The Empire has determined that Gorj is imminently in danger of being seized by the Tahn. This shall not be allowed to happen.
"In exchange for our securing your independence, all we are requesting is access to three of your primary spaceports and the necessary real estate to develop basing for Imperial maintenance crews."
"And if we don't willingly let you take over those ports?"
"There is," Mahoney went on, "recognized by Imperial law, either the rights of force majeure or eminent domain. The Empire will, of course, make proper restitution."
"The Tahn have made no signs of attacking us!"
"They are very subtle," Mahoney said. He was starting to feel most diplomatic, even though he had wanted to start the meeting with: Look, guys. You clowns are sitting here, right on the edges of the Tahn Empire. You've gotten all the goodies from staying neutral. Too bad you've got the only populated and developed worlds handy for us to grab.
"We'll protest this!" another politician said.
"You have every right. The Imperial Court of Admiralty, I might advise, has a case backload of some seventeen years."
"This is morally reprehensible! We'll have our military forces mobilized immediately."
Mahoney nodded politely, glanced again at the hovering fleet, and picked up his gold-braided hat from the table. "You have six hours to reach a decision. Good day, gentleman."
The war had gone on long enough for fine moral principles to become quite corroded.
At the moment all the wallscreens in the huge auditorium showed what appeared to be a rather obese walrus sloshing in a powered swimming tank.
The "walrus" was Rykor, easily the Empire's most skilled psychologist.
The auditorium was filled with her top advisers and the elite of the Empire's propaganda machine.
Rykor sprayed foam from her whiskers—the speakers around the auditorium squealed—and made her summation. "I am hardly equipped to specifically tell any of you gentle-beings how to do the job. All the various suggestions and proposals you saw onscreen will be made available to you. If you choose to use any of them, we would be flattered and honored.
"And, of course, none of the possible gray or black operations can be discussed at this gathering.
"But, overall, your thrust should be twofold:
"One. The victory in the Durer worlds is the beginning of the end. Those who serve the Empire well in hastening victory will be well rewarded.
"Two. What life under the Tahn means, particularly to a non-Tahn, should be developed. Worlds recaptured from the Tahn will be instantly available for visit by any accredited livie crew or journalist. Accreditation policy, I have been advised, shall be most liberal.
"Thank you. In our seminars, we shall attempt to further develop some more cohesive strategies."
A woman stood in the middle of the audience. "What about the Tahn? What direction will Imperial propaganda take?"
"Again, I am not discussing gray or black areas. It shall be quite simple. Large 'cast units will be established on the fringes of the Tahn Empire and relocated forward as we continue recapturing systems. Information broadcast to the Tahn shall consist of exactly what is going on."
"Even if we lose another battle?"
"Even so. We are attempting to prove to the Tahn citizenry that their own leaders never tell the truth."
"What about subversion attempts?"
"Yes. I assume you mean atrocity leaflets, livies showing the corruption of the home front, and so forth. I have some exact orders from the Eternal Emperor. I might word them a little more politely, but... he said that we are not in the business of preventing the bum fodder shortage for the Tahn.
"Thank you."
"As I see it," the young man said, "our race has a single problem."
Sr. Ecu, senior diplomat of the Manabi, floated above the immaculate floor of the deserted factory, his three-meter-long tail snaking gently below him.
"Ah," he hummed in his most neutral tone.
"You would understand it, I hope." the young man said.
Ecu's wings waved what might have been taken as slight encouragement.
"We see our race as a single being. Stretching from the days of stone on a planet known as Earth, when we ruled by racial right, through the days when a stronger race invaded, defeated, and almost destroyed us. But for centuries, we endured.
"When we emigrated to our own system, we determined that never again would we be creatures of the moment. History and our racial memory would provide the answers.
"We determined to take the long-range view.
"That was our first error: We neglected to wonder how this day's bread could be provided.
"Secondarily, we forgot that those who sit upon the fence become targets for both sides.
"The end result? We built factories before the war, and then the war begins. We refuse to build war materials. And no one is interested in anything else.
"Except for those," the young man spit. "Those who wish us to work on speculation. With a ninety-ten split. Ninety for them, who are the smokedancers, ten for us, simply because we are willing to build and beat their drums.
"And then those others, the Tahn, who we have been assured time and again have no quarrel with us, insist on being able to port and supply their ships and satisfy the demands of their crewmen to confirm our neutrality; who levy a tax against us because they realize that we wish to support them; and so on and so forth.
"Such might be livable. We have resources enough to support our workers who have nothing to do. We have tolerance enough for those who sell their services and bodies to the Tahn.
"But what will come after?"
The Manabi were known and used throughout the Empire as diplomats. They were air-floating beings who were completely neutral—and were, therefore, ideal for the crafts of state. It was completely unknown that just after the Tahn War began, Sr. Ecu had declared the Manabi support for the Empire—not because they thought the Emperor was the epitome of civilization but because they saw the defeat of the Empire as a collapse into barbarism. That support was known to the Manabi collective intelligence, the Eternal Emperor, and no one else. To the Tahn, the neutral systems, and the Empire itself, they remained as they were—the perfect statesbeings.