“But who in hell would want to live there?”
Harq the Hannegan thought for a moment. “The Jackrabbit itself has settled down in the south. That’s why I won’t stand for talk of extermination.”
“But they were always half-settled anyway, Sire. The Wilddog and the Grasshopper would prefer to die in battle than give up their ways. To farm or to ranch is hard work. To the Nomad, work is slavery.”
“The ex-Nomads learned to work when they lost their horses. You merely predict their choice. We must not allow them to have such a choice. There is no need to colonize the Plains if we can civilize the wild tribes themselves. I want Urion to send missions to the northern hordes.”
“Cardinal Urion sent Monsignor Sanual to them, and he came back empty-handed, and I think empty-headed. The Christians among them are already tied to Valana, Sire, and there is a rumor this Pope in Valana means to take the Jackrabbit Churches away from our Archbishop,” said the chaplain.
“There is no Pope in Valana, and until there is a Pope in New Rome, they are tied to nobody. And Urion hopes to be the next Pope. If not, we’ll see whether Urion or some antipope offers them sweeter salvation. Especially to the Grasshopper, after we punish them. The time is ripe for change. The papacy is up for grabs. The new Lord of the Hordes is a Wilddog, not a Grasshopper. We have to influence both.
“Please understand,” continued the Hannegan, after a pause, “that what I ask of you is to tell me what you think would happen if we do this, or we do that, even if I would never do either. To show you what I mean, I ask General Goldæm what he thinks would happen if we undertook a war to simply wipe out the Nomad population of the northern Plains.”
He spoke again after a silence. “Well, General?”
“Sire, I did not really mean to suggest—”
“Very well, I realize you were just making bellicose noises to exercise your military gland, but go ahead. Answer my question: What would happen if we undertook to wipe out the Grasshopper and the Wilddog?”
The general reddened, and after a few seconds said, “I think we I would fail. We’re stretched out. We occupy and police the Jackrabbit country below the Nady Ann. If we try to hit the Grasshopper hard, he can pull back until our supply wagons can’t supply our forces.”
“The Nomad can live on carrion and crickets. Why can’t you?” “I can, but we can’t fight without powder and shot.”
“Good enough. You have now taken charge of your military gland. However, you can put it to work again and organize a battalion of a special strike force. I want men trained to out-Nomad the Nomads. Take the biggest, toughest, meanest men you can find, both from our own ranks and from any motherless outlaws you can recruit. Teach them to live on the land, speak Nomadic, and learn their way of signaling.”
“And what exactly is the battalion’s mission, Sire? Not to hold ground, surely.”
“Of course not. The mission is to surprise, kill, destroy, and run. Punitive strikes, in case there’s another attack on the farmlands. As for weapons, be sure they have the new biologicals from the university. Draft Thon Hilbert, if you have to.”
Goldæm looked at Carpios, made a sour mouth, and winked. He did not believe that biologicals were the wave of the military future and he hoped Carpy agreed; but the pirate admiral merely shrugged.
Filpeo turned to the chaplain.
“Colonel Pottscar, suppose my uncle the Archbishop had unlimited funds to spend on the conversion of the Grasshopper Horde. What would happen?”
“Well, if he didn’t spend it on young boys, he would waste it sending people like Monsignor Sanual.”
The Mayor seemed to suppress a giggle. “How would he spend it on young boys? Charitably?”
“Oh, of course. I was only thinking about how he just last week took in a refugee from Leibowitz Abbey. He hired a young Brother Torrildo as his assistant and acolyte. He’s always thinking of the welfare of young boys.”
“I’m acquainted with my uncle, Father Colonel Pottscar. My question is: do you think spending money to Christianize the Nomads would be a wise investment?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the Nomads would be baptized, take the money, ignore the priests, and do as they have always done.”
“Just so. Well, look at the clock! Let us go inspect the wares of the gunsmiths, gentlemen.”
“Wait a moment, Sire,” said Goldæm. “I think Carp… uh, the admiral might have something to say first.”
“Go right ahead, Carp,” said the Hannegan.
The admiral winced slightly, but said, “The guns the alien warriors brought with them disappeared soon after they met Brownpony.”
“How do you know that? And if true, what does it mean?”
“I heard it from Esitt Loyte, Sire. Their homeland has firearms superior to our own, and such guns are now being made on the west coast.” He took out a small pistol, only to have it snatched from his hand by one of Filpeo’s bodyguards. The guard seemed to have trouble determining if the gun was loaded. The admiral assured him that it was not.
“Where did you get that thing?” Filpeo asked.
“About fifty-eight hundred nautical miles from here, Sire. On a great circle course, almost northwest, I’d guess. Or sixty-three hundred miles, by rhumb line course, nearly due west. That’s my best guess without looking at the charts.”
“Across the ocean? Not our west coast?”
“No, but they’re in production on our west coast by now.”
“Show me how it works, Admiral,” said Filpeo.
Carpios Robbery pulled five cartridges out of his pocket, loaded the revolver, walked to the nearest window, aimed at the sky, and shocked their eardrums by holding down the trigger and rapidly fanning the hammer five times with the edge of his hand. When he turned around, Filpeo looked pale.
“My God! Is that what’s been piling up in the Suckamint Mountains?”
“I have no way of knowing that, Sire. But this special battalion you want Goldy to organize should have a lot of firepower.”
“Give me the weapon. Let’s go see the gunsmiths.”
The admiral released the pistol with obvious reluctance.
According to the gunsmiths’ salesmen, the prototype of a similar weapon was already on the drawing board and might be ready in two years, but they were alarmed to see a competitive firearm already in production.
“Would your possession of this gun hasten production?”
“That is very likely, Sire.”
Carpios Robbery winced again.
“I’ll let you have it before you leave the city,” Filpeo said, then looked at his admiral’s expression and added, “Of course, you must send it back to its owner here when you’re done with it.”
“Certainly, Sire.”
Brownpony’s interview with His Imperial Majesty Filpeo Harq, Mayor Hannegan VII, happened in City Hall, also called the Imperial Palace, on Thursday, the 5th of January, thus giving the lie to a Jack-rabbit rumor extant in the Province which held that Filpeo Harq always had himself locked up in his private quarters for three days about the time of the full moon, and would see no one. That Thursday the moon was full, and after opening the sealed papers from Pope Amen, the Monarch flew into such a rage that Blacktooth wished the rumor were true. He and Weh-Geh were made to sit on a bench in the corridor outside the mayoral throne room, and they could hear only muffled shouting without being able to understand much of it. None of the shouting was done by the cardinal.
Presently a priest with a monsignor’s bellyband came down the hall and spoke to the guards. One of them knocked hard, opened the door, and shouted, “Monsignor Sanual, in obedience to the Lord Mayor’s summons,” and pushed him inside, then followed him and closed the door. There was a lull in the shouting.