Merkiaari Wars: 03 - Operation Oracle (47 page)

Valjoth frowned up at the gates towering high into the air. No, his people weren’t builders. They were destroyers descended from the enforcers that the Kiar had relied upon to fight their wars and protect them. Only the bloods avoided that legacy, and they were enslaved by their biology instead. Not something anyone would call a bargain.

The small portal in the gate swung open allowing access. The main gates were never opened, and Valjoth wondered if they even could be after so long unused, but then they were Kiar made. Of course they would work, but the approach and entrance to the palace was always by foot. Vehicles of any kind were prohibited from approaching, and anything flying within the interdiction zone around and over the palace would be shot down. The inner city had formidable defences. The curtain walls around it were made of the same metal used to build ships, and they had shields and weapons built into them. He had witnessed yearly tests and knew the inner city was safe from conventional attack, but it wasn’t conventional attack he worried about. Unconventional thinking was another thing he was derided for. Unconventional by Merkiaari standards at any rate.

Valjoth saw it otherwise.

He wasn’t First Claw of the Host for nothing. He knew his job and that was one of many reasons to both admire and fear the Humans. There had been other vermin worth studying, and he had done so, but it was the Humans that had inspired so many changes in his people. The newest batches were a case in point. They were far superior to older batches, both physically and mentally, but they would never have been quickened if not for the Humans. The breeding programs had been unchanged for a thousand years before the failed Human cleansing. Essentially left as the cursed Kiar had designed them, his people had prospered, but the changes were necessary despite the haste in which they were implemented. Side effects were hardly surprising and didn’t overly concern him. They did concern the Hegamon however, but regardless, they needed to be convinced to switch from three in ten batches to full production of the new types. Valjoth didn’t expect to get such a concession today, but perhaps an increase to five or six in ten wouldn’t be out of the question now that the Humans had taken a hand in Merkiaari affairs again. He could play upon the warlord’s fear of Humans, and use him to make the case to the Hegamon for an increase.

Valjoth and Usk stopped just inside the gate as weapons were levelled at them. He didn’t roll his eyes or show any other emotion as he was scanned for weapons—none were allowed to be brought into the inner city—and scanned for identity. He wasn’t surprised that the guards were of the older type. Tried and true and zero instability. They were fine for such tasks as gate guarding and security, but he wouldn’t like to put them up against the Humans again. It was troops like these who had fought in the failed cleansing two centuries ago.

“My lord, if you would submit?” a guard said indicating the security console with one hand.

“Of course,” Valjoth said. The scan had already proven his identity, but he approved of the extra precautions even while wondering about it.

Vermin within the inner city and those entering were required to pass DNA scans, not Merkiaari. None among their own people would harm anyone living here, but regardless of reasons the test was not harmful. He stabbed his thumb on the sharp spike provided for that purpose next to the console, and let his blood enter the receptacle. The machine tested his DNA and signalled the operator that he was indeed who he claimed to be. Usk submitted to the test unasked.

Weapons were lowered and Valjoth was led to a car to take him to the palace.

Once inside and on the move, Usk turned to Valjoth. “What was that? Intentional insult or something else?”

“Not insult I think, paranoia.”

“Paranoia?”

“The new batches.”

Usk nodded. “Oh that.”

“That,” Valjoth agreed. “Discipline problems seems to be a side-effect of greater intelligence in the new batches. They’re better fighters for it, but harder to control.”

“You’ve never had that problem.”

“I’m different,” Valjoth said sarcastically. “You know how well thought of I am. They probably consider me near enough the same as the new troops anyway. I don’t consider that an insult. They’re superior fighters.”

Usk nodded.

“More security here is a good thing, but I don’t like what it says about my chances of getting more of the new troops anytime soon. That display at the gate has to mean the warlord fears our own troops more than the vermin.”

Usk grunted. “I don’t see that as likely, my lord, and besides, the vermin are controlled.”

“True, but then they were supposedly controlled on Parcae weren’t they?”

Usk nodded.

The vermin called Parcae were the last client race to rebel. Valjoth had been bored and decided to put the rebellion down personally by leading the cleansing fleet. Despite the controls, the Parcae had succeeded in arming themselves and killing most of the Merkiaari population of their planet, and had been in the process of fortifying it when he arrived. It was quite an impressive attempt, but of course it failed. Still, he could admire them for trying and succeeding as well as they had. They had no chance in the long term of course. His ships meant he controlled the system the moment he arrived. The Parcae had nothing to combat him with in space.

The point though was not lost on him. If the vermin were determined enough and got it into their heads to rebel, discipline collars and DNA checkpoints would not stop them from killing their masters. That was why he felt homeworld was a special case. It should be vermin free. That was the only way to ensure safety here. He wasn’t a fool. He didn’t propose the eradication of all vermin in the Hegemony, but on Kiar? Absolutely yes.

“Fearing our own is not a good trend, my lord,” Usk said.

“No, definitely not. We need a new warlord, and that’s not going to happen soon.”

“He’s old.”

“But robust,” Valjoth said. “No sign of him failing that I’ve seen. Not in fighting form of course, but he doesn’t need to be.”

Usk nodded.

The Hegamon usually chose a warlord from among the previous warlord’s marshals, but not always. Warlords chose their marshals personally, and were meant to be the best planners and administrators in the Hegemony, but more often than not they were just comrades or batch mates of the warlord. He had to live with them every day after all. Why wouldn’t he choose marshals he liked?

Problems occurred when the marshals were inept. The bloods serving within the Hegamon had no experience of the outside to guide their choice of a new warlord, and so chose warlords like Horak. That was one reason Valjoth always made himself available to them. Not because he wanted the throne, it would bore him senseless, but because he wanted a good warlord to serve. If the Hegamon wanted to ask his advice about things outside its experience, he was willing. He was certainly more qualified to advise them than a warlord who hadn’t been off planet in almost a century.

The car pulled up smoothly at the main entrance to the palace. The driver, a Lamarian, did not get out but simply waited for his passengers to disembark. They were the most common type of vermin used in the Hegemony and the safest. They were discovered and pacified during the reign of the Kiar and predated the creation of the Merkiaari. They were one of the oldest vermin species in the Hegemony and made for good reliable workers—quiet and pacifistic. They had never rebelled. He didn’t trust them one bit.

Valjoth and Usk climbed out of the car, and it drove away. They were met at the doors by Zakarji, a full blood and member of the Hegamon. It surprised Valjoth that she would deign to meet him this way. A friend, even a full blood friend, might be expected to greet him personally, but not a member of the Hegamon itself. He had a few full blood friends, but Zakarji was not one of them.

“Welcome to the palace First Claw Valjoth,” Zakarji said.

“Thank you. You honour me with a personal welcome. Why is that?”

Usk shifted uneasily.

Zakarji flashed fangs in a sudden grin. “Direct. I was warned about you.”

“I find that if I want to know something the quickest way is to ask someone with answers.”

“A risky policy around here,” Zakarji said. “Asking questions reveals ignorance.”

“Ignorance can be remedied, stupidity cannot.”

Zakarji eyes flashed. “You would do well to curb your insolence.”

“But then I wouldn’t be me and I’d be far less useful to you.”

Zakarji studied him for a long moment. She was short for a female, even a female of the blood, but she topped him by half a head. A female his height would be considered tiny, even defective by today’s standards. She glared down at him, but then surprised him again by grinning.

“As I said, I was warned, but I didn’t realise just how different you would be. I can make allowances.”

“Don’t do that, I won’t know how to react.”

“I doubt that,” Zakarji said. “You seem more than capable to me.”

Valjoth grinned.

“I’m here to greet you because we want to discuss something with you before your meeting with Horak.”

Horak was the warlord’s name, his batch name, before he became warlord. Only a full blood would use it or think to now he sat the throne.

“Care to reveal who with and the topic?” Valjoth asked, but he guessed the Hegamon wanted to discuss the Shan shambles.

“No.”

Valjoth shrugged at Usk as Zakarji walked back into the palace as if certain he would follow like one of her vermin servitors. It annoyed him that she was, of course, right.

Valjoth and Usk caught Zakarji and together they made their way through the busy palace corridors. Lamarian servitors hurried about their duties, while visitors to the palace strolled about on their way to meetings. There were full bloods everywhere of course. Most were bureaucrats of one kind or another. Their jobs to oversee the actual governance of the thousand star systems of the Hegemony, making sure things were sent to the right place, or made, or traded from one world to another. It made his head ache thinking about the millions of little details they found to occupy themselves with. Really, his job was complicated enough and all he needed was ships, fuel, ammunition, and troops. Usually those things arrived without a need for him to take a personal interest in them. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Zakarji stopped at a door and signalled for admittance. The door slid aside and she entered first. Valjoth followed with Usk at his back but stopped just inside when he was confronted by the entire Hegamon seated behind a long barren table all staring hard eyed at him. Six Merkiaari, seven including Zakarji, comprised the Hegamon—the ultimate authority ruling the thousand suns. He had rarely met more than two together. Never all seven, and didn’t know all of them even by sight. He took the opportunity to memorise faces. There were five females and two males, though that was purely happenstance. There had been years where the mix was reversed or the Hegamon was all female or all male. He didn’t know how they chose replacement members, and doubted anyone not of the blood cared. He didn’t. What he did care about was the reason they were meeting with him in person and not giving their orders through the warlord and his marshals. That’s what they were for after all. The warlord was their interface with the Hegemony at large and the host in particular. A less respectful person might call the warlord their figurehead and be right.

The door slid shut and locked behind Usk.

Valjoth glanced back, not liking the locked door but unable to voice it. No one but Usk would care to listen to his protests or opinions. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had been locked in with line troops fresh from a cleansing and still raging. He was in no danger, no physical danger. He turned back to find Zakarji had taken her place in the last empty seat. The centre position.

Valjoth straightened to his full height and approached the table. “You honour me with your... ah summons?” He hadn’t actually been summoned by them. The warlord had done the summoning. He wondered if the warlord even knew he was here in the palace, or knew that he was supposed to have sent a summons. “How may I serve the Hegamon?”

“By listening to our will,” Zakarji responded. “Horak insisted over your objections to give the Shan cleansing to Karnak. The cleansing failed... again.”

“The warlord felt—”

Zakarji cut him off. “Do not defend him. He is no longer a concern...”

Valjoth stiffened. No longer a concern?

“...for the position are being considered.”

“Not me!” he burst out in alarm.

To be trapped in this suffocating pile would end him. He thought of
Blood Drinker
given to another, of never leaving this hateful city, of never again ripping apart vermin or overseeing a cleansing fleet. Sitting the throne, just a figurehead with nothing to fight was horrifying.

Zakarji glared at the interruption, but the other members of the Hegamon revealed fangs, grinning at his outburst or laughing. She waited for the hilarity to fade before continuing.

“The throne is not your concern, or who sits upon it. That task is not in your future, I assure you.”

His shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank the blood for that,” he whispered and stiffened when he realised he had said it aloud.