Earth, the same sort of arrangement could be extended to other worlds as well, the exception being those designated as nursery planets. They would remain under Ramanthian control.”
At that point, Charles Vanderveen produced an inarticulate cry of rage, stood, and threw himself across the table. A water carafe tipped over, hand comps flew sideways, and Parth uttered a squawk of fear as Vanderveen’s hands closed around his throat.
Pandemonium broke out as Parth’s staff came to his defense, security people rushed to intervene, and Vanderveen took three stunner bolts in quick succession. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his muscles seized up, but the diplomat’s fingers were still locked around Parth’s scrawny neck. So as the Ramanthian battled to get enough air, it was necessary for a military policeman to pry the offending digits loose one at a time.
Finally, as Vanderveen was carried away, order was restored. In a perverse sort of way, Nankool was grateful for the attack on Parth since it provided him with an excellent opportunity to declare a break. Parth was still in the process of recovery as Nankool spoke. “Please accept my deepest apologies for Undersecretary Vanderveen’s unforgivable actions. But, having lost a mate yourself, perhaps you will be able to empathize with his situation. It was only a few days ago that Secretary Vanderveen received news that his mate had been killed during a battle on Earth. I suggest that we adjourn, and if you’re willing, resume our discussions in ten hours. Lieutenant Hiro will escort you to your quarters.”
In spite of the fact that the last part came across as a command rather than a request, neither Parth nor any member of his party offered an objection. Once they had been led out of the room, Nankool turned to Yatsu. “Round up General Booly, Admiral Chien-Chu, and Madame X. We have a very important decision to make.”
The meeting took place in Nankool’s well-appointed office. Legion General and Military Chief of Staff Bill Booly was seated to the president’s left. He was a legendary figure by then, a man who had fought countless battles on behalf of the Confederacy and had the scars to prove it. He had his mother’s gray eyes and his father’s lean body, but his hair was almost entirely white. Deep lines were etched into his face, his skin was pale, and he looked tired.
The woman seated to Booly’s left was generally referred to as “Madame X,” by government insiders. But her real name was Margaret Xanith. She had a head of well-coiffed gray hair, and despite the perpetual frown that she was known for, her face was surprisingly youthful. As head of the Confederacy’s Intelligence organization, she knew most of the things worth knowing and had long been one of Nankool’s most trusted advisors.
Admiral and industrialist Chien-Chu sat elbow to elbow with Xanith. Rather than the youthful vehicle chosen for trips to Earth, he was wearing a slightly portly body similar to the way his bio body had appeared at age fifty- five. He never wore a uniform unless forced to do so although his dark business suit was so similar to the rest of his attire that it was equally predictable.
Secretary of State Yatsu was present as well. And Nankool could see the strain around her eyes. “How’s Charles?” he inquired.
“He’s better now,” Yatsu answered. “The worst effects of the stunner bolts have worn off. He wanted me to apologize on his behalf. He’s very sorry.”
“Tell him to squeeze a bit harder next time,” Nankool said with a grin. “And tell him I can see why Christine is such a troublemaker.”
“A rather useful troublemaker,” Xanith observed. “She filed a report while you were meeting with Chancellor Parth. Not only was she able to find the Warrior Queen, the two of them met, and we have the makings of a deal. The Queen’s throne in exchange for peace.”
Nankool gave a low whistle. “That is very interesting. Of course, Parth is offering peace as well. But at a high price.”
“According to Christine, the Warrior Queen is willing to accept something close to a complete reset,” Xanith explained. “Meaning a return to prewar conditions, boundaries, and relationships. The exception is the nursery planets. They would continue to be part of the Ramanthian Empire.”
“Most of them were largely unsettled prior to the war,” Yatsu observed. “And now that they’re infested with Ramanthian nymphs, I’m not sure we want them.”
“True,” Booly agreed soberly. “Although one-third of those nymphs will grow up to be Ramanthian warriors. And that means trouble in the future.”
“The general makes a good point,” Chien-Chu said flatly. “But the Warrior Queen’s proposal would give us time to prepare. And, with support from both the Hudathans and the Hegemony, our military should be strong enough to counter the potential threat.”
“That’s true,” Nankool allowed cautiously. “But let’s flip this over. All of you know that I have a soft spot for Christine Vanderveen. But it sounds like she’s out there cutting deals all by herself again. So will her verbal agreement with the Warrior Queen hold up? Or will her ‘supreme buggyness’ suddenly decide to disavow it? We’re talking about an outcast here. Someone who’s on the run from her own people.
“Then there’s the question of feasibility. Let’s say Christine is correct-and the Warrior Queen keeps her word. What’s to say that an attempt to put her back on the throne would be successful?”
“I can answer that,” Xanith replied. “To some extent anyway. Thanks to our resistance people, the effort to infect Ramanthian troops with Ophiocordyceps unilateris has been a tremendous success. Thousands of troops have been killed, thousands are sick, and thousands are tied up caring for those who are ill. In fact, it’s my guess that has a lot to do with Chancellor Parth’s willingness to pull their troops off the planet. The truth is that the Ramanthian command structure has very little choice. And don’t forget… so long as the bugs have ships in orbit, they can not only watch everything that takes place on the surface but glass the planet anytime they feel like it. So, in a weird sort of way, we’re better off with soldiers on the ground. Or, put another way, this offer is no offer at all.
“Furthermore,” Xanith continued, “there’s reason to believe that hundreds of thousands of so-called denialists refuse to believe that the Warrior Queen is dead. So if we could give them hope, they might rise up against the pretender. Or, failing that, offer passive support. All of which leads me to believe that even if our efforts fail, we can still sow seeds of dissension throughout Ramanthian society. And that would be fun.”
It was as close to a joke as any of them were likely to hear from the Intel chief, so Nankool smiled. “An excellent summary. Thank you. However, I feel it’s my duty to point out that, attractive though such a strategy might be, the cabal controls all the levers of power. That includes not only the government but the military. So we might be better off with the bird in hand, so to speak. General Booly? You’ve been relatively quiet up to this point. What’s your opinion?”
Booly looked up from the tabletop. His expression was bleak. “We’re losing the war. We got our asses kicked on Earth, Gamma-014, and a dozen other planets as well. The resistance is making remarkable progress on Earth, but it would take a fleet to force the bugs out of the solar system. Thousands of ships are under construction deep inside the Hegemony. But it will be months before they’re ready. And we will continue to be very vulnerable in the meantime. And if the Ramanthians think we’re about to make a comeback, there’s an excellent chance they will glass some of our worlds as part of a last-ditch attempt to avoid defeat.”
“Of course, that’s why we’re going after their nursery planets,” Chien-Chu put in. “Once we control one or two of them, the Ramanthians will think twice before using nuclear weapons against us.”
“Okay,” Nankool said. “So, given all that has been said, what should we do? Continue on? Accept Parth’s proposal? Or back the Warrior Queen?”
There was a moment of silence followed by a voice vote. Secretary Yatsu had the last word. “So there you have it. God help us if we’re wrong.”
In spite of all the efforts that had been made to provide the Ramanthians with comfortable quarters, Parth was very unhappy as he looked out through a floor-to-ceiling window. The sun was obscured by a thick layer of gunmetal gray clouds. He had been attacked, his personal dignity had been violated, and his request to have the offender beheaded had been refused. That was bad enough.
But all the members of his party had been restricted to their quarters. That made it next to impossible to gather intelligence regarding Fort Camerone. And the final outcome of the mission was still in doubt. Well, it’s up to them, Parth thought grimly. If they want to die, all they have to do is say, “No.”
Parth’s thoughts were interrupted as an aide shuffled into the room. “It’s time, Excellency.”
Hail rattled against armored glass, causing Parth to wonder why the humans would bother to colonize such
