By force of arms

The shuttles landed with monotonous regularity. Larger units this time, loaded with self-propelled machines, each protected by one of the shimmery force fields that gave the Sheen their name. Fortuna had no military as such, just criminal gangs, none of whom were willing to cooperate with each other. That being the case, the three-story crawlers were free to go about the business of consuming every bit of metal they could lay their graspers on without any interference other than the occasional shoulder-launched missile.

Neptune Small knew he should run, should head out into the bush like most of the others had, but continued to hope for some sort of miracle. The machines threatened everything that he had worked, stolen, and fought for. He was both too old and too fat to start all over again. That’s why the merchant stood out in front of the Rimmer’s Rest, why he fired his cane as a crawler rounded a corner, and why Small, along with the entire facade of his building, vanished in a single flash of light.

Chapter 3

Thus the highest form of generalship is to balk the enemy’s plans; the next best is to prevent the junction of the enemy’s forces; the next in order is to attack the enemy’s army in the field; and worst policy of all is to besiege walled cities.

Sun Tzu

The Art of War

Standard year circa 500 B.C.

Planet Arballa, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings

Originally christened as the battleship Reliable, the Friendship filled an entirely different role now, but still looked like what she was: one of the most powerful ships the Confederacy had. Her hull was five miles long and covered by a maze of heat exchangers, tractor beam projectors, corn pods, and weapons blisters.

The planet Arballa hung huge behind her. The poles were white, but the rest of the world appeared as various shades of brown. Oh, there was water all right, but it was locked deep below where lake-sized aquifers had been sealed into bubbles of volcanic rock. That’s where the wormlike Arballazanies took shelter from the sun’s dangerous heat, spun their delicate cocoons, and built the optically switched computers for which they were justifiably famous. The Friendship had served the Confederacy as a traveling capital for more than fifty years now—and it was their turn to play host. All of which was little more than a backdrop for coconspirators, who, in an effort to escape the nonstop surveillance typical of shipboard life, boarded a Ramanthian shuttle, and used it to slip away. The interior bore an intentional resemblance to the sort of underground cavern that Ramanthians preferred, which meant that it was not only dim but hot and extremely humid. The Hegemony’s ambassador to the Confederacy, Harlan Ishimoto Seven, sought to surreptitiously loosen his collar, and regretted the decision to come. Could the Ramanthian tell how uncomfortable he was? There was no way to be sure.

The Ramanthian resembled a large insect. He had multifaceted eyes, a parrotlike beak. tool legs in place of arms, and long narrow wings. They were folded at the moment, and nobody the clone knew had ever seen them deployed.

The clone and the Ramanthian were both members of the cabal that attempted to subvert Earth’s government and thereby weaken its influence. The effort had failed, but just barely, and through no fault of their own. After all, who would have predicted an alliance between Ambassador Hiween DomaSa, the sole representative of the Hudathan race, and Sergi ChienChu, wealthy industrialist, past President of the Confederacy, and functional cyborg? Nobody, that’s who.

Earth Governor Patricia Pardo had been a member of the original conspiracy but now languished in prison. Also missing was Legion Colonel Leon Harco, who had betrayed the Confederacy, the cabal, and ultimately himself.

His court-martial was scheduled for later that year. Of less importance, in Ishimoto Seven’s opinion at least, was Leshi Qwan, a corporate type who had pushed his luck too far, and allowed Maylo ChienChu to shoot him.

The conspirators had some new allies however, including Grand Admiral Hooloo Isan Andragna, the most senior officer in the Thraki fleet. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as Ishimoto Seven felt. Also joining the cabal was Senator Haf Noother, the duly appointed representative of the reclusive Drac Axis, who was clad from head to toe in a dull black pressure suit. His breathing apparatus, if that’s what it was, made a sort of gurgling sound. Seven did his best to ignore it. Omo noted the human’s discomfort and took pleasure in how stupid the humans were. Especially this one. Little did he or the rest of the conspirators know, but the tricentennial birthing was only two and a half annums away, which meant his race would have an additional fifty billion mouths to feed. Reason enough to obtain some additional real estate. The Ramanthian made use of his tool legs to preen the areas to either side of his beak. His words were translated by the computer woven into his iridescent robes. The syntax was slightly stilted. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules. Let’s start by providing each of our representatives with the opportunity to report Ambassador Ishimoto Seven ... let’s begin with you.”

The clone was ready. “Thank you. My efforts have centered on recruiting the votes necessary to admit the Thrakies to the Confederacy. In spite of the fact that my clonebrother. Senator Samuel Ishimoto Six continues to drag his feet where our initiative is concerned, he will follow orders, and cast his ballot accordingly. That being the case the Hegemony is well on the way to building a proThraki coalition.”

“Excellent,” Omo purred, “truly excellent. Once their membership has been approved, our Thraki brothers and sisters will bolster our strength. How many votes do we have?”

“Quite a few,” Seven allowed cautiously, “but less than we had hoped for. Governor ChienChu and Ambassador DomaSa have formed an alliance of their own, A strong group that seeks to block our initiative.”