Gods Dogs, Book 3

There is no act of treachery or meanness of which a political party is not capable; for in politics there is no honour.

Benjamin Disraeli

Emperor Anjevin traveled to the Accords Council space station with his entourage. The planet around which the station orbited was called Humus. The indigenous population was content with an Iron Age, subsistence lifestyle. They were happy to allow the station to orbit their planet, as they had no use for those orbits in any event.

They also allowed alien settlements, which were mostly pharmaceutical outposts uncovering the jungle’s secret biology, but the locals showed no envy of the wonders of technology. They remained stubbornly content with their primitive, tribal lifestyle. Without obvious resources to extract, or people to exploit, the empires passed them by.

Anjevin considered this as his ship docked at the Chert spoke of the upper donut. To him, the people of Humus were incomprehensible, even deranged. The Chert civilization, by contrast, was driven by a manic need to colonize and develop as much as they could before the other shoe dropped. They wouldn’t characterize it thus; rather, they saw it as preparatory. Like squirrels stocking up for winter, they looked forward to a time when they could consolidate their gains and live the good life, free from want, worry, or war. They didn’t examine this cultural goal over much, because they didn’t want to face the fact that nobody really believed the goal was attainable.

It was sufficient to chant, ‘Into the future,’ at rallies. It held the people to a common cause. Conquered worlds didn’t have complex ideologies or catechisms to memorize. They merely needed to get on the bandwagon and charge off ‘into the future.’

Each of the conquered worlds retained all their unique characteristics: economy, political systems, religions, and industries. Their excess wealth, a percentage of the GDP, was siphoned off to the empire to help its mad rush ‘into the future.’

The problem Anjevin saw was they had reached the future’s limit. Hemmed in by the other empires, each as strong in its own way as his, the empire’s expansion phase was coming to an end. What came after that, he didn’t know, but he was sure it wasn’t peace and harmony. He feared the other shoe would drop with catastrophic results.

His decision to meet with the delegation from the Milky Way, ostensibly to grant them diplomatic status, was also for at least two other reasons. He did plan on developing a strategic assessment for an invasion. However, he also wanted to know how they structured a post-conquest civilization – one that apparently worked.

The ship finished its docking procedures and he exited the ship to the immediate bluster of Section Leader Anabol.

“I decided to postpone my reassignment until I met with you, sire.”

“I have all I need, Anabol. If I need more, I will contact you.”

Anabol visibly fought to control himself. He was dismissed, and it was an assault on his self-importance.

He bowed his head and gritted out, “As you wish.” Then he hurried off.

Anjevin watched him go, sighed softly, and followed his people into the interior of the Chert spoke.

The interim Section Leader met him on the other side of the airlock and said, “We’ve made your offer to the Council. The Milky Way delegation agreed. You will meet with them tomorrow at noon station time.”

“Very good.”

At noon, they all met in the Accords Council spoke of the wheel, which was neutral ground, and sat at a long oval table in a sedately appointed conference room. The group included Mudark, who represented the Council, Anjevin and two aides, Cmdr. Nomero, and the two elves.

Mudark began, “The question at hand is diplomatic status for the delegation from the Milky Way. What do you see as the impediments to that, Emperor Anjevin?”

“I think the work you accomplished aboard ship,” Anjevin responded, “was remarkable. Very good work, ambassador. The original goal was annexation of the Milky Way, but that seems improbable given the sophistication of the Galactic Congress. Diplomacy, therefore, seems our best option at this time.”

“You are in agreement, then, to extend diplomatic credentials to their delegates.”

Anjevin paused before answering, “With one caveat. The person who stuck Section Leader Anabol must pay for that crime.”

Heng tapped his fingers on the table and replied, “Under what jurisdiction? We are in interplanetary space. Whose court would hear this case? Whose laws have even been broken?”

“Jurisdiction would be an issue, but all I need to assuage the issue of honor is an apology. An assault on a royal cannot be left unaddressed. It would undermine our authority.”

“And the nature and form of this apology?” Nomero pressed.

“At my court, so that it may be witnessed and recorded.”

Mudark said, “I think a written apology would serve just as well, sire. It would also avoid any further breaches of protocol.”

“True enough, but decorum demands his presence.”

“Very well,” Nomero said heavily. “I’ll let Coyote Moss know. I doubt he will refuse the opportunity to meet with you.”

“This afternoon, then, before the evening meal.”

Heng and Nomero nodded as Mudark looked on skeptically.

“In that case, I approve diplomatic status for the Milky Way delegation,” Anjevin pronounced and stood.

Once he was gone, Mudark said, “You know what they will do to him.”

“I’ve an idea of what they will try to do to him,” Nomero said with a sigh. “I hope it doesn’t make things worse for us.”

Moss wore his formal uniform when he went. Two royal guardsmen accompanied him, both to show him the way, and to witness the ceremony. Mudark insisted on that.

The throne room was nothing more than converted warehouse space. Perhaps eighty by a hundred feet in size, Anjevin’s raised platform and chair were at the far end. Retainers and guards lined the walls. The floor was some kind of hardwood that alternated blond tones with reddish ones. Overhead were banners and flags in the forecourt, and a transparent skylight above the throne. The walls were a neutral light blue.

Moss strode up the middle of the room to stop at the marker about fifteen feet from the emperor. He saluted, right fist forward, and left open-hand cupping his wrist.

“Coyote Moss, here by royal invitation to tender an apology for striking a Chert royal,” he announced in a clear, unwavering voice.

“You’re aware,” Anjevin began, “that if this happened in Chert territory, you would be executed.”

Moss shrugged. “If we were in Chert territory, we would have been at war. In that case, I would have killed him. Talking hypotheticals is pointless. My apology is sincere. I wish there had been another way to deal with the situation.”

“You show no remorse for you action.”

“I’m showing you regret. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

“Fine,” Anjevin said softly and pushed a button on his chair. The trap door Moss was standing on fell away.

The side of the floor facing the throne dropped. The side behind was hinged. Once he heard the click of the mechanism to release the trap door, Moss pushed off.

He grabbed the edge of the floor and pulled himself up. Anjevin stood, and the guards flanking him moved to stand between him and Moss.

“Well, that was fun,” Moss said with a grin. “Let me apologize in advance for whatever damage I may do as I leave here.”

“Take him,” Anjevin ordered as he hurried out an exit behind the chair.

Moss turned to face the rest of them. The non-combatants were hurrying out the far exit. The guards were spreading out to encircle him. The Iracian guardsmen didn’t know what to do.

Moss told them, “Wait for me at the door.”

They nodded and repositioned themselves. As they did so, Moss triggered the pocket dimension Raina had designed for them to hold non-mechanical weapons. Moss pulled out a willow leaf saber and triggered the pocket dimension closed. He also triggered a simple personal shield that would attenuate both ballistic and energy impacts.

The Chert guards carried both, but when they saw the sword, they put away their pistols and rifles and drew their melee weapons: swords, long knives, maces, and the like.

Leaping over the ten by ten foot hole in the floor, Moss pirouetted into action. The guards, with a shout, surged forward to meet him.

Circular motion in fighting allows a backhand, a forehand, and a kick or a knee in rapid succession. One can then reverse the flow and get three more blows in quickly. A variation to the theme, a knee followed by a kick, for example, takes care of the unexpected.

Moss spiraled through the center of the group, trusting that those who fell blocked his flanks. Twisting, pivoting, slashing, hitting, blocking, and kicking, he moved quickly to keep them from just dog-piling him.

And then he was near the door.

“Let’s go,” he called to the guardsmen. They threw the door open. One jumped through to clear the passageway; the other watched Moss’ back. Moss burst into the passageway ready to fight.

The lead guardsman said, “I think we’re clear to the hatch.”

The other guardsman slammed the throne room door behind him.

“Okay,” Moss said. “Let’s see what’s next.”