A grand imperial war, p.1
A Grand Imperial War, page 1
A GRAND IMPERIAL WAR
A LIGHT SPACE OPERA
RAY TABLER
NOVUS MUNDI PUBLISHING
CONTENTS
1. A Routine Diplomatic Incident
2. Minor Atrocities
3. Sordid Little Plans
4. A Grand Imperial War
5. At The Table Or On It?
6. A Colonelcy No Less
7. Fit To Command
8. Tancha!
9. A Reputation To Uphold
10. A Spot On The Wall
11. A Brilliant Strategy
12. A Grand Imperial Entrance
13. A Grand Imperial Ball
14. The Proper Documentation
15. Those Vexatious Humans
16. Between Gentlemen
17. Just The Best Idea Ever
18. Angry Looks And Empty Beer Cans
19. Like A Ripe Fruit
20. The Deep End
21. Off The Books And Mum’s The Word
22. In Through The Back Door
23. The Device
24. Kwajimu
25. Roasted Or Barbequed?
26. A Fitting End
27. Heavier Than A Mountain
28. Status Quo Ante
Acknowledgments
About the Author
A Grand Imperial War
By Ray Tabler
Copyright 2023 by Ray Tabler
Cover Copyright 2023 by Top of the World Publishing
Cover Design by Laura Givens
The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-961511-02-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-961511-03-3
First printing: 2021.
Published by Top of the World Publishing, a Texas limited liability company, inclusive of its affiliates, subsidiaries, imprints, successors and assigns, with offices at 1008 S. Main St., Georgetown, TX 78626.
Printed in the United States of America.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the express prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Publisher’s Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To my wife
1
A ROUTINE DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT
“Your slave is being tiresome again.” Melorah extended her claws in annoyance, just enough to pierce the skin of Richard’s bare buttocks.
“Ow!” Richard Gettricks, Human Ambassador to the Farsalian Matriarchy, rubbed his freshly punctured rear and frowned at the small amount of blood that stained his hand. “She is not my slave. She is the Cultural Attaché, and, tiresome or not, I don’t wish to discuss her at the moment.” Richard grinned lecherously and reached to stroke the downy fur on Melorah’s flank.
Melorah batted his hand aside absently, and rolled sinuously away on the Ambassador’s enormous, silken bed. “She’s spoiled my mood, lurking outside the door.”
Gettricks glanced at the door to his quarters and then back at his lover.
Melorah rolled her eyes. “Can you not hear her out there?” She sniffed. “She reeks of fear. Perhaps you should see what she wants.” Melorah arose from the bed, sashayed to a side table and poured herself a snifter of brandy from a crystal decanter.
Gettricks knew his lover’s moods well by now. He sighed in mourning for the afternoon’s love play, cruelly throttled in its crib. The Ambassador threw on a robe and tied it closed with an angry jerk. With a final leer at Melorah’s naked, silver-gray furred back he crossed the room and slapped the door control.
The door dilated open. Cultural Attaché Michiko Tanaka shrieked in surprise and jumped back.
“Is there a problem, Michiko?”
“Mister Ambassador, you startled me.” Michiko put a hand on her chest and breathed deeply.
“I apologize, Michiko. I asked not to be disturbed. I assume you have a good reason for hovering about out here.”
“Yes sir, there is a ... disturbance in the plaza, out in front of the Embassy.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a crowd of Farsalians out in front of the Embassy.”
“And why should that concern me?”
“Well, the crowd keeps growing, and they look rather angry.” Tanaka glanced around her boss at Melorah. “I think someone saw the Princess when she arrived.”
“Pardon the interruption,” The cultured baritone of the Embassy’s AI emanated from the ceiling. “I thought you should know. The crowd outside has started to hurl objects at the facade. Two windows have been broken.”
“What? This is outrageous!” Gettricks stomped off in the direction of the front hall, his bare feet slapping the marble floor.
“Madam Cultural Attaché,” The voice continued. “I’ve taken the liberty of declaring a Level One Situation. Would you like to countermand?”
Tanaka dithered for a moment before answering the AI. “No, don’t countermand, Horatio. You’d better alert the marines.”
“All six of them are already headed for the front hall.”
Tanaka dashed into the Ambassador’s quarters to snatch up a pair of slippers and then hurried after Gettricks.
Princess Melorah watched her go. She sighed with bored disdain, took a last sip of brandy and began dressing with languid grace.
✽✽✽
The ornate front hall of the Human Embassy was lit by a golden afternoon light slanting in through shattered plate glass windows. Tanaka found Gettricks picking his way through the shards littering the priceless Persian carpet at the foot of the grand staircase.
“Please be careful, Sir. You’ll cut your feet.” Tanaka offered the pair of slippers to her boss.
“The nerve of these people, this is an Embassy! Don’t they realize we have diplomatic immunity?” Gettricks shoved his toes into the slippers.
A brick sailed in from the street and connected with the chandelier. More glass debris tinkled to the floor. Tanaka snatched a silver tray from a mahogany table and sheltered from the glass rain.
“They don’t appear to be concerned with legal technicalities at the moment, Sir.”
“Oh my God, now that is just too much! That chandelier came all the way from Paris!” Gettricks jerked an umbrella free from the stand by the door and opened it. Shards of glass bounced off the taut fabric.
Tanaka peered out at the crowd of several hundred Farsalians milling about in the plaza. Dozens more filtered in from adjoining streets with each passing minute. There was an angry buzz emanating from the group. They were all males, not a supervising female in sight. Now, that was a bad sign.
A rhythmic clumping announced the arrival of the Embassy’s marines: Lieutenant Suarez, Sergeant Gold and four privates. The six bore a passing resemblance to bipedal polar bears in their powered, combat armor. Sergeant Gold directed the four privates to form a line across the entry hall.
After glancing outside Private McGee leaned over to Private Gupta. “Who rubbed the Kitties’ fur the wrong way this time?”
“I will not have the Farsalians referred to by that term!” Gettricks snapped.
“No calling the Kitties Kitties!” Sergeant Gold’s thunderous order shook loose more chandelier fragments.
“Lieutenant Suarez, we have a situation here.” Gettricks swept a hand at the glass-strewn entry hall.
Suarez opened his faceplate and assessed the condition of the large room. He noted Gettricks’ inappropriate attire, but decided that was probably not a constructive topic of conversation at the moment. “What’s the problem?”
“What the problem? I know that this is your first month here, Lieutenant, but surely you can see that gaggle of hooligans is trashing the Embassy. That’s what the problem is.”
“I can see that, Ambassador. Why are they trashing the Embassy?”
“That is not your concern. Go out there and disperse that crowd.”
“Excuse me, Sirs,” Sergeant Gold interrupted. “I’ve had some experience in these matters, Antares VII, the colony on New Topeka, Engstrom’s World. That is no longer a crowd. It’s a mob, now.”
Gettricks was really getting annoyed. “What difference does it make?”
“Well, Mister Ambassador, it’s a matter of focus. A crowd doesn’t have any.” Gold gestured at the plaza. “A mob is all looking the same way, thinking the same thing. They’re like a loaded gun, just waiting for someone to pull the trigger.”
Two stones and a brick sailed in from the mob more or less simultaneously. Private Gupta reached up and caught the brick before it hit a Rigilian landscape painting.
“Richard.” Melorah called from the head of the grand staircase. The humans swiveled to watch her descend the stair like the civilized predator she was. “I’ll be leaving now. Do call me when you’ve sorted this all out.”
“Now we know why there’s a mob on our doorstep,” Private C
“Too right,” McGee agreed.
“Princess, I don’t think it’s safe to leave at the moment.” Gettricks attempted to take her by the arm.
Melorah deftly avoided Gettricks’s grasp. “Not safe? Whatever do you mean?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, dearest, there are hundreds of irate males outside. They might do you harm.”
“One thousand one hundred twenty-seven Farsalian males in the plaza proper,” Horatio supplied from a speaker in the ceiling.
Melorah chuckled, twitched her pointed ears and patted Gettricks on the cheek. “How sweet of you to be concerned for me, but you needn’t fret. I am a Princess of the Blood. They wouldn’t dare.”
Before Gettricks could think to do anything about it, Melorah swept past him and was out the door. She paused in the broad, marble portico and surveyed the mob. A silence fell. The males wouldn’t meet her eyes. Most of them actually bowed their heads. With a snort of contempt, Melorah started forward. The males parted to afford her a broad avenue through them. She strode on as if the plaza were empty. The Humans stared in shocked amazement.
“Crikey!” Private McGee’s unmistakable Oz Worlder accent broke the spell.
As soon as the Princess turned a corner the barrage of bricks and stones resumed with increased intensity.
“I thought they were mad at her,” Gettricks confessed.
“No Sir,” A stone caromed off of Tanaka’s silver-tray shield. Farsalian males revere Farsalian females. They compete for female attention. These males are jealous of you, Sir.”
“I suppose I should be flattered.”
“You probably should. Of course, that won’t stop them from killing you, and us.”
“Not that this cultural discussion isn’t fascinating,” Lieutenant Suarez interrupted. “But I really think we should evacuate the Embassy before somebody pulls the trigger on that mob.”
Gettricks held up a hand. “We aren’t doing anything of the sort. Ordering an embassy abandoned looks very bad on a diplomat’s record.” The Ambassador took a step towards the front door, dragging Tanaka with him. “Michiko, if we just present a united front to these ruffians, I’m sure they’ll simply disperse and go home.”
Michiko peeked at the mob around her makeshift tray/shield. “Ambassador, maybe we should just go hide - uh I mean, go monitor developments from the wine cellar. Horatio can keep us apprised, and notify the local authorities.”
“I’m actually having a bit of difficulty contacting the police at the moment.” Horatio’s voice was maddeningly calm.
“Nonsense!” Gettricks grunted with the effort of dragging Tanaka closer to the front door. “I will not allow these hooligans to further damage my embassy.”
Suarez sighed, shook his head and turned to Sergeant Gold. Then, the lieutenant did a very unexpected thing. He used a hand signal that requested a non-lethal fragging, and pointed at Gettricks.
Gold’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. Commissioned officers were not supposed to know about such things. Suspect yes, but not know.
Suarez had found a rather interesting spot on the ceiling to stare at, which diverted his attention from whatever might transpire at floor level. Gold tilted his head philosophically and pointed at Private Gupta, who still had hold of the incoming brick he had caught. Gupta shrugged, hefted the brick a couple of times before throwing it at the back of Gettricks’ head. The Ambassador dropped like a pole-axed ox.
“Oh, Oh!” Tanaka struggled with Gettricks’ limp form. Her task was complicated because she was averting her eyes. The Ambassador’s robe had come open as he collapsed, displaying his diplomatic credentials. “Lieutenant, Lieutenant, one of those bricks has hit the Ambassador.”
“The bastards!” Suarez helped Tanaka with the burden of her boss. “He’s unconscious, but still alive. Sergeant Gold, bring up a medevac capsule for the Ambassador.”
“Yes sir.” Gold detailed Chen to fetch the capsule.
“What are you orders, Madam Acting Ambassador?” Suarez helped Tanaka to her feet.
“My orders?”
“Yes Ma’am, you’re in charge, now that the Ambassador is incapacitated.”
Tanaka gulped. Perhaps she thought about the fact that the eight of them were the only Humans in several dozen light years. Maybe she noticed the rising fervor of the mob beyond the shattered front door. It could be she considered the degree of damage her record would suffer for abandoning an Embassy. Possibly she marveled at the trajectory of a brick thrown from the mob which hit Gettricks in the back of the head when he was facing the plaza.
Whatever Tanaka thought, what she did was suddenly clasp a hand to her obviously uninjured forehead and begin to stagger.
“Oh! Another one of those bricks has hit me!” Tanaka moaned and swayed, somewhat spoiling the effect by briefly breaking off in mid-moan to glance at what was behind her, before swooning into the arms of a startled Private Gupta.
“Chen, we’ll need another medevac capsule,” Suarez shook his armored head.
✽✽✽
By the time Gettricks and Tanaka were sealed into medevac capsules and sedated, the mob had begun to hurl the local equivalent of Molotov cocktails through the remnants of windows and doors. A set of silk brocade drapes burned merrily. Flames caressed the ceiling.
“I assume we’re going to evacuate.” Gold straightened up from Gettricks’ capsule.
“We don’t have any choice, even if the place wasn’t about to burn down.” Suarez jerked a thumb at the blazing drapes. “From what I hear the Princess has been coming over here for afternoon delight with Gettricks for months now. And suddenly a riot starts? No, something’s up. Somebody’s using this as an excuse.”
“An excuse to do what?”
“Don’t know, don’t care, Sergeant. Not my job to figure it out. All I need to know is that the manure has hit the fan and my duty, our duty, is to get these two diplomats the hell out of the way.”
Suarez looked up at the roof. “Horatio, you still awake?”
“As always, Lieutenant.”
“Good. How does the back-door look?”
“There are currently thirty-seven Farsalian males attempting to batter down the rear entrance to the Embassy. I estimate they shall succeed in four minutes, twenty-nine seconds, plus or minus twelve seconds.”
Suarez drummed his armored fingers on the teak stairway railing.
“Horatio, can you link to the Potomac out at the starport?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, tell the Potomac’s AI that we will be coming like the whole damned city is on our tails, howling for blood, which might just be the case. I want to lift the second the hatch slams shut.”
“The Potomac’s AI sends that the ship will be flight ready in seven minutes fifty-two seconds.”
“Thank you, Horatio. Now, wipe your data banks and fry your mainframe, authorization code BOHICA.”
“Very good, sir, BOHICA confirmed.” Wisps of gray smoke wafted from the speaker grill in the ceiling.
“Gentlemen, we are blowing this popcorn stand.” Suarez pointed at each marine in turn. McGee, Gupta each of you strap one of those medevac capsules on your back. Chen, buddy up with McGee. Selous, you watch Gupta’s back. Sergeant Gold will lead the way. I’ll bring up the rear.”
The mob was edging closer to the Embassy, chanting something that struck a gut-rumbling harmonic every few seconds.
“We’re headed for the starport. The objective is to get the hell out of here in one piece. Stay together. Try not to hurt any of the locals, but the truth is that we’re already in so much trouble that a couple of minor atrocities along the way aren’t going to make that much difference. Any questions?”
