Survival Game

by Colin Kapp

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Hard Science Fiction

Synopsis

The Star King had bet on Colonel Bogaert's ability to survive...and the fate of Terra was at stake!

Release date: August 29, 2013

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 184

Sample

Evening cupped blood-red hands around the city of Tenarensor. The quaint towers of the capital of Ortel became less distinct as the yellow sky darkened through maroon to a deep crimson, shot with the bright stars of the Hub. In mounting chorus the bright horns called over the rooftops, summoning the faithful to give thanks to the gods and call blessings on Oontara, the star king, whose imperious grip on more than a hundred habitable worlds kept the trade lanes free around the Hub and assured the vast fortunes of the empire.

Inside the palace, the twirling shadows of the triple suns at last found rest in the motionless crimson of night. A capricious breeze dallied with the ornate drapes, penetrating the window frets and disturbing the priceless fabrics around the gaming table. Star King Oontara watched the result of its antics, a little surprised, and turned to his guest.

“My Lord Xzan is cold, perhaps?”

Seated at the gaming table between two windows, each of which contributed its fiery glow to the villainous outline of his face, the visiting star lord could adequately have personified the principal of some ancient demonolatry.

“My dear Oontara, you grow soft on this torrid world of yours. I’ve said so before. I mind when you could wage great battles with the blood cold as ice in your veins. Yet now you’re disturbed by the merest draft.”

“I was thinking only of your comfort, Xzan. I welcome a breath of fresh air.”

“Maybe. But I repeat, you’re going soft. What use is it for a star king to ply trade with Terra?”

“Oh, so that’s what’s been on your mind all evening!” Oontara set about stacking new tokens on the gaming table. “And I thought you’d tried too much of the wine, or too few of the women. We sadly misjudge each other, old comrade.”

“We used not. We were a fair match in cunning and guessing.”

“Nothing’s changed. There’s still no matter in which I can’t equal or better you. As for your opinions of Terra, they’re born of ignorance.”

With a deft movement of his hand, Oontara spread the gaming tokens across the board, each one falling with mathematical precision. The gesture was not lost on Xzan, who attempted to follow suit but failed.

“Is this what Terran influence has reduced you to—a gamesmaster?” asked Xzan critically. “Those who consort with the weak themselves become weaker.”

“You think Terra’s weak?”

“The Terrans are a race of weaklings. There’s scarcely one I couldn’t destroy with a single hand. And none I couldn’t tear apart with two.”

“Physically that may be true, but you’ve forgotten the strength of their technology. If you want to see controlled power in action, you should see my Terran-built bark. It’s the most singular ship in space.”

“I’ve heard of your ingenious toy. History proves innovators count for little when faced with trained arms. Come, Oontara! You and I have the empires to prove it. Would you pit a Terran expeditionary force against a legion of hereditary star warriors? Of course not.”

“Since you answer your own questions, you presumably don’t want to hear my views,” said Oontara silkily.

“Heh! It was the ransad, the old knowledge, which carved the parsecs off the galaxy and made the star empires possible. That was a thousand years before the infant Terrans even discovered the wheel. All their technology’s won for them is eight habitable planets—all of them self-governed. They don’t even have the strength to rule what they’ve gained. I give such playthings to favored concubines.”

“You’re trying to make me angry, Xzan.” Oontara bent low over the table, examining the geometrical designs. “You’ll not succeed. You’ve already shown your hand.”

“I have?” Xzan’s evil visage scanned the game and found nothing amiss, then looked up to meet Oontara’s crafty smile.

“Yes. You thought Oontara’s flirtation with Terra so unlikely, you had to come in person to find out what the star fox was up to. You felt impelled to know what advantage Oontara could gain from Terra which might be to your detriment. Aren’t I right?”

“I admit a certain curiosity.”

“Had you asked me direct, I’d have told you. I’ve seen the light.”

“The light?” Xzan’s hand faltered on the board, and he misplaced a minor token, but dared not withdraw.

“Certainly!” Oontara saw the false move and was heartened by it. “We were taught that the ransad was absolute—that nothing further could ever be known. The Terrans have proved that knowledge is unending. Whatever you know is only a steppingstone to the infinite possibilities of what could be known. Already they can step a tenth of the way to the next galaxy. Why be limited to this one alone when the universe contains more galaxies than the Milky Way does stars?”

Xzan was dubious. “You haven’t mentioned price. What do these wonders cost?”

“Merely the promise to assume membership in the Galactic Federation.”

“Federation!” Xzan’s scorn was terrible. “Once there were no laws around the Hub but my word and your word, my whim and your whim. That has been the way of star kings since time began. Yet you seek an alliance with upstart weaklings, and talk of federation. I can hear the gods laughing from here.”

“The alliance serves me well. I’ve access to technology the ransad said couldn’t exist. And if the promise of my plans is fulfilled, I’ll one day control a million worlds where now I’ve but a hundred. Even Kam Kanizar, the King of Kings, will sit at my feet.”

Xzan spat expressively at the immaculate drapes. “In a federation you’ll control nothing. In return, you’ll have lost your warrior’s soul. You’re selling your birthright for a handful of platitudes and a headful of ideas.”

“You speak as if there were a choice in the matter. There isn’t, Xzan. Our way of life became extinct the day Terra independently discovered hyperdrive.”

“What sort of heresy is this?”

“No heresy—a revelation. We’ve been worshipping false gods.”

“Mine are the gods of strength and terrible vengeance. Show me anything in the universe stronger than these.”

“I intend to. He’s a little, fat Terran by the name of Hilary Rounding—Commissioner for Terran Outspace Technical Aid. Neither you nor your gods stand a chance against him.”

Oontara reached for a golden tassel, which evoked a distant, soulful bell. A servant appeared, approaching with the deep, obsequious bows which the presence of star nobility demanded.

“Tell the Commissioner we’ll be pleased to see him now.”

The man who entered made no attempt to follow protocol. He strode into the room with a broad smile and a hand ready for shaking. Oontara had described him as a little, fat Terran. He could have added that Rounding was bald, suntanned, and seemingly unaware of the awe in which star nobility was held.

Xzan regarded the white-clad dumpling with much surprise, and shook the proffered hand before he had time to consider what the salutation meant. His reaction to the soft, fleshy skin was one of considerable distaste. He looked at Oontara appealingly. If this was the star king’s idea of someone who could depose the ancient gods and draw the teeth of hereditary legions, then Oontara had indeed gone soft.

“Lord Oontara, Lord Xzan,” the jovial Terran was saying, “I’d like to introduce a colleague of mine—Colonel Bogaert, known to the rest of the universe as Colonel Bogey.” He waved his hand toward the door, and a second Terran entered. “Bogey’s my technical and military aide. You warlike chaps should find a lot in common.”

While Rounding had been speaking, his eyes had been active, noting the devillike scowl of Xzan with a questing interest. Xzan had the uncomfortable feeling that the fat Terran was reading a lot more from his face than the star lord wanted him to know. The arrival of the second Terran served to divert the unwelcome attention.

Colonel Bogaert was as unlike his superior as could be imagined. He was tall and lean, with muscles hard from a lifetime in the Space Service. The spring in his step hinted at an internal confidence not explained entirely by his fitness as a military man. Like most Terran Service technicians, he was quiet-spoken, yet there was an edge of command at the back of his voice which gave his casual words more than ordinary force. Xzan sensed that here was a man who held a great deal in reserve.

Even so, Colonel Bogey was not to Xzan’s liking. He had neither the swaggering superiority of a hereditary warrior nor the desperate cunning of the professional survivor. Xzan summed him up as a “painted warrior,”—a derogatory term used around the Hub to describe those who used a show of arms without true appreciation of the realities of battle.

Oontara read his guest’s disapproval with shrewd eyes, and turned to the Colonel.

“As a military man, Colonel Bogaert, you’ve surely acquired knowledge of our war game. Have a look at our play, and tell me what you think of Xzan’s position.”

Bogaert gave the board a few minutes’ deep consideration.

“Indefensible, of course. My Lord Xzan would be advised to surrender before his losses became insupportable.”

“What!” Xzan rose swiftly to the defense. “My vocabulary admits no such word as ‘surrender.’”

“Does it have a term for complete annihilation?” asked Bogaert quietly.

“The concept exists—for application to enemies and weaklings.”

“But not for yourselves?”

“You’re bluffing, Colonel. The game’s still open.”

“Yet can be won by a single move.”

“What’s that?” Oontara crossed to the board with some surprise. “If I’ve victory, I’ve yet to see its form.”

“You don’t have victory. But there’s a move that could assure it.”

“Which?”

Bogaert turned from the board with a slightly applogetic smile. “I fear to spoil the game for my Lords.”

“I’ll risk it—if Xzan will also.”

“An empty threat’s no risk.” Xzan was strong with contempt. “I’ll treble the stake—no, raise it tenfold.”

“A hundredfold?” queried Oontara.

“Done! Come on, painted warrior! Show our vacillating star king how empty the words of his champions are.”

Bogaert glanced at Rounding. The Commissioner nodded almost imperceptibly. With one finger, the Colonel moved a small blue token one square.

Xzan’s first expression of jubilation faded as he attempted to complete his play. Whichever way he turned, his losses mounted exponentially. His greatest strengths became his overwhelming liabilities. Even the structure of numbers seemed to join in a conspiracy against him. Finally, he had to admit a defeat more crushing than any he had ever before suffered on the gaming board. He turned to Bogaert, and there was a new line of speculation across his evil brow.

“Only once in a million games could such a sequence happen. You, Colonel Bogey, were incredibly lucky.”

“I’ll not deny it. But had that piece of luck not been available, I’d never have played.”

“He’s telling you, in his devious Terran way,” interjected Oontara, “that there’s absolutely no route by which he could have lost. It’s the new logic, Xzan. You don’t see it coming. Before you can find out what’s happening, you’re presented with an accomplished fact. That’s how I know federation’s inevitable.”

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” said Rounding. “It explains the purpose of our visit. Knowing my Lord Xzan was visiting, we came to make a preliminary approach regarding the advantages of membership in the Galactic Federation.”

“My answer’s plain,” said Xzan. “You appear to have softened Oontara’s skull, but you’ll find me a tougher proposition. Small though my star holdings are, I still control twelve times the number of planets in your entire Federation. You’re the flea that clings to the hairs of my ferocious animal. Don’t bite too deeply, else my claws’ll scratch you out.”

“Well spoken!” said Rounding with warm approval. “But you’ve missed the point. A colonized planet subject to star rule has a support potential of less than one ten-thousandth of that of a self-determined, federated planet. A star colony has no incentive for self-development, since this only invites further tithes and plunder. When you consider how Terra, unaided and alone, came to join you lords and kings among the stars, you’ll see how much can be achieved by the right philosophy.”

“And what about the divine right of being stronger? This built star empires beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I don’t dream of empires, Lord Xzan. I have enough trouble just running my own department. Come, Bogey, we’ve taken up too much of the Lords’ time. But I hope we’ve left Lord Xzan something to think about.”

The Field of Perfection on Meon was a broad tract of rare, lush grasses maintained in such flawless condition that the name could never be doubted. Heading the slope, the impenetrable purple mountains stretched, so the legend had it, continuously up to support the arched back of the sky. Flanking the field, the walls and block towers of the twin fortress towns Andor and Ute formed a natural continuation of the mountain barrier and drew together at the foot of the slope where stood the great palace of Kam Kanizar, the King of Kings, the greatest star monarch of them all.

The children playing in the field were aware of the great tensions which beset their home world. Arma, nine Earth years old, rocked her playthings in a little cradle, and sang them an ancient hymn, as her mother might do to ease the stress. Zim was a few years older. He had a long-knife and a gimbal bow, and stalked imaginary goblins and won imaginary battles against overwhelming odds. One day he would follow his father, the mighty Kanizar, to fight the demons who dwelled among the stars; for the moment, however, not really understanding the situation, he was excited by the promise of change. The whole routine of the palace had been disturbed. Although they should have been at lessons, the children had today been awarded an unofficial holiday. Even their personal guards stood clustered in despondent discussion.

It was nearly dark before the young ones’ mother, Miram, the Empress Kanizar, came to the field to fetch them. This in itself was unusual, because normally armed guardsmen would have been at her side—but this evening she came alone, as if the occasion were too personal to permit the presence of others. Tall and slender, seemingly fragile as a reed, with honey-gray hair and an air of eternal calm, she bent only slightly as she answered her children’s questions.

“We mustn’t be afraid, little ones. We’ve to be strong. Camin Sher, who pretends to your father’s throne, sends many ships toward Meon. We think he means to attack us. Messengers have gone to your father, but even if he knew at this moment, he couldn’t be back in time to save us.”

“Then we must fight Sher ourselves.”

“It isn’t as easy as that, Zim. Your father has the main and both auxiliary fleets with him. We have nothing but a dozen patrol craft of the home fleet and a few supply ships. That’s nowhere near enough to withstand Sher’s battle fleet.”

“What will we do then, Mother?”

“The Council is meeting now. Old Sashu will advise us. We think Sher’s not much concerned with our garrison or installations, but that he’d like to harm you, my children. While you live, there’s no substance to his Pretender’s claim. Therefore, it’s your safety the Council will consider most important. Whatever they say we must do without question. For your father’s sake as well as your own.”

She turned and led the way back across the flawless turf, with Arma holding her hand. Zim followed regretfully. Something about his mother’s attitude suggested that he might never again have the chance to play under the purple mountains. Yet there was also the excitement of promised change, a break from his cloistered life. Not for one moment did he imagine that old Sashu would fail to find them safe harbor. After all, old Sashu advised Kanizar himself, and was not Kanizar the king of all the kings?

Leaving her children in the care of a trusted retainer, Miram returned to her chambers and spent some time examining her treasures, mainly gifts Kam Kanizar had brought her from the most exotic places in the galaxy. She knew that with the coming of Camin Sher these things must pass from her possession. Such loss would fill her with regret, but it was a pain which could be tolerated. Her children, however, were different. No matter what the hardship or personal cost, they must be brought to safety. This was not only political expediency, but also a necessity of the heart. Night enveloped her as she sat and made her silent dedication.

A whisper of drapes heralded the arrival of old Sashu, who was older and more wise in the affairs of the galaxy and of men than anyone else Miram had ever met. His creased and wizened face held a sympathetic understanding of her mood, yet his eyes were steady with his customary resolve.

“Is the Council decided?” asked Miram. Her voice sounded tired, reflecting the strains of the day.

“I’ve decided, my Lady, and the Council doesn’t disagree. For the safety of yourself and the Kanizar line, you and the children must leave Meon within the hour. You’ll travel incognito on a freighter already charted for Ortel. To cover your departure, our entire fleet, such as it is, will mount an attack on Sher’s war fleet. The Pretender will certainly win, but it should buy us the time we need to get the freighter out unobserved.”

Miram considered the prospect and its consequences. She felt numb.

“Such loss of life. Is there no other way?”

“My Lady”—Sashu’s voice was infinitely soft—“every man in the fleet was born for this moment. Though it means certain death, there’ll not be one dissenter. Further discussion is useless. We’ve none of us any choice.”

“Forgive me, Sashu. I wasn’t questioning your judgment, only regretting a terrible waste. When we reach Ortel, do we throw ourselves on the mercy of Oontara?”

“I fear not, my Lady. Since Oontara’s infatuation with the Federation, his whole court has become riddled with spies. Rumor has it that Lord Xzan even now is his guest, and we know how Xzan favors. . .