The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“What happened to the Citizens?” Lysander demanded.

“The traitors are in the Capital prison, Highness, awaiting Their Majesties’ pleasure. Or yours,” Owensford said. “They’re a different case. The Helot soldiers we let go to the Island after interrogation, but we know who they are if we really want to find them again.”

“Mutilation,” one of the Brotherhood intelligence officers said. “We should chop off a finger. Or toes. Make it a lot easier to find them again.”

Lysander didn’t answer, and there was an awkward silence. “It’s much the same around their Base Camp,” Owensford said at last. “Better organized, but most of their leadership has bugged out. The troops left behind were supposed to sell their lives dearly. Some did, but it’s beginning to sink in that they’re fighting for a lost and dreary cause, and leaders who’ve run away. Once again we’re seeing both individuals and organized groups looking for amnesty. Others have scattered into the wastelands, but this time with not much more than they can carry.” Owensford shrugged. “Frankly, I’d rather be on the Island than on the run. Better soil, and I wouldn’t have to worry that Mace’s Scouts were looking for me.”

“But we still haven’t caught their leaders.”

“Other than Croser and his Capital gang, no.”

“General, every one of them seems to believe Skilly has a plan,” Lysander said. “Do we have any notion of what it is?”

“No, sir.”

“I keep remembering the Dales,” Lysander said. “Where they had a plan that couldn’t possibly work, only it very nearly did, because we certainly were not expecting poison gas. Captain Alana, you saw through that one just in time. What can they be planning now?”

“I confess to thinking much on that subject,” Jesus Alana said. “Alas, my prince, with little result. Nor has Catherine been more successful.”

“We’re winning, but they’re not giving up. Not trying to make terms,” Lysander said. “I take that to mean they still believe they can win.”

“Clearly,” Hal Slater said.

“But they’re losing. Losing badly. There’s no way they can win.”

“Well,” Owensford said. “Perhaps. We can hope so, but in any event there is one thing I must remind you of, Highness. It may or may not have anything to do with Skilly, but it’s clear that every gain we have made could be wiped out by the CoDominium. Give the Helots enough off-planet support and we wouldn’t be winning any longer.”

“Admiral, is this likely?”

“No,” Forrest said. “Likely, no. But of course it’s possible.”

“Some day,” Lysander said, but he said it so softly that Peter Owensford didn’t think anyone else had heard.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Crofton’s Encyclopedia of the Inhabited Planets

(2nd Edition):

Corinth: Town at the head of the Corinthian Gulf, (q.v.), a long (700 kilometer), funnel-shaped inlet on the northeastern portion of the Serpentine Continent. Corinth, founded by settlers from New Newfoundland in 2053, is primarily a collection point for nearby ranches and a fishing-base. The Corinthian Gulf, with its deep and nutrient-rich waters, is a spawning-ground for several important species of large piscoid hunted for their leather, oil and pharmaceutical derivatives; among these are the Mammoth Daisy, the Tennisnet and the Galleybeak. Galleybeak caviar is noted as a delicacy on several planets, having an exotic flavor and mild stimulant and euphoric qualities. Tennisnet glands are processed for a well-known anti obesity drug. Corinth’s facilities include deep water docks, small-scale ship repair facilities, warehouses and marine processing plants. Population (2091), 6,753 not including transients.

* * *

Another characteristic of the year 2010, familiar to those who will have lived through the last quarter of the 20th Century, is that most of the world’s low-intensity conflict will probably be insurgencies. Terrorism, in and of itself, is a weak reed when it comes to effecting political changes. On the other hand, governments have been brought down by insurgents . . .

One aspect of insurgency that promises to be a bit different in the year 2010 has to do with a shift in demography. The continued movement of Third World populations to cities makes it probable that urban underground organizations will constitute a growing percentage of insurgent movements . . .

—Rod Paschall

LIC 2000: Special Operations and

Unconventional Warfare in the Next Century

(Institute of Land Warfare,

Association of the US Army, 1990)

* * *

Geoffrey Niles woke at the sound of voices, but from long habit he lay still, eyes closed, as if still asleep. It was a habit developed at school to avoid persecution by older boys, but this time it saved him from far worse. He lay still and thought about where he was.

They were in the ranch house of a farm Skilly had bought years before. The nominal owners were a couple Skilly had found in the slums of Minetown. As usual her instinct for choosing the right people served her well: Hildy and Rose Wheeler had quietly tended the farm, increasing its value and drawing no attention to themselves, quiet non-Citizen farmers who ignored politics like many in this Corinthian district a thousand kilometers northeast of the Capital. Yet when Skilly had appeared, nearly alone and on the run, they were eager to help. Geoff had been amazed at the facilities they had quietly built up in a cave driven into the cliffs behind the ranch house. Offices, storage for weapons, residence, all waiting until Skida Thibodeau should need them.

They could relax here. Back in Sparta City they’d been in a different house every night, welcome in some, grudgingly accepted in others, flatly refused admission twice, and always afraid of betrayal even by those who seemed gladdest to see them. It had been an enormous relief to leave the capital even though that required traveling in disguise on the public rail system. Skilly had a dozen disguises, papers, business travel documents, and they’d needed them. In this time of the Ultimate Decree it wasn’t enough just to buy a ticket and get on a train. You had to convince the police that you had a legitimate reason for travel, and they wrote it all down to be fed to the computer system. But they’d got here, safe for the first time in weeks. . . .

He was alone in the big bed. Skilly, dressed in a tee shirt and nothing else, sat at her communications console. She had the speaker volume low and spoke softly as if trying not to awaken him, but Niles wondered why she didn’t use the headset if that was what she really wanted. For that matter there was a console in the next room.

Testing? he wondered. She had done a lot of that since the Stora incident. She still didn’t trust him completely. That was close. I could have got myself killed, and for nothing, there was nothing I could do, nothing at all. He shuddered at the memory, Skilly’s cold laugh as she launched the missile, the impersonal way she looked at the results. The worst was when she told him later that he’d been right, it hadn’t been such a good idea after all. “Should have listened to my Jeffy, sometimes he got good instincts.” No remorse except that it hadn’t worked as she intended. And she still thinks to found a dynasty. My God, I’ve got to get out of here. He’d thought that many times since the Stora campaign, but there was no place to go. The Royals would cheerfully hang him if they could catch him, and the only places he knew to hide from the Royals were controlled by Skilly.

He lay still and listened. Skilly was talking to someone, and she wasn’t happy at all. “You supposed to be working for Skilly,” she said.

“My sincere apologies. I am afraid my employer neglected to tell me that.” Skilly had the volume set low, and the voice was very low and quiet, so that Niles barely heard it, but he was certain that it was Murasaki. “I was told to consider your interests, as well as those of Capital Prime, but not to the neglect of my primary mission. Indeed, now that Capital Prime is regrettably detained, it is not certain that your interests and my employer’s are the same.”

“Why you say that?”

“Let us say that my employer had known Capital Prime for many years, and thus understood him. He has never met you. Alas, while I have great admiration for your talents as a leader, a bald narrative of events does little to justify that to someone who does not know you well. All due to bad luck and misfortune, of course, but it does not appear that you have enjoyed great success.”

“Skilly told Capital Prime it was time to go underground,” Skilly said. “But Capital Prime trusted you to warn him in time. Not Skilly’s doing.”

“Ah, no, of course not,” Murasaki said. “But perhaps had you more thoroughly considered the implications of your use of our earth penetrator? Capturing the mine and its town was a boldly conceived goal, admirable in concept, possibly decisive if combined with suitable political strategy. The CoDominium will often act to aid an actual government in possession of territory. Using the earth penetrator as a means of bringing the Stora garrison to battle on favorable ground was also an admirably bold notion. Alas, it did not have the proper effect.”