Ainsley’s reply was mild. “Humans are a bit swept up in historical sentiment, you know. All things considered, I have to say I’m rather in favor of it.”
Tambo grimaced but didn’t argue the point. Instead he went straight to his business.
“I’ve just gotten word from the escort vessels. The Federation ship and the Guild transport have left the system, so there are no observers left. The colonists can debark before the legion boards the transport.”
“Any threats?” asked Gaius.
“From the Ty’uct?” sneered Tambo. “Not likely—not after we smeared their second invasion fleet in less time than the first. No, no threats. But they are definitely in a foul mood after yesterday’s whipping. They’re complaining about the elephants.”
Gaius shrugged. “Let ’em! Elephants were a regular feature of Roman warfare.”
“Not genetically engineered semi-mastodons,” pointed out Ainsley.
Again, Gaius shrugged. “So what? The Guild can hardly complain—not when their Gha ride mounts that have to be turbocharged to even breathe the air.”
Tambo smiled. “They’re still going to complain about it. Demand a full Federation hearing, they say.” His smile broadened. “God, would I love to be there! Did you hear? Mai the Merciless has been appointed Earth’s official representative to the Federation.”
“Heaven help them,” murmured Ainsley. Then:
“I thought you were going to be there.”
Tambo’s smile was now an outright grin. “Change of orders.” He squared his shoulders. Struck a solemn pose.
“You have the honor of being in the presence of the newly appointed commodore in charge of Flotilla Seven.”
The false pomposity vanished, replaced by a cheerful rubbing of his hands. “The campaign against the Ssrange is on! And I’m in command!”
Ainsley’s eyes widened. “They decided to do it? I thought—”
Tambo shook his head. “No, it seems good sense won out over timidity, after all. Christ, I should hope so! We’ve got a tiger by the tail. Last thing we can afford to do is let go. If the Guilds and the Federation ever figure out how vulnerable we are—will be, for at least twenty years—they could slaughter us. Keep the bastards cowed—that’s the trick!”
Gaius nodded. “I agree. Bloodying the Ty’uct Guild’s nose in a couple of small ship battles will only win us a couple of years. Before one of the bolder guilds decides to mount a real armada.”
“Unless we show the galaxy how rough we are—by wiping out the nest of pirates that the whole Federation’s whined about for thirty millennia.” The South African’s voice took on a whimpering tone. “What can we do? Best to reach an accommodation with the Ssrange. They’re businessmen, too, after all, in their own way.”
Gaius’s eyes were icy. “They held Quartilla, for a time. Did you know that?”
Both Tambo and Ainsley nodded.
“What’s your plan, Stephen?” asked the historian. “You’re the commander.”
For a moment, Tambo’s eyes were as cold as the Roman’s. “It’s been named Operation Pompey. That should give you the idea.”
Ainsley sucked in his breath. Gaius grinned like a wolf.
As well he could. In 67 B.C.—just fourteen years before Crassus’s ill-fated expedition against the Parthians had resulted in Gaius’s enslavement to the Guild—the Roman republic finally lost patience with the pirates who had plagued the Mediterranean for centuries. Pompey the Great—one of the three members, along with Caesar and Crassus, of the First Triumvirate—was charged with the task of exterminating piracy.
He did it. In exactly three months.
“The Roman way,” growled Gaius.
“Here come the colonists,” murmured Tambo. He raised the binoculars hanging around his neck and studied the small crowd of people filing from the Cato. Then, after a minute or so, passed them to the Second-of-Five. The native clan leader immediately—and with obvious familiarity with the eyeglasses—began examining the scene in the valley below.
Ainsley spent the time studying the binoculars themselves. He was rather fascinated by the simple, obsolete device. Modern humans, when they wanted to view something at a distance, used computer-enhanced optical technology. But such technology would be far beyond the capacity of the natives who had just entered a new trading agreement with the galaxy’s newest guild.
The SPQR Guild, as it was formally known—and so registered, officially, with the Federation.