Chancellor Kanus, the supreme leader of the Kerak Worlds, stood at the
edge of the balcony and looked across the wild, tumbling gorge to the
rugged mountains beyond.
“These are the forces that mold men’s actions,” he said to his small
audience of officials and advisors, “the howling winds, the mighty
mountains, the open sky and the dark powers of the clouds.”
The men nodded and made murmurs of agreement.
“Just as the mountains thrust up from the pettiness of the lands
below, so shall we rise above the common walk of men,” Kanus said.
“Just as a thunderstorm terrifies them, we will make them bend to our
will!”
“We will destroy the past,” said one of the ministers.
“And avenge the memory of defeat,” Kanus added. He turned and looked
at the little group of men. Kanus was the smallest man on the balcony:
short, spare, sallow-faced; but he possessed piercing dark eyes and a
strong voice that commanded attention.
He walked through the knot of men and stopped before a tall, lean,
blond youth in light-blue military uniform. “And you, Major Odal, will
be a primary instrument in the first steps of conquest.”
Odal bowed stiffly. “I only hope to serve my leader and my worlds.”
“You shall. And you already have,” Kanus said, beaming. “Already the
Acquatainians are thrashing about like a snake whose head has been cut
off. Without Dulaq, they have no head, no brain to direct them. For
your part in this triumph”—Kanus snapped his fingers, and one of his
advisors quickly stepped to his side and handed him a small ebony
box—“I present you with this token of the esteem of the Kerak Worlds,
and of my personal high regard.”
He handed the box to Odal, who opened it and took out a small jeweled
pin.
“The Star of Kerak,” Kanus announced. “This is the first time it has
been awarded to anyone except a warrior on the battlefield. But then,
we have turned their so-called civilized machine into our own
battlefield, eh?”
Odal grinned. “Yes, sir, we have. Thank you very much sir. This is the
supreme moment of my life.”
“To date, major. Only to date. There will be other moments, even
higher ones. Come, let’s go inside. We have many plans to discuss ...
more duels ... more triumphs.”
They all filed in to Kanus’ huge, elaborate office. The leader walked
across the plushly ornate room and sat at the elevated desk, while his
followers arranged themselves in the chairs and couches placed about
the floor. Odal remained standing, near the doorway.
Kanus let his fingers flick across a small control board set into his
desktop, and a tri-dimensional star map glowed into existence on the
far wall. As its center were the eleven stars that harbored the Kerak
Worlds. Around them stood neighboring stars, color-coded to show their
political groupings. Off to one side of the map was the Acquataine
Cluster, a rich mass of stars—wealthy, powerful, the most important
political and economic power in the section of the galaxy. Until
yesterday’s duel.
Kanus began one of his inevitable harangues. Objectives, political and
military. Already the Kerak Worlds were unified under his dominant
will. The people would follow wherever he led. Already the political
alliances built up by Acquatainian diplomacy since the last war
were tottering, now that Dulaq was out of the picture. Now was the
time to strike. A political blow _here_, at the Szarno Confederacy, to
bring them and their armaments industries into line with Kerak. Then
more political strikes to isolate the Acquataine Cluster from its
allies, and to build up subservient states for Kerak. Then,
finally, the military blow—against the Acquatainians.
“A sudden strike, a quick, decisive series of blows, and the
Acquatainians will collapse like a house of paper. Before the Star
Watch can interfere, we will be masters of the Cluster. Then, with the
resources of Acquatainia to draw on, we can challenge any force in the
galaxy—even the Terran Commonwealth itself!”
The men in the room nodded their assent.
_They’ve heard this story many, many times_, Odal thought to himself.
This was the first time he had been privileged to listen to it. If you
closed your eyes, or looked only at the star map, the plan sounded
bizarre, extreme, even impossible. But, if you watched Kanus, and let
those piercing, almost hypnotic eyes fasten on yours, then the
leader’s wildest dreams sounded not only exciting, but inevitable.
Odal leaned a shoulder against the paneled wall and scanned the other
men in the room.
There was fat Greber, the vice chancellor, fighting desperately to
stay awake after drinking too much wine during the luncheon and
afterward. And Modal, sitting on the couch next to him, was
bright-eyed and alert, thinking only of how much money and power would
come to him as Chief of Industries once the rearmament program began
in earnest.
Sitting alone on another couch was Kor, the quiet one, the head of
Intelligence, and—technically—Odal’s superior. Silent Kor, whose few
words were usually charged with terror for those whom he spoke
against.
Marshal Lugal looked bored when Kanus spoke of politics, but his face
changed when military matters came up. The marshal lived for only one
purpose: to avenge his army’s humiliating defeat in the war against
the Acquatainians, thirty Terran years ago. What he didn’t realize,
Odal thought, smiling to himself, was that as soon as he had
reorganized the army and re-equipped it, Kanus planned to retire him
and place younger men in charge. Men whose only loyalty was not to the
army, nor even to the Kerak Worlds and their people, but to the
chancellor himself.
Eagerly following every syllable, every gesture of the leader was
little Tinth. Born to the nobility, trained in the arts, a student of
philosophy, Tinth had deserted his heritage and joined the forces of
Kanus. His reward had been the Ministry of Education; many teachers
had suffered under him.
And finally there was Romis, the Minister of Intergovernmental
Affairs. A professional diplomat, and one of the few men in government
before Kanus’ sweep to power to survive this long. It was clear that
Romis hated the chancellor. But he served the Kerak Worlds well. The
diplomatic corps was flawless in their handling of intergovernmental
affairs. It was only a matter of time, Odal knew, before one of
them—Romis or Kanus—killed the other.
* * * * *
The rest of Kanus’ audience consisted of political hacks,
roughnecks-turned-bodyguards, and a few other hangers-on who had been
with Kanus since the days when he held his political monologues in
cellars, and haunted the alleys to avoid the police. Kanus had come a
long way: from the blackness of oblivion to the dazzling heights of
the chancellor’s rural estate.
Money, power, glory, revenge, patriotism: each man in the room,
listening to Kanus, had his reasons for following the chancellor.
_And my reasons?_ Odal asked himself. _Why do I follow him? Can I see
into my own mind as easily as I see into theirs?_
There was duty, of course. Odal was a soldier, and Kanus was the
duly-elected leader of the government. Once elected, though, he had
dissolved the government and solidified his powers as absolute
dictator of the Kerak Worlds.
There was gain to be had by performing well under Kanus. Regardless of
his political ambitions and personal tyrannies, Kanus rewarded well
when he was pleased. The medal—the Star of Kerak—carried with it an
annual pension that would nicely accommodate a family. _If I had one_,
Odal thought, sardonically.
There was power, of sorts, also. Working the dueling machine in his
special way, hammering a man into nothingness, finding the weaknesses
in his personality and exploiting them, pitting his mind against
others, turning sneering towers of pride like Dulaq into helpless
whipped dogs—that was power. And it was a power that did not go
unnoticed in the cities of the Kerak Worlds. Already Odal was easily
recognized on the streets; women especially seemed to be attracted to
him now.
“The most important factor,” Kanus was saying, “and I cannot stress it
overmuch, is to build up an aura of invincibility. This is why your
work is so important, Major Odal. You must be invincible! Because
today you represent the collective will of the Kerak Worlds. Today
you are the instrument of my own will—and you must triumph at every
turn. The fate of your people, of your government, of your chancellor
rests squarely on your shoulders each time you step into a dueling
machine. You have borne that responsibility well, major. Can you carry
it even further?”
“I can, sir,” Odal answered crisply, “and I will.”
Kanus beamed at him. “Good! Because your next duel—and those that
follow it—will be to the death.”