"As I understand it," Roger said, nodding in agreement, "besides building, the majority of the wood cut for Q'Nkok is used for cooking and metalworking. Mostly as charcoal. Is that right?"
"Yes," Grak answered. "The majority is used in cooking fires."
"For which coal would work just as well, wouldn't it?" Roger asked, tugging on his braid.
"Coal?" Xyia Kan produced a Mardukan frown. "Perhaps. It's used in some other cities, at any rate. But there's no coal source anywhere nearby."
"Actually," Roger said with a grin, "there's one on the other side of The People's territory. Just upriver from Cord's village, in the mountains. In fact, I saw indications of several unmined minerals up there, and just down the mountain from the coal, at Cord's village, the river becomes navigable."
"So the coal could be packed to the village on flar-ta," the king said with a pensive expression, "then transferred to boats for the trip to the city. But I've heard of this valley. It is filled with yaden. Who would be so foolish as to go there to dig mines?"
"Well," Roger said with a thin, cold smile, "I was thinking that you might start with the members of the deposed families and their guards."
This time Pahner did glance at the prince—not in irritation, but in surprise. He hadn't heard that particular tone of voice from Roger before, and he suspected that the ruthless side the prince had just revealed would have surprised any of his old acquaintances. His tone wasn't cruel, just very, very cold, and the captain suddenly realized that when the kid had delivered that suggestion he'd looked a good bit like his umpteenth-something grandmother, Miranda I. She'd been famous for a certain lack of pity where enemies were concerned. Of course, such things could be taken too far, but it also might be the first symptom of a spine.
Now if only it could be moderated into decency.
The king, on the other hand, only grunted in laughter and glanced at his general before he looked back at Roger with a handclap of agreement.
"An elegant solution, young prince. You would make an excellent monarch someday. I've noticed that if you have only one problem, it is often insoluble, but that if you have many problems, they solve each other. We have a conspiracy to break, a need to fulfill, and hands to fulfill it. Excellent."
"In order to pull all of this together, we need some of my officers," Pahner said. "And we need to get down to planning quickly."
"Agreed," the king replied. "But we don't move until I've confirmed this."
"As you say, Your Majesty," Roger replied for the group. "We exist but to serve," he finished sardonically.
On the way back to their quarters, Roger found himself nearly alone with Captain Pahner. He glanced around to ensure that no one besides Marines were in the area, then sighed.
"At least Mom doesn't have to put up with conspiracies like this," he said. "I'd hate to deal with backstabbing bastards like N'Jaa and Kesselotte all day long."
Pahner stopped as abruptly as if he'd just taken a round from a bead rifle and stared at the prince, who continued for another step and a half before he realized the Marine was no longer beside him. He turned to the captain.
"What? What did I say this time?" He could tell he'd upset the officer, but for the life of him, he didn't have a clue how.
Pahner felt breathless. For a moment, he could only shake his head, speechless at the naïveté of the statement while he tried to figure out if the prince was trying to feel him out or if the young idiot really was that blind. He finally decided that it could be either, as impossible as that seemed. Which meant the truth was the best answer.
"You—" He stopped himself just before he called the prince an idiot and cleared his throat.
"Your Highness," he continued then, in a calm and deadly voice, "your Lady Mother deals with plots ten times as Byzantine as this every day of the week, and twice on Sunday. And she comes up with, I guaran-damn-tee you, better answers than this one. She would figure out a way to have all the Houses continue under current leadership on a completely different political track, and I wish to hell that we could do the same.
"However hard we try not to, we are going to kill innocents with this 'bigger-hammer' approach, and that doesn't make me a bit happy. Unfortunately, none of us are as smart as the Empress, so we'll just have to muddle through and hope she manages to survive all the crap headed her way while we're trying to get home!"
Roger stared at him, eyes wide, and the Marine snorted bitterly. Whatever the prince might think, Pahner knew only too well just how false the surface serenity of the Empire of Man was, for he'd had access to intelligence reports very few mere captains would ever see.
"You think I'm exaggerating, Your Majesty?" he demanded. "Well I'm not, so for God's sake wake up and smell the coffee! You think, perhaps, that all of us are here on sunny Marduk because we want to be? You think that DeGlopper just happened to have a few minor technical problems which had nothing at all to do with your presence? Somebody slipped a toombie onto your goddamned ship and marooned us on this God forsaken planet, and I guarantee you it wasn't N'Jaa!"
CHAPTER THIRTY
Julian looked around the rainy midnight square.
His armor's light-enhancement system made the details as clear as day... not that there was a great deal to see at the moment. The tavern had been taken down, and the food vendors had packed up for the evening. Which was normal. The city always more or less rolled up its streets at dusk, but this was still eerie. No people at all were moving on the streets, and the shutters on every house had been closed almost before the square emptied. Clearly, the common folk knew something was going down.
It had taken barely a day for the king to confirm the broad details of the humans' intelligence. The clincher had been a scouting foray by some of the city's few skilled woodsmen, who'd found the Kranolta force awaiting word to move on the city exactly where the humans had told them to look. That had been more than sufficient for the king to give his go-ahead.
The Council had been summoned once again, this time at night. Its members were currently at dinner, or so said the latest situation report. Now all three platoons were in position and ready to move.
Julian's own squad of armor had been spread throughout the company. Since the chameleon suits were going to be effectively useless against the low-speed impacts of swords and spears, Captain Pahner wanted the virtually impregnable armor on point for the entry. Which was why Julian found himself standing in front of the door to House N'Jaa, scanning the surroundings, checking his paltry power levels, and wondering if there was something that could penetrate ChromSten armor on this planet after all.
"Teams check in," the communicator said. Lieutenant Sawato had that remote, robotic tone down cold; she sounded like a bad AI answering machine.
"N'Jaa team in position," Sergeant Jin announced. Third Platoon had gotten N'Jaa, since it was the largest and toughest House. Lucky them. They might be the more experienced platoon, but they were also short a squad.
"Kesselotte team, in position," came the next check, and Julian wondered if the Old Man were listening. God knew that very shortly he was going to be busy enough his own self.
"C'Rtena team, in position." Lieutenant Jasco's response was late, and Julian called up the remote plot on his helmet HUD and grimaced. The remote reported that C'Rtena's backdoor still didn't have anyone covering it, but just as he thought that, the last few troopers got into position.
Each mansion, unbeknownst to its inhabitants, now had two-thirds of a platoon parked outside its front door under cover. Even worse, two troopers in powered armor were poised to lead the entry, with the rest of the force in support. In Julian's case, the backup was across the square, ready to jump off instantly when the word came. The unit had moved up in nearly complete silence, which, coupled with the chameleon systems of their uniforms and armor, made it extremely unlikely that anyone had even noticed their passage, despite the narrow, twisting streets.