Feelings of humor quickly drained from Brim's mind as he listened to the man's angry words.
"Those people THINK that they are HEROES!" Hagbut roared on. "And the civilian public thinks so, too. But they are ALL WRONG. They fail to understand that the Empire suffered a CRUSHING DEFEAT at Aunkayr, and that our five planets are now in immediate danger—as is the remainder of the Empire should we fail to save ourselves here." He pounded on the lectern. "I see no sense of urgency outside these walls— except perhaps in the ranks of the CIGAs—only relief." Glaring, he peered around the auditorium. "Of COURSE I look at Aunkayr as a deliverance," he continued. "In that sense, I feel a bit of relief myself. Like anybody else, I have no desire for a Leaguer prison camp—or death, which might well be preferable. But while this feeling of relief remains among the general public, it displaces the true reality that I have seen with my own eyes during a VERY AWKWARD retreat across the planets of Effer'wyck. And what is that? The hard, harsh fact to be realized this day is that the inconceivable might now be possible. Those jackbooted Controllers who stamped their way across Lamintir, Korbu, Gannat, and A'zurn—and who are now poised to finish off Effer'wyck—might soon be making landfall right here on our HOME PLANETS...!"
Later, after the long, impassioned speech, Brim and his two companions happened into the General in the Admiralty's great lobby. It was no surprise to the Carescrian that Hagbut met his eyes with no recognition whatsoever, even though it had been he who was largely responsible for preserving the man's military renown in the wake of the A'zurnian raid.
"You have met him, haven't you?" Moulding asked as the General and his party of staff-level appendages swept past. "I mean, it is rather well known that you saved his career during the A'zurnian raid a few years back."
Aram interrupted with a snort. "It was by no mistake that Captain Brim wears my domain's highest award," he said quietly. "For his pains, Hagbut received only the A'zurnian medal presented to all 'foreign' individuals who excel in the domain's service."
Brim felt himself blush. "I wouldn't expect him to remember me—especially with all he's got on his mind right now."
"Perhaps," Moulding said, but he didn't look very convinced. Hagbut was not a popular man among large segments of the Imperial military establishment. Suddenly, the tall aristocrat glanced over Brim's shoulder and winced. "Don't look now," he said with an aspect of distaste, "but here comes somebody who seems to recognize you all too well—with the media, no less."
"Huh?" Brim asked, but before Moulding could reply, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder in a most unfriendly manner. Whirling around, ready to defend himself, he found himself confronting none other than Puvis Amherst—in mufti—and a number of his "progressive" journalists with HoloRecorders in hand.
"Well, Brim," the CIGA chief said, posing grandly. "I thought it might be you. War seems to attract your kind, doesn't it?"
"I suppose it does," Brim replied evenly, eyeing the man's pin-stripe cloak, dress-gray business suit, and expensive shoes. "And it seems as if you have really gone the other way this time, wearing a civilian getup like that."
"This is not a 'getup,' Brim," Amherst sniffed in a disparaging voice. "In case you haven't heard, I resigned my commission a short time ago to protest the horrible war in which you and your ilk have embroiled us." He looked toward the HoloRecorders with a pained expression. "Have you seen the results of your futile struggles against the might of the League?" he demanded rhetorically. "How many innocent soldiers must suffer or die before callous brutes like you give peace the chance it deserves?"
Brim chuckled, ignoring the journalists and looking Amherst straight in the eye. "When I see some real peace come along, Puvis, you can be certain that I will be the first to give it a chance." Then he frowned. "But what's all this about your resigning your commission—you actually did something like that?"
"I most certainly did," Amherst said, hands on his hips in what he clearly expected was a heroic pose. "Someone had to do something about the hundreds of billions that Onrad V is appropriating for weapons and manpower now that he's become Emperor. Running wild, that's what. I had no influence with that dreadful man from within the Fleet, even in my capacity as the leading CIGA. But I certainly can use my position in government to cut off his funds. That will stop all of you war lovers. And then I shall go about earmarking those credits toward efforts to reestablish peace with the League."
"You have a position in government?" Brim demanded in amazement.
"Only a guttersnipe like you would be ignorant of that," Amherst replied venomously. "By right of birth, I am also the Earl of Amherst," he sniffed. "I received the title at the time of my beloved father's death."
"I see," Brim said—of course, the Imperial House of Nobles, holdover from a form of government that had outlived its usefulness a thousand years in the past. "And now you're going to start campaigning against military expenditures?" he demanded. " In the middle of a war?"
Amherst narrowed his eyes. "We are not in the middle of a war, Brim," he pronounced as if he were scolding a small child. "We are only at the beginning. There is still time to stop the horror you beasts have started. And one way to do it is to cut off the resources that fund your cursed war engines."
"You're already off to a good start on that project," Brim stated grimly. "You CIGAs all but stopped defense production years ago. We've been fighting this war at a disadvantage right from the start."
"And I thank the very Universe for it," Amherst intoned in a firm voice, carefully projecting a profile view toward the HoloRecorders. "If people like you had your way, there would be no chance at all for peace with the Emperor Triannic and his League."
Brim shook his head. "Puvis," he said earnestly, "if we weren't dealing with that tinhorn now, we'd be dealing with him later on when he's even stronger."
"Unlike you militants, I deal only in peace," Amherst intoned, gloating as if he had just made a terribly clever comeback.
"That's where you're dead wrong," Brim growled, "and you know it. I deal in peace, too, every bit as much as you."
Amherst opened his mouth to protest, but Brim cut him off with a look of utter contempt. "Even in its best light, Amherst," he growled, "your kind of pacifism is only a hothouse indulgence. And you know it. It's a cozy-comfy state of wishfulness where everybody assumes that the protective walls will stay up. But keeping those very important walls intact is a task for militants—among other hard jobs that nobody else wants. All through history, we militants—whether we slog in the mud, ride in land crawlers, or fly starships—have shielded pacifists like you from consequences of your own shortsighted sermons.
When evil beings like Nergol Triannic and his minions triumph, pacifists are among the first to be rounded up and herded off to the death camps. And don't try to tell me you haven't heard about such things. I've been warning you for years myself."
He glared at his ex-shipmate who had now drawn back a step and was listening with an anxious look on his face. "How many peace demonstrations do you hear about in Tarrott?" he demanded. " Zero.
That's how many. Nergol Triannic has preempted any debate about peace. In his League, he is the only 'right' permitted. No matter what the citizens of his empire may want to think, it is we who are wrong by decree. Except that by the more objective measure of civilization itself, it is we who are right, Puvis Amherst—in spite of the ignoble trash your CIGA cowards bleat during their squalid little demonstrations. Don't fool yourself," he said, pointing directly at the CIGA leader, "Leaguers are the real war lovers. They've turned down every chance for peace we've offered since their false Treaty of Garak.