The Silvestrians' widely differing cultural traditions kept them from uniting. So did a mostly amiable pride in having each survived the neo-barbarian period largely on their own. But slowly life on the planet passed from survival to comfort, and from there to the accumulation of a capital surplus for investment in modern technology.
The population increase was also slow at first; the harsh climate was deadly to more children and old folk than anyone in later years cared to remember in too much detail. Then out-system trade and better nutrition began to work their customary magic, and Silvestria was no more than a generation from introducing orbital industries and life prolong when the Manticore-Haven war reached the stage that made both sides interested in planets they might otherwise have ignored for another century.
None of which explained to Shuna Ryder why the Canmore Republic called its military chief by the unwarlike name of Director of the Guard but still cultivated that most martial of instruments, the Highland pipes. Or why the Kingdom of Chuiban had gone so far as to bring several live cow white elephants and a large cryo-frozen supply of fertilized ova all the way from Old Earth? (She had seen the estimated cost for the interstellar elephant migration, and the Royal Navy could have built, equipped, stored, and crewed a superdreadnought for somewhat less.)
The Director of the Guard was named Jonathan Stuart Simpson. He listened to Ryder and Chung present their Staff Appreciation of the best way to deal with Euvinophan's threat with great attention, in total silence, and showing not so much as a tic or a blink while they were speaking. If this was a technique intended to intimidate them into fluffing key lines, it failed—at least with Colonel Chung.
Chung managed to pick up the pace nearly every time Major Ryder even thought of stumbling. This wasn't the first time that he'd made her wonder if he was as empathic as a treecat; remembering some of the other occasions would have made her blush, if she hadn't been facing the stony visage of the Director.
"I observe that you do not include much tactical air support, if indeed you mentioned any at all," was the Director's first remark when the two advisers concluded their presentation.
"No," Ryder said. This was an area where she had both strong opinions and, technical competence. "In the first place, your handful of armed atmosphere fighters are needed for defending the coast and the passes, in case we don't bring this off.
"In the second place, no air strike has ever been as really surgical as we'll need to be, for this job. We have to take out an objective well inside a city of sixty-five thousand friendly or neutral people, without any collateral damage beyond broken windows, cracked chimneys, and frightened children.
"Your pilots are good. They are not—" She stopped before she said "God," which would definitely put her on the wrong foot with an Elder of the Kirk. "They are not trained for close-support work. They would get a bomb wrong somehow, and hand Carl Euvinophan and the Peeps a whole bundle of support, free of charge."
Simpson nodded, in a way that seemed to close the matter. "I find it more than slightly marvelous that the Peeps find it possible to work with both a monarchy and an aristocratic mercenary," he said.
There Chung was more at home. Erewhon had always been closer to Silvestria, so its intelligence on the planet had been more complete. Chung also seemed to have had more civilian contacts in both nations than Ryder. And I wonder if any of those contacts were female? she asked herself, as the ghost of her gawky youth returned to hiss jealousy in her ear.
"The Peeps have a rigid ideological standard," Chung said. "But the farther from Nouveau Paris, the better a shrewd adviser team's chances of adjusting the doctrine to the situation. The Kirk is sudden death on adultery, but can they watch every couple a thousand klicks beyond the Dunedin Pass?"
For a moment Ryder thought that Chung had really stepped in the toxics, as Simpson's face twitched. Then she realized the Director was trying not to laugh.
"Do you know this from personal experience, either of you?" he finally asked.
"No," Chung said, with great decision. "The only woman I have known since coming to Silvestria is standing here beside me."
That gun nut is an empath!
"Have you taken the old oath of the Sacred Band of Thebes?" Simpson asked. Now he was actually smiling.
"Not precisely," Ryder said. "For one thing, we're a man and a woman. Or we were, the last time it mattered.
"Also, we can't lock shields because we don't use them on most battlefields anymore. Although I'd like to learn your shield and claymore technique, if I have time."
"The best instructor in the Republic happens to be the Guard's Deputy Director for Physical Training," Simpson said. "He is one of the people I will be consulting on the general strategic concept you have presented. Are you in a position to present more details of the forces you will require, if asked?
"You see, we have not waged offensive warfare outside the Republic since the Landing. Even the Sea Fencibles the Manticorans have trained are for counterattacking seaborne raids. The political harmony we have enjoyed with the Kingdom depends very heavily on their not seeing us as a threat."
"It also depends on putting Carl Euvinophan out of business, even if he isn't a pistol in the Peeps' pocket," Ryder said. She nearly got tangled in the p's, and saw that the Director was again trying not to laugh.
"Even if he doesn't turn the Republic over to the Peeps, he could set up as an independent ruler, bribing Chuiban subjects or Andermani immigrants with pieces of your economy. Once he had a power base in the ex-Republic, he might even use his mother's rights to try for the throne."
"Exactly," Chung said. "Then you'd have neo-barbarism all over again, until somebody intervened. At worst it would be the Peeps, at best Erewhon, with the Solar League and the Star Kingdom somewhere in the middle."
"You, Sir, speak as one not without wisdom," Ryder said, also trying hard not to laugh.
"Neither of you lacks wisdom," Simpson replied, standing up and reaching out a hand. Ryder noticed that it shook slightly, and the knuckles were red and enlarged. Simpson had to be less than eighty T-years, but Ryder knew she wouldn't look as old as he did until she reached her third century—if she lived that long.
They shook hands and left, picking up their escorts on the way out. Both of them trusted the Republic and the Guard to take all the standard precautions, but the Canmore Republic had not had to deal with suicidal assassins in the lifetime of any of its citizens. Neither Erewhon nor Manticore had been so fortunate.
* * *
Citizen Commissioner Testaniere was at his desk when Sergeant Pescu knocked and entered, followed shortly by another knock signaling the arrival of Citizen Captain Weldon.
Testaniere decided to deal with both men at once. It would be a good test of Weldon's commitment to egalitarian values, being briefed along with a sergeant. Both of them were also discreet. Or if they weren't, then the mission was a lost cause and word to that effect was doubtless already on its way homeward from one of the SS types.
Besides, dealing with both men at once was politer than asking them both to wait until he got out of the bathroom. The diet in western Chuiban ran more heavily to fish than anyone except the wealthy had been able to afford on the older worlds of the People's Republic for centuries. It was doubtless ultimately healthy, and Testaniere could recognize a cook's skill even if he didn't like the results.
Meanwhile, however, one of those results was a mild case of diarrhea.
"The tank crews are arriving," Weldon said at once.
"How many?"
"Enough for ten tanks."
Testaniere's stomach churned from the news even more than from lunch. "I presume that many can at least keep the tanks running?"