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In the late afternoon the warriorcarrier for Garden 3 lifted off with the best men of eight Millenniums on her, but it was the next morning before General Zuluy sent word he'd arrived at the garden, was deploying his men, and expected to meet the enemy at any time. Anen checked with him that afternoon and Zuluy had not yet seen any slaves. The next day and the next the general still had not found the "enemy" and had made no attempt to descend to the farm buildings, had made nothing, as far as Anen could see, but excuses. That evening Anen read the comcopy of Zuluy's last message of the day, swore savagely, tore the message into ragged pieces, and hurled them into the library fireplace. "He's refused to attempt to clear the farm entrances and send men down! He says the losses would be too great! By my Sire's Blood!"
Anen looked at Useomkdok, Kosh, Cim, Stanis, and the Dlinnyy Anya, all of them watching in silence. "Zuluy can't expect those slaves to come to him! They're already where they intend to stay. It's the end of Gorny! Day after tomorrow's my oath-feast and my soldiers are sitting on the surface above Garden 4, in vicious weather, waiting for Zuluy-only-knows what! The slaves are cozy, and our only casualties are from frostbite!" Anen drew back to kick a log in the library fire farther towards the back, then remembered it wasn't the kind of fire he'd enjoyed in the last five years and put his foot back on the floor. This fire was just an imitation---realistic logs with realistic flames and a realistic smell---that would look and smell no different in fifty years. Anen's mouth tightened until his lips were only a thin line. He looked at the Dlinnyy and at Bubov. "General Rerfidail has pneumonia and Zuluy won't move. Well, he has to move on orders given in person or be tried for treason. He's committing treason now. I'm taking a Millennium of Purples to break open that garden however I must. Modok, send for Comissar Vazil. Tell him to pick the men. One hour before sunrise tomorrow, battle dress, on the flitter pad. Kosh, I want you to fly the warriorcarrier. If anyone can fly safely in Ghorr, you can."
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An aide inched toward a com unit. Anen fired a zapper bolt between the man and his goal. The side jerked his hand back, cursing and the plastiwall behind him melted. Snow blew against the hot hole and sizzled.
"Look what you've done!" the general began.
"You won't be needing the shelter anymore, General," Anen snarled at him. "You're dismissed, in disgrace, for treason."
Vazil ducked through the doorway, followed by the other three fighter pilots, Kosh, and a troop of Purples from the transport. The men spread out around the dome's edges. The general's aides froze in position. Anen fixed his eyes on one of the aides, a slender young man with a reddish tinge to his hair and large, capable hands.
"You there, do you have any communication with the garden?"
The aide nodded nervously.
"Do the slaves have a leader? Do you have a line to him?"
The aide nodded both times.
"Then why are you still here?" Anen roared at the general.
"You are interfering with a commander in the field, milord. I have matters well in hand. Your...."
"General Zuluy, you will return to the castle now with Pilot...."
Anen looked at the man to his left.
"Titov, milord."
".....with Pilot Titov. You may go unrestrained if you give your oath. No, you were my sire's man too long. I can't trust your word. Stanis, tie his hands behind him. There's utility cord in the third pocket from the right on his utility belt."
Stanis stalked towards General Zuluy. The general leaped to his feet.
"Spare me the humiliation, milord!" General Zuluy sounded more outraged than pleading. The general turned slightly, his right hand dropping into his pocket.
Stanis lunged and twisted the general's right hand until a man opened his fingers, gasping with pain. A tiny dart pistol fell onto the game table. Anen stared at it. Death. From one of his Family's own officers!
'Thanks, brother. I didn't..." Anen paused, waiting for the icy numbness to fade. When he looked at general again, his yellow eyes were as hard and cold as a cat's. "I've lived too long on a planet where a human's word could be trusted and an officer's loyalty to his commander never wavered." Anen looked towards the waiting Purples. "You, prefect, take this traitor outside and shoot him. Leave his body for the bears."
"Soooooo." Zuluy let the sounds out in a low, malignant hiss. "The woman of the Kurharays thinks to rule in truth. You'll never be a fraction the Kererr your sire was!" The words stung and the general knew it. "You and your dam, with her softhearted, alien ways...."
"GET HIM OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!"
Joining the prefect, Titov and several Purples hurried the general out.
"In front of your men!" Stanis's face and voice both showed his amazement.
"It's a common belief, fostered by my own sire," Anen answered with bitterness. He looked at the pilots. "One of you take over the com unit. I want all the millens in camp here right away. Bubov, you check every barracks-dome and put on the transport every man with frostbite or snowplague, then report to me how many are left. You," Anen indicated the Purples' troopleader, "see the general's aides are disarmed and then lock them up securely in the warriorcarrier. Post a guard."
The aides went white and one of them sagged against the game table. More game pieces clittered over. "Milord, we knew nothing of the general's plan...." "We obeyed legal orders, milord...." "Lord Anen, have pity!"
"You can prove your loyalty another time," Anen snapped. "Right now, I don't feel like taking risks with the lot of you. Where's the map of the garden entrances?"
One of the aides, his color returning, pointed to a roll lying against the dome wall. "Thank you for our lives, lord. Your sire would not have given us another chance."
Anen turned his back as if he had not heard and went to the maproll. He pushed it up against the dome frame and held it open with the clips attached to the frame. "We're here?" He stabbed a finger on a spot on the map.
The aide who had spoken nodded.
"Right beside one of the entrances?"
The aide who had spoken nodded again. "The general didn't want to walk very far in the snow with his gout and all."
"Then why, in the Sentinels' names, didn't he use it?"
"It only goes to the ponix sheds, lord, and that's controlled by the slaves. There are two others, to the deeper levels, still open, my lord."
"Then why did he pick this entrance?"
"It wasn't then controlled by the rebels, milord."
Anen swore feelingly in three languages. His soldiers looked at him in amazement for a moment, then broke into grins. That stopped Anen in mid-word. "What's the matter?"
The men's grins widened. Then Anen grinned, too.
"Those aren't the words the 'woman' of the Family would know, are they?" Anen laughed and the soldiers laughed with him. Anen turned to the pilot at the com set. "Are the millens coming?"
"Da, milord. The sound of the general's execution did nothing to slow them, either."
"See if you can reach the main farmhouse."
The com operator turned back to the set.
Anen beckoned to the aide who had shown him the map. "What is your name?"
The com operator turned back to the set.
Anen beckoned to the aide who had shown him the map. "What's your name?"
"Viktor, lord."
"Show me where the rebels are known to be."
The young officer pointed to sheds and buildings on the map. The rebels completely encircled the farmhouse. Anen did not turn from studying the map when he had the windlock open and shut several times.
"What are the entrances that are open?"
The aide pointed.
"How many levels down?"
"Stairs down nine levels, lord. The lift just outside is for freight and goes only to the ponix shed. Rebel ground, as I've already said."
Anen turned around and studied the clump of millens who had just entered. They were all near his sire's age. Three of them looked rumpled and heavy-eyed. Two whispered to each other while clenching and unclenching their hands; their faces were pale and shiny with sweat. The last of the group, a thin, grizzled officer of about 50 winters, stood a little apart from the others, watching them with a slight twist to his lips that might indicate amusement.
"Where are the others? There were eight."
The grizzled officer took a step forward and saluted. "Millen Benix, milord. I just put them on the warriorcarrier. They've been nursing their men and caught the snowplague themselves. Millen Witte looks near death, milord."
"Thank you, Benix. What have the rest of you been doing? Sleeping?" The three rumpled officers flushed and would not meet Anen's eyes. "And you two? Well?"
"They were just leaving, milord," Benix said after silence had stretched itself thin. "Urgent business in a warm inn in the freecity of Kuzgruniak, I believe." Benix's tone was very dry. "Zuluy had warned them once about leaving their men, but Zuluy wasn't around to stop them this time."
The two nervous officers turned beet-red. They glared at Benix, but they did not deny what he had said.
"Who was the duty officer?"
One rumpled millen pointed to the taller of the two nervous officers. "He was."
The accused man stammered something about medical supplies and frostbitten toes.
"You're a prisoner. You'll be executed if a court-martial finds the charges against you true. The duty officer! You there, prefect, take this man to the warriorcarrier and put him in solitary confinement." Anen turned to the other of the two. "You're dismissed. Be off the Holding by dawn. An officer belongs with his men until his commander orders him away." Anen stared fiercely at the remaining millens. "Lay down your arms now." He waited until they had dropped their weapons to the ground. "You, excepting Benix, will take the warriorcarrier back to Buruq and there you'll nurse the casualties of this---this farce until they're all discharged from the clinic. We'll consider at that time whether you keep your commissions or not. Move!"
The millens scurried out. Anen motioned three Purples near the door to follow them.
"Where were you, Benix?"
"As I said, lord, I'd just put Millens Benix and Witte on the warriorcarrier. Before that I'd been putting my own Millennium's casualties aboard, lord." Benix slammed his fist into his palm. "This damnable sitting did it! Barracks-domes weren't made for sieges on the outskirts of Ghorr, lord!"
"How many of your men?"
"Thirty percent, lord, mostly frostbite."
Anen whistled. "The other Millenniums about the same?"
"Mostly worse, milord. I set my domes in the lee of some of those big rocks."
Anen nodded. "Good thinking. Call up your able-bodied men. You're going to help us break this siege." Anen turned to the com operator. "Did you contact the main farmhouse?"
"They do not acknowledge, milord."
"I hope we're not too late. Are the rebels on the air, Medok?"
The aide nodded and named the wavelength.
"See if you can hail them, then, Pilot. The rest of you take a look at this map." He jabbed the paper. "We use the two deep entrances. If they're blocked with snow by now, use fighter exhaust to clear them. We spread out in the lowest corridor and come up on the rebels...."
"The rebels, milord, they have the chief gardener hostage." The pilot didn't look up from his unit when he spoke.
"Increase the volume," Anen ordered.
The rumble and muttering of an angry crowd filled the dome. Anen took a deep breath and wished for a 3D. Tactics I've learned, and psychology, and negotiation, but negotiation is much easier when I can see my opponent's face. Anen cleared his throat, wiping his sweating hands against his thighs, and picked the remote up. "Move half your men down now. Benix, under your best troopleader. Pilot Bubov, who's the best trooper in H Millennium, Witte's command?"
"Seigavich or Klubov, milord."
"Pick one and send him down the other way with fifty men. Have them hold channel 37 open for orders."
Benix and Bubov saluted and left.
Anen turned on the remote. "Command dome here. I am Kererr Anen. This rebellion has gone on long enough. We end it today. General Zuluy is dead. Give up now and save a lot of bloodletting."
"We are accustomed to bloodletting." The deep, harsh voice reverberated through the com's speakers. "It's ours that'll flow if we give up now. We'll die in a good fight, not lined up for execution."
Anen heard the rebels muttering agreement with the speaker. "Who speaks there?"
"Zyn-the-smith. You're the new Kererr, are you?"
"Da."
"They've sent a boy to do an army's work?" the smith jibed.
"I send myself. Release the chief gardener and there'll be no executions."
There was no response from below.
"'No executions' says you!" A harsh, grating laugh followed. "There's no promise-keeping between your kind and mine. No, the garden'll crack and we'll dig in. You'll never get us out."
Anen saw Benix had returned. He walked with his fingers downward and questioned with his eyes and brows. Benix shook his head and held up five fingers.
Got to talk some more. "We can starve you out, just like you're starving the central farmhouse."
"Take years, my fine lord. We've got the ponix techs. And you have Ghorr."
The man's thinking. Anen looked at Benix. "You stand no chance against trained fighting men. Give up the chief gardener and the techs. They have nothing to do with this."
"'Nothing to do.' You can say 'nothing to do'? You, who get the taxes beaten out of us? You, whose food fees go up monthly? We must buy our clothing now, and when we got the charges for our sleeping quarters and increases in work hours----Our families are starving because of your chief gardener's fees, and you have the nerve to say he has no part!"
Anen shot a glance at Bubov, who shrugged and gave a tiny shake of his head. Such arrangements for slaves were not unheard of, then. Anen's brain raced. Was this simple greed on the manager's part? Or was there something more in this situation? Puredorv habits of survival, long unused, stirred to life in Anen. The timing of the revolt was too neat, too close to the oath-feast, too good an opportunity for Anen to publicly humiliate himself and his House, he would have to take action considered out of the realm of possibility for one of the Ten. He must choose a path a man of the Puredorv, raised on Mirl'da V, would never see. Anen clicked off the remote and turned to his men. He studied their faces, his thoughts spinning through the actions he might take. At last, he saw what to do. He set his face and voice, a show of authority House officers would not argue with, remembering his sire's way with arguers. "I'm going down to talk to the smith face-to-face." The horror he'd experienced distorted his officers' faces, but, also as he expected, they said nothing. "We need this farm to last the winter and we have to end the revolt right now if we expect to get home. Flying weather can't last much longer. I can end the revolt, probably without more casualties, if I speak to the smith face-to-face. They know how easy lies are from a distance. I want Victor, Bubov, Stanis, Churkin, you, you, you of the Purples, and you, Pilot.....
"Malmil, lord. Klaus Malmil, House Panshin."
Anen gave him a fast, grateful smile of welcome, betraying none of the anger he held out of sight. No one had told him House Panshin's men had arrived. He turned on the remote again. "I'm coming down to talk and I'm bringing eight men, but I leave my personal arms here." Anen thought over what he remembered of slaves and weapons. It was likely their main weapon was numbers, but some farm tools could be vicious. "I'm new at this job, smith. Give me a chance." Anen had the com turned off before the slave could answer. He adjusted the hood of his survival suit and started towards the windlock. His men protested.
"Milord, you weren't serious!"
"You don't stand a chance!"
"Let the men on level 1 take care of them."
Anen whirled on the young Purples officer who made this suggestion, his anger flying free at the hapless man. "And if surprise doesn't give them victory, what? They're dead. All of them. Dead! We've had enough casualties here already, stupid, needless casualties! The rebels have eight levels to ambush, blockade---" Anen shook his head and lowered his voice. "No, I'll give the men on level 1 a better chance by dividing the slaves' attention. When I sent them down, I expected to do better negotiating from here." Anen hung his weapons belt on a rack by the windlock.
Bubov put his good hand on Anen's arm. "Let some of us go ahead, milord. Don't risk your person needlessly."
Anen nodded. "You won't be one of those, Pilot. Your House is no better off for heirs than mine."
Anen motioned Malmil, Churkin, and two of the Purples to precede them. They stepped out into snow knee-deep. It'd drifted almost to the top of the rectangular box that housed the lift, but it didn't yet smother the lift gate. One of the Purples jumped into the box and opened the cover. "Clear here, lord, if the controls haven't been jammed," he called up.
The men escorting Anen jumped onto the edge of the box, then dropped down into the square cargo lift. Anen sprang down after them. Light green powder, spilled from some container, mixed on the lift floor with melting snow from the men's boots, leaving darker green puddles on the gray metal. The vapor from those puddles smelled dark, pungent, like a newly cleaned sanitary.
"Must be disinfectant," said Stanis through his translit, wrinkling his nose.
"Do they use that stuff on your planet, too?" said Bubov.
Stanis nodded and they both laughed. Anen punched the controls and the lift fell, rapidly. Several men clutched the walls for support.
"Not meant for humans," Kosh explained to Stanis in Ikonese. "In winter the Gild can sent one of their heavy robo-freighters in above the weather and just drop supplies through the hatch. The impact of however many N-tons the trigger's set for turns on the lift and down it goes. Bam! there it is, just outside the ponix shed cargo doors.
The lift stopped abruptly. Almost everyone tumbled over. The door slammed open and a squat, muscular slave backed by at least fifty others, glared into the lift. Anen and Stanis stood, legs still braced against the impact, waiting for the others to get up. Anen thought he caught a gleam of respect in the squat slave's eyes.
"Which of you be the Kererr?"
Anen stepped forward one pace. "Me. You're Zyn-the-smith?"
"Da. You be much younger even than I'd thought. Be you coming out?"
"I feel safer here," Anen answered. "I don't know how much you control your men. Mine won't fire unless attacked." He held his arms away from his body. "You see, I have no weapons."
Zyn-the-smith grunted. "That's not much, seeing your men be armed and you be protected on three sides. But you did keep your word," he added grudgingly. "That one wouldn't have." He jerked his head towards a quivering mound of brown cloths huddled against the wall near the lift. "Thought he'd escape like a parcel, did he. Left his family to us, the moment he heard there were soldiers coming." The smith grinned wolfishly, baring broad, uneven yellow-green teeth. "Only his family be locked up safe and he's with us." He kicked the mount of cloth. "Rise!"
The cloth heap moaned.
"Rise or I'll kick in your teeth!"
The mound straightened slowly, holding onto the smooth shed wall for support. The man finally raised his head and Anen saw a sharp face with darting eyes and a narrow mustache.
"Take pity on me, milord," the trembling chief gardener whined.
"Did you indeed charge these people for their food?"
The man's hands twisted in the folds of his robe.
"Did you indeed charge these people for their food?" Anen repeated.
"I--I--I--Yes, milord."
Anen's face was grim, but his voice was controlled. "Did you indeed charge these people for their clothing and beds?"
"Yes, milord. I did, milord. I have to live, too, milord."
Anen counted to 30 in Galax, slowly, twice. He forced himself to speak slowly and quietly. "We pay managers well. We provide for our slaves. We have never charged them for what they need. Your charges are illegal. They're inhuman!" Anen shut his eyes and took several deep breaths. "House Kurharay has always provided well for its slaves and it's never had trouble with them. You throw an entire garden into revolt with your greed. You caused several hundred military casualties."
The chief gardener looked stunned. "Milord, the House has always allowed a little extra on the taxes, a little extra work for the manager..."
"A little extra work, a little extra tax. But not fees for necessities. There are hundreds of soldiers on the surface, sick or injured by your greed!"
"Lord Anen, someone had called from Castle Buruq and suggested the new fees. He said many other Houses operated so that the Kererr..."
Anen's fingers dug into the man's arm. "Someone said this, you say. Who?"
"He---didn't give a name, Lord."
"And that didn't bother you?"
"I--I didn't think, Lord."
"Because you found a good chance for profit, obviously." Anen felt like kicking the man himself. Instead, he turned to the smith. "I want the farm family here, and safe."
"That be beyond your powers, milord."
"You'll have a new, honest chief farmer within three days."
"We're hungry here, lord. Promises feed no one."
The mob behind Zyn-the-smith shoved closer, muttering.
"I'll keep my promises."
"We'll have to see that, lord."
"What do you want?"
"Pardons, lord. And the chief farmer there, to do with as we see fit." The smith jabbed a finger in the manager's side and the man squawked and trembled.
Anen felt a little sick. Had the man no self-esteem? How could he cringe that way? "Pardons you have, smith. The provocation was extreme."
The men behind Anen shifted their feet and made disagreeing sounds.
"Your sire would not say so, young lord."
"My sire's dead, smith."
"As you may soon be, too."
"You're not stupid, smith. Kill me and House Kurharay goes into trusteeship. That means into the hands of all the Families, from House Klov, all the way to, unfortunately, House Moaekod!"
The smith looked thoughtful. "Not good, that, lord. Lost four toes to the Klov's axman. That was so I wouldn't run away again. Then I was sold here." he turned away and conferred with a huddle of men. When he turned back, the whole group pressed forward. "They don't trust your promises, lord. They don't like that bunch of soldiers hidin' below us. They don't want that---that filth," he poked the cowering manager again, "to get away. You didn't say you were sending soldiers up from below, milord."
"I made you no promises, except about myself. I had to insure my life."
Something above made a loud snick. Anen looked up, then looked questioningly at the smith.
"We're just insuring our lives, lord. The lift can go up by hand-pulling, or you can walk to a stair and up, but the power cable's been cut."
