Walter Williams - Conventions of War

“Lady Sula is supposed to be dead,” Tan-dau said, to no one in particular.

“Well.” Sula permitted herself a slight smile. “You know how accurate the Naxids have been about everything else.”

“How do we know she is the real…” Tan-dau’s sentence drifted away before he could finish it. Sula waited until it was clear that no more words were coming and then answered.

“You can’t know,” Sula said. She brought her Fleet ID out of her jacket. “You’re welcome to examine my identification, but of course the Naxids could have faked it. But I think you know…” She gazed at them all in turn. “…if the Naxids wanted to target you, they wouldn’t need me. They’ve declared martial law; they’d just send their people after you, and no one would ever see you alive again.”

They absorbed this in expressionless silence. “Why then,” Sergius Bakshi said finally, “should we act so as to bring this upon us?”

Sula’d had three days to prepare what came next. She had to restrain herself from babbling it out all at once, to urge herself to remain calm and to make her points slowly and with proper emphasis.

“You want to be on the winning side, for one thing,” she said. “That brings its own rewards. Second, the secret government is prepared to offer pardons and amnesties for anyone who aids us.”

It was like talking to a blank wall. She wanted to stride about, to gesture, to declaim, all in desperate hope of getting at least one of the group to show some response. But she forced herself to be still, to keep her hands clasped behind her, to stand in an attitude of superiority. She had to project command and authority: if she showed weakness, she was finished.

“What,” said Sagas, speaking for the first time in his beautiful chiming Daimong voice, “makes you think that we need pardons and amnesties?”

“A pardon,” Sula said, “means that any investigations, any complaints, any inquiries, any proceedings come to a complete and permanent end. Not only for yourself, but for any of your friends, clients, and associates who may wish to aid the government. You may not need any amnesties yourself, but perhaps some of your friends aren’t so lucky.”

She scanned her audience again. Once again no response.

“My last point,” she said, “is that you are all prominent, successful individuals. People know your names. You have earned the respect of the population, and people are wary of your power. But you’re not loved.”

For the first time she’d managed to provoke a response. Surprise widened Sergius Bakshi’s pupils, and even the expressionless Sagas gave a jerk of his head.

“If you lead the fight against the Naxids, you’ll be heroes,” Sula said. “Maybe for the first time, people will think of you as agents of virtue. You’ll be loved, because everyone will see you on the right side, standing between them and the Naxids.”

Patel gave a sudden laugh. “Fight the Naxids for love!” he said. “That’s agood one! I’mfor it!” He slapped the table with a hand, and looked up at Sula with his teeth flashing in a broad grin. “I’m with you, princess! For love, and for no other reason!”

Sula ventured a glance at Casimir. He gave her a wry, amused look, not quite encouragement but not dispirited either.

Bakshi gave an impatient motion of his hand, and Patel fell silent, his hilarity gone in an instant, leaving a hollow silence behind. “What exactly,” Bakshi began, “would the secret government want us to do…” Chill irony entered his voice. “…for the people’s love.”

“There are cells of resisters forming all over the city,” Sula said, “but they have no way to communicate or coordinate with each other.” Again she looked at them all in turn. “Youalready have a paramilitary structure. Youalready have means of communication that the government doesn’t control. What we’d like you to do is to coordinate these groups. Pass information up the chain of command, pass orders downward, make certain equipment gets where it’s needed…that sort of thing.”

There was another moment of silence. Then Bakshi extruded one index finger from a big, pale hand and tapped the table. In a man so silent and restrained, the gesture seemed as dramatic as a pistol shot. “I should like to know one thing,” Bakshi said. “Lord Governor Pahn-ko has been captured and executed. Who is it, exactly, who runs the secret government?”

Sula clenched her teeth to avoid a wail of despair. This was the one question she’d dreaded.

She had decided that she could lie to anyone else as circumstances demanded, but that she would never lie to the people at the table before her. The consequences of lying to them were simply too dire.

“I am the senior officer remaining,” she said.

Surprise widened Patel’s eyes. His mouth dropped open, but he didn’t say anything. Tan-dau gave Bakshi a sidelong glance.

“You are a lieutenant,” Bakshi said, “and young, and recently promoted at that.”

“That is true,” Sula said. She could feel sweat collecting under the blond wig. “But I am also a Peer of ancient name, and a noted killer of Naxids.”

“It seems to me,” Tan-dau said, again seeming to address no one in particular, “that she wishes us to organize and fight her war for her. I wonder what it is thatshe will contribute?”

Defiant despair rose in Sula. “My training, my name, and my skill at killing Naxids,” she answered.

Bakshi looked at her. “I’m sure your skill and courage are up to the task,” he said. “But of course you are a soldier.” He looked at the folk on either side of him and spread his hands. “We, on the other hand, are men of commerce and of peace. We have our businesses and our families to consider. If we join your resistance to the Naxids, we put all we have worked for in jeopardy.”

Sula opened her mouth to speak, but Bakshi held up a hand for silence. “You have assured us that the loyalist Fleet will return and that Zanshaa will be freed from Naxid rule. If that is the case, there is no need for an army here on the ground. But if you are wrong, and the Naxids aren’t driven out, then any resisters here in the capital are doomed.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “We wish you the best, but I don’t understand why we should involve ourselves. The risk is too great.”

Another heavy silence rose. A leaden hopelessness beating through her veins, Sula looked at the others. “Do you all agree?” she asked.

Tan-dau and Sagas said nothing. Patel gave a rueful grin. “Sorry the love thing didn’t work out, princess,” he said. “It could have been fun.”

“The Naxids are already nibbling at your businesses,” Sula said. “When rationing starts and you go into the food business, you’ll be competing directly with the clans the Naxids have set in power. It’s then that you’ll be challenging them directly, and they’ll have to destroy you.”

Bakshi gave her another of his dead-eyed looks. “What makes you think we’ll involve ourselves in illegal foodstuffs?”

“A market in illegal foodstuffs is inevitable,” Sula said. “If you don’t put yourselves at the head of it, you’ll lose control to the people who do.”

There was another long silence. Bakshi spread his hands. “There’s nothing we can do, my lady.” He turned to Casimir and gave him a deliberate stone-eyed look. “Our associates can do nothing either.”

“Of course not, Sergius,” Casimir murmured.

Sula looked down her nose at them each in turn, but none offered anything more. Her hands clenched behind her back, the nails scoring her palms. She wanted to offer more arguments, weaker ones even, but knew it would be useless and did not.

“I thank you then, for agreeing to hear me,” she said, and turned to Tan-dau. “I appreciate your offering this place for the meeting.”