Mike Resnick - Shaka II

The government of United Earth shot off a message to Tchaka, demanding that he immediately withdraw his forces and relinquish all claims to Lincoln. There was an unspoken …or else at the end of it.

I was there when the message arrived. Tchaka read it, then handed it to me and told me to read it aloud, which I did.

No one knew quite how to react. No one wanted to yield to threats, but on the other hand, we didn’t have the strength to fight United Earth’s fleet. And of course no one dared voice an opinion for fear it would disagree with the only opinion that counted.

Tchaka waited, idly stroking Nandi, who was curled up on his desk, until he was sure no one was going to say anything.

“We have two choices,” he said at last.

“Yield or fight,” said an aide, nodding his head sagely.

“You are a fool,” said Tchaka, “and I have no use for fools. Get out.”

The aide promptly walked to the door without a word. He didn’t know if he was fired or merely dismissed from the meeting, but he wasn’t sentenced to death, and that was enough for the moment.

“As I was saying,” continued Tchaka when the aide had gone, “we have two choices. We can ignore their message, or we can reply to it. If we ignore it, they will almost certainly send an identical message tomorrow. If we ignore it again, and continue to ignore all future messages, they will eventually send a diplomatic envoy to explain their demands. We, of course, will kill him and appropriate his ship.”

He looked around the room, but no one dared show a reaction until they knew which alternative he favored.

“If, on the other hand, we choose to reply, it will be to tell them that Lincoln is under our protection, and we will take all measures necessary to protect it from United Earth’s territorial aggrandizement.”

“They are still preoccupied with their other military actions,” offered an advisor. “They will send a few token ships.”

“They will send a fleet,” said Tchaka. “This is not a matter of our annexing an unpopulated world. They will not ignore an appeal for help from a former colony.”

“Even if we ignore the message and they send a diplomat and we kill him, they will send a fleet anyway,” said the first aide.

“And if the diplomat is sufficiently popular with the masses, they may feel compelled to send an even larger fleet,” said Tchaka. “I see no purpose in delaying the inevitable.”

“They may appropriate our African possessions,” I pointed out.

“Only the countries we assimilated,” he replied with an unconcerned shrug. “Besides, we are never going back.”

I could see that at least half the room wanted to suggest that a confrontation was not inevitable, that we could avoid it simply by giving up our claim to Lincoln, but no one dared to be the first to point it out.

Finally Tchaka spoke again.

“Have Colonel Khuzwayo contact Earth in his capacity as Governor of Lincoln and tell them that their help is neither needed nor wanted.”

“Yes, sir,” said a military aide.

“Earth will ignore that, of course. Then we will contact them and explain that the government of Lincoln has asked for our protection against the unwanted attentions of United Earth, and we have agreed to give it to them.”

As far as I could see it came to the same thing. Oh, if there’d been such a thing as a galactic court or tribunal, he could have argued that the acting government had indeed asked for his help—but we were centuries, probably millennia from galactic governments and courts. In galactic terms, we’d barely taken two steps out into our front yard.

Two hours later Colonel Khuzwayo sent the message Tchaka wanted, and that evening we received another message from Earth, threatening to send a massive fleet should the situation remain unchanged.

Tchaka warned them not to carry through with their threat, that there would be serious consequences and he would not take responsibility for them.

And that’s the way it stood when a nondescript man named Dhanko Shange managed to get past Tchaka’s security and bury his knife in the monarch’s ribcage. It was Nandi who actually saved him, raking Shange’s face with claws I didn’t even know she possessed and emitting a piercing scream that brought help on the run.

They killed Shange on the spot and rushed Tchaka to the hospital, while he complained all the way, not of his pain, but rather that they hadn’t left Shange alive so he could be impaled and left on public display for his crime. There was no serious internal damage, and Tchaka was released two days later. His first official act was to name Nandi the Governor of Cetshwayo. Everyone thought it was crazy; no one dared say a word in protest.

Three days later we got word that a massive fleet had taken off from Earth and was headed in the direction of the Zulu Empire.

“They are fools,” said Tchaka. “They think I am bluffing. They will learn that I never bluff.”

Ten minutes later he ordered Colonel Khuzwayo to evacuate all military personnel from Lincoln. When Khuzwayo reported two hours later that it had been accomplished, he gave orders to destroy the planet.

“Do you mean to destroy all human life on it?” came the message from Khuzwayo.

“Blow it up,” answered Tchaka. “The bigger the explosion, the better.”

I could see the same thought reflected on every face in the room: Now he’s done it! Earth will have to avenge this. We are all walking dead men.

And finally a few of them, convinced that their doom was imminent, found their voices.

“They have to have seen that,” said one aide.

“I certainly hope so,” said Tchaka.

“Earth will kill us now.”

“Earth will leave us alone now,” said Tchaka easily.

“After what we did?” said another man incredulously.

“I have sent a private communication to the President of United Earth, with a copy to the commander of the approaching fleet.”

All eyes turned to him.

“The gist of it is that we have twenty-four more former colonies,” said Tchaka, “and I will destroy one for every light-year closer they approach. Lincoln was merely a demonstration.”

And even as the words left his mouth, we received a coded message that Earth had withdrawn its fleet.

I had just finished shaving and was preparing to go to bed when there was a knock at my door. I knew it wasn’t Tchaka, for if he wanted to speak with me he would send an underling to bring me to him. I also knew it wasn’t a thief—they don’t announce their presence by knocking—but I couldn’t think of who would want to speak to me an hour after midnight.

“Come in,” I said.

The door opened, and Peter Zondo and three more of my half-siblings—a man and two women—entered my quarters.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

Peter put his finger to his lips, waited for the door to close, then nodded to the two women—Sarah Khubeka and Bettina Cele—who produced small glowing instruments and began scanning for hidden holo cameras and listening devices, while the man, Joseph Thabethe, trained a laser pistol on the door. Finally they finished and nodded to him.

“It is safe,” said Sarah, though Joseph kept his weapon out.

I was pretty sure I knew what was coming next, but I waited for Peter to speak.

“We must stop him,” he said.

“How?” I asked. “Professional assassins have tried. They are all either dead and buried, or dying and on public display.”

“He is out of control,” persisted Peter. “He destroyed an entire planet—a planet filled with human beings.”

“And he’s killed enough others to populate a colony world,” added Bettina.

“He is not out of control,” I replied. “He is in complete, total control of his empire.”