They’d known for some time that the Troika would come, but the data Administrator Pujai had provided lent itself to a renewed sense of urgency. The ships he’d brought with him were a welcome addition to their navy, while simultaneously putting the new troops through their paces as they expanded their positions on the ground. Considering how outnumbered they’d been at the beginning of the campaign; the new Allied forces were a godsend.
But given what the Troika had available to throw at them, it was little better than a spit in the ocean.
The Alliance was as makeshift a force as history had ever witnessed. None of their weapons were compatible with one another, rations had to be carefully inspected to ensure Ixian food wouldn’t poison the Terrans, and vice versa, they used different tactics, had different traditions, in fact the only thing the various races had in common was a deep-seated grudge against the Troika. Whether that would be enough to hold them together in the coming battle remained to be seen.
And the arrival of the Troika forces wasn’t the only deadline they were up against. They were rapidly approaching the day when the Sonoitii eggs were supposed to hatch. If they could hold out until their larvae swam out to sea, many hoped the Troika would see no need for further hostilities and call off its attack.
Unfortunately, Rúna knew better. They’d already pushed things too far, flouted their authority, refusing to submit to their demands. It wasn’t about dragon eggs anymore, or the enzyme within. This fight had become a clash of wills, one that the Troika literally could not let stand; for if they did, others would join the struggle, desperate to break free from their chains. If they didn’t crush this minor rebellion before it gathered momentum, it could even spell the eventual downfall of the mighty Troika. It went without saying that the three races were well aware of that possibility and had absolutely no intentions of letting it happen.
So when First Squad got the call a week later to provide security for yet another VIP, she was less than enthusiastic. Paygan Xeing, however, was considerably more exuberant, ditching Colonel Holme and the others and making a beeline for her as they arrived on the LZ.
“Corporal Aukes! There you are!” he grinned, taking her by the arm. “Come, you simply must join us as we receive our guests,” ignoring her protests as he all but dragged her over to where the other commanders already gathered. She shot Kai a helpless look as the Ixian carted her off, noting for future retribution the amused expression he was trying so desperately to hide. The colonel observed the scene with a raised eyebrow as she joined them, pointedly ignoring the situation. One or two of the others scowled at her inclusion but took their cue from the Terran commander and kept their thoughts to themselves. She tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, no easy feat when surrounded by the brass.
Polarizing her visor as the massive shuttle came in for a landing, Rúna gave out a low whistle as it touched down. She’d observed plenty of alien ships over the years, everything from freighters to battlecruisers, but she’d never stumbled across anything like this. The shuttle’s lines were almost fanciful, not the usual functional forms she was used to seeing, gleaming in the sunlight as if they had constructed it out of gold. It was as gaudy as a Dharmist beside a crew of Tinkers, and just as out of place.
The hatch slid open while a ramp lowered itself to the ground, with two dozen Ixian warriors marching out and taking their places on either side, dressed in ceremonial garb even more ostentatious than the ship itself. Their swords flashed in the sun as they raised them to the sky and faced inward, forming two parallel lines.
The Paygan marched out to the shuttle, strutting like a rooster, before finally coming to a halt at the bottom of the ramp. A figure appeared in the hatchway; his fine clothing almost modest compared to his armed retainers. A large entourage fell in behind him as he descended the incline, coming to a halt as the Paygan practically genuflected before him.
“Mirza Xain, you honor us with your presence,” he groveled. “This insignificant wretch that kneels before you wishes only to bask in the glory of your magnificence.”
The newcomer sighed, handing off his baton to an aide. “Oh, get up, cousin,” he said in exasperation, “you’re embarrassing yourself.”
The Paygan’s grin was back with a vengeance as he rose, the two embracing warmly as he greeted him. “Welcome to Sonoitii Prime, dear cousin,” he said, sweeping his hand across the landscape, “and to the Alliance.”
“Thank you,” the Mirza answered, before glancing at the waiting commanders. “I suppose I should meet them,” he said offhand, as the two made their way over.
“That’s what always impressed me about you,” he chuckled, “your keen grasp of the obvious.”
Colonel Holme traded glances with the other commanders while the two Ixians blithely chattered away, shrugging to the confused expressions of the receiving party. Rúna tried ducking behind the others as they introduced themselves, wishing desperately for better camouflage, before wincing in dismay as the Paygan called her out and brought her forward.
“And this is the Terran who bested me,” he laughed, “though I hope someday she will grant me a rematch.”
Gazing up at the royal visitor and unsure of the proper etiquette, Rúna opted for the familiar. She snapped to attention and saluted the Mirza, who scrutinized her in return. His eyes traveled down the blade at her waist and then back up. “Impressive,” he said at last. “You must show me how you did it.”
“Of course, sir,” she answered, holding the salute a moment long before dropping it and going to parade rest. He eyed her curiously, giving her a terse smile before turning his attention back to his cousin, leaving her to sigh in relief.
“Cousin Yubby sends his regards, and apologies for the delay,” he said off hand, “but we are here now, and that is all that matters, eh?” he chortled.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Colonel Holme blinked. “I’m sorry… ‘Cousin Yubby’?” he asked in confusion.
“Ah, that would be the emperor, Yuubazh the Munificent,” the Paygan explained with a languid smile. “As I said, in the imperial family we all are somewhat informal.”
“I see…” he said carefully, struggling to regroup. “And what does your Imperial rank translate to, Mirza?”
“Oh dear, I’m not quite certain,” he replied, considering the question. “Prince? Grand Duke? Something like that,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“Imperial ranks are not as clear-cut as they seem,” the Paygan explained. “Despite being seventeenth in line for the throne…”
“... fifteenth…”
“... oh yes, of course, forgive me… as I was saying, it depends on several factors, many of which would mean nothing to you. Instead, accept that my cousin stands in high favor with the Emperor, and has come at his behest.” His grin was back with a vengeance. “Just as I promised.”
“We’re certainly honored to have you,” the colonel replied, “and we’re eager to integrate your forces along with ours.”
“As am I,” the Mirza agreed. “I have also brought with me the latest intelligence reports.” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I must be the bearer of unpleasant tidings.”
Holme closed his eyes and nodded. “When?” he asked softly.
“It would appear that the Troika have moved up their timetable,” he disclosed, handing over a data rod. “They have finished consolidating their forces and will likely arrive here within the next few days.” He grimaced uncomfortably at the admission. “I regret we could not arrive any sooner.”
“We’ll make do,” he said grimly. “All the more reason to get your people in position as quickly as possible.”
“Agreed,” the Ixian prince answered. “With your permission, I will take charge of the fleet and begin shuttling our warriors to the surface.”
“Navarch Vexqoonq may have something to say about you taking command,” Decurion Yaannissi pointed out, “though I suspect your contribution to our navy will allow him to save face. I’d suggest assigning him as your executive officer if nothing else. He’s a good man in a fight.”
“I believe your suggestion has merit,” the Mirza told the Legionnaire. “Our time grows short, so best we begin preparations. By your leave, colonel,” he said, gracing him with a curt bow, before turning on his heel and retracing his steps, his guards and attendants falling in behind him as he boarded the shuttle. Minutes later, the craft took off once more as the colonel held up the data rod to the others.
“We’d better go over this,” he announced, “and decide where we’ll assign them. Paygan Xeing, perhaps we should combine his forces with yours,” he suggested.
“An excellent idea,” the Ixian nodded, “that should make their inclusion go much more smoothly.” He paused as Rúna edged closer to him, a questioning look on her face. “I will join you in a moment, colonel,” he informed him, earning him a puzzled reaction before Holme took in the tableau and understood his reasoning. With a wave, he led the remaining commanders to the makeshift command post, while the Paygan turned his attention to the young Terran.
“And what is it I may do for you, corporal?” he asked pleasantly.
“I just need to know why,” she blurted out despite herself. “Why do you keep coming to me with all this… high-level crap,” she grimaced, gesturing towards the landing zone and then the CP with a vague wave of her hand. “All this is way above my paygrade.”
“I suspect it is for the same reason your own commander keeps trotting you out for these functions,” he cackled, as her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.
“All right, what did the colonel tell you?” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest as the Ixian put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“Have no fear, he has not divulged your secret,” he answered, “even though it has become obvious to me that there is one. Why else would he call upon you for these events? He has other warriors, and yet it is you and your cadre that are chosen, time and again. There must be a reason.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she flushed.
“Of course you do,” he smiled, “but fear not, I have no intentions of attempting to coax the information from you. We face challenges enough in the days ahead, without adding the suspicion of espionage to the mix.” Giving her a suggestive wink, he ventured, “Though if you wish to tell me, I will gladly listen.” His grin grew even wider as she flinched in response.
“... there’s nothing to tell,” she mumbled, the words sounding false even to her.
“As you say,” he replied graciously, setting aside the topic for the moment. “To answer your question, however, it is quite simply this: by now you must realize that you are standing upon a much grander stage than I suspect you ever have before. At this level, especially in the arena of diplomacy, it is personal connections that forge bonds between disparate groups, regardless of an individual’s rank or standing. The casual conversations between entities such as you and I may ultimately mean the difference between peace, and war.” His joking demeanor was suddenly nowhere to be found, as he made his point clear.
“But I’m just a corporal,” she wailed, surprising even herself with her outburst. “I’m nobody. If you need someone to talk to, why not Sergeant Kai?” she petitioned him.
“Because the sergeant, while certainly a courageous and honorable warrior, does not wear an Ixian blade,” he said softly, reaching out and briefly touching the hilt. “You do.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, as the sudden shift in direction left her off balance and uncertain. “I mean… it’s just a sword.”
“In fact, it is much more than a mere weapon, Rúna,” he said gently, surprising her as he addressed her by name. “It is a symbol; one of honor, of trust, and of courage. It also serves as something of a pretext, one that allows me to converse with you without raising suspicion. On either side,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “But if you truly wish to know why I have singled you out for these dialogues, it is this.” he paused, as the smile returned. “I like you, corporal, as incongruous as that may sound. Your honesty and lack of pretense are rare commodities indeed, and I very much enjoy our conversations. And whether you realize it, you have often left me with something new to consider.”
Rúna blinked. She stared at him, his words abruptly shifting the direction of her thoughts. Until now she’d seen him as something of an oddball; a deadly warrior, yes, but outside of that relatively harmless. It was only at this very moment she understood he’d been playing a much deeper game all along.
And that now, despite her complete lack of aptitude… so was she.
Her mouth moved, but no words would come. Everything he’d said made sense, yet none of it did. She was no spy, and she sure as hell was no damn diplomat. She was a grunt, a trigger-puller, someone that got called when they needed something dead, and that’s all she was. This all had to be some kind of crazy, sick joke, perpetrated by a lunatic alien with a warped sense of humor... except she knew that wasn’t true, no matter how badly she wished it were.
“Before you do something rash,” the Paygan observed, noting her dumbfounded expression, “perhaps I might make a modest proposal.”
“Sure,” she nodded dully.
“Share our discussion with your good friend Sergeant Kai,” he suggested. “Consider his reaction and allow him to consider yours.”
“... okay,” she shrugged. That sounded simple enough.
“And once you have done that,” he continued, “might I also suggest you have a frank discussion with your colonel.” His playful attitude was suddenly back with a vengeance.
“Ask him to explain to you the meaning of the phrase, ‘Backchannel Politics’.”