Jerry Pournelle & Roland Green - Janissaries 3 - Storms of Victory

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JANISSARIES III: STORMS OF VICTORY
This Ace Book contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition. It
has been completely reset in a typeface designed for easy reading, and was
printed from new film.
JANISSARIES III: STORMS OF VICTORY
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the authors
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace hardcover edition / May 1987
Ace mass market edition / March 1988
All rights reserved.
Copyright C 1987 by Jerry Poumelle and Roland Green.
Cover art by Sanjulian.
Maps by Diane Duane and Noreen Fogel.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any
other means, without permission.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016.
ISBN: 0-441-38299-1
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
The name "ACE" and the "A" logo are trademarks
belonging to Charter Communications, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Acknowledgments
We gratefully acknowledge the editorial consultation of Barbara J. Clifford,
without whose help this book would probably never have been completed.
A Political Glossary
The Galactics
The Galactic Confederation is a loose federation of nonhuman races,
governing Earth's region of the spiral arm of our Galaxy. Its member races
include the Shalnuksis, the Ader'at'eel, the Fusttael, and the Finsit'tuvii. The
Council is the supreme governing body of the Confederation; the High
Commission is a subordinate body, in charge of relations with non-member
races, particularly humans.
Tran
The Five Kingdoms is a confederation of northern kingdoms (including Ta-
Meltemos, Ta-Lataos, and Ta-Kartos) under a High Rexja.
Drantos is an independent kingdom under its own Wanax, although it has
been claimed by both Rome and the Five Kingdoms. Chelm is part of
Drantos.
Rome is a (self-proclaimed) empire, descended from Romans of the time of
Septimius Severus (c. 200 A.D.) brought to Tran by the Shalnuksis.
The City-States are an array of independent cities lying south of Drantos and
southwest of Rome. Their most prominent members are Vis and Rustengo.
The Sunlands is the general term for everything south of the City-States.
The Westmen are nomadic horse barbarians from beyond the High Plains,
ultimately descended from Scythians.
Dramatis Personae
The Galactics
Inspector Agzaral—Confederation High Commission law enforcement
officer.
Jehna Sae Leern—Courier for the Ader'at'eel. Karreel—Shalnuksi merchant,
in the Tran trade.
Les—Human pilot in Shalnuksi service; Gwen's husband.
Wilno—Retired Confederate naval officer, classmate of Agzaral.
The Starmen
Private Jack Beazeley—Mason's right-hand man.
Sergeant Harold Bisso—Elliot's right-hand man.
Private Alexander Boyd—Gengrich's chief of staff.
Sergeant William Campbell—Professor of Engineering at the University.
Private Lance Clavell—Rick Galloway's ambassador to Nikeis.
Sergeant Major Rafael Elliot—Top kick of the mercs; Provost of the
University.
Rick Galloway—Captain, U.S.A.; Colonel of Mercenaries, Eqeta of Chelm,
Captain General of Drantos, War Leader of Tamaerthon.
Corporal Arnold Gengrich—Leader of mutinous mercs; Lord of Zyphron.
Private Alan MacAllister—Expert sniper.
Sergeant John McCleve—Medic; Professor of Medicine at the University.
Major Art Mason—Rick's right-hand man; Marshal of the Captain General's
Household.
Sergeant Ben Murphy—Bheroman of Westrook.
Corporal Mortimer Schultz—Master of Foot in Rustengo.
Gwen Tremaine—Rector of the University.
Warrant Officer Larry Warner—Chancellor of the University.
The Alliance
Ajacias—Bheroman of Drantos, in the Sutmarg.
Apelles, son of Lykon—Priest of Yatar.
Balquhain—Drumold's son and heir.
Drumold—MacClallan Muir: Tylara's father.
Enipses—Bheroman of Drantos.
Ganton, son of Loron—Wanax of Drantos.
Hilaskos—Bheroman of Drantos.
Mad Bear—Chief of the exiled Silver Wolves clan of the Westmen (the Horse
People).
Maev—Merchant's daughter, handfasted to Apelles.
Monira —Leader of the war-trained Children of Vothan.
Morrone, son of Morron—Companion to the Wanax Ganton.
Pinir, son of the smith—Master Gunner in the Royal Artillery of Drantos.
Rudhrig—Eqeta of Harms.
Lady Siobhan—Art Mason's fiancée and Gwen Tremaine's office manager.
Teuthras—Colonel of First Tamaerthan Hussars.
Traskon, son of Trakon—Bheroman of Drantos.
Tylara do Tamaerthon—Rick Galloway's wife; Egetassa of Chelm and
Justiciar of Drantos.
Yanulf—Highpriest of Yatar and Chancellor of Drantos.
The Romans
Titus Licinius Frugi—Legate, commanding the Fourth Legion.
Lucius—Freedman and confidant to Marselius Caesar.
Gaius Marius Marselius Caesar—Emperor of Rome.
Octavia Marselia Caesar—Wanaxxae of Drantos; Publius's daughter.
Archbishop Polycarp—Founder of the movement for the united worship of
Yatar and Christ.
Publius Caesar—Marselius's son and heir.
Marcus Julius Vinicianus—Exiled Roman nobleman and chief spy for
Gengrich.
The Enemies
Prince Akkilas—High Rexja Toris's sole surviving legitimate son.
Issardos—High Chancellor of the Five Kingdoms.
Matthais—Highpriest of Vothan.
Phrados the Prophet—Religious fanatic opposed to the united worship of
Yatar and Christ.
Crown Prince Strymon—Heir to Ta-Meltemos.
Prince Teodoros—Strymon's younger brother.
Toris—High Rexja of the Five Kingdoms.
Volauf—Captain General to Matthais.
Walking Stone—Paramount war chief of the Westmen.
STORMS OF
VICTORY
PART ONE
Searching
CHAPTER 1.
"Turn out the Guard! Corporal of the Guard, Post Number Twelve!"
Rick Galloway turned toward the window and frowned. Sounds of shouting
and running men floated up from the cobblestoned courtyard six stories
below. "What in hell?" Rick muttered. Then he shrugged. "Guess I'll find out
if I need to know. Okay, Art, what's next?"
"Next you get your armor on. Flak jacket first, then the mail."
"Christ, Mason! I'll roast. Look, I don't have to wear this tonight."
Art Mason spoke slowly and carefully. "Colonel, why do we have to go
through this every week? You're not leaving this room without armor, not
without you sending me to the brig first. Look, we've got that nice Kevlar
jacket Les brought you. Only thing like it on this planet. And don't ask me
who's going to shoot you. You know damn well the little king has that
Browning."
"Ganton wouldn't shoot me." Rick held out his arms and let Mason help him
into the Kevlar vest, then the fine chain mail shirt that covered it.
"I grant you that, Colonel. But I can think of some in his court who'd be glad
to borrow that pistol. With or without royal permission." Mason tugged on the
straps. "And I grant you that Wanax Ganton needs you. The problem is, he
knows he needs you. Kings don't like that. Neither do teenagers. We got a
teenaged king, and if you know what he's going to do, you're doing better than
me."
There were more shouts from below. "Sergeant of the Guard! Post Number
Twelve. Officer of the Guard! Post Number Twelve."
"That sounds serious," Rick said.
"Yeah, maybe I better have a look." Mason glanced at his watch. "Better not.
Can't let the troops think I don't trust them. Follow procedures—"
"Yeah. Follow procedures." Rick laughed, then went to the table and poured
two glasses of wine. The table was massive, carved from a wood that had
never grown on Earth. The goblets were gold, hammered with scenes of men
riding centaurs and hunting strange beasts. Rick handed one to Mason.
"Here's to proper procedures."
"Yeah." Mason sipped at his wine, then frowned as Rick drank his in a gulp.
"Colonel, you drink too damned much."
"You sound like my wife. Are you my wife?"
"No, sir."
"I could say it's none of your business."
"No sir, you couldn't," Mason said. "Very much my business. Anything
happens to you, and I'm supposed to be in command. Only you know damned
well it won't work that way. Sergeant Major Elliot will choose your successor,
and it may or may not be me."
"Well, nothing's going to happen to me tonight," Rick said. He poured another
goblet of wine and sipped at it. "We were drinking to proper procedures. Ever
think where we'd be if we'd followed procedures? What the hell is the
procedure for meeting a flying saucer?"
"Yeah. Well, we managed all right," Mason said. "Bloody good thing it came
along."
"Yeah. I guess."
"Guess, hell, Colonel. We were goners, and you know that better'n me."
Mason swept his hand in a wide gesture to indicate the stone walls, tapestries,
fireplace, and primitive furnishings of the room. "This may not be all we ever
wanted, but it's sure as hell more'n the Cubans would have given us."
"Yeah, I know, Art, but ..." Rick let his voice trail off as he heard more shouts
from outside. "Think we ought to look?"
"No, sir," Mason said. "Fact is, that's your biggest problem. Colonel, I grant
you we'd have been finished a dozen times without you, and not much gets
done except it's in your name—but that doesn't mean you got to do it all
yourself. Procedures. Make policy, approve procedures, and then let
somebody else do the work. You're going to wear yourself out if you keep on
the way you're going."
Rick sat at the massive table and fingered a stack of documents. An ornate
dagger served as a paperweight. "Think I wouldn't like to? Only how in hell
can I make policy on stuff we've never done before? None of us have any
experience handling primitives. And Romans. And barbarians. And—"
"Well, yes, sir, but—"
"And not even the locals have any experience living with a rogue star coming.
Just legends." Rick tossed off his goblet of wine and poured another. "Policy!
Procedures! The whole goddam planet's going to hell, and all they've got is a
bunch of legends. Legends and us. And we don't know what we're doing."
Mason shrugged. "Colonel, for somebody who don't know what he's doing,
you've done damned well. You must be doing something right, even if I do
think you work too hard and drink too much."
"I'll—"
There was a loud knock at the door.
"Yeah?" Mason called. He took out a .45 automatic and glanced at the loads
before returning it to its holster. "Who's there?"
The voice belonged to Rick's orderly. "The Star Lord Les wishes to speak
with the Marshal of Drantos."
Mason looked at Rick. Rick shrugged, then nodded. Mason went to the door,
looked through the peephole, then opened it.
The man who entered was shorter than Rick, about Mason's height. He didn't
look much different from the other two. A starman, Rick thought. A real one.
Not a cheap imitation like me. So how should a starman look? God knows his
bosses look weird enough.
"Hello, Les. Wine?" Rick offered.
"Hello. Yes, small glass—and, Major Mason, if you don't mind—"
"Let him stay. He's my deputy," Rick protested.
"It's all right, Colonel. I better go check out that commotion in the courtyard.
I'll be back to walk you to your meeting."
"Don't bother. Jamiy and the Guards can do that."
Mason nodded. It wasn't hard to read his expression. Since Tylara's man
Caradoc had been killed in street riots, there weren't as many locals Rick
could trust to guard his back.
Come to that, a lot of other things had changed for the worse. "I'd rather you
found out what the problem is down there."
"Okay." Mason threw half a salute and left without waiting for Rick to return
it.
Rick poured wine and handed it to Les. They sat at the table and Rick lifted
his goblet. "Cheers."
"Cheers."
They sat in silence. Finally Les spoke. "I'll be leaving in a day or so."
"Back to Earth?"
"Yes."
"I don't suppose I can talk you into taking us with you." Les shook his head.
"No. You wouldn't want me to." He wasn't smiling.
"Try me."
"You wouldn't. What would you do? Go to the authorities? Tell them you
were kidnapped by a flying saucer and taken across light-years to another
planet just so you could grow drugs?"
"Well, that would have the great merit of being true—"
"And the serious demerit that no one would believe you," Les said. "It would
be worse if someone did. Either way you'd irritate the High Commission,
make a deadly enemy of Inspector Agzaral, and spend the rest of your life
dodging us. No, my friend, you do not want to be returned to Earth."
"What if—suppose we promise to lay low? Never tell what happened to us?"
"No," Les said.
"Yeah, well I suppose you can't believe us—"
"Even if I did, I couldn't hide the fact that I took you back to Earth. I could
probably hide it from the Commission, but not from Agzaral. I don't know
what he'd do about it, but I don't want to find out." Les sipped at his wine.
"There's another reason. You may be safer on Tran."
"What? Come off it! This planet is coming apart! It's going to be fried by a
rogue sun, the ice caps melt, coasts under water, migrations sparking wars
everywhere, and your Shalnuksi friends are probably going to bomb the
survivors back to the Stone Age anyway—and you say—"
"I say it may be safer than Earth," Les repeated. "Things happen so fast. Atom
bombs. Space travel. Big colliding beam accelerators. Huge lasers. Leave
things alone and pretty soon Earth will have real space travel. There are
factions on the Commission that don't want that."
"And they'd really bomb Earth?"
"I don't know. They could."
"You said Earth is the breeding ground for—for wild humans."
"Wild. Not like me," Les agreed. "Not slaves."
"Slave soldiers. Janissaries."
"I'm not a soldier," Les said. "But yes, that's as good a description as any."
"And you run the whole damned empire—"
"It's not an empire."
"Confederation. But humans run it. You have all the military power, but
you're still slaves. It doesn't make sense."
"Put that way, maybe not. But you don't have to make sense of it. Lay off,
Rick. Just lay off."
"Lay off. Look, I have to know. Are they going to bomb Earth? Us? Both?"
Les shook his head. "Rick, I don't know. I don't understand Federation
politics. Agzaral may know what's going on. He claims to. But he hasn't told
me."
"You haven't told me much, either," Rick said.
"I know. Look at it my way. It's all the Shalnuksis need, to find out Tran
natives are discussing Federation politics! They'd sure know who told you."
"How will they find out?"
"The next time one of their ships comes here they'll see changes. More water
mills. Your semaphore towers. They just might pick up some locals for
questioning. One of your mercs. You, even. They're pretty lazy. They
probably won't. But they could."
"Do they own this planet, then?"
"It's complicated," Les said. "The Commission has rules about dealing with
primitives, but they don't seem to apply to this place. Most records of Tran
have been lost. I expect the Shalnuksis paid plenty to lose them. There are
rules, my friend, but who'll enforce them?"
"Agzaral?"
"Maybe. If it's to his interest."
"What is his interest?"
Les shrugged and held his glass out to be refilled. "I do not know. He doesn't
tell me."
"But—"
"But I do as he says anyway," Les said. His voice fell and he grew more
serious. "Agzaral's all I've got. I think he's doing his best to look out for
humans. All humans, everywhere, and especially Earth. Think, hell. I don't
think it, I know it. He's doing his best. Whether that's good enough is another
story, but he is trying."
"Okay. But about the Shalnuksis—"
"They don't exactly own the planet, but you better act like they do. And if
Tran looks like it's about to spring an industrial and scientific revolution, the
Commission has some hard choices to make. They'd have to set up permanent
surveillance, with an inspector. Like Agzaral's operation on Earth's Moon.
That could be expensive. There'll be some to argue that it's cheaper and
simpler to blast Iran back to the Early Iron Age."
"Like they did before—"
"Like the Shalnuksis did before," Les corrected. "Two or three times before.
But that was their own work. If the Commission orders it, the bombardment
will be a lot more thorough."
"Will they do that?"
摘要：

JANISSARIESIII:STORMSOFVICTORYThisAceBookcontainsthecompletetextoftheoriginalhardcoveredition.Ithasbeencompletelyresetinatypefacedesignedforeasyreading,andwasprintedfromnewfilm.JANISSARIESIII:STORMSOFVICTORYAnAceBook/publishedbyarrangementwiththeauthorsPRINTINGHISTORYAcehardcoveredition/May1987Acema...

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