The Armageddon Inheritance

“But—”

“Spare me your comments, Comrade General,” Tsien said heavily. Especially since they are so close to my own doubts. I have a job to do, and you make it no easier. “We have two choices: comply, or be deprived of the poor weapons we still possess. It is possible they are honest, that this danger they speak of is real. If that is true, resistance would spell far worse for all of us than disarmament and occupation. If they are lying, then at least we may have the opportunity to observe their technology at first hand, possibly even to gain access to it ourselves.”

“But—”

“I will not repeat myself, Comrade General.” Tsien’s voice was suddenly soft, and Quang paled. “It is bad enough when junior officers question orders; I will not tolerate it in general officers. Is that clear, Comrade General?”

“I-It is,” Quang managed, and Tsien raised an eyebrow over one arctic eye. Quang swallowed. “Comrade Marshal,” he added quickly.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Tsien said more pleasantly, and walked towards the cutter once more. Quang followed silently, but the marshal could feel the man’s resentment and resistance. Quang and those like him, particularly those with a base in the Party, were dangerous. They were quite capable of doing something utterly stupid, and the marshal made a mental note to have Quang quietly reassigned to some less sensitive duty. Command of the air patrols and SAM bases covering the Sea of Japan, perhaps. That once prestigious post had become utterly meaningless, but it might take Quang a few months to realize it.

And in the meantime, Tsien could get on with what mattered. He did not know the American Hatcher who spoke for the … beings who had seized control of Earth, but he had met Chernikov. He was a Russian, and so, by definition, not to be trusted, but his professionalism had impressed Tsien almost against his will, and he seemed to respect Hatcher and the Englishman Amesbury. Perhaps Hatcher was truly sincere. Perhaps his offer of cooperation, of an equal share in this new, planet-wide military organization, was genuine. There had, after all, been fewer outrageous demands by his political masters in the “Planetary Council” than Tsien had feared. Perhaps that was a good sign.

It had better be. All he had said to Quang was correct; the military position made resistance hopeless. Yet that had been true before in Asia’s history, and if these Westerners meant to make effective use of Asia’s vast manpower, some of their new military technology must fall into Asian hands.

Tsien had used that argument with dozens of frightened, angry juniors, yet he was not certain he believed it, and it irritated him to be unsure whether his own doubts were rational or emotional. After so many years of enmity, it was difficult to think with cold logic about any proposal from the West, yet in his heart of hearts, he could not believe they were lying. The scope of their present advantage was too overwhelming. They were too anxious, too concerned over the approach of these “Achuultani,” for the threat to be an invention.

His waiting pilot saluted and allowed him to precede her into the cutter, then settled behind her controls. The small vehicle rose silently into the heavens, then darted away, climbing like a bullet and springing instantly forward at eight times the speed of sound. There was no sense of acceleration, yet Tsien felt another weight—the weight of inevitability—pressing down upon his soul. The wind of change was blowing, sweeping over all this world like a typhoon, and resistance would be a wall of straw before it. Whatever Quang and his ilk feared, whatever he himself thought, they must ride that wind or perish.

And at least China’s culture was ancient and there were two billion Chinese. If the promises of this Planetary Council were genuine, if all citizens were to enjoy equal access to wealth and opportunity, that fact alone would give his people tremendous influence.

He smiled to himself. Perhaps these glib Westerners had forgotten that China knew how to conquer invaders it could not defeat.

Chapter Three

Gerald Hatcher and his fellows rose courteously as Marshal Tsien entered the conference room, his shoulders straight and his face impassive. He was a big bastard for a Chinese, Hatcher reflected, taller even than Vassily, and broad enough to make two of Hatcher himself.

“Marshal,” he said, holding out his hand. Tsien took it with the briefest of hesitations, but his grip was firm. “Thank you for coming. Won’t you sit down, please?”

Tsien waited deliberately for his “hosts” to find seats first, then sat and laid his briefcase neatly on the table. Hatcher knew Frederick and Vassily were right in insisting that he, as the sole charter member of Earth’s new Supreme Chiefs of Staff with no prior co

“Marshal,” Hatcher said finally, “we asked you to meet us so that we could speak without the … pressure of a civilian presence—yours or ours. We won’t ask you to strike any ‘deals’ behind your leaders’ backs, but there are certain pragmatic realities we must all face. In that regard, we appreciate the difficulties of your position. We hope—” he looked levelly into the dark, unreadable eyes “—that you appreciate ours, as well.”

“I appreciate,” Tsien said, “that my government and others which it is pledged to defend have been issued an ultimatum.”

Hatcher hid a wince. The marshal’s precise, accentless English made his almost toneless words even more unpromising, but they also showed him the only possible approach, and he reached for it before prudence could change his mind.

“Very well, Marshal Tsien, I’ll accept your terminology. In fact, I agree with your interpretation.” He thought he saw a flicker of surprise and continued evenly. “But we’re military men. We know what can happen if that ultimatum is rejected, and, I hope, we’re also all realists enough to accept the truth, however unpalatable, and do our best to live with it.”

“Your pardon, General Hatcher,” Tsien said, “but your countries’ truth seems somewhat more palatable than that which you offer mine or our allies. Our Asian allies. I see here an American, a ConEuropean, a Russian—I do not see a Chinese, a Korean, an Indian, a Thai, a Cambodian, a Malaysian. I do not even see one of your own Japanese.” He shrugged eloquently.

“No, you don’t—yet,” Hatcher said quietly, and Tsien’s eyes sharpened. “However, General Tama, Chief of the Imperial Japanese Staff, will be joining us as soon as he can hand over his present duties. So will Vice Admiral Hawter of the Royal Australian Navy. It is our hope that you, too, will join us, and that you will nominate three additional members of this body.”

“Three?” Tsien frowned slightly. This was more than he had expected. It would mean four members from the Alliance against only five from the Western powers. But was it enough? He rubbed the table top with a thoughtful finger. “That is scarcely an equitable distribution in light of the populations involved, and yet …”

His voice trailed off, and Hatcher edged into the possible opening.

“If you will consider the nations the men I mentioned represent, I believe you’ll be forced to admit that the representation is not inequitable in light of the actual balance of military power.” He met Tsien’s eyes again, hoping the other could see the sincerity in his own. The marshal didn’t agree, but neither did he disagree, and Hatcher went on deliberately.

“I might also remind you, Marshal Tsien, that you do not and will not see any representative of the extreme Islamic blocs here, nor any First World hard-liners. You say we represent Western Powers, and so, by birth, we do. But we sit here as representatives of Fleet Captain Horus in his capacity as the Lieutenant Governor of Earth, and of the five men I’ve named, only Marshal Chernikov and General Tama—both of whom have long-standing personal and family co