and worked accordingly. Each part of the gun was bodily carried to the obstacle and “thrown” to two more N’Ran who waited at the top. Then it was dropped to two more on the far side.
And so it went, clever teamwork against brute force. The N’Ran moved ahead on the net lift, since the carrying N’Ran, without bothering to hand off their parts, simply swarmed up and over the net.
The Guards, on the other hand, went into the lead on the steel spider by uniquely levering the skeleton structure up and moving the cannon underneath it.
By the time the two teams staggered over the last obstacle and began putting the gun back together, the Guards team was clearly ahead by seconds.
The N’Ran barely had their cannon assembled when the Guards gun captain slammed the sight onto his gun and powder monkeys slotted the charge into the breech.
All that was needed for the Guards team to win was for the aiming stakes to be emplaced and the gun laid and then fired. Obviously this competition fired somewhat out of “real” sequence.
And then the N’Ran altered the rules. The gun captain ignored the sightstakes, etc., and bore-sighted the gun. He moved his head aside as the round was thrown home, then free-estimated elevation. The N’Ranya dove out of the way as their gun captain toggled off the round. It hit dead center in the target.
Protests were lodged, of course, but eventually the bookies grudgingly paid off on the N’Ranya champions.
At the same time, orders were circulated within the Guards Divisions that recruiters specializing in artillery would be advised to spend time on the N’Ranya worlds.
* * * *
Tanz Sullamora wasn’t happy with things, especially since his Patriotic Duty had just cost him a small bundle.
When he’d heard that for the first time ETs were to be permitted to compete in the cannon carry, he’d been appalled. He did not feel that it was good Imperial policy to allow nonhumanoids to be publicly humiliated on Empire Day.
His second shock was finding that Prime World betting was heavily on the N’Ranya. Patriotism required Sullamora to back the Guards team. It was not the loss of credits, Sullamora rationalized. It was that the contest had been unfair. The N’Ranya were jungle dwellers, predators just one step above cannibals. Of course they had an unfair advantage. Certainly they would be better at carrying heavy weights and so forth. The Emperor had better realize, Sullamora sulked, that while nonhumanoids were a necessary part of the Empire, they certainly should understand how far down the ladder of status they were.
Which inexorably brought to Sullamora’s mind where he was sitting. After all he’d done for the Empire, from charitable contributions to funding patriotic art to assisting the Court itself, why had he not been invited to the Imperial box for Empire Day? Or even assigned a box that was close to the Imperial stand, instead of being far down the first circle, almost in the second-class area?
The Emperor, Sullamora thought, was beginning to change, and change in a manner that, the merchant thought righteously, was indicative of the growing corruption of the Empire itself.
Tanz Sullamora was certainly not enjoying Empire Day.
* * * *
Of course, one major set piece was always planned for Empire Day. And, of course, each year it had to be bigger and better than the previous year’s.
Fortunately the current celebration didn’t have much to worry about. The previous year, the set piece had been assigned to the Eighth Guards Division, who planned to display the fighting prowess of the individual infantryman.
To that end, McLean units were taken off gravsleds, half powered, and lightened to the point that a unit could be hidden in one soldier’s combat rucksack. The end result — a flying man; flying sans suit or lifebelt.
In rehearsal it looked quite impressive.
The plan was for the Eighth Guards to pull one massive Swoop, with each soldier functioning as a cross between a tiny tacship and a crunchie.
The Eighth Guards, however, forgot to check on the weather. Prime World was windy. And the normal twenty-gusting-to-thirty winds that blew across the parade field were magnified by the enormous ground’s own weather effects. The end result was many, many grunts’ being blown into the stands in disarray — not bad for them, since many made valuable instant friends — some bruised egos and bodies in the second area of seating, and an enormous gust of laughter from the Emperor.
That gust of laughter blew the Eighth Guards to the Draconian Sector, where they were spending morose tours keeping that group of dissident pioneer worlds in something approaching coherence.
This year, it was Twelfth Guards’ turn in the barrel. And, after she spent considerable time in thought, the commanding General found a unique way to do a massive display. Laser blasts lanced into the arena and ricocheted from pre-positioned surfaces to bounce harmlessly into the atmosphere. Explosions roared and boomed. And then elements of the Twelfth Guards fought their way back into the arena.
The Emperor nodded approvingly; very seldom had he seen anybody schedule a fighting retreat for display.
Antennas went up, and signalmen began flashing. From over the horizon tacships snarled and realistically strafed the area just behind the parade ground.
Pickup ships snaked in as antiaircraft fire boomed around them (lighter-than-air balloons, painted non-reflective black and set with timed charges). The ships boiled in, grounded, and, in perfect discipline, the troops loaded aboard. The pickup ships cleared, hovered, and suddenly the air just above the parade ground hummed and boomed and echoes slammed across the field. Screams rose from the stands, and the Emperor himself almost went flat — then reseated himself, while wishing he could figure out how anybody could fake a maser cannon.
Then the stars darkened and two Hero-class battle-wagons drifted overhead, their kilometer-long bulks blackening the sky. Lasers raved from the two battleships, and missiles flamed from the ships’ ports. Eventually the “enemy ground fire” stopped, and the pickup ships arced up into the heavens and into the yawning bays of the battleships. Then the ships lifted vertically, Yukawa behind them, and suddenly vanished, sonic-booming up and out of Prime World’s atmosphere.
The crowd went nuts.
The Eternal Emperor poured himself a drink and decided that the Twelfth Guards would not go to Draconia.
* * * *
Godfrey Alain watched the battleships vanish overhead and shivered slightly. In his mind those same battleships were lifting away from the ruins of his own world. His private calculations showed that such an invasion was no more than a year away. Death in the name of peace, he thought.
Alain had faced Imperial Guardsmen before, both personally and strategically — he knew the might of the Empire. But, somehow, seeing those battleships and the smooth efficient lift of an entire division of 12,000 struck more immediately home.
And I’m the only one who’ll keep that invasion from happening. The Tahn will not do anything. My own people will just die. And my cause will be lost for generations to come.
Alain was not an egotist. All projections showed that he was the only one who could stop such an invasion.
Unfortunately, Godfrey Alain had less than twenty-four hours to live.
* * * *
Everyone loves clowns and acrobats. Almost a thousand of them filled the parade ground. Doing clown numbers:
A new group of “drunk soldiers” deciding to salute the Emperor, not knowing how to do it, and building toward a fight that built toward a pyramid display, with the “drunkest” man atop the pyramid saluting perfectly and then doing a dead-man topple to spin through three tucks and land perfectly on the balls of his feet.
Men in barrels, rolling about and narrowly avoiding destruction; tumblers, spinning for hundreds of meters on their hands;