Birthright

fleet. And, too, there were the other warlords, who in the beginning would probably cause him even

more trouble than the Navy. Once, years ago, he had arranged a meeting between them in the hope of presenting a united military front to the Oligarchy, but nothing had come of it. Their vision was too small, too short-sighted. They merely wanted a piece of the action; he wanted it all. He had started out with nothing but forty-three followers and one ship. Two years of piracy had increased his personal navy to seventeen ships and more than six thousand men. Piracy was lucrative, and he could easily have continued such an existence indefinitely, but his dreams were grander than the accumulation of mere wealth; and to his gnawing hunger for power he added a shrewd military mind and a forcefulness of character that commanded instant, unquestioning obedience. It was after his first successful clash with the Navy that he began to think in terms of conquest rather than mere looting. True, the odds had all favored his side, but that was inconsequential; it was the first time the Navy had lost even a minor skirmish in more than three centuries, and it shattered the myth of invincibility that had grown up about the forces of the Oligarchy. He next staked out a small area well out on the galactic Rim. Its boundaries encompassed 376 stars which included some 550 planets, about 35 of them inhabited. He allowed himself half a year to become the total master of the area, and beat his self-imposed deadline with more than a month to spare. From there his empire expanded, always on the Rim, always far from the supply bases of the Oligarchic Navy. He avoided any confrontation with the Navy for almost five years, moving slowly, carefully, securing each new addition before moving out once again. Other would-be warlords learned from his successes, and soon they, too, were staking out territorial claims. Some of them, giddy with power, moved too soon against the Navy and were demolished; others tried to pry loose some of Grath's possessions, with a similar lack of success. Grath always executed the leaders; those underlings who were willing to join him were assimilated into his ranks, and those with exceptional abilities were given better treatment than they had known under their former commanders. At last it was economics that forced him to move against the Oligarchy. He had almost five million men to feed, and was acutely aware of the increased rate of defections among those soldiers stationed on the habitable planets in his domain. The Rim had been all but taken, and no single system, or group of systems, could stand up to his military might. There had been one surrender after another, and his men had grown bored with these bloodless victories. He felt they needed to have a purpose once again, and the only goal remaining that could fire their imaginations and appeal to their lust was the Oligarchy itself. He took his eyes from the stars and turned back to his associates, who were awaiting his orders. “Gentlemen,” he said, “the first blow must be a telling one. To attack a poorly-manned outpost or a small convoy of Navy ships would offer no test to our strength, and would probably not even cause a ripple of concern on Deluros.”

“And what's wrong with having Deluros slumber on while we go for its throat?” asked one of his subcommanders.

“Because, ironic as it seems,” said Grath, “a slumbering Deluros is impregnable. The only way we can get within striking distance is to lure the Navy out from the core of the Oligarchy. If they fear us, if they mobilize the bulk of their forces, then we've got a chance. The trick is never to let them know our true size and strength, to make them nervous enough to seek us out but not smart enough to realize that we've got almost half a million ships.”