Carnifex

5/8/469 AC, UEPF Spirit of Peace

It was only partly the playmates the fleet could make available to her in essentially unlimited numbers , and without any wagging tongues, that had kept Lucretia Arbeit, Marchioness of Amnesty and Inspector General of the UEPF, from going back home to Earth. Far more important was that this was exciting, as nothing on Old Earth could be exciting anymore, while still being safe. Oh, yes, the continuous pressure of the barbarians from the reverted areas could be exciting, but that was decidedly unsafe. (And even the gladiatorial combats that the Duke of the International Solidarity Movement staged, for special occasions, grew dull after a while.)

Arbeit, after all, was a Domme, not a sub. And the barbs back home had some odd and unpleasant ceremonies they were said to engage in whenever they got a representative from the Consensus in their hands.

No, no, she thought, sitting on a couch in High Admiral Martin Robinson's quarters. Much better here. Much safer here.

The ship wherein Arbeit sat orbited peacefully, from below looking like nothing more than a silvery crescent in the shadow cast by Terra Nova and the local sun. Inside it was not so peaceful, however.

"You're not seriously going to give those maniacs nukes, are you, Martin?"

Wallenstein, the speaker, was agitated and plainly upset. She'd gone along so far for the possibility of jumping a step in caste among the elite of Old Earth. She'd been willing to overlook a lot—even to do quite a lot, frankly—to advance that worthy goal. Turning nuclear weapons over to religious fanatics was pushing the boundary of cooperation and aid. Even the months that had passed since Robinson first broached the idea had not made it a bit more comfortable or acceptable.

"I don't see what has you upset, Marguerite," Robinson answered calmly, turning away from his computer monitor. "We've shunted the Salafis money, arranged for arms and explosives, used our contacts and supporters down below to serve as hostages to get more Salafis freed and to shunt them even more money. Nukes are just a matter of scale and degree."

"No they're not just a matter of scale or degree. Nukes kill whole cities! " she practically screamed. "Don't you realize the Feds down below will fucking nuke us to gas if one of their cities goes up in a mushroom cloud?"

That got Arbeit's attention.

Ignoring the sudden look of concern on Arbeit's face, Robinson shrugged. "I considered that, of course, my dear. But these will be Volgan, Hangkuk, and Kashmiri, hence not traceable to us. So . . . what difference?"

"Millions of dead people," she insisted. "Millions! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"If you will the end, Marguerite, you will the means. Would you rather millions of dead barbarians and lowers here or millions of dead elites back on Earth?"

Now it was the High Admiral's turn to become heated. "You've seen the projections yourself, Captain. In one hundred years the barbarians below will be beyond control. In one hundred years this fleet will have fallen apart around us. For the sake of the Holy Office of the Secretary General don't you realize why I had to buy local nukes? Ours can't even be relied on anymore. Like this damned ship, like this damned fleet. It's all coming apart and it isn't going to get any better. Ever! We break the independent nations down there to our ways or they come out and break us."

"Just picture it, Marguerite: their soldiers marching through the Louvre, and our own proles pointing out the more valuable artworks for them. Our class reduced to servitude. Earth groaning once again under an unsustainable population and the proles put in charge."

"But nukes?"

The Marchioness of Amnesty interrupted. "Marguerite, it has to be nukes. Martin is right; Mustafa and the Salafis are losing, slowly but surely. I've seen enough to know that. They need to hit back. We need them to hit back to break the will of the Federated States and its allies. Once that is done the local World League can become a real government just like the UN did back home. Then the Columbians, the Anglians and even the stinking Balboans will slowly but surely be forced into the fold. With the World League running Terra Nova and ourselves running the World League their population can be cropped, their industry and scientific base can be crippled. Their foolish insistence on popular rule can be thwarted. Most importantly, they can be disarmed. It has to be nukes . . . the Salafi have no other hope . . . and we have no hope but them."

"That's one possibility, Lucretia," Robinson said. "It's also possible, and for us much better, that the Salafis should dominate the planet."

Arbeit shrugged. To her, it really didn't matter.

"When?" Wallenstein asked, weakly.

"A couple of weeks," Robinson answered. "The Salafis are making a place where we can shelter a shuttle for the delivery. Making it by hand, as a matter of fact, the yokels," Robinson sneered. "They'll all be better off once we're in charge. Only the Class Ones have the wisdom to run a world properly, let alone two of them."

Reminded, she began to ask, hesitantly, "Have you . . . "

"Have I put you up for Class One yet?"

"Yes, that."

"Of course. Speaking of which, Marguerite, I'll want you personally to see to my security down there." Robinson smiled and continued, "In the interim, I have other uses for you. Get your uniform off and get on all fours."

"And get your lovely head over here," Arbeit ordered, sliding her posterior toward the edge of her seat.

* * *

Afterwards, Wallenstein lay on her side in the High Admiral's bed, sandwiched between the two of them. She kept two knuckles in her mouth on which she bit down. Normally, Robinson was content to use her mouth or vagina. This time he'd wanted her ass and it had hurt. It still hurt.

It will all be worth it, she consoled herself, when he and Lucretia sponsor me for Class One. Everything will be worth it then. All the perks . . . all the lower castes having to kowtow to me rather than me to the high caste. The best living arrangements. Servants. Proles to use as I've been used all my life. Respect.

Arbeit slept silently. The High Admiral snored. He'd fallen asleep as soon as he'd finished using her body, she thought, but the snore meant he was truly asleep. Still naked, she gently slithered out from between them and over to the computer the High Admiral had inadvertently left running while he'd turned his attention to her.

Must see how their recommendation reads.

A captain had access to everything in his or her ship's computer files, ordinarily. She knew the Admiral had sequestered some files concerning the operations to influence the planet below. Hopefully he would not have thought to sequester the report on her.

She typed carefully, quietly. There it was, in the recent files section, a report labeled "Wallenstein." She pulled up the file and began to read.

As an officer Marguerite Wallenstein is adequate, but no more than that, she read. Skipping ahead, feeling nauseous, she saw further, While she has a obsession with reaching Class One status, nothing in her background and breeding suggests she would be a suitable candidate. She has too many lower caste and even prole attitudes to entrust any portion of the direction of a world to her marginal capabilities. On the plus side, she uses her mouth well and will gladly and even eagerly do anything in bed her superiors direct her to do. I earnestly recommend a tour as military aid to a high ranking Class One, male or female as the captain does not discriminate, followed by retirement as soon as she becomes tiresome.

The report was countersigned by the IG, Arbeit.

Feeling wounded, as near to raped as she ever had in her life, Wallenstein returned to bed.

* * *

By the next morning Wallenstein had herself under full control. She awakened before either of her partners from the night before, then showered, dressed, and went to her own cabin prior to ascending to the bridge. On the bridge she took the morning report and gave a few orders to the bridge crew. After that, she turned control over to her executive officer and withdrew to her day cabin.

When Robinson showed up, she greeted him with her usual sweet smile and said, "I have had a complete sensor search done of the Salafi base area and there is nothing unusual to report, Martin. I've also put your personal shuttle into maintenance to make sure it is ready."

This was all true. It was even the whole truth . . . so far.