The corridors on the way there had consisted of plain alloy with a transparent varnish that let the material’s true colors shine through. Nothing like the mosaics that had decorated their path towards their first meeting with the Special Snowflakes. And the room on the other side of the sliding door was nothing like the caveman’s dwelling they’d encountered the night before.
It looks just like the Kirosha Queen’s Lesser Courtroom. Make that exactly like it. A perfect replica.
The real chamber hadn’t been particularly impressive, except for what it represented. It was a surprisingly small square room dominated by a skylight in the ceiling designed to focus sunlight on an ornate throne in the center. There was no other furniture; courtiers and visitors didn’t rate chairs of their own. The walls had been decorated with woven tapestries depicting assorted scenes from Kirosha’s history, in a style reminiscent of Earth’s medieval Bayeux histories. The only difference was that the ones in this chamber depicted Marines shooting down crowds of helpless-looking natives, including women and children.
I’m glad Peter isn’t here. He wouldn’t take this well. The only military officer present, General Gage, had turned beet-red with barely-contained rage as soon as he recognized the scene.
To complete the tableau, the Courtroom was filled with courtiers and guards wearing the clothes and bodies of the natives of Jasper-Five. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn she was back on that planet, facing the absolute monarch who had eventually decided to make war on America. Only the Hierophant retained the shape he’d had for the party; the laughing Buddha looked conspicuously out of place sitting on the queen’s throne.
“Brings back some memories,” Rockwell added. “Pity none of them are any good.”
Heather nodded. The last time they’d been in the real chamber, they’d been forced to watch half a dozen people be tortured and then slaughtered, all the while knowing that they could share their fate at any moment. It had been one of the worst times of her life.
It’d also been the end of Javier Llewellyn’s career. The former ambassador was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best, since being in this room might have triggered a panic attack. Sec-State had decided not to make an issue of his disappearance or the other missing Americans, at least for the time being. A polite inquiry about their whereabouts had been met with vague assurances they were all ‘in good hands.’
“My American friends!” the Hierophant said once the delegation was in the chamber. “We are gathered here today to negotiate in good faith. I thought you might find these surroundings amusing, since they commemorate one of your recent victories over those weaker than yourselves.”
Secretary Goftalu was clearly none too happy to be there but she got down to business, even if it was becoming clear the Tah-Leen weren’t going to play ball.
“The United Stars of America is highly interested in maintaining friendly and mutually beneficial relations with the Tah-Leen Celebration of Special Uniqueness,” she began. “It is our sincerest hope that we will resolve the unfortunate situation that has led to the curtailment of trade through Xanadu System.”
“We said we would consider making changes to our policies if we found you worthy of our favor,” the Hierophant said. “You are going to have to work for that honor.”
The Tah-Leen leader wasn’t using the traditional phrases of Starfarer diplomacy, which were unsurprisingly similar to those used by pre-Contact Earth. Diplomacy was always about avoiding the appearance of hostility. You didn’t want to sound overtly threatening unless the time for talking was coming to an end. Those rules had existed for millions of years, and the fact the Tah-Leen were disregarding them was an ominous sign.
“The Celebration shall decide if you deserve our special attention. I must warn you: it will not be easy to sway us. We find a deplorable level of sameness among most Starfarers, I’m afraid. The True Individuals find it hard to tell you apart, to be frank. But maybe you can persuade us to view you in a more favorable light.”
“My country wishes to hear what terms you would find agreeable to facilitate that outcome,” Sec-State replied. Heather could see the diplomat was growing impatient.
“And there, as you say, lies the rub. Words are empty. The Unique Multitude wants to see what you Americans are made of. Also, since our decision would affect many species, we decided to invite another interested party to this gathering.”
One of the walls in the chamber slid up into the ceiling, revealing a room on the other side.
Well, we knew they were here, Heather thought. We just didn’t expect them to be this close.
They were looking at another replica of the Kirosha Lesser Courtroom. There were a few key differences, however. First, it was slightly darker, most likely because it was calibrated for the guests inside, who were more sensitive to bright light than humans. There was also the telltale shimmering of an atmosphere static field, keeping the mutually-poisonous air mixtures in each section separate from one another. The Priestess, still looking like Helena but wearing the Kirosha Queen’s robes of office, sat at the other throne instead of the Hierophant. And, most importantly, the second room held a couple dozen Lhan Arkh aliens, better known in the US as the Lampreys.
Lampreys had six limbs: a set of long arms ending in three clawed fingers, good for gripping and climbing, a second much smaller pair of appendages, usually held closely to the torso and terminating in six fine manipulator digits, and two stubby legs capable of short bursts of speed. Thick leathery skin in slick shades ranging from dark brown to light purple completed the ensemble. All of which was vile-looking enough to humanoid sensibilities, but it was their ‘heads’ that earned them their nickname as well as the near-universal revulsion of even other Class One species.
There was no visible brain-case; their cerebrum equivalent was somewhere inside the torso; instead, a feeding tube extended up from between its shoulders. The tube was some eight to ten inches thick and two feet long, ending in a sphincter-like mouth, a jawless puckered circle. When it was open, it revealed multiple concentric rows of serrated teeth lining its interior. The Lhan Arkh subsisted mostly by draining animals and plants of their fluids and eating solids more rarely. Flesh and pulp was bitten into small chunks which were ground into paste as they made their way down their gullets. Two eye-stalks protruded from the sides of the tubular ‘head,’ each able to focus on a different place; there were no visible ear equivalents, although their hearing was only slightly below the human range.
The species had many unflattering nicknames – Fang-Faces, Ass-Talkers, and dozens of equivalents in most Starfarer languages. On Jasper-Five, a lone Lamprey agent had incited the native Kirosha against the US. They’d found the alien so repulsive they couldn’t be in the same room with it unless its body was hidden under voluminous robes and hoods. When the locals finally turned against it, they’d sent its ‘head’ to the US Embassy, the sphincter-mouth locked in an open ‘O’ that looked terminally surprised. That was usually how you could tell a dead Lamprey from a live one; its mouth only froze in that position upon death. The Lhan Arkh’s maws were always in motion, their constant distending and puckering serving as a form of communication similar to gesturing with one’s hands. Most species found the expressions nauseating.
They could have been the nicest guys in the galaxy, and we’d probably have despised them anyway, Heather thought. There was too much otherness there, too many things that triggered instinctual revulsion.
In any case. the Lampreys were many things, but nobody would ever accuse them of being nice or kind. They were leeches in every sense of the word. Their entire system was predicated on the exploitation of the weak, although they dressed it up with such terms as ‘communal justice’ and the ‘people’s dictatorship.’ Except the people dictated precious little and a small ruling caste – the so-called Syndics, the ‘People’s Representatives and Advocates’ – made most of the decisions for everyone in the community. All for their own good, of c
ourse. Most Lampreys lived out their lives in a highly-regulated state of serfdom, their status determined from birth by assorted Committees. From each according to their rank, to each according to their rank, and wasn’t it nice to be on top?.
The Syndics had devolved into a hereditary aristocracy long ago, disguised under a thin patina of meritocracy. Sure, one could advance beyond its allotted rank, if one could attend certain schools, gather enough certifications, and impress one’s superiors, but those schools, certifications and superiors’ reports were set up so that the spawn of the Syndics had every advantage.
As harshly as they treated each other, the Lhan Arkh’s dealings with other species were even worse. The Lampreys were biological supremacists that considered the other three classes in the galaxy to be anathema and fit only for destruction. The few client species they hadn’t destroyed outright (all Class One, naturally) had been exploited ruthlessly. Only the Snakes had managed to thrive under their rule, at least until they struck out on their own and began their disastrous war against humanity. The genocidal revenge America had exacted on the Snakes was something the Lampreys would never forgive or forget. The Tripartite Galactic Alliance had been organized by the Lhan Arkh, although a faction of quasi-religious fanatics within the Imperium had been eager accomplices.
The aliens didn’t use clothing but wore a combination of implanted jewelry and body harnesses originally developed to carry tools and weapons. One could determinate a Lamprey’s status by the quality of those accouterments. Heather quickly spotted the leader of the enemy’s delegation, a Third Class Syndic, high-ranking but not quite on the same level as the American Secretary of State. It was accompanied by its staff, several prole servants and a handful of soldiers wearing the distinctive combat harnesses of the Popular Spaceborne Front, the Lhan Arkh’s equivalent to the Marine Corps.
There was a barely perceptive hum in the air around Secretary Goftalu as her protective detail turned her force fields on and formed a ring around their principal, activating their own shields in the process. The lightweight devices were as effective as the ones combat infantrymen wore, and about fifty times as expensive. Nobody had drawn their weapons yet, but the DS agents’ hands were hovering near theirs holsters.
“Please refrain from acting like barbarians,” the Hierophant said; the contempt in his tone was in sharp contrast to his former friendliness. “We are here to talk. There will be plenty of time for bloodletting later.”
“We are in a state of war against the Lhan Arkh Congress,” the Secretary said. “We view this unannounced meeting with serious concern.”
When diplomats used words like ‘serious concern,’ things were getting pretty close to devolving into volleys of gunfire. ‘Grave concern’ meant fleets were already sailing into harm’s way.
“To have a pack of hairless apes sharing our air is an insult,” the Lamprey Syndic said. The Tah-Leen systems translated its words into English and piped them into everyone’s imps.
“Nonsense, my dear Boosha” the Priestess told the Syndic from the other side of the room. “For one, you are most certainly not sharing the same air. For another, you both want something from us. It is only fair to hear you out at the same time.”
“America is a threat to the security and stability of galactic civilization,” Syndic Boosha said without missing a beat. “The peace-loving Lhan Arkh Congress and People ask for your help in stamping out this plague upon the stars, so that order may be restored and all civilized sophonts be allowed to live in harmony.”
“The treachery of the Lhan Arkh is well-known throughout the galaxy,” Secretary Goftalu broke in. “They attacked our nation without any provocation, or even a formal declaration of war. The Congress and People’s actions are hardly civilized, and their untrustworthiness is clearly manifest. It would be in Xanadu’s best interests to deny them access to your system.”
“We could be here all day while you two repeat the same thing over and over, using slightly different words,” the Hierophant said. Both Goftalu and her Lamprey counterpart tried to respond, but nobody heard their words; the Snowflake leader had somehow muted them. “As I said earlier, the Community of the Unique prefers actions over words.
“In order to determine your worthiness, we will have you demonstrate your battle prowess. We will conduct a simulated engagement between the company of Marines you Americans brought along, and a Lhan Arkh Combat Nest, which is roughly equivalent in numbers and fighting power. Each of you will bring your warriors to us in twenty-three hours. You will show off your skill in bloodless mock battle. If you prove entertaining and heroic enough, we will consider granting your requests. To the winner go the spoils.
“This audience is at an end. You are free to go.”
* * *
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” First Sergeant Goldberg said. The rest of the gathered officers and non-coms followed up with even more colorful comments.
“Silence in the damn ranks!” Fromm shouted. “I don’t like this any more than any of you,” he went on in the sullen quiet that followed. “But those are the orders we’ve been given.”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Berry of Second Platoon said. “Running an FTX with someone we’re at war with… The troops are going to go apeshit. Some of my boys joined up specifically to kill themselves some Lampreys.”
“I’ve lost people to the Lampreys, Lieutenant,” Fromm said. “Believe me when I say nothing would give me greater pleasure than to wipe them out. But our hosts, as it turns out, are insane, at least from a human perspective. We’re dealing with lunatics holding an impregnable position. They can pick and choose who uses this warp nexus.
“If we lose, the Tah-Leen may let the enemy through their system, which will let them arrive at our doorstep. That means another border we’ll have to defend, without any way to strike back even if we beat them off. We’re already spread very thin as it is. On the other hand, if we win and they open their warp lines to us, we can take the Lampreys from behind, and link directly with the Puppies. That might convince them to go all in, as opposed to the half-assed way they’ve been helping us so far. This could be a turning point in the war. Think about it.”
To their credit, they did, even hotheads like Berry. For several moments, they considered his words in silence.
“It’s going to be tough,” First Sergeant Goldberg said. “But we can make sure everyone knows the score. Only thing is, what if the Lampreys try to cheat? Don’t want to go out there loaded up with blue rounds and end up catching real laser beams.”
“We’ll have all our force fields running at full strength,” Fromm explained. “I know that during a field exercise we normally have them on low power to save a few bucks, but this isn’t a normal FTX. As for weapons, we’ll bring along a basic combat load of live ammo, under the control of our platoons’ officers and NCOs. In other words, those basic loads will be on your backs at the beginning of the operation, and you will supervise them closely. Don’t worry, the rest of the enlisted are also going to lug a lot of extra gear as well. I’ll explain that in a moment.
“Moving on.” A virtual map appeared in front of everyone’s eyes, depicting what might once have been a city, now consisting of roofless, burned-out buildings and the occasional craters that marked spots where a ground-bursting shell had struck. Most of the war-wracked ruins were clustered on and around a shallow hill, with a maximum elevation of seventy meters. A large river ran on a rough north by northeast axis on the eastern side of the hill. Heavy woods covered much of the western edge.
“This is our area of operations. It’s a compartment inside the station, but as you can see it’s large enough to accommodate a company-level action with room to spare. Our objective is to seize the ruins at the top of the hill and destroy the enemy. Winner is the last man standing on the hill, basically. Our line of departure is marked in green, on the southern edge of the map, about two klicks away from the objective. The enemy will deploy on the opposite side; their estimated st
rength is a company equivalent.”
The known data on Lamprey land units scrolled down, projected into everyone’s imps as well as displayed on the central screen of the briefing room.
“A Lamprey Combat Nest is comprised of ninety-three infantrymen and twelve Battle Bugs. The latter are roughly equivalent to our Hellcats; more armor, less speed. Add ten ‘Decurion’ non-com equivalents and two ‘Centurion’ officers, the unit’s commander and XO. That brings its total size to a hundred and seventeen. We are at our full TOE strength of one-sixty-seven personnel, so we outnumber them by a considerable margin. Even worse for them, Lampreys don’t have company-level mortars or dedicated heavy-weapon units. That is good news. I’ve been on the receiving end of their heavy ordnance, at Astarte-Three, and it’s no joke. Worse than the Vipers.”
That made them sit up. Most of the combat vets in the unit had faced the Vipers and acquired a healthy respect for the aliens. Anything worse had to be downright hellish. Fromm only wished he was exaggerating.
“On the negative side of the ledger, this particular Combat Nest is part of the Third PSF Phalanx, also known as the ‘People’s Immortals.’ To qualify for membership, troops must have served for a minimum of fifty-odd years in other combat units. The cream of the crop, in other words, well-equipped and trained, used for the toughest assignments. The Lamprey in charge apparently thought bringing in an elite force would impress the Tah-Leen. So we’re up against their varsity team. Their standard-issue weapon is a combat laser, slightly inferior to what the Vipers have, but plenty good enough to punch through personal shields and body armor. Heavy weapons include anti-tank missiles, crew-served lasers plasma cannon mounted by the Battle Bugs, and self-propelled grenades. Most of the lessons we learned at Parthenon-Three apply here.”
He let his words sink in for a few moments before continuing:
“Overall, however, the Fang-Faces don’t conduct a lot of land operations, and most of those consist of mop-up missions and kill sweeps in the aftermath of a genocide bombing run. Even those elite troops haven’t done a lot of fighting against Starfarer enemies. They may also be overconfident, but we will assume they have bothered to read the after-action reports of our previous engagements with them and other ETs.
Warp Marine Corps- The Complete Series Page 76
