by Tim C Taylor
Cautiously, she peered over the top, and what she saw sent a chill down her spine.
— Chapter 08 —
The Queen was so stunned by the Listener Prime’s accusation that it took a long, frozen moment before she noticed the hesitation of the guards. They knew instinctively what her mind was too horrified to acknowledge. A coup was playing out in front of their eyes.
If she did not fight back, she would be dead by nightfall.
“How dare you?” She raised her head high and glared at the priest. “What gives you the right to speak in such a way that you swipe your tail across centuries of etiquette?”
“The truth,” thundered the Listener Prime. “Truth gives me the right.”
He turned to the commander of the guard detachment. “Decurion, bring up a live satellite feed of Black Island. Let us witness with our own eyes the slaughter that is underway.”
The Decurion looked at her Queen for confirmation.
“Your slander can wait,” said the Queen to the priest. “Decurion, in my name, order all available rapid response units to Black Island. Only once they have reported shall you bring us visual confirmation of what has transpired there.”
“I have already ordered response teams to the island,” said the priest in a tone of utter contempt. “Unlike you, my priorities are never in question. The will of the gods comes first. The well-being of the people second. By comparison, my own ambitions are as ephemeral as a crashing wave.”
The Decurion spoke into the comm jewel in her collar, then reported, “I can confirm rapid response units are on their way. I have commanded that two surveillance satellites and one stratosphere balloon target Black Island. The first will come on stream in approximately two minutes.”
Three of the audience chamber’s wall murals now revealed themselves to be display screens. They showed transmission metadata but no pictures, not while the equipment acquired its new target.
The Queen returned to the prone position on her throne. Outwardly serene, in fact she was attempting to contact allies outside the chamber to fight the coup. But she could not; her transmissions were being jammed.
She glanced at her guards, trying to weigh their loyalties. If she ordered them to arrest the priest, would they obey? It was impossible to say for certain.
The priest must have arrived at the same conclusion, or he would have ordered her arrest. The very idea made her quiver with outrage, but she kept her outward composure.
There was nothing to be done but wait.
The pictures from Black Island would determine her fate.
— Chapter 09 —
Below her position at the crest of the dune, Xin saw children, Littorane young. A hundred or more at a quick estimate, huddled together, corralled by nine adults who hemmed them in on all sides.
The children were fascinating, similar to the adults but underdeveloped, and not just because they were smaller: the tail was little more than a stub, and if the gills were present at all they were far less prominent.
The children were responsible for the noise she had heard. They were whimpering, softly. No words as far as Xin could tell, just an inchoate sound. She guessed it was something instinctive, pitched to stimulate paternal or maternal responses in adult Littoranes. If so, it wasn’t working. The briefing on Beowulf had said the young were raised on land to keep them safe from ocean predators, but that had only made them targets for adults of their own kind.
All this Xin took in at a glance. It was the adults who commanded her attention. They were dressed similarly to the priest that had led them to be gassed – which she guessed settled their allegiance – and, more importantly, they were armed. Each carried a gun identical to her own.
So that was the plan. A massacre to mirror past atrocities, with her unit framed as the culprits. And by the look of things she had arrived in the nick of time. The adults were clearly in position and were raising their guns; not with any confidence, it had to be said, but with clear intent.
Where the Littoranes hesitated, Xin acted.
Setting the gun for single round fire – the last thing she needed was any collateral damage – she sighted and squeezed the trigger.
The first adult went down. Whatever these Littoranes might be, they weren’t soldiers. Rather than diving for cover at the sound of gunfire or seeking to acquire a target, they froze, as if unable to work out what was going on, perhaps even wondering which of them had fired prematurely. That suited her just fine. The second was dead before the others even thought to react. Unfortunately, that provided the stimulus they needed, and her third shot only wounded its target as the adults took cover.
Xin had deliberately taken out those on the far side of the children first, but there were now two armed adults – admittedly one of them wounded – who were in effect using the youngsters as a shield. For their part, the children hadn’t moved; if anything, they huddled closer together. Xin cursed. She could really do with them running in every direction and leaving the Littoranes exposed. Pack instinct, she supposed, the reliance on statistics as a defense. Useful against an individual predator, not so much against enemies armed with automatic weapons.
Xin switched tactics, shooting the adult closest to her. Three dead. The others, though, they were finding their range. Bullets thumped into the sand in front of her and whistled over her head. She ducked down behind the lip of the dune and rolled, moving across to come up in a different position, only to find that her enemies were on the move too. Not so stupid after all. The survivors were all scampering around to the far side of the clustered youngsters. Either she was going to have to accept casualties among the children – which sort of defeated the object – or she would have to try and outflank the adults; not the easiest of maneuvers with a force of one.
She winged another before they made it all the way round, but that was her last clear shot.
At least no one had started shooting at the kids yet.
By her estimate, five of the fish-faced bastards were still shooting at her, and they were getting the hang of this at last. Automatic fire stitched a line across the fine sand, sending her ducking down behind the rise again. She scampered along to get a new angle, pushed herself upward, conscious that the shooting hadn’t stopped, if anything it had intensified. What she saw when she peered over the lip caused her to whoop with joy. Three Wolves were advancing on the Littoranes from her right, her Wolves, firing as they went.
“Soldiers, keep to single round fire,” she yelled. “Don’t harm the children!” The last thing they needed was half the kids wiped out in order to get at the adults.
“They know what they’re doing,” said a voice from behind her. Xin whipped around to see Janna clambering up the dune toward her, the rest of the unit following. “As do I.”
Janna came to the top of the rise, taking up a semi-kneeling position, right foot planted in front, knee bent, left knee behind and on the ground. She sighted in one fluid motion and commenced shooting: single rounds but rapid fire. Looking back towards the Littoranes, Xin saw that the surviving adults, three of them, were retreating in the face of the Wolves’ advance, leaving the shelter of the children and exposing themselves to fire from the ridge. Janna had already accounted for one, but Xin wasn’t content to let her take all the glory. She joined in, and between them they took down the last two adults in seconds. The other Wolves, those who were only armed with combat blades, had joined them on the crest of the ridge and were cheering as the last Littorane fell.
“And none of the children harmed,” Janna said. “Well, almost none…” One of the children to the left of the group was lying on its side and wailing, nursing an injured arm which presumably had taken a stray bullet, but none of the others appeared to be any the worse for wear.
Janna grinned, but then winced, rubbing at the livid mark Xin had slapped into her face. “I reckon we can count that a result… Ma’am.”
— Chapter 10 —
One of the screens at the rear of the palace
audience chamber came to life. Arun held his breath. The display showed a sandy hollow half-ringed by dunes that housed a huddle of what must surely be Littorane children. They were smaller and their limbs more like legs and less like flippers. They made keening noises and, while evidently terrified, they appeared mostly uninjured.
He breathed again.
What had he expected? Children’s heads on spikes held aloft by gloating Wolves?
He wouldn’t put it past them. Not after the way they’d gutted Hortez without batting an eyelid.
What was that beside the children? The camera zoomed on the fresh corpse of an adult Littorane.
Then another screen came online. A blur quickly resolved into footage of a Wolf. And not just any Wolf but the one who had won his affections: Janna.
She was holding a gun, and she looked ready to fire. Eager, even.
Where did she get the weapon? He’d never seen such a model. More to the point, what was she doing with it?
All the screens blanked out.
“What did we just see?” asked the Queen.
She had barely whispered, speaking to herself Arun guessed, but the translator she was wearing picked up on the words, stripping them of all emotion.
The high priest had heard too.
“I’ll tell you what you saw,” said the Listener Prime. “This was an atrocity about to unfold. We should be grateful that we lost the transmission when we did.”
“But you said it had already occurred,” said Arun. Del-Marie was gesturing for him to shut up. He carried on anyway. “You knew what was going to happen, in advance.”
“Insolent alien,” shouted the priest. “Your death will be slow.”
“Perhaps,” said the Queen, “but if anyone is to be put to death, it shall be at my command. The human’s words are accurate.”
The Listener Prime glanced at the Decurion for support. He was about to reply to his Queen, but before he could a new voice came out of the screens. A human voice. More or less.
“Major,” said Finfth, sounding immensely pleased with himself. “Tizer and I thought something didn’t smell right, what with all the paramilitary movements and weapons discharges. So when we saw surveillance assets redeploying to the same location, we hacked into them.”
“Guess what we found?” added Tizer, another of Beowulf’s specials.
Del-Marie rose to his feet. “Spacer Food-Synthesizer. This is a diplomatic mission, not an off-duty drinking bout. Speak plainly.”
“If you insist,” answered Finfth. Arun had to hide a smirk when he heard the Navy special’s wounded sniff. “We found the surveillance assets were being blocked by someone on the ground… So we unblocked them.”
All three screens flickered back to life, showing the island. The children were still there and still alive. Human Wolf-berserkers were moving amongst them. What were they doing?
As if hearing Arun’s thoughts, a camera zoomed into the huddle of children. The humans were offering them comfort, the Littorane young clustering around the Wolves because they saw the humans as pillars of reassurance and protection.
The other two cameras showed Xin taking charge, sending out perimeter guards and supervising the examination of equipment seized from the spread of dead Littorane adults.
“Deceiver!” The Queen hissed at the Listener Prime. “You would murder our children to seize power for yourself! What kind of a monster are you?”
“It is a lie,” retorted the high priest. “The humans have fabricated these images.”
“I doubt that,” said the Queen with more composure. “But we shall soon see. The rapid response teams will discover the truth of it. Can you assure me they will report that the humans have slaughtered the children after all?”
For once, the priest had no reply. He flicked a glance toward the room’s great stone doors.
“I didn’t think so,” said the Queen. “Arrest him!”
As the guards rushed to obey, Arun seized the moment. He approached the Queen with his head slightly bowed.
“Your Highness, I trust that something positive can come of your priest’s terrible deceit. Humans are your friends and allies, not your nightmares. I hope you have learned today that you can trust us.”
Arun raised his head and looked into the Queen’s eyes. They appeared disarmingly human, but he could only guess at how the mind behind them operated.
“No,” she replied. “I have learned today that in an uncertain galaxy I need to win my people every available advantage. And I desire your zero-point weapon. I have restricted the connection to your ship so that they can no longer hear us. When I restore voice contact, you will order them to receive Littorane shuttles bearing my military advisers.”
“Beowulf is a proud military vessel,” said Arun. “Do you really expect me to hand it over without a fight?”
Del gripped Arun’s shoulder. “Choose your words with more care,” he hissed. Then he turned and bowed to the Queen. “What the Major means is that there must be a less provocative way to proceed.”
“I know what your Major means,” said the Queen. “I regret my actions. Not least because my patron goddess, Idrezjine-Koobe, Queen of Gods, will be disgusted by my dishonor. I will no longer be worthy of swimming in her heavenly shoal when it is time for my soul to ascend. But I am a ruler, and a ruler’s burden can be crushing in life and in death. You humans here and on Black Island are hostages. And if your starship does not accept my boarding parties I shall have it destroyed. Do not waste our time with protests of your martial prowess. You have a lone fourth-rate ship with a single weapon of power. I have the military assets of an entire civilization at my command, orbital defense batteries, three dozen ships of the line, and ten flotillas of system defense boats. Major Arun McEwan, order your ship to surrender.”
“It’s okay,” Arun told Del. It was too, in a way. The Queen had forced his hand, which meant he had no more decisions to make. But he still had a part to play. Turning to the screens, he said, “Finfth, can you still hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Major.”
“Please patch me through to Commodore Indiya.”
Finfth hesitated as Tizer whispered something to him that Arun couldn’t make out. Good. The Navy specials were about the least martial people Arun had ever served alongside, but between them, the pair had remembered that by referring to Indiya with the wrong rank, Arun was giving them the coded message to flee.
“The, ah, Commodore is asleep,” Finfth replied. “The XO is officer of the deck.”
“Very well. Patch me through to the XO.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
In the CIC command chair, Loobie looked resplendent in her black Lieutenant-Commander’s uniform. Her face was the epitome of calm professionalism. Only in the corner of her eyes could Arun see a flare of suppressed panic.
“Lieutenant-Commander, our negotiations are going well. The Littoranes wish to land several shuttles on Beowulf. There will be armed troops on the shuttles. You are to allow them to take control of the ship, so that they can defend it against rebellious factions who are trying to stage a coup. We can’t take the chance that these plotters will appropriate the ship.”
“Understood, Major.”
Arun opened his eyes wide and tried to warn Loobie using only frowns and jerks of his head that a figure behind her was donning his maneuver suit in partial view of the camera. It was a Marine. Hecht, the great lunk.
Loobie took the hint and rose from her chair, blocking the view of CIC and the frantic preparations that Arun hoped were underway.
“I have woken the Commodore,” she said. “She will be here presently.”
“Major!” shouted the Queen. “Why is your vessel maneuvering? Order it to maintain its position.”
An unknown voice from the Beowulf shouted: “Captain on deck.”
Loobie stepped aside to reveal Indiya racing into CIC.
“I am relieving you,” Indiya said. She wore her maneuver suit, a tight-fitting silvered outfi
t that encased her body and head to leave only her eyes visible. In the background, Arun saw other personnel already in their suits and with their stations transforming from padded chairs to the acceleration-proof couches that would allow them to stay conscious despite high-g acceleration.
As she darted away to her fire control station, Loobie announced: “I stand relieved, aye.”
Beowulf should now be leaving the planet’s gravity well as fast as it could.
Indiya secured herself in her command seat that was fast wrapping itself around her. She leaned into the camera. “Arun, next time you cause an incident, wait till I’m on watch. Okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” Arun replied, smiling because even though all he could see of Indiya were her eyes, there was a spark there. A fire of belief he hadn’t seen since that day when she’d pressed a button and ended the lives of thousands of her comrades and passengers.
“Enough of these games,” said the Queen. “Decurion, restrain Major Arun McEwan. Control all of them. If any human in this room speaks. Kill it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Arun didn’t resist as one guard grabbed his hands behind his back while another put a gun a very short distance from his head.
“Haven’t fired on us yet, have you?” Indiya taunted. “Too scared of what we’d do, Fish-face?”
The insult seemed lost on the Queen. “The only reason you live,” she replied, “is because I have no need to destroy you. Scores of boats laden with boarding crews are headed to intercept you. They have the same engines as you but less mass. The implications are obvious. No one need be harmed in this, but you are forcing me to employ violence. The technology you claim to possess is too valuable. I would rather see you destroyed than allow you to escape.”
