by Mel Odom
On-screen, one large section of something and several smaller ones hit the Offworlders’ Bazaar. Blinking blue warning beacons left by the Terran military still marked the area as off-limits.
Explosions ripped along the impact area and left smoking craters in their wake.
A distant rumble reached even the underground complex beneath the Phrenorian Embassy. Tremors raced through the room.
Mato sat straighter and tapped the keyboard again. “I have an incoming communication from General Belnale for you.”
“Put it on-screen,” Zhoh ordered.
Immediately the screen filled with the general’s broad features. “General Zhoh, I trust that you are monitoring the attack.”
“I am,” Zhoh responded. “Express my appreciation to the War Board. The space-based operations centers provided a lot of information and intelligence to the Terran military.”
Belnale squared his shoulders. “They won’t anymore. However, since the Phrenorian Empire has attacked while negotiations were still underway regarding the assassination attempt made on you by the Terran military, there exists the possibility that the Alliance may choose to move against us.”
Zhoh glanced at the big monitor still broadcasting the space battle. The dreadnoughts continued chewing through their prey like their namesake.
“The Alliance will have to shift considerable forces through the Gates to offset the ships the War Board has fielded,” Zhoh said. “Perhaps they won’t be in a rush to reassign those forces for fear of weakening other positions.”
“They won’t have a choice,” Belnale said. “Their agreement with the Makaum Quass, especially since the beings on that planet have requested asylum, will force them to invest those ships. They will come.”
“Then they will die,” Zhoh said.
Belnale’s chelicerae twitched irritably around his mouth. “No. Those dreadnought-class vessels won’t be in space around that planet for much longer. They will have to return to their units in short order. The board was only able to task those ships as part of a reconnaissance mission for this attack to draw Alliance forces from another sector.”
Disappointment and rage warred with Zhoh. The help he’d received hadn’t totally been given to him. The War Board had used him and the circumstances on the planet to further their own stratagems.
He masked his feelings but knew that his pheromone scent was now tainted, no longer as satisfied as it had been.
“I understand, sir,” Zhoh said. And I will make someone pay for this affront.
“Understand that this was not my decision,” Belnale went on. “I was only able to intercede on your behalf this much. If I’d had my way, I would have left those ships in place and let them take out as many of the Alliance ships as they could before they died glorious deaths.”
Zhoh kept his voice level. “I appreciate your efforts, General. When the time comes, I’d like very much to know who the architect of this plan was.”
“Perhaps that can be arranged,” Belnale replied. “Until such time, however, devote yourself to delivering that planet. Once you have control of things on the ground there, you can use the Makaum populace to hold the Alliance ships in check there after they arrive.”
“It will be as you say, General.”
Belnale cut comm and vanished.
“Triarr,” Mato said, “I know this is not what you wished—”
“What I wish doesn’t matter,” Zhoh said. “I will have my victory here.”
He stared raptly at the large screen as the destruction continued. The attack ship pilots were thorough as they chased down single ships attempting planetfall. Several ships turned into flaming explosions on the edges of the atmosphere, either as kills to the attack ship guns or victims of shoddy construction or poor piloting skills.
“Where is Colonel Halladay?” Zhoh asked.
“Our spies confirm the colonel’s still at the fort.”
“What about Sage?”
“Our warriors haven’t been able to ascertain the master sergeant’s whereabouts.”
“And the contingent of pilots on their way to the stronghold?”
Mato pulled up another screen that showed a top view of Stronghold RuSasara. The river gleamed silver as the moon reflected from the choppy current. The area looked calm and sedate, especially when juxtaposed with the falling “stars” burning across the night sky.
“Only minutes away from arrival,” Mato said.
The four-ship contingent sailed into view and descended toward the riverbank. Before the first one touched down, an explosion ripped through the water and the nearby land. A huge chunk of land and a deluge of water vomited upward and shredded the lowest two aircraft. Like the space debris falling from the heavens, the aircraft crashed into the jungle and the river in flaming pieces.
“It appears,” Zhoh said with cold fury, “we now know where Sage is. Contact those surviving warriors on-site. Tell them to bring me back Sage’s head.”
Mato swiftly relayed the orders to the surviving aircraft. When he was finished, he looked up at Zhoh. “Shall I send more air support?”
Zhoh considered that briefly. He also considered getting aboard an aircraft himself, but he knew that Sage would either be dead or gone by the time he arrived.
“No,” Zhoh answered, “but tell our spies in the fort that I want Quass Leghef found. She and Sage have a relationship, correct?”
“Yes, triarr. They have been working together.”
“Sage has weaknesses when it comes to beings around him,” Zhoh said, “and I mean to exploit those weaknesses to break the backs of the Terran military’s presence here on this planet. One way or another, I will make Sage come to me if he survives the coming encounter. When he does, I will have his head.”
He looked forward to that confrontation.
FORTY-FOUR
Kequaem’s Needle
Makaum Space
0558 Hours Zulu Time
Watching Noojin drifting closer to the hull hole into space, Kiwanuka set herself, took stock of her position, switched off the magnetic fields to her gloves and boots, and pushed off the plasteel plate where she’d been adhered.
A short distance away, Goldberg twisted and maintained contact with the shaft wall.
“Staff Sergeant?” Goldberg called.
“Hold your position in case I need you,” Kiwanuka ordered as she floated toward Noojin.
“Copy that,” Goldberg replied.
Kiwanuka kept her mind clear as she focused on Noojin. She knew that telling the girl to keep calm under the circumstances wouldn’t work. Noojin would be nearly out of her mind with fear. Kiwanuka also tried not to think of what might have happened to the rest of her squad waiting on the other side of the lift door, or with Cipriano’s team in the engine room.
They’re alive, she told herself. They had to be alive.
More debris struck the cargo ship. There was no noise because of the vacuum and, since she wasn’t in contact with any section of the lift shaft, Kiwanuka didn’t feel any tremors.
However, several pieces of debris ripped through the ship’s hull and, velocity diminished by the initial contact, bounced around inside the lift shaft. At least one struck Noojin and altered her course.
Five meters from Noojin and passing by the girl, Kiwanuka fired her grappling line. The hook slammed into the armor covering Noojin’s leg, but the sharp projectile didn’t penetrate. Even if it had, the near-AI would have sealed off the suit to save oxygen. Noojin would have lost her leg, but she would have been alive, not lost in space, and legs could be regrown.
The hook ricocheted at a sharp angle and sailed under Noojin’s other leg. Kiwanuka pulled the line taut and watched in satisfaction as the buckyball strand jerked to a stop. The forward momentum translated into a parabolic spin that wrapped both of Noojin’s legs.
The addition of the girl’s mass altered Kiwanuka’s trajectory, but she was still on course to make contact with the opposite wall she’d been aiming f
or.
“Easy,” Kiwanuka said over a direct commlink to Noojin. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
Noojin stopped struggling and instead reached for the grappling line. She held on with both hands.
Kiwanuka hit the wall first and slapped a magnetically charged glove against the plasteel. Noojin hit shortly thereafter and scrabbled for a hold.
Kiwanuka tugged on the grappling line to remind the girl she was there. “Use your magnetics. Take a breath. I’m not going to let you go. You’re safe.”
After a moment, Noojin locked on to the plasteel with all four extremities.
Kiwanuka let the girl cling to the wall and turned her attention to the rest of her team.
“Niemczyk,” Kiwanuka called.
Her HUD reception was spotty and the team’s stats flickered in and out. She suspected part of the weak performance was due to signal jammers the Phrenorian dreadnoughts were using, but some of it might have come from the debris. Those space station pieces might not have gone inert all at the same time.
That made her think about the people possibly trapped in those sections who would drift into Makaum’s gravity well or spin endlessly through space. She forced her mind away from those possibilities.
She’d do what she could for whomever she had a chance to save, but she and her team came first. Otherwise no one got saved.
“Here, Staff Sergeant,” Niemczyk responded.
“How is the rest of my team?”
“Shaken and bruised in places, but we’re all here.”
Some of the tension balled up in Kiwanuka’s stomach uncoiled. “Sergeant Cipriano, are you there?”
“We are,” Cipriano answered. The comm connection was scratchy and hollow. “But we’re getting less there as we go.”
“Explain.”
“Kequaem’s Needle’s broken up into five big pieces that we’ve seen through the external drone system. We’ve got the engines in our section, but we don’t have a way of using them. If we light them up, there’s no telling where we’ll end up. I’m hoping the Sting-Tails don’t decide to use what’s left of the ship for target practice just so we can burn up during an uncontrolled reentry or die out here when we run out of air.”
“Roger that,” Kiwanuka said. “So let’s not do any of that.”
“You have a plan? Because I haven’t ever been in a situation like this.”
Neither have I. Kiwanuka kept that thought to herself. “Working on it.” She paused. “Morlortai? Are you still in one piece?”
“We are,” Morlortai said. “We’re sending a drone down to you and your crew.”
Above, the bridge hatch opened and a spacesuit-clad figure waved at her. A moment later, the figure opened a hand and released a drone that unfolded itself to nearly a meter across.
Miniature thrusters fired under the drone and propelled it toward Kiwanuka. A slender line paid out behind it. In only seconds, the drone stopped mere centimeters from Kiwanuka’s helmet and hovered, revolving on its axis. She took the line, threaded it through her combat harness, then reached down and did the same for Noojin.
The girl didn’t release her hold on the wall.
“You have to let go, Noojin,” Kiwanuka said softly. “We can’t stay out here. We’ve reached a truce with Morlortai and his people. They’re allowing us onto the bridge. Once we’re there, we’ll figure out what we’re going to do. Do you understand?”
Noojin was silent for a moment, then she whispered, “C-Copy that, Staff Sergeant.”
“Good. Now follow me.”
Keeping the magnetic fields active in her boots and gloves, Kiwanuka led the way around the lift shaft to Goldberg. Once the other soldier was tied onto the line, they climbed toward the bridge while still more shrapnel that had once been space stations, ships, and maybe even people thudded into the hull.
Kiwanuka concentrated on the climb and hoped that Morlortai had been speaking the truth.
0601 Hours Zulu Time
Remaining calm only because he’d been in worse situations—Morlortai told himself that even though he couldn’t remember a single instance that even came close to where he was now—he sat in the command chair and studied his current predicament on the ship’s monitor. External drones captured the complete problem from five different angles.
Kequaem’s Needle floated in five pieces that spun through space and got farther from each other with each passing second.
“Can we still separate the bridge from the lift shaft?” Morlortai asked.
At the helm, Wiyntan, the ship’s pilot, surveyed her systems panel. Lights flickered, glowed, went dormant, and changed colors. Her Turoissan heritage made her the largest person on the bridge. She stood almost three meters tall. Her indigo skin, the color of fresh Terran blueberries, also made her stand out. Her two lower canines parted her lips and bookended her habitual, challenging smile. For all her size, she piloted the ship effortlessly. The pilot’s seat and controls were custom-fitted.
“Yes,” Wiyntan replied. She sounded distracted and Morlortai took no offense. She was mapping the various interception points with pieces of wreckage that used to be space stations and other space vessels. “All I have to do is blow us clear of the hidden docking ring and we’re on our own.” She looked over her shoulder at Morlortai and grinned coldly. “I’d be happy to do it now.”
Morlortai checked the monitor at his left that showed the Terran military soldiers’ progress up the lift shaft. “No.”
“Let me remind you,” Wiyntan said, “taking on those Terrans isn’t going to help us. They’ll be using up almost half our oxygen. The carbon dioxide scrubbers on the bridge can’t work quickly enough to keep the air clean. We’ll only have enough air for seven or eight hours.”
“We won’t last out here for seven or eight hours.” Turit’s mechanical voice was flat. His actual growls carried more emotion. He stood beside the emergency bridge access hatch on the floor with Ny’age to one side and slightly behind him. “Once the Phrenorian pilots realize we’re still alive, they’ll be along to correct that.”
“Trying to escape across space is impossible,” Ny’age said. “We don’t have the air, the fuel, or the supplies. The Oakfield Gate to this sector is well beyond our capabilities.”
On the ship’s monitor, two of the drone feeds showed Reryt-class gunships blowing up other ships and escape pods that had blasted free of other spacecraft.
“The Phrenorians consider the elimination of helpless prey as great sport,” Ny’age said. “They’ll eagerly search out survivors in the wreckage until their commanding officers call them off.”
As the ship’s social engineer and trade-face, the Estadyn knew enough lore about other races and alien worlds to fill several volumes. He was humanoid enough to pass as a Terran. His blond hair was tousled and his gray-green eyes shone warmly.
“Medals are awarded for pilots who have enough confirmed kills.” Ny’age studied Turit, who held a Shednal neuropulse pistol in one scaled hand. “Might I suggest, Turit, that you not greet the Terrans with a pistol in hand?”
“I’m not comfortable with greeting them at all,” the Angenen countered. “I side with Wiyntan on this. We should leave them where they are.”
“And give up on Darrantia and Daus?”
“If we can’t save them, we can’t save them,” Turit said.
Morlortai was certain Turit’s words would have sounded cold even without being filtered through the translator he wore. “I’m not ready to give up on them, Turit.”
Turit managed a sigh through the translator that sounded true and put-upon. Reluctantly, he returned the Shednal pistol to his boot.
“The airlock’s cycled through,” Wiyntan stated.
Morlortai cut his gaze to his personal screen and tapped the code for the airlock vid feed.
All three of the Terran soldiers stood in the airlock. None of them held weapons at the ready.
Morlortai opened the hailing comm in the airlock. “Welcome aboard, Staff Sergea
nt Kiwanuka.”
“Thank you,” Kiwanuka said.
Morlortai nodded to Turit. The Angenen tapped the proper sequence into the numeric pad on the wall.
Air cycled into the airlock and pressurized the compartment. Kiwanuka and her team maintained their armor integrity. Morlortai accepted that. Need was stronger than trust when it came to uniting different people.
The hatch opened. Turit and Ny’age stepped back as one of the soldiers clambered through. She stepped to one side and kept the bulkhead to her back. Her rifle was slung with the barrel pointing down.
Morlortai knew from experience that a weapon in that position was easily and quickly lifted into readiness. That was all right, though. The abbreviated Kerch shrapnel burster built into his command chair was quick to hand as well, and he had a two-shot Vorgar pistol up his sleeve that fired 20mm caseless ammunition.
The other two soldiers clambered onto the bridge and took up positions beside their leader. Their faceshields remained black and blank.
“Which of you is Staff Sergeant Kiwanuka?” Morlortai asked.
The first arrival’s faceshield cleared to reveal a dark-skinned woman.
“I am,” Kiwanuka said.
She was all business, and Morlortai could appreciate that.
“We meet under auspicious circumstances,” Morlortai said.
“They’re not ideal for me either,” Kiwanuka replied.
Despite the deadly earnestness in the woman, and the fact that his ship was lost, Morlortai smiled. “Still, this is better than any other resolution than we might have reached.”
Kiwanuka’s gaze flicked to the large monitor at the front of the bridge. “This is your fault. All of it.”
“Mine?” Anger stirred within Morlortai. He knew what she was getting at and it bothered him. He’d lost his ship and several million credits because replacing the vessel would be expensive. And when word got around about the missed assassination, he would lose more profits. At the moment, he hated Makaum, the Alliance, and the Phrenorian Empire.
