Warlord

by Mel Odom

  “Now you give me something,” Morlortai insisted.

  “We’re searching for what’s left of the DawnStar Space Station,” Kiwanuka replied.

  Morlortai’s features wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

  “Give me the name of the person who hired you to kill Zhoh.”

  “Not until you’re more forthcoming.”

  Kiwanuka decided not to press her luck. They were running out of time, and Morlortai wouldn’t be able to do what she was thinking without her. “DawnStar sublet space to the Terran military, including a hangar that housed dropships. If we’re lucky, not all of them have been deployed.”

  Morlortai’s eyes widened. “That’s what you’re banking on? That the hangar wasn’t immediately destroyed? That a dropship may still yet be housed there?”

  “Do you have anything better? I’m open to another solution because this is all I’ve got.”

  Morlortai pursed his lips and shook his head. “No.”

  “Then we’ll go with what I have.” Kiwanuka shifted and took a new hold on Veug’s seat. “In case you’re thinking of betraying us at some point, maybe you can get into the hangar without us. Maybe you can even access a dropship. But you’re not going to be able to do those things quickly on your own.”

  Morlortai smiled, but there wasn’t a lot of humor in the effort. “All right.”

  “Now give me the name of who hired you to assassinate Zhoh.”

  “Blaold Oldawe.”

  Kiwanuka thought for a moment, racking her brain as Kequaem’s Needle shivered and shook and sped through space. “Who is that?”

  “Zhoh’s father-in-law.”

  That was surprising. “Why would he want Zhoh dead?”

  “I don’t ask those kinds of questions, Staff Sergeant. All I know is I was paid a lot in advance to take on the job, and there was going to be a lot more once it was done. Unfortunately, the shot I took didn’t pan out and events on Makaum, as you have seen, quickly unraveled. We were actually about to head out of system when you arrived.” Morlortai spread his hands. “The rest you know.” He studied the monitor. “And unless we are very fortunate, this is all going to end within minutes if not sooner.”

  Kequaem’s Needle’s reverse thrusters initiated and the escape ship slowed.

  The Turoissan pilot skillfully guided her craft into near-docking distance next to the engine compartment. Niemczyk fired a buckyball line from the ship’s airlock to the broken section of the cargo ship.

  While the Turoissan managed to use the broken section and other debris she’d hauled in via tractor beam as cover, Morlortai’s gun crew kept three of the Phrenorian gunships at bay. Cipriano and his people clambered along the line.

  That strategy wouldn’t last long. The Phrenorian ships doggedly chipped away at the makeshift cover. When the last soldier was aboard Kequaem’s Needle, Niemczyk sealed the access hatch in the airlock.

  “They’re aboard,” Kiwanuka called to the pilot.

  “Roger that,” the pilot responded. She fired the ship’s thrusters and picked up speed. “Tell your demolitions guy to stand ready with his surprise.”

  Kiwanuka thought the pilot meant to lure the trailing Phrenorian gunships into position around the engine section. Kiwanuka didn’t have much hope for the ploy.

  Instead, the pilot latched on to the engine section with tractor beams. The resulting drag on the ship brought Kequaem’s Needle almost to a standstill and nearly ripped Kiwanuka free despite the magnetic fields generated by her boots and one glove.

  “Corporal,” Kiwanuka said to Veug.

  “Almost, almost,” the elint specialist replied.

  The Turoissan used the tractor beam drag to throw the ship into a parabolic arc around the cargo ship section. The four Phrenorian gunships tracking Kequaem’s Needle fired their lasers into the cargo ship section, then brought them to bear on the escape ship as it came around.

  The two ship’s crew on the cannons accounted for one of the gunships, but the other three lit up in a constant onslaught that vibrated through Kequaem’s Needle and set off warning Klaxons around the bridge.

  Incredibly, the Turoissan fired the ship’s thrusters and managed to spin the trailing cargo ship section forward. When it reached whatever trajectory the pilot was looking for, she cut off the tractor beams.

  The cargo ship section hurtled toward the three Phrenorian ships that were even now racing in pursuit. Released from the tractor beams, Kequaem’s Needle sped off on a new tangent.

  “Now!” the pilot yelled. She dodged weapons fire with astonishing skill or amazing luck, Kiwanuka wasn’t sure. “Have your demo guy blow the charges!”

  Kiwanuka broke out of her incredulity that they weren’t dead and gave Cipriano the order.

  “Fire in the hole!” Cipriano yelled.

  Flipping end-over-end, the cargo ship section missed all three Phrenorian ships, and when the small charges Cipriano and his team planted within the engine compartment flared to bright life, it was at least a hundred meters beyond them.

  For a moment, Kiwanuka feared that those explosions were all that was going to happen, that something had gone wrong with the demolitions attempt.

  In the next instant, a new, white-hot sun punched a hole into black space. A molten bubble of superheated plasma swelled out from where the cargo ship’s engine compartment had been. The roiling plasma swiftly cooled in the freezing environment of space, but it overtook the three Phrenorian gunships and closed over them.

  And the plasma continued on, chasing after Kequaem’s Needle like a rampant beast.

  “Faster!” the Angenen shouted in his mechanical voice.

  Kiwanuka watched the ship’s monitor and held her breath. The plasma slowed or the ship picked up speed. She wasn’t certain which, but Kequaem’s Needle gradually outpaced the burning mass.

  When it became apparent that they’d outrun the threat, cheers from soldiers and ship’s crew swelled to deafening thunder.

  Veug had to repeat himself twice to be heard. “Staff Sergeant, I found that piece of DawnStar’s space station you wanted. Looks like it’s intact.”

  Kiwanuka stared at the tumbling mass of the space station’s corpse sailing through space. “Give the coordinates to the pilot.”

  And let’s hope that hangar isn’t empty.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Tactical Command Center

  Fort York

  0637 Hours Zulu Time

  Colonel Halladay stood in front of the monitors displaying the rampant destruction going on in low orbit around Makaum. He still had access to some of the comm sats out there, but as the Phrenorian gunships hunted them down, those numbers were dwindling quickly.

  Actually, the Phrenorians hunted everything out there.

  And there wasn’t anything Halladay could do about it. Fort York didn’t have a space wing by design and by treaty. Having the hangar on the DawnStar Space Station had been a stretch, but the argument had been made that troops and supplies had to get carried to the planet’s surface somehow.

  Storm clouds covered the battles that took place in the streets. Soldiers and civilians died in the mud the hammering rain drummed up and sluiced across the plascrete road surfaces. The rain was a blessing, though. The Phrenorians hadn’t been able to field their powersuits and tracked vehicles quite so easily.

  But when the storm lifted, another was poised to break.

  As Halladay watched and waited for a response from Terran Military Command, he tracked the screens’ destruction in space as well as on the ground. The Phrenorians would be coming for the fort soon, and there was no way they could hold it.

  The best they could hope for was getting the people out of harm’s way. Most of them were gone now, fled into the jungle they’d fought to get out of for so long.

  Halladay felt bad about that. He’d made a promise to himself and the Makaum people that he would make things better while he was there. Even against General Whitcomb’s passive restraints.

 
Thinking of the general hurt. Halladay had seen vid footage from HUDs of soldiers who had gone to the general’s office to attempt to get Whitcomb to safety. The general’s office had taken a nearly direct hit from one of the Phrenorian gunships. Flames had swelled up in the office only briefly, then they extinguished as all the air in the room was blown out in a rush. The general had gone out into space with the debris, and the soldier’s HUD stopped recording only seconds later.

  Later, if he was still alive, Halladay knew he would mourn his commanding officer. He and the general had been together too long for his death not to leave a mark. Even if they had ended up in different places after the assignment to Makaum, there was no forgetting those early years together and all the hardships they’d faced.

  The screen showing the encrypted comm from Terran Military Command blinked for attention. It was the response he’d been waiting thirty-four minutes for due to the Gated wormwave transmissions. Even with all the tech, there was unpreventable lag in communications.

  Instead of a canned response, though, TMC sent an interactive real-time broadcast. That was risky because the encryption wasn’t as tight on real time.

  Then again, the least of their worries under present conditions was cyber sec. They were losing space, the sprawl, and on the verge of losing the fort.

  And all the soldiers.

  The fort morgue held several dead now, soldiers and Makaum citizens and offworlder traders, and the mobile med units fleeing through the jungle were fighting for the lives of others.

  General John Rackham stood straight and squared away in a black dress uniform covered in medals. His gray hair was cut high and tight and he wore his scars proudly. He was a legend in the Terran military. He was an excellent soldier and a superb tactician. “Colonel Halladay, I’m sorry we’re meeting in the middle of this.”

  He was also a budding politician.

  Halladay saluted the man, had it returned, and hit parade rest like he’d been doing it all his life. Because he had.

  “Thank you for your interest, General Rackham.”

  “My interest always has been and always will be in our soldiers, Colonel.” Rackham looked around.

  Halladay knew the man was surveying his own screens relaying the vid from Makaum’s near-space. His presence at Fort York Tactical Command existed only as an overlay at his end of the connection.

  Halladay held back his impatience. He needed to know what was being done. His people were out there dying. The constant barrage of explosions underscored that. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Your chances of holding on to that fort are nil, Colonel,” Rackham said. “I’m hereby ordering you to strike our colors and find some way to survive until we can get help to you.”

  “Help is coming, sir?” Halladay asked that even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to. It had been a reflex.

  “I mean for that to happen,” Rackham said. “I’ve said my piece to the Terran Alliance diplomats, and I’ve pointed out that the Phrenorians are acting on bad faith and their own subterfuge to seize that planet.” He paused. “Unfortunately, politics don’t move as quickly as battle conditions. They’re going to drag it out until every diplomatic way of putting an end to this is explored. That’s a direct quote.”

  Halladay only just kept himself civil. “They saw the vid of the attack on Zhoh GhiCemid? They know that was arranged by Zhoh’s own father-in-law?”

  “The Phrenorians have another term for it,” Rackham said. “One not nearly so endearing. Blaold Oldawe is a Phrenorian politician. He knows how to lie and deny with the best of them.”

  “The assassin, Sytver Morlortai, confirmed the contract.”

  “I know that, Colonel, but take a breath and understand the council members aren’t going to immediately accept the word of an assassin who has been more or less invisible. We barely have a jacket on him.”

  “Uncle Huang—”

  “I’ve had dealings with Uncle Huang myself,” Rackham said. “When we were both younger men. I trust him, but I know he works mostly for his own and his family’s benefit.”

  “Sergeant Kiwanuka risked her life to get that vid to us.”

  “I know.” Rackham’s voice softened. “I hope that she’s still alive.” His gaze drifted across the feeds that Halladay wasn’t privy to.

  Looking at all the debris strung in space in low planet orbit, Halladay didn’t know how that would be possible. But he didn’t dare voice that. Saying it out loud would only give the grim possibility weight.

  “What about the confession Quass Leghef elicited from Throzath?” Halladay asked.

  A faint smile pulled at Rackham’s lips. “If the chance should ever present itself, Colonel, I’d very much like to meet that woman. She reminds me of my mother’s sister.”

  “Help me save her,” Halladay said, “and these people, and I’ll make that happen.”

  “I’m trying, but I have to be honest. A lot of the council members weren’t happy with the Quass’s threats. There were rumblings of coercion circling the room.”

  “There was no other way to get that confession,” Halladay said.

  The image of the Quass holding the knife and the timber of her voice as she pulled Throzath under her control still floated through his mind. He’d been fully engaged himself, because he hadn’t known what the outcome was until he had finished viewing the vid.

  “Agreed,” Rackham said, “but you’re dealing with a lot of politicos who’ve never held a Roley outside of a public relations fluff piece. They don’t like the fact that wars tend to be bloody and messy.”

  “What about the fortress?” Halladay demanded. “All of the stockpiled weapons?”

  Rackham sighed. “Unfortunately, with everything going on during that op, there wasn’t much to see. I sold what we had long and hard, Colonel. We just have to wait and see.”

  Halladay struggled to keep himself from cursing. When he had control of himself, he spoke in a measured voice. “I’ll make sure we keep sending vid as long as we can, General. At the least, maybe Charlie Company and Makaum can serve as the catalyst to make the Terran Alliance take a harder line with the Phrenorian Empire.”

  “Martyrs, Colonel?”

  “I’d rather be considered a martyr than collateral damage, sir.”

  Rackham nodded. “Get yourself out of there, Colonel. Let me see what I can do here.”

  Halladay resisted the impulse to tell the man to hurry. “Yes sir.” He saluted a final time and broke the connection.

  Then he turned his attention to the screens and his troop placement, and tried to find some way to shore up Charlie Company’s retreat.

  Intel Room F

  Command Post

  Fort York

  0642 Hours Zulu Time

  Guilt stung Leghef as she sat in front of the computer workstation. Her people were dying in the streets she had helped fund and design.

  And she had bullied a boy to the point that she had broken him and knew that he would never again be the same.

  She knew that was a necessary thing to attempt to help her people survive the villainy perpetrated by the Phrenorians. But she’d hated her part in all of it. It was something that would haunt her for a long time. Maybe she would never be the same again either.

  Working swiftly, she sent messages out to her people and guided them to the groups of Terran soldiers who waited to escort them into the jungle. Most of her people knew about the dangers in the jungle and the paths through it, but they weren’t equipped or trained to combat the Phrenorians the way the Terran soldiers were.

  Together, she hoped, the two groups would find a way to survive.

  Then what? she asked herself.

  If the Terran military was unable to give her people the asylum she’d asked for, if the Alliance didn’t intercede diplomatically or allow the Terran military to enter the battle, there would be nothing left of Makaum except lives of servitude.

  The prospect was unbearable.

  The door behind her ope
ned and surprised her. She’d been told it was heavily locked and there were guards posted there to protect her. She turned and looked at the door.

  One of the soldiers held the door open for Keladra, and Leghef knew immediately something had gone drastically wrong. Her first thought was that Pekoz had succumbed to his injuries. Then she noticed the bruises on her friend’s face.

  Leghef waved the soldiers away so that she could speak to her friend in private.

  After they had gone, Keladra broke down and cried. Her shoulders shook and tears fell from her dark green eyes. “I am so, so sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Anxiety and confusion threaded through Leghef. She took her friend’s hands in her own. “What has happened?”

  Keladra looked up at Leghef and struggled to speak. “It’s Tholak,” she whispered. “He broke into my house, beat Pekoz into unconsciousness, and he has taken Telilu. If you don’t come and bring Throzath with you, he will kill Telilu.”

  Leghef focused on her breathing and forced her mind to operate. Nothing could happen to Telilu. She wouldn’t allow it.

  She couldn’t allow it.

  “Where is my granddaughter?” she asked.

  Tears filled Keladra’s eyes. “She’s being held out somewhere near Rilormang.”

  Leghef’s heart hurt and her knees weakened and almost went out from under her. “Tholak would not have taken her there.” She almost couldn’t get the words out.

  Rilormang was the First City, the place where the Makaum people learned they had to work together if they wanted to survive. No one went there anymore. Leghef had last seen the place when she was young and traveling with her father taking meat. The dead city still haunted her dreams on occasion.

  “Tholak didn’t take your granddaughter to that foul place, Quass. He only told the Phrenorians about it. They took her there, and they wait for you.”

  For the briefest instant, Leghef thought of telling Halladay what had happened. But she knew she wouldn’t be allowed.