“Don't worry, your Majesty. I'm not about to get a portion of my fleet burned to hell. But I have to tell you, your Majesty. It's frustrating as hell. We could be most of the way to their capital by now, if the bastards would only fight us like they had at the start of this thing.”
“A stupid opponent is always preferable, yes,” said the Emperor. “Unfortunately, the Universe doesn't care for our preferences. So we have what we have. We'll just have to deal with it. Just keep doing what you have been doing, you and Mgonda, and we'll win this thing in the end.”
Len nodded. He agreed with everything the monarch had said. Only he wished he didn't have to spend so many lives to achieve victory in the process.
Chapter Eight
Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head. Euripides
JULY 2ND, 1004. JUST BEHIND THE CENTRAL FRONT.
“This is the place,” said Shadow, walking on all four feet beside Walborski.
The Maurid was dressed in an Imperial combat skin-suit that had been modified to fit his form. The dark padded outfit would stop pellets of moderate velocity, and stop laser and particle beam pistols for a second or so. Against a high powered beam weapon? Well, maybe long enough to know he was dead. The being had a particle beam pistol holstered at his side, a sensor and com rig over his head.
Maurids could walk on two or four feet, though the way their bodies were configured four was the preferred method when they had to cover any distance. Shadow sniffed the air, utilizing his superior olfactory sense, his face scrunched up in thought.
“What do you smell?” asked Walborski, taking in the air and trying to discern what the alien was sensing. His own sense of smell was augmented, better than normal, and pitiful compared to that of the alien.
“Cacas,” hissed the Maurid, baring his teeth.
Cornelius' hand sought the butt of his own particle beam pistol, while he waved a finger in the air. The Ranger was wearing the human version of the same suit his partner had on. A hood covered his head that carried the same sensors and com equipment. The human was used to operating with no electronics to give him away. In the center of a large modern city, with emissions everywhere, that was not as much of a concern.
“We got you covered, General,” called out one of the Ranger snipers on the rooftop behind them.
Walborski and Shadow were accompanied by two Rangers and another Maurid, equipped as they were. Half a dozen Rangers and a trio of Maurids were on the roofs of the residential neighborhood around them, covering the front group. Cornelius glanced around, seeing the gathered aliens that had been attracted by the sight of the humans. The Maurids were something they were used to, since that species had acted as enforcers for the Cacas on this world.
“We need to clear these people out of here,” said Cornelius into the com unit. “Quietly.”
“Good call,” hissed Shadow in a soft tone. “This could get messy.”
Cornelius had been surprised to learn that there were still Cacas on this world. It had recently been taken with little in the way of fighting, and it was assumed that all of the Cacas had been killed or had surrendered. It had taken some convincing for the natives to talk, but Maurids were nothing if not intimidating.
A small group of aliens, walking with their wide splayed six legged gait, four arms holding their weapons, swarmed around the small square, rounding up their fellow citizens and moving them away. They wore cloth tabbards with the lightning bolt symbol of the resistance on a pair of right arms, the only established native authority.
“How you want to do this?” asked Cornelius, pretty sure he knew the answer. Knocking would just alert the people they were after. And the door seemed to have the standard lock they had seen on almost all the entrances to dwellings in this city.
Instead of answering Shadow placed a small device over the lock, touching a stud and setting it to work. A few sparks flew and the lock clicked. Shadow nodded, then kicked the door open with a rear foot.
The barking shouts of the natives sounded within, along with the roar of a Ca'cadasan. The angry buzzing of a particle beam cut through all the noise, and a portion of the wall near the door ignited, flames and smoke spurting into the air.
Cornelius dove forward, his pistol out and tracking. The aliens were in a panic, trying to run and having nowhere to go to. One had out a pistol, and was taking careful aim this time, determined to kill the invaders. The Caca was pushing through a door on the other side of the room, hunched over and blocking the entire entrance. The Ranger pulled the firing stud on his pistol, and the entire upper right side of the alien disappeared into a hot mist of vaporized flesh.
“Everyone stand still, all limbs in the air,” yelled Cornelius, his words, in the native language, coming out of the translation device that had floated inside behind him and the other intruders. “Freeze in place or we will kill you.”
The aliens took the words to heart, doing their best to imitate statues. The stench of burnt flesh caused several of the aliens to gag and wretch. Cornelius himself coughed deeply, while Shadow scrunched his face up but ran forward, through the door and on the tail of the Caca.
Walborski was through the same door in a second, determined to support his partner no matter what he ran into. A narrow stairway opened up, heading down into the darkness. Both the pursuers had very good night vision, but the darkness was near total. Ahead of them the Caca was yelling out commands, and the Ranger prepared himself for a fight.
Even with warning the Cacas weren't fully prepared as the Maurid, followed closely by the human, burst into the chamber. There were seven Ca'cadasans crowded into the room. One had a pistol out and was starting to track, while three others were moving toward shelves and tables which had weapons sitting on them. Cornelius fired on the move, the barrel of his pistol linked with the head of the Caca pistoleer through an angry buzzing beam. The head exploded into vapor, and the body fell to the floor, knocking down another Caca in the process.
Shadow had another weapon out, a darter that thudded as it sent drugged darts into one Caca after another. The darts had been loaded with a special knock out poison that worked almost instantly on the Caca physiology. Three Cacas went down before the rest came at their attackers with hard fists.
Cornelius took a blow to the head that had him seeing stars for an instant. His body reacted by instinct, twisting him away from the follow up strikes, while his own fists struck the Caca in the throat and shoulder. The Caca coughed and went down, as Cornelius spun through the air and delivered a hard knife edge foot strike to the chest of the big alien.
Allies flooded into the room, and in seconds it was over. Two Cacas were dead, seven more were down and out. The sounds of struggle sounded from deeper in the complex, where Rangers and Maurids had rushed ahead.
“We've secured another six,” called out a Maurid, coming back into the entryway. “Two killed.”
“That gives us nine live ones,” said Shadow, a look of triumph on his face.
“And there's more,” said the other Maurid, hurrying into the room from the narrow passageway.
“Then let's see the more,” said Cornelius, heading into the passageway.
Everything seemed a tight fit for creatures as large as the Cacas. He could imagine them crawling through the tight confines of a tunnel that sloped downward for forty meters or so. Until it opened up on a large chamber, five meters high, thirty wide. Six Cacas were laying on the floor, knocked out by darts and covered by the guns of humans and Maurids, while two bodies slumped in chairs, the characteristic burns of particle beams on their chests. The Ranger thought that pair had been armed and ready to resist, and the Maurids hadn't been willing to risk their capture.
There were several stations around the room, large chairs set in front of lighted panels of electronics. A holo projection showed the globe of the world, blinking dots scattered about. A table sat on one side of the room, seared meat of indeterminate origin sitting on platters. A couple of four meter high exits
led out of the room into darkened tunnels.
“The informant was right, General,” called out a Ranger officer, coming through one of the exits. “We've got barracks back here, store rooms, even a small armory. The Cacas were prepared.”
“What do you think they were doing?” Cornelius asked, looking at one of the Maurid technicians who was examining a station.
“Monitoring com traffic,” replied the alien, plugging a device carried in one front hand into the panel. “They have encryption gear here, computer interfaces. They were obviously listening in to your signal traffic, breaking the encryption, then sending out their information on a carrier wave. Possibly piggy backed onto your military transmissions.”
“This had to have been planned out far in advance to your forces getting here,” said Shadow, raising a quizzical eye ridge. “This is unlike the Masters,” continued the Maurid leader, pronouncing the last word as a derogatory. “They normally swagger about like they own the Universe, and such skulking is beneath them.”
“You really don't like them, do you?” Cornelius asked his friend.
“If you had seen the way they treated the lesser peoples of their Empire. Often no better than food animals.”
“But not your kind.”
“No. My people were made to aid and abet them in their foul conquests. If we were to survive. If our spouses and children were not made to suffer.” Shadow spit out each word as if it was excrement on his tongue, fierce eyes looking into the heart of his human companion. “And from what I've heard you have reason to hate them as well. Don't deny it. I've seen how you fight them, with a rage born fury.”
Cornelius held back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes as the image of his late wife formed in his mind. “They killed my wife, my love. Who had just given birth to our child. I would kill every one of them if it were in my power.”
“Yet you control your rage?”
“If I want to serve my Emperor, my friend, I must only kill when I'm ordered. Who I'm ordered to.”
Cornelius shook his head, bringing his attention back to the here and now, putting his beloved dead back in their place. “Now, what say we find out what these vermin were up to.”
* * *
The Ca'cadasan, one who wore the rank insignia of a mid-level officer, sat listlessly in the chair he had been tied into. Cornelius stared at him with slightly hostile curiosity. He hadn't expected the Cacas, spies really, to be in uniform. Thinking on it he considered it reasonable. After all, they couldn't possibly blend in with the population, so their best bet was to simply go into hiding.
“I think we have given him enough time,” said the Maurid who was their interrogator. The lean creature, almost skeletal for his kind, had injected the Caca with a drug the Maurids had stolen from their former masters. Something like a truth serum, a suggestive substance that made the recipient susceptible to wanting to please his questioner.
“Wake up, slime,” yelled the interrogator into the Caca's face. “What do you here on this world?”
“We were left behind to monitor the natives, and the enemy who would free them,” said the Caca in a slurred voice. “Our slaves would listen in on conversations and relay the information back to us.”
“For what purpose, slave?”
“To gather intelligence. Information on troop and ship movements, deployments, supply shortages.”
“And how did you get this information back to your superiors? Speak.”
The Caca appeared to be struggling, trying to hold his tongue. The interrogator slapped him hard across the face, sharp claws spilling blood.
Sean wouldn't like this kind of questioning, thought Cornelius, staring with cold eyes at the huge alien, then over at the smaller questioner. Fortunately, as allies, the Maurids don't have to play by our rules, he thought with a smile.
“We, we were to encrypt our information and place it within the carrier wave of a local entertainment cast.”
“And who received this cast?”
“We weren't given that information. Only to make sure the data was set in a repeating sequence.”
“So, someone must be picking up this cast,” said Shadow, looking over at his human friend.
“Who are these native agents that you speak of?”
“Many people who know they will be rewarded when we return,” said the Maurid, a bit of a sneer coming to his face. “A local merchant, a teacher, a police official, even some high administrators.”
“Why in the hell would anyone be cooperative with their slavers?” Cornelius asked Shadow in a whisper. “Especially when they've become former masters?”
“Many reasons,” said Shadow in a barely perceptible voice. “Loyalty, fear, habit. Some beings need the feeling that they belong, that they are protected, even if the protectors mean them nothing but ill.”
Cornelius shook his head. He himself couldn't understand such feelings. He had been raised on a world that was ruled by an archduke, but ruled was too strong a term. Citizens were free to choose their own path, and absorb the consequences of those decisions. That had still been too much for Cornelius, who had taken his bride to a frontier world where he could prosper. There had been consequences to that decision when the Cacas had come. But the same could be said of those who stayed on Core worlds that had been attacked.
“Even some of my own people still serve the Masters, much to my shame.”
“We are the masters of the lesser peoples of the Galaxy,” said the Caca in a loud voice. “It is only right that they serve us, from the factories to the stew pots.”
“Do you have any questions, Lords?” asked the interrogator, looking over at the pair of leaders.
“Yeah, I have a question for the bastard,” roared Cornelius, taking a step forward and pulling his monomolecular blade from its sheath. “Is he ready to die?”
“No, my friend,” said Shadow, placing a hand on Cornelius' arm. “He will die soon enough. But he is sure to still have much information of import. And I can guarantee you that his death will not be a pleasant one.”
Cornelius simply nodded and shoved his blade back into its sheath.
* * *
“They're moving away, my Lord,” said the sensor officer, sitting with all of his attention on his instruments.
“Thank the Gods,” said Sub-captain Triphlasar, gripping the arms of his command chair with anxious hands.
The sub-captain had been a scout commander when he had been selected for command of one of the new stealth/attack craft. It had seemed new, exciting, something above being a shield for the larger ships. To strike at the heart of the enemy from the shadows. Prestige, greater pay, everything an ambitious young officer could ask for.
Only he hadn't counted on long hours of boredom punctuated by periods of pure terror. Yes, his ship was a hunter, striking from shadows. And it was the hunted, on the run from scout ships. He could likely take one of those destroyers in a straight up fight. But any damaged sustained would degrade his ability to fade into the shadows. To be detected meant enemy ships vectoring to his position and a sure death.
The ship itself was a marvel, an almost carbon copy of what the Caca engineers thought the human design was. Thought, because they had never captured one. They had only seen them in action. One of the captured humans from New Moscow, along with a team of alien scientists, had come up with a working design almost overnight, and the yards had received the orders for a dozen of the craft. If they proved successful more would be constructed. The only limiting factor was the number of available wormholes.
“Keep an eye on them,” Triphlasar ordered the officer. He looked over at the helm officer. “Keep us as stationary as possible.”
“We're picking up the broadcast, my Lord,” called out the com officer. “Separating the encrypted signal from the carrier.”
Triphlasar gave a head motion of acknowledgment. He would never know what was in that cast. Need to know, another human practice the Ca'cadasans had adopted. It made sense
from an intelligence perspective, but seemed intended to drive the commander on the spot to distraction.
“Enemy ship continues to move away,” said the sensor officer, looking back at his commander.
The sub-captain sighed in relief. He still didn't know what made the enemy scout conduct a thorough search of the area. Their energy absorbing hull made any return from distance too attenuated to get a firm fix. Unfortunately, a scout blasting full power radar or lidar, when close enough, would get a return, guaranteed. They would signal for help, and hiding would become much more difficult.
I can't wait until we're out of here, thought the sub-captain, then scoffed at his own thought. They had been carried here by a battleship, creeping through hyper, then dropping out twelve light hours from the star. The stealth ship had crept in at one gravity, going to gas jets for the final approach. And here they were to stay for the duration of their long mission, resupplied by wormhole. Awaiting a return that might never occur.
“We have separated the encrypted message. Sending it through the wormhole to command.”
The beamed cast they had intercepted had come from one of the primary stations on the inhabited planet, sent to an asteroid base for the edification of the miners. Which meant the stealth ship had to assume a certain position at a certain time to intercept.
When will they cut us loose to hunt, thought the sub-captain, what he had been expecting to do when assigned to this system. That carried greater risk, of course, but it was always better to be the killer than the victim.
Chapter Nine
The wild Indian power of escaping observation, even where there is little or no cover to hide in, was probably slowly acquired in hard hunting and fighting lessons while trying to approach game, take enemies by surprise, or get safely away when compelled to retreat. John Muir
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 17: The Rebirth Page 9
