by Bob Mauldin
The dive into the gravity well went smoothly—too smoothly, at first. He was treated to the sight of the main Sept-hall in ruins, along with the harem and nursery. He saw the spaceport demolished as well, along with virtually all of the infrastructure that had been built up over the past fifty cycles of occupation. It was then that the Claw shuddered. She rang like a bell, and the echoes reverberated within the hull for several seconds.
Half of all the consoles went dark, and the First said, “Report loss of drive power! Artificial gravity gone, life support gone. Minimal response to atmospheric controls. Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship!”
Pankatt Korchon, Kravar Sept-leader, had not expected to reign at the ignominious end of his Sept’s existence, but he had. Apparently, his was the only life pod to escape the Claw before a lucky shot by the cowardly Shiravi holed her drive room. He watched through the viewport as his First maneuvered the ship into the path of the attacker and accounted for a second enemy ship in its death throes. The explosion from that slammed the just-ejected life pod into the ground with enough force to stun the two Humanz he’d dragged along with him. If the krath-Shiravi had missed his pod’s expulsion, and if he survived long enough, a ship would rescue him. If he could keep the Humanz alive as well, perhaps there was still a chance the Kravar Sept would not disappear into the mists. Honor could still accrue.
For hours he skulked toward the main Sept-hall, hoping to spot any sign of life. It could not be possible for the Shiravi scum to have destroyed his entire Sept! Almost as an afterthought, he dragged the two creatures with him, forcing them to hide whenever he sensed an overflight.
They appeared as he stood up to make the final dash to the main hall. He could see the entrance, cracked and broken, to the subterranean ways. There he would find safety from the abomination—krath-Shiravi who fought back and won! Four of the disgustingly red creatures blocked his path to the lower ways. He spun to go around them, only to find two more of the krath-Shiravi approaching from behind. He’d been herded!
The fury that overtook him at this realization wiped out generations of “civilized” conditioning. No longer able to consider the consequences of his actions, he screamed his rage and drove at the nearest opponent. With his legs pushing him forward at blinding speed, he almost reached the nearest creature before half a dozen beams of light ended his existence.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rentec do’ Verlas, Shiravan Spatial Affairs Minister, was on vacation in the Dukara Mountains when his communicator chimed. He set down the perlwood pole, an heirloom handed down from his father’s father. Disgusted at the interruption, he walked away from the river’s edge and picked up the offending piece of technology that kept him tied to his job.
I could easily do without this, he thought. I spent three days doing everything Ramannie wanted to do, and finally I get some time to myself. By the Spirits of Space, I barely got the line wet!
Forcing his voice into neutrality, the young minister picked up the device and spoke his name. “Minister,” a voice, responded, “this is Undersecretary Ralith. We seem to have a situation.”
“And just exactly what kind of situation requires that you interrupt the first vacation I’ve taken in years?” do’ Verla asked with a precise amount of irritation in his voice.
“Minister, I beg your indulgence, but I cannot answer that question at this time over an open channel. Your presence is required at the Ministry of Spatial Affairs at the earliest possible moment. Colonization Minister Foran concurs with the opinion that you should be apprised immediately.”
“Can you give me any idea over an open line what this is all about?” do’ Verlas pressed.
Several second passed before the undersecretary spoke. “It’s possible, sir, that it has something to do with a returned patrol ship.”
“You know where I am,” Rentec said. “It will be several hours before I’ll be able to make an appearance. All I can do to speed the process, I will do. Rentec do’ Verlas, out.” He threw the communicator back onto the seat of his floater and turned to Ramannie, who was sitting in the shade of a tem tree nearby. “I’m sorry, my dear, but it would seem that one of the perquisites of my job is interrupted vacationing. Someone has decided that my presence is required at the Ministry Building, and apparently Minister Foran agrees.”
The gorgeous young woman turned her ruby gaze to the man who, just the night before, had asked her to become his consort. “And what could possibly be so urgent that they need to drag someone as important as the Minister for Spatial Affairs away from a well-deserved rest?” Ramannie asked, venom in her voice as she stroked his arm.
“Oh, I’m not so important as all that, Ramannie. Minister, yes. Junior minister, and only for Spatial Affairs. Not the most prestigious posting, love. But one does hope for promotions. Economics, finance, security, colonization, diplomatic minister—all of these are more important than my lowly posting.”
“But, Rentec,” Ramannie pointed out, “you are Minister for Spatial Affairs in an Expansionist government. You have the potential to become someone... formidable.”
“True. I will admit that the potential does exist,” Rentec acknowledged slowly. “But at this time, it is only potential, and I am only a junior minister. And I will come when Foran calls. If I want to keep my position and potential, I can do nothing else.”
Loading his fishing gear and the remains of their picnic into the back of their vehicle, Rentec and Ramannie climbed into the floater and strapped in. Their return to the port city of Quillas required that they first drive back up the mountain to get to the main road. As they passed the lodge, Rentec called to request that their possessions be packed and sent to their homes in Quillas. While keeping the floater at its maximum height of about eight feet, he headed back at just under the legal limit. Refusing to activate his communicator on the drive back into the city, Rentec split his attention between keeping the little vehicle airborne and talking to his consort-to-be.
The tricky part about operating a repulson-powered personal vehicle was that errors tended to magnify themselves the faster one traveled, so compensating for such things as wind changes, turns, braking, and even elevation and terrain all had to be handled with infinite care. Almost as much care, in fact, as it took to keep Ramannie mollified. He finally managed to sidetrack her by opening a discussion about the upcoming meeting with his mother.
“Not meaning to brag,” he said (meaning to ever so little), “but the women of the do’ Verlas line have, for the last fifteen generations, been renowned for their matchmaking abilities. The ability seems to be passed on by the male but is seeded in the female line. That means that the first girl-child will have the same abilities as my mother and hers before her and so on. And they can tell who’s meant for whom. Something about empathic awareness, I’m told.”
Ramannie sat quietly for the rest of the ride.
She’s afraid, Rentec thought. And who wouldn’t be, knowing that your fate is in the hand of someone you’ve never met. For a do’ Verlas woman to pronounce “nay” upon a union effectively ended it before it began.
Dusk was falling as Rentec and Ramannie approached the spaceport employee’s housing complex.
“So, what’s the big emergency?” she asked as they neared her building. “I’ve refrained from asking, but I’ll find out, you know. I do work for Minister Foran, after all.”
“The undersecretary couldn’t tell me over an unsecured line, but he did let me know that it had something to do with a returning patrol. Just what, I’ll know shortly.”
“Could it be the one you and Minister Foran sent out the search mission for?” she asked suddenly interested.
“Oh, I doubt that, Ramannie. The only way it could be that would be if the Dalgor Kreth turned up back in Shiravan space on its own. Which I suppose is a possibility—remote, but a possibility. I think, though, that if that had been the case, the undersecretary would have just passed on the information without worryin
g about secure communications. And my presence wouldn’t be so urgently required that we couldn’t finish our vacation. This is something far graver, I believe.”
Rentec’s vehicle settled to the ground outside Ramannie’s building, and she stepped out into the deepening gloom. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing so urgent that it should have taken you away from your vacation,” she said. “No one with your level of responsibility can work day in and day out without relief. You should make them extend your vacation when you finish with this charade.”
Agreeing to think about the situation, Rentec drove over to the Spatial Affairs building as soon as Ramannie was out of sight. It’s odd that the building is named after one of the more junior offices in it, he mused for the thousandth time as he settled the vehicle into its place and hurried into the looming edifice.
Rentec arrived as full night fell, and he found the main building fully lit. More than just unusual, it was virtually unheard of to have so many people around at this time of the evening. Even more of a surprise were the checkpoints he’d to go through to get onto the Ministry grounds. On three separate occasions, he was stopped and his identification demanded. Upon identifying himself yet again when he actually entering the building, he was directed to a briefing room.
During his several Turnings as a minister, Rentec had never been in this particular briefing room. He found that it was more in the nature of an auditorium, with its raised stage and chairs rising up in tiers from the floor to the highest seats in the back.
The room was already crowded when he arrived. This time, rather than having his identity checked, he was merely asked for his name. Rentec watched the guard strike through his name and noticed that it was the last one on the list.
“Minister do’ Verlas, you are the last to arrive,” the guard said. “I’ve been instructed to inform Policy Minister sel Garian when the list has been completed so the briefing can begin. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Rentec found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with the Underminister of Defense, a distant cousin of his, Parlo do’ Nallen. “This doesn’t look like any briefing I’ve ever attended. It looks more like a...”
“A council of war?” cousin Parlo finished in a strained voice.
“So it would seem,” Rentec noted. “We have Economics, Intelligence, Defense, Personnel, Finance, Supply, Military, and Spatial Affairs, and those are just the ones I can see right off. The last time we had this many ministers gathered together was just before my father’s death. The discussion then was whether or not to send ships out to harass the Korvil as they’ve been harassing us for centuries.”
“That was before my time, too,” Parlo said. “But it’s obvious you haven’t heard. Where have you been?”
“On vacation in the Dukara Mountains,” Rentec said sourly. “I asked Ramannie to be my consort. This is not an auspicious beginning for our life together. Heard what?”
“Ah! A betrothal trip! Did she accept? And is this Ramannie the same beautiful young thing I’ve seen you with over the last several months?”
“Yes, she did, and yes, she is,” Rentec said lowering his voice. “And what haven’t I heard?”
“You haven’t heard that scout ships from one of the reprisal fleets finally located a Korvil raider’s outpost,” Parlo said with equal amounts of elation and fear in his voice. “You haven’t heard that we ambushed two of their ships in space, destroyed almost a dozen more on the ground, and destroyed the entire compound. And when one kill-crazed survivor we believe to have been a Sept-leader tried to attack the ground troops, he was shot to death literally at the feet of the assault team. We have effectively declared open war on the Korvil Empire.”
“Silence!” Rentec hissed, looking down at the stage. “There’s sel Garian.”
Minister sel Garian was famous. The entire sel Garian Clan were rabid Isolationists, with the exception of a very few who could afford to buck the clan system. Manura sel Garian was the most prominent of these. As Policy Minister, she was the matriarch’s closest adviser. It was she who had led the fight to empower the Reprisal Fleets, and the council vote had gone her way by sheerest luck, one might think.
Rentec had his doubts about that though. The Shiravan colony-world, Harlo, had among its members relatives or offspring of many of the ministers who, for one reason or another, would abstain from voting in favor of a war. But the tensions were too high after the report of Harlo’s capture by Korvil forces. And sel Garian had chosen the absolute perfect moment to call a vote on the Reprisal Fleets, winning only because of Harlo. His father had told him of that vote—of how the vote had been called for when word of the calamity reached the council, and of how, afterwards, there were those who wondered aloud at the timing of the release of the report and how sel Garian had refused to rise to the bait and challenge any of those who spoke out. sel Garian had been instrumental in crushing the Isolationist uprising some twenty turns earlier. Her brutal tactics during the suppression had earned her the title of “Butcher of Harasel,” a label she never bristled at and never denied.
The wizened old woman walked out into the center of the stage and glared at the audience until silence reigned. “That’s better,” she grated harshly through the artificial larynx that was the legacy of her actions during the revolt. A fanatic from her own clan had tried to behead her during the last bloody hours of the uprising, only to fail because of his own mortal wounds at her hands. “There’s no time for debate. No arguing, no finger pointing, and no name calling—just action. Each and every one of you are relevant to the effort we are about to embark upon. Everyone knows about the Reprisal Fleets, and now you can be told of the success of one of those fleets.
“Because of their hit-and-run tactics, it has until recently been virtually impossible to even find a Korvil outpost. Thanks in large part to the Ministry of Intelligence, and in some part to the Goddess of Luck, we recently located and identified one such base. We then planned and executed an assault upon that base, raider style. The Goddess of Luck flew with the women and ships of Second Fleet, and of the nine vessels involved in the attack, seven returned. We mourn the loss of the crews of the two ships and commiserate with their relatives and clans. Their names will be marked among those of Honored Ancestors in the Dusternas of each clan from this day forth.
“As I said, the Goddess of Luck rode with this fleet. Not only did seven ships and their crews survive, but we accrued an unexpected bonus. Along with the nearly one dozen ships caught on the ground, we caught two on approach vectors and destroyed them as well, but not without a cost. Both of those enemy ships managed to ram the nearest unfortunate ship and take it down with them. The bonus is that in the aftermath of the attack, while all the data were being reviewed, traces of a life pod ejecting from one of the inbound ships was detected.
“Teams were sent down to search the destroyed base and environs, and a survivor was found. Following their usual policy of fighting to the death, this one did so as well. And had it not been for the proper placement of personnel, he might have inflicted serious damage upon the landing team even though he was unarmed. We believe, from what little we know of Korvil hierarchy, that this individual was the equivalent of a clan mother. I believe from the few translations we have been able to obtain that the proper term is ‘Sept-leader.’ We also believe that this individual was responsible for the raids throughout the entire Parrasine sector.” During the last minute of sel Garian’s presentation, video from the ground teams flashed on the screen behind her, ending with the scorched Pankatt Korchon, last Kravar Sept-leader.
“The type of destruction,” sel Garian continued when the screen went blank, “along with the debris from our two ships, will show quite clearly to the Korvil monarch that Shiravan ships were responsible for the destruction of the outpost. We expect the reprisals will be extremely unpleasant to all Shiravans everywhere. For over two hundred turns, the Shiravan response has been minimal. Defend, defend, defend. This way lies
death through attrition. It has now become necessary to learn from our tormentors, and learn we shall. The crews of our three Reprisal Fleets that have been put into space over the past five turns will comprise the core of our new, revised fleet structure.
“While our ships are armed, they are neither as heavily armed as Korvil ships, nor do their crews have the accrued experience that winning battles brings. This will change. As time and material permit, ships will be brought back to Shiravi for refitting, but their crews will have to gain experience as they go. It’s my hope that this briefing will have laid to rest many unsubstantiated rumors. Unfortunately, sometimes the truth can be worse than imagination. All ships and crews are hereby impressed into the service of the matriarch for the duration. All Shiravan personnel are requested to comply with new, soon-to-be-published rules that cover the hoarding of supplies and war-related material. All ministries will receive instructions on how their business is to be conducted as we go to a full-scale war footing. There will be no questions at this time. All questions can be submitted to the Policy Ministry. This meeting is concluded. I want the ministers, underministers, secretaries and undersecretaries of the following Ministries to remain behind for additional instructions: Intelligence, Defense, Finance, Commerce, Spatial Affairs, Colonization, and Production. That will be all.”
When the room had been cleared of all but the seven dignitaries of each of the named ministries and their assistants, the little old woman motioned to have the doors locked by the remaining guards as they left the room. Rentec, still sitting at the back of the now nearly empty room, noticed the doors being locked and started to make a formal protest against the unusual nature of the action, but for some reason he decided to see where this particular turn of events led. All six of the other ministers protested the action, along with several underministers and a secretary or two. Rentec’s cousin, Parlo, would have joined in voicing his objection as well but for Rentec’s restraining hand.
