Firestorm d-6

by Taylor Anderson

  “That’s the spirit!” Kurokawa beamed genuinely. “General Esshk?”

  Esshk produced a crude map from the folds of his cloak. “As you may have understood earlier, there’s a group of hunters in the south that we had been ‘saving’ for some time now. They inhabit lands we care nothing for, and cannot escape. They’re completely surrounded by a most hostile sea.” He paused. “But priorities… change.” He pointed. “Here. Their lands surround this place you call ‘Cape Town’ in a rough semicircle extending perhaps three or four hundreds of miles. Quite small, as I said, but they are fierce warriors. Good hunters. The Celestial Mother, in her benevolence, has decided to extend to them ‘the Offer’ to join the hunt. Do you understand what this means?”

  Miyata nodded, and, clearing his throat, added a little shakily, “I do.”

  “Very well. It will be a difficult journey. We cannot take you all the way by ship. Even if the hunters there did not destroy it, no ship can swim around this ‘Cape of Storms.’ It is hideously cold, and the currents and seas are most intense.” He coughed a Grik laugh. “To my view, the climate there is sufficient reason to leave them with it, but we would fight with them rather than against them just now.”

  “In that case, where will I go ashore?” Miyata asked.

  “Here.” Esshk pointed. Miyata vaguely recognized the area around the Moamba of his old world, about a hundred and fifty miles east of where Johannesburg should be. “From there, it is a trek of some three hundreds of miles across some of the worst country known. Open rocky plains, much of it, plagued by high winds. And it is cold, cold. There are also large, dangerous beasts”-he jerked his head in a shrug-“but they would never frighten you.” He raised his gaze to Miyata. “Cross that plain and make contact with these… beings. You look like them, so perhaps they will not kill you on sight as they have done our previous… emissaries.”

  “What language do they speak? I understand your spoken language and I know a little English, but that’s all. What if I can’t communicate? They may not even be… true people.”

  “If you cannot speak to them, you will be killed,” Esshk replied reasonably. “But make ‘the Offer’ if you can, and secure their assistance. Do that and you will be handsomely rewarded!”

  “And… what do I tell them if they refuse?” Miyata asked.

  “They will be exterminated,” Esshk answered simply. “We are preoccupied, true, but not so preoccupied that we cannot swarm them under even as things now stand. This is their one chance.”

  “When do we leave… ah, First General?”

  “Preparations are already underway. All should be in readiness within days at most. You know better what your species requires for survival in frigid lands, so prepare accordin. Requisition what you need under my authority.”

  Miyata looked at Kurokawa, now ignoring him. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Consider yourselves dismissed, to begin preparations.” The three men bowed and were escorted away. Esshk glanced back at Kurokawa and gestured at the cell. “Have you observed the results you hoped to see?” he asked grudgingly, doing his best to conceal his revulsion. The “Traitor’s Death” was rarely used, and even this… approximation, particularly when undeserved, awakened a primal horror. Tsalka couldn’t bring himself to look inside the cell, and even the Chooser appeared uncomfortable. Only the “Jaaph” seemed unmoved. Esshk had long considered Kurokawa a barbarian, and at times an annoying pest, but he was valuable enough to overlook those things. This exhibition of utter, wanton, ruthlessness-even toward lesser beings-displayed a dispassionate side of the “man” Esshk hadn’t seen. Oddly, Kurokawa was demonstrating the exact sort of disassociation most prized by the Hij: the ability to completely separate one’s self from the consequences of one’s acts or orders, to remain beyond the call of earthly urges even in the heat of battle. Esshk often struggled with that, in particular. The capacity for that was viewed as a Hij ideal, but Esshk had never seen anyone fully capable of achieving it-until now. Or was it only that Kurokawa viewed the poor creature in the cell as nothing more significant than an insect, and he didn’t fully appreciate the trauma the female was enduring?

  “Yes. The defensive hatchlings, the ones the Chooser once culled and you… ate as snacks, that we now groom for defensive combat, appear susceptible to nurturing contact, even at this early stage. They become… protective of the female that treats them gently, and defend it most vigorously from their ‘normal’ nest-mates that threaten her.” He shrugged. “If we can inculcate this sense of loyalty to a ‘mother figure’ at this stage of their development, imagine the fanatical loyalty they will carry later, for the greatest ‘Mother’ of all.” Kurokawa paused. “Loyalty is the most elusive quality a commander can desire of his followers,” he said broodingly.

  Outside, in the clear air, Miyata coughed to expel the stench of the Grik “dungeon.” He looked at his companions. Both were young and from divisions not considered “essential” to current projects.

  “Well,” he said at last, “what did you two do to deserve this?”

  “You… think this mission is a punishment, sir?” one asked nervously.

  Miyata considered. In his mind’s eye he saw the macabre East Africa “shipyard” he’d been recalled from; the seething mass of workers, the hot, swirling dust and perpetual stench of death and rot and feces, carried by the fitful, fickle wind. To him, even while the Grik constructed their new fleet, the scene more closely resembled a sea of maggots working among skeletal corpses. The stench did much to reinforce that impression. He blinked and found himself back with his companions on the steps of the “administrative” portion of the Celestial Palace. Below the slope it dominated, down in the harbor, scores of Grik “Indiamen” rode at anchor and multitudes of Grik trotted about like furry, reptilian ants, on errands or bearing burdens. He scowled. The smell out here wasn’t much better than in the dungeon below-or in the shipyards.

  “It’s a suicide mission,” he stated at last, “but not a punishment. Anything that gets me away from here is a reward.”

  Colombo, Grik Ceylon

  “Your scheme seems to have been successful, General Halik,” “General” Orochi Niwa said, entering the gloomy chamber through an ivy-lined entrance. The chamber was the throne room of the Imperial Regent Consort of Ceylon and all India, but with Tsalka away at court, Viceroy N’galsh had grudgingly turned it over to the “visiting generals” to plan the defense and hopefully, salvation of his lands. Normally, sunlight flooded the chamber and reflected down upon the throne at its center, but the sky was overcast and lamps were needed to view the maps on the table that had been brought into the room. Halik and N’galsh looked up from the maps as the Japanese officer joined them, awaiting the rest of his report. “The ship sent to observe has returned, and though it never drew close enough to sight the enemy, its Hij captain saw a massive explosion at sea. According to your plan, those newly elevated aboard the ‘bait’ ships were not to destroy themselves unless they were confident of destroying at least one enemy ship. If we act quickly, the cargo vessels stuck here might escape at last.”

  “I will see to it,” N’galsh said, tinkling a small chime. An official entered the chamber. “Send word for the vessels in the harbor to make sail at once. At least one enemy is almost certainly destroyed, perhaps more. Others may be damaged, or occupied with salvage and rescue.” He snorted irony at that. “Most should make it past them.”

  “Of course, Vice Regent, it shall be done,” the official replied.

  General Halik observed the exchange with pleasure. He was glad Niwa had finally established dominance over N’galsh. Not only had he grown to… enjoy Niwa’s company, but if anything happened to Halik, Niwa must be obeyed. N’galsh had been reluctant to take direction from either of them at first, even Halik, since as a former Uul “entertainment warrior,” he’d been “elevated” from the ranks and not the nest. Hatched a mere warrior, he ultimately gained notice in the staged combats the Giver of Life
so enjoyed by continuing to prevail despite his advanced years. He’d been twenty seasons old; ancient for an Uul, when he was “chosen.” Even before that, he’d begun to notice things, to “think,” and in this war, the Celestial Mother had determined they needed more like him. So here he was on Ceylon, sent to “defend” it as best he could with the assistance of the former Special Naval Landing Force officer, Orochi Niwa. He was also to observe and recruit as many “like himself” as he could find before the place was likely lost. Evidently, he’d lost a double handful of those recruits that day, but the result should be worth the cost. He summoned the official back before he could depart.

  “I want watchers to observe the beaches here,” he said, drawing a claw along the southwest coast of the island. “Have First of Ten Hundreds Agrawer choose them with care. They must not attack if they sight any enemies, but bring the news back here.” He looked at Niwa. “With the weather growing foul, a damaged enemy vessel may wash ashore. If so, and if any survive, we may learn their intentions-if local Uul do not savage them.” Halik hissed a sigh. “They will not have learned, nor would they appreciate this concept of ‘taking prisoners’ you’ve mentioned. They will just kill them and eat them. It strikes me that this might be an excellent opportunity to attempt the procedure.”

  “Very good,” Niwa said. “Perhaps I should go myself? If you’re right, someone should be near with a grasp of the priorities.”

  Halik shook his head. “I am likely wrong and need you here to discuss the potential of these new ‘recruits.’ But I learned long amer Specio never ignore a potential advantage offered by an opponent: a weak sword arm, a tendency to lower his shield on the attack. These things can be exploited later, but only if you notice them. A few ‘prisoners’ might help with that. They can always be eaten later.”

  Niwa said nothing, but Halik caught the… different… expression. He gurgled understanding. “I know it is not your way to feed on the bodies of your enemies. To you they are not ‘prey’ in the manner they are to us. You fight them, subjugate them, but do not eat them. To me, that is as incomprehensible as what we do is to you. I foresee no meeting of minds on this issue. Even were I inclined to bow to your sensibilities regarding those we defeat, particularly those of your species, I could not.”

  Niwa seemed to shrug it off. “It’s not the way of my people to surrender in the first place. If any of the enemy do, I wouldn’t see them eaten, but they deserve no respect.”

  Halik looked at him a long moment. “Even so, my friend, if the time comes, I might save some few as ‘pets’ or ‘advisors,’ but that is the most I could do. In that event, choose carefully.”

  “My choice was made by General of the Sea Hisashi Kurokawa,” Niwa said simply. “On this world, he stands in my emperor’s stead and I obey his orders. It is fortunate for me that those orders paired me with you.” He glanced at N’galsh. “Even with our perfect understanding, I feel compelled to go. I’d hate to learn survivors were slain by… overeager Hij on the scene.”

  “That will not happen,” Halik warned the official. “See to it.”

  “I shall.”

  “Excellent. You are dismissed.” The official bowed and backed from the chamber. Halik again looked at Niwa. “You seem to have settled in well,” he ventured.

  “Well enough,” Niwa confirmed. “Under the circumstances. My orders are rarely questioned anymore.”

  “They should not be questioned at all! You bear a commission from the First General himself.”

  “There have apparently been few generals other than Grik for quite some time,” Niwa observed dryly. “Perhaps they must grow… accustomed.”

  Halik nodded thoughtfully. He’d learned that, through the ages, “other hunters” were sometimes considered worthy enough to join the “Great Hunt” as partners to the Grik. To these, “the Offer” was made, just as it had been to Kurokawa-after conquest of his people and their mighty ship proved too costly. He sometimes wondered what had become of those earlier, “other hunters.”

  “Indeed,” he said, looking at N’galsh, who’d remained uncharacteristically silent. “Excuse me, General Niwa. You have questions, Vice Regent?”

  “I do.” N’galsh took a breath. “My lords, you have now visited all the island. You have not seen India proper, but I have to ask: what now are your views? Can this land be saved?”

  “That depends on a great many things,” Halik replied. “That ‘view’ hasn’t changed in the least.” He dipped his head in a Grik shrug. “There are more, older Uul here, ready for the ‘change’ than I expected to find. Perhaps that is the way of things on the frontier. Nearer the Sacred Lands, the choosers would have taken most for the cook pots by now, or younger warriors would have slain and eaten them as they weakened… as I did. That guiding principle has now changed, of course, as have many others, and we have gathered in as many as we could. But the effort to identify the ‘special ones’ must not cease.”

  “No, Lord General. But beyond that, what are your thoughts?”

  Ha lik looked at Niwa, and the Japanese officer began to answer for him.

  “As General Halik said, it depends. Yes, we’ve seen the land, and some parts are defensible-with warriors trained in defense. Most Grik can’t even comprehend the concept, and we’re not authorized to waste many we find that can. We’ll use some, but as we’ve discussed, most must be saved for ‘proper’ elevation, to become generals, officers, or under officers themselves. The bulk of our defensive strategy must rely on spoiling attacks, things the warriors here understand. We’ll bleed the enemy as much as possible, but they’ll expect it. That’s the only way ‘we’ve’ ever fought. We might surprise them from time to time. In fact we’ve seen some good places to do that if they land where we think they will, and if they advance as we hope. Remember, we likely know less about them than they know about us, and they may have new technological miracles to throw against us.”

  “But what of our ‘miracles’?” N’galsh insisted. “I know they exist! General of the Sea Kurokawa promised them, and they must be nearing completion by now. Why else break the blockade? Why else send all the materials-ship after shipload of them!-away just now if they weren’t essential to the weapons he makes? I’ve seen some; those strange tubes a few of your guards carry, but there must be more!”

  “There are,” Halik assured him, “but they may not be finished yet. They will come when they are ready, if they are ready in time. They cannot be just dribbled in; they must arrive in sufficient numbers to be decisive. The Sacred Lands must be provided for first, but if we hold, we will get what we need. Help may even come in forms we cannot imagine. You speak of our guards and the guns they carry, the ‘matchlocks’ such as General Niwa’s people once used. We will employ them, if only to test their effectiveness.”

  Halik’s pupils suddenly thinned and he spoke with a new, bitter intensity. “But most of the troops here could no more learn to use them than flap their arms and fly. For ages, the most complicated arm Grik warriors learned was the crossbow-and only the smartest Uul use them! Perhaps our very society is to blame; intelligence among Uul has never been prized. But it has been ‘the Way’ for countless generations, and it has worked… until now.”

  He looked hard at N’galsh. “Report my words if you like, but things will change; they have already begun to. Compared to the eons before now, change is coming impossibly fast and it cannot be stopped. I was a sport fighter. Look at me now; listen to my words! Do I sound like a senseless Uul, destined by age for the cook pots so short a time ago?” He pondered his own words. “Maybe this change will be good. More such as I will become more than they are-more than they have ever been allowed to become. But what of you, N’galsh? How will you like that? We may save Ceylon for you and Regent Tsalka, but we have to become something completely different to succeed. I have no real notion what that ‘something’ will be, but it will most assuredly be other than what it now is, and it’s possible none of us will like it very much.”


  CHAPTER 6

  Task Force Garrett-Ceylon them! /i› SS Donaghey was hard aground on the mushy, sandy beach of south Ceylon. She’d driven in under all the canvas she could spread and the tide and swells cooperated nicely to deposit her as high on the beach as anyone had a right to expect. Mighty waves pounded her stern, bashing in the windows and slowly heaving her around until she was almost beam-on to the marching surf, but she was in no immediate danger of breaking up. Tolson hadn’t been so lucky. She’d struck and stuck almost a quarter mile out and almost immediately turned beam-on to the wind and sea. She was a stout ship and it would take time for her to break, but unless the sea settled down, she certainly would eventually. Right now, she was in even more danger of rolling, and the first priority was getting her people ashore with everything they could bring with them.

  Greg Garrett paced the enemy beach, looking out to sea. He hadn’t yet fully absorbed the emotional impact of “losing” his entire squadron; he was too good an officer to dwell on that in the midst of the emergency. He was heartsick to see Donaghey and Tolson as they lay, still just shadowy shapes shrouded in night, but his most immediate concern was saving what he could and preparing for the inevitable storm to come-from the Grik. Despite everything, their landfall had apparently been almost perfect. They’d grounded on what amounted to a little isthmus of sorts, protected on one side by the sea, and on the other by a swampy river mouth. It wasn’t much, but it could have been a lot worse. Smitty remained by his side as he continued marching through the sand, examining the ground through the blowing grains and atomized spray, seeing what he could of the peninsula in the dark.

  Marines had been the first ashore, and he encountered them from time to time, lone figures, watching for signs of life or distant lights that might indicate habitation. So far, there was nothing. Maybe their arrival had gone unnoticed and they’d have time to prepare. Smitty hadn’t said a word during their inspection. He was waiting for Garrett to get the “big picture” in his mind. He was good at that. He didn’t have long to wait.