I first produced my pistol, for Jenny stole my rapier
But I couldn’t shoot with damp powder, so a prisoner I was taken
Musha ring dumma do damma da
Whack for my daddy ‘ol
Whack for my daddy ‘ol
There’s whiskey in the jar-o
If anyone can aid me, it’s my brother in the army
If I can find his station in St. Louis or in Harm’ny
And if he’ll come with me, we’ll rove through Xur and G’ravana
Maybe take the treasure from below the damn Queen’s mountain!
Musha ring dumma do damma da
Whack for my daddy ‘ol
Whack for my daddy ‘ol
There’s whiskey in the jar-o
The Tullans responded especially strongly to the rapid beat and angry, defiant lyrics. And although the ruddy faced aliens from halfway across the galaxy could not understand the words, their meaning was not entirely lost on them. They tugged on the long tufts of hair protruding from either side of their chins and bobbed their heads to the beat of the drum or held their mugs of beer high, chanting along as best they could.
Logan and Ravenwood pushed their way through the crowd until they finally reached the table where the others had been waiting. Lena and Cap were there, each with a glass of beer. Agrom was there too, seated on a wide bench, with two large mugs of beer in each mighty hand.
They all greeted Logan and Ravenwood. Beth soon joined them as well. Agrom picked up a mug between his large thumb and index finger and toasted them, then emptied its contents in just three quick gulps. He picked up the second and prepared to repeat the process.
“Slow down, Agrom,” shouted Cap above the music and cheering. “I had to wait in line for ten minutes to get that beer!”
“I have a feeling Agrom can get served faster than that if he wants another one…or two,” said Beth with a smile.
“Or three or four,” added Cap. “I wonder how much beer it would take to get a Grenn drunk.”
“Let’s not find out,” said Lena.
“What do you think of the music?” Cap asked Agrom, speaking into a translation device resting in the middle of the table that the Brevians had given to Ravenwood to assist in communicating with Lycians. Of course, he did not require it himself so he had given it to Cap.
Agrom looked at the written words, translated into Turumbu, the language of the Grenn.
“Entaun, usuvaku xanuvandurevium.”
Cap looked at the device and read the translation aloud. “‘It sounds like an asteroid howling through the atmosphere’.”
“Is that good or bad?” asked Logan.
Agrom shrugged enigmatically.
Cap had a drink from his glass then pointed back and forth between Logan, Beth, and Ravenwood. “So, how’d the big meeting with General Longmire go?”
“It’s top secret stuff,” joked Logan. “You’re not cleared for it.”
“T’cha right,” replied Cap with a laugh. “Spill it. Are you officially in the Earth Defense Force now?”
Logan flashed a grin. “I’ll be sworn in tomorrow.”
“As what? What post did he offer?”
“Brigadier general.”
“Brigadier general? Are you willing to be bucked down from commanding an army corps?”
“I’d sign on as a lance corporal if that’s what it took for me to fight the Sahiradin,” declared Logan.
“You’d make a lousy corporal,” replied Cap. “You’ve got too many opinions.” He raised his glass. “Good luck getting everyone to march in the same direction.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” said Ravenwood. “Logan’s brigade will consist mainly of soldiers from Second Army, compliments of Attika’s early discharge program.”
Cap nodded his head and grinned. “Nice. So, what’s next?”
“Next? General Longmire is making final plans to send troops to Agurru.”
“Am I right in assuming Logan’s brigade would go?”
“Guaranteed,” said Logan as he gave Beth’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
“He will certainly go, as will you, my young friend. Longmire needs pilots too,” said Ravenwood.
Cap tapped his thumbs on the table in time with the music as the band played a dance tune that soon had the Tullans stomping and howling with approval. “So we’re all going off to the merry land of Agurru, which I hear is nothing more than rock and dust, to fight the Sahiradin. Me in my Falcon, you in your…boots.” Looking at Lena, Cap said in an uncharacteristically serious tone, “Agurru will be a tough fight. At least you’ll be safe.”
Lena smiled and placed her hand on Cap’s forearm. “Thanks for the thought, hun, but I’ll be there too. My commission is effective as soon as my paperwork clears.”
“What?” exclaimed Cap. “Longmire thinks you’re a deserter. There’s no way he’d take you.”
“It seems the General is more interested in getting quality soldiers than holding grudges,” said Beth, both amused and touched by Cap’s attempt to protect Lena. “Besides, no one doubts Lena was right to keep fighting the PRA after the League stuck its head in the sand. I’ll bet Longmire secretly admires her decision to go AWOL, but of course the old soldier in him can’t admit it.”
“Well, I hope you’re at least coming in as an officer,” Cap said to Lena, clearly unhappy with the thought of her stepping into harm’s way.
Lena smiled and said, “As a matter of fact, I’ll be a captain. Longmire’s desperate for experienced officers, and because the Serks joined separately as Isle Royal’s contribution to the fight, he’s reuniting us as a Special Forces unit.”
“Oh, oh,” said Beth with a smile. “That means she outranks you, Commander Caparelli.”
Cap wagged a finger in response. “No, no, no - different chain of command. Technically, I’m with the fleet under Star Marshal Laurent, not Longmire and the army.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” said Logan teasingly.
Cap smiled and looked at Lena. “You’ll always command my heart.”
“Not enough. I want the whole package - heart, body, and soul.”
“You got it,” said Cap. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
Beth raised an eyebrow. “Who is this stranger in disguise as Cap?”
Lena frowned at her and said, “Now, now. He’s a work in progress. You’ll soon see him transformed into a sophisticated, charming, and refined man.”
“Can’t wait,” quipped Logan.
“I’m interested to see how this turns out myself,” Cap mumbled into his beer before taking a drink.
“Morahandu Humani su hestanha mohentu,” said Agrom, who had been following the conversation through the translation device.
“Yes,” said Ravenwood, who looked at Cap slightly sideways. “The amorous relations of humans must seem quite strange to you.”
“All right, all right,” said Cap. “Enough with the commentary. Back to the Sahiradin and Agurru. Has anyone asked why the Sahiradin are attacking now? They’ve had the Stone for three years. Why’d they wait so long?”
“Aha!” said Ravenwood raising his finger into the air. “Here is where knowledge of Sahiradin ways is important. We speak of them monolithically, but that creates an inaccurate picture, especially under current conditions. We know there is a rift between Khadiem and the Kisch. Why else did they wait so long to name her Queen? I suspect that Khadiem, who has been using the Apollo Stone to send Havoc on lightning raids throughout Lycian space, refuses to hand it over to the Kisch.”
“They’re having a standoff,” said Logan.
“Exactly.”
“So it’s the Kisch that’s launching this attack,” said Cap, somewhat bewildered. “Not Khadiem?”
“Also, their hand was forced because Khadiem is quite likely reaching the apex of her fertility cycle. She will chose a mate, and by making her queen, they hope to influence her selection,” added Beth.
“Maybe some guys
on the Kisch want to throw their name in the hat,” opined Cap.
“I don’t think the choice is as haphazard as that,” continued Beth. “But I suspect the Kisch had another reason for launching the attack now. They were afraid Earth will join the fight.”
Ravenwood smiled and nodded his head. “And we did.”
“Haha! And they know we’ll kick their butts!” exclaimed Cap, raising his glass in a toast.
“Eventually, yes,” said Ravenwood, in a more subdued tone. “But I think it’s more a question of mathematics than fear of our current capacity to wage war.”
“Oh good,” said Cap unenthusiastically. “We’re going to beat them with math.”
“Be patient, dear,” said Lena. “I think I know where Ravenwood’s going with this.”
“Every ten years,” continued Ravenwood with an appreciative smile toward Lena, “the Sahiradin queen gives birth to hundreds of thousands of warrior eggs, actually more according to recent estimates. And these warriors mature very quickly. In fact, they’re ready for battle before the next generation is born.”
“Unduvo lebendurava,” said Agrom.
“And they live up to two hundred years?” said Cap with an alarmed glance at the translation device.
“Duru,” responded Agrom with a quick nod.
“But of course, few reach that venerable age,” added Ravenwood. “Now, those numbers may seem daunting at first.”
“Try terrifying,” said Cap under his breath.
“But they shouldn’t be,” continued Ravenwood, “at least not when viewed over a long period of time, because Sahiradin numbers increase arithmetically. Humans, on the other hand, reproduce exponentially.”
Cap nodded his head. “I get it. If humans can survive for a few generations and we can spare the manpower, our higher birthrates will give us the edge. The Sahiradin won’t be able to keep up.”
“Exactly.”
“But if the Sahiradin birthrate is capped like that,” said Lena, “why haven’t the other Lycian species already overwhelmed them? We know they lack the Sahiradin warrior ethos, but given the enemy’s reproductive limitations, they should have won by now.”
Agrom emptied his second beer and said as he put down his mug, “Haputusohens prú muuhtu hinalu buranuhdu.”
“Exactly,” said Ravenwood. “Birth rates among the Lycians are also extremely low when compared to humans. Furthermore, mortality rates among their offspring are much, much higher.”
“I wasn’t aware that the Lycian’s birthrates were so low,” said Logan. “Do we know why?”
“I think the answer is quite clear,” replied Ravenwood. “Aside from the Grenn, none of the Lycian female populations have a womb; they either give birth to eggs, such as the Sahiradin and Cistacians, or produce very underdeveloped offspring, such as the Visk.”
Logan raised an eyebrow and said, “So when you take the political tensions between Khadiem and the Kisch plus the difference in birthrates into consideration, the Kisch believes the attack on Agurru might be their last chance to deliver a knockout blow.”
“They’re actually afraid they might lose the war,” said Beth. “This represents a shift in their thinking. They initially assumed humans were like the Alamani, incapable of physical aggression. But the Battle of Bullard Creek and the raids we’ve been joining the Lycians on have convinced them otherwise.”
“Precisely!” said Ravenwood. “If they can destroy the reactors on Agurru, the khâls to dozens of the Lycians’ most productive systems will be neutralized and the populations there isolated. The economy would collapse. Losing access to those systems would be a mortal blow to the Lycians, and I have no doubt they would soon surrender.”
“And leave Earth to face the Sahiradin alone,” said Lena.
“I’m afraid so,” said Ravenwood.
Just then a number of Tullans began to hoot and roar in the direction of a second group of Tullans. The second group responded in kind while also making a number of provocative gestures.
“Oh boy,” said Cap. “Here we go. Maybe we shouldn’t be giving Tullans alcohol.”
“The alcohol has less to do with this budding altercation than proximity,” said Ravenwood. “If you put two Tullan clans within eyesight of each other, as we have done here, trouble will certainly follow.”
“Tullanuba garubunda mohenta temahuupo,” said Agrom disapprovingly.
“Yes,” agreed Ravenwood. “The Tullans truly are their own worst enemy.”
The gestures and taunting quickly escalated into a shoving match. The band stopped playing and most nearby human soldiers stepped back. Without warning, the Tullans began hitting and kicking each other. Several human soldiers were knocked over or doused with beer, inducing them to throw themselves into the mix as well. Within seconds, the fight swelled to include nearly half of the tavern’s patrons.
“Damn it,” grumbled Logan. Though not yet officially an officer of the EDF, he wasn’t about to let a barroom brawl destroy the kernel of Earth-Lycian collaboration taking root at Harmony.
He set down his beer and stood up from the table, but just as he turned toward the center of the room, a Tullan stepped backward into him, pushing him against the table. The Tullan turned around, and without hesitation, cracked Logan in the jaw, sending him tumbling over the table and sliding between Beth and Agrom.
Agrom roared in anger so loudly the nearby windows shook in their frames. He easily lifted the table and tossed it to the side, causing Logan to fall onto the floor. Agrom stood and quickly strode toward the Tullan, who clearly regretted having disturbed the Grenn. The Tullan quickly back peddled, but he could not outrun Agrom, who snatched him up by the collar and sent him sliding across the floor and into the far wall like a sack of flour. Seeing the approaching enraged Grenn, Tullans of both clans gathered together and attempted to wrestle him down, but Agrom pulled them off his arms and legs and casually sent them hurtling through the air.
“Stand down!” roared Logan, who had dashed to the stage where he could be seen by all. Two stunned Tullans lay on the floor along the path he’d taken. “Stand down, all of you!”
The Brevians standing along the walls repeated his order in Urudaska, though it had no effect on the Tullans, who continued to fight amongst themselves as well as against Agrom and more than a few humans. Logan repeated the order. “Stand down or you’re all going to the brig!”
“Who the hell are you!” shouted a human.
“I’m Logan Brandt. Who the hell are you?”
Though Logan was not in uniform, the man immediately recognized the name. He swallowed hard then stood at attention and saluted. “Sergeant Baskom, sir!”
“Well, Sergeant Baskom you’ve had your fun. Time to clear out of here.”
“Sir! Yes sir!”
Baskom immediately started grabbing his fellow soldiers by the shirt and pulling them out of the fight, speaking to them as he did so. They looked up at Logan then began to do the same with other soldiers.
But while the humans were following Logan’s order, none of the Tullans saw any reason to stop fighting each other or Agrom, who was beginning to grow dangerously angry with the Tullans who continued to assail him with reckless abandon. Logan was about to get into the fray himself and pull the Tullans apart, but before he could move, Beth had taken the microphone from its stand, the band having long since retreated to safer environs, and shouted something in Urudaska.
“Agu doitra saleatsa m’haithinda!”
Surprised to hear a human female voice speaking so forcefully in their own language, many of the Tullans turned to look at the stage.
She looked at Logan. “You’ve got their attention, my Love.”
Logan looked out over the crowed and shouted, “The Sahiradin are coming, and we’re not ready!”
The Brevians in the room translated his statement, which further subdued the Tullans, though a few continued their brawling.
“The Sahiradin are coming to Agurru! They’re going there to
destroy the reactors that connect dozens of hypergates. If they succeed, they win this war and destroy us all. Think of your loved ones. Parents, siblings, sons, and daughters – every one of them will be butchered! It’s that simple.”
The room grew silent as the Brevians translated this last statement. All eyes were now on Logan.
“Now I’ve seen how you can fight against each other, but what I have yet to see is if you can fight alongside each other. The Sahiradin are going for our jugular and you spend your time squabbling over ancient insults! The time for settling old scores is over.”
A Tullan with red markings on his cheek and forearms indicating he was a senior member of his clan stepped forward and pointed a finger at Logan. “Alach metu uair throihid an Khadiem. Esht goa moir lehet e mhuru. Chohesech feisin buhfuehl Tu’Hanai. Heshtu?”
Beth leaned toward Logan and said, “He says he’s heard you fought Khadiem and nearly killed her. He’s heard you are a Navigator. Is it true?”
Logan clenched his jaw muscles then nodded his head. “It’s true.”
“Heshtu!” she said.
The Tullan grinned and turned to face his fellow Tullans, his arms raised high. “Haha!” he laughed joyfully. “Sohe an duina uch chuifurdha deiredcha leis cgogadh en Tu’Hanai a mhuru Khadiem!”
The Tullans all shouted their enthusiasm for what they had heard. As one, they chanted “Tu’Hanai! Tu’Hanai! Tu’Hanai!”
Logan gave Beth a questioning look.
“He explained that you’re the one who will end this war. You’re the one who will kill Khadiem.”
“Really? How’d they come to that conclusion?”
“The Tullans are a superstitious species,” she said. “They’re big believers in omens and prophesy. Seems like they’ve woven a few predictions around a certain Humani Navigator they’ve heard about.”
“Prophesy? You have got to be kidding me,” he said in utter disbelief as he looked at the Tullans’ grinning faces.
“Tu’Hanai! Tu’Hanai! Tu’Hanai!” they chanted as one.
What’s that they are saying?” he asked, though he knew as soon as he spoke.
“They’re repeating the same word – Navigator.”
The Renegade Page 28
