by Bodicea
“Pegasus’s forward Missile Hatchery contains sixteen pods that can be ejected and reassembled as orbital battle platforms. Each would include a full complement of Hammerhead missiles and Phalanx guns. I would propose that these be deployed in two rings around the planet Bodicéa; one ring at equatorial orbit, the other in polar orbit.” Obediently, sixteen battlepods departed Pegasus and arrayed themselves in the prescribed orbital patterns, buzzing around the planet like tiny space-mosquitoes.
Shayne American looked doubtful. “It doesn’t look like enough, not even nearly like enough.”
“We can mine the planetary approached as well with self-activating, proximity-sensing Hammerheads. If we coordinate Hammerhead defenses with attacks from Aves and Shrieks, We may be able to destroy enough of their fleet to drive them off.”
“It looks like you are committing the entire ship to the defense of this planet. What about the Odyssey?”
Miller frowned. “This would be a short term solution to defend the Bodicéans, but it would give them enough time to construct their own planetary defenses and bring them on-line.”
“How long would that take?”
“If they poured every planetary resource into the task, at least one year.” He quickly directed their attention to an alternate set of holograms. “That’s supposing we remain on the defensive. I propose taking a force of Aves and Shrieks out to the seventh planet. We would lay in wait under the south pole of the planet until the fleet had passed. While our orbital defenses keep the aliens occupied, this force would strike from behind.”
“Hang me!” Flight Commander Collins interjected. “We would be outnumbered … what, ten to one?”
“Za, but you would have the element of surprise.”
“I would rather have the element of overwhelming numerical superiority.”
“I’ve been on board one of their ships, and I’ve seen them in action,” Miller continued. “All their weaponry is concentrated in the forward section. These ships were designed for planetary assault, not for fighting in space.”
“However, nothing can stop them from rotating in space and pointing their weapons at your surprise attack while still maintaining forward velocity,” said Tamarind from the front row, wearing an interested yet detached expression. His black Marine uniform pressed and neat, his hands resting elegantly on the arms of his chair except when he reached over to scratch under the chin of he cat in the seat next to him.
Miller had done some research on Tamarind. Before taking the name Tamarind , he had been known as Jarad Dar Lufthansa, from the City of Assurance on Republic. While it was not unknown for a Republicker to subject himself to the rigor and discipline of the Sumacian Order, it might as well have been. All of the Republickers who had passed the gates of the Unreal City in the past two thousand years could have held a reunion in one of Pegasus’s lavatories, with plenty of room for a banquet table.
“Naturally, I am open to additional suggestions,” said Miller.
“Your primary problem is that you do not yet know your enemy,” Tamarind told him.
“Our Intelligence is limited,” Miller conceded. “Keeler’s party may provide us with more. I think what Recce One found is sufficient for us to begin planning.” Tamarind shook his head vigorously. “That is not what I meant. What we know about their ships and their numbers is sufficient to our needs. That part of them that is alien can never be understood by us. What I meant was that you do not understand your real enemy.” He rose and walked toward the display.
“All you need to do to defeat this enemy is to destroy their ships,” he said, indicating the alien fleet in Miller’s surprise attack display. “The real enemy is here,” he pointed to the other display, to Bodicéa, and to be picky, to the capital city of Concordia on the planet’s surface.
“I don’t understand.”
“You can destroy the enemy fleet, but there will be no victory unless you can win over the inhabitants of the planet as well. They will defeat you. They may even prevent you from attacking the alien enemy. They pride themselves on their peaceful ways. Convincing them to take up arms will be as difficult as teaching a cat to bark like a dog.” He gestured at Queequeg.
The cat glared back at all of them. “Don’t even try it.”
“We have to go to the surface. We have to learn the lay of the land, and we absolutely must investigate this rumor of an alien liberation.”
“Have you seen the aliens?” Miller asked. “Believe me, they would have been noticed.”
“A rumor does not need a physical presence,” Tamarind persisted. “They could have been in contact with their surrogates on the ground for years, laying the ground-work for their invasion. In any case, the mere fact of the rumor is too much coincidence to ignore. We must go down there. We must speak with Ciel’s consort and find out the truth of it.” As soon as he said it, they knew it would be done.
The diplomatic party passed on the sex.
They did, however, take advantage of the other amenities offered by the Aurelians. These included hot baths, and an abundance of libations. About half of the Bodicéans had changed into the brightly colored robes offered to them by the naked men who had soaped, lathered, and rinsed them in the pool.
The Pegasus crew had washed up, but kept their uniforms. Keeler had tried to pump the servants of the Aurelians for information, but each of his questions was met by a giggle and an invitation for coitus. Alkema had scoured the bath chamber for a data terminal, although he knew that trying to use, let alone extract information from, an alien data terminal would likely be a lesson in futility. He didn’t find one anyway.
Dinner was served in a banquet hall on a long table that came up to their knees. Everyone was expected to position themselves on low couches and cushions. Some of the more elderly members of the Inner Circle had trouble getting comfortable, and it occurred to Keeler that he had yet to see any old Aurelians, either among the humans or the Echelon.
Aurelian cooking favored raw fruits and vegetables and a variety of dipping sauces of varying viscosity and color, but almost all were variations on the ‘sweet-and-sour’ theme.
There were also plates of different kinds of bread and pasta formed into pods, wrapped around different fillings. All of which were offered to Keeler from the fingertips of a pair of tawny and naked female servants who appeared slightly younger than general age of admission to USNC. The Aurelians referred to their servant class as ‘The Cups,’ Keeler considered ironically as their breasts dangled enticingly in front of him.
Coronado sat beside Ciel, occasionally hugging her, whispering into her ear like a sister.
Something she said made Ciel laugh and blush. Most of the Bodicéans seemed ebullient, and from snatches of conversation he heard, Keeler could tell they were falling in love with the Aurelians. They expressed wonder and amazement at the world-ship and all it contained, unbridled joy at the Aurelian achievements in longevity and sustainment of youth. Keeler wondered if he would even be able to get them back on the shuttle, let alone overcome their thrall. It was as though someone had just told them they could go to heaven, and they didn’t even have to die.
A few of the circle remained cautiously reserved, most especially so, the young, dark-eyed wonder known as Solay. She remained dressed in her Bodicéan robe, and partook sparingly of the food and drink she was offered. She has even dismissed the pair of comely males that had been assigned to see to her every need. The other members of the circle were eagerly partaking of the exotic foods placed directly into their mouths by the strong hands of their man-servants, but Solay sat alone, said nothing, and cast Coronado hard, suspicious looks. Keeler remembered being on the receiving ends of those looks before. He reluctantly found himself giving Solay her due credit, she at least distrusted indiscriminately.
“Eating should be a sensual experience,” said Keeler’s maiden, not for the first time. She then rubbed a generous dabble of sauce on her right nipple and bade him to partake of it.
Keeler
realized half his crew was staring at him, waiting to see how he would respond.
“Neg, thank you, I’m lactose intolerant.”
Finally, Coronado gestured. One of the men, not a human, but full-sized male of the Aurelian Echelon rose to his feet and brought her a piece of cut crystal the size of a fist.
Coronado presented it to Ciel.
“It’s beautiful,” said Ciel, contemplating it. “What is it?”
“A treaty,” Coronado said. She waved her hand over the crystal, and a selection of golden sigils began dancing in the air above the table. “The treaty that describes the future relationship of the people of Bodicéa and Aurelia.”
Ciel was hesitant. “Our relationship… and what kind of relationship is Aurelia proposing?”
Coronado’s voice was purring with reassurance. “A gradual, voluntary integration of Bodicéa into the Aurelian Union. Over the next century, your people will begin to join ours.
You will receive the full benefit of our enlightenment, lives of complete security, freedom from want, a life of endless pleasure. The finest among you will come to join us in the Echelon, but all of your people will receive the full benefit of our advanced, enlightened way of life. You will not find it a great difference from the society that has prospered under the gentle wisdom of the soroarchy, except that instead of family-collectives of six or eight, you will be part of a community of billions.”
“Still,” Ciel said quietly, looking all around her. “It is very different. The Bodicéan way of life will be lost.”
“Hardly, it will become another color in the palette of Aurelia. The best part of your planet, your openness, your peacefulness, will be preserved. The part that is taken away… want, conflict, unfulfilled desire… within a generation, they will be no longer be missed.” Coronado turned, so that she would be addressing the entire Bodicéan delegation. “We love your people as much as you do. Your integration would honor both of our peoples.” Ciel turned. The Inner Circle was regarding her expectantly. She held the treaty in her hands, the treaty that was their future. “We shall have to consider this carefully.”
“This is a momentous decision,” Coronado agreed. “You will need time. And of course, we are patient, and willing to guide you to make this decision. We will hold our fleet on the orbital margin of the sixth planet until you have had a chance to discuss how we are to be received.”
“What if they refuse?” Keeler asked.
Coronado shrugged. “I doubt they will, but ultimately, that is their own choice.” When she said this, the image came to him, unbidden. There was the world-ship, rising over the Bodicéan landscape, like a large golden orb. The assault ships ringed the planet and launched projectiles across the surface. Bright yellow explosions broke out across the surface.
Over the cities of Bodicéa, great fireballs lit the sky and death rained down.
Overall this was an attitude, a mixture of bloodlust, ecstasy, and overweening self-satisfaction. Aurelia triumphant! The Bodicéans harvested for the greater glory of Aurelia.
He could feel from all of the Aurelians now, contempt disguised as compassion for these mere humans, who were like dogs, milkbeasts, and wooldbeasts ready to be herded into service for the enlightened minions of the Echelon.
Keeler knew, he knew as surely as he knew his whole name that what he saw was what the Aurelians intended for Bodicéa. They truly believed themselves to be enlightened and beautiful. They truly believed they could raise up the Bodicéans to be like them, but first, all of the beliefs and structure that made up their culture must be smashed, the debris cleared aside and washed clean to make way for a new Aurelian order.
Keeler felt faint, and began to choke. Immediately, two of the naked women wrapped themselves around him and massaged his neck and throat.
“Are you all right?” Coronado asked.
Keeler gasped. “Quite… Thank you, I think we should be going soon.” Coronado smiled at him, and he knew she was relishing his future defeat.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Basil, silent and almost invisible within its holoflage shields (If you looked right at, you might see a random glint of sunlight, like ice crystals high in the atmosphere), bore down over a bright blue bay on the ragged western peninsula of Bodicéa’s major southern continent. All three occupants were in the command module, looking at a row of houses atop a cliffside the overlooked the bay. Flight Captain Jones guided her ship with a sure hand. Behind her, Miller and Tamarind compared their scans with the hologram maps Pegasus sensors had provided from orbit.
“Ciel’s dwelling is the fourth one from the end … here,” said Tamarind.
Miller aligned the orbital map with the current ground readings. “Do you have it, Jones?” Like Tamarind, he was wearing only a simple, loose fitting black coverall.
“Za, we’re 54,000 meters out, proceeding toward the dwelling at 50 meters per second.” Miller switched to a three-dimensional topography display. “We can set the ship down just off this side of the beach. We will have to rappel up the cliff side, but with our landing gear, we should be …”
Jones flight helmet shook in firm disagreement. “Let me save you a climb. Strap yourselves in.” She pushed the thrusters forward. (Jones preferred a more primitive, baroque instrument environment than most Aves pilots). The ship began to rocket straight on toward the cliffside.
The ship’s voice announced “Warning, collision with terrain imminent. Alter …” Jones cut it off before it could finish.
Before anyone could ask “What the hell are you doing?” she pulled the ship hard up and it parked on the sheer vertical cliff, to which it clung like the proverbial fly on the wall.” She leaned over behind the seat and looked down on them. “Aves aren’t limited to horizontal landings, but you all knew that, didn’t you?”
“I seem to remember something about it from the training.” Miller said, but his heart was pounding.
Tamarind released the harness on his seat and found his footing on the ledges built into the command module to accommodate vertical landings. He swung through the shaft that connected the command module to the main cabin. When he reached the primary deck, he leaned against the floor and opened the belly hatch. Before he opened the hatch, he turned to Miller. “How is your acumen for sheer vertical climbs?”
“Are you kidding? I once climbed the east wall of the Dawnstar building in Corvallis.”
Tamarind nodded, pursing his lips. “Fairly impressive.”
Miller chuckled and tried to sound as casual as he could. “I imagine Sumacian mountaineering training is pretty severe.”
“We begin training on the walls of the Kobeye mountains and proceed through the vertical glaciers of Stovalcor in Boreala.”
“I’m not familiar with those places.”
“Not many people are,” Tamarind explained, slipping his pack onto his back. This struck a nerve in Miller. He resented the idea that there were places others could go that he could not.
Between years at the university, he and his college-buddy, Roman Ov had once tried to infiltrate the Sumacian Desert Training Range on the far side of C’thulu’s Spine. After by-passing the barriers, they had been almost immediately captured by a four-man-squad of Warrior-Adepts, taken to a cave, fed a sumptuous meal, and woke up three days later on a beach 900 kilometers away, with no memory of how they had come to be there.
He took a moment to look back toward the command module, and saw Jones looking down on him. “Coming along?”
“Neg, it’s too nice a day for testosterone driven posturing. I think I’ll stay here and degausse the sensor array.”
Miller double-checked his pulse-cannon. “Shall we dance?” he whispered, and then jumped through the hatch.
The cliffs of Serenopolis were slate gray, and overlooked an expanse of water that sparkled green and blue like low grade turquoise. It was magnificent. On Sapphire, they would have established a recreational park around the summit and base, and on any given day, there would have been cli
mbers in brightly-colored climbing suits mounting its walls and the bay would be filled with brightly colored sail boards and boats.
There was no one to be seen, even on this bright magnificent day. There were two large boats in the bay, nondescript cargo carriers. These cliffs and waters had the unhappy fortune of being on a planet where the culture did not approve of recreational activities in which death or injury was a possible side-effect.
Miller and Tamarind found that rappelling up a hundred and forty meters of rocks was much easier than getting over the four meters of safety fencing at the top.
“I can’t believe they built a city overlooking the most beautiful seascape on the whole planet, then built a wall in front of it so you can’t see it,” Miller said, after thunking to the ground opposite a short stretch of well-landscaped walkway from the row of houses.
“A culture obsessed with the prevention of physical injury,” Tamarind said. “Their medical facilities are probably not well suited to treating the kind of injuries associated with combat.”
“Is everything in life a combat assessment with you?”
“It is a way of analyzing things that is useful to the warrior, and every other endeavor society depends, ultimately, on armed men willing to give their lives in its defense.”
“Considering I am never going back to Sapphire again, no one on Pegasus ever will, maybe you could tell me some secrets about … the Unreal City.”
Tamarind shook his head slightly. “Neg, that will never happen. The keys to the city are in my heart, and my tongue is a chain that binds them to me. I can tell no one of its secret without forfeiting my own heart.”
Miller worked a shrug into his gait. “I had to ask.”
“I am aware.” They arrived at a tall white gate at the front of the property.
“Is this it?” Miller asked.
