Ignoring the jibe, Xlan continued. “Olin had hardly assumed mastery over Region-5, when he suddenly elevates Raan to mastery over a region not yet solidified, who then almost immediately makes this unconscionable proposal to cease hunting Trakaan.”
“Region-6 was nearly large enough, but nowhere near fully mature,” observed Blug. “The timing might have been questionable, but Raan was the obvious choice for mastery over it.”
“You think it coincidence then, that Raan was also the architect of that equally ridiculous idea of a ‘peace treaty’ and trade agreements with prey?” asked Xlan. “We are Raknii and we take what we need.”
“Raan adheres to the old ways. He believes in letting prey roam freely, multiplying as we do, so that game is plentiful when we hunger,” replied Blug.
Xlan snorted. “Are you also considering a return to the old ways, then, Blug?”
“Hardly, but appearances must be maintained. The influence of the old superstitions remains too strong for public expression of the ridicule it truly deserves. The people must be thrown their occasional bone.”
“Nothing in our empire is certain anymore, and the expulsion of your contributions to the Great Hunt was intolerable!” exclaimed Xlan.
“Yes, I have not forgotten that insult, but my neighbors' strength continues to be siphoned away, while my own remains shepherded for alternative uses,” observed Blug. “The increasing imbalance between border forces does present certain… um, shall we say ‘opportunities,’ does it not?”
“You think to exploit Glan’s weakened state, then?”
“Perhaps. I must proceed cautiously though,” mused Blug. “The war against these new aliens goes badly,” said Blug. “The incompetents your sire placed in charge blunder from one disaster into another, so an aggressive policy pursued vigorously might be perceived as disloyalty, and distracting to the war effort.”
“My sire has bitten off more than he can swallow in these humans,” replied Xlan. “He’d been better served to have ignored their discovery and finished with the Trakaan... a much more tender meal.”
“Would not any of us have done the same?” asked Blug. “It is our way.”
“Is it our way to barter with prey?” asked Xlan. “Once the Trakaan fell into our paws, their secrets about all those undiscovered worlds and these humans would have been ours anyway.”
“Possibly,” snorted Blug. “In a few hundred cycles, perhaps our inept scientists might have eventually stumbled onto a few things. At any rate, our inexorable expansion would have certainly been at a more sedate, sustainable, predictable pace.”
“And just what was he thinking, when he designated an unstable war zone as yet another new region and then elevated some unknown to mastery over it?” asked Xlan.
“Yes, that move was very curious,” replied Blug. “It effectively grants that particular individual sole mastery over the entire alien war effort, so it must be someone he has great faith in.”
“Whoever it was, he can’t be all that intelligent,” snickered Xlan. “I heard he took Harf’s daughter N’raal as mate.”
“From a purely political point of view, aligning his totally unstable, virgin region with one of the eldest, richest and most stable of all the regions was a stroke of genius,” laughed Blug. “But Dol, what an unbelievable price he paid for it!”
“This supposed Region-7 may be requiring yet another new region-master, if he actually tries consummating that bonding,” laughed Xlan in reply.
“Are you interested in assuming that role, with Region-7 as N’raal’s dowry, Xlan?” sniggered Blug.
“Not for the supreme-mastery itself, would I subject my balls to N’raal’s tender mercies!” exclaimed Xlan in mock horror.
Xlan used this moment of rare levity between them, to excuse himself from Blug’s normally dour presence. For the first time in quite a while, Xlan felt light in spirit and was suddenly anxious to sample the delicacies of Blug’s harem of delicate serving females. There was a new one, young and supple that he’d especially been considering. F’lara?
Was that her name? Ah yes, F’lara. I remember now.
Distracted by thoughts of his imminent mounting of the delicious F’lara, Xlan’s normal paranoia was momentarily muted and thus, he was uncharacteristically off his usually observant guard. He never noticed the strategically darkened lamps, nor the dark figure separating itself from the shadows behind him, as he strolled dreamily down the deserted hallway leading back to his quarters.
* * * *
November, 3866
Blug was puzzled by the sudden, inexplicable disappearance of Xior’s heir. At one moment, they had been laughing together at the hilarious imagining of any male attempting to mount the infamous N’raal, and the consequences of such idiocy to ones tender parts, and then… gone. Blug’s entire palace had been searched extensively. Everyone within the palace at the time Xlan had left him had been interviewed and yet, not a single clue as to Xlan’s fate had been uncovered.
It was almost enough to convince him that Xlan’s ridiculous story of Supreme-Master Xior’s sending OverMasters to assassinate him, might not be all that far-fetched, after all. Not that Blug was ready to believe in OverMasters, but as Xlan’s disappearance had been so sudden, thorough and inexplicable, the event definitely had an eerily supernatural flavor to it. Whoever had managed to abscond with the young prince from right out from under Blug’s nose, had been frighteningly good at penetrating Blug’s defenses and he found that thought troublesome.
Imperial agents?
Possibly, although Blug couldn’t imagine why Xior might possibly want to kill his own offspring.
Some clandestine plot by unknown antagonists attempting to take over control the supreme-mastery itself?
Blug couldn’t think of anyone having the daring or inclination to even consider such an audacious plan… besides himself, of course.
* * * *
Chapter-12
The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers. -- Morgan Scott Peck
The Alliance Planetoid Discol, City of Waston
December, 3866
When Noreen first saw Diet’s luxurious subterranean bachelor pad in Waston, she’d first thought that, despite its undeniable luxury, it felt cold... so she decided it needed her own feminine touches to spruce up the place, and make it fit for habitation by real human beings. But later, she decided that Diet needed to see the sunshine once in a while, so she convinced Hal to initiate a search for a totally secure property in the country.
As a creature of extreme habit, Diet hadn’t wanted to move, but with a generous application of Noreen’s patented feminine wiles, and a bit of judicious arm-twisting, he finally relented and allowed her to go pick out a house for them outside of the city proper... with conditions.
With Hal’s immense talents at her disposal, it hadn’t taken too long to discover the perfect little hide-away buried in the woods of a 200-acre forest, with two streams and a lake on the property. It was a log-home with rough stone accents on the exterior. It was relatively small at only 4,600 square feet, but that was plenty big enough for just her and Diet… and Hal certainly didn’t take up much room.
The owner was evidently as much of a recluse as Diet, so Noreen had to view the property using Hal’s unique abilities, but she totally fell in love with it. There were also several outbuildings, but Noreen assumed they were garages, barns and tool-sheds and such. While Diet really liked the idea of the house being hidden in the middle of a forest, it was the inside of the house that really made Noreen fall in love with the place… chic rustic décor with that old-timey country girl feeling, but maxed-out luxurious in its amenities.
The one rush job, which Diet had insisted upon, was the army of TBG telecommunications people, who hurr
iedly updated the computer interface equipment in the den... enough to remind her of the cockpit of a spaceliner. It still retained the rich, dark wood paneling, leather furniture and a gas fireplace, so Noreen still called it the den, but Diet referred to the space as “the war room.” It was the one room where she was forbidden to add the slightest feminine touches whatsoever, and Christmas decorations had be unobtrusive — limited to a single wreath and a few sprigs of spruce, red berries and pinecones.
Noreen’s replacement engagement ring finally arrived — a 7-carat duplicate of the one she’d given to Hal, that horrible day on Bavara. Of course, the disembodied Hal still haunted the place in his continuing role of Ghost of Christmas Present, but the new ring just served to remind her of how much she’d really been looking forward to Hal finally spending Christmas with them in the flesh, which made his loss feel more poignant than ever. In spite of everything that Diet and Hal could do to keep her spirits up, she felt melancholy this Christmas, in her concerns about the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
In spite of everything Hal had told her about himself, she still felt surprised when the same old Hal that she knew and loved on Massa was waiting for her when she got to Waston. There was only one computer system in existence (that she’d ever heard about anyway), which existed on virtually every Alliance planet and was routinely updated the way that Hal obviously was. She strongly suspected, but was afraid to ask. Complications like that, she didn’t need, so she decided that some doors were just better left unopened. She trusted Diet and Hal, and if they wanted to retain some secrets, well, there were some things she’d really prefer not knowing about, anyway.
One of those things was the price of that particular piece of property. As the last virgin, forested area of anywhere near that size within easy commuting distance of the Alliance capital, the previous owner adamantly refused to even discuss selling the property. But it was amazing what could be accomplished when Diet just threw enough money at it. Noreen would have had a calf had she been aware of the exorbitant price that Diet actually ended up paying for the property. She would have had the whole cow, had she known the previous owner had been the federal government, and the last inhabitant of her new home had been the President herself.
Noreen never knew that the first set of workers who tore the old equipment out of the den had been Alliance Fleet technicians assigned to strip out the highly-classified presidential communications system installed there. Neither was she aware of the second set of technicians who installed an even more secure one, designed personally by Hal, and secretly built by TBG.
* * * *
The Rak Planet Vnayrk
December, 3866
The human named Hal was Dol-sent... of that Drix was sure. Enough trust had been established that Drix had taken Hal’s word that he would attempt no escape, nor initiate violence of any kind, so Drix had his shackles and bonds removed, and had even given Hal N’raal’s former room, where their kit had been conceived. N’raal no longer needed it, as she had been sleeping beside Drix ever since their consistent matings during the remainder of her heat cycle.
Fortunately, the warehouse they subdivided to act as the Region-Master’s temporary headquarters and personal residence had high ceilings, so Hal didn’t have to stoop, except going through some of the doorways. Hal was given guest status, and Drix spent every moment he could spare questioning the strange human... who, as it turned out, was a font of information concerning human morality and ethics.
Hal was assigned a full-time Raknaa guard, of course. N’raal’s pregnancy was just beginning to show, and Drix would take no chances at all with her safety. But the guards also acted as tour guides for the tall human, and Drix had been told that Hal enthusiastically wished to see anything, and everything, that he was allowed access to. Hal surprisingly made quite a few very excellent suggestions to N’raal about the design of their new house, and had even hand-drawn a complete set of detailed diagrams that builders could easily work from. Little did Drix know that Hal recreated those hand-made drawings of a massive log home from memories originating in human databases.
The fact that Hal even annotated those drawings in the written Raknii language, only offered further proof of his story of having been instrumental in the humans' development of their own translators. Strangely, Hal included ceilings at three body-lengths in height. He explained that was to accommodate human dignitaries, who would be visiting in the future, after peace reigned between the two races. Hal was incredibly optimistic that would really happen someday, and Drix hoped to Dol that he was right.
Hal also requested, and received permission, to “decorate” Drix’ residence in honor of some strange, holiday celebrated amongst humans — Christmas, he called it. Hal spent considerable time making odd things out of whatever he could find... the major similarities among them all being that most were either shiny, or actually lit up. Drix had been astonished when Hal actually brought a tree, two body-lengths tall, that he cut down from the forest, into the living area, and then covered it with colored lights and shiny hanging balls that he had improvised, which was surprisingly pleasing to the eye.
On the 25th day of the current sub-cycle, Drix and N’raal awoke to find two boxes, also decorated in shiny coverings, lying beneath that tree. They were labeled as gifts to them both, in the Raknaa language. Inside those boxes were matching, stretchy, formfitting upper garments made to their exact dimensions, intricately woven in beautiful patterns, made of very heavy thread spun from animal fur.
These “presents” were supposedly delivered by a mythical character from ancient human lore named Santa Claus. How this Santa Claus character had somehow managed to get to Vnayrk across multiple light-cycles of space in a sled pulled by herd beasts having large racks of horns, but no wings, was never explained. Drix found the human legend charming, if ridiculous.
But Drix had not missed the fundamental truths underlying Hal’s odd story however. This strange Spirit of Christmas, represented some kind of strange period of where peace and goodwill reigned in a joyous season of giving among humans... which Hal had just personally demonstrated, when he knitted them both sweaters.
How incredibly alien.
* * * *
The Alliance Planet Nork, City of Nork
February, 3867
Alliance Broadcasting System Senior News Producer Irving Steingold had made a career out of sniffing out rats, and he certainly smelled one now. After an exhaustive investigation, their ABS affiliate on Indinara found no trace of the elusive Vice Admiral Masterson, who was reportedly recuperating there, from injuries sustained from a fall through a barn loft floor, onto a shit-slinger below, while on leave from his duties as both the president’s military attaché, and chief of staff to the current chief of fleet operations.
Affiliate reporters finally located the property where Masterson had reportedly been injured, but discovered that all of the buildings, including the barn where the incident had supposedly occurred, had been leveled many years previously, by the Indinalis Spaceport Authority, who’d purchased the property from Masterson’s grandfather, some 18 years earlier.
* * * *
The Kitty Litter System
February, 3867
Ben and Dorothy thoroughly enjoyed what had seemed like an extended honeymoon here at Kitty Litter, even though they’d been on-duty and working almost every day. It felt so wonderful to not have to hide their affections towards one another from the crew anymore. It had felt even more wonderful to have the freedom of openly sharing the admiral’s stateroom and working feverishly on Dorothy’s pet project of making up for all of her years of sexual abstinence.
Construction of the fighter bases on the planet’s surface had been slowed by the demand for construction assets to build even more fighter bases on the six Raknii planets captured by the combined fleets back in February, but they were now complete and over 2,000 in-system and atmospheric fighters now manned them. A mobile space-dock, having long-range scanners, had been bro
ught in to provide repair facilities and traffic control, keeping track of the millions of pieces of orbiting space debris from the wreckage of tens of thousands of Raknii warships, for which this system had been dubbed with its unusual name.
Two task forces from the Alliance had recently arrived to take up defensive station here, freeing Ben’s Confederate 2nd Fleet to again sally against the aliens. Kalis had tasked 2nd Fleet with the capture of a target having an unusual notation on the Raknii star-charts captured earlier… a planet the Raknii called Slithin.
Confederate Intelligence reported a surprising number of Raknii warships gathered in the Slithin system… almost 35,000 of them, so it was assumed that this planet functioned as some sort of regional capital, or something similar. Normally Kalis would have dispatched one or even two more full fleets to tackle that many, but instead he assigned just three new ships to 2nd Fleet… HUGE asteroid-battleships the size of small planetoids, so bristling with massive energy weapons, that each contained more firepower than an entire fleet had possessed during the Sextus-Compact War, where Kalis had earned his fifth star. These monsters were what Kalis had been waiting for, while 2nd Fleet was cooling its heels for so long.
They were slow beasties. It had taken seven months just to get the big ships to Kitty Litter from Ginia, and it was going to take over twice that to get them all the way out to Slithin, but they’d certainly be invaluable, once they got there. Kalis could only hope that Confederate Logistics had set up a sufficient number of resupply bases along the way, as they’d need to have their consumables replenished more than once, on a voyage that incredibly long.
Of everyone in 2nd Fleet, only Ben Stillman knew that he’d be coordinating his attack with three invisible intelligence vessels… intelligence vessels having very sharp teeth.
* * * *
The Rak Planet Vnayrk
March, 3867
N’raal was a dam. As incredible as the idea was, even to her, she successfully gave birth to Drix’ heir and she literally beamed with happiness and pride in her accomplishment, as she nursed her tiny, mewling kit. Drix named the male cub, Eryx… meaning, “hope” in the old tongue.
Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 3) Page 13
