First came the softener, which made Blug’s clothing more supple and pleasant against the fur. Last came the scent, which made Blug’s clothing smell better than Raknii clothing normally smelled. In between came a solution that contained microencapsulated oxygen, followed by yet another liquid, which left behind a dry residue that was highly flammable. Except for the slight scent impregnated into the last of the liquids, all were colorless, odorless and tasteless — undetectable tools for an undetectable servant of an undetectable god. Perhaps Blug might still escape his ghastly fate. It was possible. All he had to do was stop being… well, stop being Blug.
But even if Blug somehow managed to avoid behavior that would trigger his own demise, accidents were known to happen. Just one little spark...
* * * *
The Trakaan Planet Troxia
March, 3868
Admiral Eileen Thorn was waiting at attention within the recovery bay of her flagship, CSS Constellation, watching intently as the canopy on the two-seat training Raptor they just recovered, cracked open at last. As the canopy rose to about half-way open, Thorn snapped a salute towards the fighter and the boatswain’s pipe shrilled in the ancient Fleet greeting of “piping” Fleet Admiral Roger Kalis aboard. Thorn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the small figure in the rear seat of the fighter, obviously talking to the pilot, who had already crawled out of his cockpit and was standing on the ladder her flight crew had placed as soon as the Raptor had come to a complete stop. The pilot reached a hand down into the rear cockpit and helped haul the aging Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Fleet to his feet. Standing unaided in the cockpit, Thorn watched as Kalis rendered the traditional salute, first to the big Confederate Flag painted on the bulkhead above her head, and then returned hers, as senior officer on deck.
“Permission to come aboard, Admiral Thorn?” Kalis asked, in another Fleet tradition.
“Permission granted, Admiral!” Thorn replied heartily. “Welcome to Troxia and to the CSS Constellation.”
Thorn completed her salute and watched with concern as Kalis carefully maneuvered himself onto the ladder and slowly made his way down to the flight deck. When Kalis reached the bottom of the ladder and turned towards her, Thorn stepped forward and grabbed his outstretched hand.
“It’s damned good to see you again, Eileen,” said Kalis.
“And you as well, Admiral,” answered Thorn. “I won’t say that I hope you had a pleasant trip, as it was a damned long one, and no trip of such duration crammed into the rear seat of a Raptor could possibly be described as anything approaching ‘pleasant.’”
Kalis chuckled ruefully and agreed. “I’m getting too old for this shit, Eileen. I’ll be 76 next month and if the politicos don’t succeed in beaching me because of the numbers pretty soon, my arthritis will.”
Thorn’s staff officers maintained a respectful distance, giving the two flag officers privacy, as Thorn escorted Kalis towards the flight-crew changing room, where he could change out of his flight-suit. When they were far enough away that Thorn was confident she wouldn’t be heard, she hissed at him:
“Why the hell didn’t you use one of the GulfMasters? I almost had a stroke, when they told me you were coming in on a Raptor. For God’s sake, Roger, act your age. You’re not 26 or even 66 anymore, old man.”
Kalis grinned up into Thorn’s angry, indignant countenance. Besides his 95-year-old mother and the recently retired former-president of Sextus, Wyatt Cargill, Eileen Thorn was the only person in the whole galaxy who ever dared to called him “Roger,” and even she rarely called him that, especially when they weren’t actually in bed together.
Their affair was either the best-kept secret in the entire history of affairs, or was summarily dismissed out of hand as just too damned ridiculous to be believable. Eileen Thorn was not what anyone would mistake for a pretty woman. Plain of face, too large nose… tall, thin body… no tits… no ass… she was all sharp edges, harsh angles and a hint of freckles, just to add insult to injury.
Eileen Thorn was a rather ugly woman, and that was just a fact. She knew it and everyone else knew it. It was widely rumored that she was a lesbian, because… well, what else was there for someone who looked like she did? She wasn’t a lesbian though. Perhaps her life might have been happier, if she had been. Instead, she had suffered the rejection of males and the ridicule of females all of her life. Maybe it was all that rejection in her youth that had made her command style a bit harsh by some standards, but Roger Kalis had never served with a finer tactical genius than Eileen Thorn.
Besides, underneath all of that Steel Thorn veneer, Kalis had found a sensitive, caring woman after his wife died, some 20 years earlier — a woman who really appreciated finally being appreciated by a man, for who and what she was. If Kalis had wanted something young, voluptuous and beautiful, there had certainly been an entire cadre of brass-groupies... attractive young women who seemed addicted to medals and gold braid, from whom he could have had his pick. But Kalis knew better than to fool around with any of those little career-wreckers. How he and Eileen Thorn actually ended up in bed together, he doubted either one of them could have fully explained. It just happened, and the relationship that developed afterwards seemed good for both of them, on the extremely rare occasion that two of the highest ranking officers in the entire Confederate Fleet could ever get any private time alone, that is.
“Now, Eileen, the day that I’m too old to ride in the rear seat of a training Raptor is the…”
“Belay that bullshit, Admiral,” Thorn said softly. “You just said it yourself. Your arthritis is getting bad and it’s time you stowed that medal-bedecked male ego, for the good of the Fleet.”
Kalis just grinned at her again. Eileen Thorn was the only officer in the Fleet who wasn’t in total awe of the Kalis legend and was honest enough to tell him the bold-as-brass, unadulterated truth… and he needed to hear that sometimes.
“You just don’t want them beaching me because you like what my moustache does to your…”
“Don’t say it!” Thorn hissed, as she turned an interesting shade of flaming red. “Just don’t go there.” Thorn’s many years as an old maid made her rather prudish about sexual matters, and Kalis delighted in embarrassing her with his raw, earthy humor at times.
Kalis chuckled and said, “I see you’ve had 3rd Fleet take up orbit around the planet’s primary moon. Your idea, or a request from our Trakaan hosts?”
“My idea,” said a still embarrassed Thorn. “Approved by Fraznal, of course. I thought it would help unsnarl their regular orbital traffic patterns a bit and make our in-bound cats feel less threatened when they get here.”
“Good thinking,” said Kalis.
As they entered the flight crew changing area, Kalis pulled a set of working fatigues out of his flight bag and set them down on the bench next to an empty locker and began undoing his one-piece pressure suit. When he got the torso opened, Kalis slipped his arms out of the sleeves and dropped the entire suit around his ankles. Thorn’s eyes bulged when she saw that the legendary Fleet Admiral Roger Kalis wasn’t wearing any underwear and his shriveled penis was dangling right there in front of her, in full view.
Regaining her composure, Thorn smirked, “That must have chafed a bit, coming all the way from Kitty Litter like that. I swear, I simply do not understand how a man your age can act so incredibly juvenile at times.”
Kalis laughed. “The shocked look on your face was totally worth it! I do need to thank you for having all of those tankers waiting for us along the way, so my balls didn’t chafe too badly.”
“Well, here’s something else you can thank me for,” replied Thorn with a hint of a mischievous smile. It was then Kalis’ turn to be shocked when the imperious and prudish Admiral Eileen Thorn suddenly dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. Kalis groaned in pleasure, at the unexpected warmth and the sensation of her tongue, working its magic on his manhood.
God, it’s so strange how the woman can do somethi
ng as wonderful as this, yet always act so damned prissy, just talking about it!
* * * *
The Rak Planet Slithin
April, 3868
Ultimate-FleetMaster Tzal’s new fleet arrived at Slithin, the regional capital of Region-4, as commanded by Supreme-Master Xior. They had experienced quite a few breakdowns along the way… new designs, new materials, built with new procedures, to new standards. That was only to be expected on their first extended voyage. Still, after building a standardized product, with little deviation for the past several hundred cycles, where all the problems had been identified and eliminated long ago, and procedures were etched in stone, breakdowns of this magnitude were not something that Raknii shipboard engineers were accustomed to dealing with. The crew’s faith in the dependability of their marvelous new warships was badly shaken. Few still looked forward with any real excitement or anticipation to facing down their human nemesis in ships as likely to be disabled by malfunction as by enemy action.
As the Imperial Fleet Commander, Tzal shuttled down to the planet’s surface to pay a courtesy call on the local region-master. Social forms had to be maintained and shows of respect offered... at least publicly, regardless of what vile political realities might actually be bubbling just beneath the surface. Tzal and his staff were escorted into Blug’s throne room, where the conniving region-master received his first indication that things were not as before, when Tzal, of all the Imperials present, neither bowed or knelt in his presence, which would have indicated subservience to Blug’s authority.
“Region-Master Blug, I am Ultimate-FleetMaster Tzal. In response to your requests to Supreme-Master Xior, I have brought the newest warships in the entire Imperial Fleet to the defense of your capital.”
The Region-4 region-master studied this strange Rak warrior who stood before him, bearing no hint of subordination to Blug’s authority. He was large for a Raknii, almost Raknaa in size, wearing the all-white silks of the permanent Imperial fleet. His rank-stone was totally unlike anything that Blug had ever seen — a large fire opal surrounded by a ruby sunburst, outlined within and without by a single row of diamonds, to denote it as a High-Rak military rank. Blug had heard of this Tzal, who had led the initial Raknii assault against the human planet of Minnos, but was forced to withdraw before totally securing the planet, which to Blug’s way of thinking, meant that he had lost.
Admittedly, Tzal had been the very first to face the fantastic weaponry of the humans and had managed to bring back invaluable information about them. It certainly wasn’t Tzal’s fault that the humans didn’t have their most formidable weapons deployed at Minnos. Nor was the Great Disaster of Golgathal his responsibility, as he’d not even been in-system, when the human fleets attacked. But Blug still couldn’t imagine what had ever possessed Supreme-Master Xior to elevate an unsuccessful OverFleet-Master to the highest military rank in the history of their race.
“So, Ultimate-FleetMaster, how many warships have you brought me?” asked Blug.
“A bit over 10,000, Region-Master,” replied Tzal.
“Ten thousand?” roared Blug indignantly. “I already have over 35,000 warships here. What form of insult does the supreme-master throw into my teeth, sending such a paltry number of ships to my defense? He might as well have sent me none at all!”
“You have 35,000 warships of the ancient design, which have proven almost worthless against the human warships' armor,” responded Tzal. “I bring you almost all of the new warships that have been completed to date, based on designs formulated from information gathered during our assault on the human planet Minnos. They have greatly enhanced armor and weaponry compared to your warships and include over 1,000 of the all-new carrier class, each of which carries 50 of our new fighters. I daresay that these new warships are so superior to the ancient design, they could potentially blow through your fleet of 35,000 old-style ships with almost equal effectiveness, as the humans demonstrated at Golgathal.”
“Pfft, almost, you say,” scoffed Blug. “How will they fare against humans, is the question!”
“Indeed,” agreed Tzal. “We have known from the beginning that these designs were preliminary and undoubtedly inferior to those of the humans, but these are the first advancements in military weaponry attempted in several hundreds of cycles. Although admittedly inferior, in sufficient numbers we should be able to offer a more robust defense against the current human onslaught.”
“Defense?” asked Blug, incredulously. “We are Raknii. We do not defend. We attack! What is all this defeatist talk of defense? Is this what we are reduced to? When is it that we will we see weapons on par with the human demons, capable of driving them back and bringing them under subjection to the Rak Empire?”
Tzal snorted. “It is easy to spout worn-out platitudes, Region-Master. Was it not our newest Imperial warships to defend your capital that you asked the supreme-master for? Should we not first strive to stop the alien’s conquest of our worlds, before we worry about going back onto the attack? As much as we might choose to deny it, for the moment at least, it is the humans who are the hunters and we, who are the prey.
“This is not a hunt like any we have experienced before. In fact, it’s not really a hunt at all. It is our first taste of real war — dominance combat between two magnificent races of predators. Dominance combat that the humans are currently winning.”
For all he might wish to deny it, Blug admitted to himself the validity of Tzal’s words. To survive, a region-master had to see the universe as it truly was, not as one might wish it to be. It was foolish to attempt shutting out reality by burying one’s head in the sand, for even if one was successful, where did that leave the tender sphincter beneath one’s tail? For a male to foolishly assume such a position voluntarily, was he not begging to be mounted by every passing male, as occasionally happened to females who foolishly went about in public while their heat was upon them?
“Advancements in our own weaponry was stagnant for hundreds of cycles and the humans hold a vast advantage in weapons technology, which cannot be spanned in a single leap,” continued Tzal. “We must learn to walk, before we can run. Newer, even more ambitious designs, based on what was observed by survivors at Golgathal are now under development, but it will take some time before any of those newer generations of weaponry find their way out of our manufacturing facilities. In the meantime, more of these new first-generation weapons are being built in vast numbers. Hopefully, they will suffice to stall the human advance long enough to gain us the time we need for our industry to produce new weaponry in increasing quality and quantity, to allow us to reassume the offensive.”
“Ten thousand?” Blug asked. “Is that truly all that we have managed to build in all this time?”
“That is all that we have fully trained crews for, but more are being completed every sub-cycle.”
Blug sighed in resignation and waved a paw towards Tzal. “All right, Ultimate-FleetMaster, place your ships into a defensive orbit around Slithin and coordinate with my OverFleet-Masters. I will have more specific orders for you later, after I have had the opportunity to study the composition and capabilities of these new warships of yours.”
Tzal stood stiffly before Blug’s throne, and staring directly at Blug’s rank-stones, he issued an unbelievable, one-word response: “No.”
Blug merely blinked in total incomprehension. No military commander in history had ever uttered that word in response to a region-master’s direct order before. “I do believe I may have misunderstood your response, Ultimate-FleetMaster. Can you repeat that again?”
Tzal complied. “I said, ‘no,’ Region-Master. I am under compulsion from Supreme-Master Xior himself that I am not to consider myself subject to your orders, or to anyone else’s other than the standing orders he has personally given me. I am ordered to use my own judgment at all times concerning the disposition and use of these new Imperial fleet assets.”
Blug was stunned, and apparently, so was everyone else in Blug’s t
hrone room, as an urgent buzz of whispered conversations broke out in the background. Region-Masters were not at all used to hearing that word coming from the lips of anyone other than other region-master or the supreme-master himself, nor were they culturally suited for accepting such with good grace. Rage blazed in Blug’s eyes, but he held his tongue for the moment.
Xior is changing the rules!
But Blug had not been elevated to mastery of Region-4, by allowing his emotions to spew froth from his mouth like vomit. Finally, with his emotions barely in check, Blug hissed, “What other orders did the supreme-master give you then, Ultimate-FleetMaster?”
“Supreme-Master Xior ordered me to ensure that your fleet of warships currently stationed here at Slithin remain here,” replied Tzal. “He desires that no ‘misunderstandings’ occur between Region-4 and its neighbors, which might undermine stability within the Empire and Imperial efforts stop the alien advance into Rak space.”
Blug leaped from his seat upon his throne and bellowed, “Xior wishes to prevent me from defending my own borders from assaults by Glan’s treacherous blues?”
Tzal never flinched under the assault of Blug’s tirade, answering calmly, “You evidently thought that you still have sufficient forces along your border systems to discourage such incursions, or you wouldn’t have brought so many of your warships here to Slithin, so far from your borders. The supreme-master has not overlooked Region-4’s recent withholding of its assigned portion of military vessels and crews for the imperial war effort, nor has he disregarded the growing imbalance of power between Region-4 and its neighbors, who are still meeting their imperial obligations faithfully. As long as these 35,000 warships of yours remain here at Slithin, a semblance of parity is restored to the border areas and stability is enhanced, if not restored.”
“I assembled those warships here as a strategic reserve to be used as necessary to discourage treachery demonstrated by my neighbors!” Blug thundered. “The security and government of the individual regions has always been an internal matter, and not subject to Imperial approval or interference.”
Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 3) Page 17
