“Think back,” Drix continued. “Was it not Dol himself, who fanned the flames of our lust for the hunt, that made our attack on Minnos inevitable? If I had not issued that attack order, would I not have been replaced by another who would have been eager to do so? What difference then, whether it was I, or someone else, who issued that order? Would it not have eventually been given anyway?”
Tzal shook his head and looked down, muzzle in paw as he tried desperately to follow Drix’ logic, as his friend and supreme-master tried to make him understand something important.
“The prophecy makes it clear,” Drix continued. “We have allowed our natural hunting instincts to carry us far beyond our legitimate role of culling excess in the herds, so that both might thrive. We began slaughtering the herds to near extinction in an unholy lust for glory, blood and recognition among ourselves. We lost the ability to discipline ourselves, and thus remain within our Dol-intended role in nature. Worse yet, we failed to recognize any difference between mindless herd-beasts and other intelligent species, whom Dol created to fulfill other purposes of his own.
“In our arrogance,” Drix continued, “we boldly interfered with Dol’s mysterious plans for his universe, which he had the audacity to not bother sharing with us, or gaining our prior approval of. We even became so arrogant as to believe our wisdom superior to the old ways of our god, thus we no longer needed to revere, honor, worship or obey Dol any longer. In our own eyes, did we not come to see ourselves as greater than our god, dismissing him and discarding his wisdom and precepts like yesterday’s garbage?”
Tzal grunted out a muted, strangled cry, as Drix disemboweled the basic precepts of the Raknii civilization he’d grown up in.
“In our arrogance, did we not thus roar our defiance into the face of our god and challenge Dol himself to dominance combat, to prove his unfitness to rule over us any longer?” Drix asked poignantly.
“Is it really any great wonder then, that Dol created other predators and granted them the power to humble and discipline us, as we were stubbornly unwilling or unable to humble or discipline ourselves? Was it not Dol himself who granted us the desires of our lusts and rewarded our perversion by entangling us in dominance combat with predators even more fearsome than ourselves? Is it truly any great wonder, that Dol prefers to see our arrogance and rebellion exterminated, rather than allow our perversity to continue ravaging nature to its eventual ruination?
“Advise me,” whispered Drix. “None of us have fought more great battles against these humans than you have, Tzal. Are the joys of combat still sweet to our warriors who have faced these aliens, and survived the ordeal? What success have we yet enjoyed in this struggle for dominance between us? Were all of our new weapons enough to drive them from the field of battle, even once? What hope remains to us, that we will eventually prevail in our dominance combat against these humans?
“Was it merely bad luck they have consistently beaten us time and again, or amongst the uncertainties of battle, were the setbacks you suffered so inexplicable that it sometimes seemed that you struggled not only against humans, but also against Dol himself?”
“It did feel that way, sometimes,” Tzal admitted. “The twists of combat always seemed to turn unnaturally in their favor. I agonized over the haunting feeling that I was wrestling with demons, rather than mortals.”
“None of us has more experience than you, in struggling fang and claw against them. From your incomparable experiences fighting against them, will we defeat these humans?” Drix asked. “Can we defeat them?”
Tzal sat silently for a few moments, struggling between what he wished to be true, and what his instincts told him really was.
“No,” Tzal answered finally. “As much as my being screams to deny it, I have seen no indication that the future might be significantly different from the past. As long as our god remains on the opposing side of this conflict, I see no concrete reason to hope for our inevitable victory.”
“If we cannot defeat them, what then?” asked Drix of his friend. “The fate of our race has been given into my paws, so I seek your advice and wisdom. If we cannot defeat them, must this struggle be to the death? If we cannot defeat them, would it be better to swallow our pride and bare our throats in submission to these aliens? Or should we continue to choke on our insufferable Raknii pride so long that we asphyxiate ourselves — to where only our extinction remains behind as the inevitable legacy of our race… a smoldering ruin standing as dire warning to others of the foolishness of defying a god?
“If we cannot defeat these humans, what choice should we make? Life in submission, or death. f that be our only choices, which path should our race take? Advise me.”
Tzal sat silently in shame at his sudden realization that, in the excitement of his rapid rise in rank and the glory of leading Xior’s Great Hunt, he himself had succumbed to the turning of his heart from the old ways and the god of his youth. He remembered now how Dol had sustained him when he was friendless and lacked a sponsor amongst the power-brokers of his race. Yet somehow, Dol had always provided a way — like the turn he found himself assigned to train an unusual young warrior in the art of weaponless combat... a young warrior who later became his friend, and then later yet, became his supreme-master.
In all the many cycles Tzal had known him, Drix was the most devout, yet unconventional Rak warrior he’d ever met — consistently defying social conventions through innovation and creative thought, yet always managing to avoid the backlash of the political pundits and naysayers to eventually succeeded at virtually everything he placed his paw to. Tzal had complete faith in Drix and knew of no one better suited to lead their race into its now frightening and uncertain future. Tzal was also quick enough on the uptake to recognize the direction that all of Drix’ pointed questions were steering him towards.
They both use the same technique. Did Drix learn that trick for leading someone to discovering a certain logical progression of thought for themselves from this human, or did the human learn it from Drix?
Tzal finally replied, “Where there is life, there is hope. The dead have no hope, for death itself is a closed universe to them. There is no greater purpose or achievement that one might strive to attain, than the salvation of our race, and its reconciliation to our god. If it truly be Dol’s will that we bare throat and belly in submission to these aliens — Dol’s will be done.”
Drix smiled at his friend and said, “In that case, I think you’re ready for your most difficult assignment yet.”
“My life is yours,” Tzal replied. “Command me.”
“Prepare for your next ascension, my friend. I need you to go back to Slithin.”
* * * *
Chapter-23
If some great catastrophe is not announced every morning, we feel a certain void. Nothing in the paper today, we sigh. -- Lord John Emerich Edward Dalberg-Acton
The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston
September, 3868
When not actively haunting the house like a malicious female revenant in search of blood, Noreen got her mind off how bad she felt by researching baby names.
If I’m the one who has to go through all of this shit just to bring this kid into the world, I’m sure as hell going to be the one picking out a name for him.
Noreen wasn’t totally selfish during this process, however, as she was very aware that her baby would someday inherit Diet’s title, and therefore needed a decidedly Germanic name. Noreen really wasn’t big on all that formality crap, though. She loved the name Diet, but honestly, she wasn’t really all that enamored with the long form Dietrich, nor with a lot of the really strange names she’d found in the inventory of Germanic naming conventions.
Drugs eventually played a major role in Noreen’s ability to complete the birthing process —surprisingly without decapitating either Diet, or her obstetrician. She’d acquiesced to Hal and Diet’s joint request that the child’s middle name be given for Diet’s father and Hal’s creator. Thus it was tha
t on September 28, 3868, 7-pound, 7-ounce, Hans Niklaus Guderian successfully maneuvered his way through the gauntlet of Noreen’s uncooperative birth canal and emerged onto the mortal vale.
One of little Hans’ first major accomplishments in life was in the role of exorcist, as merely holding her blue-eyed, dark-haired baby miraculously banished the myriad of her mood-demons that had so vexed the entire household. Noreen was visibly radiant, deliriously happy and back to her old self.
Thank God!
* * * *
The Trakaan Planet Troxia
October, 3868
Since completion of the formal surrender ceremony, where he signed the books containing the formal surrender documents, Raan huddled with Kalis and Thorn working out the details of a practical application of a surrender of this magnitude. Fraznal’s official role ended with Raan’s decision to submit to Kalis, but as a courtesy, they continued to include him in their subsequent discussions. It would have been cruel, not to have allowed him to see the fruits that his not insignificant labors to bring these two sides together had finally produced.
Humanity simply didn’t have the resources to physically occupy almost 60 planets, so Kalis wasn’t of a mind to even try. Kalis and Thorn produced intricate policy documents, as air-tight as they could possibly make them, detailing exactly how the Raknii of all surrendered planets would be treated and their rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness honored. Raan would continue to function in his role as region-master, still having authority over all of those planets, now expanded to include Golgathal and the six other Region-7 Raknii planets the Allied Combined Fleets had captured earlier.
Raan technically had no authority over Raknii planets designated as parts of Region-7, but Drix had implemented standing orders that no attacks on humanity be made without his personal approval, so Kalis wasn’t overly concerned with the idea of un-submitted Rak worlds continuing to go about their daily tasks or breaking the undeclared peace that had already prevailed for so long, in his rear. It was only the military side of Raan’s regular duties that would be curtailed, but not totally eliminated. Raan would redistribute his 30,000 old-style warships to station approximately 500 at each planet, both to maintain discipline, and act as a balm to the military traditions so ingrained within the Raknii people.
Raan would personally accompany Eileen Thorn and her Confederate 3rd Fleet on a tour of all Region-6 worlds, so he could personally instruct their planet-masters to maximize their hypnotically induced subservience to the new order of things. Once the realization that their region-master had bared throat and belly in submission to the humans became real to them, neither expected an undue amount of problems, as the Raknii were also conditioned to accept a submissive role to the victors of dominance combat.
The fact that the victors happened to be aliens in this case, wasn’t expected to be overly problematic, but one never knew for sure. That was why Raan needed to give instructions to all of his planet-masters, quadrant-masters and sector-masters personally, in the attempt to minimize the potential for rebellion. It would take most of a full year for such an extensive tour to be completed fully, but Kalis took Raan at his word that it was vitally necessary, if peaceful coexistence was to be fully accomplished.
* * * *
The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston
October, 3868
Hal received the condensed version of Admiral Kalis’ report several days earlier, forwarded from his brother on Minnos. It took a bit longer for Hal to receive the full version from his brother on Ginia, as Kalis’ reports back to the Confederacy were more intricately detailed and the classified versions completely unedited. Kalis was, after all, a Confederate officer now, and that was where his primary loyalties lay.
While Noreen nursed little Hans, Hal told her and Diet what he’d learned from Kalis’ report about the mysterious High-Human the Raknii had reportedly captured during their raid on Bavara, and all that Raan had said about what his missing alter ego had been up to since his disappearance there, the day after their wedding.
It was good to know that the mobile Hal was alive and well, but they’d all been a bit shocked to discover that he had somehow ended up as a close personal advisor to the new supreme-master of the entire Raknii Empire. That boded well for the eventual determination of the war, but, for her part, Hal’s in-depth knowledge of events that no one outside of the military should have had access to gave Noreen a distinct chill. But she still refused to ask, still quite sure that she didn’t really want to know.
Diet grew unusually quiet after Hal detailed the events at the battles at Slithin and 2nd Yegraia, but covered it admirably when he abruptly told Noreen that he would soon be taking her out to be fitted for a whole new wardrobe. She’d have been even more surprised to discover that he wasn’t merely talking about taking her to a top-of-the-line fashion boutique in Waston, but to the German Imperial capital in Berlen on the planet Branden, to visit the royal outfitters to the Empress Wilhelmina herself. That would come later.
* * * *
Admiral Enrico Melendez, Chief of Fleet Operations for the United Stellar Alliance, was stunned. The news of J.T.’s tragic, yet heroic death at the 2nd Battle of Yegraia paralyzed Melendez like a shot to the solar plexus. Alliance Fleet surgeons had done everything humanly possible to save him, but J.T.’s injuries were just too extensive, and the shocks to his body too great. He died peacefully, without pain, just four days after the greatest victory of his life. At least J.T. had reportedly regained consciousness long enough to have been told of his victory, and died knowing that despite overwhelming odds, he’d been successful in doing his duty and forcing the enemy to withdraw.
But Melendez was disconsolate. First came Bat’s mysterious disappearance, and now J.T.’s death. It was surreal to think they were both gone. Both! Those two incredible officers had been as close as blood kin to Melendez — closer in some respects. They’d been friends, as well as colleagues, and Melendez was devastated by their loss. He’d loved them both, like the sons he’d never had.
Outwardly, the Alliance was jubilant... insanely joyous in celebration of their great victories at Slithin and Yegraia and of six more newly conquered alien planets. Then came the stunning news of the sudden and unexpected capitulation of an entire Raknii region containing almost 60 planets — virtually assuring President McAllister of a second term in the fall elections. Behind the scenes, the coalition was scrambling to get more defensive forces out there, to relieve J.T.’s battered 17th Fleet. If the cats mounted another concentrated counter-attack with ships like the ones J.T. had fought there, 17th Fleet was vulnerable, but the incredible distances involved made getting anything out there cumbersome.
J.T.’s body was on its way back from far off Yegraia, deep in the heart of cat country. J.T.’s family had already approved of the Fleet having him interred in a place of honor at Arlinton National Cemetery, just outside Waston. The president had already signed off on SecDef Campbell’s recommendation for J.T.’s posthumous promotion to full admiral and Congress had accepted Admiral Kalis’ recommendation for Admiral James Timothy Turner to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor, for personal valor above and beyond the call of duty in successfully repulsing over 100 times his own numbers — an achievement destined to be enshrined in the annals of military history, as possibly the greatest defensive masterpiece of all time. Melendez and his aide-de-camp, Commander Marilyn Fredricks, were personally making the arrangements for a massive hero’s military funeral. But much of the paperwork had to be redone several times, as Marilyn’s tears made the ink run on many of her early efforts.
* * * *
The Germanic Planet of Branden, City of Berlen
November, 3868
Noreen found herself missing the human Hal more than ever, as she and Diet toured the historic old city of Berlen. Hal spoke German and had acted as their interpreter during their magical wedding trip to Bavara, before that Raknii raid stole him away from both of them, and those awful we
eks of hiding in a hotel basement that followed.
As promised, Diet had indeed taken her to be fitted for a new wardrobe by the royal outfitters of the German Empress herself. Noreen had no idea where Diet had gotten this particular wild hair, but she supposed it was an early Christmas gift. Little Hans cooed prettily at the slightly plump, pink-cheeked, blond German girl who held him, and accompanied them around the city, acting both as nanny and interpreter. Noreen never dreamed the pleasant young lady holding her baby was actually an incredibly deadly agent of the German Secret Service, tasked with the protection of the German Royal Family.
Upon receiving the first of her new wardrobe items to be completed, Diet arranged for a mysterious clandestine dinner for the family — a dinner whose details he seemed to take particular delight in keeping all to himself. “It’s a surprise,” was all she could pry out of him. That made Noreen miss Hal even more... even the bodiless voice version of him, on whom she could generally work her feminine wiles and usually finagle at least a hint of what Diet might be up to, whenever he got secretive.
Diet spared no expense on their accommodations. They were staying in the Royal Penthouse Suite of the fabulous Schlosshotel Im Berlen Gendarmenmarkt, at a mere $106,000 per night. At Diet’s insistence, Noreen spent almost the entire day being incredibly pampered by a small army of hotel staff, who literally brought an entire resort spa regimen right to their room. Sauna, skin treatment, massage, nails, hair, makeup… if this was what life was like for German royalty, she could certainly get very used to being a baroness, for damned sure.
Noreen sometimes wondered how it was that Diet managed to remain the richest man in the universe with all the corporate takeovers that TBG was actively involved in. Hal had tried explaining it to her once... how he constantly monitored the stock markets within the Alliance and Confederacy, looking for certain complex patterns to emerge — and then buying and selling massive blocks of stocks at incredibly high speeds, sometimes doing both to the same stock within a mere matter of minutes, managing to average a profit of a single penny per share on each transaction. Multiplied by millions of shares traded every day, those pennies added up to an incredibly vast amount of income.
Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 3) Page 26
