Firestorm

by Anderson, Taylor

  Behind him in the dank passageway, he heard unreproduceable Grik voices and advancing feet. He recognized the voices now, and he understood what they said, but speaking the vile tongue was beyond his desire or capability.

  “I thought we’d find you here,” General Esshk growled, and Kurokawa looked at the powerful Grik. All the hatchlings in the cell immediately forgot their antagonism toward one another and frizzed at Esshk’s approach, uttering a low, warning moan.

  “You have interrupted my experiment,” Kurokawa complained. “I may have to begin all over!” Esshk couldn’t speak the English the Japanese officer used any better than Kurokawa spoke Grik, but he also understood the words.

  “You are a most sadistic creature,” Esshk stated, a little wonderingly. “You realize what you put that one through,” he motioned through the bars, “is tantamount to the ‘Traitor’s Death,’ the most severe punishment the Giver of Life ever inflicts? To be slowly consumed by hatchlings . . .” The hardened warrior practically shuddered.

  “There is a difference,” Kurokawa insisted. “his one has not been bound, her claws and teeth pulled out . . . and her reward will be great.”

  “If she survives, and does not go mad. And no doubt you’ve threatened her with the complete ‘treatment’ if she does not cooperate.”

  Kurokawa didn’t answer. The other voices in the passageway neared, and he identified them as those of Tsalka and the Chooser. They were attended, as always, by a significant guard. Also among them were three Japanese sailors. The sailors said nothing and wore nervous expressions. Suddenly, Kurokawa missed “General” Niwa, the closest thing he had to a friend. Niwa wasn’t really a friend, of course, but he alone of all the men of Amagi had been truly loyal, he thought, and he’d become a confidant of sorts in a world where Kurokawa had no others. Niwa had gone to Ceylon with General Halik to observe enemy strengths and tactics when the inevitable invasion of that province began. The Grik had scant hope of holding the place, but Regent Tsalka insisted that some effort be made after all. At least they might bleed the “prey”—the very real “enemy” that former “prey” had become—the first true enemy the Grik had ever faced throughout their long history.

  “Your ship awaits to take you to inspect the ‘projects’ underway on the continent,” Tsalka hissed. “The Celestial Mother is anxious for a report, and so am I. I would still preserve my regency from the enemy, if possible!”

  “All the projects proceed according to plan,” Kurokawa assured him. “You would not . . . rush me again, would you?”

  “Not at all,” Tsalka denied quickly, remembering what happened the last time they struck before Kurokawa said they were ready: The loss of Amagi and most of the “Invincible” Swarm. “I am . . . anxious, that is all. Word from General Halik hints at some confidence.”

  Kurokawa had heard that too, but the confidence involved a scheme to break the Allied blockade so Grik ships, loaded with steel and other war material produced on Ceylon, might escape Colombo—not that Halik thought Ceylon could be saved. Kurokawa sighed and stood from his stool. “Fleet construction and some of the new ordnance principles have struck minor snags, largely due to incompetent labor, but the deadlines will be met. I go there to ensure that they are, and to add certain modifications that have recently struck my fancy. The ‘Army’ plan proceeds even better than expected, as General Esshk can attest.” He gestured at the cell. “These tests confirm yet another of my fancies, that should result in an even greater efficiency among the ‘new’ Army troops and Navy crews. I’m quite excited.”

  “What of the aircraft you promised?” Esshk demanded. Kurokawa smoldered. Esshk wouldn’t leave that alone.

  “The . . . ‘aircraft’ I’ve undertaken to design and build are almost ready, in fact,” he stated.

  “But they are nothing like the aircraft you promised! They do not resemble your damaged ‘floatplane’ in any way, or the P-B-Y of the Americans that was destroyed,” he said, failing to pronounce the letters P-B-Y properly, although his meaning came across. “I doubt the enemy has been idle. Most likely, they have replaced it by now.”

  “They can’t,” Kurokawa assured him, “not with anything nearly as capable, at any rate. Trust me, the aircraft I’ve designed will be more than adequate for the task. Besides, as I’ve said”—he closed his eyes and took a breath—“more often than I can count, Grik are physiologically incapable of operating aircraft forms even remotely similar to our needlessly damaged, and sadly no longer flight-worthy, type ninety-five.”

  “If your plane is so badly damaged, why exert so much effort maintaining it?” Esshk asked suspiciously.

  “Because it’s a priceless asset, a model for innovation and experimentation,” Kurokawa snapped. “You forced me to ruin it, but gazing upon it, I still get ideas!”

  Esshk seemed mollified. “Possibly, that is reasonable. But the craft your Hij construct!” Esshk almost threw up his hands. “How can such things fly?”

  “Very well,” Kurokawa assured. “And while they may be more labor intensive, and expensive in materials”—he shrugged—“we have plenty of both for that project, and they’re significantly less complicated. Before long, we’ll have them in their hundreds, and your doubts will be drowned by awe.”

  “They had better be,” Esshk darkly warned, but Kurokawa ignored him. He was still terrified of Esshk, but he was safe from his ire—for now.

  “And what of the . . . issue . . . in the south and west?” the Chooser suddenly asked, defusing the current tension. “That still remains, and lurks ever larger.”

  “Yes, how will we counter that as well?” Tsalka asked. “The creatures there have long been known to be hunters, but we haven’t pushed them. The extent of their realm is limited and known—nothing lies beyond it. The Celestial Mother was ‘saving’ them for a pleasant diversion once the original Grand Swarm eliminated the Ancient Prey once and for all. With the destruction of that, the Invincible Swarm, and the current drain on our resources, we may be vulnerable to even such as they!”

  “The drain is only temporary, and our losses will soon be replaced manyfold, with the implementation of the ‘new protocols’ devised by the Chooser, General Esshk, and myself. As for the beings in the south? Her Majesty has asked me to go to them,” Kurokawa said smugly. “She believes since the ‘southern hunter’s’ form is similar to mine, they may be more likely to accept the Offer from me.” He shook his head. “I cannot go myself, of course. I have too much to occupy me here. I will send suitable representatives—who understand the price of failure.”

  “The Offer!” Tsalka moaned. “That is scandalous enough! To make the Offer based on what might be instead of what has been, has never happened before!”

  “Enough,” Esshk hissed at him. “She has decided. Precedence constrains you and I, not the Celestial Mother. Do you doubt she may do as she pleases?”

  Tsalka lowered his head and blew a gust of air through jagged teeth. “Of course not.”

  “So,” Esshk continued, addressing the General of the Sea, “we have brought the Jaaph Hij you requested.”

  “Hmm.” Kurokawa lowered his gaze to encompass the three humans accompanying Tsalka’s entourage. He motioned one forward. “Lieutenant Toru Miyata, I believe you are acquainted with the distinguished First General?”

  Toru, who looked like a slighter, younger version of Niwa, controlled an impulse to gulp. “Yes, Captain—I mean, General of the Sea Kurokawa!”

  “As a junior navigation officer, you’re not essential to the projects underway. . . .”

  I’m expendable, Miyata concluded with a sick feeling.

  And I therefore proudly accept your enthusiastic offer to lead this important, glorious mission! Given that you are a navigation officer, I trust you of all people to succeed for our Emperor, our . . . allies, and for me.” Kurokawa’s face clouded. “Others may have failed the Emperor, but the navigation division never did, when it came to getting us where we needed to go. For that reason, I h
old you almost utterly blameless for the loss of my ship!”

  “Wha . . .” Miyata jerked a bow. “Thank you, sir. May—may I ask the General of the Sea . . . what I’ve volunteered to do?”

  “That’s the spirit!” Kurokawa beamed genuinely. “General Esshk?”

  Esshk produced a crude map from the folds of his cloak. “As you may have understood earlier, there’s a group of hunters in the south that we had been ‘saving’ for some time now. They inhabit lands we care nothing for, and cannot escape. They’re completely surrounded by a most hostile sea.” He paused. “But priorities . . . change.” He pointed. “Here. Their lands surround this place you call ‘Cape Town’ in a rough semicircle extending perhaps three or four hundreds of miles. Quite small, as I said, but they are fierce warriors. Good hunters. The Celestial Mother, in her benevolence, has decided to extend to them ‘the Offer’ to join the hunt. Do you understand what this means?”

  Miyata nodded, and, clearing his throat, added a little shakily, “I do.”

  “Very well. It will be a difficult journey. We cannot take you all the way by ship. Even if the hunters there did not destroy it, no ship can swim around this ‘Cape of Storms.’ It is hideously cold, and the currents and seas are most intense.” He coughed a Grik laugh. “To my view, the climate there is sufficient reason to leave them with it, but we would fight with them rather than against them just now.”

  “In that case, where will I go ashore?” Miyata asked.

  “Here.” Esshk pointed. Miyata vaguely recognized the area around the Moamba of his old world, about a hundred and fifty miles east of where Johannesburg should be. “From there, it is a trek of some three hundreds of miles across some of the worst country known. Open rocky plains, much of it, plagued by high winds. And it is cold, cold. There are also large, dangerous beasts”—he jerked his head in a shrug—“but they would never frighten you.” He raised his gaze to Miyata. “Cross that plain and make contact with these . . . beings. You look like them, so perhaps they will not kill you on sight as they have done our previous . . . emissaries.”

  “What language do they speak? I understand your spoken language and I know a little English, but that’s all. What if I can’t communicate? They may not even be . . . true people.”

  “If you cannot speak to them, you will be killed,” Esshk replied reasonably. “But make ‘the Offer’ if you can, and secure their assistance. Do that and you will be handsomely rewarded!”

  “And . . . what do I tell them if they refuse?” Miyata asked.

  “They will be exterminated,” Esshk answered simply. “We are preoccupied, true, but not so preoccupied that we cannot swarm them under even as things now stand. This is their one chance.”

  “When do we leave . . . ah, First General?”

  “Preparations are already underway. All should be in readiness within days at most. You know better what your species requires for survival in frigid lands, so prepare accordin. Requisition what you need under my authority.”

  Miyata looked at Kurokawa, now ignoring him. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Consider yourselves dismissed, to begin preparations.” The three men bowed and were escorted away. Esshk glanced back at Kurokawa and gestured at the cell. “Have you observed the results you hoped to see?” he asked grudgingly, doing his best to conceal his revulsion. The “Traitor’s Death” was rarely used, and even this . . . approximation, particularly when undeserved, awakened a primal horror. Tsalka couldn’t bring himself to look inside the cell, and even the Chooser appeared uncomfortable. Only the “Jaaph” seemed unmoved. Esshk had long considered Kurokawa a barbarian, and at times an annoying pest, but he was valuable enough to overlook those things. This exhibition of utter, wanton, ruthlessness—even toward lesser beings—displayed a dispassionate side of the “man” Esshk hadn’t seen. Oddly, Kurokawa was demonstrating the exact sort of disassociation most prized by the Hij: the ability to completely separate one’s self from the consequences of one’s acts or orders, to remain beyond the call of earthly urges even in the heat of battle. Esshk often struggled with that, in particular. The capacity for that was viewed as a Hij ideal, but Esshk had never seen anyone fully capable of achieving it—until now. Or was it only that Kurokawa viewed the poor creature in the cell as nothing more significant than an insect, and he didn’t fully appreciate the trauma the female was enduring?

  “Yes. The defensive hatchlings, the ones the Chooser once culled and you . . . ate as snacks, that we now groom for defensive combat, appear susceptible to nurturing contact, even at this early stage. They become . . . protective of the female that treats them gently, and defend it most vigorously from their ‘normal’ nest-mates that threaten her.” He shrugged. “If we can inculcate this sense of loyalty to a ‘mother figure’ at this stage of their development, imagine the fanatical loyalty they will carry later, for the greatest ‘Mother’ of all.” Kurokawa paused. “Loyalty is the most elusive quality a commander can desire of his followers,” he said broodingly.

  Outside, in the clear air, Miyata coughed to expel the stench of the Grik “dungeon.” He looked at his companions. Both were young and from divisions not considered “essential” to current projects.

  “Well,” he said at last, “what did you two do to deserve this?”

  “You . . . think this mission is a punishment, sir?” one asked nervously.

  Miyata considered. In his mind’s eye he saw the macabre East Africa “shipyard” he’d been recalled from; the seething mass of workers, the hot, swirling dust and perpetual stench of death and rot and feces, carried by the fitful, fickle wind. To him, even while the Grik constructed their new fleet, the scene more closely resembled a sea of maggots working among skeletal corpses. The stench did much to reinforce that impression. He blinked and found himself back with his companions on the steps of the “administrative” portion of the Celestial Palace. Below the slope it dominated, down in the harbor, scores of Grik “Indiamen” rode at anchor and multitudes of Grik trotted about like furry, reptilian ants, on errands or bearing burdens. He scowled. The smell out here wasn’t much better than in the dungeon below—or in the shipyards.

  “It’s a suicide mission,” he stated at last, “but not a punishment. Anything that gets me away from here is a reward.”

  Colombo, Grik Ceylon

  “Your scheme seems to have been successful, General Halik,” “General” Orochi Niwa said, entering the gloomy chamber through an ivy-lined entrance. The chamber was the throne room of the Imperial Regent Consort of Ceylon and all India, but with Tsalka away at court, Viceroy N’galsh had grudgingly turned it over to the “visiting generals” to plan the defense and hopefully, salvation of his lands. Normally, sunlight flooded the chamber and reflected down upon the throne at its center, but the sky was overcast and lamps were needed to view the maps on the table that had been brought into the room. Halik and N’galsh looked up from the maps as the Japanese officer joined them, awaiting the rest of his report. “The ship sent to observe has returned, and though it never drew close enough to sight the enemy, its Hij captain saw a massive explosion at sea. According to your plan, those newly elevated aboard the ‘bait’ ships were not to destroy themselves unless they were confident of destroying at least one enemy ship. If we act quickly, the cargo vessels stuck here might escape at last.”

  “I will see to it,” N’galsh said, tinkling a small chime. An official entered the chamber. “Send word for the vessels in the harbor to make sail at once. At least one enemy is almost certainly destroyed, perhaps more. Others may be damaged, or occupied with salvage and rescue.” He snorted irony at that. “Most should make it past them.”

  “Of course, Vice Regent, it shall be done,” the official replied.

  General Halik observed the exchange with pleasure. He was glad Niwa had finally established dominance over N’galsh. Not only had he grown to . . . enjoy Niwa’s company, but if anything happened to Halik, Niwa must be obeyed. N’galsh had been reluctant to t
ake direction from either of them at first, even Halik, since as a former Uul “entertainment warrior,” he’d been “elevated” from the ranks and not the nest. Hatched a mere warrior, he ultimately gained notice in the staged combats the Giver of Life so enjoyed by continuing to prevail despite his advanced years. He’d been twenty seasons old; ancient for an Uul, when he was “chosen.” Even before that, he’d begun to notice things, to “think,” and in this war, the Celestial Mother had determined they needed more like him. So here he was on Ceylon, sent to “defend” it as best he could with the assistance of the former Special Naval Landing Force officer, Orochi Niwa. He was also to observe and recruit as many “like himself” as he could find before the place was likely lost. Evidently, he’d lost a double handful of those recruits that day, but the result should be worth the cost. He summoned the official back before he could depart.

  “I want watchers to observe the beaches here,” he said, drawing a claw along the southwest coast of the island. “Have First of Ten Hundreds Agrawer choose them with care. They must not attack if they sight any enemies, but bring the news back here.” He looked at Niwa. “With the weather growing foul, a damaged enemy vessel may wash ashore. If so, and if any survive, we may learn their intentions—if local Uul do not savage them.” Halik hissed a sigh. “They will not have learned, nor would they appreciate this concept of ‘taking prisoners’ you’ve mentioned. They will just kill them and eat them. It strikes me that this might be an excellent opportunity to attempt the procedure.”

  “Very good,” Niwa said. “Perhaps I should go myself? If you’re right, someone should be near with a grasp of the priorities.”

  Halik shook his head. “I am likely wrong and need you here to discuss the potential of these new ‘recruits.’ But I learned long amer Specio never ignore a potential advantage offered by an opponent: a weak sword arm, a tendency to lower his shield on the attack. These things can be exploited later, but only if you notice them. A few ‘prisoners’ might help with that. They can always be eaten later.”