by GARY DARBY
“Wonderful,” Peller crowed. “I doubt seriously after this that either the Sadocs or the Combine will have any thoughts of establishing their own breakaway empires. In fact, I suspect that they will be most hasty in recognizing my sovereignty.”
He leaned forward again, “You’ve done very well, my dear, and your reward will be commensurate with your efforts, I assure you.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “Just be sure that you give me a heads-up before you enter your command codes so that I can clear out of here, I don’t want to get trapped in this thing.”
Peller shook his head and all but crooned, “No, my dear, that’s the last thing I want. Your services are too valuable to me, and I will have much more work for you to do.
“But stand by your station, there is something I must do on my end first and after that, I will let you know that I’m about to engage the device.”
He tapped on the console to stop the communication and frowned. She’s getting too close; maybe I’ve given her more authority than I should.
Nodding to himself, he continued to muse. I wonder what it would be like to be trapped inside the nova device as it sped toward Sarpens knowing that it will explode, with you in it, in a few hours?
He shook his head at that thought. No, she hasn’t given me any reason to suspect her of disloyalty.
After all, she was the one he had trusted in the negotiations with the Mongans and transporting the device, not to mention establishing the protocols so that only he could set the machine in motion.
He reached to open another communications link when another icon appeared midair. Its sudden appearance caused Peller to stop and just stare at the image of a binary star, at first unbelieving, then with alarm approaching fear.
It was unimaginable that someone had broached what was supposed to be his impregnable communications system.
Nevertheless, the icon that represented Double Star, his rogue Star Scout agent, Ri Romerand, floated in front of his face.
His mouth gaped open, and he shook his head. Double Star was dead, how could anyone be using his encoded communications link to contact Peller?
The icon blinked several times before he reached out and tentatively touched the icon to open the transmission.
A holographic image of a young man and an older man took shape. Between them stood a large cube covered by a brownish material. Peller took one look at the older man, and he rose out of his seat as if to pounce upon him.
“Deklon Marrel,” he hissed. “How were you able to—”
“Use this channel to contact you?” the older man replied. “We have our ways, Peller.”
He turned and gestured with one hand, “I believe you’ve met Star Scout Dason Thorne. You know, the scout that broke up your little charade with Elder Tor’al, not to mention—”
“Careful, Marrel!” Peller snapped.
He shook a bony finger at the image. “Do not mock me, remember that I hold your brother hostage. He’s still alive, for now, but one word from me and—”
“I’m sorry,” Jadar, pretending to be Deklon, answered. “Did I sound as if I were mocking you? My apologies, I meant to be insulting, I’ll have to work on that.”
Dason stepped forward and firmly declared. “We’re here to talk business.” He reached over and pulled the canvas material off the cube.
Peller took one look, and though he tried to keep his face impassive, couldn’t help but suck in a breath.
“That’s right,” Dason said knowingly, “a solid block of Kolomite, more than that puny thousand kilograms that came from Veni.”
He slapped the cube, the hard splat of his hand making a sharp sound that caught Peller’s attention. “In fact, this is much, much more than a thousand kilograms.”
Taking several steps forward, he almost filled the image. “And it’s yours, Peller, all yours. All we want is Jadar Marrel back, alive and unharmed.”
He stepped back and to one side so that Peller could get another look at the Kolomite cube. “One Star Scout,” Dason answered, “for one solid block of Kolomite. That’s the deal, Peller.”
“How do I know it’s real?” Peller croaked.
Dason nodded in answer. “A fair question and I’ve got someone here who will verify its composition and mass; someone that even you will believe.”
Moving off to one side and out of the image, Dason was gone for a moment before he reappeared. Adiak Peller bolted out of his chair at the sight of his son in shackles. “Lavon,” he choked out.
Furious, he reached out with both hands as if he wanted to grab Dason and pull him through the hologram. “You will let him go, now!” he sputtered, “If you don’t—”
“No,” Dason responded calmly. “He’s not going free, and we haven’t harmed him.” Dason’s tenor turned hard to match his eyes. “But that last part could change if you’ve hurt—”
“I get it!” Peller exclaimed.
“Good,” Dason replied. He turned to Lavon Peller and ordered, “Tell him.”
Lavon swallowed hard before he muttered to Adiak, “They’re not lying. It’s pure Kolomite, and masses out at close to five thousand kilograms.”
“Where did you get—” Peller began but stopped when Dason wagged a finger at him. “Oh, no, you can forget that, we’re not going to reveal our sources. Let’s just say that you’re not the only one in the Kolomite business.”
He gave Peller a small smile and asked, “Do we have a deal?”
Peller gestured at Lavon, his face sculpted hard in hate and fury at Dason. “And him?”
Dason shrugged in reply. “We’ll throw him in as part of the deal. Besides, he’s no use to us anymore, particularly since he told us everything about your involvement in the slave trade and the manufacture of Zombie Blood.”
Before Lavon could speak, Dason shoved him from the picture. He stepped back into the image and faced Peller. Dason’s defiant posture and his composed manner infuriated Peller and it took every bit of his willpower to keep himself in control.
“All right,” Peller rasped, “you have a deal. I’ll have my people meet you at—”
“No,” Dason interrupted in a steady and firm voice. “It won’t be your people we’ll be meeting. It will be you and one other, and there will be just the two of us.
“We’ll bring your son and the Kolomite, you bring Lieutenant Colonel Marrel. No one else, Peller, or the deal’s off.”
Peller blinked several times and his eyes kept darting back to the Kolomite. Five thousand kilograms. With that much I can trade for . . .
“In that case,” he answered, “I choose the place and time.”
Dason paused as if thinking about Peller’s proposal and then answered slowly, “We’ll agree to this extent. It has to be in the demilitarized zone, and preferably somewhere in the center, for obvious reasons.”
Peller stared at Dason, doing his best to keep his countenance impassive as he thought, this couldn’t have worked out better, you fool, and you’ve played right into my hands.
After a few seconds and keeping his voice as impassive as he could, Peller replied, “Sarpens Two fits that description. Will you accept that?”
Dason again gazed at Peller as if considering Peller’s proposal before he gave a curt nod. “Sarpens Two it is; twenty-four standard hours from now. And one more thing, Peller.
“You will cease torturing Colonel Marrel as of this instant. If not, you may get your son back, but he just might be missing a bunch of pieces. Get my drift?”
Peller hands shook with rage that this young whelp could talk to him that way and demand! Demand from him as if Peller were some common man.
Slowly, slowly, he brought his fury under control until he snapped, “Agreed! Sarpens Two in twenty-four standard hours.”
Leaning forward so that his face filled the image on the other end, he snarled, “But if my son is harmed in any—”
Abruptly, the hologram disappeared. Peller slammed his hand down on the console as he realiz
ed that they had dared to cut him off in mid-sentence.
Springing from his chair, he paced the room, feeling his anger burn inside, but pushing it down and away as he needed to think, coolly, calmly.
As he paced a cruel smile built on his face. What utter, complete fools, he thought. Why do they persist in playing a game that they have no hope, no chance of winning? He squeezed his chin several times and considered a new idea.
What did the brat say—You’re not the only one in the Kolomite business?
Somehow, some way, the Marrels must have an incredible source of Kolomite. How else could they have amassed several thousand kilograms of the ultra-precious material? Not even he had been able to collect that amount at one time and in one place.
His laugh was mirthless as he thought of how they were willing to give all that up, just for one person—how incredibly naïve and pathetic.
No one person was ever worth that much; the only thing of real value was power, complete, unfettered, unchecked power in the hands of one person.
Him.
Peller sighed deeply in regret; he had looked forward to seeing all the Marrels die at once, but now he would have to find out their Kolomite source first before he had them killed.
He finally stopped his heavy steps and sat back down to lean back in his chair with a smug smile. This was much more satisfying, he thought. I get their Kolomite and along with it, their deaths. And how I shall look forward to both.
Peller bolted forward in his chair at a sudden thought. He licked his lips and flicked his eyes around this most secret room in the Imperium several times as his anxiety mounted.
Just how had the Marrels broken into his communications system? That was supposed to be impossible. And if they had managed that, what else had they learned?
Of more importance, what could they do to him?
He couldn’t help the tremor that coursed through his body as if a cold, icy wind blew across his body. Even with the herbal tea’s warmth in his insides, he couldn’t stop the shiver that shook his shoulders.
A sudden thought entered his mind and he grasped what had been unthinkable before now. The Marrels were far more dangerous than he had supposed. The question was, just how dangerous, and just how much of a threat did they actually pose?
He cared not what happened to others, but he was not a man to take undue risks with his own safety.
That meant that even though he had to go to Sarpens Two, he would make sure that he returned alive and unharmed—no matter the cost.
Just like he didn’t care how many suffered and died so that he could have his pot of tea, he wouldn’t concern himself with how many had to die or agonize to protect his august personage.
Chapter Fourteen
Star date: 2443.115
Aboard the Sha’anay Warship A’Cilles
Striding into the chambers of the Korha’pec, Elder Tor’al took his place in the center between the two rows of six chairs. The Grand Elder’s brilliant white and gold robes covered his warrior uniform and though he was elaborately dressed, his face was somber and grave.
With outstretched arms, he turned in a slow circle and his voice was firm, forceful.
“Leaders of the Great Houses, I have just spoken with Dason Thorne. You know him as my adopted son. I also count Dason as one in my House to whose counsel I would listen to most carefully.
“He bears grave tidings for not only his race, but for his adopted nation, the Sha’anay, as well.”
His voice rose in pitch. “Our eternal enemies are planning to strike and to strike in such a way that it well may be that this is their consummate final act in this universe.”
In a hard tone, he delivered Dason’s message. When he finished, there was stunned silence before a groundswell of growling swept the council that grew to a roar among the gathered Sha’anay leaders.
Tor’al held up a hand, and the snarls died down. “As is our custom, we must discuss this among ourselves, for this truly affects all.”
In a deliberate and slow fashion, he turned so that one after the other he faced each Sha’anay leader. He then addressed them, his voice and expression grave and serious. “To you then, I pose the question, what shall be our response?”
The Sha’anay jumped from their chairs, drew their swords, and began hammering their blades together. A pulsating clanging filled the chamber, accompanied by the warriors’ guttural bellowing.
Tor’al once again turned, taking in the agitated shouting of his warrior leaders, until he stopped before To’ran, who stood before the emblems of the House of Tor’al.
He raised a hand for quiet. In response, the tumultuous assembly calmed to muted grumbles and mutterings.
Tor’al stepped toward Tor’an with an outstretched hand. “As is the our custom, we would hear from the youngest among us first. Speak that we may hear and consider your words.”
He turned, strode to the chamber’s front, and sat down in the gilded chair of the St’ort He’scher.
To’ran rose from his chair and addressed the council members. “My father speaks plain, for I am the youngest among this council,” he began.
“Many of you have fought the evil ones well before my birth, but my hatred of them is as deep as that of any in this room.
“I was with Elder Le’mul at the Battle of the Three Suns where we lost the A’Nagi, and the Ha’chi. I pulled him and three of his brothers from the flaming wreckage.”
He paused as if the memory was painful and then murmured, “I gave them all Final Grace.”
The room grew quiet as To’ran spoke. “I was with Ki’mi Ka’hor when we confronted the soulless ones at the Battle of Gar’on Tesh. We fought six of their battle cruisers with only the Ka’mosh and Pu’ra. We destroyed four, but we lost the Ka’mosh, on which I served.”
Drawing his lips back in a savage curl, he growled, “We lost Ki’mi Ka’hor and half the crew, and if it had not been for the bravery of the warriors on the Pu’ra we would have lost more.”
Stepping to the floor, he turned and bowed his head toward Tor’al. “And it was my honor to fight alongside Elder Tor’al when he took the Ba’tosh alone against four of the evil ones’ warships and destroyed all four.”
Straightening, he strode to the center of the room where he rasped, “I have known defeat, and heard the death wails for those we lost. I have tasted victory and sung the victor’s song of triumph with my fellow warriors at battle’s end.
“I have seen death in all of its cruel and awful forms, and have heard the cry of new life and new hope.
“Wherever they go, whatever they touch, the Mongans bring nothing but wanton destruction, indescribable horror, and heartless, pitiless murder of the most innocent among us.”
He turned and brought an arm up to gesture toward Tor’al. “It was hard for me to accept what my father did when he brought a human into our House after what they did to him.
“It would seem to me that there are some among these humans that are little more than Mongan in human form.
“But the St’ort He’scher believes that they may hold the key to finally bringing an end to the Mongans’ march of death and destruction through the galaxy.
“I have entrusted my life in his hands many times in the past, and I will continue to entrust my life in his hands even now.”
He stopped and raised one sword high above his head. “My friends, my brothers, my sisters, indeed, this may well be the culmination of our own quest, that which we have sought ever since that awful day when twenty billion of us died.
“If that be the case, then I say that we join with the humans and once and for all bring about the final destruction of our eternal enemies.”
With that, he brought his sword down in a vicious slash to the floor, sending a huge cascade of sparks upward that showered the nearby Sha’anay warriors.
A Sha’anay stepped from her chair, holding her sword high in the air. “I am Ki’mi Kan’or and I am the oldest among us. I join my sword with To’ra
n’s!”
Her sword flashed through the air, the blade striking the floor full on, sending up another spray of sparks.
One by one, the other Sha’anay joined in the circle, until only Tor’al remained. The circle of warriors turned with expectant eyes toward him.
As though he was a giant unlimbering his frame, he rose from the chair to gaze at the group before lumbering down from the dais to take his place in the circle. He let his eyes rove about the group, regarding each with a look of respect, admiration, even fondness.
His words came out as a deep, throaty rumble. “My beloved sisters and brothers, you and I have fought many battles together in many places. We have lost friends, family, but we have never wavered in our sacred sojourn.
“We have waited for this time from the Day of Anguish and Despair. It is now time for you to stand at the head of your mighty Houses, to lead them in one final battle against the evil ones.
“Let us put an end to this seemingly never ending war, to the destruction and bloodshed that the Mongans have wrought across the galaxy.
Let us end this, here and now, so that our children and our children’s children, and the generations to follow shall no more have the bitter taste of war in their mouths, but the sweet and wondrous nectar of peace!”
The hiss of his two swords sliding out of their scabbards filled the chamber. He brought the two gleaming blades high over his head and in a thunderous blow struck the floor.
A fountain of fiery embers exploded skyward, filling the room in a galaxy of gleaming, brilliant stars.
Chapter Fifteen
Star date: 2443.115
Aboard the Mongan Ship, at the Rendezvous Point
Turning to Dason and Jadar as the image of Adiak Peller abruptly vanished, Rosberg nodded in grim satisfaction. “Good job, scouts, he took the bait.”
“Yes, sir,” Dason replied. “But why do I have the feeling that we just walked into his trap?”
“Because we did,” Scoutmaster Tarracas answered with a wan smile. “Or at least we’re going to let him think so.
“Like the Mongans, Adiak Peller is arrogant to a fault, unwilling to admit or accept that others could or would outsmart him. That’s his weakness, his Achilles heel, and that’s what we’ll use against him.”
