Peace Army

by Steven L. Hawk

  “Please rid Waa and the Minith Empire of General Twoo.” Truk’s eyes bored into those of his aide.

  Ghin smiled, nodded.

  “Right away, sir.”

  Chapter 21

  Titan opened his eyes. He was lying face down.

  He stared at the patch of hard-packed dirt in front of his face. He traced a tiny crack that ran to the left and ended at a rock wall.

  He was lying face down on a cool dirt floor.

  His head pounded.

  And he could not breathe well.

  These thoughts passed quickly through his mind as he resurfaced into consciousness.

  The carrier. Derk. The Telgorans.

  His eyes tracked upward from the crack and came to rest on a large, ornate carving. It was crafted from dull-gray metal and depicted a herd of the creatures he and Derk had viewed from the carrier. It was beautiful and filled the wall.

  He pushed himself up with his left arm. His right refused to cooperate, and realizing he was lying on it, he extricated it as well as he could. The icy tingle of blood rushing back to the arm burned with the stab of a thousand tiny pinpricks.

  He succeeded in rolling onto his right side, then onto his back.

  The top of the carving met a ceiling of smooth stone. His eyes tracked left across the ceiling to where it met a similar smooth stone wall on that side. His eyes travelled down along the wall to—Derk!

  The interpreter lay on his side, facing Titan. Two drying trails of blood, one from each nostril, combined to form a small red pool under his head. He was awake and staring blankly. Or was he?

  Ignoring the pain in his head and the intense tingling in his right arm, Titan rolled over further and pulled himself across the two-meter space that separated him from the other man.

  He knew before he reached Derk that he wasn’t awake. He knew that he wasn’t just staring blankly ahead.

  The interpreter was dead.

  “Ah, Derk,” Titan groaned. He wondered what he would tell Ceeray. Wondered if he would get a chance to tell her anything.

  The two interpreters had been together a long time, and were clearly in love. They had everything in common, and Titan envied the fact that they had found and could rely on each other, even while under Minith captivity. He had not been so lucky while in Violent’s Prison.

  Titan stood slowly. He rolled his head and flexed his shoulder muscles, but the pain and stiffness refused to be pushed away so easily.

  He saw no visible source of light, yet the room was bathed in a glow that permitted him to see clearly. The room was empty except for the two humans.

  He arranged Derk’s body as well as he knew how by closing his eyes and moving him to the back of the room. He wondered if the Telgorans knew the interpreter was dead, and decided there was no time like the present to seek them out.

  The doorway to the cave-like room, which he had managed to avoid thinking about until now, was an arched entrance covered by what appeared to be an orange blanket. He approached the opening and listened for Telgorans who might be on the other side.

  He heard nothing.

  Casting aside his fear, he grabbed the covering, noting that it felt like leather, and pulled it aside.

  He was immediately struck in the chest and knocked tumbling, back into the room.

  He heard a slight grunt, followed by a Telgoran wheeze.

  “Stay.”

  He lay on the ground where he landed, wrapped his arms around his chest, and gasped for the breath that had been hammered from his lungs.

  When he could think clearly, he realized he had understood the Telgoran command. Apparently, they wanted him to stay in the room.

  Not going to happen.

  Titan thought it was time to try his Telgoran. As limited as it was, he did not think communicating in their language it could make things worse.

  He cleared his throat.

  “I… come… door. Not out.” He hoped they could understand his broken speech. He got no response.

  “I come door. Stay in room. Not out.” He knew he was messing up the language terribly, but it couldn’t be helped. It was the best he could do with the limited training he had absorbed.

  He approached the door again. As he reached for the leather covering, he was reminded of the herd he and Derk had seen. Could this skin be from one of those animals?

  Learning from his first attempt, Titan stepped to the right side of the doorway. He refused to put his body in the path of whatever they had struck him with. It felt like a steel bar. He rubbed his chest absently with his right hand, slowly pulling back the covering with his left.

  A thin gray streak flashed outward and back, and would have struck him if he had been standing in front of the door like the last time.

  Strange. The quick flash of gray had looked like… an arm. A skinny gray arm.

  “Want talk. Stay in room.” The last thing he wanted was to get hit again. If it was indeed an arm that had struck him, these guys were strong.

  He moved to the opposite side of the doorway. This time he pulled back the covering and grabbed at the gray streak as it flashed into the doorway.

  He caught it and yanked, but it yanked back. Titan refused to let go and was jerked roughly through the doorway.

  He spilled awkwardly onto the floor and ended up on his hand and knees. These guys were very strong.

  So much for staying in the room.

  A pair of very skinny, very gray legs entered his vision.

  Then the world went black again.

  * * *

  His head throbbed the first time he awoke in the small stone room. That had been child’s play compared to what he felt now.

  Titan reached up and touched the back of his head, discovering a lump the size of an egg. What had they hit him with this time?

  He looked around the room and noticed that Derk’s body had been removed. He didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  What he did know was that he wasn’t going to try to take on one of these blokes again without knowing more about them. He knew he was stubborn and had issues with being told what to do, but he was no one’s fool. Sometimes it was better to let someone else initiate the conversation.

  He hoped he would not have to wait too long. Besides being stubborn, he also had a problem with patience.

  “I awake,” he offered to the covered door.

  It couldn’t hurt to let them know he was ready to talk if they were. He studied the carving as he waited.

  * * *

  “It’s been three days, Gee.”

  They had been waiting anxiously for news from Derk and Titan. The strain of not knowing what the two were doing, or if they were okay, was beginning to get to both of them.

  Ceeray and the engineer sat in the Zone. Gee was sitting up from the training table, his latest session just completed. Now that his attention could be focused on something other than landing the mothership on Telgora, Gee had finally agreed to a series of short, less intense sessions.

  The basics of the language were just beginning to fall into place.

  “I know, Ceeray,” the chubby engineer admitted. “We should have planned for this before they left.”

  None of the four had thought ahead about what to do if Titan and Derk did not return. The possibility of that happening, while very real in hindsight, had not occurred to them at the time.

  Gee knew that Ceeray was concerned for both of the men, but especially for her partner, Derk. Had they been in the “real” world, instead of captives on a Minith ship, the two would have been married long ago. Having spent the last few months in close proximity to the couple, he no longer viewed them as individuals. They were a unit; two halves of a whole.

  “We need to go after them,” she said.

  Gee stopped gnawing the remnant of nail that still clung to his right pinkie. He dropped the hand tiredly to his side.

  Going after them now did not make much sense. There could be many reasons for why they had not yet heard back. Eve
ntually, they would have no choice. They would venture out after the missing members of their group. The question was, when?

  “Let’s give it a few more days, Ceeray,” he finally decided. “If we have not heard anything by day after tomorrow, I think we need to plan our own visit to the Telgoran village.”

  Chapter 22

  Governor Truk was not happy.

  He paced rapidly around the borders of his well-purpled office. He clenched and unclenched his fists. His ears lay angrily back against his head.

  Only a month into his new role, and he was already under assault. The populace at large, both on Waa and on the other Minith-controlled planets, were screaming for action against the perpetrator or perpetrators who killed their home world. He could not blame them, but he had no more information now than he had weeks prior when Twoo informed him that the mothership had landed on Telgora.

  The Minith responsible for the attack had made no further moves against the Empire. They had made no further moves at all, as far as Truk knew. The mothership was still firmly entrenched where it had landed, and no word had come from those on board the vessel.

  Unfortunately, he could not focus on that problem now. A larger problem had arisen.

  Truk and the Empire were threatened by other races and worlds. Powerful worlds.

  Over the past three days, he had received two emissaries from off-world trading partners. Both had learned of the home world’s destruction. Both were concerned with Truk’s ability to maintain shipments that had been arranged outside of his sphere of knowledge. He was scheduled to meet another, similar emissary within minutes.

  He had never considered the role of the Minith in the larger picture of interplanetary trade and commerce. For him, as for most Minith, the empire represented the pinnacle of supremacy. They were the conquerors of worlds, and they ruled those worlds with iron wills, angry boots, and powerful fists. Simply put, he always believed the Minith were at the top of the interstellar food chain.

  Now he knew the truth. He knew the secret his former overseers had chosen to keep from him and the rest of the Minith race.

  It was the same secret he now had to keep from those who toiled beneath him.

  The Minith—rulers of more than a dozen worlds—were merely third-rate players in the larger wheel of interstellar trade, politics, and military might.

  The first two emissaries had visited under the guise of checking on a trusted partner in commerce, but Truk understood the thinly veiled threats those emissaries also delivered.

  Meet your trade agreements and we will allow things to proceed as usual. Otherwise…

  Truk had considered killing each emissary in turn, but recognized the foolishness of such a compulsive act. Instead, he would wait until he knew more about his foes’ abilities before engaging them. He would also gather more details on the forces at his disposal. When Minith was destroyed, a significant percentage of their military capabilities went with her.

  What was more a concern was their inability to meet the trade agreements the emissaries demanded. Minith was the logistical conduit through which all goods passed. Without Minith, Truk was left with no viable supply network. The planets he controlled still produced the trading goods the Empire required. They still mined the ore, felled the trees, and grew the food. But the Minith had no way to pass those items along to their partners.

  Truk was no fool. He understood the problem, and he had successfully bargained for an extension of key delivery dates. Both emissaries recognized the issues he faced, and each had reluctantly agreed to delays of a year. However, their position was clear. If supplies were not flowing by that time, neither of the partners would hesitate to step in and take control of the Minith holdings.

  Suddenly, re-establishing a logistics network had been flung to the top of his priority list.

  In light of his new priority, he had given significant consideration to the threat that remained on Telgora. In the end, he decided to bottle up the planet as best he could and postpone a full assault until he had adequate control of the logistic issues.

  He called in Ghin to put his plans into motion.

  “Ghin, has our next guest arrived?” Truk fought to restrain his anger over the third emissary’s arrival. The idea of bargaining for additional schedule delays was distasteful. Necessary, but distasteful.

  “Sir, the Incoming Ship Director has just notified us that the Zrthn vessel has landed. The Zrthn Minister of Trade should be here in ten minutes.”

  “Very well. Compose an order,” Truk directed the aide as he settled himself behind the desk. He admired the newly acquired chair and the royal purple leather that covered its seat and arms.

  “I want all military forces on Telgora recalled as soon as replacements can be allocated from my Trusted List.” Truk waited for a reaction from his aide.

  He received none; smiled. Ghin had promise.

  “The forces leaving Telgora are to be closely searched, and each soldier’s identity will be validated, despite rank. That is very important. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. No one leaves Telgora unless we know exactly who they are.”

  Truk nodded. Very good.

  “Yes.” Truk did not need to consider who he wanted to lead the forces there. Only one name entered his mind. “Please alert General Soo that I wish to meet with him in exactly two hours.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ghin bowed and turned to carry out his orders.

  Truk contemplated how much he would have to tell General Soo. The general was his handpicked choice; a loyal follower. Once Soo and his troops were in place on Telgora, they could root out and capture anyone who remained behind. If the Minith responsible for the act against the home world were hiding within the Telgoran mining bases, Soo and his forces would find them.

  But did Soo need to know why he was searching for hidden Minith?

  Probably, though it pained him to let anyone know that secret.

  As far as Truk knew, only he and Ghin knew that the mothership once stationed on Earth was now sitting on Telgora. He had plugged the holes on that information. Twoo was no longer a concern. Truk had similarly disposed of the pilots who had fired on the mothership, the crews that supported them, and the communications personnel who had learned details of the attack through the course of their normal duties. Anyone still in possession of the information certainly knew to keep their mouths shut—or suffer a similar fate.

  Truk was still debating how much to tell Soo when Ghin interrupted his thoughts.

  “Sir, the Zrthn visitor has arrived.”

  Truk cursed. Instead of worrying about Soo, he should have been thinking about his upcoming discussion with the Zrthn.

  He offered a promise to his ancestors that he would not lose focus of the trade issue again until it was stabilized. Soo could handle the Telgoran situation—at least, for the foreseeable future.

  “Please send him in, Ghin.”

  Chapter 23

  Titan did not know exactly how long he had been sitting alone in the room, but he estimated it to be several days. At frequent periods, the drape would be lifted a few inches as food and water were pushed into the room. He never saw his captors and avoided approaching the doorway. The Telgorans wanted him to remain where he was. After his previous attempts, he obliged them.

  The water they gave him had a heavy metallic smell and he put off drinking it as long as possible. Thirst took over, as Titan knew it eventually would, and he gave in to his need by taking a couple of very small, very hesitant sips. The taste was just as metallic as the smell, but when it did not make him sick, he took two similarly hesitant, but slightly larger, drinks. He kept this up until, by what he estimated to be the third day, he was drinking freely. Soon after, the metallic smell and taste disappeared, and he knew his body had adjusted.

  The food was another matter. After similar trials, he learned that the potato-like tubers the Telgorans offered did not make him ill, but the taste of the yellowish pulp was awful, and got no better as
time passed. He ate only when his hunger forced him to put another mouthful of the foul stuff in his stomach.

  Titan was forcing down his third mouthful in as many hours when the covering was pulled away from the door and a tall creature with a large, elongated head entered.

  He swallowed the yellowed paste quickly and stood. It was his first clear view of the aliens. And what a view it was. The Telgoran looked more like a man than a Minith, but that was being kind.

  It was unclear if the Telgoran was male or female, but Titan’s first impression was he was looking at a male. He knew he could be wrong, but with no distinguishing features to the contrary, he would just assume.

  The Telgoran was roughly six inches taller that Titan, which would place him well above seven feet tall. He wore a simple, thigh-length tunic made of the same material that covered the door. Again, Titan’s thoughts went to the animals on the plain. Apparently the Telgorans hunted or raised them for their hides; perhaps for their meat as well.

  The Telgoran’s skin was a medium-gray tone that reminded Titan of ashes. The most distinguishing features were the size of his head and the thinness of his limbs.

  The oversized head looked vaguely familiar, like something he might have seen in a picture or a painting. It was easily three times the length of a human head. An overly bulky brow traversed the width of the forehead. The large face possessed outsized ears and a long, broad nose that extended from the brow down half the length of the giant face. The eyes and mouth were close to a human’s and, as such, seemed small on the Telgoran’s face.

  As large as the being’s head was, the Telgoran’s body, arms, and legs seemed abnormally thin. Titan thought he could easily circle his forefinger and thumb around the arm so the digits touched. The legs were equally as thin as the arms. If he hadn’t already been knocked down twice by one of their kind, he would have thought the Telgorans extremely weak. The lump on his head, though diminished, and the purple bruise on his chest told him otherwise.