More than two standard months had passed since the broadcast from Earth. And a great deal had occurred during that time. A series of speeches had been made, and according to reports from inside the empire, the anticabal messages were beginning to gain traction. There had been demonstrations in large cities, followed by scattered acts of sabotage, and three cases of well-publicized self-immolation. And the cabal reacted to the protests just as Booly thought they would—which was with poorly-thought-out mass reprisals that brought even more Ramanthians over to the denialist cause. Thereby feeding the unrest.
Meanwhile, hundreds of ships were being completed deep inside Hegemony-controlled space even as more than five million clone soldiers came under the Confederacy’s control, along with a quarter million Hudathans. All eager for revenge.
But the Confederacy was still outnumbered. And for that reason there were many in the Senate who favored waiting for a few months before attacking Hive. Fortunately, Booly, Chien-Chu, and others had been able to convince a majority to support an immediate attack because political support would be critical. Especially if the attempt failed.
The battleship’s primary Command & Control (C&C) computer was generally referred to as “the Preacher” because of its deep, melodious voice and a perpetual desire to tell everyone what to do. “The ship will drop hyper in three minutes,” the Preacher intoned as the final seconds ticked away. “Secure all gear, check space armor, and strap in. Primary weapons systems, secondary weapons systems, and tertiary weapons systems have been armed. All fighter aircraft are prepared for immediate launch. I repeat . . .”
The Preacher’s spiel became a meaningless drone as Booly fought a battle within himself. The attack was the right thing to do. He felt certain of it. Then why did he feel a sense of impending doom? Maybe it was the Naa blood that coursed through his veins or the fact that he was older now. His thoughts turned to Maylo, the fear in her eyes when they had said good-bye, and the sweet taste of her lips. This is the last one, he promised himself, then I’ll retire.
Booly’s thoughts were interrupted as the Preacher spoke again. “Stand by for normal space.” The bridge crew, including Captain Jonathan Alan Seebo 514,234, were seated in what was generally referred to as “the tub.” Meaning a U-shaped enclosure located half a level below the observation deck on which Booly, the Queen, and various staff members were seated. Or, in the royal’s case, strapped to the deck since the body she had chosen for the occasion was far too large for a Ramanthian-style saddle chair.
Then the waiting was over as Booly’s stomach lurched, the NAVCOMP shut the hyperdrive down, and a starscape appeared on the curvilinear screen above and in front of the tub. It was meaningless, really, since the ships that were vectoring in on them were too small to see and wouldn’t become visible to the naked eye unless they attempted to ram the Avenger.
No, the real action could be seen in the holo tank directly in front of the captain, where red and blue symbols had already begun to clash. But it was difficult to make out the details of what was taking place, so Booly took advantage of his rank to release his harness and make his way over to the so-called admiral’s pulpit, located above and behind the command chair. From there he could look down into the tank and hear the orders that were given. He could also access the ship’s command channel if necessary, but he didn’t plan to do so, knowing that it would make the crew self-conscious.
Most of the conversation between Captain 234 and the crew was professionally matter-of-fact. But they were people and people have emotions. So a mutual groan was heard as the blue box that represented the carrier Iridian winked out of existence. The battle had only been under way for a minute and a half, yet 3,467 allied personnel were dead. Booly felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow, but he knew that even though he bore responsibility for the deaths, generals weren’t allowed to cry.
PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Chancellor Parth was deep within the warm embrace of a sand bath when his majordomo entered the room to inform him that multiple flights of computer-controlled asteroids and enemy missiles had entered the solar system via hyperspace. And worse yet, an entire fleet of warships was headed toward Hive, preceded by thousands of robotic drones, all of which were transmitting a message from someone or something that claimed to be the Warrior Queen. In spite of the warm sand that was vibrating against his chitin, Parth felt something cold enter his bloodstream. “Show me,” he ordered.
The majordomo aimed a remote at the wall screen, and video blossomed. What Parth saw was both unexpected and frightening. Because there was a picture of the legendary Kathong standing on what appeared to be the Plain of Pain but probably wasn’t. The monster was at least three times the size of a normal Ramanthian and equipped with four arms rather than two.
“Hear me,” the monster demanded, “or suffer my wrath. For I am the real Queen, the Warrior Queen, and this is but one of my bodies. Can you hear the thunder? Look to the skies. I am on the way. Those who hunger for my return have nothing to fear. Those who are corrupt, or feed off corruption, should prepare to die.”
There was a sudden eruption of sand as Parth came up out of the bath and accepted a robe. “Get Admiral Stik on the com. And do so quickly.”
The servant was expressionless as always. “Yes, Excellency.”
“And one more thing,” Parth added. “It may be necessary to evacuate the Queen to Hive Home. Notify the commander of the Imperial Guard and tell him to make all the necessary preparations.”
“Yes, sire,” the majordomo replied. “It shall be as you say.”
ABOARD THE RAMANTHIAN BATTLE CRUISER NEW EMPIRE OFF PLANET HIVE
Rather than concentrate most of a ship’s critical personnel in one place the way the humans did, Ramanthian naval architects preferred to distribute them throughout their vessels. For that reason, the battle cruiser New Empire’s control room was relatively small. Too small in Grand Admiral Stik’s opinion as he shuffled back and forth between two bulkheads as a way to relieve the tension he felt. It had always been his dream to command the Ramanthian navy. But as hundreds of enemy ships poured out of hyperspace and he waited for Chancellor Parth’s visage to appear on the com screen, Stik wished his predecessor was still in charge.
But like so many other members of the Warrior Queen’s administration, Grand Admiral Imba had been forced into retirement and was said to be raising grubs on his country estate. The eggless bastard. Stik’s thoughts were interrupted as a com tech spoke. “Chancellor Parth is on-screen, sir.”
Stik turned and made his way over to the com station even as a steady flow of reports came in from the ship’s command center. “Most of Battle Group 12 has been neutralized. Repeat, Battle Group 12 is presumed lost. Battle Group 3 is under pressure but continues to hold, and reports that one enemy carrier has been destroyed.”
As Stik eyed Parth’s face, he could tell that the civilian was angry. And, judging from the set of his antenna, scared as well. “Yes, Excellency . . . What can I do for you?”
“That’s a stupid question,” Parth replied caustically. “You can kill all of the animals before they land on Hive. That’s what you can do.”
Stik sighed. Civilians, especially senior civilians, could be rather thick at times. And the fact that both of them were members of the cabal did nothing to change that. “I’m sorry to say that won’t be possible, Excellency.”
Parth was visibly shocked. “You’re serious? You believe the animals will seize control of Hive?”
“No,” Stik replied patiently. “I didn’t say that. I said that we won’t be able to prevent them from landing. As you know, it has been necessary to weaken the home fleet in order to prosecute the war. That, plus the number of incoming ships, means that the animals will probably succeed in putting some troops on the ground. But General Amm and his forces will be waiting for them. So there’s little if anything to fear.”
“Good,” Parth replied stolidly. “But, just in case, I think it would be prudent
to evacuate the Queen to Hive Home. I will accompany her to make sure that the government remains up and running smoothly.”
Of course, you sniveling coward, Stik thought to himself. Hide behind the Queen. But there was no point in stating the obvious or placing his career in jeopardy. “Understood, Excellency.”
“Kill them,” Parth said unnecessarily. “Kill all of them.” Then the screen snapped to black.
The New Empire shook like a thing possessed, and Stik very nearly lost his footing as a symphony of Klaxons began to sound. “Torpedoes!” a voice declared. “Dozens of them. The screens are falling. Quick! We need to . . .”
But the officer never got to finish his sentence. Because that was the moment when a missile hit the ship; a jet of plasma burrowed through hull metal and found one of the ship’s magazines. The New Empire ceased to exist.
ABOARD THE CONFEDERACY BATTLESHIP EARTH AVENGER OFF PLANET HIVE
Ever since the moment that Earth Avenger left hyperspace, the destroyer escort (DE) Fury and a squadron of twelve Dag 190s had been sitting in the battleship’s launch bay waiting for orders to depart. And now that the capital ship and her escorts had successfully fought their way through wave after wave of nearly suicidal defenders, the time was at hand. The evolution had to be carried out with considerable care, however, because it was necessary for the Avenger to drop her shields momentarily to retrieve or launch smaller vessels. And that would open the battleship to attack.
So even though Booly, the Queen, and her retinue had boarded the DE and were strapped in ready to go, they had to wait for the right moment before the Fury could take off. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the warship rose on her repellers and followed three Daggers out into the cold blackness of space. The rest of the escorts took up positions all around to protect the ship from enemy fighters.
The little vessel was a good choice for the mission at hand, or so it seemed to Santana. Though small, it packed a lot of firepower for its size and was very maneuverable. That virtue paid immediate dividends as four Chak fighters bored in, the Daggers took them on, and the Fury’s captain sent her ship corkscrewing through the fray.
The baby-faced lieutenant was no more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old, but, thanks to all the casualties the Confederacy had suffered, she was already in command of her own ship. And had clearly performed well in the past given how important her cargo was. “Hang on,” the officer said via the ship’s PA system as something hit the screens and the Fury shuddered. “I have Landing Force Alpha on visual.”
Santana knew the officer was referring to one of three globe-shaped formations. Each landing force was comprised of heavily armored gunboats, transports, and hundreds of assault craft. All were important, but none more so than Force Alpha, which was to include the ship carrying both Booly and the Warrior Queen. Her scorpion-like Kathong body was strapped to the center of the cargo deck. Vanderveen was seated on the other side of the compartment from Santana and appeared to be in deep conversation with Chancellor Ubatha.
Dietrich was slouched a few feet away and, based on appearances, was taking a nap. In addition to his other duties, the noncom had agreed to watch over Vanderveen on the battlefield. Santana knew she would be furious if she found out about the arrangement but didn’t care so long as she survived.
Farther back, with his helmet on the seat next to him, General Booly sat staring into space. What was he thinking? There was no way to know. Some senior officers were as transparent as glass. But not this one. He was competent though. Very much so. And having suffered under General-453’s incompetent leadership on Gamma-014, Santana was thankful for Booly’s presence.
“We’re in,” the captain announced, as the Fury took her place at the center of Landing Force Alpha’s globe-shaped formation. “And I just received word that the Hudathan Pathfinders were able to board and take control of Battle Platform 5.”
A reedy cheer went up. Everyone knew that at least one of the enemy’s orbital battle stations would have to be captured or destroyed before Landing Force Alpha could enter Hive’s atmosphere. Now, thanks to the Hudathans, there was a large hole in the Ramanthians’ multilayered defense system. That would allow the globe-shaped formation to morph into a beelike swarm that would pour through the gap and battle its way down to the planet’s surface. “Here we go,” the captain announced, and the Fury began to buck as she entered the atmosphere.
ON THE SURFACE OF PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
As Chancellor Parth’s ground car plowed its way through the mob of citizens hurrying to leave the city for the countryside beyond, the sound of overlapping sonic booms rolled across the land, and white contrails clawed the otherwise-pristine sky. “Damn them!” the Chancellor said feelingly, as the car’s wheels bumped over what might have been a body. “Damn them to all of the hells.”
It wasn’t clear who the official was referring to. The refugees ? The denialists who were urging them to flee? Or the animals who, in spite of their well-known inferiority, were about to land? The driver didn’t know. Fortunately, the Egg Haka was already out in the country near the small town where they had been hatched. As for the War Haka, he was off-planet somewhere, serving in the Death Hammer Regiment. A source of pride for the entire family.
Thanks to occasional blips of sound from a hidden siren, plus the flashing lights behind the car’s grille, the driver was able to force a path to a downward-sloping ramp, where two soldiers were stationed. A sure sign that the panic hadn’t infected the military.
The troopers came to attention as the government car rolled past them. Then, as the driver steered the heavy vehicle down into the maze of subsurface passageways where most of the city dwellers lived, it was like a return to sanity.
Because of a strong military and police presence, those citizens who wanted to leave had to do so via spiraling pedestrian ramps rather than the streets. That allowed the driver to make better time, and it was only a matter of a few minutes before he passed through a checkpoint and entered the spacious garage that was located beneath the Queen’s official residence.
Three armored cars and a contingent of brightly armored Imperial Guards were gathered around the entrance. That was a sure sign that the royal was waiting within. The driver brought the car to a smooth stop—and was surprised when Parth opened the door himself. Perhaps, Haka thought to himself, we’re in more trouble than I thought.
Parth shuffled into the lobby, saw that the Queen was dressed in the same armor that was standard for her guards, and instinctively understood what she hoped to accomplish. Even if she couldn’t be the Warrior Queen, she could look warlike, and that would be good for morale. Parth’s respect for her went up a notch as she spoke. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, Majesty,” Parth replied as he bent a knee. “The roads are full of refugees. But never fear. Our motorcade will take us to a secured landing pad where a military transport is on standby. From there it is only a ten-minute flight to Hive Home. And once underground, you will be safe from everything up to and including a direct hit from a nuclear weapon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Queen replied contemptuously. “There won’t be any nuclear weapons. The Warrior Queen is ruthless, but she wants to rule over something more than a radioactive wasteland. No, if you’ve seen the propaganda broadcasts, then you know what she intends to do.”
Parth had seen the broadcast but had no idea what the Warrior Queen planned to do other than reclaim her throne and kill him. There was a horrible emptiness in the pit of his stomach. “I’ve seen the footage, Majesty . . . But I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
“I should never have allowed myself to listen to you or to go along with your traitorous plans,” the royal said bitterly. “But, like you, I’m ambitious. And I believed I could use the cabal and ultimately take control of it. That was naïve. We still have a chance, however. Not much of one, but a chance nevertheless. And that is to go to the Plain of Pain and confront the Warrior Queen.”<
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“The Plain of Pain? Why there?”
“Because she is playing the part of the Kathong,” the Queen answered impatiently. “She has to go there. Then, once we kill the Kathong,” the royal continued, “the Ramanthian people will know who the true Queen is. And even if the animals succeed in taking control of Hive, they will still have to deal with the person in charge. Me.”
It was an audacious plan. Parth felt humbled. Here, rather than an empty vessel, was a monarch reminiscent of the great mother. And, thanks to the cloud of psychoactive chemicals that enveloped him, Parth discovered that he wanted to serve her. He bowed deeply. “I am your servant, Majesty. Your car awaits.”
According to current military doctrine, three conditions had to be met in order to carry out an opposed landing on a Class III planet: (1) Secure orbital control, (2) Achieve air superiority, and (3) Place enough troops on the ground to hold the landing zone (LZ) while more troops and supplies are brought down through the atmosphere.
Unfortunately, allied forces didn’t have complete control of the battle platforms in orbit around Hive—nor did they have unchallenged air superiority. But what they did have was a hole through which Landing Force Alpha could pass in order to establish an LZ on the Plain of Pain, a desolate place that had a special significance for the Ramanthian people.
But there were other reasons for establishing a beachhead on the Plain of Pain as well. First, there was no civilian population to worry about. And that was of considerable importance to the Queen because a great deal of collateral damage would make it difficult, if not impossible, for her to rule. Second, there were no localized defenses to deal with. And why would there be? It was, as one senior officer put it, “a goddamned desert.” And third, there was plenty of elbow room, which Confederacy forces were going to need if they hoped to put enough people and equipment on the ground to hold the LZ.
A Fighting Chance Page 31
