“I think we can find room for you in the trucks,” Corxin volunteered, speaking into a device at his neck. “If you would come with me?”
“That would be fine,” Marshall said. “Ensign?”
“Sergeant, you take half the squad and ride up Captain Winter. The rest, with me.”
“Yes, sir,” Forrest said, glancing at Marshall for a nod of confirmation. The men divided up, following the gestures of their welcoming party into the back of the trucks, heavy canvas over a steel frame. There were no seats or restraints inside; it was going to be a bumpy ride over the road to the pyramid.
Marshall and Cunningham settled down at the head of the truck, the remainder of the men making themselves as comfortably as they could before the journey began, Cooper almost falling to his feet as the engine started. A series of alerts flashed onto his respirator as the outside air changed; he frowned for a moment before realizing that they must come from the truck’s engine.
“How far?” Lomax asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Private. I don’t know how fast these things move.”
As the truck lurched over a bump, the trooper replied, “Think they’d mind if I got out and walked, boss?”
“I’m sure the creatures lurching in that jungle out there would be only too happy for a nice meal, Private,” Cunningham said. “For the moment, it’s probably better that we all stick together.”
Lomax glanced out of the curtain again, shook his head, and settled down. Cooper pulled out his datapad, trying to get a fix on their location. Alamo was just going over the horizon, and he could just get enough of a signal to track their movements; the road was winding and twisting through the jungle, but they were getting closer to the furthest pyramid.
Outside, darkness briefly smothered them, then replaced by flickers of dull sunlight; this road had not been designed for comfort, but for defense. At some point in the past, orbital bombardment must have been a real possibility; he saw a checkpoint with a trio of guards standing around, testament to ground defenses.
He shook his head; that was makework, not necessary. If the aliens had managed to get control of orbital space, a few guards standing at a crossroads wasn’t going to make any difference to the outcome of the battle.
Up ahead, he could hear a torrent of noise, chanting in the still-undecipherable welcoming party, and the truck skidded to a halt in the wet mud. He gestured at Lomax to move over to the door, and Corxin ducked through from the driving compartment.
“We’ve got a problem. A welcoming party up ahead has got rather out of hand, and we’re going to have to try and get you around another way.”
“A welcoming party?” Marshall said.
“A riot,” Cunningham replied. “I take it our presence isn’t welcome to everyone down here, then.”
His face turning red, Corxin said, “I’m afraid there are those among us who fear anyone from outside, any potential invader of our world. I’m sure that as soon as they see you, get to know you, they’ll welcome you as much as the rest of us are.”
The truck lurched into life, then stopped again, the back wheel spinning around. Cooper glanced up at Marshall, then over to Corxin, reaching into his pocket for his sidearm.
“This isn’t the main road from the starport. Not one you use every damn day. And if we really were honored guests, you’d be managing better than these old trucks.”
“Captain Marshall, I must insist,” Corxin began, before Marshall pulled his pistol from his hidden holster.
“I’ve had enough of all of this. I don’t care how, but you are going to get us to our meeting, and you are going to do it now, or your people can get a demonstration of the effectiveness of our small arms.”
Cooper pulled the canvas back, looking out of the side; there were about a hundred people marching towards them, some of them waving banners, all wearing shabby clothes. With a sigh, he pulled his plasma pistol out, pointing it into the air, and fired a pulse of green light over them.
The resulting explosion drowned out the noise, and the crowd held for a second before the panic began, banners tossed to the ground as they fled for cover, melting away into the jungle and down the road. He fired another shot to encourage them to haste, and then ducked back into the cabin.
“I’ve cleared the crowd, sir. I think we can proceed now.”
Corxin looked at the weapon, his eyes widening, and said, “You fired on them.”
“Over them. There was no risk to their lives.” Leveling the gun at the guard, he continued, “What is going on?”
“There are those on this planet who would rather bring the war to an end, even if that means surrender, and your arrival...your arrival means that the war will go on.”
“You being one of them,” Marshall said. “Cooper, do we know where we are supposed to be going?”
“This road gets us to the pyramid eventually, sir. I wouldn’t trust this one as a guide, though, or as a translator.”
“Agreed,” the Captain replied. “Get one of your men to take his place forward, and keep an eye out. I’ll contact Alamo and see if we can get someone more reliable to take this one’s place.”
“They’ll kill me,” Corxin babbled. “I’ll be shot.”
“What exactly did you have in mind for us, then?” Lomax yelled. “We ought to save them the trouble and do it for them.”
“No,” Marshall said. “Get out of here and run for it. I’ll say that you escaped with the others.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to tell this peace faction that we are going to see this war brought to an end, not to perpetuate it. Get out of here.”
The man scampered out, racing for the jungle, brushing past Lomax as he made his way up to the driver, his pistol in his hand. Cooper waved for the rest of the men to take cover positions, one either side of the flap at the rear, while he moved over to Marshall.
“Did you believe him, sir?”
“Not for a moment, Ensign,” Marshall replied. Cooper’s communicator began to sound, and he pulled it out of his pocket.
“Cooper here. Report.”
“Forrest, sir. Where the hell are you?”
Looking across at Marshall, he replied, “We had a slight detour. What about you?”
“On the main road, but we just stopped dead and the driver ran for it. Any idea what’s going on?”
“Just the usual fun day out on a strange new world, Sergeant.” The truck’s engine started up again, and the vehicle began to reverse down the road. “We should be with you in a few minutes. Set up a perimeter guard, and don’t be shy about showing your weapons.” He glanced at Marshall, and said, “Any orders, sir?”
“I think you’ve covered everything, Ensign.” He glanced across at Cunningham, and said, “I wish, just once, that one of these missions would go according to the manual.”
Returning to his place at the side of the van, pistol in his hand, Cooper pulled the flap open, looking out at the jungle as they drove past. It had felt dangerous enough the first time around, but now he swore he could see eyes looking back at him, watching their progress.
“Be careful what you wish for, sir,” Cooper replied. “We’d be out of a job if everything always went smoothly.”
Chapter 13
Marshall walked down the long corridor, Cunningham on his left, Logan on his right, the wary Espatier squad behind him, now not even bothering to conceal their pistols, instead holding them ready for use. The double doors ahead burst open, and a trio of robed men walked towards him, fury on their faces, their own guards marching cautiously behind them, evidently not wanting to challenge the superior firepower of Marshall’s guards.
Bustling by their side was Tolxac, glancing around from side to side, wearing a more formal variant of the jumpsuit he had worn in orbit, evidently a concession to formal wear. The robed men were babblin
g at each other, Tolxac occasionally throwing in a comment that seemed to be ignored. They met half-way down the corridor, and Tolxac looked at Marshall with near-despair on his face.
“Captain, what is the meaning of this? Your men burst into our Council chambers with their weapons drawn, as if ready for battle? If you are planning to take over our government, I warn you that you will be facing a fight you will never forget.”
“We were ambushed on our way here by the people you sent to meet us,” Marshall replied. “You will forgive me for not wanting to stumble blindly into what might be a trap.”
“Trust is…”
“Trust is earned, Tolxac, and your people have been going out of their way to squander it recently. I’ll meet with the Council, and we will have our discussion, but they must understand that my men will be standing ready outside and that I and my colleagues will be armed.”
His face growing pale, Tolxac turned to the Council and began to translate, Marshall inwardly cursing that he had no idea what the man was saying, no check translator to make sure that the meaning of his words wasn’t being lost in the babble. He might be telling them anything, softening the impact of his words, or changing their meaning completely.
“What if they say no?” Logan asked.
“Then we leave, head for the hendecaspace point with the Buchanan, and negotiate the release of our people by any means necessary. If that means a non-aggression pact or technology transfer, so be it.”
Logan’s eyes widened, but Marshall hadn’t been speaking to him; that was for the benefit of Tolxac, whose gabble intensified as his alarm grew. After a long minute, and more unintelligible discussion, the orbital defense commander turned back to him.
“They will accede to your requests, Captain, and understand your natural caution. I was not aware that you had experienced difficulties on the surface.”
“I don’t understand,” Cunningham said. “Alamo reported everything to your security staff.”
“I am somewhat hindered in my job, Captain, in that I am not always properly informed of everything taking place on this planet, even when it relates to you. I beg you, please do not hurt our people because of this. We need your alliance, need it desperately.”
“You know that you are losing, then,” Marshall said, as they started to walk back down the corridor.”
“I’ve been in the service of my people for decades, Captain Marshall, and I am aware that our current successes are only based on the decision of the Enemy to build up their forces for a substantial attack, one that is likely to come soon. We could be wiped out. Our people destroyed.”
They reached the double doors, and Marshall stepped in, the Espatiers fanning out on either side of the corridor, standing to attention facing their opposite numbers. Inside, the meeting room was functional in the extreme; the only concession to comfort was the padding on the chairs. The walls were decorated with murals of space battles, ships being destroyed while holding back the Enemy. Inspiration, presumably.
“We’re here to negotiate in good faith,” Marshall said. “As long as the same is true of you, we can come to an agreement.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Tolxac replied. “If you would take your seats?”
The table had seven chairs around it, three for the Triplanetary delegation, three for the Council, and Tolxac sitting in between. Plain metal goblets of water rested in front of each of them; Tolxac took an urgent sip as he sat down, glancing around nervously.
“I will introduce our Council to you, Captain. Our Leader, Zerdax, and Senior Councilmen Yilzar and Oxylk. All have experience at the command level in our planetary defense forces, and have the tactical grasp to understand anything you have to say.”
“None of them speak English?” Cunningham asked.
“Only those who follow the tenets of Holy Earth speak any of your languages, I fear. Those numbers are growing, but they remain too small. Hopefully English will soon cease to have the stigma it once had, should you begin to fight by our side.”
“Stigma?” Logan asked.
“Our faith has not always been favored. In the past there have been occasions when we have even been persecuted for our hopes that Holy Earth would save us. Too unrealistic, they said. Now you have proven the truth of our doctrine.”
Inside, Marshall groaned, though he made an effort to stop it from showing externally. The Council might be realists he could deal with, but the commander of Haven’s space forces and their only translator was a religious fanatic – and any other translator he might request would have the same problem.
Tolxac was talking to the Council, gesturing at the Triplanetary officers, continuing to babble in the same dialect, doubtless introducing each of them. After he had finished, Zerdax looked at his comrades, attempted to adopt a neutral expression, and focused his gaze on Marshall.
“Are you willing to enter into an alliance with us?” Tolxac translated.
“In principle, I am willing to consider it. Understand, however, that there must be conditions attached to such an alliance,” Marshall replied, hoping that the meaning would get through.
After another brief chatter, Tolxac replied, “What conditions are you considering? We would offer to place our space forces under your command, or under the command of any nominated Triplanetary officer.”
Under normal circumstances, that would be an astonishing concession, and illustrated the desperate situation Haven found itself in. It was not lost on Marshall that theoretically, this was something that Tolxac could have agreed to himself, without the knowledge of his superiors; they wouldn’t care whose orders he was following if the war was won.
“First of all, there must be no consideration of the extermination of the Enemy. We do not fight wars on that basis. Our goal would be a negotiated cease-fire.”
Tolxac didn’t pause to translate before replying, “That would leave them in control of the rest of our system? I can tell you that we would find such an outcome unacceptable.”
“Does it matter if you have the hendecaspace drive? We know that you are working on it, and that you could be close to a prototype,” Cunningham said. “Our asteroid miners are in the midst of a major depression because they can’t compete with the travel times of interstellar flight.”
That Tolxac translated, replying, “This, I admit, had not occurred to us. Having access to the resources of other systems opens up many new possibilities. I would presume that we would be the recipient of visits from your merchant classes, also.”
“Without a doubt,” Marshall replied. This was beginning to look a little more practical, and ideas were already running through his mind. If all that was involved was a visit by a battlecruiser and a few quick victories followed by prolonged negotiations, it was hard to see the Senate rejecting the plan – especially given that alliance with a major industrial asset was the prize on offer.
“When could we expect offensive operations to begin?” Tolxac asked after a brief consultation with his superiors.
“Probably not for a month or more. Alamo’s at the end of a long voyage, and the Buchanan isn’t really equipped for it. The Senate will have to ratify any plan we agree today, and dispatch fresh forces to carry it out, likely smaller vessels than battlecruisers.” Marshall didn’t like the idea of delaying the progress of his longed-for task force, but the recent battle had convinced him that Alamo needed rest before another major battle.
“You haven’t just left the Confederation?”
Glancing across at Cunningham, Marshall replied, “I am not at liberty to discuss full details of our current assignment, but I can tell you that we have been in space for almost a year, and that Alamo’s crew is long overdue for leave, the ship needing essential maintenance.”
With a cold glare, Tolxac replied, “I could say the same about almost every ship in our defense forces, Captain, but somehow we have managed a constant camp
aign for the last two centuries!” His tone had obviously annoyed one of the councilors, who started to issue what was obviously a note of censure.
Logan leaned across, and whispered, “This could all be cover, of course. Doubtless they will get a translation later on of the text – this is being recorded.”
“We could do with an independent transcript ourselves at some point,” Marshall replied in the same quiet tone. “We’ll get this language worked out eventually.”
Tolxac looked back at Marshall, his face still red, his eyes darting across to one of the Councilors, as he replied, “My apologies, Captain. I forgot myself for a moment. You must naturally consider the well-being of your crew as your first priority, though I must once again stress the need for urgency.”
“There are other matters that need to be resolved as well,” Logan said. “We have identified a signal coming from Haven, one which is transmitting information to the Enemy.”
“What?” Tolxac said, in what was either genuine rage or impressive acting. “I want all details of this, right now!”
“We’ll have them transmitted to you,” Marshall said. “Our assessment is that it was likely responsible for the last attack.”
“The traitors will be brought to justice and executed, I assure you of that,” he replied. Marshall still remained uncertain whether he was telling the truth or not; the response came a little too quickly, was a little too pat.
“Our other requirement is information,” Cunningham added. “If we’re going to formulate a tactical plan, we’re going to need everything we can get on the Enemy.”
“Have you not received our warbook data?”
“It’s not enough,” Marshall said. “We’re going to need more. Specifically, I want a chance to get a better look at the alien you’ve captured.”
There was a long delay while Tolxac relayed his words back to the Council, and an argument appeared to ensue, moments of unintelligible chatter while Marshall could merely sit back and try and read their body language. Certainly the Council was divided, but it was Tolxac that was being the most vituperative.
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