by Chris Walley
Merral staggered to a seat, his chest heaving.
Lloyd sat next to him and took off his helmet. “Welcome aboard, sir!” he gasped.
“Thanks.” Merral wiped his brow. As the scout lifted off and banked sharply eastward, Merral was silent, trying to understand what had happened in the last quarter of an hour.
“Sergeant, I’m . . . confused. Where did you come from?”
“When you left, me and this guy here—” Lloyd paused while the other man—the ship’s technician—saluted—“put on our armor—it’s the new stuff—and waited for the signal. Then, as they say, we made our entrance.”
“So you knew?”
“I was warned yesterday.”
“I don’t understand, Lloyd. Is the Triumph destroyed?”
“Yes, sir.” His aide’s expression suddenly became somber and as it did, some of the vague concerns in Merral’s mind coalesced into a dreadful surmise.
“Lloyd,” he said softly, and he realized that he almost dared not ask the question, “Is she . . . Perena . . . all right?”
There was no immediate answer. The other soldier suddenly turned his face away.
Lloyd rubbed away a tear. “Her ship got it too.” He swallowed. “She’s dead.”
24
As soon as they landed at Isterrane Vero boarded the flier. He embraced Merral and as Lloyd and the other soldier slipped away, they shed tears together.
“She played chess,” Merral said, and the words sounded heavy and stupid. “She made a sacrifice.” The word seemed to stick in his throat.
Vero sighed as if his heart would break. He flopped onto a seat, wiped his puffy eyes, and pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “It-its . . .” He stopped, overcome with emotion and silently thrust it into Merral’s hand.
With shaking fingers Merral tore it open.
Dear Merral,
This is one of two notes I have written to you. That you are reading this one means that I have succeeded in having the Triumph destroyed. I apologize that we could not involve you in our scheme. Please forgive Vero for misleading you.
I do not wish you to grieve. I feel that the King has granted me a great privilege in allowing me to strike such a blow for him and the world I love. Be grateful. It has come to me recently that our lives are like stories. As much as we can, we must drive them to the right endings. The right ending is not always the longest one.
But even if you wish to grieve for me, I am afraid you will not have the luxury of doing so now. I believe you have been called and shaped by the Most High to lead us in battle. Now is your hour. In your grief, do not throw away what has been achieved.
I have played my bit. I charge you now to play yours.
With much love, in the King’s service,
Perena
“‘A way of defense offered to you. A costly way. A way that only the very bravest will take.’” Merral said. His words seemed to hang in the air. “She took that to heart.”
Vero took a deep, quivering breath. “Yes. She is now beyond all temptation and sorrow. She is safely home in the Father’s house with h-honor.”
“She says there is work to be done,” Merral said and saw an answering nod. “She . . . she also asks me to forgive you.”
“For l-lying to you? Yes, we have come to trust what Azeras said. He felt sure that your mind would be probed at some stage.”
“So, by making me believe she was going to find the Rahllman’s Star, you felt we might use this unpleasant ability of the Dominion against them?”
“Yes.”
“Your cunning amazes me. Well, I forgive you.”
“Thank you. The baziliarch was there?”
“Yes. It’s sort of a great insect, but more than that. . . . Horrid.” Merral looked at the letter again. “There’s no chance?”
“That she survived? None. We watched the blasts. The Guardians did a thorough job. I had hoped she would eject, but . . . she apparently rejected that option.” He sighed and looked away with watery eyes.
“Lloyd killed Tinternli. There was metal in her—lots.”
“Azeras reckoned she and Hazderzal were heavily modified humans.”
“That fits. You know Corradon’s dead too?”
“Yes. That will have implications, but military matters concern us now.”
“Wait, Vero! They have the key to the Library!”
“No.” Vero looked at the floor. “Another deception, I’m afraid. I felt there was a danger that Corradon might give it up. It’s safe in the Library building. Harrent, the assistant librarian, has it. But that is for another day.” He fixed sad eyes on Merral. “Are you up to being what you have to be?”
Merral looked at the letter he was still holding, and with great care folded it and put it safely in his jacket pocket. “Yes. I need to grieve, but I know there are things to do.”
“Thank you. My friend, we need our warrior now and we need him very badly. Despite what has happened, there are still enough Krallen to destroy this world with ease. From what we know of him, Lezaroth will take command and act. Perena has prevented certain defeat, but it is still not at all clear we can win.”
“Right. Okay, Vero. Let’s go to the war room.”
As Merral entered the war room he saw smiles of relief on the faces of the men and women who occupied the desks. They rose and applauded in a slow, subdued fashion.
They need me. That’s why they clapped. May God help me not to disappoint them.
Vero nudged him. “Better say something,” he whispered.
“Team,” Merral said, “you applaud me when you ought to applaud another. This morning Captain Lewitz destroyed the Triumph of Sarata and paid the price. Her action has created a foundation we need to build on for victory. By the grace of God, we’re going to finish what she began.” There were nods and murmurs of approval. “So let’s get on with it.”
Merral sat next to Vero at a spare screen. “Vero, what’s the priority?”
Vero tapped the screen a couple of times before answering. “My friend, the enemy forces seem paralyzed. . . . No signs of movement, but we mustn’t expect it to last. Lezaroth will see to that. So we need to hit them with the vortex blaster satellites before they disperse or get into urban concentrations where we dare not strike them.”
“How soon can we use them?”
As Vero motioned a young woman engineer over, Merral noticed the length of her brown hair. Short like Perena’s. Tears came to his eyes. He forced himself to think about what she had written: In your grief, do not throw away what has been achieved.
“Both VB1 and VB2 are coming into position. We can begin firing in ten minutes.” The woman’s voice was quiet and precise. “We have programmed them to fire simultaneously at each site to give a bigger circle of destruction. We will take out the Stepalis concentration first, then those near Maraplant and Kammart, and then, finally, the forces at Camolgi Hills.”
“We can’t use the vortex blasters at Langerstrand because of the hostages,” Vero added.
“I see.”
The engineer turned to Merral. “That will leave us a single charge in reserve in both VB1 and VB2.”
“Will they work? I mean will they destroy the Krallen?”
The woman shrugged. “It’s marginal. As you know, sir, they weren’t designed to be weapons. They were made to sterilize areas where there was a biological problem. And they aren’t supposed to be repeatedly fired.”
“We have no choice. So all you need to fire is an order from me?”
“Yes.”
“There are Dominion humans in those concentrations?”
“Inevitably. But not many.”
I have no option. “May God have mercy on them. Fire as soon as the satellites are in position.”
“Thank you, sir.” She walked to a screen, tapped it, and then looked up. “Firing program initiated.”
“Let me know the results.” Merral turned to Vero. “What else?”
“We need to seize the
Dove of Dawn to stop any escape. We have had a crew ready for a week at the Near Station training in secret. The pilot is Maria Brumeno—she was on the team that visited the ship—with a good assault group.”
“Can it be done?”
“We think so. There is a risk, but the ship is lightly defended. If we could seize it and recover the Rahllman’s Star, we would have two vessels with Below-Space capability.”
“When can the team attack?”
“If you give the okay now, they will launch from the Near Station and attempt boarding in about twenty-four hours.”
It was an easy decision. “Order the assault. If they can’t take the ship, disable it.”
Merral walked into the annex and called Clemant to confirm the situation: the Triumph of Sarata was destroyed and Perena and Corradon were dead.
Clemant was silent for a few moments, his face as blank as a porcelain doll’s. Finally he said, “Two losses. Perena was brave beyond belief. And Anwar . . .” He sighed. “A great loss. But I’m glad that, in the end, he died bravely.”
“Yes.”
Clemant paused, as if struggling with what to say. “I should tell you that the remaining representatives have just agreed that I be made temporary coordinator for a week. The situation will then be evaluated.”
“What does that mean in practice?”
“It means that, much against my will, I am charged with waging this war.” Clemant paused and Merral sensed a genuine reluctance: Vero is right. He doesn’t want power.
“As such you and Mr. V.”—Clemant’s face bore the faintest of frowns— “are responsible to me.” He waved a hand in a reassuring manner. “Now, I’ve the wisdom not to interfere in your work. The only thing I would say is I want to emphasize the priority of protecting Isterrane. The administration of Farholme is so focused here that if this city falls, the planet falls.”
“I’ll make it a priority. Let me tell you what is happening. The Krallen positions will be attacked and the assault on the Dove of Dawn is being prepared.”
“Splendid. I endorse both actions. Keep me informed. But, Commander, one last thing—I would like you to make a speech tonight. You do them well. Please?”
“Must I?”
Clemant gave Merral a look that he found inarguable.
“Very well,” Merral replied.
“Thank you. But a small point, Commander: may I see the draft first?”
“As you wish.”
Rejecting the temptation to seek solitude and let the looming wave of grief crash over him, Merral returned to the war room. He heard the hum of voices and sensed a nervous sweaty anxiety.
Vero, his face a sickly gray, joined him and together they stared at a computer map on a far wall as a pair of glowing yellow crosshairs, one below the other, traversed a cross-hatched square labeled Dominion Forces.
“Satellites VB1 and VB2 are targeting Stepalis,” announced the engineer with short brown hair.
The hum of voices stopped. Everyone seemed to hold his or her breath. An adjacent screen showed a satellite image of a mosaic of gray squares: neatly ordered arrays of Krallen.
How strange. Such ordered beings who produce such a bloody chaos.
“Energizing. Vortex initiated.”
The crosshairs turned into small, glowing orange spirals.
The satellite image showed a dirty, turbulent mass thickening and twisting to become a massive column of swirling debris. In the core of the column, a fiery red glow dawned.
“Ground temperature at vortex center rising,” the engineer intoned. “Now eight hundred, a thousand, twelve hundred Celsius; outer vortex wind speeds one fifty . . . no, two hundred kph.”
The orange spirals moved eastward across the map. The screen expanded to show dirt, trees, and gleaming gray fragments whirling upward and inward into the fiery core.
Merral watched the inferno. Is Tantaravekat avenged?
In a minute, the glow faded.
New imagery appeared: a dozen small whirlwinds crossing a dirty, blasted wasteland.
“Enemy concentration at Stepalis destroyed,” the engineer announced.
There was a cheer from somewhere.
“One down, three to go,” Vero muttered.
In ten minutes, the glowing yellow crosshairs were over the concentration at Maraplant and soon the war room’s occupants were rewarded by new images of destruction.
“Two down,” Vero said, sounding relieved.
Ten minutes later both vortex blasters were over Kammart.
“The units that were at Tantaravekat returned here,” someone said.
“Let’s fry them!” said someone else.
“Here we go!” the engineer announced. “Three, two, one, fir—hold it!” An icon flashed and she tapped the screen.
Only one set of crosshairs glowed yellow.
“Uh-uh, VB2 is not responding, sir,” said the engineer.
“What’s the problem?” Merral asked.
“Give me a moment, sir.” She tapped the screen again, then looked at Merral. “Diagnostics suggests major damage to the charge systems. They’re overheated. . . . I think we’ve lost VB2.”
Merral heard a cluck of dismay from Vero. I have to make a decision, and fast. “Clear the site with VB1 alone. Then move east to the Camolgi Hills concentration.”
“Yes, sir.”
After VB1 fired, there were more gratifying images of devastation.
Three down!
Ten minutes later the call went up that the Camolgi Hills concentration was coming into the line of fire. Merral waited for the same pattern: the glowing yellow crosshairs followed by the wind and the inferno.
But nothing happened.
The engineer looked at Merral with a face full of disappointment. “Sir, I’m afraid VB1 is down too. Both units are now damaged beyond repair. We never touched the easternmost forces.”
“Very well. At least we’ve taken out three of the five units.” But that still leaves massive Krallen forces at Langerstrand and the Camolgi Hills.
All looked at him. It’s the new rule. When in doubt, look at Merral D’Avanos. But who does he look to?
“I want a full assessment of what we face as soon as you can get it. I’ll be in the annex with Vero.”
While the assessment was made, Merral sat with Vero in the privacy of the annex room. He felt numb.
“Vero, I’m forcing myself to concentrate. It’s not easy.”
Vero sighed. “I know. But we have no choice but to act now, and act swiftly and hard.”
“Very well. Look, how do we know they won’t come back with another ship?”
“We don’t. But Azeras says they have, so far, few such vessels. And it took them months to get here. If we can take the Dove of Dawn and win here, they will not know what happened to their expeditionary force. Then maybe, just maybe, they’ll leave the Assembly alone.”
“I hear a lot of ifs and maybes there.”
“True.”
“Tell me what else I need to know—all the things you wouldn’t tell me earlier.”
“We have got something to deal with the Krallen. Their covering—their armor—is a special energy- and impact-resistant ceramic fiber. It deflects most bullets and protects against the heat of laser or beam weapons. But there is a weakness. The right sort of molecular-tuned blade can cut through it.”
“A blade? Against those things?”
“Yes. The blade edge parts the fibers. Once it’s below the surface, you short out the circuitry.”
“Is this just theory?”
There was a flicker of something that on another day might have grown into a smile. “We lured the ambassadors’ Krallen pack into a trap. It was tough, but we got enough to experiment on. It works.”
“And we have such blades?”
“For all the regulars at least. The moment the Triumph was destroyed we started issuing them—simple noncollapsible blades like swords. We couldn’t tell you, of course, in case they found out and changed the
composition.”
“Blades—swords? It works?”
“Their engineering majors on strength and power; it doesn’t understand subtlety. Their materials technology is inferior to ours.”
“Yes, we’ve seen that before. But will it work on the battlefield?”
“That’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question.”
“Dollar?”
“Sorry. Another old phrase. The vital question. You can watch the demonstrations. I expect we’ll know very shortly.” But Vero sounded unsure. “The blades are being issued as we speak. We have tested the armor too. It does resist Krallen teeth or claws.”
There was a knock at the door and a man came in with a sheet of paper.
“The situation report, sir.”
Five minutes later, Merral sat back in his chair, his numbed mind trying to summarize the situation. There was much to give thanks for. In addition to the massive destruction Perena had achieved, the Dominion forces at Stepalis, Maraplant, and Kammart had now been completely destroyed. Around sixty thousand Krallen, at least a hundred landing vessels, and vast amounts of equipment had been turned into glowing fragments. Yet, despite this, large Dominion forces remained—an estimated twenty thousand Krallen at Langerstrand and the same number at the Camolgi Hills.
“Well, things are clearer now,” Vero said, as he stared at the map. “Azeras says they will go for the heart—the crushing blow. That means Isterrane.”
Merral gazed at the map on the table. What had the ancient soldiers called it? A “pincer movement”—that was the phrase.
“Yes. The forces to the northeast of us could either strike Halmacent City or Ranapert or simply avoid them and go straight to Isterrane. They could be here in a day.” Merral moved his finger to the left. “And to our west, the Langerstrand forces could head toward us along the road. Unless they are stopped, they could be here in two hours.”
“That’s about it,” Vero said. His face was grim.
“This is what I propose,” Merral said, drawing an arc with his fingertip just east of Halmacent City. “The Eastern Regiment stays put. I will get Frankie Thuron to keep building the defenses there so they can resist any Krallen push out of this Camolgi Hills site. He may be able to hold them.”
