by Peter Nealen
“They already lost it once,” Rehenek snapped. “They might have come back to try to reclaim it, but there is no guarantee that the Unity won’t come in greater numbers. Destroying the installation will ensure that the Unity suffers a strategic setback, requiring them to take more time to rebuild it should they drive the Inuans off again.”
“And yet, from the looks of those ships,” Scalas put in, “they came back with considerably more military power than the Unity had stationed here.”
“Yes, they built what are essentially mobile battlestations from asteroids,” Rehenek said impatiently. “But I can’t justify the risk…”
“You have made contact with a power capable of building interstellar starships out of entire asteroids, General-Regent,” Scalas interrupted. Once again, Maruks simply watched and listened, apparently content to let his Centurion, who already had some rapport with Rehenek, do the talking. “They could be valuable allies. We already have a mutual enemy. And if I’m reading this display right, they did a pretty thorough job of clearing out the Unity fleet that was about to attack us here on the planet.” He paused a moment. “Don’t get so wedded to the plan that you cannot adapt,” he continued.
Before Rehenek could reply, the comm panel lit up with a new alert. It was a wide-channel broadcast, apparently coming from one of the massive vessels now braking into what appeared to be low orbit.
“This is Mar Cof Kathahazzaar of the Inuan Constituency,” a voice said in harsh, gutturally-accented Trade Cant. A visual window opened, revealing the alien’s face. It looked vaguely feline, though the face was scaled, the eyes large and entirely red, and the mane was black. “Calling all enemies of the so-called Galactic Unity on the surface of Mzin’s World. You are on Inuan territory. We have observed that you have been engaged in hostilities with the Unity’s forces, but now we would know your intentions.”
“Mar Cof Kathahazzaar, this is Brother Legate Dravus Maruks of the Caractacan Brotherhood,” Maruks replied. “Our sole objective in coming here was to deny the resources of Mzin’s World to the Unity. They are our enemies as well as yours.”
“We have heard of the Caractacan Brotherhood,” Kathahazzaar said. “Your reputation preceeds you. Will you turn the installation over to us? Or will you seek to deny it to us as well as to the enemy? Your allies in space have been concerningly evasive.”
“Our allies have concerns, given that you have been driven away from this world before,” Maruks said diplomatically.
“It will not happen again,” Kathahazzaar said. “These vessels will not leave this system, and it will take a fleet ten times the size of the one the Unity launched against our home system from here to destroy them.”
Maruks glanced at the still-open comm channel with Rehenek. Scalas imagined he could tell what the Brother Legate was thinking. Rehenek was determined to turn this into a serious—and most importantly, dramatic—blow against the Unity. If he decided that nothing short of destroying the mining installation would do, which he seemed to have already made up his mind about, then it could cost them more than one valuable alliance.
Because the Brotherhood would not simply go along if Rehenek’s plan was as high-handed and ill-advised as it appeared to be. From a purely practical perspective, neither the Brotherhood forces nor the Alliance space forces were in any shape to wage a second battle with whatever numbers could be crammed into those massive ships. From a perspective of what was right, it would hardly do to liberate another people’s holdings, only to destroy them rather than turn them back over.
That the Inuan was telling the truth, Scalas was certain. The Unity commander had, after all, mentioned the Inuans just before he’d died.
“We are still conducting mopping-up operations here on the surface,” Maruks said. “We have limited time to finish before the installation is over the terminator and subject to the full force of the pulsar’s radiation. I suggest that you allow us the time to consolidate and lift off, and we will meet in space, within the planet’s umbra. You have my word that the installation will not be destroyed before we have settled matters.”
“The Caractacan Brotherhood is known across the galaxy for its honor,” the Inuan said. “Only because you are Caractacans will we hold our place in orbit and wait. We will speak after you lift.” The scaled visage leaned in toward the pickup slightly. “However, if the installation is destroyed before then, we must imagine that you are, in fact, impostors, and we will treat all non-Inuan forces in this system as hostile.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Maruks said. “Now, if you will excuse me, we have a great deal to do in a short time.” He signed off from both Rehenek’s feed and the Inuan’s.
“Rokoff, Maruks,” he snapped, keying the command net. “Tell me you’ve found that device.”
“We have, Brother Legate,” the junior Centurion replied. “It was guarded, but after several stun grenades, we secured it.”
“Get it up to the ship, carefully,” Maruks said. “We have little time, and I don’t want any clones that we might miss in the next hour to be able to detonate it after we lift. There’s a lot riding on it.”
“Understood, Brother Legate,” Rokoff replied. “We will be back aboard in twenty minutes.”
“Make it fifteen,” Maruks said, glancing at the readout showing the radiation levels. They were beginning to rise as the terminator crept closer. Time was running out.
The last of the armor and the Fortunians were aboard. Maruks had already ordered the dropships to lift and make for rendezvous with the starships, which were approaching the planet again from the dark side, keeping within the planet’s shadow. There wouldn’t be time to get back to them on the ground. They had to take the command ship, or nothing.
The terminator was less than three kilometers away by the time the command ship’s drives lit, rumbling through the fabric of the ship and splashing the landing pad with reddish flame. The Brothers and the Fortunians were all strapped in wherever they could find an acceleration couch.
There were doubtless still clones on the planet, but those still on the surface itself would be dead from radiation exposure soon, and there was good reason to believe that those still underground would be mopped up quickly by whatever follow-on force landed later.
The captured vessel soared above the darkened landscape, clawing for space and the deeper shadow of the planet. Above loomed the nearest of the Inuan asteroid ships. That would be their rendezvous.
The actual conference had to wait while the Brothers and the Fortunians conducted thorough decontamination procedures on their shipsuits and combat armor. They had all been covered in poisonous heavy metal dust, and tracking that all over the inside of starships would have been disastrous. There had been good reason none of them had broken seal while aboard the captured Unity command ship. The decontamination process aboard that hull was going to take a long time.
Now, the Centurions stood at parade rest behind Maruks, in a vast chamber carved out of the inside of the asteroid ship The Silver Alkuraazh.
The chamber had been excavated into a half-circle amphitheather, facing a towering transparent portal that looked out onto the landing bay. The bay itself was big enough to hold three starships, and presently was doing exactly that. The captured Unity ship was clamped to the deck beside two Inuan cruisers, which looked like stacks of slightly squashed cylinders nested between sharp-edged ridges. The third cruiser was currently outside, station-keeping in The Silver Alkuraazh’s shadow.
One of the needle-nosed Valdekan shuttles from the Pride of Valdek rested next to the captured ship. Its passengers were on their way.
The Brothers faced a crowd of Inuans, massive beings with hunched shoulders, long arms, and thick, powerful legs, who waited quietly on the tiers of the amphitheater. One who might have been the Mor Cof—Scalas had gathered from what he had heard just in the last few minutes that “Mor Cof” was a title—stood at the base, facing them, waiting with the same still patience as the others for Rehenek a
nd his contingent to arrive.
The deck was steel, allowing for mag boots to adhere in the extremely low gravity aboard the hollowed-out asteroid.
Rehenek strode through the entryway, escorted by three more of the hulking Inuans and his own bodyguard of black-and-green-suited Valdekan First Commandos. Scalas’s eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed that. He would have expected—nay, hoped—that Rehenek would have brought a delegation of other Alliance commanders. But he had come alone, except for his men.
He strode across the floor of the amphitheater and stood next to Maruks. He towered over the squat form of the Brother Legate as they faced Kathahazzaar.
“I am General-Regent Amra Rehenek,” he began, “leader in exile of the planet Valdek, and founder of the Galactic Alliance.”
“I have heard of Valdek,” Kathahazzaar put in before he could really get going. “I have also heard how it fell. As Inua did not.”
Rehenek bristled. Maruks did not move. Scalas watched Rehenek closely, his eyes boring into the back of the younger man’s skull. Don’t rise to the bait.
“And how many ships and men did the Unity send at Inua?” Rehenek ground out. “They arrived back in this system with only a fraction of the numbers with which they overwhelmed my world.”
Maruks seemed to sense that Rehenek was about to lose control and say something that couldn’t be taken back, and interjected before the young General-Regent could completely lose his temper.
“These matters are trifling,” he said. “The fortunes of war are fickle. It is entirely possible that the Inuans succeeded where your people did not, General-Regent. It is equally possible that the Unity underestimated them, and sent far fewer forces against them, thus aiding in the success of their defense. None of that matters here and now. What matters is that we share a common enemy, an enemy that is growing stronger with every batch of clones they can decant.” He turned to Kathahazzaar. “Division is their tool. We have fought bands of mercenaries hired by the Unity to inflame old conflicts and keep the systems of this arm of the galaxy scattered and focused on their own immediate problems, while the Unity grows in strength. You and your people may have repelled their first attack, Mor Cof Kathahazzaar, but you are far from their home system, and they have conquered nearly fifty worlds in the last four thousand hours.”
“You make an impassioned case, Brother Legate of the Caractacan Brotherhood,” Kathahazzaar said gravely. “And if you are right, then it would be wise to join together in some sort of alliance.” He turned his crimson eyes on Rehenek. “Yet who should really lead such an alliance? Those who have been defeated already? Or those who have successfully defended their home system?”
“An alliance is hardly a hierarchical organization, is it, Mor Cof?” Maruks asked before Rehenek could reply. “The Caractacan Brotherhood takes no orders from outsiders. Do you think we would be associated with this alliance that General-Regent Rehenek speaks of, if we had to subordinate ourselves?”
Rehenek seemed to twitch a little at that. Scalas watched him warily. The younger man seemed to almost be shaking slightly, but he maintained his rigid stance beside the Brother Legate.
In truth, the momentum of the entire meeting had been taken away from him, and knowing what he did about Rehenek, Scalas knew it had to rankle. But nothing that Maruks had said was wrong.
Kathahazzaar watched them silently for a moment, still strangely unmoving. That seemed to be a feature of the Inuans, perhaps of their entire race. They did not fidget or move without purpose, or so it seemed.
The silence stretched out. Rehenek seemed to almost quiver with tension, but had the good sense to keep quiet and wait.
Finally, Kathahazzaar made a gesture with one hand. Scalas had no idea what it meant, but after a moment, the big, leonine alien said, “You speak wisdom, Brother Legate Maruks of the Caractacan Brotherhood.” He looked at Rehenek. “We will send a delegation to meet with your Alliance. One of my ships will accompany you. Our asteroid ships are no longer capable of interstellar flight; the demands on the inertialess field generators to get them here was too great, and they burned out. They will remain in orbit as battlestations to secure this place. Perhaps, if our alliance works out, we shall share the ore with you.”
He stepped forward and lifted his hands, bending his arms at the elbows. “May the gods grant us victory against the would-be conquerors.”
Epilogue
Greneltiri was slightly larger than Valdek, and slightly closer to its sun. The air on the coast of Brasakhal was hot and humid, and heat waves made the spires of grounded silver, white, red, blue, and green starships ripple in the distance.
Scalas was walking along the beach, the intricate and delicate fronds of the veris trees rising high into the bright blue sky above him on his left, the greenish ocean on his right. Rehenek walked with him. The General-Regent’s honor guard, never far from him lately, followed at some distance.
Both men were out of their armor, Scalas in his white tunic and black trousers, Rehenek considerably more casually dressed, in a sleeveless shirt and green dungarees.
Rehenek sighed, as he stared down the white sands of the beach toward the starships sitting on their tails. Scalas knew that they were a fraction of the vessels gathered in that system; hundreds were in orbit above. Greneltiri was becoming the headquarters for a vast fleet, with Rehenek at its head.
But it wasn’t enough for the young man. That much was clear before he even spoke.
“So, it seems that my hopes for a grand victory didn’t work out,” he said quietly.
“How so?” Scalas asked. “Mzin’s World was wrested from the Unity, and you gained another ally. The Inuans might not be able to field more of their asteroid ships anytime soon, but their regular fleet does appear to be formidable enough.”
He was afraid that he knew exactly why Rehenek was disappointed. In a moment, he knew he was right.
“But it wasn’t us who did it,” Rehenek said quietly. “It wasn’t the Alliance, striking deep behind enemy lines. It was a small Alliance task force conducting what turned out to be little more than an assist for a massive counterattack that might well have succeeded without us. Hardly the rallying cry I had hoped for.”
“The fortunes of war are rarely what we would hope for,” Scalas pointed out. “No mission, no battle ever turns out quite the way we hope or expect it to. Take the victory for what it is. One step at a time.”
Rehenek sighed again, then turned and gave Scalas a wan smile. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “That’s why I should listen more to you than to some of my own advisors. I can trust a Caractacan Brother to know what to say. More importantly, what to do.”
Scalas stopped, frowning slightly. Rehenek went on another step, then stopped and turned.
“What advisors are telling you that this wasn’t enough?” Scalas asked quietly. “And were any of them out there, risking their lives?”
Rehenek smiled suddenly. “No, they weren’t,” he said. “Few of them are warriors; they are politicians and diplomats. I do need such men; they understand things about organization and persuasion that I do not. I would be much more comfortable staying out there on the front, with you and your Brothers. But this is the task I have taken upon myself, and I need their advice to make it work. Just as much as I need yours.”
“They should stick to advising about things they understand,” Scalas growled.
“Indeed they should,” Rehenek said, clapping him on the shoulder and starting along the beach again. “But since they won’t, I hope that I can rely on you and your Brothers to keep me focused on what is important.” He glanced down the beach. “In fact, here is a prime time to do so. Come, I want you to meet someone.”
An air cushion sled had grounded a hundred meters away, and a sefkhit was getting out. Even at that distance, Scalas could see how richly the draconic alien was dressed, his undercloak a shimmering green beneath a short golden cape.
“I greet you, General Commander,” the sefkhit
said as they got closer. He was small for his race, standing only about a meter and a half at the shoulder, his tail sticking straight out from his hind legs, twisting slightly. He was holding a data slate in his clawed hands. His golden eyes glanced sharply at Scalas as the two of them approached. “There is news.” He did not offer the data slate to Rehenek, nor did he look at it. It seemed almost more as if it were a prop.
“The Porish have sent another twenty ships and two thousand soldiers,” he said. “The Eighth Etrii Fleet has also arrived in the system, and will make planetfall in another two hundred hours. Their commander has requested to meet with you personally. There is also a delegation from the Brazen Fellowship waiting up at the Senatorial Palace to meet with you.”
Scalas’s frown deepened. “The Brazen Fellowship?” he asked. “What are they doing here?”
The sefkhit turned his eyes on Scalas, lifting his snout slightly as if bemused that the Caractacan Brother had interrupted. “They are a military brotherhood, just as you are…Centurion.” Scalas’s eyes narrowed slightly. He was sure that the hesitation had not been because the sefkhit couldn’t read his rank. “They have come to offer their support and loyalty to the Alliance.”
Rehenek turned to Scalas. “Erekan, this is Enir Mansooneej, from Kefar-Shun, and one of the advisors I told you about.” He eyed Scalas, who was watching Mansooneej narrowly. “What is wrong with the Brazen Fellowship?”
“They are less a military brotherhood than a pack of brigands,” Scalas said grimly. “They have certainly stepped up to the challenge at times; their defense of Orgov Prime was masterful. And yet, the same organization later pillaged Roktir Station when they couldn’t pay for their defense.”
