by M. R. Forbes
He leaned forward on his arms, looking the crew over. He turned his head and looked at Gabriel before speaking again.
"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to make a rousing speech ship-wide to get morale back under its own power. Then I'm going to pull Mr. Mokri, Mrs. Larone, Vivian, and Gabriel aside so someone can tell me what all is with the weird tension on my bridge. I have to tell you, I don't like it, and I ain't in favor. Mr. Larone, I expect to find you with the alien rifle after that. I want a full report on what you've learned about the thing, and I want you to give a bit of thought to why the Dread fighters might have been vulnerable right here when they have never been before. I feel like there's an obvious clue staring us in the face, and we're too trained to feel powerless to notice.
"Sergeant Abdullah, get me a plan on how we can get the team out to the nacelle for repairs without slowing down, and with the understanding that we may come under enemy attack at any moment."
"Yes, sir," Abdullah said.
"Gabriel, while I'm yapping, get a message down to Lieutenant Bale. I want two pilots riding the hot seat at all times, and since we're low on trained bodies, she's up first with Lieutenant Celia."
"Yes, sir," Gabriel said.
"Oh, and tell her she's promoted to First Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
"While I'm at it, congratulations, Major St. Martin."
Gabriel froze. "What?"
"You've earned it, Major."
"Sir, I appreciate it, but I can't."
"Why not? You worried about nepotism? Nobody's going to question you. You're the best damned pilot we've ever had. Besides, it's all academic at this point. You aren't getting paid, anyhow."
"The Magellan was hit under my stick," Gabriel argued.
"Blah, blah, Major. Remember what I said about luck? You ain't happy with that?"
Gabriel didn't answer fast enough.
"All in favor of Captain St. Martin's promotion, say 'aye,'" Theodore said.
"Aye," the bridge crew replied. Everyone except Guy Larone.
"Maggie, note it in the record. Second Lieutenant Sandra Bale is promoted to First Lieutenant. Captain Gabriel St. Martin is promoted to Major."
"Data recorded," the computer replied.
"There you go. It's done. Now skedaddle so we can get on with the important business."
Gabriel saluted. Theodore saluted back. Then Gabriel left the bridge. He considered contacting Bale through the comm but decided to go and find her instead. Why not break the news to her in person?
His father's voice boomed through the ship while he walked.
"This is General Theodore St. Martin. As you may or may not know, I was incapacitated up until recently. The loss of my legs was causing me a great deal of pain, and to help deal with that pain, I was taking medicine prescribed by the doctors back home.
That medicine was affecting my operational abilities, and in one instance affected my ability to make an important decision that almost cost the lives of each and every one of you. It was a failure that struck me right down to the core. A failure that I've sworn to myself to never be in the position to repeat.
I've been to hell and back over the last few weeks. The withdrawal from the pain medication was a challenge on its own, and damn near murderous in conjunction with the continuing pain in my limbs. There were times when I believed it was a fight I couldn't win."
Silence fell in the corridor. Gabriel could tell his father was choking up.
"I know there have been rumors that I've lost my touch and that I'm not the man I used to be. I'm gonna put those rumors to rest right now. I ain't the man I used to be. I've been to hell and back, and I'm better for it. I'm stronger; I'm smarter, and I'm more resolved than ever to see this thing through. We survived the first round against the Dread; and I know that together we'll survive the next round too.
"I know that I let you down, and I'm sorry. It ain't often a General apologizes to his troops, but I know there's power in humility. I know that we ain't just a collection of soldiers. We're a family, and we owe it to one another to do right and to be man enough to admit when we've done wrong. Again, to each and every one of you, I'm sorry.
"The enemy is at our door. They came knocking, and not only did we slam that door in their face, but we also broke their nose to boot. We showed them that just because we don't have any big, bad guns, that don't mean we're going to roll over and die. We showed them that we're made of tougher stuff, and if they want to wipe us out of the universe, they're going to have to earn it.
"I went to hell and back, and I was afraid. But I tell you, I ain't afraid anymore. Not with you, the good men and women who have joined me on this ship, on this mission to free our brothers and sisters back on Earth. I believe in you. I trust in you. I'm proud to have you with me. Let the Dread come. Let them try to break us, to destroy us, to knock our door down and finish us once and for all.
"I'll be here to stop them, and I know you'll be here with me. Together, we'll show these yellow-bellied couillons who we are. Together, we'll show them that they messed with the wrong damn race, and the wrong damn planet. Together, we'll break their armor, and then we'll break their spirits.
"Thank you, and God bless."
THIRTY-THREE
Tea'va stared silently through the viewport of his bridge. The expansive outer edge of the Pol'tik system was spread out ahead of him.
The human starship wasn't there.
It was behind them, having executed a maneuver he wasn't expecting, a maneuver made possible by the druk Heil'shur.
He knew that it had been him out there, leading a squadron of the small human fighters against his gi'shah. He recognized the markings of the fighter, including the dark splotches where his plasma had singed the frame. How he wished he could have been out there with his pilots, hunting down the human who was causing him so much grief.
How he wished he had been able to send more than six of the gi'shah into the battle.
Zoelle had warned him against committing to a battle so soon after arriving in the system. She had tried to tell him that his ranks were too thin, his forces too weak from the travel. He had chosen to listen to Gr'el instead and push the attack. Despite his inability to field a full complement of fighters. Despite his inability to operate more than the main plasma cannon. Despite being beyond the flow of slipspace, and despite the weakened state of his crew slowing their reflexes and hurting their effectiveness.
She had tried to tell him not to underestimate the humans. He should have been more considerate. He should have remembered that they had the Heil'shur, instead of rushing to make a decision.
He looked down at Gr'el. His Si'dahm was setting navigation to get the ship turned around and back in pursuit of the humans. It was his fault this had happened, but Tea'va knew he would report back to the Domo'dahm and shift the blame to make him look weak and foolish.
Thanks to Gr'el, the humans had discovered that the lek'shah had a vulnerability. It would only be a matter of time before they realized what it was, and from there made the correct logical assumptions to form a theoretical basis on how the bek'hai armor was so impervious to their weapons. After that, it would only be a matter of time before they were able to duplicate the feat. He didn't need to hold humans in high regard to accept that they could figure out that much, at least. It was an elementary level of deductive reasoning.
He slammed his hand down on the side of his chair, causing a few of the lor'hai to jump. And it was all because of Gr'el and the Heil'shur. If the Heil'shur hadn't shot down one of the gi'shah, if Gr'el hadn't convinced him to attack straight away, they would be in a different situation now.
He wanted to end his Si'dahm, to retire him here and now. He knew he couldn't. The only way he could be rid of Gr'el was if he died in battle and the right evidence was available to prove as much. It would be a difficult scenario to orchestrate, but he decided that he would find a way, no matter what it took. Certainly, Zoelle would help him, and use her co
nnections among the lor'hai to make it so. As Domo'dahm, he could reward all of them handsomely for their loyalty.
He got to his feet and began descending the command dais. At least the attack hadn't been a total failure. They had damaged the human starship's slip nacelle. He was certain it would be enough to keep them from leaving the Pol'tik system any time soon. It meant that he could afford to be patient for now, to give chase to the fleeing ship but keep his distance, to allow his crew to regain their strength before making a second attempt.
He would have to make that attempt before the humans could solve the equation, but he had time. A day or two at least to let his lor'hai and the drumhr recover their strength. The human ship had survived this time.
It wouldn't survive the next.
He left the bridge without a word. Gr'el was at least capable of staying behind the human ship, and he had delayed his time in the regeneration chamber for as long as he dared. He could feel his muscles weakening, his body beginning to reject itself. It had been weeks since he had used the chamber, a vast improvement over other drumhr who had to use it every few days.
He expected Zoelle to be waiting in his quarters again when he reached them. She wasn't. Instead, a plump Mother was standing at the door, clothed in a simple white dress that hung to her knees.
He was tempted to return to the bridge and stab Gr'el right then and there. He was taunting him, trying to get under his skin. Who else might have sent this creature to him?
"Dahm Tea'va," she said, lowering herself to her knees and bowing before him.
"Who sent you here?" Tea'va asked.
"Si'dahm Gr'el," she replied. "On behalf of Domo'dahm Rorn'el."
He was about to tell her to leave. The Domo'dahm? That gave him pause.
"Is that what Gr'el told you?"
"Yes, Dahm."
"How do you know he isn't lying?"
"It is not my place to judge the words of the Si'dahm, Dahm."
Tea'va paused. What if Gr'el wasn't lying? Certainly, he had sent a report to Rorn'el before the battle, and would send another soon. Had the Domo'dahm ordered this? Was he trying to ruin him and keep him from power?
No. The Domo'dahm had always supported him. Rorn'el knew that he was the superior pur'dahm. It was up to him to prove it.
Still, it was possible the Domo'dahm was trying to entice him with this thing. To test his willingness to please him by breeding.
He had no desire to please him.
"Stand up, Mother," Tea'va said.
The clone stood.
"Follow me."
The hatch to Tea'va's quarters slid open. He allowed the Mother to enter behind him as he approached his regeneration chamber and began tapping on the surface to program it.
He could see the Mother in the reflection as he did. One hand was reaching for the strap of her dress because she thought that was why he had brought her in. The other was reaching beneath. Disgusting.
He didn't want to see her human flesh or the ways she might try to entice him. He turned quickly, reaching out and grabbing her hand. She screeched in fear as he tightened his grip on her wrist, pulling her arms away from her body.
A plasma knife fell from her grip and clattered onto the floor.
Tea'va's eyes narrowed. What was this?
She lashed out at him, her foot catching him in the knee, buckling it and forcing him to fall. He loosened his grip on her to catch himself, and she slipped back, ducking down to grab the knife.
"Did Gr'el send you to kill me?" he asked, recovering and moving out of range of her reach. He didn't fear the clone now that the element of surprise had been lost. He was a pur'dahm, the ability to defend himself part of the implanted knowledge that he had been created with.
She didn't speak. She lunged forward with surprising speed, picking up the knife on the way. She swung it at him, forcing him to move to the side, nearly killed because he wasn't taking the threat seriously enough.
Why would he? Mothers weren't programmed to fight. They held only one purpose for being, one that had yet to be fulfilled.
At least, that was how it was supposed to be.
He got his arms up in time to block her next attack, batting the hand with the knife aside. She came at him ferociously; her lips split into a mad grin. He moved backward, circling the regeneration chamber.
"How did Gr'el do this?" Tea'va asked out loud. It was more than her ability to fight. She wasn't sick either. Unless...
She rushed him again, the knife darting toward his throat, his chest, his gut. He slapped each attack aside, a greater concern rising in the back of his mind.
Could it be? Was it possible? And right under his view?
The Mother lurched forward again. He caught her wrist this time, holding on and pushing her back. The force sent her to the floor, and he fell on top of her, the knife positioned between them.
If it were true, it wasn't a new plan. Perhaps he wasn't even the original target. If not, then who?
The Domo'dahm, of course. Tea'va almost laughed at the thought. He wasn't the only one with designs on breaking tradition, on stealing rulership instead of earning it through succession.
The Mother's arms were more powerful than normal, and in his weakened state, he found her strength almost equal to his. He struggled against her, pushing the knife down toward her ever so slowly. She didn't lose the grin while he did.
His anger flowed, and with one last burst of fury, he sank the plasma knife into her chest. The force buried it so deep his hand began to press into the wound. He released the knife, staring down at her while she died.
He got to his feet, still shaking with anger. Gr'el had forfeited his life by sending an assassin to kill him. He didn't care if the Domo'dahm found out. He didn't care if all of the bek'hai armies came to capture him. He had taken the game and made it personal. Was his disdain so great?
He stumbled away from the body toward the wall, opening the compartment that held his plasma gun. He needed to calm himself and be careful. If his hypothesis was correct, Gr'el had done more than betray him.
He had betrayed the Domo'dahm as well and created his own army of clones.
THIRTY-FOUR
Tea'va didn't rush right to the bridge to confront his Si'dahm. He also didn't report anything out of the ordinary regarding the Mother. Instead, he dressed her wound to prevent her from bleeding and then moved her body to his bed. He considered removing her clothing before positioning her to look as if she were sleeping, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He hated the thought that anyone should come upon her like this and guess at what he had done.
As if he were so weak.
When that was done, he dressed in a skin-tight gori'shah suit beneath his official robes, mounting the plasma gun in a holster there, within easy reach of his hand. He looked longingly at the regeneration chamber before leaving his quarters. He could survive a few more days without. The risk was too great to ignore.
Then he moved out into the corridor, scanning for others as he did. He didn't want to be seen if he could avoid it, especially by the lor'hai. He was no longer sure who he could trust.
Could he trust anyone?
He considered Zoelle. She had tried to help him. She had tried to warn him. If he hadn't pressed the attack, it would have been more difficult for Gr'el to move forward with his plan. At the same time, he had entrusted her with relaying anything she heard about Gr'el's designs to him, and she had said nothing.
Did that make her a friend or a foe?
He couldn't assume anyone was a friend. He had been foolish enough already. He had to stop looking to others and tackle this concern on his own. First, he had to know if his theory was correct.
He made his way down the corridor to the nearest transport beam. Each of the massive Fortresses was a self-sufficient city unto itself, and as a result, the Ishur held a cloning factory buried deep within its bowels. Tea'va was headed there, entering the green light of the beam and sending himself almost instantly down to the
lowest part of the vessel.
He stepped out and walked down one of the corridors leading out of the transport hub. He was cautious as he did, taking care to keep his steps soft, his attention on all of his surroundings. He was the Dahm of the ship, and would have command over anyone who saw him, but only if they were loyal.
Was anyone on the ship loyal?
He had always been mistrustful of the other drumhr. He knew they envied him for his ability to breathe freely in Earth's atmosphere, and for his greater ratio of flesh to bone. He knew they saw him as the future, a future the Domo'dahm claimed to support, even as they vied for the same scraps of power.
He had always hated the lor'hai as well. Especially the un'hai, until Zoelle. She was the first clone he had ever cared for at all. Now he couldn't help but wonder if she had been dishonest with him from the beginning. She had admitted her desire for power to him. Power she had claimed to want to earn from him. What if she were seeking the same from Gr'el instead? Or worse, at the same time? What if she were using them both?
It was as appealing in its deviousness as it was repulsive in its potential. Was a clone capable of such things? If any were, it would be her.
He hated the thought. He hated himself for thinking it, and her for being who and what she was. His anger continued to simmer as he crossed the expanse of the ship.
A group of lor'hai turned the corner ahead of him. He didn't react immediately but then ducked to the side, standing in the shadows along the wall with his head down, looking at his hands as if he were carrying something interesting. He kept his eyes high enough that he could watch the clones as they passed. They didn't so much as look at him. It was the proper action, as he had not addressed them either.
He continued once they were gone, increasing his pace. Gr'el would surely be questioning the fate of his assassin by now. He would likely be seeking a reason to visit Tea'va in his quarters. A reason to find him dead. A task from the Domo'dahm, perhaps? He would not expect that his Mother was still missing, and no answer was forthcoming from Tea'va, the entry to his space barred to the pur'dahm.
