Vengeance

by Brian Falkner

  The Vaza stared at him and an iciness came over her face. She nodded, just once, short and sharp, and placed the muzzle of her weapon on the back of the Angel’s neck, just below the helmet, where there was little protection.

  “We will be heroes,” Nokz’z said, but as he said it there was a small twitch and a sound like a weak cough from Azoh’s body.

  He turned quickly and kneeled beside her, reaching around her neck and feeling for a pulse.

  The realisation that there was one came at the same time as he noticed the short, buzz cut hair beneath the cowl, the body armour under the robes. Her ceremonial tattoos were smudged. Smudged!

  And she was holding a knife.

  Price reached the safe room first as the entire building shook from multiple explosions. The video screens had fallen from the walls and lay shattered on the ground. The weapons and communications consoles still appeared to be active, running on their own power source. All other power in the building was out.

  Bullets sparked off the metal door as Monster swung it closed behind them. He held up the remote detonator.

  “Three-second delay!” he shouted. “Get away from door!”

  Price grabbed the handset of the telephone and punched in the numbers that would connect her to the Pentagon.

  “Come on!” She shook the phone as if that would make it connect faster.

  The phone started ringing.

  “Pick up, Bilal,” she said.

  Thunder sounded from the tunnel behind. The metal door bulged and the air in the room seemed suddenly denser. Smoke jetted around the edges of the door.

  “Pick up!”

  Chisnall was bent over the small shape of Azoh-zu, performing CPR, but knowing it was already too late. Azoh kneeled next to him, her hand stroking the boy’s hair, whispering to him in words Chisnall could not understand.

  Azoh-zu’s eyes were open. They were knowing, but not afraid, and even as Chisnall watched, the light began to fade.

  Brogan stood over Nokz’z, her knife at his throat. The disguise had been so simple, but had worked well. She wore Azoh’s blue robes and facial jewellery, held in place with tiny adhesive strips from the medical kit. The tattoos had been drawn on with the surgical pen.

  The Vaza lay against a wall, her head on an unnatural angle. She was neither moving nor breathing. A Vaza and a Fezerker had clashed and the outcome had never been in doubt.

  Chisnall jumped as the tunnel door burst open, smashing back against the wall with a sound like a gunshot. Bzadian soldiers spewed from the opening, combat ready, guns high, fingers tight on triggers.

  Kriz emerged from the tunnel, a side-arm in her hand, followed by a young female captain.

  “Put the knife down,” Kriz said. “Or you will die unnecessarily.”

  Brogan tossed the knife well away from Nokz’z then slowly raised her hands to her neck.

  “Medic,” Chisnall cried, pumping uselessly at Azoh-zu’s chest. “We need your medic!” He stood up, moving out of the way as a Bzadian medic rushed forwards.

  “Who is this, who wears Azoh’s robes?” Kriz asked.

  “A traitor,” Nokz’z said. “A Fezerker, gone native. Now fighting with our enemies.”

  Kriz’s eyes swept over Azoh, taking in the combat uniform, acknowledging her identity with a short nod, but nothing to reveal surprise.

  “Azoh works with the humans,” Nokz’z said. “She too is a traitor to Bzadia.”

  There was a long silence during which Kriz’s eyes flicked rapidly between Azoh and Nokz’z.

  “I do not understand,” Kriz said.

  “Azoh has betrayed us,” Nokz’z said. “She has betrayed all of Bzadia. She works with the scumbugz against her own people.”

  “This cannot be true,” Kriz said.

  “Ask her,” Nokz’z said. “She cannot lie.”

  Kriz turned towards Azoh and bowed her head. “Azoh,” she said. “I seek only to understand what the colonel is saying.”

  “He speaks in part-truths,” Azoh said. “I work with these children of our enemies, not against our people, but to prevent future bloodshed.”

  Kriz seemed visibly shocked.

  “Just as we are about to erase our enemy from this planet, she wants to capitulate,” Nokz’z said. “She would surrender and condemn future generations of Bzadians to a life of slavery, or worse, at the hands of these savages.”

  “I work for our people,” Azoh said. “I work to avoid more Bzadian deaths as well as more human ones.”

  “She will destroy us all,” Nokz’z said as another explosion shook the walls of the room and part of the ceiling sagged.

  “Colonel,” the young captain said. “You should see this.”

  She passed Kriz a small video tablet. Kriz watched the screen without expression or comment, then turned back to Nokz’z.

  “Is that why you shot her?” Kriz asked. “Is that why you shot Azoh-zu?”

  “Shot Azoh? I don’t know what you are–”

  “It was all recorded,” Kriz said.

  The captain made a specific hand movement. With a quiet hum and a flutter of translucent wings, a small insect-like bot landed on her palm. Nokz’z stared uncomfortably, clearly considering his next words carefully.

  “That was not Azoh,” he said. “That was one of the Angels.”

  “You did not know that,” Kriz said. “Not then.”

  “It makes no difference,” Nokz’z said. “It is time for a new Azoh, one that will not stand in the way of the Bzadian people.”

  Kriz stared at him, evaluating him, her eyes intense and unblinking.

  “Take Azoh,” she said to the captain. “Take the humans with her. Get her back to the Congress. I will follow.”

  “Colonel Kriz, is it possible that you also are taking the side of the humans?” Nokz’z asked.

  “It is not up to me,” Kriz said. “Azoh can speak for herself to the High Council.”

  The scream jet moved so quickly that it had very little time over the target. The window for identifying, targeting and firing was no more than a few seconds.

  Multiple SAMs were chasing Shaw as she approached the target area. But they would not catch her, and her wingmen would already be targeting those launchers with anti-SAM missiles.

  The order had come from the USS Apple, relayed directly from the Pentagon. The Angels needed help. The tanks had become a target.

  Acquisition codes showed on her screen and she fired.

  Four missiles dropped from beneath the main body of the scream jet, fiery tails behind them as their rocket motors kicked in. The noses split apart, releasing twelve independently guided smart warheads, designed to explode just prior to contact with a Bzadian tank.

  The phone finally answered with a click. “Daniel Bilal.”

  “Bilal, it’s Price. Cut all international phone lines to the Americas.”

  “What?”

  “Barnard thinks that’s how they’re going to detonate the bombs!” Price shouted.

  “I don’t know how–”

  “Find a way, if you don’t want–”

  That was all she got out before the room exploded around her.

  The wall of the safe room bulged, then collapsed inward with a groaning roar and a hurricane of dust and bricks. It enveloped her in a blanket of swirling debris.

  When the storm finished she was lying in rubble. The wall was gone; she could see daylight outside. Above her, broken fluorescent light strips fizzed and sparked.

  She couldn’t breathe, the air sucked out of her chest by the vacuum of the explosion and the weight of rubble on her chest.

  Then the weight lifted. A shadow was over her.

  Concrete blocks were being lifted off her and she could breathe again. Chunks of grey concrete and steel were being tossed aside like Lego blocks.

  That made Price smile, because there was only one person in the world she knew who could do that.

  “LT! LT, you are okay?” Monster’s voice came thickly through
the soup in her ears.

  Price sucked in enough air to say, “Okay.” And then Monster’s face was above her. It was a red mass of blood, but Monster didn’t seem to notice.

  The concrete around them began to vibrate, rocks and pebbles dancing on the shimmering dust.

  Price looked up, past the one person in the world she could not live without, and she saw death.

  The tank was moving into position to fire directly into the hole it had punched in the side of the building. Its muzzle lowered until it pointed directly at them.

  Then came the flash.

  VENGEANCE

  [1130 HOURS LOCAL TIME]

  [OLD PARLIAMENT HOUSE, CANBERRA]

  Chisnall followed Azoh into the council chamber. The council was in heated debate. The noise in the room swelled, then stilled as they entered through shadows in the main entrance. Above them came a mixture of sharp thumps and rumbling booms as the air raid continued. The chamber vibrated with each explosion.

  Those close to the doors saw Azoh first and their quietening spread around the room like the wash of a wave on a beach.

  There was surprise and confusion on many of their faces. Perhaps in part due to seeing Azoh in the uniform and armour of a soldier, and without her facial jewellery. Perhaps also because of what she carried: a bundle wrapped in black cloth. Perhaps because Azoh, the spiritual leader of all Bzadia, was crying.

  There was a collective gasp from the room as Kriz entered with a small group of Nzgali. In their midst was Colonel Nokz’z. He was in neck-cuffs.

  Chisnall and Brogan were directed to stand against the wall by the entrance, where Jazki kept a close eye on them.

  Azoh, Kriz and Nokz’z walked to the centre of the chamber. Kriz stood behind Nokz’z, her hand resting on her side-arm in its holster.

  There was silence as Azoh began to speak, her voice quivering with emotion.

  “You must cancel the orders to destroy the free human territories,” she said.

  Leozii was the first to respond. He spoke carefully, as though to a troublesome and volatile child. “Your advice is always welcome here,” he said, making it very clear that it wasn’t. “But it is too late. The council has voted.”

  “Have the bombs detonated?” Azoh asked.

  Leozii looked away and drew a deep breath. “There has been a delay, a temporary one. Our technicians have been unable to connect to the devices. All lines are down.”

  “Then it is not too late,” Azoh said. “Cancel the order.”

  “We cannot do that,” Leozii said. “The council has voted. Already we have aircraft moving towards the Americas to detonate the devices by radio signal.”

  Azoh moved to the central council table and set down the object in her arms. Those nearest shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Others strained for a better look.

  “Then vote again,” she said. “And this time make the right decision. This time make the Bzadian decision. Call back those planes.”

  “But Azoh–” Leozii began.

  “Azoh cares more for the enemy than for our people!” The voice came from Colonel Nokz’z. “She stands together with Chizna, who tried to kill her!”

  Azoh had to wait for the uproar to subside.

  “Chizna was sent to assassinate me, not by humans, but by Bzadians,” Azoh said. “He refused, even though it put his own life in great danger.”

  Now the air in the chamber seemed alive with murmurs and muted conversations.

  “A few minutes ago Colonel Nokz’z tried to kill me and Azoh-zu. My life was saved by these two young humans,” Azoh said. She indicated Brogan and Chisnall. “Azoh-zu was not as lucky.”

  There was utter silence as she lifted a flap of the cloth, revealing the still, lifeless face of the child.

  “Is this what we have become?” Azoh’s voice, previously calm, now rose in anger. “Thousands of years of evolution, yet civilisation, it turns out, is a thin veneer. Our wild and brutal past still lurks, just below the surface. We came here expecting to fight savages and found that the savages were us.”

  “So what would you have us do?” Leozii asked. “If we do not destroy the humans, they will destroy us.”

  A crashing explosion outside, somewhere close by, underlined his point. From within the building came the sound of smashing glass.

  “We must learn from the children of our enemy,” Azoh said.

  “The humans even now attack our capital city,” Nokz’z shouted. “We must have vengeance!”

  Azoh did not respond, but simply turned to stare at Nokz’z.

  The word “vengeance” seemed to hang in the air as the echoes of Nokz’z’s voice slowly died away. There was movement in the chamber and all eyes were on Goezlin, the skull-faced commandant of the PGZ, who rose and stepped towards Azoh.

  “Have you still got that bugging device?” Chisnall whispered to Brogan.

  Brogan nodded.

  “Think you could activate it?” Chisnall asked.

  “Cover me,” Brogan said.

  Chisnall moved slightly in front of Brogan, blocking her from view as she removed the bugging device from her belt pack and pressed it into a nearby wall.

  Goezlin stopped at the centre table and closed the flap of cloth, covering Azoh-zu’s face once again.

  “Vengeance,” he said softly. He too turned abruptly and glared at Nokz’z. His eyes were dark pits. “This is the result of your desire for vengeance.”

  “An accident,” Nokz’z cried. “A terrible tragedy but not one that should affect our resolve!”

  “A tragedy,” Goezlin echoed. His quiet voice seemed denser somehow than Nokz’z’s shrill shouting. “This death was not the only tragedy today.”

  He turned from Nokz’z and addressed the High Council directly. “A young human, barely older than my own son, gave his life today to protect the lives of others. His death disturbed me. More than it should have. It was not the loss of an enemy soldier, or even his young age. It was that it was a very Bzadian thing to do. Azoh is right. This war has changed us and I do not like what we have become. I do not like what I have had to become. And I detest what Colonel Nokz’z has become.”

  Nokz’z started to interject, but Goezlin stood in front of him, unspeaking. His very presence, so close, was enough to make Nokz’z fall silent.

  Only then did Goezlin speak. “We have ignored our past. We have closed our ears to Azoh. Today, of all days, we should listen to her. I propose a motion for a High Council vote that we immediately recall the planes and deactivate the positronium weapons. That we seek peace with humans.”

  There was uproar in the council chamber. Chisnall stepped forwards and the uproar diminished.

  Jazki moved to stop him, but stopped at a glance from Kriz.

  “May I be permitted to speak?” Chisnall asked.

  “A human!” Nokz’z spat.

  “Let him,” Azoh said.

  “The council will hear what the human has to say,” Leozii said.

  Chisnall walked to the very centre of the room then turned to face the council.

  “I am Lieutenant Ryan Chisnall of the Fourth Reconnaissance Team of the Allied Combined Operation Group, First Reconnaissance Battalion,” he said, identifying himself for the listeners back at the Pentagon as much as for those in the council chamber. “This war began with fear,” he said. “Our fear of strangers, of intruders coming to our home. Our fear that you would do to us what we have done when we have encountered native cultures.”

  He lowered his head for a moment.

  “And your fear of what you, rightly, saw as a savage race, and that some of you, wrongly, saw as a subspecies. The Bzadian race is older than humans. We could have learned from you. Instead, in our fear and ignorance, we tried to confine you. Driven by your own fear, you decided to take over. We were both wrong. There is no way of undoing what has been already done. But we can start over. Instead of prolonging this insanity of death and destruction, we can agree to stop fighting. To negotiate. To seek peace
. Let me be clear, I am just a soldier. Of low rank. I do not represent my government or my people. But I believe we can both put aside our fears and move forwards as friends not as adversaries. Down that path I see only the destruction of this world.”

  As he walked back towards Brogan, Chisnall was conscious of the silence. Not just within the chamber.

  Above them, the bombing had stopped.

  AZOH-ZU

  [1430 HOURS LOCAL TIME]

  [MEDICAL CENTRE, OLD PARLIAMENT HOUSE, CANBERRA]

  Chisnall stared at the walls of the small room. After the council had made their final decision, he and Brogan had been escorted, politely, but firmly, from the chamber. They had been separated and locked into these rooms.

  He was shaking. His whole body, as if he had been in a firefight. In a way he had. But the battle had been fought with words and the consequence would not have been the loss of a few lives, but the destruction of the human race.

  After a long discussion the vote had been held, and the majority had sided with Azoh. It was a vote for peace.

  The door clicked open.

  Azoh stood in the doorway.

  “I am sorry for all this,” she said, gesturing around at the locked room. “I asked for you to be kept isolated until I could talk to you.”

  “My team? Are they okay?”

  “They are okay, just cuts and bruises,” she said. “Your jets destroyed our tanks just in time. Your friends are waiting right next door.”

  “I am sorry about Azoh-zu,” he said.

  She held his gaze. A single tear ran down her cheek. “I try to see all possibilities, to plan and prepare for every outcome, but my vision was poor. I failed. I failed Azoh-zu.”

  “You did all you could,” Chisnall said, knowing that no words could be enough.

  “And yet his life was not lost in vain,” Azoh said. “This tragedy, the loss of such a child, perhaps more than anything else, was what swayed the High Council.”

  “I am truly sorry,” Chisnall said. He stood and embraced her, unsure of the protocol, but not really caring. She accepted his embrace without hesitation, clinging tightly to him.