The insufferable young.
Gavanus felt the spines on his back go erect when he smelled the scents of the other Commissars. Their bodies showed the same reaction, and each gently shifted his weight from one foot to the other, in anticipation of physical violence.
“We meet in peace,” Gavanus said, intoning the ritual greeting and reinforcing it with scent. Despite this, Gavanus’ hunting rage almost overtook him, and his body quivered with violent anticipation. Commander Koor’s low growl only added to the air of confrontation. Gavanus glanced at Fangrik, who looked and smelled completely calm; Fangrik’s back spines drooped and he stood erect, motionless.
“We meet in peace.” The leader of the Reactionary faction, Lord Commissar Galag of the Neril Bloodline, stepped forward, his back spines quivering. One of his faction, Valak, growled and barked, his body arched to attack, but Galag turned and roared. Valak’s ears flattened against his head and he cowered.
Galag raised his voice. “It is time for the zukka, as laid down in the Law by Maldar. To ensure peace during the coming meeting, we shall sate our bloodlust with the ritual hunt!” The assembled crowd yipped, yowled and barked in excitement and anticipation, then scattered around the plaza at the edge of the zukkaree, the ritual hunting grounds that surrounded the Memorial.
Gavanus loped to the edge of the pavement and peered into the wood and grasslands that covered the hunting grounds. Even now, the star had set and darkness loomed, the hunting grounds just beyond the lights of the Memorial. Gavanus breathed deeply to catch any scent he could. His brain overwhelmed with the scents of the participants, he nevertheless began to detect the smell of the prey after a few moments: sweet flesh masked by a grassy body-odor.
Valk!
Even now, robots forced the creatures out of their underground holding pens, into narrow passages that emerged at hundreds of spots scattered across the hunting grounds. Gavanus heard another Naati race off into the grounds, followed by several more, but he kept his eyes on the trees. He spotted a figure, tall with long limbs, peeking out from behind a tree just a few strides away.
The valk were humanoid creatures with lean and skinny bodies that stood head and chest shorter than a Naati. They had long legs and arms, but small heads with pointed faces, large eyes, and short, twitchy ears. The Naati found hunting valk great sport because they were quick and long-lasting runners and excellent climbers. The creature’s most important attribute, however, was its quick breeding cycle: the Naati bred billions of valk for the vast hunting parks on their worlds.
Some Naati even thought valk were more fun to hunt than humans were, but Gavanus had to disagree with that notion. He had not hunted humans for some time, and missed it.
Blind with hunting rage, Gavanus leapt onto all fours and loped into the hunting grounds. He took the valk by surprise, nearly severing its body in half with the force of his bite. He spent a few moments more devouring the twitching creature, the dark red blood running down his snout and covering his hands. The hormones flooded into his bloodstream, the high unlike any other: a heady concoction of pleasure, bloodlust, and victory. He stood erect to find his next victim.
For the next hour, Gavanus stalked and killed his prey, chasing them through knee-high grass, through thickets and copses, and down streams. While running the valk emitted clicks and twitters, but screamed a satisfying squeal when slaughtered.
Sated, most of the participants retired, their shadowy forms retreating from the hunting grounds. The thirteen Commissars met again at the archway leading to the council hall, the three pylons of the Memorial brightly lit in red and orange looming above them. They washed their limbs, chests and faces in the font of water beside the archway, and entered the hall, blood still covering their trousers.
The thirteen Commissars filed into the grand chamber under a gothic arch. Gavanus always felt awe and reverence when entering this holy place. The chamber, built of red and orange stone, spanned thirty heedas across. Pillars and pointed arches supported the structure’s vaulted ceiling, some twenty heedas in height. Torch sconces set into the pillars and walls cast a red glow throughout the chamber. A large copper disk, five heedas in diameter and green with verdigris, covered the floor in the center of the chamber. A bas-relief design molded into the surface of the disk depicted Malar, his back spines erect and back arched, teeth bared and poised to attack, the ancient bladed verrik in its hands.
The Law dictated only the Commissars and a few yallic slaves could enter the chamber, the latter to maintain the holographic projector. Custom and law forbade all who entered from carrying weapons, with violence strictly controlled; all ritual combat took place only on the disk.
Each Commissar stood beside a short column supporting a small keypad. With this device, each could control the holographic images projected above the copper disk. The factions faced each other across the disk.
As the leader of the dominant faction, Gavanus spoke first. “The Command Authority is short one member. Legal precedent dictates one who has previously served and proved his worth can fill a vacant position. In this case, I nominate Fangrik of the Kolon Bloodline.”
“This is highly irregular,” Galag snorted. “Protocol dictates new members of the Authority win their positions through ritual combat with a competitor or a standing member.”
“As I have already stated, Fangrik has served on the Authority before. This is well within the Law, as set down by Maldar himself.”
“Lord Commissar Moosta of the Bork stripped Fangrik of his honors and titles after the Authority convicted him of treason and heresy. He has no standing in the eyes of the Law.”
“The Command Authority pardoned Fangrik at our last meeting, with a vote of seven votes to six, before Arch-Commander Noga stepped down. You stood where you do now when we voted. Shall I refer to the record?”
“I accept that challenge, Lord Commissar Galag of the Neril.” Fangrik strode forward and stood at the edge of the circle. “Who is my competitor for the open position on the Command Authority?” Gavanus marveled at Fangrik’s cool composure.
The members of the Reactionary Faction hissed and growled, their back spines quivering, and the Tolkists responded in kind.
“WHOM DO I CHALLENGE?” Fangrik roared. Gavanus felt terrified at Fangrik’s sudden transformation. Though old, Fangrik stood the tallest of any in the chamber. With his back spines erect and his wide stance and outstretched arms, his muscular body looked taut and lean, ready to strike. His dominance pheromones flooded into the air, and the eyepatch and missing ear only served to make Fangrik look even more ferocious.
The Reactionary Faction flattened their ears and shrank away emitting low growls, a few even slinking back on all fours. Were it not for the ritual hunt, Gavanus knew this confrontation would have exploded into uncontrolled violence.
Galag’s back spines flattened. “We have no time for a challenge. Pressing issues confront us. Lord Commissar Fangrik of the Kolon, take your place on the Authority.”
Just as fast as he transformed into a ferocious beast, Fangrik regained his cool composure, back spines drooping, He stepped to the open console at the edge of the circle. It took several moments for the Reactionaries to recover.
Back spines still quivering, Galag spoke. “So here you are, Lord Commissar Fangrik, drawn from the depths of imprisonment to trouble us with your talk of treason. Or has your long internment cured you of your heretical ways?”
“Treason?” Fangrik replied in a mocking tone. “For wanting to preserve the Hegemony?”
“No, for capitulating to our enemies.”
“Think back, Galag. Think back to the end of the Great Hominin War. The homs not only fought us, but two other determined enemies, yet they were still victorious. The Hegemony was nearly broken with the expense of fighting that war, and if the homs had continued fighting us, the Hegemony would have surely perished. They are stronger than us!”
“Lies!”
“They are more ruthless than us! Before that sp
ecies reached the stars, they fought wars among themselves, wars not just of conquest, but also of cruelty. There is no end to hom viciousness once they have started warring. A negotiated peace is the only way to preserve the Hegemony!”
“Lies and treason! Tolk said war with the homs was inevitable. Though his methods were unsound, the founder of your faction knew events would lead to war. He hoped studying the homs would reveal weaknesses we could exploit, but time passed while such weaknesses were never exploited. The only way to defeat them is through war!”
“No weaknesses were exploited because none were found. They are the perfect enemy Galag. They have knowledge, discipline and patience. They were born of natural processes, unlike ourselves. The best way to confront them is by appealing to their reason. Once their bloodlust has been released, they will no longer want to negotiate, and will pursue war to our total and absolute destruction.”
“Where is Arch-Commander Noga? Why would he willingly step down from the Authority? Words have found their way to our ears, words telling of treason and heresy. Where is Noga?”
“You speak of heresy, Galag, what of the dark forces your faction dabbles in, that of abomination and corruption?”
“We have only done what the Naati have always done. In order to further undo the genetic confines of the lokkev, we have incorporated Precursor DNA into some of the base templates.”
“Such changes were always done with the agreement of all the members of the Command Authority. You have defied the will of this body with your indiscriminate meddling.”
“Don’t you see, Fangrik? We have been waiting for this opportunity! These changes bring us immeasurably more power. It is by Maldar’s will this power has come to us at the hour of our greatest need. I will grant you, Fangrik, the homs are clever in the ways of technology, and have a certain trickery in combat, but we now have the power to overcome those advantages! Join us, Fangrik! Let us go back to the days of fighting and glory! Victory is in our grasp!”
“You do not know the dark powers in which you meddle. The reason all members of the Command Authority must agree to any genetic modifications is to ensure the continuation of the Hegemony. The changes you have made will transform us into something we are not. You put our very race in peril. The Anuvi Abominations are unlike us; you are foolish to think you can control them.”
“We give our race victory! Unlike you and your sniveling lackeys. Noga has gone to the homs to seek peace, hasn’t he? More than that, I suspect, he goes begging for help to crush us, the Reactionaries, the only faction that has the true interests of the Naati in mind. You Tolkists believe you speak for all of the Naati, but you do not. You are traitors! Where is Noga!?”
“Why have you re-entered the Neutral Zone? Do you seek to goad the Humans to attack us? What are you looking for on Borrega?”
Galag’s mouth hung open and his eyes grew wide, his surprise obvious, and then the snarl returned to his face. “Seeking power. We Naati occupied that world for quite some time, but you Tolkists did not realize your greatest discovery. Borrega is the key to the entire conflict. Once the power there has been unleashed, the Union will crumble.”
Fangrik waited a few moments and then spoke in measured tones. “The humans are playing us for fools, stoking the conflict between us, so they can destroy us all. They call it ‘divide and conquer.’ That is why we must remain one. The only way to resist them and preserve the Hegemony is to seek a negotiated peace. That is the conclusion Moosta of the Bork could not accept. War with the humans will irrevocably change the Hegemony and the Naati for the worse. We cannot win! History has proven this. But we can use this newfound power you speak of as a threat of consequence, a means to tip negotiations in our favor and enforce any peace we make with the homs.”
“We can win,” Galag said and bared his teeth. “The power of the Precursors is within our grasp.”
“Total war with the humans will unleash horrors we cannot even imagine,” Fangrik said. “Something that we, the Tolkists, cannot allow.” Gavanus marveled at how calm Fangrik seemed. Gavanus himself felt the blood pounding through his skull, felt his muscles tighten, and growled at the rank display of insubordination from the Reactionaries. The other Tolkists displayed similar reactions, and the air filled with the scent of rage.
“We, the Command Authority, will vote,” Fangrik said, but the snarls and roars from the Reactionaries nearly drowned his words in fury. “The question before us is war with the Hominin Union. Yes or no?”
“YESSSS!” Galag roared, echoed by the other Reactionaries.
The Tolkists, now also at full fury, all screamed “No!” However, Fangrik remained quiet.
Gavanus, nearly senseless with rage, waited for his patron to speak.
“The Tolkist faction votes no,” Fangrik said. “All members of the Command Authority are now bound by the vote. Any moves against the Hominin Union will be considered an act of sedition and betrayal against the Naati Hegemony.”
“So be it.” Galag snarled once more and then turned and walked out of the council chamber, the rest of his faction following.
Gavanus could hardly believe it. “You’ve done it!”
“I’ve done nothing,” Fangrik sighed. “What’s more, I failed.”
“Failed? What do you mean?”
“I wanted to goad him into attacking us; settle this now, here, around Naath. But Galag’s bluster was all for show.”
“Then let’s attack him now!”
“It would be useless. The fact that they do not attack us means they are hiding their true strength. These Anuvi abominations trouble me; we have no idea of their power and strength, and Galag did not put them on display here. Why? He may have swayed some of our faction with a demonstration of their power.”
“Perhaps Galag is bluffing, that these Abominations are not what he says.”
“Perhaps, but I do not believe that. Whatever the case, there is nothing more holding this council together. The Naati Hegemony just died.”
“What now?”
“Humans have an expression: the lesser of two evils.” He paused for a few moments, shook his head, and sighed. “The negotiations with the Hominin Union must succeed, or we are lost.”
Yazdani
Up until this point, Yazdani had only seen background information: the known history of Borrega, and information concerning the actions of one Admiral Kenneth Kilgore, an officer of the Fifth Fleet, who aided a group of rebels in insurrection against the ruling Shah. The Navy had arrested Kilgore for his crimes, but he had died in a shuttle accident before he could stand trial, and the full nature of his schemes revealed.
The pilot of the intelligence ship was a squat, wide fellow named Yueh, retired Naval Intelligence. He had made this run several times, the last time seventeen years ago. He had done two years in medium security for his involvement with Kilgore’s illegal weapons-running scheme, but was pardoned and given a full pension plus bonus. The General Intelligence Directorate had located him lying on a beach; he had jumped at the chance to fly again, having long since become “bored out of his gourd,” as he liked to tell it.
The actual mission briefing didn’t take place until the intelligence ship departed from the carrier and shunt into hyperspace for the journey to Borrega. It was only the pilot Yueh, Agent Hoffman, and Yazdani aboard the ship.
“The mission is simple,” Agent Hoffman began. She stood at the small sitrep table just behind the cockpit. The vessel was only three times the size of a single-seat fighter; she had to stoop so she didn’t hit her head. “You are to make contact with one of the leaders of the rebellion against the Shah of Borrega.” A face appeared above the sitrep table. “General Ujal Sarafian. If he is no longer alive, you are to contact his successor. You are to assess the situation, and then work with the Resistance to gather as much information as possible about the strength, number, and positions of the Shah’s security forces. You are also to prepare and encourage the Resistance to rise up against the Shah. When the B
orrega Test Task Force arrives in orbit you will transmit the strengths and locations of both the Shah’s and the Resistance forces, and also a suitable location for an arms and equipment drop.”
“Will the fleet arrive? What of the negotiations between the Union and the Hegemony?”
“The negotiations are crucial, to be sure, and we are quite confident they will succeed. Two more contacts are possible. Two Naval Intelligence officers, Commander Abbas and Lieutenant Commander Sakineh, were the last agents to land on Borrega, in 2633, fifteen years ago.” Two faces appeared over the sitrep table. “After Kilgore’s arrest they flew to Borrega with the last known shipment of supplies for the Resistance. It is unknown whether they are dead or alive, or even still on Borrega, but if they are still alive and on the planet, they could be a valuable source of intel. All necessary spy craft information is on your computer: contact phrases, vital locations, etcetera.”
“Fifteen years out of date.”
“It’s the best we have,” Hoffman replied. “There is one more thing. The Naati have returned to Borrega.”
“What?”
“In much smaller numbers to be sure, but we have reports they are digging at several locations of the southern continent. You are to find out what they are doing and include that information in your report.”
Yueh brought the small intelligence craft out of hyperspace a mere thousand kilometers beyond the hyperspace limit of Borrega, a feat of navigation few pilots in the Union could replicate. Over the next hour the small vessel decelerated and entered a tight polar orbit around the world; the ship had powerful electronic countermeasures to provide cover and stealth against the best sensors the Borregans could bring to bear.
Yazdani climbed into the small drop capsule located on the ventral side of the ship. It was a tight fit; to Yazdani the capsule felt like a coffin.
“Are you ready?” asked Agent Hoffman, her voice soft in his earphones.
“As I’ll ever be.” Yazdani laid face down, the light of his helmet HUD the only illumination. A harness secured his limbs, and he began to get a feeling of vertigo.
The Borrega Test Page 20
