“When? Where?” he said. “Show me.”
“Not long ago,” the OIC said, gesturing nervously toward a screen showing a radar image. The technician there shrank back, fear in his eyes.
The dark screen showed a number of dots, with tags, incomprehensible to T’ming.
The OIC, seeing no one else said anything, pointed at the screen. “These are the alien ships. They began to move ten minutes ago. Analysis shows they are accelerating, will break orbit, and leave the...”
“Where are they going?”
“We can’t tell yet...”
“You’re sure they’re leaving?” Silence. Damnation. “Well?” he said, glaring at the OIC.
“The computer predicts...yes, they will leave, based on what we see. They will not return to attack the surface again, based on their angular motion, rate of....”
T’ming waved his hand. “Fine. Report to me once their destination is determined. Send me a message,” he said, glaring at the OIC again. “Don’t call me unless they move to attack again.”
He turned abruptly, and hurried out. Using his phone, he called his secretary, saying, “I need a meeting, next bright, first thing. Military and science ministry. Set it up.” He clicked off, hurrying along, anxious to get back to his waiting wench.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
The scientist, cocky at first, even showing a little of a superior air, had been reduced to a squatting trembling, pitiful thing. Soon, it might lose its bowl control, and shit the floor, a disgraceful event. Maybe he’d let up a little, this one, of them all, might be useful.
“Their method of movement defies our know physics...”
“Idiot, they move, don’t they, that means it can be done, and our physics is as ignorant as you appear to be. Explain it, then, please.”
“The only explanation we can devise is somehow utilizing a counter-gravity force, quite impossible, beyond...”
“No, apparently possible, and not beyond our ability to discern. If they did it, we know it can be done, and we will do it. Now, the only question is how long will it take.”
Silence again. “Will no one speak to me?”
“Well, it’s so new, unknown, as you said, may take some time...”
“How much? How much do you need?” he said, softening, an encouraging lilt to his voice.
“Well, difficult to say, maybe a year or two, for preliminary...”
“Fine, you have one year. You have a budget, tell me what you need. I want monthly progress reports. And there better be progress. And a prototype within the year. Understood?”
Everyone stayed in the usual frozen, statue like stance people seemed to take whenever they talked to one another. He tried another tack.
“Objections?” he said. More silence. “Good, excellent. Keep me posted.” He motioned to the military. “Now, I need to speak to my military staff, you rest may leave.”
The science group left in a controlled haste.
In the hall, the others berated the first speaker. “You fool, you’ve sealed our fate. What can we do in a year? This is impossible...”
Hurrying along out of the palace, the scientist motioned for silence. They left, to converge on a small café on the edge of town, though they feared they would be spied on here, too. Heads close, they whispered, caution in their voices.
“I bought us time. Time to do the research. We know it’s possible–probably anti-gravity. T’ming is right–if they aliens did it, it can be done, all we have to do is find out how. If it’s not AG, then what else can it be?”
No one answered.
“We have the videos, lots of them, and can study what they show...”
“They show the outside, not the inside, where the machines, the engines, the power sources are.”
“We have a few debris from the wrecks...”
“Useless, everything of value they retrieved, took away.”
“And we have a budget. Bet the sky’s the limit. We take advantage of that, give it our best effort, and see what we can find within the year.”
“Others work on it now, too, we might outsource. Go to the universities, the research sites. But carefully.”
The silence hung thick. Only sounds from the street outside entered.
“Yes, and prepare our wills.”
More silence.
The first one said, “Maybe. But much can happen within a year. So, where do we start?”
Again, interruptions in the matters of state. Personnel matters. T’ming fumed while he heard the reports:
Both countries to the west mobilizing and moving troops toward the borders. Agitation in a dozen others, murder of agents in a half a dozen places, the navy on the move to a new shoreline, and the one they left returning to defiance. Numerous uprisings to deal with at once.
After listening, he said, “Time to quell this...treason...with a heavy hand. I have no time or inclination to extend the hand of mercy to those who defy me! Anywhere!” and his fist hit the table. “Here, or abroad. Death to the infidels! Death, swift and sure!” He looked to his generals. “Mobilize the reserves. Get everyone moving toward the west. Move fast. We have the advantage of unity, and internal transportation. We can move fast and easily. Get inside the territories, and smash the troops there, any you can find. And loot and burn anything in between. Show no mercy.”
He looked at his air chief. “Are the bases back in service yet?”
The man looked uneasy, but said, “Almost. We work around the clock, in bright and dim. The runways will be reopened within the next two brights.”
T’ming seethed inside, his face hard. Too long, too slow. I need a new, driving, commander, not this slacker. Before he could say anything, the officer added, “The damage was amazing, the craters immense. Who could have imagined such a weapon. But repairs are ahead of schedule, thanks to the work of the men.”
T’ming said nothing, but turned next to the head of his Outside Relations Office. “Find those responsible for the death of my agents abroad, and kill each and every one. Let General Juda know if you need field assistance. And put a warning or two on the table of every prime minister or mayor nearby.” He smiled at that. Yes, good idea, sow the fear again a little.
To the naval chief, he said, “Deal with the ingrates at Port Beloha. Return order, if you have to burn the place to the ground. Free our ship, get out all our people. If any are killed or hurt, ravage the place, ravish it, hear?” he shouted and hit the table again, then sat back, breathing deeply, trying to restore a measure of control. But he remained furious. “Then go back to Bioko Harbor, and do the same there. Let them all see what they incur when they trifle with those in the service of T’ming.”
After the low rumble of approval ebbed, he said, “I want daily reports on progress, and incident reports as they occur.” Slowly and serenely he looked around the room, his eyes narrowing. “These are interesting times, exciting times, times to do great deeds in the name of the fatherland, and to cover yourselves with glory.”
Or die if you fail, he thought.
“See that you do so without failing me, and the fatherland.”
A brief silence, which he allowed to linger. “Show me your operations plans by this time next bright. Get moving.”
He stood up abruptly, and everyone else did, too, and with one last dark look, turned and swept out the room.
His escort, lounging in the hall, fell in behind him. They are slow enough about that, and slovenly in performance, too. What is happening? He’d noticed the solemn faces and quietness when he’d entered the situation room, too, none of the happy, enthusiastic noise, and jovial greetings of earlier times. Yes, earlier times were better, but these are interesting, challenging times. Even dangerous. And all due to that one female alien, curse those bastards that let her live. If they hadn’t died, I’d have them all shot. Shot. Incompetents. He felt he was surrounded by incompetents. Not like the old days, the days of his fight for the throne, with his trusty young lieu
tenants alongside him. Too bad they’d all turned against him, and needed to be liquidated. Ah, such lost talent, squandered in dissension. He’d tolerate none of it now. None. Yet he saw it growing around him. After this passed, another purge, for sure.
T’ming paused at the door to his chambers, looked the guard detail up and down. They straightened under his gaze, and he turned and returned to the pleasures awaiting inside.
Days later, and T’ming seethed, tail twitching, eyes glowing, barely containing his rage.
“This is what my army comes to, beaten by that rabble next door? Uncounted billions for weapons, and we retreat!” Voice rising, his fist hit the table again, and he pushed back away from it.
His generals, assembled before him, but sitting as far away as possible, shrank back.
“I want an explanation,” he screamed at them. No one spoke.
“Atsimo! How could this happen?”
“The air cover...Highness. We had no aerial support. You recall, we asked for it, but the nearby airfields are still not operational, we could not get the...” The general shrank back at T’ming’s gaze. “The ambush in the pass...without air cover, we could not see...could not...” He stopped.
“We have no helicopters left? None operational?”
After a bit, someone said, “Well, yes, we did, but the distance to the base was great, resupply of fuel and ammunition slow, their effectiveness suffered, some losses...”
“Unacceptable. No excuses.” T’ming said, his voice cold, “I should have you all shot. Incompetent idiots. I may yet.”
He heard the loud evacuation of a bowel. Several bowels. A heavy stench drifted around the room, grew stronger.
“Now hear this. Get in, get my army out, do it now, immediately, or don’t come back here again. You have one bright.” Making a face at the stink, he rose and hurried out.
But the next day, worse news. The surrounded army, heavily cut up already, and lacking air or other support, surrendered. Upon hearing that, he ordered the general in charge of the relief column, bogged down in the same pass closed behind the first invaders, shot immediately. Instead, the general negotiated with the enemy, and he and his entire force went over to the other side, too. Now the western frontier lay open and undefended, still no air power to speak of in that sector, and the rest of his armies were grumbling as well, and moving all too slowly to do anything to help.
Fearing loss of everything for the first time, T’ming summoned General Tiplix, in charge of his most elite and effective force, a companion from the first days, loyal beyond doubt, to a strategy session, and to maybe appoint him to take over the entire armed forces until this matter was settled. He hardly knew who to trust anymore, and Tiplix seemed like his best choice.
The general arrived in two military helicopters, fresh from the field, circling the administrative complex where T’ming held meetings, and then landed and soon strolled into the outer offices with four aides. His demeanor was one of confidence and pride. T’ming greeted him there, noticing the escort were in full battle gear, everything but weapons. His own palace guards eyed the others nervously, but they seemed at ease, talking with them, nodding, respectful, not the least threatening. Hope and pride seemed to grow in the immediate moments after the arrival of his long time comrade. Pleased, T’ming led Tiplix and one aide into his office for a strategy session.
At first, all went well. Tiplix gave some reports of troop dispositions, and the morale and feeling of his army, at least, still effective, and loyal to the prince. But as T’ming pressed him for action, and a plan to recapture now lost lands, and deal with the two problematic provinces to the west, Tiplix demurred, again noting lack of adequate air cover, and recommending a blocking position to protect the heart of the country. They looked at a map spread on a table before them.
“Without the flyboys, and the sats down, we’re blind and outnumbered, and at the mercy of anything in the air. This is the best defensive position, one that can hold against anything.”
“But the spys, the artillery. Your tanks. You’re highly mobile, have helicopters for everyone...” T’ming said.
“Yes, but terrain and dispersed enemy makes much of that mobility impractical to use. We can’t be rushing from one place to another to bring our strength to play, and then back again where we just were. The fuel alone is impossible to stockpile. And now we have the Gemena aircraft to deal with, too. Not many, but annoying. Your highness, we need to wait at our good defensive lines until we can be sure of our own air power.”
“How long will that be?”
Tiplix waved a hand. “I get different answers from everyone I ask. Based on what I observed at the airfield, I’d say nearly a month until they’re back up to even minimal fighter operations.”
That news surprised, even shocked him. “Too long.” T’ming looked out the window, controlling his fury. More heads would roll on that news, that’s for sure. “General, I need you to move out against the western provinces. Gemena and Nieves. I’ll give you full control of the home forces. As soon as we can pull in some expeditionary forces, you’ll get them, too.”
“Your highness, I respectfully decline. Too little, too late,” the general said.
“What?” T’ming said in disbelief, turning to look at Tiplix.
“If you want to go west, all we can do is move up and hold the line at Central River. I can try to hold the line, there, that is. We can’t go on the offense past there, onto the open plains, especially with our armor, and win with what little we’ve got available. It’s that, or pull back further, or sue for peace.”
“What?” T’ming screamed again, his fury boiling up now, moving toward him. “Surrender? Never! You bastard. You coward! Traitor! I’ll show how you what I do with cowardly traitors,” T’ming said, as he hit the button for his security forces. “I’ll show you how I deal with incompetence!” Pointing to Tiplix, he shouted as the door opened and two security men started to enter, “Take this coward out to the lawn and shoot him. Now.”
But as the two moved toward Tiplix, the general said, “I don’t think so,” and he pulled a pistol from a hidden pocket and began shooting.
Immediately, T’ming jumped for the doorway to his inner keep, noticing both of the security men going down in a rapid blast of gunfire, more shooting in the outer office, the door slammed shut behind him, and he raced for the passageway down and out toward the helicopter landing. He’d left his radio behind, along with everything else, he heard a little more shooting, then nothing. He stopped, shit in a corner of the hallway, fear in his own bowels, hovered there a long minute while it all ran out of him. Swishing his tail, and smelling bad no doubt, he started running again. Treachery and traitors all around him now, he had to get out and regroup, get his loyal forces in hand, and recover from this disaster.
At the entrance to the heli-hanger, he shouted to his pilot, “Start the engines, we depart immediately.”
The air crew jumped up, but he beat them to the copter, climbed inside, and slammed the door closed.
The intercom queried, “Anyone else coming? Your aide?”
“No, they’ll arrive later. Just me for now.” He tried to relax, show confidence and normality in his voice.
“Where to, Your Highness?”
“The Mountain Keep. Quickly. There may be trouble outside. Be prepared. Get me the air general on the radio.”
“Which one?”
“Atsimo.”
“You had him shot last week.”
Of course, incompetent idiot. Another one. “Whomever’s in charge then, quickly.” And the rapidly growing noise of the engines drowned out everything else.
Inside the offices, General Tiplix stepped over the last of the bodies of the prince’s guards. Prepared, and using surprise, they easily overcame his security detail. All of his men survived, only one small flesh wound, nothing serious. The room reeked with the stench of shit and gunpowder, and pale smoke drifted in a thick layer half way toward the ceiling.
&n
bsp; Siini, T’ming’s Executive Aide, stood in the corner, looking at Tiplix. “Siini, but for our long association, and honorable treatment, and your brave service to the fatherland in times past, you would join these vermin on the floor. The time for decision is approaching. I suggest you make a choice while you can. The end of T’ming, the despot, is at hand. He has destroyed too much of this land and cannot be allowed to destroy the rest.”
He motioned to his men, one checked the exterior corridor, and they left, hiding their weapons as they had earlier, and casually walked out.
Siini waited for them to go, then pulled out a hidden phone, one not found and destroyed by Tiplix. He looked up a number on a directory, and entered it. A voice answered. An old voice, full of the slowness of time, and the despair of age.
“Your Highness,” Siini said. “The time for you is returned. Your people need you once more. Will you come?”
A brief silence. It went on. Then, “Who will listen? Who is with me?”
“I will send an escort. And all will listen.”
Another moment, static on the line. “I will prepare to receive them. But what of the people?”
“They will call for you.”
Another lingering pause. “If the people call, I will answer.”
He hung up, as the other hidden phone, T’ming’s, rang. “What happened?” the prince said, the loud sound of helicopter engines nearly drowning him out.
“Tiplix has left.”
“Left? My guard?”
“All dead, killed.”
“I have given orders for the immediate arrest and execution of that traitor Tiplix. Send them to all units. Where is the air guard?”
“In action, I am hearing firing.”
“Excellent. How is it you survived?”
“I do not know.”
“I will speak of this when I return,” and the noise in the phone went off.
T-47 Book II (Saxon Saga 6) Page 40
