by Sean Robins
“Did you know Admiral Juntoo was here?” Tarq asked under his breath.
“No, but I bet it makes what we are about to pull a lot more delicious,” Barook said in his ears.
“Are you sure the OMC-BOWS rays are completely localized?”
“Yes. Do you want a demonstration? Check this out,” said Barook.
All the fleet admirals started scratching their heads at the same time. Juntoo looked surprised. He frowned and put his hand down.
This was going to be epic. Generations of Akakies would tell the story of what was about to go down here to their children.
“My fellow Akakies,” said Tarq. “The president said a lot of very nice things about me and the Special Operations Force, but he forgot to mention the fleet, whose members played an equally important role in defeating the Xortaags.”
The admirals looked at him and then each other, clearly astonished.
“By being defeated so comprehensively in Alora and showing incomprehensible incompetence, the fleet admirals fooled the enemy into underestimating us, which allowed us to surprise them and defeat them on Earth.”
The admirals’ expressions turned from surprise to rage which was immediately replaced by serenity and contentment. In unison, they nodded in agreement and politely applauded.
“OMC-BOWS is working,” affirmed Barook.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to present you with the real heroes of Alora’s battle… the fleet admirals!” Tarq announced.
The admirals, including his old enemy Juntoo, stood up and went to the podium. Juntoo was first. He faced the audience and said, “We are all morons. We are incompetent losers and do not deserve to wear the uniform.”
The crowd watched in stunned silence.
Another admiral followed. “We are nothing but a bunch of cowards.”
One by one, every admiral made an announcement confirming their own shortcomings. Then, with everyone staring at them, they started removing their uniforms. They took their time getting undressed, folded their clothes, and put them on a chair. After that, all fifteen of them, stark naked, walked to the front of the podium, kneeled, raised their hands towards the sky, and in unison said, “Oh Tarq, the greatest, wisest, and most handsome of all the Akakies. We will be honored if you take us as your concubines. We will be obedient spouses and cater to all your needs for as long as you want us.”
“Thank you, but I prefer my concubines to have more intelligence than a single-celled organism,” Tarq said after taking a drag on his pipe. “So, no.”
The roar of laughter that followed was so loud that Tarq was certain it could be heard from neighboring habitat planets. Several people fell off their seats, laughing. Earth’s ambassador had taken out his PDD and was making a video of the admirals, still kneeling, metasoma-naked. Thunderous applause followed the laughter. Tarq stood there, his chin up, shoulders back and chest thrust out, taking it all in.
One of my best masterpieces, if I may say so myself.
The president stepped next to him. “You might want to consider going into hiding for a while because, after this, the admirals might try to kill you.”
“And risk being executed for attempting to murder their superior officer? If they had such courage, they would not have been defeated by the Xortaags so easily,” said Tarq. “By the way, this is my good news: we now have our own OMC-BOWS. We have duplicated the Xortaags’ design and even improved the system. As you can see, it can be used in a localized fashion now; moreover, we do not need thousands of satellites to cover the whole planet, just six, all already in place, completely undetectable and invisible, of course.”
The president smiled. “This should take care of the problem we discussed the other day.”
“That it does,” agreed Tarq.
Barook entered the fleet’s command center. The place was huge, at least ten times bigger than the one in Winterfell. It had to be because dozens of fleet personnel worked there. The officers close by saluted when they saw him. As Tarq’s second-in-command, he had taken on new responsibilities, one of them finding ways to beat the fleet into fighting shape. That had come with a promotion—Colonel Barook had a nice ring to it—and now he had his own assistants, five of them, and he enjoyed pushing them around and pulling their four legs on a daily basis.
Barook sat at his station. He noticed a female fleet officer giving him a dirty look, but she quickly averted her gaze. It has been only three days since Tarq’s new masterpiece, and fleet personnel were scared of him and, by extension, of Barook. It served Barook just fine because it made his job easier if people did not dare disobey his orders.
He pulled up the reports from the joint Earth-Akakie fleet exercise on Earth’s orbit and started reading. Unfortunately, that was not going well at all. The Akakie pilots could not keep up with their human counterparts’ sophisticated maneuvers, and several space fighters had already been destroyed by crashing into each other. Maybe it was time to let only human pilots fly the space fighters.
A sudden ear-splitting siren made him jump out of his seat.
“What the hell is that?” he asked one of his assistants, and then he remembered before anyone answered.
The Death Siren.
Barook turned to look at the command center’s main display just in time to see the enemy fleet approaching Kanoor. Both his hearts stopped beating when he recognized the space fighter leading the attack.
All the officers in the command center froze in stunned silence.
“What are you waiting for?” Barook shouted. “Contact our ships. Cancel all shore leaves. I want our fleet in orbit yesterday!”
Then he called Tarq.
I bet Tarq will think this call is a prank.
Tarq rushed to Varma’s bedroom, put her gently on her bed, and covered her. Then he ran out, carefully closed the door, and told Barook, “Patch me through. Request a visual.”
He nearly fainted when Maada appeared on his PDD screen. It was definitely him, only his beard was shorter, and the scars on his face looked like recent wounds, still healing.
“W-we killed you,” stuttered Tarq.
“Give it time; it will come to you,” growled the general.
It did. “You are a clone!”
“Yes. And believe me when I tell you I am not happy about it.”
Fear. It surged through Tarq’s hearts and attacked his mind, generating thoughts and images of impending doom, death, and destruction. He saw Kanoor burning, with billions of corpses everywhere, a small one belonging to Varma. His stomach turned, and he felt he was about to throw up. Yet none of that showed on his face. He could not afford to show weakness to this predator. There was a reason Jim had called him Mr. Poker Face a few times.
Maada looked like he was examining him closely. “Wait. I know you. You were standing at the back of the room when we were signing the peace treaty. I told Prince Mushgaana you were up to something.”
“I remember seeing you there too,” said Tarq. “But come to think of it, it was not you, was it? You are nothing but a cheap copy.”
He was surprised by his own bravado, and a second later, by Maada’s reaction.
“Tell me something I do not know.” The general sounded melancholic, resigned even.
“Here is something you do not know,” said Tarq. “Your so-called Voice of God does not work on us. How can you conquer Kanoor without it? You might as well stop the attack and go back home right now.”
“You think I need Voice of God to take your planet, insect?”
Several giant transport ships appeared at that very moment. It was as if they had been waiting for this particular conversation to make the final jump.
“Everyone, ourselves included, seems to have forgotten we were conquerors before we found Voice of God. We are going to do this the old-fashioned way, through blood and sacrifice.”
Tarq was thankful he was not inside his human hologram. The facial expressions of the hologram were unconscious and difficult to control. By n
ow, he would have been white as paper with comically round eyes. He kept his gaze—and his voice—steady. “Our fleet is standing between you and Kanoor, and I have every confidence they will defeat you with ease.”
And then, Tarq saw the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life.
The general smiled. That was horrific enough, but he did not stop there. His smile turned into a snicker; then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. That made Tarq more terrified than he already was.
I had not realized I was so funny, he thought bitterly.
“The prince is right: you Akakies are hilarious,” Maada said when he finally stopped laughing. “I would like to see you try to stop us.”
Maada killed the connection and stared at the planet below. These people had helped the humans beat him. They were responsible for the death of millions of Xortaags. They were responsible for his death. It was time for them to pay. For the first time in his life, he felt no sympathy for the inhabitants of the planet he was about to invade. The insects had killed his comrades, his friends, his brothers and sisters. Anger vexed his soul, and his veins swelled. He thought about Arminaa. That woman was a fierce warrior. Maada wondered if she had survived and was in a POW camp now.
His need for vengeance was like a beast devouring his heart, but simple revenge was not the only thing on his mind. If they subjugated the Akakies, they would put their hands on a treasure chest of the most advanced technology in the universe, which once reverse-engineered, would guarantee that the Xortaags ruled the galaxy forever. The new Deathbringer he was flying was a testimony to that. In fact, recent reports from Talmak suggested that the Akakies had developed a weapon capable of destroying a whole planet. If they could find it down there, Maada would be happy to drop it on Earth.
The soldiers under his command had spent the last few weeks practicing a ground invasion, something the Xortaags had not done in decades. They had very little time to practice, and worse, they were still armed with their energy-weapon small arms, which had proved to be much inferior to the humans’ guns. It was a safe bet that the Akakies had much better weapons too. Still, a Xortaag soldier was worth a hundred Akakies, so he was not particularly worried.
On his tactical display, Maada looked at the enemy fleet and studied their formation. Their space fighter to starship ratio had improved, but other than that, they seemed to be using the same tactics as their last encounter. These people had learned nothing.
Lucky me.
He was surprised when he heard Prince Polvaar’s voice asking, “Why are we not attacking?”
Maada was so accustomed to nobody questioning his decisions during a battle that, for a second, he did not know what to say. “We are waiting for me to order the attack whenever I see fit.”
The prince protested, “We are just sitting here and waiting, which gives the enemy the chance to better prepare.”
“Prince Polvaar, with all due respect, I am going to speak very slowly so that even a useless dimwit like you can understand, but I am going to say this only once: I am the commander of the fleet. You and the rest of the pilots do as I say, when I say it, and you do not ask any stupid questions. If you want, I can demonstrate by ordering the Deathbringers behind you to shoot your space fighter. Are we clear?”
“Yes, General. My apologies,” Polvaar answered quickly.
Maada was tempted to carry out his threat anyway. “Make sure it does not happen again.”
He waited a few more minutes before opening a channel to his fleet. “Go get them.”
Maada executed a perfect Xortaag salute. “Your Highness, congratulations on yet another magnificent victory.”
Mushgaana chuckled. “You know, back on Earth when I was about to die, I am sure this was what I thought I would miss the most.”
They were standing on a field of the most luscious green grass Maada had ever seen in his life, extending in every direction for as far as eyes could see. It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining brilliantly in the cloudless sky. He took a deep breath, confirming what he already knew after the Xortaags had scanned Kanoor from orbit: there was no pollution here. The Akakies had used their technology to keep their home planet clean. The general’s immediate priority was to put his hands on the insects’ advanced weaponry, but a few years down the line, maybe they could find something here that would help them with Tangaar’s pollution problem.
Maada could not help wishing he had grown up here, instead of Tangaar, with its poisonous air and permanently gray sky, where he had to watch his friends and family die due to starvation or various health issues caused by extreme pollution. He was certain most people on Kanoor had never been hungry even one day in their lives. On the other hand, if he had been born here, he would not have had the motivation to change the universe the way he had done. Bringing his people back from the brink of extinction was something to be proud of and well worth all he had suffered growing up.
“That was surprisingly easy,” said Mushgaana.
Maada shrugged. “The insects were caught completely off-guard, and they had no answer for our new space fighters.”
“It also helped that half of them ran away as soon as they found out you, back from the dead, were leading our fleet.”
Maada’s lips curl up into a self-satisfied, humorless smile. “With your permission, I have to go write the condolence letters.”
Mushgaana put a hand on his shoulder. “I will be joining you. Thankfully, this time we have a lot fewer letters to write than the last.”
Maada bowed his head. “It is an honor, Your Highness.” Then he added, “Do you think the Akakies have coffee?”
With aching hearts, Tarq, aboard the Akakie dreadnought Indomitable, watched the images being transmitted from Kanoor on the bridge’s main screen. The battle (if it could even be called that) had been very short. Tarq had always been a big-picture kind of person, and he had soon realized this fight could not have been won; therefore, he had ordered the Indomitable’s captain to have the ship jumped to safety. And unknown to the Xortaags, they had taken a few thousand space fighters with them. Now, Xortaag transport ships were landing on Kanoor, and Akakie ground forces offered little resistance. Why would they try to fight when their government had surrendered unconditionally?
Tarq had joined the Akakie Special Operations Force at a very early age, and he had spent all his life serving Kanoor. Saving Kanoor. He had sacrificed everything. His youth. His love. His daughter. And yet, all his efforts had been for nothing. Everything he had achieved in a lifetime had gone up in smoke in the blink of an eye. He fought off a sudden onset of nausea. His hearts felt like they were shrinking.
Still, even though he could not stop himself from biting his nails, he was not desperate. He was determined. He had a plan, and he knew who to turn to for help to implement it.
Barook stood next to him. “What are we going to do?”
Everyone on the bridge turned to look at Tarq. Even now, at the darkest hour in Akakie history, with Kanoor occupied by the Xortaags and the fleet decimated, they still trusted Tarq to have a solution.
Tarq felt his antennae stand straight. He raised his chin and clenched his fist. “We are going to take our planet back,” he said calmly. “Set course for Earth.”
7
Mantux
Standard Galactic Date: 055.03.5073
(Earth Date: 27/04/2049)
Mantux was a small planet located in the far corner of the galaxy. Its people, the Latoors, considered themselves very wise. They didn’t get involved in galactic politics, nor did they participate in various wars going on all around them. Their fleet was strong enough to discourage any potential aggressors, even the likes of the Xortaags, and that was enough. They watched from the comfort of their prosperous planet and laughed at the follies of the other species who wasted valuable resources on their meaningless wars, and they lived in luxury while the rest of the galaxy burned.
And then, the Black Fleet came.
Nobody on
Mantux could explain where the enemy fleet came from. It was as if a rift had opened in space, and some two hundred thousand black space fighters poured out. A few scientists theorized it looked like a rift in the space-time continuum, meaning the Black Fleet had traveled back in time from the future, but they never got the chance to explore this theory. There was no attempt to communicate, not even a threatening message. No demands. The Latoors weren’t even given the chance to surrender. The Black Fleet simply attacked.
The Latoors sent out frantic messages, asking for help they knew would never arrive in time, not that there was a fleet in the whole galaxy that could assemble enough ships to fight the Black Fleet. Then they realized their messages were bouncing back off an invisible wall. The whole planet was inside a bubble that made sending or receiving messages impossible. The Mantux Navy—a twenty-five-thousand-strong fleet, the pride of the planet, with its space fighters, starships, and dreadnought—was swept aside with humiliating ease, barely inflicting any damage on the enemy. The Black Fleet wouldn’t even let them flee. The defenders died to the last man and woman.
After that, the enemy fleet turned its attention to the surface of the planet. They bombarded communication centers, radar equipment, anti-aircraft weapons, military installations, civilian and military airports, and anything else that could have military value or was able to interfere with the next phase of their attack.
When the onslaught finally stopped, the Latoors held their collective breath, prayed to their gods for salvation, and hoped against hope they’d survived. And then, they saw the asteroid moving towards the planet. A few short hours ago, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but now there was nothing left to stop it.
