Dragon Fire (Galaxy On Fire Book 5)

by Craig Robertson

  “No, but I have a lot of experience fighting them. I believe they will attack all targets simultaneously with immense force.”

  “But, even if they only target the systems with formal mutual defense commitments, that would be twelve different solar systems spanning nearly four parsecs. If they mean to take the entire five-to-ten-year zone at once, their numbers would have to be unimaginable.”

  “And they are. Look, the Adamant are like the sand on a big beach. They are uncountably numerous and value each other’s lives as much as those grains of sand do. There’s a very good reason they’ve been as successful as they have been.”

  “Is there a winning strategy?” asked a suit to Jonnaha’s immediate left.

  “I do not know.”

  “What can we do?” he asked, clearly near tears.

  “Fight. That’s all anyone can ever do. You have had a few months to prepare that you wouldn’t have had otherwise. That’s a plus. The war-droids of Langir will now be a real factor in this fight. But you fight. The alternatives are to run or to lie down and wait for the juggernaut to grind you into the dirt.”

  “Is flight an option?” someone called out.

  “No, of course it is not,” shouted Jonnaha. “Come on, people, let’s keep our heads attached for a little while longer, shall we?”

  “But … but I mean if General Ryan had a secret plan to move Sotovir or transport its pop—”

  “He does not. If you grasp at one more imaginary straw, Phelps, I’ll have you thrown out of the room. Is that clear? I value the input of the Department of Food Integrity, but I will not have you derail our planning.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he whimpered. I hoped that idiot wasn’t called upon to aid in the defense of the civilization. He’d cause a mess when he lost bowel and bladder control when the first Adamant rose above the horizon.

  “So, they’re coming soon, they’re coming in devastating numbers, and we’re as prepared as we’re going to be. That about sum it up, Jon?” asked Jonnaha.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any specific thoughts, recommendations, or prayers to offer?”

  “Not just now.”

  “Then I thank you, Sapale, and your spies for giving us as much notice as possible. You’re welcome to remain, or you may go. Naturally we would appreciate your extensive familiarity with our foe as we plan.”

  “We will stay,” replied Sapale. “We want to help as much as possible. Plus, I personally would not like to turn my back on that pig but keep him where I can see him.” Yeah, she pointed at Admiral Fart Cloud. Nice. You know who snickered again.

  The meeting dragged on for twelve hours. A few potty breaks were the only respites. Food was brought in and eaten while working. The diplomats of many other systems joined in at odd intervals. It was controlled chaos, at best. The bare bones of a mutual plan were outlined and tentatively agreed upon, pending each government’s review. That meant we all did a lot of work that would be only possibly be adopted. But it was a start. It also served to formally light as big a fire as there was ever going to be under everyone’s collective backsides. It was go time, and at least that message was loud, clear, and undeniable.

  I only wished they stood the remotest chance of success. But I knew better.

  SIXTEEN

  The Lead Point Room was packed. High Wedge Lesset, Prime of the Secure Council, sat at the middle of a long metal table. He was flanked by the other eleven members of the council. Their raised stage gave them an excellent perspective of the Supreme Directive Wall off to their right. They also had a full view of the auditorium seats that ascended to the left. All one hundred and fifty seats were taken by senior command officers. Hushed chatter produced a charge of palpable excitement in the air. This was what the Adamant lived for. Conquest, domination, and the disbursement of death.

  “All right, come to order. We have much to do and much more to accomplish,” announced Vice Prime of the council Kemflode.

  The room instantly fell silent.

  Lesset rose to his full height and rested his arms on a short podium. “Fellow leaders of the Adamant Empire, welcome to our last meeting before we begin the assimilation of twelve new systems. Glory be to His Imperial Lord Palawent.”

  The crowd roared back a cheer for the emperor, who never attended these important meetings. It had been discovered many years before that when the emperors did attend, they mistakenly thought they were in charge and that their opinions mattered. Such distractions were no longer welcomed or tolerated.

  “As you know, our last campaign was perfectly successful. We destroyed the militaries of six worlds in five systems in one fell swoop.”

  Another cheer rose up, this time for Lesset.

  “Those missions are now in their mop-up phases. We are now free to proceed to the next obstacles to our domination. As you know, the emperor, in his infinite wisdom, has instructed us to skip over a few minor pockets of resistance. He has foreseen a growing threat in the Gamma-Epsilon Sector, near the galactic edge. Our new mission is to extinguish that threat before it may be allowed to become significant. All praise be to Emperor Palawent.”

  A lesser cheer rose up in response. Almost no one in the room gave a ragged chew toy for the imperial waste of space.

  “I have given individual orders to the Wholes who will lead our attack. Wedge Leaders will receive their assignments from their specific Wholes immediately following this assembly. Our conquest will begin in two days at Standard Dawn, as usual. I will expect all victories to be accomplished in less than three days on all fronts on all planets.”

  That brought a rush of murmurs from the crowd. Three days was an unusually short time to crush an entire planet’s resistance. A week was a short time. Three days was unprecedented. It signaled that the Secure Council wanted these planets to suffer mightily. They were to never know what hit them. They were to be an example of the brute and brutal force of the Adamant Empire. The bloodlust that was typically high at these meetings shot to redline. Everyone wanted to lock their jaws on the throats of their enemies.

  “I would wish you all luck, but you do not need such a crutch. You are the best warriors, the best commanders, and the best killers to ever prowl the galaxy. I would feel sorry for what your victims are about to suffer, but they are beneath us and below our contempt. Now go forth and kill. Go forth and slaughter. Go forth and drink the blood of those who insult the Adamant by existing. Show no mercy. Give no quarter. Leave nothing living in the wake of our tidal wave of victory.”

  Everyone rose and cheered with abandon. All-encompassing death was so glorious. It defined what it was to be happy, to be fulfilled. It defined what it was to be Adamant.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Cala, we understand your position. Truly, we hear you. But you must understand this issue from the Plezrite point of view.” Yisbid struggled to conceal her growing frustration. “This touches on the very reason we used our collective magic to remove our solar system from the galaxy. We wish not only to be left alone, but we wish to be unburdened by galactic politics and chicanery.”

  “But I’m not certain you have a choice. Any choice. Yes, as far as any of us know, you’re invisible to the Adamant, but that doesn’t mean you are. Even Jon Ryan with his unprecedented spy network can’t tell us for certain. You may be fooling yourselves, deluding yourselves into not only a false sense of having no moral obligation to help the rest of us, but a false sense of security.”

  “Mistress Cala, we have discussed those very issues in our councils, as you well know. We, as Yisbid just stated, have heard your requests and warnings. But the results of our debates have been insufficient to change our fundamental philosophy. We want to continue being who we are and go along doing what we have for a very long time,” said Himanai with thinly veiled contempt.

  “Translation: your problems are not our problems,” Cala hissed back angrily.

  “I am very sorry you see it that way,” responded Yisbid. “I feel your pain. I wish reality
was different than it was, but it is not. We are, for the last time, unable to help you fight the Adamant. You and your students are welcome to move here and become valued members of our society, of our culture. But we will not offer you military aid.”

  Cala rested back on her haunches, in a defensive stance. “You use interesting words, Yisbid. Do you fully hear them?”

  “I know what I said. Please point out where you think I might be enlightened.”

  “Prescient, indeed, are your thoughts.”

  “Are you baiting us or playing a riddle game to insult us?” Himanai asked sharply.

  “I speak now only to the Grand Visionary, not the rabid cow.”

  “Well I—” Himanai spat out as she stood.

  “Sit,” instructed Yisbid, setting a hand on her arm to restrain her. “I am listening, Cala.”

  “Do you know why your title is Grand Visionary? I’m fairly certain you do not.”

  “I am the leader of the Plezrite for a ten-year period this cycle. That individual is called the Grand Visionary.” She spoke cautiously, knowing there was some trapdoor awaiting her.

  “Bah. You don’t. The office of Grand Visionary is ancient. It was in place when our two people were still one. Back then, it indicated which Deft brindas was responsible for using the Vision.”

  “I’ve never heard of this nonsense,” Himanai said through clenched teeth.

  “No. Cows, rabid or otherwise, need only chew cud and fart.”

  “Cala, please excuse my assistant. She is young and does not honor you as she should. Please proceed,” responded Yisbid.

  “The Vision is a thing. It is a power. The Grand Visionary was charged with using it for the benefit of the community.”

  “You make it sound dangerous,” she replied.

  “Oh, it is not. But the knowledge it brings, that can be more dangerous than a poisoned knife at your throat.”

  “What is the Grand Visionary supposed to see that I’m unaware of?”

  “The future, child. Your job is to see the future on behalf of your people.”

  “That doesn’t sound very dangerous, you old witch,” shot back Himanai.

  Yisbid spun on her. “Leave this instant, rotten one.” Once Himanai had reluctantly skulked out of the room, Yisbid continued. “I clearly do not see into the future.”

  “But I do,” repiled Cala.

  Yisbid stiffened. “What is your point?”

  “As Grand Visionary, I would show you the future. It would then be yours to judge whether the Plezrite chose wisely or chose poorly today.”

  “That’s utter nonsense,” replied Yisbid with obvious uncertainty.

  “How so, child?”

  “You will place some image in my mind that affirms your contention. The future is not ours to know.”

  “Spoken by the non-brindas in the room. As to placing a favorable image in your mind, I can assure you I will not. That, by the way, is a trivial thing to do. I can do it without The Vision. Here, I feel a demonstration is in order. What is your favorite dessert?”

  “Arch-fudge. Why?”

  “And where would you love to eat it? What special place if you had your choice of all locations?”

  “My mate’s arms. Again, I ask …”

  Yisbid fell mute. Her eyes glazed over, and her breath began to become labored. Then she gasped and jerked her head backward.

  “Ho … how did you do that?” she challenged.

  “By the powers controlled by a brindas. Wasn’t the candy delectable?”

  Yisbid sat silent a moment. “Yes, better than any I’ve ever had.”

  “So, now you know that if I wanted to place an image in your mind, I could at any time. I will escort you to a vision of the future if you are brave enough to see it.”

  Again, she reflected a few seconds. “Very well. I do not want to make a mistake I would come to regret. How dangerous is this journey?”

  “It depends on the traveler. One who is strong, fearless, and knows herself is generally safe.”

  “And what of lesser mortals?”

  “They go stark-raving mad when they see the future.”

  “When may we begin?”

  “Come stand by my side, and we shall sally forth.”

  Yisbid came around the table and stood next to Cala. The brindas took her companion’s hand. “Close your eyes and clear your mind.”

  “How long will—”

  Yisbid did not finish the question. Their minds were no longer locked in the present.

  Seconds later Yisbid gasped like she was drowning. Cala opened her eyes and relaxed her body, seemingly unaffected by whatever had just transpired. Yisbid crumpled to her knees and covered her face forcefully with both hands. She began to softly wail.

  Someone rushed to her side. “Yisbid, are you all right? Can I help? You there,” she called out to a couple male bystanders, “come help me get her to the doctor.”

  The men rushed forward. They each grabbed under a shoulder and tugged at the Grand Visionary.

  Yisbid shot to her feet and shook her would-be helpers off roughly. “I’m fine. Release me.”

  Everyone backed away slightly.

  Yisbid turned to Cala. “Did you see what I saw?”

  “I was there also. I saw everything.”

  “But how?”

  “What did you see, Yisbid?” asked someone close.

  “I saw our planet. It was on fire.”

  “But then you didn’t see the future, only a vision. No planet, Nocturnat included, can be engulfed in flames. There is no air in space to sustain such a blaze.”

  “It was on fire, but not with a natural one. The flames were of our own making.”

  “No,” screamed another person. “Why would we set fire to our own world?”

  “To kill the Adamant who defiled Nocturnat’s sacred soil. They had vanquished the Plezrite. We chose mutual death over servitude.”

  “No,” the man gasped softly. “When?”

  Cala finished the thought for Yisbid. “Very soon, child.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I was on Sotovir when the all-out Adamant assault began. It was just thirteen days after I broke the news to the leaders of Vorpace. Right about when I expected it. I’d fought countless wars in every imaginable setting. I’d struggled against the Adamant personally for a couple years. Still, I was overwhelmed and awestruck with their battle plan. It was truly impressive.

  Adamant warships of every imaginable size and kind simultaneously popped up over Sotovir and eleven other planets. Some were specialized in planetary bombardment. Those were massive. Others were smaller, yet still huge, and designed to fight ship to ship in space, defending against any aerial responses. Still others were stripped down troop carriers with little else than standing room for millions upon millions of ground assault personnel.

  I watched from the safety of Stingray, perched on a hill, with a partial membrane up. Their initial action was to begin raining fire from above. So many plasma bolts and metal balls were dropped that the entire atmosphere flashed into a brilliant waterfall of death and destruction. The ground rose up in anguish, hurled itself into the sky only to be pounded back down by the relentless onslaught from above. That softening up lasted fifteen minutes. The damage caused was stunning, and I was on Sotovir. It was the planet best suited to weathering such a withering attack. The fish-tank Gorgolinians had little construction on the surface since their lives were spent underground or in caves. As a result, the Adamant explosions caused much less damage than on, say, the human world of Vorpace. But less was only relative. Gigantic craters and smoking ruins were everywhere.

  The moment the bombardment ceased, I saw the landing craft drop from the sky. It turned to twilight there were so many. Within a couple minutes, the hatches burst open and Adamant gushed out, as if shot a water cannon. With their legendary organization and discipline, they moved quickly into ranks and advanced to their assigned targets. If it wasn’t so horrific, it would have been mar
velous to witness.

  Then the Gorgolinians counterattacked. They sprung from the ground like crabs on a beach. They pulled countless Adamant down holes, never to emerge again. The fish tanks proved to be a hell of a lot tougher than I would have guessed. Salvoes of plasma bolts hit them, but they kept firing and seizing Adamant. Once they had a dog in their clutches, he was a goner. The Gorgolinians had scissor-shaped claws that snipped their foes in half like they were paper dolls. With their hard shells, they didn’t favor taking cover, so they advanced rapidly into the Adamant ranks.

  For just a moment, I thought their physical advantages might swing the battle. But that moment passed soon enough. Slowly, the Gorgolinians fell or were blown up. The Adamant had figured out several of their weaknesses and exploited them with a vengeance. In only a few minutes, there were few fish tanks left standing as far as I could see.

  The Adamant units regrouped and ran toward their original targets. That’s when a second wave of Gorgolinians sprang from the ground like a farmer’s worst nightmare. They hit the Adamant from behind, totally by surprise. Though the canovir buckled, they did not panic. With their engrained discipline, they rallied and pushed their attackers back. Another swarm of Gorgolinians then rose at the backs of the turned Adamant. They tried a pincer maneuver to force them into hand-to-hand combat. They figured that in close quarters the enemy would be less able to use their blasters.

  Slowly, the locals gained an upper hand. Finally, I couldn’t make out sharp ranks. The combatants were blended in chaos. It was like a blender with living beings tossed in by the bucketful. I think if that battle ended then, the Gorgolinians would have won. But more and more landing crafts deposited endless reinforcements. The whirling combat ended when the recently arrived Adamant began firing indiscriminately into the melee, killing friend and foe with equal ferocity. Within a few minutes, nothing moved in the combat zone. With grim intensity, the ring of Adamant reinforcements closed to the center of the circle, shooting anyone still alive on either side. Their tactic obviated the need to medically evacuate their own troops. That would have distracted from the primary mission, which wasn’t to win with minimal casualties. No, it was to win, period.