The Renegade

by P. M. Johnson

  Taken aback by the mysterious communication, Ravenwood read it once more. Then, astonishingly, the message began to disappear, beginning with the final word and finishing with the first. Soon there was nothing to see but blank screen.

  He tried calling up the message again, but it was gone from his PDD. Dropping the device on the table he leaned back in his chair and placed his hand on his head. He slowly rubbed his close-cropped hair as he considered the situation. Whoever had sent that message didn’t want there to be a record of it, but of course there would be, somewhere. The PDD was an official piece of UEC equipment, highly secure, but Ravenwood had no illusions about whether the Lycians were monitoring the messages he received from the General Secretary. He would have to take action before Pendu Barka discovered it.

  Picking up the PDD once more, he contacted Beth. Her face appeared on the screen.

  “I was just going through all the taskers you sent me,” she said as soon as the connection was established. “You don’t actually expect me to waste any time on this stuff, do you?”

  “Of course not, but we do have an urgent matter to attend to,” said Ravenwood. “Where are you now?”

  “At the commissary foraging for something to eat. The staff is gone for the night, so the pickings are thin.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Ten minutes later Ravenwood was sitting opposite Beth at a square table in the otherwise empty Harmony Base Commissary. Beth had located some fruit and day old salad. She offered some to Ravenwood, who declined, having just eaten essentially the same thing.

  “Pendu Barka and her Brevians have been interrogating the Karazan Logan captured on Tuska IV,” said Ravenwood in a low tone. “Has she been sharing the results?”

  “Yes,” replied Beth. “Technically speaking, she was Earth’s prisoner. Apparently, she’s the first ever to have been captured. We handed her over in exchange for regular updates on their findings.”

  “Good. I’ll need to see what they’ve shared.”

  “There’s nothing in there, Ravenwood. I’ve seen them. She just screams her head off and threatens to kill everyone.”

  “That may well be,” replied Ravenwood. “But I suspect she may also be trying to convey a message.”

  “Really?” said Beth, pausing with her knife halfway through the center of a pear. “To whom?”

  “Me.”

  Beth pinched her brow together. “What?”

  Ravenwood quietly related to her the details of the strange message he’d received.

  “So you see,” he said. “The Karazan whom the Lycians are holding on Tyseria isn’t the first one to have been captured. She is the first one ever to have surrendered. Now finish your salad. The Dewar will soon be voting on Earth’s admission to the Trade Federation.”

  Beth pushed her salad aside and got up from her seat. “I’ll get Cap and Lena.”

  “Lena?” asked Ravenwood.

  “The two of them are inseparable these days. I tell ya, when Lena Castell decides to do something, she’s all in.”

  Ravenwood smiled. “Good. Cap needs a firm but loving hand to keep him on the straight and narrow.”

  Chapter 38

  In some ways, the Impact was a great boon for the world. We are no longer bound by the straitjacket of the past and may now chart a new course. I hope we use this opportunity to drink from the chalice of courage and go boldly forth to create a just and prosperous future.

  - General Secretary Rodolfo Broussard.

  “Well, Colonel Amari, what’s your assessment of War Dog Brigade?” asked Logan as they raced down a gravel road in a Multi-Purpose Vehicle, or MPV, its dust plume slowly drifting in a long hazy cloud to the northeast.

  “Well, sir,” replied Hamza. “I’d rather have two months than one week to finish getting them into shape.”

  “I don’t think the Sahiradin are willing to wait.”

  “No sir. They’re not. We’ve got good troops. They’re well trained from their prior enlistments, but I’m worried about integrated operations, communications, small group coordination – all the things that count when you’re in a fight.”

  “Agreed,” said Logan as their MPV rolled up to a firing range. “They know what needs to get done and they’re all working hard to do it.”

  “Yes sir,” said Hamza. “The fact that we’ll deploy soon is giving everyone a sense of urgency. If they don’t get it right here at Harmony, they won’t get it right on Agurru.”

  Logan nodded his head in agreement and pointed at the firing range where soldiers were standing in a long line. They had short-barreled weapons at their sides. An instructor was walking behind them issuing instructions. Logan and Hamza got out of the MPV and walked toward the range.

  “…The most lethal warrior in the galaxy is the human soldier,” shouted the instructor as he slowly walked along the line, hands at his sides and chest out. “And the deadliest human soldier is the War Dog. We can kill up close with a knife, sword, or bare hands. We can kill at a distance. Yesterday we practiced killing up close. Today we will practice killing at a distance.”

  The instructor reached the end of the line and turned to walk in the opposite direction.

  “The weapon you’re holding in your hands right now was designed specifically for the human soldier. The Lycians call it a tichura. I don’t know what the hell that means, but we call ‘em howlers. You’ll know why as soon as you fire one. They’re a deadly combination of projectile and high energy burst weapon. Some of you already know about the multiphasic slugs the Sahiradin developed for the PRA’s Guardians to penetrate antiballistic shields. The Lycians grabbed that technology and amped it up for use against the Sahiradin. Your first hit probably won’t do anything to the enemy’s antiballistic shield. The second won’t, either. The fourth and fifth won’t get through. But maybe the sixth or seventh will. This is how they work; with each failed hit, the slug collects and transmits data on the target shield’s configuration back to the howler, which adjusts what they call the “quantum resonance” of the next slug. Eventually, if your hits are close enough in time to each other, a slug will pass through.”

  He was now at the center of the line. “War Dogs!” he shouted. “This cutting edge technology will give us an advantage on the field of battle. Use it well. The enemy likes to kill up close. It’s part of their warrior code. We will happily oblige them on that score, but killing them before they get close enough to swing their sword is the preferred method. Not because we are afraid. Killing’s in our blood. Every one of you is a killer. But we prefer to kill from a distance because it allows us to send more these pasty-faced bastards to their graves quicker.”

  “Those targets at the end of the range are equipped with standard Sahiradin antiballistic shields,” continued the instructor. “The distance is two hundred meters. You all have a clip of twenty five rounds each. You may fire when ready.”

  The line of Rangers turned to face the targets, raised their howlers to their shoulders, and began firing on the targets at the end of the range. It was immediately clear why the weapons had acquired the term “howler” as each weapon’s report sounded like a cross between a wolf’s growl and hawk’s piercing shriek.

  Logan and Hamza watched with satisfaction as the soldiers hit their targets with high precision. Green burst of energy flashed with each impact. Lycian engineers had studied a wide variety of human assault guns and developed the howler using the best features of each. They were light, sufficiently compact to easily fit into standard battle packs, and could deliver a hell of a punch. After between seven and ten shots, the shields around the targets dissipated with a flash and the paper silhouettes behind them became peppered with holes. Logan and Hamza watched for a few more minutes as the next line of soldiers from Logan’s War Dog Brigade deployed along the line and performed the same exercise against new targets with equally satisfactory results.

  With a nod to the instructor, Logan and Hamza returned to their MPV. Logan ordere
d the driver to take them to the close-quarters combat training field where soldiers were practicing sword and shield tactics. When they arrived, they walked along the perimeter, watching with interest as the soldiers squared off against each other. Some fought individually while others sparred in groups of ten or twelve.

  Logan stopped in front of a group where a fire team of five soldiers was working against another fire team. They were circling around each other as a group, sword in their right hands and compact force fields protecting their left forearms. Logan watched with interest as each team tested the other for weaknesses.

  Leaning to his side, he said, “Did the Lycian engineers make the changes we requested?”

  “Yes they did, sir,” replied Colonel Amari.

  Logan nodded then stepped into the training space. “Hold it right there, soldiers.”

  The soldiers, seven men and three women, lowered their weapons and came to attention. Logan ordered them to be at ease just as a drill instructor, a short man with dark eyes and a lantern jaw, approached.

  “General Brandt, sir!” he said as he saluted.

  Logan returned the salute and said, “Are these soldiers equipped with the latest bracers?”

  “Yes, they are, sir.”

  “Good. May I try one?”

  “Yes sir!” said the instructor as he retrieved a spare bracer.

  Logan accepted it and fastened it over his left forearm.

  “Sword,” he said.

  The instructor gave him a sparring sword.

  Logan curled the middle finger of this left hand and activated the antiballistic shield, which caused the outline of his body to momentarily shimmer with silver light. Then he snapped his left arm and a curved semitransparent force field appeared over his bracer. He clanked his sword against it a few times to test its strength. It was like hitting iron but without any of the weight.

  Looking at the gathered soldiers, he said, “These Lycian bracers will power your antiballistic shield, and as you can see, they also project a small, round force field you can use to block the enemy’s sword.”

  The soldiers, all of whom had formerly been in Logan’s Second Army, were attentively listening, but their General had not told them anything they did not already know. Then Logan touched his left middle finger against the underpart of his bracer where it fit over the heel of his hand. The force barrier suddenly changed configuration. Instead of being rather small and round, it became much longer, nearly three quarters Logan’s height, and a bit wider. It was also slightly concave along its length.

  The soldiers were surprised by this new functionality to their Lycian bracers.

  “All of your bracers should be able to change to this shape. Toggle to it by holding down the activation button.”

  The soldiers did as instructed, and soon each one had an elongated shield.

  “Now, you’re all used to fighting one-on-one using the common circular force shield as protection. But we’ve asked the Lycians to make a few modifications to the bracers they’ve given us. The enemy is tough. He’s trained his whole life for war, but his lust for battle and desire to prove his superiority over each and every opponent can make him sloppy. The enemy’s battlefield tactics depend heavily on separating out their opponents and cutting them down one by one.”

  The soldiers nodded their heads grimly. They’d seen plenty of footage during their training demonstrating exactly that. They also knew that the tactic had worked against Lycians, especially the proud but impulsive Tullans, time and again.

  “We’re not going to let the Sahiradin control the flow of battle. We’re going to do this our way,” said Logan. “Now all of you line up shoulder to shoulder.”

  The soldiers did as instructed.

  “Now line up your force shields so their edges touch.”

  Again they did as instructed, forming a wall of force shields as high as their chests.

  “Now take a half step forward, thrusting your sword over the tops of your force shields as you do.”

  As one, the soldiers stepped forward and thrust with their swords.

  “Again!”

  They repeated the action and their wall moved forward.

  “Again!”

  They did as commanded, this time adding a low hoorah when they trust their weapons.

  “Again!”

  Step, thrust, hoorah!

  Logan looked at the drill instructor and said, “In addition to your regular training, I want you to work this new tactic into the mix. We’ll get new guidance out tonight. By tomorrow noon, I want every soldier in War Dog Brigade to know how to reconfigure their force shields, form a wall, and advance as one.”

  “Sir, yes sir!” shouted the instructor with a salute.

  Logan returned his equipment. He and Hamza got into the MPV and drove back in the direction of HQ.

  “It’ll be interesting to see what the Sahiradin do with that,” said Hamza.

  “We’ll start out in standard formation then switch to that phalanx formation with elongated shields. I want the line to be four-deep so we can rotate out the front row when they get tired. I also want a fifth line on elevated ground to fire howlers into the enemy. We’ve only got a few days to get this down, so I want them drilling on these new tactics from sunrise to sunset.”

  “Yes sir,” said Hamza. “Locking shields, phalanx formations…we’re going old school on the Sahiradin.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully they haven’t heard of the Romans.”

  Chapter 39

  We prevailed over the Alamani through submission to our Queen and the Law. The Alamani were destroyed because they could not bring themselves to submit to an authority more powerful than themselves. Their only law was to feed their limitless desires, no matter the cost to others.

  - Vaal Bur, Warden of the Citadel to Queen Souk, Law Keeper, Throne Taker.

  Fleet Commander Taqir reviewed the latest long-range scan results contained in a holographic projection. He grumbled, dissatisfied with what he saw. The Lycians had held the system’s defensive drones in reserve rather than send them to engage against his fleet. They were now using them to hunt down any Sahiradin probes or scout craft sent in advance of the fleet to gather intelligence. Though not surprised by the tactic, he was nonetheless frustrated by the enemy’s effectiveness. Not one of the many probes he’d launched had survived, and the last of the scout ships had just been reported destroyed.

  Scrolling through the holographic projection of data, the Fleet Commander noted signs of enemy activity as they prepared Agurru for the coming assault. Communications traffic was up tenfold. Khâl space-time signatures were far more frequent, indicating the coming and going of many ships. More automated drones had been deployed along the fleet’s line of approach. This information was helpful, but not sufficient for Taqir to plan his assault. He needed to know details of ship numbers and type, enemy troop concentrations, and enhancements to surface defenses. It was unlikely that he would learn these details until he was nearly on the planet’s doorstep because the Lycians were jamming his long-range sensors’ ability to gather anything more than this most rudimentary data.

  He reviewed his fleet’s status once more. The armada had passed through the Buhiria, the system’s outer ring of ice and rocky debris, and was making straight for Agurru. It was a race against time. There would be no feints, misdirection, or grand flanking maneuvers. This would be a straight forward fight, and victory would go to the side with the greatest firepower and desire to win. That thought brought Taqir some comfort, for the Sahiradin warrior’s love of battle and thirst for victory was unrivaled. And as for the vaunted Lycian fleet and its brilliant commander, Admiral Var-Imar, she would soon taste bitter defeat. Even if she called every ship in the Separatist fleet to Agurru’s defense, she would be severely outnumbered.

  “Fleet Commander Taqir.”

  Taqir looked up to see his second in command, D’Sur, standing in the doorway.

  “What is it?”

  “Message from
Sahir, Fleet Commander.”

  Taqir began to say that was impossible but thought better of it. They had destroyed the khâl that had brought the fleet to the Lativian System, and the Kisch had been quite clear in its last communication to him that the order to attack Agurru was final and could not be rescinded.

  “Who sends the message?” he asked warily.

  “Kurak, sir.”

  Taqir scoffed. “That scum. He allows himself to be captured by the pitiful Humani, and when he finally escapes their clutches, he slinks to Khadiem seeking her favor! What does he want?”

  “Unknown, sir,” replied D’Sur. “We have only received his signature frequency seeking to open a communications channel.”

  Taqir shifted in his seat and considered whether to reject Kurak’s request. He was within his right to do so, given the need to maintain security as his fleet charged toward its target. Yet, as reviled as Kurak was for ingratiating himself with the Humani and aiding them to advance their technology, to insult him too deeply might be deemed as an insult to Khadiem.

  Taqir’s thoughts drifted to Khadiem, daughter of the slain Pashira, spawned by unnatural means. Whether she’d had a hand in her mother’s death or not, the future of the Sahiradin species lay with her. To think otherwise was foolish. The Fleet Commander had seen her only once, just after the Battle of Halduan. Mother and daughter had agreed to meet at the Epurian Shipyards to discuss how to proceed now that the Sahiradin had acquired the last remaining Kaiytáva. Taqir had been among Pashira’s delegation. The Queen had demanded that Khadiem turn the Kaiytáva over to her, but this had elicited only a wry grin. Instead of acquiescing to her mother’s request, Khadiem boldly demanded that she be given authority over all Sahiradin forces and that both her mother and the Kisch recognize her as heir to the throne.

  Of course, neither Pashira nor the Kisch could ever agree to such terms, and mother and daughter left the Epurian Nebula seething with contempt for each other. Yet, even as Taqir joined the rest of the delegation in declaring his loyalty to Pashira and pronouncing his utter dismay with Khadiem’s brash demands, he could not help but admire her. She was strong and passionate, and her commitment to complete victory over the Lycians was inspiring to witness. No, more than just inspiring, emboldening. For although it was not then her time to choose a mate, the Fleet Commander could not help but dream of coupling with Khadiem and siring a new generation of warriors and Karazan.