“We shall hunt that st’kragh when we encounter it.”
“If we encounter that st’kragh, it will be our death. Without the orbital supporting fire from the Arat Kur ships, we are lost.”
“Which only proves that First Voice was—from the first—right about how to fight the humans. We should have crushed them the moment we could. Bomb their greatest cities directly, force them to capitulate, to agree to all our terms.”
“Oh, yes, we could have achieved that. And we would have been the puppets of the Arat Kur forever after.”
Graagkhruud’s eyes disappeared for a full second, so disoriented was he by this sudden redirection of their argument. “What do you mean?”
“Can you not see it? Even if we triumph here, we cannot reach the human star systems on our own. Our ships do not have the shift range to cross the gap from our worlds to theirs. But, deposited by our Arat Kur allies as occupation forces, we would now have colonies in the midst of the human spheres.”
“We would crush the humans and take their worlds.”
“Can you seriously think it? Have you seen this planet? Their cities, their factories, their infrastructure? They have managed to build and preserve, while we are always trapped in the process of rebuilding what was destroyed in the most recent Family War. And with the humans unified by a hatred of us, by an unquenchable thirst for vengeance, they would build so much, so quickly, that they would overwhelm us.”
“Not if the Arat Kur prevent them.”
“And so you make my point: we are dependent upon our allies. What will occur if, later on, we should dare to disagree with them over some policy? Will they not threaten to withdraw their support of our colonies in human space?”
“No, for they will wish to keep us strong there, as an aid in controlling the expansion and power of the humans, who will hate the Arat Kur just as much as they hate us.”
“Do not think it. The Arat Kur have been almost invisible on this planet’s streets. Overwhelmingly, the humans have seen us killing their insurgents and burning their towns.” He aimed his calar talons at either side of his head. “This, this is the face the humans will remember and hate. And as we grow stronger, the grubbers will find it useful for the humans and us to weaken each other in wars. They will play us one against the other. They baited the trap of this alliance with the promise of green worlds that were not ours. And what have we gained? Debt and a pointless waste of the blood of the brave.”
“So what would you suggest?”
“What I suggested from the first: that we side with the humans. They had the right of the Accord behind them. Our borders are far apart and we have no logical points of contention. And they can know both honor and the way of a warrior.”
Graagkhruud scoffed, looked at the smoking skyline. “This insurgency? You call this a war of honor?”
“I call it the war we forced them to fight.”
“Which they do not fight with honor.”
“Think of this as you would a Challenge. The Challenger calls for a test of Honor. What is the prerogative of the Challenged?”
Graagkhruud looked away. “The Choice of the Test.”
“Just so. That is what has happened here. We challenged the humans, so we cannot complain at their choice of weapons. That is the prerogative of those who have been Challenged—particularly when we attacked their homeworld. There may be fewer trained warriors among them, fewer who are ready to obey and die. But they are more inventive and better technologists, and quick to perceive and exploit new opportunities.”
“You are a traitor to your own race, servitor.”
“No. I am its true servant, because the prerequisite of success is a ruthlessly clear understanding of reality, of the facts with which we must contend. Without that, all plans begin in error, and so, they must end in disaster.”
“It is treason to speak so of First Voice’s plans, and you will pay for your insolence—but later.” Graagkhruud reared back, his crest erect. “You will accompany me to our interface craft. There we will gather what humans we can find, take them at gunpoint to orbit and use their lives as leverage to gain access to our craft and make our attack.” Yaargraukh made no move to comply or accompany him “Obey me, honorless pretender.”
Yaargraukh could not keep his crest from rising in response to “pretender,” the derogatory term for a Hkh’Rkh from the New Families. “I will not. And were I not your subalternate, I would challenge thee at this moment, in this place.”
Whether it was Yaargraukh’s disregard for the traditional authority of his Old Family leaders, his direct refusal to follow an order, or both, Graagkhruud raised up to his full height. As a sudden carpet-bombing sound built rapidly behind him, First Fist’s arms swept high, presaging a Challenge blow to the calmly waiting Advocate…
The bomb-thunder peaked. With a roar, the curtain wall behind them blew inward, spraying a cloud of both new and century-old cinderblocks into the volume of space occupied by the two Hkh’Rkh. Indonesian insurgents charged in immediately, following just behind the wave-front of debris, sprinting alongside chunks of rolling, clattering masonry—and over the prostrate forms of two Hkh’Rkh, whose argument of honor their demolition charges had preempted.
Permanently.
* * *
Trevor went past two prone Hkh’Rkh, recognized signs of high rank, shouted to Tygg. “We need those two alive. Leave someone you can trust on security, and take up positions to hold this ingress point.”
“Right. Beruwiak, get up here!”
Trevor pressed on, trying not to fall behind the nimble, lightly equipped insurgents that were with them. “Keep up, Stosh,” he called over his shoulder.
“Keep up yourself, sir.” The smaller, squarish SEAL passed him, huffing.
“Cruz, Barr, stay to the flanks and keep our guys moving in the same direction. Rulaine?”
“Sir?”
“Stay twenty meters behind me, with the Karpassos fire team. If anything happens to me—”
“Got it. I’m the shadow HQ. Give us a shout and we’ll provide covering fire if you get snagged and have to back out.”
Trevor smiled his thanks, hoped Rulaine would live. A good officer and a good guy.
“What about me, sir?” asked Gavin, the long barrel of the Remington M167 assault gun jaunting about like a naked flagpole.
“You’re also with Rulaine, Gavin. I want a good solid base of supporting fire, and you’re an artist with the Remington.”
“So I am sir. I’ll be your guardian angel.”
Gavin an angel? Heaven would blush. “Great.” Trevor drew abreast of Stosh as they neared the rally point from which they intended to rush into the inner compound—and he saw a figure staggering through the smoke toward them. It’s upright, so it can’t be an Arat Kur, and it’s too small to be a Hkh’Rkh. But it could still be trouble: Ruap’s troops or maybe some still-loyal clones. “Who goes there?”
A pause. “Trevor?”
Trevor placed the voice the same moment the face swam out of the humid mixture of mist and smoke: Caine Riordan. “Jesus—what the hell are you doing out here? Taking a walk?”
“More like a run. The Arat Kur have surrendered.” He shouted over the beginning of a few exultant shouts, including Stosh’s. “But the Hkh’Rkh wouldn’t have any part of it. They’ve gone rogue.”
“What’s their objective?”
“Not sure they’ve got one other than to kill as many of us as possible. They don’t have any real commo net left, so they’re defaulting to their basic game plan. When in doubt, terrorize the opposition with everything from knives to nukes until they cower in fear. Then take control.”
“They’re a little outnumbered for that strategy, don’t you think?”
“Of course, but at this stage, they’re not thinking. They’re operating as much on instinct as planning—and a bunch of them are after me, particularly.”
“You? Why you?”
“Long story. Worth telling if we’r
e both alive tomorrow.”
“Okay. Can you lead us to their command center?”
Caine looked around, squinting into the smoke. “Yeah—yeah, I think so. It’s over here near—”
Trevor caught his arm. “Whoa, let’s arm you first.” With one hand, he passed Caine a brace of smoke grenades, with the other, he reached back toward Cruz, who was unshouldering the rifle they were still carrying in anticipation of Winfield’s eventual return. “This is the eight-millimeter CoBro liquimix assault rifle: state of the art. I know we didn’t get a chance to train on one, but are you familiar with it?”
Caine hefted the long, light barrel. “Read about it.”
“Okay: here’s the quick rundown. All the weapon’s sensors feed data to the visor—yeah, there, hooked on the side—and include IR, laser-designator, rangefinder, and aimpoint. The video pickup gives you look-around/shoot-around capabilities at corners. The liquimix gives you plenty of control over projectile velocity and recoil, and provides the launching boost for the underslung smart semiautomatic grenade launcher. You’re familiar with that from Barney Deucy. It’s got dual purpose HE/frags in the tube. Got it?”
Caine nodded, a bit uncertainly. “Most of it. I’ll learn the rest on the job, I guess. You want their HQ?”
“Yup.”
“Then follow me.” And Caine jogged off into the fog.
Stosh looked after him. “Goddamnit, just what we need. Another officer.”
“He’s not really an officer, Stosh.”
Stosh looked Trevor straight in the eye. “Oh no? I’d know that tone anywhere. He was born an officer, even if he doesn’t know it yet.” And Stosh also disappeared into the mist.
As Trevor waved for the others to follow, he gritted his teeth and smiled at the same time: Damn Stosh, anyway.
North-Central Jakarta, Earth
Winfield held up a hand. The figures in the smoke up ahead stopped.
“Who goes there?”
“Insurgents,” responded a woman’s voice—a voice that was either American or Canadian.
“Come forward, but slowly,” ordered Commander Ayala as the rest of his Team fanned out.
They did. There must have been almost a hundred of them. At their head were two men, grizzled and wearing Kopassus uniforms that were about twenty years out of date, and a woman. The woman was so incongruous that Winfield forgot security considerations for a moment. She was tall, dark haired, fair-skinned, and with a figure that bordered on the dramatic. And stranger still, he knew her.
“Ms. Corcoran?”
She started, veered toward Winfield. “Do I know you—er, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t know if you remember me, ma'am. I was Trevor’s XO, when we rescued you on Mars last year.”
She flushed. “My god—yes, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you immediately. But I never expected to see you he—”
“Quite all right, ma’am. This is Commander Ayala, another SEAL. We’re heading to the Roach motel. Uh, I mean the—”
“Yes, Lieutenant Winfield, I know of it. That’s where we’re heading, too.”
Ayala stepped forward. “Ma’am, first—my respects for your Dad. Hell of a man. But I can’t let you go on to the enemy HQ. That’s going to be—well, pretty hairy.”
She smiled. “Commander, I understand, and I appreciate your concern. But all the same, I’m going.”
Ayala put his hands on his hips. “Listen, Ms. Corcoran, I don’t have the time—”
“Exactly right, Commander. You don’t have time stand around arguing. And since I’m a civilian, and you can’t order me about, I suggest—along with my one hundred or so friends—that you stop wasting your time on an argument you can’t win.”
Ayala seemed about to counterattack when Winfield leaned over. “Commander?”
“Yeah?”
“Captain Corcoran told us two important things about his sister.”
“And what were those?”
“Never hit on her, and never try to win an argument with her. Particularly when she’s backed by a hundred Indonesian insurgents.”
Ayala stared at Winfield and frowned. Then he looked at Elena and frowned some more. “So I guess you’re coming with us after all.”
She smiled the same smile Winfield remembered seeing in the pictures of her father. “I guess so.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Presidential Palace compound, Jakarta, Earth
Three more of the insurgents went down, one of them hit by so many of the large bore Hkh’Rkh assault rifle rounds that his torso went one way, and his groin and legs fell the other. Caine kneeled, saw a dim thermal silhouette bloom through the drifts—loping, loping—and squeezed off three shots. The bloom tumbled into a long lump on the ground and did not move.
“Riordan, did you hear me? Pull back! Now!”
Caine checked, saw another bloom pop up, sighted quickly, fired in that general direction, then spun on his heel and ran.
Five seconds of sprinting and he was going past the fire team of insurgents who had been ostensibly covering their retreat.
“Caine,” Trevor called from the smoke up ahead, “are you coming?”
“Yeah. I’ve gotta—”
Thunder shattered the sky overhead.
“What the hell—?” asked Cruz, whose crouched, upward-looking silhouette loomed suddenly out of the mists.
As if in answer to his question, the rain came down with a pervasive roar against the streets of Jakarta. Caine was soaked by the time he had run the additional ten meters to Trevor. “What do we do now?” he shouted over the driving monsoon and the intermittent crashing of nearby lightning strikes.
“We find another way to get to their command center. That’s got to be the better part of a platoon we ran into.”
“And we’d better regroup,” added Rulaine. “We lost contact with Tygg.”
“What about radios?”
“The signal is scratchy and in this soup, without GPS, and without a current map of this complex, we’re not navigating: we’re playing Marco Polo.”
Stosh watched the rain running off his nose. “How many combat effectives do we have left?”
Trevor did the headcount. “You, me, Cruz, Rulaine, Barr, Caine, maybe a dozen insurgents.”
A dozen insurgents? Out of almost forty? “Is that all?”
“That’s all. They hit us pretty bad. And they got Gavin where he set up the Remington.”
“Yeah,” muttered Barr, “and if it wasn’t for him cutting down their flankers, we’d be dead like him.”
“He was a hell of a shot.”
Caine stared at them, realized he could see them all a bit more clearly—“Shit! The rain is settling the mist. If we don’t move—”
At least a dozen automatic weapons—throaty and loud—opened up in unison. Some rounds bit into their scant cover: a low concrete berm ringing a cratered vertipad. More shouts and groans came from the insurgents in darkness behind them. Their covering force was taking losses. Trevor shouted that direction. “Everyone: fall back! Run!”
Caine sprinted away from the sound of the gunfire, wondering if he was the only one of the command group who was already following Trevor’s orders that they should all run like hell. Looking to right and left, he saw Stosh and Rulaine respectively, legs stretching, arms pumping. Well, at least I’m not the only one.
Behind them, there was more of the automatic weapons fire—this time punctuated by crackling hisses made by shrill projectiles which sliced the air about two feet over their heads. Shit. An Arat Kur coil gun. Just over his shoulder, speaking sharply above the gunfire and new screams, Trevor’s voice announced, “I recognize this area. Photos showed a work shed just ahead. Make for that.
“A work shed? That won’t stop a coil-gun—”
“It’s the only cover we can reach in time. Just keep running.”
“Keep running?” Caine tried to ignore his fear. As if you could make me stop.
Presidential Pa
lace, Jakarta, Earth
“Stay where you are,” ordered Opal. “Don’t move.”
The alien headquarters was filled with ruined equipment and dead Arat Kur, a few more well on their way to that same fate. One of the survivors rose up from the side of a very severely wounded comrade and seemed to stare at Opal.
“Major Patrone?”
What the—? “Do I know you?”
“Not really, but I knew of and saw you during the Convocation.”
So who the hell would—? And then she remembered Caine’s encounter in space. “Jesus! Are you Darzhee Kut?”
Despite the carnage, the destruction, the guttering flames, the two dozen short humans aiming guns at him, the Arat Kur sounded pleased. “Yes, it is indeed I, Major. I am, I suppose, glad to see you.”
“Er—likewise. I guess. Listen, let’s save the talk for some other time. Where’s Cai—um, Mr. Riordan?”
“The ambassador fled, pursued by one of the Hkh’Rkh.”
Ambassador? Well, it would be interesting to learn about that later, too. “Was Caine hurt?”
“I do not think so. Major, could you leave some of your men here with us. And a radio?”
O’Garran laughed. “You want us to get you some takeout food, as well? You’re lucky we don’t gut you here and now.”
Darzhee Kut seemed confused. “But—are you not the security forces of whom Downing spoke?”
Downing? Security forces? Opal squatted down. “Darzhee Kut, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His claws sagged, then came back up. “You have not heard. You are not part of the forces Richard Downing is sending.”
“Sending for what?”
“To protect us from the insurgents and the Hkh’Rkh.”
“What? Why protect you from your own allies?”
“Ah, again you do not know. We Arat Kur surrendered ten minutes ago. But the Hkh’Rkh did not. They are—they are in sun-time. All of them.”
Opal stared at Darzhee Kut but did not see him, could only hear her thoughts moving like a flume pushing through the smoke and dim orange emergency lights. Okay, gotta secure the HQ. Particularly since these are the senior staff. If they die, the situation could spin out of control. Well, further out of control. Besides, it’s good to have a place to fall back on. But I’ve gotta find Caine. He’s out there, unarmed, with a pack of mad-dog killer Sloths after him.
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