The Navigator (The Apollo Stone Trilogy Book 1)

by P. M. Johnson

  “You really don’t want us to have this do you,” said Logan with a grin as he looked down on Kurak.

  “It is a personal item,” said Kurak, suddenly showing a warm smile. “Keep it as my gift to you if you wish.”

  “We’ve had enough gifts from you,” said Lena.

  Kurak looked up at her. He shrugged his shoulders with indifference.

  “You smug son of a bitch,” said Cap. “You tried to wipe us out, but you failed. And now we know who you are. We’re going to kick your scaly asses off our planet!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Kurak with a surprised look on his face.

  “The asteroid attack,” said Cap. “We know it was you. And you’re going to pay. You and your nasty, pasty friends.”

  Kurak slowly shook his head, a menacing laugh bubbling up from his throat. “You stupid simpering Alamani,” he said, venom dripping from each word. “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

  He stared at Cap for a moment, then he spat at him. “You’re a damned infestation,” he snarled. “There won’t be one of you left on this planet when we’re finished. Your kind thought you could keep us under your heel, wipe us out. But now we’ve got our boot on your throat! This planet will soon be free of your stink!”

  “And I supposed the Sahiradin will replace us?” asked Lena.

  Kurak laid his head back on the cot and looked at the ceiling. “If we choose,” he said without looking at her.

  “Come now, Kurak,” said Ravenwood. “Let’s be honest. It has always been your plan to use Earth as a remote base to build your ships. And with the help of the Kaiytáva, you’ll attack the Lycians any place in the galaxy at the time of your choosing.”

  Kurak looked at Ravenwood, eyeing him up and down, and said, “I remember you from Jasper Air Base. I slit your stinking guts open. You should be dead.”

  “And your old bones should be in the foulest hole in the Sacred Mountain’s catacombs,” replied Ravenwood. “Yet, here we are.”

  Kurak narrowed his eyes and gave Ravenwood a long, appraising look. Then he said, “I don’t know what you are or why you think you know the truth, but you are misinformed. I wonder how many people have you misled with your ravings? Do you know who the Alamani were? What they did to my people? I…”

  “You’re not dealing with fools, Kurak!” said Ravenwood, cutting him off. “We are not the useful idiots you’ve been manipulating in the east. We know that with the Kaiytáva in your possession you will be able to go anywhere in the universe you choose. And you won’t need the nearby khâl gate any longer. You’ll disable it, and then it will be impossible for the Lycians to reach your safe haven on Earth.”

  “It is the Lycians who are the aggressors!” yelled Kurak. “The Sahiradin have always stood for what is just. We have always protected the Five Pillars of the Law against the assaults of the separatist Lycian scum, just as we did against the treacherous Alamani. We will annihilate the Lycians and these ignorant, mongrel Alamani descendants!”

  Ravenwood leaned closer to the Sahiradin’s face. “There is one more aspect of your plan we have not discussed. If Earth is to be used as a true safe haven, you will need to bring your queen here. She is your single source of reproduction, your sole means of regeneration. Without her the Sahiradin will die out. Tell me, is her new cycle upon us?”

  Kurak’s already pale face seemed to turn ashen as he listened to Ravenwood speak. He stared into the old man’s eyes as though trying to see behind them into his mind. He opened his mouth but no words came out. But the old hatred soon returned to his pale blue eyes and he regained control over himself.

  “Who are you?” he asked, angrily. “You’re not human. You’re not a true Alamani. They’re all dead, and you’re too oafishly big and hairy to be one. Who are you?!”

  Ignoring Kurak’s questions, Ravenwood continued asking about the queen. “I wonder if she’s on board one of those ships near our moon. I wonder if you’d risk bringing her here before you’ve secured the planet. Gamble it all with a desperate throw of the dice.”

  Kurak did not respond. But his eyes briefly betrayed a tumult of anger and fear roiling beneath the surface of his mind. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands into tight fists.

  “I suppose it would depend on how desperate the situation is on your home world. Wouldn’t it?” said Ravenwood. “If she is safe there, you’ll leave her. If she is threatened, you’ll move her.”

  Kurak closed his eyes, as if doing so would make Ravenwood disappear. “Theorize all you wish. Victory will be ours,” he said after a long pause. “I will no longer answer your questions.”

  Chapter 76

  After they left the medical tent, Logan asked Ravenwood if everything he’d said about the Sahiradin queen was true.

  “It is,” said Ravenwood. “Each Sahiradin generation comes from a single female, a queen. And she is fertile only once every ten Earth years. During her fertility period, she produces millions of eggs, which a single male consort fertilizes.”

  “Sounds exhausting,” said Cap.

  “I understand it is a rather tumultuous process,” said Ravenwood.

  “It explains why every Sahiradin looks so similar,” said Logan.

  “Each generation has its distinguishing characteristics because each is sired by a different male consort,” said Ravenwood. “But yes, there is a great deal of similarity within each generation.”

  “Why is she fertile only every ten years?” asked Cap. “Doesn’t seem like Mother Nature made a good evolutionary choice.”

  Ravenwood shrugged. “Yet each generation, millions of Sahiradin, reaches maturity in just ten years. Perhaps that is the reason.”

  “They mature that fast?” asked Logan.

  “Yes. And they train hard throughout their youth so they are ready to fight when they reach maturity.”

  They walked in silence for few moments. Then Lena asked, “If there’s only one fertile female, does it mean only males are born?”

  “Excellent question,” replied Ravenwood with a smile. “The answer is no. Although the very large majority of offspring a queen produces is male or gender neutral, some females are born, but they are not fertile. Only when the queen is in the final cycle of her life will she produce a fertile female to replace her.”

  “What are the gender-neutral Sahiradin like?” asked Cap.

  “Surprisingly unaggressive. They are used as servants, builders, administrators, that sort of thing,” said Ravenwood. “They are also responsible for rearing the young Sahiradin.”

  “What about the sterile females?” asked Logan. “I don’t think we’ve seen any female Sahiradin yet. Are they not allowed to be soldiers?”

  Ravenwood looked at Logan and his eyes grew dark. “Quite the contrary. Although there are few females born, they are the most formidable warriors the Sahiradin have. And they are totally committed to protecting the queen. They make up her personal guard, the Karazan. You will know a Karazan from her long dark hair and blood-red armor.”

  “We haven’t seen any soldiers in red,” said Cap. “They’ve all been males in black armor.”

  Ravenwood nodded and said, “Be thankful you haven’t. I doubt you will see any Karazan on Earth. The queen periodically sends a certain number of them into battle to keep them sharp and satisfy their bloodlust. But as I say, there are few of them and they are rarely seen.”

  “But if we do see one,” continued Lena, “how should we fight them? What are their vulnerabilities?”

  “They have none to my knowledge,” said Ravenwood. “And they usually fight in cohorts of twenty, so where there’s one, many more are certainly nearby.”

  Ravenwood stopped and faced Lena. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re extremely talented. No doubt you’ve been training since you were quite young.”

  “Yes,” she said. “My father insisted on it, so I grew up playing with swords instead of dolls. My trainer was a Baku Sword Master.”

 
; Logan raised an eyebrow upon hearing this. The Baku of the northern Himalayas were regarded as the deadliest swordsmen in the world, pre- and post-Impact. Logan had heard stories, perhaps apocryphal yet widely believed, that Baku warriors had defended their homeland against post-Impact Chinese, Indian, and Russian invaders using nothing more than iron blades and deadly cunning. Legends say that foreign soldiers would awaken, horrified by the discovery that every fourth comrade’s throat had been slit while they slept. After a few such experiences, terrorized armies would refuse to march any farther into Baku territory, forcing several ambitious despots to abandon their dreams of forging a Central Asian empire. And those armies which nevertheless pressed on into the foothills of Hell’s Teeth, as the mountains in that region had come to be known, were soon cut to pieces by Baku warriors.

  Yet, despite offers of wealth and power, the Baku rarely revealed their warrior secrets to outsiders because their skills were not simply martial in nature. The way of the blade, as they called it, was deeply rooted in ancient mysticism which few non-Baku truly understood. The fact that Lena trained under a Baku Sword Master spoke both to her father’s influence and to her natural talent. The Baku would never waste their time on anyone who was anything less than exceptional.

  Ravenwood smiled and said, “The Baku are extraordinary swordsmen.” He paused and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Yet, despite your skills, if you see a Karazan, my advice is to run. Run like hell’s demons are at your throat. Because they are, my dear. They truly are.”

  Chapter 77

  Once again inside the command tent, Logan held Kurak’s medallion near the gold sphere, but the little interface port did not open. He pulled the medallion away and tried again, but nothing happened.

  “What are we waiting for?” asked Consul Sawyer, impatiently.

  “It’s supposed to open up,” said Logan. “The stone should be inside.”

  “Are you sure this is the key to open it?” she asked.

  “Pretty sure, yes.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised it doesn’t open,” said Ravenwood. “This medallion may be just one part of the key. The Sahiradin could easily have encrypted it for voice recognition or a verbal password as well.”

  “So the medallion is useless,” said General Longmire.

  “Not useless,” said Ravenwood. “Just insufficient by itself.”

  “Let’s go talk to our prisoner again,” said Cap. “He knows the password.”

  Ravenwood shook his head. “He won’t tell us.”

  “What if we beat the hell out of him?” asked Cap. “I’ll go first.”

  “Sahiradin thrive on physical confrontation,” said Lena. “He might actually like it. It would be an opportunity to prove his worth.”

  “I agree,” said Ravenwood. “It would allow him to reaffirm his warrior code. He would also enjoy seeing how desperate we’ve become.”

  Logan looked at Ravenwood and said, “Do you speak their language?”

  Ravenwood gave a slight shrug. “I know something of it, yes,” he said. “It is an exceedingly ugly language, and I prefer not to speak it.”

  “You’ll need to get over that,” replied Logan. “You might be the only one who can open the sphere.”

  “It could be any word or phrase,” protested Ravenwood. “The chances of my guessing the right thing are very slim. Slim beyond calculation.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” said Sawyer, fixing her gaze on Ravenwood.

  “Very well,” said Ravenwood, reluctantly. “Let me have the medallion and I will try.”

  Chapter 78

  On board the Lycian ship, Intrepid, Admiral Var-Imar was giving final instructions for the upcoming battle against the Sahiradin fleet. She had read the report of the recent land battle between the Alamani and the Sahiradin. Though well versed in military history, she struggled to recall any precedents for what the report had said.

  “I find it difficult to believe the Alamani are capable of engaging the Sahiradin in battle at all, much less doing so well against them,” she said to her first officer. “The histories of the great Sahiradin betrayal and subsequent massacres make no reference to Alamani directly engaging in battle. Never. Not once.”

  “I agree that it is perplexing, Admiral,” said the first officer.

  Admiral Var-Imar continued. “Of course the Alamani helped the Lycian allies develop advanced weapons and ships, but they never directly participated in any battles. Even when the Sahiradin put them to the blade by the thousands, they did not fight back, always preferring to run. Physical conflict simply was not in their nature, as impossible for them as sprouting wings and flying away.

  “Admiral,” said one of the officers near a tactical display station. “The Sahiradin are landing their troops. Our fighter craft are engaging but the enemy transports are protected by a strong contingent of escort fighters. We expect the large majority of their troops will reach P3’s surface unharmed.”

  “Understood,” said Var-Imar. She looked at her first officer and said, “Commander, give the order to land troops. And I want an immediate report on how the Alamani respond. We believe they understand our intentions, but there’s no guarantee they will welcome our presence.”

  “Yes admiral.”

  The commander walked toward one of the duty stations. Moments later, Admiral Var-Imar looked at the large three-dimensional display showing the troop transports and their fighter escorts flowing from the Lycian ships toward the long river on the land mass below them. When the last of the ships was under way, Var-Imar looked around the bridge. Apprehensive faces watched the ships as they descended to the planet’s surface, momentarily glowing from the friction of passing through the atmosphere.

  “Open a line to all ships,” said Var-Imar to her communications officer. A moment later the officer nodded her head.

  “Lycian brothers and sisters,” said the admiral in a strong voice. “Now that the Sahiradin are landing their main force, they’ll send their fleet against us. I don’t need to tell you how disastrous it would be if the Sahiradin Scales regain the last Kaiytáva. None of our worlds will be safe from them. And if they expel us from this remote system, we will have no way of retaliating. They will have control of the only khâl, and although we are building a second one, it will not be completed soon enough. That means we are it. We are the only members of the Lycian Alliance who can prevent the Sahiradin from destroying cities and indiscriminately killing millions upon millions of us.”

  Var-Imar gave her listeners a moment to consider her words, then she said, “You’re all aware of the roles you play in our battle plan. Some of you will be fighting on the surface of a new world populated by a strange new species. Some of you will face the dangers of ship-to-ship battle. But be strong – understand that with every Scale you kill, that’s one less who can murder our families.”

  “Now, we all know the Scales are determined warriors. We must match that determination and surpass it with an iron will to win this battle. Our plan of attack is a good one, but timing is absolutely critical. If everyone performs his or her duty, we will be victorious. The Ancestors’ blessing on you all.”

  Chapter 79

  Colonel Linsky sat in the back seat of the PRA Army staff officer vehicle. A small SPD flag waved over its left headlight, and the PRA national flag waved above the right one. He looked out the left side window and gazed at the ancient train tracks. Just beyond them was the Mississippi River, still swollen from spring rains and snowmelt. To his right was dense forest and high hills, populated by wild tribes and Dellian fanatics.

  Linsky’s vehicle approached a column of regular army troops marching north. The soldiers shifted to the right in order to allow his vehicle to pass. A few saluted as he drove by. Linsky occasionally returned the salute with a touch to the rim of his hat with his left hand. After about ten minutes his vehicle caught up to the Special Forces troops. Linsky looked at their faces and knew the Red Legs were hardened veterans, every last one of t
hem. They were marching in four straight columns. They moved to the side so he could pass, but they did not salute. Finally, Linsky reached the armored column. Tanks, armored vehicles, and artillery units travelled in two columns, one on each side of the train tracks, forcing Linsky’s driver to drive on the railroad ties. Linsky placed his hand on the seat to steady himself as the staff car bumped and slid on the uneven surface.

  Linsky knew the soldiers didn’t like having to march from the place thirty kilometers to the south where they had disembarked from the trains. If things had gone according to plan, the one hundred thousand troops of the First Corp would have ridden by train across the river and as far south on the west side as the tracks would allow. At that point, they would have marched into the heart of the League and slammed into the northern flank of the enemy.

  But those plans had to be modified because the only repairable bridge for five hundred kilometers up or down the river had been demolished by a handful of League troopers. But the loss of the bridge simply delayed the inevitable. The First Corp was adapting to the situation and would still achieve its objective of uniting with the much larger PRA force near St. Louis. The armies were like a hammer and anvil, and together they would crush the much smaller League army.

  Linsky looked ahead and saw that the twin columns of armored vehicles were splitting away from the train tracks and following an old road up into the hills overlooking the river valley. Linsky’s vehicle had difficulty weaving between tanks to reach the top, but once there Linsky ordered the driver to stop. He got out and surveyed the landscape. He could see the small League force on the western side of the river. To his right he saw PRA soldiers busily positioning artillery pieces that would soon begin pummeling the League camp into dust. In addition to the artillery, a number of tanks had already formed a line on the edge of the hill. Their guns were pointed high, ready for a high-trajectory bombardment.