But what choice did he really have? If he failed to make the assassination attempt, Hak-Bin would kill him for sure. No, all he could do was carry out the plan and hope for the best.
More than a hundred units before, Asteroid O Λ 2103 had been equipped with external engines and mined. Then, after all the useful minerals had been extracted, the interior surface had been sealed and filled with water. An extremely valuable substance during long journeys between the stars. Nearly empty now, the asteroid awaited a new supply of H2O for use by the next generation of Saurons. Assuming that Hak-Bin was able to restore order, and had sufficient slaves to carry out the work, none of which was certain.
Rather than mate with one of the huge intake ports, the way a tanker would, the shuttle nosed into one of two open docking stations. The pilots, both of whom were Ra ‘Na collaborators, established lock-to-lock contact and killed power. The copilot released his harness, got up, and left the control room. He half expected to find that his passenger was up and waiting next to the hatch, but such was not the case. Tog remained strapped into his seat. “We have arrived, excellency . . . You can disembark whenever you choose.”
Tog nodded. “Thank you.” It took all the strength the prelate could muster to release his harness, come to his feet, and shuffle toward the lock. Air hissed, pressures were equalized, and Tog passed through the surface station and into the asteroid’s interior. Countless layers of pale yellow paint had been applied to the walls of the main passageway. It ramped downward and curved at the same time. A neatly painted sign commanded Tog to follow the illuminated line in case of a fire, power failure, or pressure leak.
The deck, which consisted of duracrete rather than metal, had been buffed to a high sheen. There were what appeared to be skid marks, barely noticeable lines that might or might not be consistent with slip-slide movements Saurons made whenever they were forced to walk. Did that mean that the Kan were where they were supposed to be? Waiting to bail Tog out? Or did that amount to wishful thinking? There was no way to be sure.
Because the main chamber was practically empty and had been undergoing maintenance prior to the rebellion, it was readily accessible via thick metal doors. These opened inward, so that when the chamber was full, water pressure would act to seal them against the walls of the reservoir and prevent any chance of a potential blowout. Why Hak-Bin and his staff had chosen this particular venue for the meeting was not only a mystery—but one Tog was unlikely to solve.
The prelate paused outside access hatch six, took a look around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. That being the case, there was nothing to do but step inside.
The main chamber was huge. Roughly spherical in shape, like the asteroid itself, the walls of the reservoir consisted of native rock covered with gray spray-on sealant. The storage tank’s floor was somewhat irregular, which meant that pools of water remained below the central column and the lowest set of water intake pipes. The central part of the structure was comprised of a metal pillar intended to strengthen the asteroid and hold it together. Winding their way around the supporting member and climbing toward the roof above was an ivylike maze of pipes, pumps, and platforms. Powerful work lights, rigged for the benefit of the maintenance crews, bathed the interior with harsh white light.
Tog felt very small as he stepped out onto one of six causeways that connected various access doors with the central pump column. Metal clanged as the Ra ‘Na made his way out toward the center of the chamber where, by the terms of the agreement, the meeting was scheduled to take place.
Once there Tog experienced something akin to an anticlimax since there was no one to talk to and nothing to do. The next fifteen units passed slowly. Water dripped from somewhere high above, hit the pool below Tog’s feet, and sent ripples out to the edge of the pond. A pump started up, ran for a few moments, and shut itself off.
Then, just as Tog was starting to believe that Rul wouldn’t come, he heard a distant clang. Then, a few units later, a hatch opened, and Rul stepped out onto the same causeway Tog had made use of earlier. Consistent with the terms of the agreement, two bodyguards followed the prelate out toward the center of the tank. However, much to Tog’s amazement, both were human. Had Hak-Bin anticipated such a possibility? Or were the Kan counting on smaller, less threatening adversaries? Assuming they were present at all. Tog felt his heart pump a little faster.
If Rul was frightened, or intimidated by the Grand Vizier’s presence, there was absolutely no sign of it as the prelate arrived on the central platform and stopped a few units away. As always his robes were plain and bereft of any ornament. The greeting was polite but cool. “Greetings, Dro Tog . . . you look well.”
Tog inclined his head. “As do you. Thank you for coming.”
“P’ere Dee insisted that I bring bodyguards,” Rul continued apologetically. “The female is called Jill Ji-Hoon . . . and the male is named Vilo Kell. The entire area was searched a few units ago—but they want to scan you too.”
Tog nodded to the humans. The female nodded in response, stepped forward, and produced a paddle-shaped device. She wore a translator, and the words had a formal quality. “Hold your arms away from your body please.”
The prelate did as he was told and held his breath as the metal detector was passed over each surface of his body. The woman nodded, said, “Thank you,” and returned to her previous position.
“So,” Rul said, “P’ere Has indicates that you are ready to join the resistance . . . Is this true?”
Tog slipped both hands into opposite sleeves, found the weapon with his right, and wrapped his fingers around the handle. Hours had been spent pulling the gun out of the arm holster, and the prelate felt confident that he could manage it. The rod, the one he would use to summon help, was clutched in his left hand. The trick would be to thumb the button prior to pulling the pistol.
“Yes,” Tog replied, “I am. I still favor order over disorder, but the slaughter must stop.” And it was then, as Tog mouthed the words, that a face appeared in front of his eyes. The face belonged to Isk, one of the four Ra ‘Na who had witnessed Hak-Bin’s surgery and subsequently been put to death.
Suddenly, deep within, something broke loose, rose to the surface, and blocked the prelate’s throat. Words refused to come, muscles wouldn’t respond, and tears streaked his fur. Part of him wanted to thumb the button, to pull the weapon, but another part resisted. The result was no motion whatsoever.
That was the moment when Lim-Tam, consistent with the considerable latitude granted him by Hak-Bin, decided it was time to intervene. A team of Ra ‘Na had searched the tank earlier but failed to find him. The humans were something of a surprise, but they were outnumbered two to one, and that advantage would suffice. He signaled his companions and they dropped straight down.
Kell sensed the movement above before he actually saw it, drew both handguns, and was firing before the Kan had dropped more than twenty-five of the fifty feet that separated the pump platform from the ground. The human knew it was iffy, knew he’d be lucky to hit one of the warriors before their feet touched down, and resolved to monitor his ammo. Once the Kan were down it would be damned embarrassing to stand there clicking at them.
Alerted by Kell, Ji-Hoon fired as well, empty casings arcing away to plop into the water below. One of the Kan did a half somersault and smashed his head onto the causeway. A second screamed, managed to land upright, but died with two bullets through his thorax.
Perhaps it was the gunfire, or a previously unknown reservoir of strength, but whatever the reason, Tog discovered he could move again. The prelate looked up, saw the blur of falling bodies, and drew the specially designed weapon. Then, for reasons Tog wouldn’t have been able to articulate, the cleric pushed Rul off the causeway.
The other Ra ‘Na was still falling, still breaking the surface of the water, when the third Kan landed. As luck would have it his big flat feet hit metal almost directly in front of the Grand Vizier’s position. Tog pointed the weapon, squeezed the tri
gger, and was rewarded with a loud bang. The slug punched a hole through the Sauron’s throat. It was difficult to say who was the more surprised, Tog, or the warrior himself. Blood sprayed front and back. The Kan collapsed.
Astounded by the enormity of what he had done, Tog dropped the gun and turned as the fourth Kan landed on the platform. He tried to explain. “It was an accident! I didn’t meant to shoot but the . . .”
Lim-Tam put a dart through the slave’s head, swung his weapon to the left, and staggered under the impact of three .9mm slugs. The Kan ordered his pincer to squeeze, couldn’t get the message through, and fell backward into the water below. There was a splash as both bodyguards slammed fresh magazines into their respective weapons. “Is that all of them?” Kell asked, scanning the structures above.
“Looks like it,” Ji-Hoon said, nudging a body with her boot. “If there were more, we would have heard from them by now.”
“Probably,” Kell agreed, “but I see no reason to linger. I’ll grab the padre—you scout ahead.”
Ji-Hoon headed for the other end of the causeway as Kell pulled Dro Rul out of the bloodstained water. The prelate shook himself like a dog, and water flew in every direction. “Thank you.”
Kell shrugged. “You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get out of here before the reinforcements arrive.”
“Yes,” Rul agreed, “that makes sense . . . There’s something I must do first, however.” So saying, Dro Rul walked over to the place where Dro Tog had fallen and knelt next to his body. Then, forcing himself to ignore the fear that urged him to run, the prelate recited the same death toth he had so recently administered to hundreds of others.
Finally, coming to his feet, the cleric uttered the only eulogy Tog was likely to receive. “Glutton, liar, and collaborator. Brother Tog was those and more . . . But finally, in spite of his many failings, Tog was a patriot. May his soul find everlasting peace.” Then, still clad in his soaking-wet robes, Rul left the platform. The day was only half-over, and he had work to do.
7
DEATH DAY MINUS 7
SATURDAY, JULY 25, 2020
Freedom suppressed and again regained bites with keener fangs than freedom never endangered.
—MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO
De Officiis, 44 B.C.
ABOARD THE SAURON SUPPLY SHIP AK TA BE, (WORLD LIFTER)
The birth chamber would have been an exact duplicate of those on the planet below had it not been for the fact that the walls were completely transparent—providing a clear view of the Fon who squatted within. His name was Nis-All, and unlike most early changers, certain substances had been administered to the functionary to not only jump-start the birth process, but produce an entirely new result. One that could not only rescue the Sauron race from at least some of the difficulties it faced—but vault Ott-Mar and his entire line into a position of prominence. All subject to Hak-Bin’s approval of course.
Rather than locate his laboratory on one of the larger, more important vessels, where it was likely to attract unwanted attention, Ott-Mar had chosen to place the facility on a humble supply ship. Not only that, but by way of further ensuring the laboratory’s continued security the Zin had even gone so far as to insist that the ship be crewed almost entirely by Saurons. That being the case, it had been a simple matter to eliminate all five of his Ra ‘Na technicians immediately after the start of the rebellion, thereby ensuring that no word of his highly sensitive experiments leaked to the resistance. But now, with the experiment nearly complete, it was time to share his findings with others. Assuming that Hak-Bin honored his promise to come. That’s why Ott-Mar felt a profound sense of relief when the Fon spoke over the intercom. “Lord Hak-Bin has arrived . . . and is on his way to the laboratory.”
For his part the subject of Ott-Mar’s concerns felt anything but relieved as he followed a slightly swollen Fon down the supply ship’s main corridor. No matter how carefully Hak-Bin’s plans were conceived, no matter how well they were executed it seemed that all of them turned to dra. Recent examples included the manner in which the catalyst factory had been destroyed—and the botched assassination attempt. Not only would the surviving factory be unable to meet demand, but the rebellious Dro Rul had consolidated his power and was using it to launch raids against Sauron assets.
Now, just as Hak-Bin was preparing to shift his head-quarters from orbit down to the southern citadel, Ott-Mar had requested that he stop off on one of the fleet’s least distinguished vessels. In fact, had the request originated with anyone other than the birthmaster Hak-Bin would have ignored it. But Ott-Mar knew him, knew the kind of pressure he was under, and was unlikely to waste his time. Or so Hak-Bin assumed as the servile Fon opened a hatch labeled, “Storeroom, Saurons Only,” and ushered the Zin inside.
The lights were extremely bright, and Hak-Bin blinked as he looked around. He saw pumps, ventilators, and life-support modules, tubes that ran every which way, and there, at the very center of the tangle, a transparent box. However, before Hak-Bin could examine the misshapen mass that squatted within, Ott-Mar was there to greet him. “Welcome, my lord, thank you for coming.” The scientist looked a bit bloated—and had clearly entered the change.
“I can’t say that it’s a pleasure,” Hak-Bin replied, “not with all the problems I have, but my presence speaks volumes. You asked that I come, and here I am.”
“And I’m grateful,” Ott-Mar said sincerely. “Very grateful . . . Now, knowing how busy you are, I’ll come straight to the point.”
“I’d be grateful if you would,” Hak-Bin replied, peering into the experimental birth chamber. “Who, or what, is that?”
“His name is Nis-All,” Ott-Mar answered carefully, “and he’s about to give birth.”
“Any idiot could see that,” Hak-Bin said impatiently, “but so what?”
“No offense,” Ott-Mar responded, “but thousands of our brethren have been murdered by the slaves, and now, with only one catalyst factory still on-line, hundreds of thousands will die without successfully giving birth. In fact, based on my projections, it appears as though up to fifty percent of the race is at risk.”
“So?” Hak-Bin demanded harshly. “What is, is.”
“True,” Ott-Mar agreed diplomatically, “but unusual situations call for unusual solutions. If you would be so kind as to wait one moment, I will demonstrate what I mean.” So saying, Ott-Mar stepped over to a jury-rigged control panel, released a carefully calibrated dose of birth catalyst, and watched the liquid surge through a length of plastic tubing.
Hak-Bin saw the creature that had been Nis-All jerk in response to the sudden influx of chemicals, heard the functionary’s chitin crack as it gave under pressure, and watched the dark glistening birth sac billow out onto the floor.
Nis All screamed, a long mournful sound that served to remind Hak-Bin of the pain he had experienced prior to the recent operation. He turned to Ott-Mar. “Is there something you can do for him? He’s in pain.”
“Not anymore,” the other Zin replied. “Nis-All has gone to be with his ancestors. Now, watch the birth sac. This should be interesting.”
Hak-Bin forced himself to look even though the sight of it made him feel dizzy. Fluid continued to pulse through the braided umbilicals as Nis-All’s body transferred what remained of his life force to the next generation. The podlike sac shivered, parted as razor-sharp teeth sliced through the translucent tissue, then shivered again. Hak-Bin watched in amazement as not one, not two, but three new Saurons entered the world. He turned to Ott-Mar. His voice was filled with awe. “Will each be different?”
“Each nymph is an exact replica of its parent,” Ott-Mar answered proudly, “but, thanks to variations in experience, will develop separate personalities.”
“So, you can apply this process now? To our generation?”
“I can apply it to those who have access to birth catalyst,” the other Zin answered carefully, “thereby increasing the number of Saurons who are born. As for those who lack the catalyst�
��I’m afraid their lines will come to an end.”
All three of the nymphs were visible by then, busily consuming what remained of the nutrient-rich birth sac, and occasionally pausing to nudge each other.
Hak-Bin took a moment to consider Ott-Mar’s words. Thousands of lines would come to an end. That was unfortunate, but thousands would be strengthened as well. The main thing was that the race would not only survive but prosper. He offered a gesture of respect. “You did all of the research yourself?”
“Not entirely,” Ott-Mar admitted modestly. “Some of the knowledge I needed was resident in the Ra ‘Na archives . . . and the rest came from the humans. The application of their theories . . . that was mine.”
“The race owes you a considerable debt of gratitude,” Hak-Bin said sincerely. “I will instruct my staff to provide whatever materials you may require. Given that the second citadel continues to be more secure than the first, I suggest that you start your efforts there.”
Ott-Mar bowed. “It shall be as you say, excellency.”
Hak-Bin started to leave, paused, and turned back. “And my nymph? How many will there be?”
“One, my lord, since your nymph was nearly mature when you made the decision to intervene.”
Hak-Bin took note of the manner in which responsibility had been assigned to him, knew it was fair, and nodded. “And yours?”
“There will be three Ott-Mars, excellency . . . assuming you approve.”
Conscious of the fact that there was very little he could do to stop the scientist, not given the present situation, Hak-Bin could do little but agree. “The more Ott-Mars the better,” he heard himself say, but couldn’t help but wonder. How much power was he ceding to the scientist anyway? And how would his nymph keep three such minds in check?
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