by Andy Kasch
Everyone else was one level below. There were five Azaarians present, including the general Brandon had met with on Azaar. The two of them exchanged slight nods as Brandon and Milon4 were led up the stairs to their own stations. Their seats were slightly separated from those of the other Torians in attendance—Brandon counted seven of them besides General Islog8.
Brandon and Milon4 sat down. Several additional Dirgs came in before the doors were shut. A green light glowed from underneath the frosty glass desktops and a low humming sound buzzed overhead. The sound then faded, probably signifying that the audio system was now on.
One of the Dirgs wore a distinguished uniform. He leaned forward in his seat towards the microphone. At the same time, the lighting dimmed and the floor became a video screen with a frozen image of a galactic map. Brandon thought it looked familiar. A hush fell upon the room as the important-looking Dirg spoke.
“I am Prime Minister Delchib of the Republic of Dirg. I wish to thank our friends and allies, Tora and Azaar, for their great sacrifice in helping us today, and also for their attendance to this council of war. The casualty numbers from today’s battle will be available momentarily. Of greatest importance, of course, is deciding what our future policies will be regarding the current threat. To that end, so we may all become aware of exactly what we are up against, we gratefully present this intelligence video brought to us today by Azaar.” The Prime Minister was careful with his words, speaking slowly. At his references to casualties and the enemy his voiced hissed slightly.
The video began playing. It was narrated in an Azaarian accent. Before long, Brandon realized why the video seemed familiar. It contained some of the scenes he had barely been able to make out in the garbled secret message the Chenel had given him in the charm bracelet. In fact, it might even be the same video. As he watched, Brandon came to realize just how essential it had been that he sent Perry back home with it. This is what Tora had been desperately seeking for five years: vital information on the identity, location, size, and intentions of the unknown dark-ship enemy.
Unfortunately, their size wasn’t fully known—but was estimated to be huge. Their intentions were nothing less than invasion. The enemy called themselves the Ossurian Empire. They were a race of beings originally from a planet named Ossur, somewhere outside the Erobian Sphere, said to be located close to the center of the galaxy. They were intelligent and advanced, obviously, and had apparently conquered a vast galactic area consisting of dozens of inhabitable worlds. Their next move was to expand into the Erobian Sphere.
The Ossurians considered themselves a superior race of beings and held a peculiar religious belief of having descended from an original “pure galactic race.” This assertion fueled their ambitions for expansion. They believed they had the right of inheritance to the entire galaxy. Their eco-political system was strictly socialist. Consequently, they considered free societies which condoned capitalism evil.
The Azaarian maps showed the suspected level of penetration the Ossurians had currently reached in the sphere. It included the “gone silent worlds” along the outer rim that Olut6 had been suspicious of, but also, more significantly, a network of inhabitable dwarf worlds—including HD28, which was in the same system as where the surrendered Latian fleet had been moored. The Ossurians were establishing secret underground military bases on the dwarf planets.
Their approach to handling the larger advanced worlds along the rim was disheartening. The Azaarians claimed they had been convincingly threatened with annihilation if they failed to cooperate with Ossurian infiltration into their society. This involved a gradual changing of their economic system to Ossurian socialism. An armed “civilian” force now dwelt among them. The Ossurians on Azaar held important governmental seats, sat on the boards of the largest companies, directed the military, and had taken over the universities. Resistors were executed and any large-scale rebellion would result in a visit from the attack satellites. This is how it was at the other socially-conquered worlds as well, including Latia. In fact, it was believed that Azaar and Latia were the first worlds contacted by the Ossurians approximately forty years ago.
The video ended with close-up pictures of the Ossurian beings. They were revolting to Brandon, but he realized what he now knew about them probably had a lot to do with that.
Someone handed the Dirg Prime Minister a small device. He held it in front of him and proceeded to read the casualty numbers from today. Tora lost 67 regular fighters, three special interstellar fighters, and one transport ship. Azaar lost 42 fighters. Dirg lost 319 fighters and two warships. Enemy losses were impossible to estimate, but they were thought to be more than twice the combined allied losses—not counting the stolen Latian transport ships.
The Prime Minister then spoke to the Azaarian officials.
“We thank you for sharing this important intelligence. Our demolition teams are presently at work attempting to disassemble the enemy’s attack satellites. Once fully examined, we hope to have an easier time engineering additional defense methods against them. It is unfortunate that we have yet to capture an enemy fighter still intact. Can you reveal what your plan is to eradicate the Ossurian presence from within your society?”
An Azaarian official replied.
“The moment we engaged them today, we sent a runner ship home to give the signal for the commencement of a special operation. It has been painstakingly plotted and held ready to initiate on a moment’s notice. A large-scale coordinated execution will take place, carried out by special agents. By this time tomorrow, no Ossurians will be alive on Azaar. We will then have placed ourselves in tremendous peril, Prime Minister, and will have to attend to the defense of our world.”
“We can help you with that,” the Prime Minister responded. “But first, can you explain to this council the logic behind your chosen actions in the battle today? Specifically, the reasons for maintaining your position on the battlefield for the length of time that you did, and what prompted you to attack the enemy at the time you moved on them?”
“I’ll let General Tzokl answer that.” The Azaarian official sat back and the Azaarian general Brandon knew leaned forward.
“It was a difficult tactical situation, Prime Minister. We were hesitant to join the battle while the enemy force remained overpowering. You must understand they expected us to be their ally, not yours. Changing sides in a war is a precarious matter. We waited for the opportunity to surprise them and deliver a crushing blow, which we believed we accomplished. In the meantime, you may rest assured we were …rooting for you.” The general shot Brandon an appreciative glance as he finished speaking.
“Good enough,” the Prime Minister said. “Let the record show that Azaar has confirmed their allegiance to the Dirg and Torian alliance against our common enemy the Ossurians. Unless I’m mistaken?”
General Tzokl leaned forward again. “No mistake. We’re willing to negotiate in all matters of strategic alliance, as long as it is acknowledged that the defense of Azaar is our utmost priority at the moment, since we now expect to be attacked. We say this knowing the tremendous task that lies ahead, hoping for additional races to join in the alliance. The Ossurians will have to be methodically removed from the other worlds they have infiltrated, and it won’t be an easy job. Especially their underground military bases on the dwarf planets.”
At this point General Islog8, sitting five seats to the right of Brandon, spoke into his microphone.
“I’ve received a runner message from Tora an hour ago, General Tzokl. We’ve already begun eradication expeditions to the dwarf worlds, to expel them from their strongholds. As I speak, we’re preparing to move on three of them. Hoping to catch them while they’re weak, before they can recuperate from today’s fight.”
“How can that be?” General Tzokl asked. “You’ve just received this intelligence for the first time, right here in this council.”
“Not true, General. We managed to get some of it almost a week ago.” Islog8 glanced at Brandon,
perhaps unintentionally. General Tzokl seemed to notice. He then also looked back at Brandon. This time he wasn’t smiling.
“Very good,” the Dirg Prime Minister interjected. “General Tzokl, our technicians are prepared to go over defense systems specifics with your team in Bunker 4. Before we conclude, does anyone else have any questions or statements?”
Brandon leaned forward and cleared his throat into his microphone. Everyone looked at him.
“I’m wondering how the …Ossurians are able to convince an entire world to adapt new economic and political systems. In my experience, free societies are usually willing to defend their way of life to the death. I have a difficult time envisioning a willing conversion to socialism.”
General Tzokl replied. “Fear of annihilation can be persuasive when presented as an imminent reality. Unfortunately, our world was given an effective demonstration.”
“I’m sorry to learn that,” Brandon said. “The demonstration must have been convincing indeed, to have swayed billions of free citizens to relinquish their independence.”
The first Azaarian official held his hand at the general, stopping his further response. He leaned forward again and spoke.
“Your conjecture is valid. Perhaps Earthlings are a particularly resilient species. Let me assure you the enemy is skilled at this. Azaar is a strong society—yet even we found ourselves methodically subdued, conceding to gradual changes while fear of greater loss was held over our heads. The process of removing a people’s freedoms would seem to be best accomplished in a measured fashion. It’s frightening, though, to see the totality of what they accomplished over the last few decades. Those changes could never have been so abrupt, or we would have chosen to fight to possible extinction. But when they were doled out progressively, with one concession following another, we allowed it to happen, becoming willingly blind to our growing subjection.”
“Thank you,” Brandon said. “That makes more sense to me. I’m certain it can also serve as a proper warning to all of us. Hopefully.”
“It greatly helped with their efforts,” the Azaarian official added, “that they inundated our society with highly addictive distractions.”
“Distractions?”
“Yes. The successful introduction of new avocations which withdrew our citizens from their environment. Certain games, musical instruments, and most recently substance abuse. We can eliminate the Ossurians from our world in a day, but removing their destructive influence upon our society will take many years, perhaps decades.”
“I see. Thank you.” Brandon didn’t need to ask him if polwar and the tupinx were Ossurian in origin. He knew it now with absolute certainty.
The Prime Minister ended the conference and the attendees filed out of the room. Brandon was slow in leaving. So was Admiral Hochob. Brandon found he and Milon4 walking with him through the interior of the Dirg military base afterwards. Brandon let the admiral know how happy he was to see he survived the battle.
“And I offer my utmost, heartfelt condolences on the terrible devastation that must have come upon your world today.” As Brandon spoke, he saw the Azaarians getting into an underground lift with some of the Dirg officials—what must have been the way to Bunker 4—and wondered why the Azaarians looked so enthusiastic to receive plans for a defense technology that no longer worked.
Admiral Hochob stopped.
“You haven’t been told yet, have you?”
“Told what?” Brandon asked.
“About the damage to Dirg today. One desalination facility was destroyed, on a small island. No deaths. No other property damage.”
Brandon cocked his head. “How is that possible, Admiral? I saw the enemy drones firing with my own eyes at clear targets on land masses. And I’ve witnessed what that weapon did to my home world firsthand.”
“Come with me.”
Brandon and Milon4 followed Admiral Hochob until they passed some security guards and entered a small, dark room. Hochob closed the door and activated a projector from a wall switch. A holographic image of Dirg appeared in the middle of the room.
“Keep your eyes on the continents,” Hochob said.
He turned another switch and the continents became fuzzy, blinked out, and were replaced by oceans. The land masses reappeared where oceans were a moment before. It triggered something in Brandon’s memory from the first time his ITF2 crew dagged in behind Dirg. He thought he saw this same effect happening on the planet surface and had been concerned with the dag system on his craft.
“You replaced the continental layout image of your entire world?” Brandon asked.
“Not just the image. Heat sources, communication centers, radiogenic emissions. Everything that targeting systems would use to identify marks on the ground. This new technology is called an interactive ionization-altered projection map, or IAPM. The projection covers the whole planet and presents a convincing false likeness to anyone watching from space. We simply switched the land masses with the seas in our image. What’s more, the IAPM detects weapons systems fired into its lair and reacts, broadcasting a change in the projection to emulate destruction wherever the weapon was fired. Today it was tested in action. The enemy satellites actually emptied their weapons into our oceans for the most part, unbeknownst to them. Not bad for a bunch of slow moving gelatin-skinned beings, huh?”
Brandon opened his mouth to make a joking response, but thought better of it. The admiral continued.
“We’ve dispatched a team of technicians to help build the system on your twin planets. And we’ll be sending another team home with Azaar—a larger one, carrying much of the needed equipment for a fast implementation. The bulk of the Torian away fleet will be assigned to help protect Azaar while it’s being built.”
“Wow,” Milon4 said. “This system could permanently change interstellar warfare.”
“That’s the idea.” Hochob turned off the display. “Come along now. Someone is waiting for you in the lounge.”
Brandon suspected—and hoped—it would be Bleear. He wasn’t disappointed. Bleear wasn’t alone. He had four companions alongside him, each carrying a canvas bag. Bleear’s wide smile was perhaps the most refreshing thing Brandon had ever seen.
“Going somewhere?” Brandon asked Bleear after warm greetings were exchanged. He motioned to his friends’ bags.
“I’m not,” Bleear said. “They are. What about you? Heading home now?”
“I have a brief stop to make first.”
“I know.”
Brandon started laughing. “I’m giving your friends a ride, aren’t I?”
Chapter Nineteen
“Stay in formation!” Ilsted growled at Jumper through his translator. “A pilot in the Ossurian fleet must be disciplined, and not a seeker of his own glory. All will have ample chances for making kill shots. There is no need—or place for—personal ambition in war.”
“What fun is that?” Jumper said.
The grumpy Ossurian next to Alan in the rear seat row of the fighter seemed to contemplate before replying.
“The word you used does not translate into Ossurian. I assume it has some meaning associated with ambition. This desire of yours must be tamed and kept in check. We best serve our cause by holding true to our individually-assigned tasks.”
“Interesting,” Alan said. “Does the word ‘hero’ translate?”
Jumper shot him a stern glance from the pilot’s seat. Another moment of silence passed before Ilsted replied.
“No.”
Kayla was in the copilot’s seat next to Jumper, and doing a pretty good job there. She had perked up considerably once she came to realize that Jumper’s inspired hustle had achieved a real chance of providing an opportunity for escape. Colonel Halstov fell for their act and recruited them into his armed forces, promising a chance for vengeance on their former Torian captors. To their good fortune, Halstov was short on fighter crews at the moment—and the three “Orthans” scored impressively high in the simulation games, especially Jump
er and Kayla.
This was their third live training exercise. Just a routine patrol, but each time they boarded a fighter the three of them knew it could present their occasion for getting away.
Alan found the interior of the alien craft to be well-designed, and much more spacious than one would expect even after accounting for the smaller human physique. There were only four seats, but two levels. Under the cockpit area was a wider interior hull with two beds and some strange looking exercise equipment. Ossurian interstellar fighters didn’t carry a team of space-distortion scientists as the Torian ITF1’s did, apparently trusting their equipment to keep working. Or at least, that’s the way they had flown these local patrols. Perhaps distortion drive technicians were part of the crew on interstellar journeys. They hadn’t gotten that far yet—and if Ilsted had his way, they never would. He made no effort to conceal his disdain for his alien students.
Jumper returned the craft to the tight formation at the rear of the four-ship patrol. Alan expected them to clear the atmosphere and move into orbit above the planet, just as they had on their previous two outings. But the leader made a sudden, swooping dive back toward land. Alan was impressed with how well Jumper followed this time. Brandon had never gotten around to teaching him to fly—probably intentionally—so here Jumper was, finally learning to be a pilot on an enemy fighter.
“That’s better,” Ilsted said.
“Why are we headed back down?” Alan asked.
“Colonel Halstov wants another search made for the missing ground team.” Ilsted pointed towards the mountain range they were fast approaching. “Although they’re probably long dead by now. It’s been more than a week. Hard to believe any of the meager natives are capable of a successful coup. Personally, I think the ground team must have fallen prey to animals. Some large feline species have been spotted in this area. It’s my understanding that some have even been trained by the natives.”