by Michael Ryan
The reality was that Balestain’s political power gave him carte blanche in almost any operation, both on the starship and in the theater on Drekiland.
A further reality was that his methods were efficacious, so he was rarely questioned, much less disobeyed or challenged.
“Sir,” an aide said after knocking lightly on the general’s office door, “your visitor is here.”
“Send him in,” Balestain said without looking up.
“General,” Ctunjurz Requienter said, “I have arrived.”
“I see that,” he said with a bright smile. “I’ve been surrounded by idiots for weeks, Ctunjurz. Please, sit. You’re the only man on the ship that makes me feel mentally inferior. It’ll do me good, but don’t tell anyone.”
Pow, as he was known to his strange new friends in the JFUA, sat and said, “Why am I here, General? Not that I’m complaining. But it just seems sending a starship across the galaxy to pick up a mathematician is excessive.”
“Yes, it does seem that way,” he admitted. “Even for me.”
“So what am I working on, and when do I start?”
“When I left Talamz, you told me you believed you were six or seven data points away from a solution.”
“Technically, I was between six and twenty-four, depending on the quality of the information,” Pow said.
“So I’m optimistic,” the general said. “Have you made any progress?”
“I’ve lowered it to between five and seventeen, depending.”
“What if I told you that Lieutenant Avery rescued a group of slaves?”
“I’d say that’s good news.”
“What if I told you that he rescued several different groups of slaves?”
“From Earth, Purvas, or Talamz?”
Balestain smiled at the question. He coughed and said, “All three, it seems.”
“That’s fantastic,” Pow said, “I’ll need to interview them immediately.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are they all aboard the Kuznetsov already, sir? I’d like to begin as soon as possible. This is fantastic news.”
“There’s more,” Balestain said in a secretive whisper.
“And?” Pow squirmed in his seat like a child waiting for dessert. “Please tell me you’ve succeeded in finding a broader range of dates.”
“We’ve captured a new alien species,” he said.
“What?” Pow sprang to his feet. “Let me…does it communicate?”
“You’re not going to believe this. It can speak…sit down, please. We’ll meet the creature in good time, I assure you.”
Pow sat. “Okay, what? What can it speak?”
“It can communicate with the Dreki–”
“That’s amazing!” Pow jumped from the chair. “General, I must speak to this alien. Do you have a live Dreki?”
“I’m getting to that. Please, sit. There’s more.” Balestain tilted his head and waited for Pow to sit before he began speaking again. “The aliens are called muldvarps. They’re quite ugly and have a musty stench that takes getting used to. But they’re intelligent. The Drekis began taking them as slaves six or seven hundred Purvastian years ago. Golonist, the one we have aboard this ship, claims he’s met interpreters that could speak Errusiakos.”
“That…it seems…impossible,” Pow said.
Balestain nodded and fixed Pow with a hard stare. “It does. But whether it’s true or not, the fact that he knew about the language at all would indicate knowledge of Purvas that isn’t something a common soldier would think to talk about. It’s been a dead language for four hundred years.”
“My mind is spinning, General. What other languages does he know?”
“Golonist is fluent in Common English. And as I said, he speaks with the lizards. But he also speaks the language of a people called Katash.”
“And?”
“And the Katashie, it seems, are not from the tri-planets.”
“Holy…mother…this could mean…”
“Yes,” Balestain said. “It could mean everything.”
“I must start immediately, General,” Pow said. “Please introduce me to these Katash people.”
“Hold on, Pow. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Avery rescued a group of Katashie and, not only that, three more muldvarps and a live Dreki.”
“He’s an overachiever, isn’t he?”
“And a good thing,” the general said. “The only problem we have is that the captives and our friend Lieutenant Dunn are buried inside a cave.”
“What?”
“The Drekis know what we’re about to accomplish. I’m surprised it took them so long to realize the importance of our rescue missions. Oddly, I think they misinterpreted our actions as humanitarian.” Balestain stood and took two glasses from a cabinet. “Join me in a glass of Scotch.”
“Yes, of course,” Pow said. “They’ve been studying humans for a thousand years; it would be a natural conclusion.”
Balestain poured two fingers in each glass. “It was to our benefit that the lizards assumed we’d fly across galaxies, bringing tens of thousands of soldiers, to rescue a few thousand captives. This foolishness on their part gained us a lot of time. But the jig is up.”
Pow took the offered glass and lifted it to his lips. “You know for sure they understand the importance of–”
The general’s outstretched hand stopped him. “Yes. When Avery rescued the Katash slaves, the lizards were more concerned with saving the factory. They didn’t even send a small company after the group of escapees, while they used an entire army to defend their industry.”
“And what happened then?”
“One of our starships, the Chernavin, made what appeared to be a weird tactical decision. It left a clear opportunity to destroy a major industrial center to save a small group of rescued slaves. It made no sense, even for a society that believed every single life mattered. What tipped the scales was that the group, which we failed to rescue, was entirely Katash. There wasn’t a single person from the tri-planets.”
“And the Drekis finally realized we were trying to gain intel, not save our people.”
“Exactly. Tell me, with a group taken from a fourth planet–”
“Do we know where?”
“No. But there’s even more.”
“Huh?” Pow looked at the general. “Please stop teasing me.”
“The Katashie might be humans.”
“No.”
“It’s unconfirmed.”
“Bloversquizot,” Pow said.
“That’s a new one to me,” General Balestain said.
“It means something like…it’s a hard translation.”
“Try.”
Pow twisted his face. “It’s like, ‘I hope the sharbeel eats you in your sleep.’ And no, it’s not a very nice word.”
“Bloversq…?”
“Bloversquizot.” Pow set down his glass and looked up. “Another?”
“Yes, it’s a good day to celebrate.”
“And Avery? Callie? What’s going on?”
“Our army is fighting the Drekis to see who can get Callie and her charges from that cave.”
“How’s it going?”
“Sixty-five, thirty-five,” the general answered.
“You don’t seem…” Pow picked up his glass and raised it. “I sing the praises of Avery.”
“To the success of our army!” the general added.
“There’s nothing to do but wait,” Pow asked, “is there?”
“Yes, we wait,” he answered. “If our army is successful, we’ll get your data points, plot a course to the lizards’ home world–”
“And squash those bastards like bugs!” Pow yelled. “Another?”
“Of course. Today we drink,” Balestain said. “Tomorrow we make new war plans.”
The two unlikely friends finished the one-hundred-twenty-year-old bottle of Scotch. They spent the following morning in a medical unit hooked up to IV fluids, telling each oth
er dirty Rhan jokes. When they felt well enough to stand, the general asked Pow if he’d care to join him for breakfast.
“Tell me you have fresh eggs,” Pow said.
“Rank, my friend, has its privileges,” Balestain said.
“Is that a yes?”
“Do Volinstoning-trained prostitutes earn their tips?” he answered. “Follow me, Professor Ctunjurz Requienter. I need your brain well fed; I have a feeling it’s going to be a long week.”
Pow followed the general out of his office. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long war.”
“They always are,” Balestain said with far too much enthusiasm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The final checks on all gear are the responsibility of the soldier.
~ Guritain SDI Training Manual
After visiting Mallsin, I left the field hospital with Abrel, who was lost in thought.
“She’ll be okay,” I said.
“I think so.” Abrel led the way to HQ. We’d been called in for a new mission, or a scolding, and had been pulled out of Charlie Company and ordered to report stat. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t ever mention it again,” I said. “Please.”
“Understood.”
The last thing I needed in my mind were Lori’s last words reminding me until I died that I was a bastard who’d let his partner down.
We were ushered through the hallways of the HQ building in record time. We entered Major General Cullisizzst’s office, where we were directed to sit. The general had ordered us TCI-Armor docking chairs, so our suits could charge during our meeting.
I didn’t know if this was a sign he meant to keep us a long time, or if it had merely been a show of courtesy. After I plugged in, a pop-up appeared that notified me I was being patched into the Kuznetsov.
A corporal sitting at a desk appeared in a live video feed pop-up. “Hello, Lieutenant Ford. Please hold one for the General.”
The screen went black for a second and then opened a feed showing General Balestain.
Pow sat near him, and when he recognized it was me behind the suit, he shouted, “Avery!”
“Hello, Pow. What are you doing here?”
“Business,” he said. “How are you? Is Abrel there?”
I smacked Abrel’s suit. “Did you get an invitation–”
Abrel’s icon appeared in a small square in the pop-up. “I’m here, too,” he said.
“Abrel!” Pow said with enthusiasm. “I heard about Mallsin; I’m sure she’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Thank you,” Abrel said. “But…you’re here? Over Drekiland? What’s going on?”
“All in good time, gentlemen,” the general said. “If all goes well, we’ll have a little reunion soon. But first we must stop the lizards.”
“Sir,” I said, “I don’t think you’ll get an argument from us about killing the Gremxula. But this massive battle in this valley…it seems absurd to me.”
“Soon it will make sense to you,” he said. “Trust me. In the meantime, I have plans I need you to hear straight from me.”
“Sir,’ I said, “let’s begin.”
“Yes, let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “It’s one of the things I like about you, Lieutenant.”
General Balestain, with an occasional interruption from Pow, spent over an hour detailing our next mission. When he was finished and we’d left HQ, I asked Abrel what he was thinking.
“I’m just a soldier, Avery,” he answered.
“Not to ask why, but to do and die?”
“Yes, except for the dying part,” he said, “hopefully.”
“You and me both, brother.”
At three forty a.m., after the moon had dropped behind the mountains, we began a secret mission. Success had the potential to protect the populations of not only the tri-planets, but billions of aliens we’d never even imagined existed.
“This is Hozzen actual.”
“Go.”
“I need a Velociraptor Squadron to move…check that…drop two hundred.”
“Roger, dropping two.”
“Fire on that trailing dragon.”
“Move, dammit.”
“I’ve got a missile signature I don’t recognize.”
“It’s a glitch. Just fire a flare, followed by a falcon or an eagle.”
“Roger, thank you.”
“Anytime.”
“Owl leader, Owl.”
“Go.”
“Put some heat on that tank in sector two.”
“Roger. You have eyes on Ubet leader?”
“Negative, Ubet is on a low-alt sweep behind Verde Ridge.”
“Golvin! Fire on that battery, now, now, dammit! Queen leader, are you still behind me?”
“Dive, dive!”
“Queen leader here, I’m in your six. Two clicks.”
“Anyone have eyes on the lizard group in…oh, hell…they’ve launched a heavy rocket.”
“Desperation?”
“Xeem leader, follow Owl and Tango to eight hundred meters. I need eyes on the vapor trail.”
“Holy Mother of Golvin!”
“We need a coordinated strike against that particular warhead, but it’s big enough you can’t help but hit it. Easy as falling off a log.”
“That’s what someone said about your sister.”
“What, she’s easy?”
“No, you can’t help but hit it.”
“This is Owl leader requesting decorum and…oh, Golvin! I have snake bites on third squadron’s second wing.”
“Don’t worry about that; stay on mission.”
“Roger.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Fire, fire, fire.”
“I can confirm secondary explosions.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Dammit…this is serious business…”
“She said that, too, Owl Leader. Watch your port!”
“Fire on that…oh hell…somebody pick up that heli before it takes out another–”
“Lieutenant Ford, you still with me?” Warrant Officer Burns asked in my comm.
“Yes,” I said. “But if it wasn’t for my suit, I’d be swimming in vomit.”
“Welcome to my world,” he said. “We’ve got touchdown in minus two minutes.”
“Does it look like it’s going to be a hot LZ?” I asked.
“Do johns at Franny Volobester’s Chicken Ranch go back for seconds?”
Command placed a semicircle of tanks around the cave entrance about a half click out. Inside the arc of main battle tanks, they set rail-cannon batteries charged with stopping incoming rounds. To the cave entrance they sent a company of engineers and fourteen troop transports.
Our initial task was to provide overwatch to the main group on the ground. The mission was being coordinated by a particularly intelligent major, a line officer who had refused promotion enough times that General Balestain had developed a fondness for him.
I was with Abrel in a heli squadron above the cliff face.
Our group was outside the command of Major Elainvertz, although he was aware of our presence.
“It seems to be going well down there,” Burns said.
“It always seems that way when it starts,” Abrel said.
“True enough,” the heli squadron leader said. “I can’t imagine what’s in that cave, but it certainly set off the lizards.”
“They’re attacking irrationally,” I admitted. “Seems…”
“Counterproductive,” Abrel added. “Which means, unless we’re really convinced they’re irrational, we’d better be prepared for the winds to shift.”
“They always do,” Burns said. “But still, they’re burning through a lot of ammo and a lot of lizards.”
“Hozzen leader,” a new voice said over the squadron comm.
“Go,” Burns answered.
“This is Engineer Corps Forty-Second CO, actual. We’ve breached the barrier. Repeat, the barrier is breached.�
��
“Roger that. Phase two.”
“Green,” the company commander said.
Our squadron fired two hundred and fifty smokers. It was a sight to behold. The darkness of the moonless night coupled with the ink-black smoke that filled the air created a black hole-like void. Our gun batteries fired a continuous blast of flares beyond the outer perimeter that produced a white-hot blanket that surrounded the blackness.
We lifted off the mountain and then dropped like stones into a deep well.
The engineers had cleared all the rubble, and my heart thumped as Callie’s icon jumped to life on my display screen.
“Hello, love,” I said. “I’ve brought the entire army to rescue you.”
“My hero,” she said. “But you know how I hate white-knighting.”
“Hey, Callie,” Abrel said.
“Mallsin?” Callie asked.
“Hospital, but she’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ve got to save this reunion for later. We’re burning time.”
“Roger,” she said.
The engineers helped the evacuees don radioactive-biochem suits.
“The babies?” Callie said.
“Stuff them in extra-large suits with the mothers.”
“Get those muldvarps working on explaining things,” I shouted to the engineers. “We’re already thirty seconds behind.”
“Roger, sir,” an engineer said. “But you’re asking civilians to put on gear they’ve never seen before.”
“I get it,” I said. “Callie, get that rodent to interpret the idea that if they want to live, they need to hurry up.”
Our plan included saving the Dreki prisoner and the pekasmoks if possible. We drugged them, although the effectiveness was a guess and the potential toxicity a risk.
“Avery,” WO Burns said, “we need to be off the ground in three minutes or less.”
“We’re going as fast as we can.”
“Go faster,” he said.
Abrel and Callie helped the humans and purvasts who were former officers and NCOs work the rest of the crowd. They managed to get a semi-organized line formed at each of the rescue helis. It took more than three minutes, but not much. Our squadron lifted off the ground but stayed in the darkness. Meanwhile the transports were remotely driven into a neat row pointed toward headquarters.