The question, to Santana’s mind at least, was why the bugs had been ordered to attack the allied column? Because even though General-453’s army had been badly mauled at YalAm, they were still capable of defeating a force such as the one in front of him, and rather decisively, too. Unless the real purpose of the impending confrontation was to stall the retreating column—which would make sense if Akoto’s forces had been unable to overtake the fugitives from the east. Yes, that was logical, and as the last of the bugs shuffl?ed past, Santana gave Pimm a pat on the back. “Well done, Sergeant. I’ll send a squad forward to relieve you in about thirty minutes or so. Unless we get new orders. Which wouldn’t surprise me.”
“We’ll be here,” the heavily swathed noncom said bleakly, wondering if he would ever be warm again. Private Ivan Lupo’s cargo bay was crammed with sleeping legionnaires, and the hot, muggy air was thick with the stench of unwashed socks, as Santana closed the hatch behind him. There was a communal groan as a blast of frigid air forced its way inside. That was followed by an apology when someone saw who it was, and the offi?cer said, “As you were.” It was diffi?cult for the legionnaire to fi?nd places to plant his feet without stepping on someone’s body as he made his way to the tiny cubicle that was supposed to function as the platoon leader’s offi?ce in the fi?eld. Except that Lieutenant Amoyo was dead and wouldn’t be needing it anymore.
The purpose of the unannounced visit was to get on the quad’s long-range com set and warn Kobbi. It took the better part of fi?fteen minutes to talk a succession of protective offi?cers into putting the call through. During that time, Santana was forced to remove layers of clothes in order to deal with what felt like a tropical environment but was actually chilly by normal standards. Finally, a clearly sleepy Kobbi was heard. “This is Six-One. . . . What have you got?”
So Santana told him, and as he did so, the company commander could imagine the look on the little general’s face. Because when Kobbi was working a problem, it was like a dog attacking a bone. And, by the time the cavalry offi?cer’s report was complete, the general knew what he wanted to do. Dawn was in the offi?ng as Force Commander Ofay led his troops up a long incline toward the certain glory that lay ahead. Yes, there was danger, and some would fall. But somehow, deep inside, Ofay knew he would be among those who would eventually go home to describe the battle to their admiring mates. Because, from his perspective, that was how life should be.
Such thoughts helped warm the soldier, who, being a member of a jungle-evolved species, was not as well equipped to deal with cold weather as a Naa, Hudathan, Thraki, or human would have been. And, Ofay knew that if it hadn’t been for the powered warm-suits his troopers wore, they would have been incapacitated within a matter of minutes. Just as so many of the largely improvident animals had been. Gradually, as daylight fi?ltered down through the clouds, Ofay began to have a better appreciation of the terrain around him. The highway had been engineered to follow the contour of the mountainsides, and having just emerged from a U-shaped curve, was headed higher on a ledge carved from solid rock. That put a cliff to the offi?cer’s right, and a drop-off on his left. From his vantage point, Ofay could see that the next right-pincer turn would take his unit around the end of a rocky promontory. The Ramanthian wished he knew what was on the other side of the point, but the cloud cover was blocking orbital surveillance, and his surviving spy-eye was on the blink.
Ofay had scouts, though, both of whom were young enough to fl?y, so long as they didn’t have to carry much gear. So the order went out, and two troopers took to the sky and fought to gain altitude. Lung-warmed air jetted away from their beaks, and their wings made a soft whuffi?ng sound as the soldiers spiraled steadily upwards. But Ofay, who was still caught up in visions of coming glory, was in too much of a hurry to wait for their reports. Soon, sometime later that day, the War Ofay would collide with animals and hold them. General Akoto would take care of the rest. The allied column was ten miles long and snaked back through a series of mountain curves, to the point where the rear guard was about to set off some explosives in an effort to block the road and slow their pursuers. The Ramanthians would clear the obstruction of course, but it would take them hours to do so, and hours were precious. Which made the fact that they were standing that much more frustrating. But General Kobbi was tired of getting his ass kicked. Even though the offi?cer knew the allies were losing the war, he was determined to win a battle. That was why both he and senior members of his staff were at the head of the column staring at two black dots as they topped the promontory ahead. “They sent scouts,” Colonel Quinlan commented, as he eyed the airborne Ramanthians. “They know we’re here.”
The two men were mounted on battle-scarred T-2s. The force around them consisted of thirty-six cyborgs in all, each carrying a heavily armed bio bod, all of whom were combatready. Steam rose around them as snowfl?akes hit warm metal. Half the group had been stripped out of the rear guard, which meant the column would be vulnerable if Akoto came up quickly, but Kobbi was betting on the Legion’s ability to engage the force ahead and defeat it quickly. “They know we’re here,” Kobbi admitted grimly. “But the ugly bastards are still going to die!”
So saying, Kobbi gave a preparatory order, followed by a single word: “Charge!” And, because the legionnaires had been ready for some time by then, they were quick to respond. The width of the highway would allow only fi?ve cyborgs to advance in a line abreast. Still, fi?ve T-2s supported by an equal number of bio bods represented a lot of fi?repower, especially when pitted against unsupported infantry. Ofay knew that, too, and was still in the process of trying to fi?gure out what to do, when a group of murderous cyborgs rounded the promontory ahead and opened fi?re. They were traveling at about thirty miles per hour by then, and fi?ring every weapon they had. The effect was devastating. Especially since only the fi?rst rank of Ofay’s troops could fi?re without hitting the ranks in front of them. Dozens of Ramanthians fell, cut down by the withering fi?re, and much to Ofay’s horror, the rest began to turn back!
They collided with troops to the rear, confusion ensued, and dozens went down. The force commander not only ordered his soldiers to face the enemy, but even went so far as to wade into the mob and shoot two of the retreating troopers. But, rather than restore order as he hoped the punitive measure would, the summary executions caused one of the fear-crazed troopers to shoot Ofay in the face. The projectile blew the back of the force commander’s skull out, sprayed blood and brains all over those behind him, and brought Ofay’s dreams of glory to an abrupt end.
All constraints having been removed, the badly panicked Ramanthians attempted to fl?ee west. But that was a mistake, because while Ofay’s attention was focused on the enemy ahead, Alpha Company had closed in behind them. That, ironically enough, was the fate that General Akoto wanted to impose on the allies.
While Santana didn’t have thirty-six T-2s to work with, there was no need to charge, not so long as the bugs were coming toward him. And he had a quad, which having already settled over its vulnerable legs, was positioned in the middle of the road with walls of T-2s and bio bods to either side. All of whom opened fi?re simultaneously. Even as the chits sought to fl?ee Kobbi and his cyborgs, they were cut to pieces by the force behind them and died in waves. Some staggered like marionettes with palsy as bullets tugged at their bodies. Others were ripped apart by the grenades that Hoyt and her CVAs fi?red from behind the legionnaires and marines. And dozens appeared to melt as bolts of iridescent blue energy plowed bloody holes through the Ramanthian ranks. The only problem was the need to keep their fi?re down, and on target, lest Alpha Company kill members of Kobbi’s force farther up the road. The slaughter forced the bugs to turn again and run the other way, only to suffer the same fate all over again. That’s where Quinlan was, right in the thick of it, killing yet another bug for his daughter, when one of the winged scouts landed on his back and went in for the kill. The bug knew he was going to die as he reached forward to jerk the animal’s helmet back, but t
hat was fi?ne, so long as he could take a human with him. Quinlan was reaching back over his shoulders, trying to get a grip on whatever had attached itself to his back, when he saw the sudden fl?ash of steel. That was followed by a burning sensation, an explosion of blood, and a moment of dizziness. Then he was gone.
Kobbi, who was only a dozen feet away, saw the whole thing. He fi?red a long burst from his CA-10 into the Ramanthian and had the satisfaction of seeing the soldier fall away. But it was too late to save Quinlan, who hung lifeless in his harness, as his blood-drenched cyborg continued to fi?ght.
It wasn’t until fi?fteen minutes later, when all of the killing was over, that the general could dismount and walk over to the place where Quinlan’s body had been laid next to the road. Some sort of epitaph was required, or so it seemed to Kobbi, as he knelt next to the dead legionnaire. “You weren’t the smartest offi?cer I ever served with,” the general said gruffl?y. “Or even the most dedicated. But you died like a man. Like a legionnaire—of whom all can be proud.” And that, coming from General Mortimer Kobbi, was high praise indeed.
17
To illustrate this part somewhat, I shall say that the privileged class may be one of two sorts; either they conduct themselves in such a way as to be under your obligation or not. Those who are, and are not rapacious, must be honored and cherished. Those who are not so bound to you may be of two sorts; either they act as they do out of pusillanimity or natural lack of spirit and in such cases you must use them, especially such as are of good counsel, since in prosperity they do you honor and in adversity you have naught to fear from them; but when they are of the second kind and deliberately refuse to be dependent on you, for their own scheming and ambitious reasons then you may be sure they are thinking more of themselves than you, and a prince should be very wary of such and regard them as open enemies. . . .
—Niccolò Machiavelli
The Prince
Standard year 1513
PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Hive was perfect. Or so it seemed to Chancellor Ubatha as a government transport carried him over beautifully sunlit fi?elds toward a meeting approximately two hundred miles south of the capital city. Thanks to hundreds of years of hard work, and the fact that all of the Ramanthian power plants, factories, and cities were located underground, the planet’s surface was equivalent to an enormous work of art. Rivers had the more-disciplined look of canals, thousands of fruit trees stood in carefully pruned ranks, and well-watered crop circles were thick with green vegetables. All of which stood in marked contrast to what Ubatha had seen on worlds like Earth, where citizens were allowed to rip the surface asunder, pollute the air, and export their garbage into space. It was just one more example of why Ramanthian culture was superior to all the rest.
But as the transport’s shadow caressed the well-manicured terrain below, the bureaucrat knew there were other things to focus on, not the least of which was the meeting in which he was about to participate. Given the offi?cial’s rank, second only to the Queen, most of his days were spent in meetings—
some of which were productive while many weren’t. The trick was to maximize the former and minimize the latter. A fairly straightforward process for the most part. There was a third category of meetings, however: those that could be dangerous regardless of how productive they might or might not be. While participating in such gatherings might be perilous, it was equally dangerous to ignore them, which was why Ubatha had profound misgivings about the get-together that ex-Governor Oma Parth was hosting. Though billed as nothing more than “a gathering of old friends,” it was clearly more than that, because every person on the guest list other than Ubatha had one thing in common: Prior to the Hive Mother’s regrettable death, the invitees had been high-ranking government offi?cials or senior military offi?cers who had been pushed out of their jobs within weeks of the current Queen’s elaborate coronation. Even though it was an entirely normal part of the succession process, the displacements could still generate resentment. That was where the danger came in. Odds were that the gathering was nothing more than an opportunity for disgruntled retirees to get together and talk about the extent to which they had been abused. If so, Ubatha would have to sit and sympathize.
Or, the gathering could represent something a good deal darker. In the aftermath of the wound suffered on Earth, the Queen was still unable to move her body from the neck down. The condition in no way weakened the strength of her intellect, but put very real limits on what she could accomplish, and made her vulnerable in ways she hadn’t been before. That was why Ubatha had agreed to participate in the meeting. He needed to fi?nd out what the other attendees were up to—and take action against them should any be necessary.
As the transport circled Parth’s immaculately kept country estate, and came in for a landing, Ubatha had plenty to think about—starting with the fact that half a dozen other aircraft were already on the ground in spite of the fact he was early! Being a seasoned politician Ubatha knew the presence of so many transports could imply that a premeeting was already under way. If so, it meant that there were matters the other attendees didn’t want to discuss in front of him. Still, given that Ubatha was there by invitation, there was no reason to believe that the group saw him as an enemy. Suddenly, as the skids made contact with the heatfused soil, Ubatha felt lonely and a little bit scared. But the Chancellor kept such doubts well hidden as he shuffl?ed down a ramp onto the sun-parched ground.
Parth’s majordomo was waiting to greet Ubatha, and escort the high-ranking offi?cial to a broad ramp that slanted down into a series of beautifully appointed underground chambers. Though by no means poor, Ubatha and his mates had nothing like the wealth the Parth clan had accumulated over the last hundred years, and Ubatha was impressed by what he saw.
Ramanthian entry alcoves were generally a good indicator of what lay beyond, and this one was huge. And spotlessly clean. Like all members of his species, Ubatha was equipped with two antenna-shaped olfactory organs that protruded from his forehead. Thanks to the input they provided, he knew the air was heavy with expensive incense. From that point a path led under one of the many shafts, which brought sunlight down from the surface, past the obligatory rock garden, and down a long corridor. Earthen walls were covered with layerings of expensive fabrics and beautiful pieces of fractal art, all evenly spaced between carefully lit sculptures.
The corridor split three ways after that, and Ubatha followed the majordomo across a glistening water walk, and into the reception chamber beyond. Six males were waiting to greet the Chancellor—and Ubatha knew all of them. First there was Governor Parth, who immediately came forward to greet Ubatha, his eyes alight with avarice. The Chancellor remembered Parth as a serviceable administrator who, though primarily interested in establishing conditions favorable to his clan’s business interests, still found time to represent the rest of his constituents as well. Also in attendance at the oval-shaped table was Cam Taas, the onetime chief of the Department of Transportation, who was famously hidebound, and completely averse to anything new. That stance, given the Empire’s population explosion, was one of the reasons the Queen had been forced to let him go.
Su Ixba, the ex-head of the Department of Criminal Prosecution, and a skillful bureaucratic infi?ghter, was seated next to Taas. Though effective, he had been known for a willingness to use his considerable police powers on anyone who was opposed to his conservative politics. Tu Stik, Zo Nelo, and Ma Amm were military leaders, and if rumors were true, members of the fanatical Nira cult. The group that had been useful in some regards, but was potentially dangerous, since adherents saw themselves as accountable to a spiritual force more powerful than the Queen—a belief system that, while legal, was somewhat unsettling. All of those factors contributed to the steadily growing sense of apprehension Ubatha felt.
Once the traditional greetings were over, and a tray of light snacks had been passed around, Parth made what amounted to an opening statement. All of the other participants sou
ght to look disinterested, but Ubatha could feel the tension in the room, and knew something important was in the offi?ng. “Again, welcome to our little gathering,” Parth said modestly. “We hoped you would join us both because we enjoy your company—and because you are still in government. Tell me, offi?cial pronouncements aside, how is our valiant Queen?”
The Chancellor thought there might be something slightly sarcastic about the emphasis Parth put on the word
“valiant,” but it was a seemingly innocent question, and one Ubatha would expect any host to ask given the present circumstances. Still, the royal’s health was a sensitive matter, so Ubatha chose his words with care. “I’m sorry to say that her majesty remains paralyzed. And, while our very best physicians continue to study the problem, there is no immediate relief in sight. The Queen remains alert, however, and has been able to carry out the vast majority of her duties, which is a great comfort to us all.”
“Yes, of course,” Ixba said politely. “But, with all due respect, we could learn that much from the evening newscasts. We are patriots, and as such, worried about the empire’s future well-being. We are at war, and as you probably know, there are some who fear the Queen’s paralysis could slow the governmental process. And do so at a time when quick decisions will be critical to victory.”
The comment wasn’t treasonous, but it came close, and Ubatha had no further doubts regarding the meeting’s true purpose. Having been displaced, and in their view slighted, Parth and his cronies hoped to use the Queen’s paralysis as a pretext for replacing her with a new monarch. A female of their choosing, who after taking the throne, would immediately restore them to positions of power. All of that would be a good deal easier to accomplish if the Chancellor was not only in on the plot but actively supporting it. Something Ubatha would never do.
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