James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 07

by Yronwode

  “The Xirong are not a threat to Midian,” Fair insisted. “An occasional missile attack, an occasional blood bomb by radicals. The more radical elements are a nuisance, but we are protected by our Shield, and they know a massive attack would never succeed.”

  “Warden, I have five and half million people depending on me to protect them,” Parka argued.

  Fair was indignant. “How dare you accuse me of not caring about the security of our people! How dare you!”

  “I accuse you of no such thing,” Parka answered patiently. “But Midian Intelligence and Midian Security are both of the opinion that the Xirong are behaving suspiciously.”

  “Suspicions lead to fear, fear leads to hate, and hate leads to war,” the Warden of Peace recited. “The path of trust will lead us to peace, and that is why we must dispatch humanitarian aid to Nimali. Even if it means taking some risks.”

  “We could set up emergency medical services somewhere other than Xiyyon, like Security Bases One and Four, both of which have very…” Fair was schocked. “Send refugees to a military base? Haven’t they already been traumatized enough?”

  “We ought to at least inspect the ambulances when they land,” Parka advised her, trying much harder now to keep his composure.

  “And what if some of those innocent Tsi Bai die because care was delayed for an inspection?” the Warden asked. “I am sorry, General. But the humanitarian aid will proceed without security interference. In fact, if I see even one soldier on the grounds of the West Xiyyon Medical Complex, I’ll take a complaint directly to the First Minister.

  You will see to security arrangements without interfering with the humanitarian relief mission.” She switched off her transmitter.

  “That is about what we expected,” General Parka sighed.

  “What are you going to do?” Alkema asked.

  “We’ll put a security perimeter around the Medical Center, and have interceptors standing by in case any air ambulances deviate from the standard air corridor,” Parka told him, although the tone of voice showed he didn’t think it was enough.

  “I don’t think we need to discuss our security protocols in front of… people who aren’t affected by them,” General Intrepid said. “In fact, I would like to suggest relocating your people, temporarily, until the security alert passes.”

  “Relocate us?” Alkema asked him what he had in mind.

  Intrepid lay a brightly colored paper pamphlet on the table in front of Alkema.

  “We have a small city on our southern coast called Xev. It’s very pleasant. It’s on the sea, and there are several resorts. It will be more empty than usual because of the Funeral and Coronation ceremonies. I thought you and your men might enjoy a getaway.”

  “I don’t think I could recreate at a beach knowing Commander Keeler was still out there,” Alkema told him. “And I am certain General Kitaen would agree with me.”

  “We have been searching for twenty-one days,” Intrepid snapped at him. “We haven’t found a trace. If the Xirong had found him, they would have issued a ransom demand. You may have to accept the fact that your commander … died in the sands of the Wilderness of Howling Zeal.”

  “Until I see a body, I don’t have to accept anything!” Alkema shouted at him, so loud and angry Parka raised and eyebrow and gestured for silence, a curiously effective mannerism on his part.

  “And if he is buried under shifting sands, or if, Allbeing forbid, a mega-worm has swallowed him, there may be nothing to find, ever,” Intrepid sounded angry. “I’m not trying to hurt you, but there are harsh realities you will have confront eventually. One is, your commander may be dead. Two is, you may never be able to leave this world. I hope you find a way off, but you should think about, right now, what you’re going to do with the rest of your life if you can’t.

  “I can promise you this, your technological knowledge is very valuable to us, and the Midian Government will ensure that all of your people are well taken care of,” the General finished.

  “We don’t want to be taken care of,” Alkema protested.

  “We can discuss this at length later,” Parka put in. “For now, General Intrepid and I need to plan security logistics for the Coronation and Funeral, and continue monitoring the build-up of Xirong in Nimali. When the present situation is passed, if your commander has not returned and if you still can not find a way off-world, we will discuss what to do then.

  “In the meantime, go back to your barracks, or to the hangar to work on your ship,” Parka told him. “There is nothing more we can do here.” Yronwode – The Badlands Outside Nimali

  K-Rock had left Big McLargehuge in charge of his forces, such as they were.

  Big McLargehuge, formerly known as Ator, had been a minor bodyguard, a ton-ton, under Boros, and as such, had primarily been tasked with cracking the heads of lesser Under-Chiefs in the Boros Izzan-Al-Izzan Phalange. The closest he had come to military operations were the occasional raids on surrounding phalanges to secure food, medicine, parts or whatever else was needed, and that time when that group of headhunter fanatics had tried to demand more tribute from the Boros Phalange and required strong physical violent persuasion to change their minds. He was not a military man, he was a thug, albeit a more thoughtful thug than most of the others.

  But so far, the old men and boys sent down to Nimali to join in the Final Ferkaktata and Conquest of the Theocrats could not even respectably be called Thugs.

  Some of them could not respectably be called men. None of them were weak, a hundred generations in a thoroughly Darwinian environment had made the Xirong into a hardy and robust strain of the human species. But they were not the stuff of which good, effective thugs were made.

  Mclargehuge consulted with Crunch Rockbone of the Kazaki Phalange. “Are all the ten Phalanges’ men here?”

  “Yes, but we don’t got a hundred thousands.”

  “Why not?”

  Rockbone scratched under his helmet. “Some of them got themselves lost in Nimali. It’s a big settlement and they ain’t stupid. They know they’re gonna die in this thing.”

  “Maybe I should go with them, maybe,” a third said. He had been given the name Ram Hardwad by K-Rock, and he was of the Phalange Thuthu. “What smuck is gonna to run across the DMZ? Nobody, that’s who?”

  “That’s no lie,” McLargehuge agreed. “Nobody die on his say-so, nobody, that’s who.”

  “Food runs out, soon, too” Rockbone said. “Then what? I don’t know what, I don’t.”

  “We declare humanitarian crisis,” Hardwad laughed. “The Theocrats will come to feed our army. Then, we’ll attack.”

  They became aware, at about this point in the conversation, of an excited yammering rising from the camp where the ten armies of the Xirong had gathered.

  “Am I going to have to beat them again?” Hardwad muttered.

  But before he had even finished, they found their gaze being drawn upward.

  From high in the sky, 101 shadows crossed the suns and bore down toward the surface.

  “What the hell?” Rockbone said.

  The shadows swung lower now, like a flock of birds, which Yronwode had none of anyway, but that is how they moved. And when they approached the ground, their shapes became discernible, long-necked winged lizards, with fiery eyes and teeth and claws. The men in the camps screamed in panic, now, as 101 dragons came down from the sky. The camp broke into pure chaos as the men and boys sought to escape, and had no place to escape to.

  “What in the godless void are those?” Rockbone asked in astonishment.

  “Dragons,” McLargehuge said. “The Ancients left dragons to guard prisoners, so says the legend.”

  The largest, most fearsome dragon pulled up close and stopped before them, long enough for both to see K-Rock riding just behind its head, his legs seemingly merged with the beast’s neck. (In fact, there was a small pocket behind the neck for this purpose.

  Then, Keeler made his dragon fly hard and fast toward a communication a
nd lookout tower a few kilometers from the encampment, but visible across the flat, featureless plain. The dragon let loose a burst of charged plasma and obliterated the tower like a popsicle in a flamethrower.

  The dragons wheeled toward the camp, and when they reached it, they began to alight and position themselves on the surrounding rocks and hills, wherever they could find a purchase. The largest and most fearsome landed last.

  K-Rock dismounted his dragon and spoke to the people. “Do not fear me, peasants, for I am K-Rock!”

  The men and boys gathered from across the Wilderness of Howling Zeal abated their panic, a little bit, and cautiously regarded the man who stood before them.

  They had been told of K-Rock, that he had fallen from the sky, foretold the ten fires that fell on Midian, and had returned from the dead. None of this was as impressive as seeing him ride a dragon.

  “K-Rock,” they began murmuring among themselves. “K-Rock.”

  “I have won these beasts to my will!” K-Rock proclaimed to them. “These beasts answer unto my commands, and will do whatever I bid them.” He paused, portentously. “I will bid them destroy Midian.” A chant began among the massed armies. “K-Rock! K-Rock! K-Rock!” Those who had been fleeing stopped, turned around, and ran to where the armies were gathering before K-Rock. The thousands gathered in the tents and low trees of the badlands began moving toward him, assembling in an open space. K-Rock stood on a little mount before them, his dragon obediently waiting behind him.

  And the chanting grew louder and more rhythmic. “K-Rock! K-Rock! K-Rock!

  He held up his hands, but still they chanted. Men and boys, who minutes before had been snoozing in the hot afternoon, playing listless games of chance, or plotting how to leave were now amassed before him in a throng of tens of thousands chanting

  “K-Rock! K-Rock!”

  “I am K-Rock, I play the hits!” K-Rock shouted.

  “He plays the hits! He plays the hits!” The crowd chanted.

  Big McLargehuge looked on. K-Rock had changed. The tepid man, with his injuries and indecision, that had slain Boros but a few short days ago, had been replaced by a wild-eyed savage, still in his black suit, by seemingly possessed by some, dark, unknown spirit as he urged his army of suddenly devoted followers to howling zeal.

  K-Rock’s voice shouted above them. “Your old masters will be dead within the day. They have been poisoned with the blood of the death serpents. Do not mourn for them. They used you. They kept you weak.

  “I am not like that, I am K-Rock! In me you will find strength! In me you will find the glory that was denied you! In my name, you will go forth as free men, and as long as you do whatever I command, you will be free men!” There was scattered applause at this.

  “You have bravely come to this place from across a desert and a wilderness.

  You were told you would die. I tell you now, follow me and you will not only live, but you will have power over all those that kept you down! You will have wealth beyond your imaginings! Your names will be spoken through history! You left as outcasts, you will return as conquerors.”

  He gestured toward the smudge of smoke and dust on the horizon that marked the location of the city of Nimali. “Across the plains beyond Nimali lies Midian, lies the city of Xiyyon, the city of Xenthe, cities of such gleaming wealth that you can not imagine, wealth and power that has been kept from you, that has, in fact, been stolen from you. Today you will take it back!”

  “K-Rock!” They chanted. “K-Rock! K-Rock! K-Rock!”

  The chanting continued through the next part of his speech. “This world speaks to me through my dreams. It reveals its secrets to me. And it is angry. It is angry at the Theocrats who exploit the Tsi Bai, and angry at the Chieftains who lie to the Tsi Bai.

  The Tsi Bai are its people. The planet was lonely for millions of years, then the Tsi Bai came. Yronwode loves the Tsi Bai, but it hates the Chieftains and it hates the Theocrats. In me, Yronwode has found a champion, who will free her people from all their oppressors

  “Until now, you have been kept week. You had no weapons to match the Theorcrats. You had only your bodies, and your will. But it was enough to beat the Theocrats off the lands of your ancestors, and into their fortressed and gated city. With these mighty, fire-breathing beasts, we have what we need, to take what is rightfully ours!”

  “K-Rock! K-Rock! K-Rock!” chanted the masses.

  “Now, take word to Nimali,” K-Rock shouted. “Every man and boy and woman and child in the city, tell them to move into the plain and march toward Midian. Let them know the day of their destruction is upon them! They will not strike you. I and my dragons will guard you from on high.”

  “K-Rock! K-Rock! K-Rock!” chanted the masses.

  “One planet! One race! One will!” K-Rock shouted.

  “One planet! One race! One will!” the people shouted back at him.

  “Fatherland! Conquest! Victory!” shouted K-Rock.

  “Fatherland! Conquest! Victory!” shouted the armies of Xirong.

  “Might for right, Fight! Fight! Fight!” called K-Rock

  “Might for right, Fight! Fight! Fight!” the Xirong shouted back at him.

  “Might for right, Fight! Fight! Fight!” called K-Rock

  “Might for right, Fight! Fight! Fight!” the Xirong shouted back at him.

  “Today belongs to the Tsi Bai!” he shouted.

  “Today belongs to the Tsi Bai!” shouted the armies.

  “Long live K-Rock!” a single voice yelled from the back before K-Rock could speak again, and the chant was soon repeated and amplified above all others. “Long live K-Rock! Long live K-Rock! Long live K-Rock!”

  K-Rock pointed toward the city with his staff, and the entire assembled armies of all the Xirong Phalanges began running towards it. In the background, several dragons lifted their serpentine heads toward the sky and let loose blazes of fire.

  “Godless void!” spat Rockbone. “It’s gonna to happen. It’s really gonna to happen.”

  “K-Rock gonna to Conquer Midian,” Big McLargehuge was almost stunned to hear himself say it.

  “We are so boned,” said Packwad.

  Yronwode – Midian Security Base 1

  “The Midians don’t think we’re going to leave,” Alkema reported to Parka and Cowboy as they met with Barlass in the ill-equipped barracks command center.

  “They may be right,” Cowboy told him. “Pegasus was just starting to work on the problem of getting you guys off when they sent us here. If they haven’t figured out something by now…”

  “As I was trying to explain before Lt. Commander Alkema came in,” Barlass, the Tactical Medic, interrupted, “We may have a problem if we don’t find a way off the planet.”

  “What?” Cowboy and Alkema asked in unison.

  “How long have we been on the planet?” asked Barlass

  “Twelve Days,” said Cowboy.

  “We were here nine Days before you got here,” Alkema told him.

  “I could show you some displays, but it wouldn’t help, so I’m just going to tell you,” Barlass sighed. “If we don’t get off this planet, we’re going to die.” Alkema corrected her. “Technically, we’re going to die even if we do get off this planet.”

  “I mean relatively soon, within a year,” Barlass elaborated. She pulled up some displays. She was right, they didn’t help. They were just magnifications of cells.

  “Specialist Savagewood and I have been working out the effects of the planet’s electromagnetic and radiation field on this planet. The low-grade radiation of this planet is going to start degrading the DNA in our cells, leading eventually to what the ancients called ‘Cancer.’”

  “I thought we were immune to cancer,” Kitaen said.

  “Normally, we are,” Barlass explained. “And our immune systems will keep us protected much longer than we would otherwise. But this radiation is eventually going to start killing us faster than our bodies can adapt to it.”

  “Why hasn’t it
affect the natives?” Cowboy asked, a split-second before Alkema would have.

  “The Midians and the Xirong have been genetically altered to survive in this environment,” Barlass explained. “And if I’m right, they would suffer the same effect if they left the planet, only much more rapidly. Their immune systems would start attacking their own bodies.”

  “Another failsafe,” Alkema said. “If they leave the planet, they die.”

  “The ultimate prison,” Kitaen mused. “They are literally physically bonded to the planet.”

  “But we’re not,” Barlass told them. “Which means, we will all die unless we can find a way off.”

  “How long?” Alkema asked.

  “With treatment, we could last a year, maybe two,” Barlass told him. “The symptoms haven’t started hitting us yet, but another 30 or 40 days, we’re going to start feeling some symptoms, probably fever and fatigue at first.”

  “Can you fix it?” Alkema asked.

  “I can probably forestall it,” she told him. “But it’s prolonging the inevitable unless we can get off this planet.”

  “Speaking of which, have you come up with any ideas for getting us off the planet?” Kitaen asked Alkema.

  “I’ve been focused on finding the commander,” Alkema confessed. “Lear’s been thinking about it. He thinks if we can achieve an extreme speed, say, one-quarter light speed, in an Aves before we hit the 10,000 meter barrier, we might be able to make it out before the defense system can respond.”

  “Probability of success?” Cowboy asked.

  “I find it hard to believe the Ancients wouldn’t have thought of that,” Alkema told them. “And we have no way to test it without doing it. Our best bet is figuring out how the Kariad left. Has Zim come back with anything from the archives?”

  “Very little,” Kitaen reported. “The Midians are, typically, being less than forthcoming, and only letting her see material after they’ve had the opportunity to review and approve it. She has found one account of the Kariad’s departure, but it’s thin on detail. The Kariad ship was a shining silver disk half a kilometer in diameter. When it left, it rose straight up into the sky, paused a moment, then vanished in the blink of an eye.”