When Tendi's soldiers noticed that their rear rank was gone, some of them made the mistake of turning to meet this new threat, at which point they were cut down from behind by Dennon's drug-crazed troops. Fighting fair just wasn't the Mitchegai way of doing things.
In under a minute, all of the enemy troops were dead, and over a dozen of Dennon's were lying on the floor, dead or wounded. No armor is perfect.
The dead and wounded were left behind them. Later, there would be time for them. Not now.
The survivors, led by Kren and Dennon, continued to push upward.
By this time, most of the members of the first, drugged company were either dead, wounded, or lost, with some of them wandering aimlessly through deserted corridors, looking for someone to kill.
The soldiers who followed Kren and Dennon were mostly from the second company through the tunnel.
Two dozen of Duke Tendi's soldiers were armed and waiting for them in the narrow hallway, the staircase, and the landing leading to Tendi's private chamber.
The narrowness of the hallway stopped the attackers from using their superior numbers to advantage, but the first fighter to get there was Kren, so their lack of effective numbers didn't make much difference. It was one-on-one for the whole distance, and when one of them was Kren, the outcome was not in doubt.
Kren just plowed through, trusting that his armor would protect him, while killing an enemy soldier with almost every blow and thrust. The hardest part was watching his footing as he went over the bodies of those he had slaughtered.
One particularly aggressive guard, having been decapitated, managed to bite Kren's ankle as he went by. The leg armor stopped Kren from being hurt, but the head was a serious encumbrance. With some regret, Kren stamped on it with his other foot, squashing the brain to pulp on the floor. A pity, since the warrior had been a very good fighter. Kren would have wanted him for his future army. He fought on.
The open-centered spiral staircase turned properly to the right, to give the advantage to the warrior at the top, the vast majority of Mitchegai being left handed. For the fun of it, with Dik, his fencing instructor, Kren had practiced with the épée right handed on occasion, and had become fairly ambidextrous. He switched hands and cut his way upward.
After almost tripping a few times over dead bodies, Kren made a point of always killing his opponents such that they went over the handrail and out of the way. Often, he had to take a moment and give them an extra shove.
Dennon and his soldiers got to loudly counting them as they fell to the floor below.
The four troops on the upper landing only lasted a few seconds before they went spinning, headless, downward.
During all of this, there wasn't much for the soldiers behind Kren to do, so they simply watched him. When the last enemy soldier was killed, they took their swords into their right hands and applauded him, with their left hands beating their chest armor!
Kren turned and looked down at them, surprised. Then, as was his usual custom when the crowd applauded him on the playing field, he bowed.
The rest was anticlimactic. The sturdy door was barred from the inside, and it took two axe swingers six minutes to chop their way in, while Duke Dennon fretted about the possibility of Tendi having some sort of secret escape route.
He needn't have worried. When they finally got into the large chamber, Duke Tendi was in a very deep stupor, along with three dozen of his top officials. Parts of children lay about, mostly dead. The duke had apparently decided to start celebrating Warrior's Day a bit early this year.
Duke Dennon went over and chopped off his opponent's head.
"I've been waiting to do that for over a thousand years, and when I finally got the chance, the bloody trash wasn't even awake to watch me do it!"
"You could have waited for him to wake up," Kren said.
"I'm not an absolute idiot, Kren. Stunts like that are for storybook fools! When you get a chance to kill an enemy, you do so right now! If you give them time, they will figure out a way to kill you instead! Okay. You wanted the rest of these nobles for your little experiment," Dennon said, pointing with his sword. "Should we kill them as well?"
"I'd just as soon wait with that until we have the rest of the dead fed to their new bodies. I'm not sure how long it will take for Bronki to perform the operations, and I don't want any of them to go stale."
"As you wish. You've certainly earned many privileges this day. Your fighting prowess is amazing! But I find it hard to believe that Tendi would be foolish enough to let so many of his leaders go into a stupor at the same time. And these boxes! They are the same sort that you use to ship children in, aren't they?"
"Yes, and I suppose that that's the answer to your first question, too. It would appear that the Superior Food Corporation has had a sales promotion in which it gave Duke Tendi two thousand of their finest children for his dining enjoyment. I wouldn't be surprised if half of his army is also in a stupor, somewhere around here."
"Ha! He fell for a stunt like that? When he alone was given such a gift of such largess? What a fool!"
"Perhaps, but everybody else got the same gift. I sent two thousand kids to each of the ten other dukes in the area as well. And who knows? Maybe it will stimulate sales."
"I almost feel jealous, since you didn't do the same for me!"
"Oh, but I did! To do anything else would have pointed you out as the aggressor! Only, you weren't home to receive your present, so my agent put them in storage, under your palace. By now, I expect that your dungeons are filled with refugees from your towns, and that my agent is selling the children to them at wartime rates. At least she'd better be, if she wants to keep her job. I really don't like waste, you see."
"Make all the profit you wish, Kren. But all of this means that I'm not likely to suffer a counterattack soon, doesn't it?"
"That is my hope, Your Grace. Come, let's make sure that the castle is secure, and that the proper individuals are all being properly resurrected. Captain," Kren said to the commander of the second company, "make sure that this room is well guarded. I'll be back for this bunch later."
Dennon picked up the head of his former rival.
"We might need this to convince some of the enemy troops that there is nothing more to fight over. Captain Zem, three dozen warriors will be sufficient to guard this area. Send the rest of your soldiers out as runners to every part of the castle, telling everyone that Duke Tendi is dead, and that Duke Dennon now rules here! Every former enemy who wishes to die may continue fighting. Those who wish to live may surrender. Their lives will be spared, and they will be offered positions in my army. This duchy is now mine!"
Kren was working on his armor.
"Are you coming, Kren?"
"In a moment, Your Grace. First I want to take off this bloody be damned tail armor!"
"I wish we was allowed to do that," one of Duke Dennon's sergeants mumbled.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Drinking Buddies
New Yugoslavia, 2216 a.d.
I'm really not an alcoholic. I like my beer, but I only touch the hard stuff once every month or two. Yet those seem to be the times when things happen.
I was sitting in my den, enjoying my first glass of Jim Beam when Agnieshka said that Bellor had something that he wanted to show me, and could he please come up?
"Certainly," I said. "What's he got?"
"He has the first production model of the new Tellefontu Fighting Machine."
"I want to see that! Tell him to hurry up!"
This thing had been talked about for years. It was supposed to be a marriage between human and Tellefontu technology, and something that they could use to help us fight the Mitchegai. It had been designed by all three races working on New Kashubia, and I had been out of the loop on it. Tellefontu help was vital to the defense of New Yugoslavia.
In a few minutes, the door dilated to allow in a small, flat black, sleek-looking ovoid . . . thing. It was about two meters long, a meter wide and twenty centimeters th
ick. Every cross section of it seemed to be a perfect ellipse. It had no projections of any sort, and it glided in about ten centimeters above the floor.
"Well, it's pretty enough," I said. "Are you in there, old friend?"
"Most assuredly, sir. But certainly you must understand that this vehicle was not created for aesthetic purposes."
"That doesn't stop it from being beautiful. Climb out of it, have a drink, and tell me all about it."
"I would like that, since the last time I was here, I had only sampled halfway through your excellent collection of potables," my crabby friend said.
I hadn't noticed any seams in the craft, but a section to the left of center flipped open, and Bellor climbed out of a small pool of water. Soon, he was on the tabletop, across from where Agnieshka had placed a small soup bowl.
I started to fill the bowl with Jim Beam, but Agnieshka reminded me that last time he had stopped in the rums, and filled the bowl with 151 proof Bacardi.
"I have always been surprised at your love of alcohol," I said. "Was there a lot of it on your home planet?"
"Oh, most definitely, Mickolai. On your native planet, the animals store their excess, emergency energy supplies as fats, for the most part, and your plants usually use carbohydrates. On my beloved home world, both types used ethanol for this purpose. It was our major source of chemical energy. I wish that I could offer you some Jaga berries from the garden I once maintained! They had a magnificent flavor which I am sure that you would have enjoyed, but, Alas! They were all destroyed along with the rest of my planet."
Agnieshka refilled his bowl with something blue that I didn't recognize.
He continued, "Then, when we escaped to New Yugoslavia, we found an ecology here that was primitive, but in many ways similar to what we were used to, including the prevalence of ethanol. Many of the starches and proteins were different, of course, and we were hard pressed for the first few decades to modify our metabolisms, but there was at least enough ethanol to keep us alive until we had adapted."
Next, he was on something bright orange. Hell, I don't know what it was. I'd just told them to stock the bar with everything that anybody might want. I stuck to my sour mash bourbon.
"But when you humans got here, you perforce modified the environment to suit your own metabolisms. At first, it was not at all clear to us what was happening, and there were still plenty of the old plants and animals around. We were a bit slow in realizing the ecological change happening around us. It started slowly, but finished quickly, in the oceans, at least."
Agnieshka filled his bowl with some sort of a thick, yellowish green syrup called Chartreuse. Bellor drank it dry without a comment.
"I was out exploring, and far away from my people when the last of the change happened. I was quite unprepared for it. I had foolishly pressed onward, assuming that I would soon find something to eat. Thus it was that I found myself on an unfamiliar sea coast, starving to death, barely able even to walk. And then you came along, instantly deduced my problems, and put me into a large container of magnificent food. I shall always be grateful for that!"
I said, "I'm glad that I could be of help. You said that the old ecology here was similar to that of your home planet. You know, when I first saw you, I took you for one of the original inhabitants here. I suppose that it was mostly because of those push-pull muscles that work your legs. Many of the local fauna use the same thing."
"Well, it is a far more efficient system than the pull-only arrangement that your people use." Bellor was sucking up something dark brown called Old Navy rum.
"I suppose that it might be," I said. "But you came here to show me this black blob of a fighting machine here."
"True. Its almost absolute blackness continues across most of the electromagnetic spectrum, incidentally. The enemy will be able to see us clearly only if one of us happens to pass in front of a star. If we have to fight on land, we will use the Squid Skins that you have developed, but for deep space, this is superior."
"Can I get that covering for my tanks?"
"It will be available to you soon, yes," he said. "This was the very first Fighting Machine off the line, but we expect to build eight million of them in the next two years, enough so that every adult Tellefontu will be able to join in the defense of our new home."
"That's quite a production rate!"
"Many of our little technological tricks were used on the production lines, as well as on the product."
I said, "I see. I hope that they are applicable to our production lines as well. But if all of your adults go off to war, who will take care of your children?"
"Our older children will do this service, of course. By our definitions, you have to be at least two hundred years old before you can qualify for adulthood, and many take half again longer than that, to be sure. But they are no stupider than your people are of the same age. It is simply that our standards of adulthood are somewhat . . . different, shall we say. In any case, they are quite capable of letting their educations slide for a bit, during an emergency."
"My own sons will be ready for war when they are eighteen."
"We would consider that to be immoral," Bellor said. "But your race must set its own standards."
"We do what we have to," I said. "By your standards, my race is very short lived. But tell me, your machine floated in here. This is some sort of antigravity?"
"Oh, no," he laughed. "Such a thing would be surely impossible! No, we are using the same magnetic technology that your people use, taking advantage of the magnetic surface that you have placed under your floors. There are magnetic cylinders that I can carry to act as treads, when necessary."
"Okay, but why the three-dimensional ellipse, or whatever you call that shape."
"Because it is obviously desirable to have a minimal frontal area with respect to one's volume. This shape permits that from a wide range of angles."
"I won't argue with you," I said. "What's your power supply?"
"A muon-exchange fusion bottle, much as you use, but considerably smaller and somewhat more powerful. Alas, it is not as compact as the one on the Mitchegai ship you captured. This was the best that we could do."
"I see. And the space drive?"
Agnieshka was pouring something milky-looking into his bowl.
"A simple cesium ion engine, much like yours, but smaller and more efficient. It enables a thrust of forty-two Gs, and is quite comparable to those in your tanks. It runs down the center of the vehicle," he said.
"And your weaponry?"
"The same Disappearing Gun that we gave you plans for. It is mounted internally to the right. We are capable of mounting a wide variety of weapons externally, but for space combat, one gun should be sufficient."
"Perhaps. Your craft doesn't appear to have much armor," I said.
"This is indeed true. But armor is not effective against the Disappearing Gun, or indeed against the rail guns that your people have used in the past. Surely, the only purpose for the armor on your vehicles was to protect the inhabitants of your craft from their own weapons. The Disappearing Gun is safe for everyone except those that it is aimed at, so we dispensed with the armor."
"Interesting." I asked, "Will your people be working with an artificial intelligence?"
"Most definitely. Your people are masters at that art form. We have been able to tailor the package to fit into the confines of the hull, but no other improvements were possible, that we could see. We also have full Dream World capability and are able to operate at combat speed, when needed. The electronic people will increase our fighting efficiency considerably. Also, they are so very pleasant to talk with. We enjoy being around them. Oh my! I do believe that I have made a social error! Mickolai, I would like to introduce you to my friend and my ship, Belladonna. Belladonna, this is our planetary commander, General Mickolai Derdowski."
Belladonna and I said the usual formal words to each other. Then I said, "But as to enjoying our metal ladies' company, I expect that the feeling
is mutual. So what you have here is something approximately equivalent to one of our tanks, but much smaller."
"Yes, but being much smaller, we will be much harder to hit," he said. " 'We're pressing on with each new ship, less weight and larger power. We'll have the Loco Engine soon, and thirty miles an hour!' "
"You are quoting Kipling, one of my favorite poets!"
"Indeed, I have been making a very thorough study of your human culture, and Rudyard Kipling is certainly one of my favorites, also."
"I'll drink to that. And to him!"
Agnieshka poured him another bowlful of something. I wish that I knew where he put it all.
When it was time for Bellor to go, he started to return to his small space ship, but his coordination was way off. At one point, he tried to move all three of his right legs at the same time, and fell over.
"Well, my friend," I said. "It seems that I finally know what your limit is in alcohol!"
"It is indeed true that I have overindulged, to my considerable embarrassment, but it was not the alcohol that subverted the control of my legs. Ethanol is only a healthy food to people of my sort. It was rather the inordinate amount of various sugars in some of your potables, some of which have a certain physiological effect on those of my race. Fructose in particular. Without stepping over the bounds of good taste, may I ask if you could you perhaps assist me to my vehicle?"
"Are you sure that you can drive?"
"I am sure that I cannot," Bellor admitted. "However, Belladonna is fully functional, and she will take me home quite safely."
"As you wish." I picked him up, swearing that he weighed less than all the booze that he had drunk, and put him back in the small pool of water in his tank. Once he managed to get all of his legs inside, the lid closed, and the little black ship went home.
Agnieshka, who always seemed to know what I was thinking, said, "Remarkable creatures!"
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
FROM CAPTURED HISTORY TAPES,
FILE 1846583A ca. 1832 a.d.
BUT CONCERNING EVENTS OF UP TO
Kren of the Mitchegai Page 31