Pleased, but also surprised by the strength of his welcome, Booly made his way down toward the stage and the council seats that had been chipped out of solid rock. There were three to a side, with a seventh slightly raised chair in the middle.
Off to the left, standing shoulder to shoulder, were a now-antiquated Trooper I and an early-model Trooper II. Neither war form was occupied, and hadn’t been for a long time, but both had been equipped with glowing red eyes. They were there for the same reason that the Legion maintained various war museums, as a testament to Naa valor and the ultimate cost of war. They had fascinated him as a boy—and still had power over him now.
Two chairs had been brought in and set up next to those that would be occupied by the council. Booly and Maylo accepted the invitation to sit down, and had just taken their seats, when Truespeak, his fellow chiefs, and their retainers entered the cavern and took their various places. The invisible drum continued to pound until Truespeak raised a hand and brought it down. The sudden silence was as effective as a demand for attention. The Chief of Chiefs gazed out over the audience. He looked impressive in full regalia, very impressive, and his voice carried to the farthest reaches of the cavern. “This village was once home to one of the greatest chiefs who ever lived. His name was Wayfar Hardman.”
The same undulating cry that Maylo had heard before sounded once again, except that it was louder now, as the newly arrived guests joined in. Maylo knew that Wayfar Hardman was her husband’s great-grandfather—and took his hand.
Booly knew it was Truespeak’s way of honoring both him and the village. He managed a smile, but felt a rising sense of concern. This had all the earmarks of a serious meeting—and one for which he was completely unprepared. Somehow, based on intelligence they weren’t supposed to have, the Naa had known where he would be and when. That put him at a distinct disadvantage. All he could do was listen—and see what the Naa had in mind.
“There are many stories about Wayfar Hardman,” Truespeak continued, as the noise died away. “One of my favorites had to do with the manner in which he took control of a village all by himself.”
Booly had heard all sorts of stories about his great-grandfather, some fanciful, and some clearly based on fact. But this sounded like a new one, and he listened with interest.
“There was a village,” Truespeak intoned, “a distant village, that envied the harvest stored in your ancestral caves. They came against your forefathers during a blizzard. Many members of your village were killed, a great deal of food was stolen, and the enemy returned home. So distant were their huts, and so powerful were their warriors, that the thieves slept comfortably every night.
“Hardman knew they were strong, too strong to defeat in a head-on conflict, so rather than take all of his warriors out to meet the enemy and leave his village vulnerable to other thieves, he traveled across the vast wasteland alone. No one knows how he neutralized their sentries, or how he killed their chief, even as he lay next to his mate in bed. Only that he did.
“But the real purpose of his mission was not to kill the chief, but to plant the seeds of fear deep within the heart of the village, where they were certain to grow. Proof of that can be found in the fact that warriors from that distant land never raided your village again.”
As Booly listened to the words his mind took the story, superimposed it over the war with the Ramanthians, and produced something of an epiphany. Suddenly the officer knew what to do, even if he had no idea how to accomplish it, and the knowledge buoyed his spirits. Soon, very soon, the Confederacy would strike back.
RAMANTHIAN PLANET, HIVE
It was slightly after noon in The Place Where The Queen Dwells, which meant that thousands of Ramanthian workers were still in the process of returning from midmeal, when Suu Norr left his office at the Department of Civilian Affairs and shuffled his way toward the royal eggery. Not to hear accolades as he had so many times in the past, but to receive what could well be his death warrant, depending on how her highness reacted to the news he was about to deliver.
In fact, the official felt so negative regarding his chances, that he had taken the highly unusual step of notifying both the War Norr and the Egg Norr of the royal audience lest the Queen’s security drones dump his body on their doorstep unannounced.
That was why Norr slip-slid along the walkway with head hung low, dreading the meeting that lay ahead. He entered the eggery via a side door, submitted himself to the usual security check, and shuffled up a series of ramps to the platform that surrounded the top portion of the royal’s badly swollen body.
As the functionary arrived two dozen uniformed retainers were in the process of arranging a fresh coverlet over the Queen’s grossly distended body. After the enormous sheet was secured, the previous drape was removed from underneath, thus preserving the royal’s privacy. Finally, once the process was complete, Norr was allowed to proceed. The pungent odor of recently laid eggs triggered the usual physiological reactions, which caused the official to feel protective, subservient, and even more fearful.
The Queen watched the functionary’s approach via one of her monitors. His body language spoke volumes. Norr was depressed about something, but what? By the time the official arrived in front of her, the royal had prepared herself for bad news. She gave no sign of that, however, as she looked down upon one of her most distinguished subjects. “Yes, Minister Norr? What can we do for you today?”
“I came to beg your forgiveness, Majesty,” Norr replied miserably.
“I see,” the Queen replied icily. “Please continue.”
So, having no other choice, Norr gave a report on Project Echo. The royal listened with rapt attention. It seemed that Project Echo was the latest in a long series of attempts to develop a means of faster-than-ship communication. The work, which had been carried out within a little-known bureau buried deep within the Department of Civilian Affairs, had been under way for a year and a half.
Though largely unsaid, the Queen got the impression that Norr and senior members of his staff considered the technology involved to be interesting but not especially promising, until it suddenly started to work.
It seemed that a research facility had been established on a planet called Savas, which was located thousands of light-years away. Nothing of any consequence had been heard from the research station until a series of what were purported to be hypercom messages arrived on Hive via the Project Echo equipment located there. Tests had been carried out to verify that the messages were real, and the results were clear: Thanks to Ramanthian research, faster-than-ship communication was now a reality.
More work would have to be done before hypercom sets could be manufactured and issued to the navy, but those efforts were under way, and it was only a matter of time before the first units rolled off the assembly lines.
The royal couldn’t resist the temptation to interrupt at that point. “This is excellent news! So, why beg my forgiveness?”
Norr gave the Ramanthian equivalent of a sigh, lowered his head to the furthest extent possible, and gave the rest of his report. According to communications received from a local naval officer via the Echo system, his battle group had been ambushed by a superior enemy force, which had inflicted heavy damage on his destroyer prior to landing on Savas. There was no way to know what the Confederacy forces hoped to accomplish there, but Norr feared that they had somehow managed to learn about the hypercom and dispatched a task force to grab it.
“But why not bring the device out now?” the Queen demanded. “You indicated that we have a destroyer off-planet.”
“The ship was not only damaged,” Norr reminded her, “but it’s too large to enter the atmosphere.”
“So, how long will it take?” the royal inquired impatiently.
“Three standard weeks for the task force to arrive, plus approximately three weeks to tear the facility down, and another three weeks to return.”
“And the situation on the ground?”
Norr brightened sligh
tly. “One of the enemy ships crash-landed in the middle of a desert. The other put down at a human settlement located more than a thousand units away from the research facility. Fortunately, it was severely damaged. Not only that, but we have a battalion of armor on Savas, which is under the command of a very competent officer. He feels confident that he can defend the facility even if the surviving Confederacy troops march overland against him.”
The Queen felt a tremendous sense of relief. Think of it! A hypercom! And at exactly the right moment, too . . . Once in operation, the new technology would ensure military superiority until such time as billions of her offspring had matured and were old enough to conquer known space. Her words were consistent with her mood.
“While it is unfortunate that your personnel failed to take Project Echo more seriously, this is a scientific discovery of truly monumental proportions, and the functionaries responsible for the breakthrough are to be congratulated.”
It was a generous assessment, much more generous than Norr expected, or thought that he deserved. The official went to one knee. “Thank you, Majesty. I will tell them what you said.”
“See that you do,” the royal admonished, “and check to see what other advances lay hidden within the depths of your bureaucracy. Maybe your scientists can make me thin again!”
PLANET ALGERON, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
Rather than take over the commandant’s office, forcing her to find other quarters, Booly had laid claim to a conference room that was located three levels below the planet’s surface. It was barely large enough to accommodate all of his guests. They included two admirals, plus Sergi Chien-Chu in his capacity as a reserve naval officer and advisor, plus members of Booly’s staff, including Colonel Kitty Kirby, Colonel Tom Leeger, Major Drik Seeba-Ka, and a dozen aides who sat behind the main participants with their backs to the walls. There was a certain amount of chatter as everyone took their seats followed by the order, “Atten-hut!” as Booly entered the room.
The senior officer said, “As you were,” before anyone had time to stand, and took the chair at the head of the table. “Good afternoon,” Booly said, as he allowed his eyes to roam the faces around him, “and welcome to Operation Deep Strike. The objective of this meeting is to discuss an attack on the planet Hive.”
All of those present were far too experienced to utter a gasp of surprise, but there were plenty of raised eyebrows, and a significant number of frowns. After all, Hive was extremely well defended, and the Confederacy had yet to successfully penetrate Ramanthian-held space. Booly nodded understandingly. “Sounds impossible, doesn’t it? But that’s why we should do it. Because an attack on Hive would bolster morale throughout the Confederacy, scare the hell out of the bugs, and cause them to pull additional assets back to their home planet.
“What I’m looking for is a plan that will allow us to take the war to Hive. The extent of the damage isn’t especially important. The bugs will figure that if we can do it once, we can do it twice, and that will make them paranoid.
“Now, in order to pull this off we need something so far out of the box that it will take the bugs entirely by surprise. That means conventional stuff won’t work. So, let’s get to it.”
The ensuing brainstorming session lasted all day. Dozens of possible plans were considered and ultimately rejected before the group settled on what seemed like the best idea available. A number of Ramanthian vessels had been captured during the previous few months. Volunteers would load one of them with nukes, drop into the Ramanthian home system, and use a specially designed Ramanthian-like artificial intelligence to bluff their way through the outermost ring of defenses. Once in position, the crew would launch their weapons, go hyper, and hope for the best.
The plan was far from perfect, but Booly was convinced that it was the best one put forward, and was just about to end the meeting when a hesitant voice was heard from the back of the room. “General? Are you still interested in new ideas?”
The truth was that Booly was tired and looking forward to what promised to be a romantic dinner with Maylo, but forced himself to say, “Sure, what have you got?”
One of the more senior officers said, “Stand up,” so Ensign Loli Sooby stood up. She had short hair, big brown eyes, and a pinched face. She had just graduated from the academy, and other than the gold bars on her shoulders, and a standard name tag, her blue uniform bore no ribbons, badges, or other insignia. Like the other aides, Sooby was present to run errands for her betters, which was to say all of the other participants.
So, even though Booly had invited everyone to participate in the discussion, it had taken the junior officer more than three hours to work up the nerve to voice her idea. The ensign was so terrified that her hands started to shake, and she balled them into fists. “As established earlier, the moment a ship arrives in the Ramanthian system, the bugs rush to challenge it. In fact, based on intelligence gathered from neutrals, we know that a high percentage of incoming vessels are routinely boarded.
“However, like Earth’s solar system, the Hive system includes a number of comets. Most are permanent residents, so to speak, and therefore predictable, but new ones arrive occasionally. By outfitting a warship with the equipment required to generate what looks like a plasma trail, it might be possible to enter the system unchallenged and thereby get a good deal closer to Hive before being attacked.”
The proposal met with a long moment of dead silence. Sooby tried to will herself into another dimension, and when that failed, was contemplating suicide when Chien-Chu spoke. “Damn. That sounds like one helluva good idea. How ’bout it? What do the real naval officers have to say?”
It was a good idea. So good that Admiral Hykin wished that he had thought of it himself. “I like it,” he said reluctantly. “I’m not sure how the plasma tail thing would work—but the concept is worth further investigation.”
Booly nodded. “I agree. Good work, Ensign. I hate to admit it, but the navy comes up with some good ideas from time to time.”
There was laughter, the meeting was adjourned, and Sooby was amazed to discover that she had survived.
In spite of the overcrowding caused by all of the newly arrived government officials, the Legion takes care of its own, and Booly had a room to himself. It was spartan, but fairly large, which was good since his wife had arrived to share it with him.
The legionnaire palmed the door, peered into the dimly lit interior, and grinned. Candles flickered near the bed, soft music could be heard, and Maylo was stretched on the bed. She smiled. “Hey, soldier, looking for some fun?”
Booly closed the door and shed pieces of his uniform as he crossed the room. “That depends . . . How much will this cost?”
“Everything,” Maylo answered, as he entered the circle of her arms.
“Everything? That’s a lot.”
“Yes,” his wife agreed soberly, “it is. There are rewards, however, one of which is right here.”
Booly felt her hand take control of his and guide it down over silky-smooth skin to her lower abdomen. That was when he realized that rather than being flat, the way it usually was, her stomach felt slightly rounded. He looked into her face and saw her smile. “Really? A baby?”
“No, not just any baby, your baby. Our baby.”
Booly laughed joyfully, kissed her, and laughed again. “Can we still make love?”
Maylo looked up into his face and smiled. “Yes. For quite a while yet.”
“Good. Let’s celebrate.” And they did.
6
* * *
I’ll hide my master from the flies, as deep As these poor pickaxes can dig.
—William Shakespeare
Cymbeline
Standard year 1609
* * *
SAVAS PRIME, PLANET SAVAS
It had rained during the night, but the clouds had disappeared, leaving a clear blue sky. But puddles remained, some of which were quite large, forcing the citizens of Savas Prime to navigate their way betw
een them on their way to the only structure large enough to hold everyone. They filtered into the customs dome, milled around the mostly open duracrete floor, or huddled in small groups.
There hadn’t been a whole lot of commerce in and out of the Savas system of late, not with a Ramanthian destroyer in orbit, and what little bit of traffic there was bypassed both the dome and the local customs officer, something he was almost powerless to stop since the locals had no love of taxes or those paid to collect them. That was why the structure was empty except for a pile of shipping containers stacked along a section of the curvilinear wall that would most likely remain there until the end of the war.
There was a stir as Colonel Kobbi arrived, and a general movement in toward the makeshift platform, as the military officer climbed a pile of increasingly larger crates until he stood on top of a full-sized cargo module. Sunlight streamed down through the skylight at the center of the dome to bathe him in gold.
Santana and a small cluster of legionnaires stood off to one side, ready to intervene if the crowd turned ugly. The fact that he was there, rather than chasing Kuga-Ka and his henchmen through the jungle, made the cavalry officer angry.
However, for reasons Santana could only guess at, Captain Gaphy had assigned Lieutenant Awanda and a squad of six bio bods to find the deserters and bring them back. No small task given the fact that the renegades had weapons, an RAV loaded with stolen supplies, and a hostage.
There was nothing Santana could do, however, but stand and watch as Kobbi prepared to address the townspeople. There wasn’t any PA system, but the bandy-legged legionnaire didn’t need one. He had a voice that had been tested on dozens of parade grounds and never found to be wanting. “Good morning,” Kobbi began. “I would like to thank the citizens of Savas Prime for their hospitality . . . and apologize for any hardship we brought them. There have been numerous inquiries regarding our plans, so I thought I would take this opportunity to answer those that I can.
Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell Page 14