Three Against the Stars

by Joe Bonadonna

  “We have always assumed that some mouse-eating cabron named Jhaza was the leader of the Khandra,” Cortez said.

  Chanori folded his paws and nodded. “And so he was. But when the Rhajni resistance captured his wife and children, he betrayed us in exchange for their freedom. He then fled Rhajnara—and I was forced to assume a new identity. My true name is Sakuri Landuro.”

  “A fascist by any other name,” Akira told him.

  “What about poor Makki’s mum, Chanori—or Landuro or whatever it is you care to call yourself?” O’Hara asked. “We found her body on Acheron. How did your people find her?”

  “Purely by coincidence,” Chanori said. “She was working for the Fontaine Mining Colony where she and some other refugees had emigrated after the war. That’s where we found Jhaza—hiding out and posing as a Felisian sympathizer. He, too, had assumed a new identity.”

  “Something tells me that was Jhaza’s corpse we found on Acheron, half-buried in the earth and burned to a crisp,” said Cortez. “No?”

  Vash snarled. “Revenge is a dish best served cold, as you Earthers would say.”

  Akira risked a glance over the parapet and wondered if she’d survive jumping off the roof to make an escape. There was an adjacent building about thirty feet below: if she could just make it safely to that roof . . . But she knew that if the fall didn’t kill or disable her, the guns of the Khandra surely would. Still, it was an option.

  “I’m sure you three can understand . . . we were not a space-faring race before the arrival of you and your Omegan allies,” Chanori said. “But with the assistance of our allies, the Grimalkins shall rule Rhajnara once again, and the known universe will be ours to explore.”

  “What then?” O’Hara asked. “You and the Draks divide the spoils?”

  Chanori bowed graciously. “You think too highly of me, Sergeant O’Hara. My dreams are not as grandiose as those of the Drakonian Hegemony. I wish only to rule Rhajnara as I was destined to rule, in peace and without interference from outworlders such as you.”

  “Do you really believe that the Drakonian Hegemony will just leave you alone? That they won’t betray you and enslave your people, as they’ve done to all their allies?” Akira asked.

  “What would they gain?” Chanori countered. “We have no technology that they do not already possess. We have no polarite, no urathium. What could they possibly ask of us?”

  “They will not ask—they will take,” Cortez said. “The Draks are very fond of cheap labor. Slave labor.”

  “This is a great opportunity for the Rhajni—”

  “You mean the Grimalkins, not the Felisians,” Akira interrupted.

  “But of course, my exquisite one,” Chanori said.

  “And what of Lord Ginjua? What has he to say about this?”

  “The good but naïve Lord Chancellor has never suspected a thing,” Chanori told her. “And I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but he has been forced into retirement.”

  Akira knew what that meant. “You murdered him?”

  Chanori tilted his head to one side, smiled apologetically and shrugged. “All for the good of our cause, I assure you, my dear.”

  “Curse your soul! We have friends and family on Earth!”

  “You’re a real swine, Chanori,” O’Hara said. He shook his head in disgust. “Oh . . . why don’t you just kill us and have done with it, instead of talkin’ us to death?”

  “All in good time, Sergeant O’Hara. All in good time.”

  “You say you want peace?” O’Hara asked. “Well, it ain’t gonna be so peaceful around here after the Imperial Fleet destroys the Drakonian starmada, and more Marines than you can count on both paws come here to kick your stinkin’ fur all the way to the Memnon Galaxy!”

  Chanori laughed, but there was no humor in his eyes. “The Drakonian starmada approaching this planet is merely a decoy,” he said. “A second and much larger task force has already been sent to the very heart of your Terran Empire—the Earth you hold so dear.”

  “Madre de Dios!” Cortez cried.

  “Not even divine intervention can save your world, Sergeant,” Chanori told him. “By the time your Imperial Fleet intercepts the first of the Drakonian warships, the second starmada will have scattered the atoms of your precious Earth across the galaxy.”

  O’Hara shook his handcuffs in Chanori’s face. “Curse your soul! We have friends and family on Earth! My mother lives there!”

  “You’re all reckless fools and Drakonian puppets, Chanori,” Akira said, her mind racing to find some way to warn the colonel. “You underestimate us humans—but most of all, you underestimate the Marine Corps. Somehow the colonel will get a message through to Earth.”

  Vash howled with delight and pointed to the aerial rising high above them. “We have been cloaking all communications. No messages will leave the surface of this world.”

  “Nevertheless, the Third Regiment will blast you all into next week!” Cortez said.

  “Look there and over there,” Chanori said, pointing to the Giruda Foothills on either side of Jaipur Pass. “Come tomorrow, before you are all executed, your brave Marines will enter the pass and march unknowingly into the jaws of death—into the very mouth of Hell itself.”

  O’Hara lunged for Chanori and managed to wrap his fingers around the Rhajni lord’s throat before a tigerman slammed the butt of a tazer rifle against the back of his head. O’Hara groaned and slumped to his knees. The barrel of the rifle was placed against his temple. Shaking his head, O’Hara raised his hands.

  At the same time, Cortez tackled Vash, and they rolled across the roof. But Vash was taller and much stronger, and he quickly subdued the Spaniard with a blow to the jaw from one powerful fist. Two guards grabbed Cortez and hauled him to his feet.

  Akira decided to make the jump, hoping to land on the roof below, climb down the rest of the way, and make good her escape. But she knew it was a foolish move as soon as she leapt onto the parapet. Vash wrapped one muscular arm around her waist and pulled her back before she could jump. He threw her into the waiting paws of a pair of tigermen.

  Chanori walked over to her. “A valiant but foolish attempt, Sergeant,” he said, stroking Akira’s cheek with the knuckles of his paw. “It’s a pity we didn’t get to know each other better and under more favorable circumstances.”

  Akira tried to kick him between the legs, but the palm of his paw slammed into her forehead an instant before she could make her play. A supernova flashed in front of her eyes and was quickly replaced by a black hole.

  444

  Later that night, in the Khandra science lab on Level 3, Makki hung suspended between two metal posts. Wires attached to his head led to a control box manned by the hunchbacked scientist. Flix paced the room like an anxious tomcat on the prowl.

  Chanori and Vash stood off to one side, watching and waiting with feline patience.

  “I’ve been lenient so far,” Flix said, speaking Rhajni. He stopped pacing and leaned over Makki, almost whisker to whisker. “You value the friendship of the humans much too highly.”

  Makki gave the Rhajni corporal a cavalier smile. “Humans make very good pets.”

  “Your loyalty is misplaced, Felisian. The humans used you. They sent you here to spy on us, didn’t they?” Flix demanded.

  Makki didn’t have to lie. “Cortez only took this one along to help him find treasure.”

  “But there’s no treasure here.”

  “Then perhaps the good sergeant was misinformed.”

  Flix hissed and slapped Makki with the back of a paw. “Humans are fond of saying that curiosity killed the cat. Take heed of that, my little friend.”

  Makki grinned. “But satisfaction brought back the cat,” he answered in his native tongue.

  Flix pointed a clawed finger at Makki, who snapped his jaws at it. Flix jerked his hand away just in time to avoid losing it.

  “I’ll handle this,” Chanori said.

  Flix bowed and stepped aside
.

  Chanori walked over to Makki and smiled down at him. “I want you to listen to me, Makki,” he said in the Rhajni language. “Your father died fighting the Khandra. But he was a fool. Do not walk in his shadow. Tell us what you know, and I’ll grant you your life.”

  “The Khandra imprisoned this mewling in a labor camp,” Makki growled, struggling to break free of his bonds. “The Khandra murdered this one’s father and mother!”

  “Your life is in my hands,” Chanori said. “Do not force me to cut it short.”

  “This one would welcome the opportunity to cut you down to size!” Makki said.

  Chanori’s eyes narrowed into slits. He looked as if he were about to respond, but the hint of a shadow crossed his face.

  Makki suddenly realized that the Rhajni lord wasn’t as certain of victory as he let on. Chanori was afraid that Colonel Dakota might already have been warned, and that she was luring him into the open by pretending to play into his paws. Chanori was hiding his doubts and fears behind a mask of arrogance.

  Makki laughed at him. “The humans are fond of saying that a cat has nine lives. This one suggests you begin at once and test that theory, before you bore everyone here to tears.”

  Chanori sighed and shook his great head. He took a black kerchief from a pocket and wiped his paws. “You may begin, Vash,” he told his son.

  Vash’s eyes lit with joy as he punched a button on the control box. Lights flickered. Smoke billowed. The hum of electrical motors and the smell of burning fur filled the room.

  Makki screamed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Versatility of the Diascan Unit

  The bright Rhajni sun rose slowly over the Baroda Mountains . . . over the Khandra fortress . . . and over the 50-mile stretch of Jaipur Pass. Hundreds of Khandra warriors stationed themselves at tazer and zapgun emplacements hidden in the Giruda Foothills on either side of the pass.

  But all O’Hara could see when he stuck his bandaged head through the bars of the cell’s narrow window were the sky and mountains. Looking up, he also saw the old-fashioned aerial and the metal dome concealing the laser cannon rising high above the roof of the fortress.

  “Oh, bloody hell!” he cursed.

  Then he noticed the plastic casing of the aerial clamped and bolted to the outside wall, next to the window. He knocked on the aerial’s casing and heard a hollow sound. It was made of the same type of plumbing conduit still used on Earth.

  He turned from the window and sat on the cot next to Cortez.

  Akira sat across from them. She wrapped bandages into a ball and set them on the cot next to Makki’s medikit. She was tired and worried about their friend.

  “How is your head, O’Hara?” asked Cortez.

  O’Hara knocked on his forehead. “Like a rock!” he said. “Akira did a good job of patchin’ me up—for a girl.” He smiled at her. “How’s your head, dearie?”

  “Not as thick as yours,” Akira said.

  Cortez stood and went over to Akira. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “We are all worried about Makki,” he said.

  The cell door slid open.

  They turned toward it as a pair of Khandra panthermen shoved Makki through the door. He stumbled into the cell, looking haggard and distressed.

  The door slid shut without a sound.

  “Makki!” Akira ran to him, hugged him and led him over to her cot. “Sit down,” she said.

  Makki masked his pain with a weary smile and waved to his other friends. O’Hara and Cortez knelt on the floor in front of him.

  “You all right, amigo?” Cortez asked.

  “As right as rain,” Makki replied.

  Akira knew he was putting up a brave front, but said nothing to the others. She didn’t want to embarrass Makki. His bravery, his sense of honor, and what Cortez and O’Hara thought of him meant everything in the world to him.

  “What did they do to ya, lad?” O’Hara asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

  Makki shook his head. “Doctors . . . examined this one.”

  “You mean they tortured you?” Akira asked.

  Makki nodded. “But not injured. No wounds to patch.”

  Looking at him, Akira thought: But there are certain types of wounds that can’t be seen.

  “The bloody fiends!” O’Hara roared. “I’ll tear their heads off!”

  “Chanori tried to learn what this mewling and sergeants know about this place,” Makki explained. “He wanted to know if the regiment has been warned.”

  “You did not tell them anything, did you?” Cortez asked.

  “This one knows even less than you!” Makki said. “This mewling worked in labor camp but escaped and hid in ruins of city until Marines come to Rhajnara. If not for Marines, this one would not be alive—and would not be locked in cell with friends!”

  Akira realized they were all close to the edge of their nerves, contemplating their fate. She was glad for the silence that intervened.

  “This one has learned that Ambassador Hassan was murdered when the Khandra assassinated Chancellor Ginjua,” Makki said, brushing away the silence with his words.

  “Dios mio!” Cortez said.

  “Them Drakonians may be a nasty lot, but the Khandra can teach ‘em a thing or two,” O’Hara said, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “O’Hara—you know nothing about Drakonians,” Cortez told him.

  The big Irishman scowled. “And I suppose you know more than me?”

  Cortez returned O’Hara’s scowl with one of his own. “I was on leave when the Drakonians attacked Mars,” the Spaniard said. “I will never forget what they did to my beloved Burroughsville.” He turned to Makki, his eyes glistening with the tears of painful memories. “I saw the Drakonians murder my mother and father. I watched them die right in front of me.”

  Makki gently squeezed Cortez’s shoulder. “This one never knew of this.”

  “I’m sorry, too, mate,” O’Hara said. “You’ve never mentioned this before.”

  “In the face of a grim future we’re all learning a thing or two about each other’s pasts,” Akira said. “But as for the here and now—we have to escape and warn the colonel!”

  Cortez pointed at the window. “How? Through that?”

  “This one tried to cut through bars of window with laser scalpel, but did not have enough time to complete job,” Makki said.

  “And even if we took out those bars, none of us could squeeze through that little window,” said O’Hara. “We’ll just have to be thinking of something else.”

  “Then start thinking, Seamus,” Akira said. “I don’t mind dying—I just don’t want to go down without a fight.”

  Makki scooted across the cot until his back was against the wall. He began to rummage through his medikit while his friends argued amongst themselves.

  444

  Camp Corregidor was busy that morning. Convoys of jeeps and tanks, supply trucks and medical vans, troop carriers and other vehicles rolled through the main gates. The Rhajni sun was on the rise, and the morning promised to be warm, bright and clear.

  Colonel Dakota and Major Helm strolled toward a waiting jeep, where a driver sat behind a windshield made of blast-proof glassteel.

  “Are the Comanche squadrons ready, Major?” Dakota asked, popping one of her stomach pills and swallowing it dry. She was anxious and trying not to show it.

  “We’re good to go, Colonel,” Helm replied. “The AEVs will be in orbit by 0900. One shuttle will remain on base with the fire team assigned to arrest and escort our missing personnel to the Iwo Jima—if and when they decide to show up.”

  “Have you heard anything from Corporal Flix?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Helm told her. “No one knows where he is. But one thing’s for sure—he is not with our AWOL sergeants.”

  Dakota stared at the major, not wanting to express her thoughts and fears. But she was afraid . . . afraid that Makki and her three best sergeants had gotten into something that w
as way over their heads . . . afraid that they might never return to camp.

  “I’ll contact you as soon as we reach Jaipur Pass,” she said. “Good luck, Major.”

  The African officer snapped to attention. “Semper fi, Colonel!”

  Dakota and Helm exchanged salutes and shook hands. The colonel hopped inside the waiting jeep, and it took off like a bullet, racing across the campgrounds and the tarmac.

  Major Helm watched the jeep for a moment, before tending to his duties.

  444

  Not even the electric-blue tracers flashing from the wing-gun of the black starship could warm the cold, vast reaches of space on the fringe of the Tetaara System.

  The Terran merchant ship Venture, known for the valuable cargo she often carried, had set course for the Hamilton Wormhole when the black starship soared across a quadrant of neutral space and swooped down on the freighter like a cosmic bird of prey. Without warning, the warship attacked the Venture, her weapons burning the hull and cutting into the freighter like a can opener. As if she were some alien space dragon, the black starship spat luciferous destruction from the jaws of her dinosaurian prow, and then moved in for the kill.

  Then the wormhole suddenly expanded and pulsed with orange light—and the starship Courageous flew from its gaping maw. Almost immediately the black starship swung around, and fired a volley of atomizer torpedoes and white energy beams from the solar cannons mounted on her wings. In a matter of seconds the Courageous took evasive action and retaliated. Her lasers and photon guns flared and lit up the darkness of space.

  444

  Cortez paced the floor and kept stepping on his friends’ feet. O’Hara stared at his chronoband, shaking his head. Akira practiced Tai Chi. Makki carefully replaced each of his medical instruments inside his medikit, but held the Diascan in his paws and stared at it as if waiting for the answer to their situation to suddenly appear on its tiny screen.