Double Spiral War Trilogy

by Warren Norwood

  “As you wish, AOCO.” Frye took anger as a good sign. Maybe this was the breakthrough he had been waiting for.

  Marsha let him take the lead through the crowded halls, and let her anger simmer. Only now was she beginning to understand how much anger she held for him – anger at him for separating her from Lucky, anger at him for deserting so many people in Matthews, and most surprising of all, anger at him because her mother was dead.

  No matter how rationally she understood that his act had been merciful – no matter how rationally she understood that her mother would otherwise have died a horrible, lingering death – Marsha still could not accept the fact that he had given her mother the poison that had killed her.

  Then as Marsha followed him into his office, her mind revealed a fleeting glimpse of what lay behind all of her feelings. If he had ever been able to love her she might have felt differently. But he could not or would not give her what she needed most from him. He would not give of himself. She closed the door carefully behind them and walked to the window with her arms folded across her breasts.

  “Shall I start, or do you want to?” he asked.

  “You’re the commander,” she said bitterly.

  Frye hesitated. “No, not here, not now. I’m your father and you’re my daughter, and it is time we cleared the air between us. No rank. Not this time.”

  The emotions surging through her threatened her self-control, but she held them down.” All right, then daughter to father.” She turned to face him, took a deep breath and tightened her arms around her chest. “Let’s start at the beginning and move rapidly forward in that neat, concise way you like so much.”

  Frye refused to respond to her sarcasm. Regardless of what she said, he meant to hear her out.

  “In the beginning you ignored me – or more accurately, you ignored my need for a father who cared about me. Then you ran me off. Then you ignored my communications. Then you…then you killed Mother.”

  Her voice was breaking, but she had to go on. “Then you told me you didn’t – couldn’t love me. And then, then you abandoned all those people! And you wonder why there is tension between us? Do you really?” Suddenly the tears filled her eyes and Marsha turned away from him.

  There was nothing Frye could say, and he knew it – not because he had no defense against her accusations, but because he knew she wouldn’t listen. He should have been angered by her stupidity and childishness, but instead of anger he felt only a cold distance from her.

  “Well?” she asked as she spun around. “Aren’t you going to tell me how wrong I am and how righteous and noble you are?”

  “No, Marsha, I’m not.”

  She couldn’t believe it. There she was laying it all out for him and he was just sitting there as stoically as though she had told him night was falling. “Why? Are you afraid of it? Are you afraid to talk about how you feel?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be stupid.” As quickly as he said that he shut his mouth. She had struck a nerve. Anger broke through the cold. But he had no intention of telling her how he felt – not yet.

  “Then tell me,” she said after a long pause. “Tell me how you feel – about me, about Mother, about all those spacers you left out there. What’s the matter, you bastard, don’t you feel anything for any of us?” The tears ran down her cheeks in little streams of quiet desperation.

  “That’s enough!” Frye was again startled by how quickly she could rouse his ire no matter how fiercely he guarded against it.

  “Why? You putting your rank back on, Daddy?” Now she wanted him to see her tears, and maybe, just maybe understand how much his actions hurt her.

  “I’m your father,” he said sternly. “You have no right to talk to me that way.”

  “And I’m the daughter you never wanted, so I can talk to you any way I damn well please.”

  Frye stared at her in wonder, as though she were a stranger who was accosting him. How could such a woman be his own flesh and blood? How could she be Vinita’s daughter? Suddenly the final bit of understanding came through to him and he realized what he had been blind to all along. He had been looking for Vinita’s traits in Marsha and failed to see his own.

  “Yes, you can,” he said, pacing his words with as much discipline as he could muster. “You can say anything you want. And so can I. Do you want to hear what I have to say?”

  “No. I’m just here for the weather.”

  “Then put on your storm gear, daughter-of-mine, because you’re going to need it.”

  Marsha wiped the last of the tears from her face and wondered what he meant. There was a look in his eyes she wasn’t sure she had ever seen before – a look that reinforced his words.

  “Might as well make yourself comfortable,” he said. “This is going to take a while.” He wasn’t sure where he was going to begin, but somewhere in the course of what followed he planned to convince her of what he felt.

  He might not be able to love her in the way she wanted to be loved – might not be able to show her the affection she thought she deserved. But somehow, some way, he had to convince her that he needed her by his side solely because she was his daughter.

  “You are a great deal like me,” he said quietly.

  Marsha was shocked. She couldn’t be – not like him. “I am not,” she protested.

  “Ah, but you are, Marsha. You are. Think about it for a minute. You might have acted differently than I did at Matthews, but our motives were the same – to save as many people as possible. And you are just as selfish as I am, too.”

  Marsha felt angry tears welling in the corners of her eyes, but she knew the anger was at herself, not him. Was he right? Was she selfish? Had she picked up as much of his personality as she had of her mother’s?

  Frye wanted to let her think this through with as little pressure as possible. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

  As he moved across the office to the small alcove that served as pantry and kitchen, he thought he understood how much she was like him. If he could convince her of that, the two of them just might work out their differences and learn to appreciate one another. For him that would be sufficient. He dared not guess what it might mean to her.

  Marsha fought the tears as she listened to him fixing their drinks, and didn’t know if she was angry or sad. To be like him meant to be someone she didn’t understand, and the fear of losing what little understanding she had gained of herself caused all of her defenses to rise up inside. No matter what he said, she would never believe that she and her father were really alike. No, not at all.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  In the central prison in Esqueleada on the polar planet Sutton, Sondak General Fortuno Mari sat naked, dirty, and cold on a bare metal bunk. One arm hung useless at his side, broken and swollen with infection. The commander of the Polar Defense Force wrapped his good arm around his shivering body and wept.

  His pikean guard laughed. “What’s the matter, Fortuno? Do you want me to comfort your body and let you beat me like you used to?” Giselda asked. “Is that it? Do you miss beating me? Is that why you weep like a child?”

  Mari heard her through a dim, painful ringing in his ears, another of the legacies from the repeated beatings he had received at the hands of his U.C.S. captors. He wanted to stop crying, wanted to shut out her taunting voice, wanted to escape the endless pain, but his body was no longer under his control. Only his mind fought back.

  The U.C.S invasion forces had beaten his planetary troops and destroyed or vanquished what few POLFLEET and Flight Corps ships he had under his command. A third of his troops had died in space. Many more had died in the chaos on the ground. Half the pikean troops had revolted and joined the Ukes or simply fled the fighting. There had been no time to establish an adequate defense. Consequently, the Ukes had quickly reduced most of Sutton’s population centers to isolated masses of frightened humanity even well before he had been captured.

  But landing on a planet was relatively easy compared to conquering it.
That was a totally different matter. Mari knew there had to be hundreds, maybe thousands of groups still fiercely resisting the Ukes, still following his order of no surrender. Sometimes he could even hear Sutton’s antique artillery firing in the distance, its hollow, booming sound the only thing that gave him hope.

  As long as there was continued fighting, Sutton retained a slim chance of beating the Ukes, and he still had a chance to be freed from these endless rounds of torture and interrogation. Because of that, he also knew that whatever the Ukes chose to do to his body, his mind would resist until the end. They had gotten no information out of him, and they would get none so long as he was alive to resist. He would follow his own standing order: no surrender.

  “What?” she asked. “No answer from the great general? Perhaps you would like some encouragement.”

  Before he could answer Giselda stuck a nozzle through the grating and sprayed him with a burst of cold water. That brutal shock was followed immediately by a searing wave of pain that spread from his broken arm.

  Mari clutched the bare metal frame of his cot with his good hand. Tides of blackness threatened to overwhelm him. Only his hatred of her and the Ukes kept him from falling to the floor unconscious.

  “More, Fortuno? Would you like more?”

  A second blast of water knocked him against the wall. His head bounced off the smooth stone. As he slid slowly down the slippery surface a faint warmth spread with the pain in the back of his head. The sound of his own moaning deepened Mari’s understanding of how much a man could hate.

  Forcing himself upright, he tried to focus on Giselda, tried to concentrate his hatred in his eyes and let her know she could never defeat him. But no matter how hard he fought to burn her with a stare, his rheumy eyes failed him. Warm tears mixed with the frigid water running down his face and he let his eyes close.

  Why? He wondered as fatigue and despair dragged him toward oblivion. Why don’t they just kill me?

  A third blast of water jolted the answer loose in his mind. Have to escape…or kill myself. Know too much. Escape. Kill myself. Escape…no surrender…escape.

  The thought of escape mixed with hundreds of blurred images in his mind – images of troops and battle, of enemies and friends, frail images that refused to hold still in the fading dimness of his mind. Yet deep in the recesses of his thoughts he knew that escape or death were his only alternatives. And the image of death caught and held, an image of horror that slowly wrapped him in its blackness.

  Fortuno Mari did not feel the fourth blast of cold water, nor the fifth, nor the sixth. He did not know that gentler efforts were made to revive him. For the first time since his capture seven weeks before he had found a temporary refuge where no one could harm him.

  3

  “WE ARE HERE, PROCTOR,” a ringing voice called from the back of the crowd.

  “We are here,” the crowd responded in ritual chorus.

  Leri Gish Geril barely acknowledged the greeting as she slithered through the packed Grotto of Conjunction. She sensed their awe, for never before had she allowed so many of her people into her presence at once. Never before had there been such a gathering of Cloise’s best. Somehow that fact lightened her burden and lessened her resentment that the Grotto of Conjunction was the only place large enough for such a meeting to occur.

  “Leri, Leri, Leri,” they whispered as she moved down the narrow aisle they made for her. “Leri, Leri, Leri.”

  Waiting on the side of the low dais were the larger soulless Oinaise and his human ambassador, both in their protective suits, their alien presence almost a desecration of this holy ground. Yet even as she moved toward them she knew their presence was necessary – perhaps even vital to the survival of Cloise and all she held dear.

  Lucky Teeman watched her approach the dais with a shiver of fear. She was more than the appointed ruler of this alien hell. The rest of the salamanders obviously regarded her with utter respect, almost as though she were some kind of religious figure. Yet to Lucky she was a creature whose long, snake-like body evoked mythic shadows of evil in his mind. Bands of red, yellow and black scales covered everything but her pink, wrinkled arms and the grotesque nipple behind her pointed head.

  Red and yellow, dragon fellow. That curious refrain had popped into his mind the first time he saw her. He didn’t know where it came from, and now he couldn’t get rid of it. Being alone with her had been bad enough. Seeing the respect she received from the hundreds of her kind in front of him made his stomach twist and churn with irrational fear.

  Lucky glanced at Morning Song as the crowd whispered her name in a haunting chant, but he could read no expression through the Oinaise’s faceplate. He only hoped Delightful Childe’s son would carry most of the burden in this meeting. He wanted it to be over.

  Leri pulled her body into a coil beside the aliens and reared higher above them than was polite. She knew the human – like all the humans she had met – feared her physical presence, as well he should. In a fraction of a second she could generate oxygen, mix it with the methane in her gills, spark it with her teeth, and incinerate him in a lovely fireball. She had done it before easily enough.

  But now as she lowered herself to a more acceptable level, she set that pleasant possibility aside. It was time for serious business, perhaps the most serious business ever to face a ruling proctor.

  “We are here, Proctor,” the voice said again.

  Leri knew it was Ranas, her loyal mate and assistant who led the chant, and knew that Weecs, the lover she had banished him for, was in the crowd as well. Deliberately she avoided looking for either of them.

  “Welcome, be welcomed,” Leri said finally. She could smell the heavy scent of tension in the grotto. “Be at peace, my companions, for in peace there is wisdom.”

  “And truth is born of wisdom,” they responded.

  Lucky listened as the salamanders went through a seemingly endless series of ritual exchanges. Some of them made no sense at all, but he knew he was getting a literal gentongue translation from the small unit on his belt, and used the time to calm himself. The words became rhythms that massaged his mind and helped relax his taut muscles. He let his thoughts drift.

  “ – a human representing the Oinaise, who brings us an offer and a request. Will you hear him?”

  With a start Lucky realized she was talking about him.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” the crowd chanted.

  It was a long moment before Lucky understood that he was expected to respond. “I am honored to be here,” he said finally, the quaver in his voice barely perceptible, “and doubly honored to accompany Morning Song, whose father has sent us to greet you.” Some kind of amplifier boomed his words through the grotto and back at him.

  “I, too, am honored,” Morning Song said. “Let it be known that Captain Teeman speaks for me, my father, and all of Oina.”

  That’s a lie, Lucky thought. But it was a lie he knew he would have to live with, because Morning Song obviously wasn’t going to carry his weight. Well, he thought, no sense in wasting any more time.

  “Our galaxy is cursed with troubled times,” he said quietly, hoping to reduce the amplification. He couldn’t tell if it worked or not, so he decided to ignore the feedback. “As Proctor Leri has said, we have come with an offer for Cloise and a request. The offer is simple. Oina will pay twenty percent more than the current rate paid Cloise by Sondak for all the methane you are willing to let us export.”

  A chorus of unintelligible comments forced him to pause until the audience quieted. Lucky had no idea if they were pleased or angered, but judging from Leri’s response in private, he thought the offer would please them.

  “The request,” he continued, “is not so simple. Oina respectfully requests that Cloise join with it and all other neutral races in a mutual protection pact against Sondak and the United Central Systems.”

  Red and yellow, dragon fellow. This time Lucky could guess what their noisy reaction meant. The crowd writhed angrily like a mass
of giant snakes. They seemed to be surging forward as though they were about to attack the dais. It took all of Lucky’s will to keep from turning and running, but he held fast.

  Finally Leri rose up from her coils and silence suddenly filled the grotto. “Such a request,” she said simply as she looked out over her people, “angers and frightens you, as it does me. But it must be considered. The humans fight to annihilate one another. What will keep them from annihilating us?” Leri prayed to the Elett that the assembled directors were listening with their minds and not their hearts.

  “But he is human,” Ranas said, pointing a long arm at Lucky.

  “He represents Oina,” Morning Song said quickly.

  “He represents death,” another voice said.

  Red and yellow, dragon fellow. Lucky shivered uncontrollably as arguments broke out amongst the shifting snakes. It was time to get out of here and let the Proctor handle this by herself. “Directors of Cloise,” he shouted, “forgive us for angering you.”

  The noise slowly subsided as heads turned again toward the dais. Lucky took that as a good sign. “Let us withdraw and return to our ship to await your decision. Proctor Leri has the details of our request. She can answer your questions.”

  “Protocol,” Morning Song’s voice whispered in his ear on the suit channel. “It would be wrong to withdraw.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lucky whispered back. Again his voice boomed through the grotto. He cursed silently at himself for forgetting to turn off his suit speaker.

  “What do you not think, human?” Leri asked in the following silence as she rose up again.

  “I, uh, I was telling Morning Song that I didn’t think it would be wrong for us to withdraw, Proctor.” His instincts all screamed for him to flee.

  “You are only partially correct, human. Go now. I am tired of your quivering frame. Morning Song shall stay.”

  Lucky left without hesitation and shakily made his way through the tunnels back to the surface and Graycloud’s shuttle to wait for Morning Song.

  Behind him tens of arguments filled the grotto. Morning Song stood patiently waiting for Proctor Leri to quiet them again. Leri relaxed into her coil and waited for her people to exhaust themselves. There was no hurry, no need to rush the proceedings. An answer would come in due time, the answer she had already decided upon.