Tree of Liberty

by Wayne Basta

  When no one spoke, Gu’od continued, “Fighting is clearly Zeric’s Focus. Not being a general. He must do what he’s good at.”

  “Thank you, Gu,” Zeric said, seizing the support. He turned a smug smile to Ymp. “See, wiser people than either of us agree with me. Now, let’s get to causing some mayhem.”

  Ymp fumed for a moment but then relented and activated the map of Ba’aar and surrounding areas. As they began discussing possible targets, a small hint of guilt started whispering in the back of Zeric’s head. But just like he did every time that voice bothered him about how he was acting while trying to woo some girl, he ignored it.

  Chapter Two

  Solyss Novastar felt sure he had seen seedier bars than this one. He just couldn’t recall one. Darkness pervaded the room, broken only by sputtering fixtures around the walls. The smells—a mixture of body odors and smoky chemicals—left him with a nauseous and dizzy feeling.

  Fighting back the urge to release his stomach contents onto the floor, Solyss straightened and walked further into the bar, head held high. Vomiting on the floor would not befit the dignity of a Novastar. Being in a place like this didn’t befit the dignity of a Novastar, either, but that was unavoidable.

  For nearly three months, they had traveled through hyperspace to the Trepon sector. The night before, they had arrived in orbit of the gas giant Hollis. The coordinates for his meeting with the crime lord Josserand Renard had led him to a small colony on an orbiting moon.

  Solyss had considered simply entering orbit of the moon with his corvette, Gallant, and demanding to speak to Josserand, but one of his companions, Gamaly Dos’redna, had convinced him a covert meeting would be the better approach. That was how he had ended up in this bar, accompanied by Gamaly and Asheerah, out of uniform and wearing his most threadbare clothes.

  As they made their way through the bar, all eyes in the room shifted to follow them. Two beautiful Liw’kel women had that effect on a room. One, Gamaly, had light blue skin and wore a standard ship jumpsuit. She had only a simple pistol at her side. By comparison, his other companion, Asheerah Aru, wore an arsenal of weapons over an armored chest piece. Not much of her light red skin showed, but Solyss still felt unsure why she had elected not to wear her entire armored suit.

  Stumbling up to them, an obviously drunk blue-skinned Liw’kel male gave Solyss an unfocused look and said with a slur, “You lost, fancy man?”

  Solyss frowned at the drunkard. He had worn his most common-looking clothing, but knew he was still better dressed than anyone else in the establishment. Still, he took offense at the man’s comment. He thought of himself as civilized and cultured, not fancy. “No, I’m not lost,” Solyss answered, as politely as he could manage.

  “I think you are,” the man said. “For a few minutes alone with one of your pretty lady friends, I can show you back to your ship.” The man leered at the two Liw’kel. His gaze drifted to Gamaly’s rounded midsection for an extended moment, and his smile widened. “How about that one? No danger of getting her pregnant.”

  Gamaly just shook her head, ignoring the man. Solyss tried to step past him, but the Liw’kel moved with him. Frustrated, Solyss said, “Would you kindly move out of the way, friend?”

  Now ignoring him, the man continued to leer at Gamaly. “I don’t see a husband around. Did he succumb to the affections of another? So many of us do. But don’t worry, I can fill his place.”

  Without warning, Gamaly lashed out, striking the man in the nose with her fist. At the same moment, Asheerah reached over and grabbed his antennae. With a wrenching twist, she bent the organ at an unnatural angle. The man made a blood-curdling scream of pain.

  A few months ago, the two women had almost been at each other’s throats. But ever since Gu’od—Gamaly’s husband—had become stranded behind enemy lines on Sulas, they had grown closer. Together, they now grabbed the whimpering man and threw him back toward the bar’s entrance.

  Around them, the room had grown quiet. If everyone’s attention hadn’t been on them before, it certainly was now. Solyss tried to straighten his jacket and make himself look confident. As they had demonstrated, Asheerah and Gamaly could handle themselves in a fight. But that wasn’t why they were here.

  Much to his relief, a Terran male with dark brown skin and grey-streaked hair stepped up to him. The man matched the description of Kueth Kahl-Amar that Maarkean had given him. This would be one of Josserand Renard’s minions. “Major Novastar, I was not expecting you. But please, come with me,” Kueth said, gesturing to a booth over in one corner of the room.

  Not surprised that Kueth knew him, since Josserand’s primary trade dealt in information, Solyss nodded and followed him back to the booth. A very tall Kowwok stood beside the booth, muscles evident through his brown fur.

  Sliding into the booth with Gamaly—Asheerah couldn’t sit comfortably with her weapons and armor—Solyss looked across the table at Kueth. The man wore modest clothing, which for this establishment counted as being dressed up. He had no weapon visible on him, though the towering Kowwok standing beside him did. Solyss doubted that was the only guard nearby.

  “Where’s General Ocaitchi? This meeting was for him,” Kueth said without preamble.

  “Where’s Renard? We’re here to meet with him,” Gamaly said before Solyss could respond. He suppressed a frown about her taking the lead. As the commander of this mission, it would be his responsibility to negotiate, but he had asked Gamaly to come because she knew and had worked with Josserand Renard before. He couldn’t get mad at her for doing her part now.

  “A fair point,” Kueth conceded. He leaned back and looked toward the bar’s entrance. “You have a way of making your presence known. Fortunately, now that they know you’re with me, none of that drunk’s friends will be foolish enough to retaliate.” A dangerous glint came to his eye as he turned his gaze back to Solyss and Gamaly. “But don’t make me rescind that friendship. I’ll ask again, where’s Ocaitchi?”

  “The general’s a busy man,” Solyss said.

  “We’re here in his stead. You want to negotiate with him, you do so through us,” Gamaly added.

  Kueth held their gaze for a moment before breaking it with a nod. “Very well. I assume you’ve a ship in orbit? Something more powerful than a transport ship, I hope?”

  “Maybe,” Solyss answered noncommittally.

  Gamaly said nothing. Despite Kueth’s initial confident manner, he appeared more nervous than Solyss would have expected. He started to understand why Maarkean had decided to trust this man enough to meet with him. He appeared to lack the murderous vibe most minions excreted.

  “Take me aboard and I’ll explain the deal my employer has to offer,” Kueth said.

  Solyss glanced at the Kowwok beside the table and back to Kueth. “OK, but just you. Your friend has to stay behind.”

  Without missing a beat, Kueth nodded. “Agreed.”

  The shuttle jostled from a wave of air turbulence that the inertial dampeners failed to compensate for. Lahkaba ignored the discomfort to continue to look out the shuttle’s window. They were descending from the orbiting Desert Sun, the civilian transport that one of Kol’s mining corporations had loaned them, toward the Dotran Confederate capital of Motinor.

  Despite having once served the Confederate army, he had never actually been to Confederate space. He would have preferred to visit his species homeworld of Kowwa. He was curious, yet terrified, about visiting Dotra. Aside from the irrational, instinctual fear his species held for large lizard creatures, the Dotran had oppressed his people for hundreds of years.

  Beside him, his fellow Kowwok Valinther didn’t appear to show any excitement about their destination. The closer they had gotten to Confederate space during the journey, the more distant and nervous Valinther had become. Lahkaba knew that his fellow delegate had once lived in Confederate space, but nothing about his time there.

  Glancing up from where he had been staring at the shuttle’s floor, Valinther said to
him, “You shouldn’t be so calm.”

  Lahkaba raised a furry white eyebrow. “Oh? We’re arriving as invited foreign dignitaries. What should I be nervous about?”

  “You never lived here or you’d know,” Valinther whispered.

  Lahkaba pondered the statement. The only things he knew about the treatment his people received at the hands of the Dotran were from stories told by others. Part of him felt bad that he had no first-hand experience to understand what they faced, but he also felt glad to have had the chance to grow up on Sulas, away from that kind of subjugation.

  From the other side of the shuttle, a hiss emerged from the large golden form of Zoeko Lide, the only Dotran delegate from the Union congress. She cast a sneer at the pair of them. “It was a mistake to bring Kowwoks with us. We should have made up the delegation from Camari and Ronids. We must show my people that we’re strong.”

  “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Valinther growled, anger showing through his distant demeanor for the first time in a while. Zoeko had a way of bringing out that emotion in him.

  “It means exactly as it sounds. We’re here to seek help from the Confederacy, not make a political statement about Kowwok rights. You two will remind my people just how different the people of the Kreogh sector are from them. We will seem similar to the Alliance, whose Terrans clearly should have subjugated the weak Braz when they first met,” Zoeko hissed.

  “While I appreciate your confidence in my people,” Lionell Mandrake, the Terran delegate from Ailleroc said, “I don’t view the Kowwok presence on this mission as a weakness. The Confederation came to us in the first place. It’s up to them to prove that they’re worth working with.”

  Valinther gave a grateful nod to Lionell for his comment. Lahkaba picked up on some deeper undercurrent of respect between the two that he had never noticed before. He hadn’t known them to get along particularly well. Kol and Ailleroc rarely saw eye to eye.

  “A noble sentiment, and one I might agree with if circumstances were different,” Zoeko said, though her tone made it difficult to judge the truth of her words. “But the fact remains: we need the help of the Confederate military to defeat the Alliance. Agitating them over Kowwok rights will not make that task easier.”

  Reluctantly, Lahkaba nodded. “I’m forced to agree with Zoeko. We’re here to negotiate a treaty. We cannot allow our species to affect that goal. The Union must come first.”

  Lionell nodded his agreement. After a moment, Valinther also bowed his head to the point. Lahkaba didn’t want to ignore his people’s plight, but they had been living under Dotran rule for more than two hundred years already. Things couldn’t be that bad.

  They passed the rest of the journey to the surface in silence. When they stood up to exit the shuttle, Zoeko made a point of positioning herself in the front, with Lionell behind her. Valinther started to protest, but backed off after Lahkaba shook his head at him. If the Dotrans found importance in the order that they emerged from the shuttle, it was a small thing to concede.

  Following the golden Dotran down the shuttle’s ramp, Lahkaba stepped out onto a wide tarmac. Beyond the field of concrete, he could see a towering city in the near distance. The city basked in the light from the dual suns above. In return, the buildings, seemingly designed to reflect and enhance the sunlight, cast the entire city in a radiant glow. The visage hurt his eyes to look at, but it was beautiful.

  On the tarmac, a collection of figures waited. At the front, dressed in elegant robes, stood a golden female Dotran and a bronze male. Their scales were polished smooth and reflected the sunlight almost as much as the city behind them.

  Lahkaba picked out the figure of a blue male Dotran in a Confederate naval uniform standing near them. Lieutenant Commander Bryel Prytoker, the officer who had first brought them the offer of a treaty, looked uncomfortable surrounded by all the well-dressed politicians, most of whom were golden or bronze. Only a few were from the second rung of Dotran society—reds and oranges. Bryel appeared to be the only blue.

  “Welcome to Dotra. I’m Foreign Minister Sceglis Amib.” The bronze male spoke, his voice a rasping hiss that was almost incomprehensible. Sceglis then clapped his clawed hands together, and two Kowwoks rushed forward.

  The two members of Lahkaba’s species kept their heads lowered as they approached and lifted a tray bearing several sets of eyewear. They offered it to Lionell, Valinther, and himself.

  Sceglis made a sweeping gesture toward them. “Our fine city is bright to most non-Dotrans. I offer you this eyewear to protect your eyes from the sun.”

  Lahkaba took the offered eyewear, pulling them over his head. The spectacles padded his fur down, and he had to adjust them to be able see without obstruction. Once he did so, the glare from the city receded.

  “Please follow me. We’ll give you a brief tour of our city before we show you to your residence,” Sceglis said politely, turning toward a group of waiting vehicles.

  As they started to follow, Lahkaba caught a glance from Valinther. Following his fellow delegate’s eyes, he turned toward the two Kowwoks who had offered them the eyewear. Neither of the servants wore any protective eyewear themselves, instead keeping their heads bowed toward the ground. Neither so much as looked up at them, remaining behind, quietly serving their masters.

  Chapter Three

  One of the main advantages to serving aboard a battle carrier was the ability to look out a window. Engineers avoided building windows, which were structural weak points, into warships, but on a ship as large as a carrier, with over a thousand confined crewmembers, they could afford a few weak points.

  Fleet Admiral Katerina Sartori could have had the observation lounge to herself. As the supreme commander of all Alliance forces in three sectors, she had enough authority to clear a room. But she preferred the presence of others. As one of the few truly off-duty locations aboard the carrier Dominance, here she could at least pretend she was just another officer enjoying the view of Sulas out the window.

  After the successful ambush of the rebel forces, she had kept the bulk of her forces over Sulas, in order to contain the fairly substantial army that had made it to the surface. She had dispatched the Marine Expeditionary Force to Enro to reoccupy the rebellious world. Aside from that, she had been reluctant to deploy her forces.

  In truth, the rebels’ string of victories worried her. She controlled Ailleroc and was now bringing Enro and Sulas to heel, but the rest of the sector had essentially thrown off Alliance control. And they’d done it far too easily.

  The rebels never had more than a handful of warships, and their army consisted of washouts and mercenaries. Yet she still hadn’t regained full control of Sulas. The rebels had disappeared like mice into the woodwork. She had a fleet ready to wipe them out, but the war on Sulas had become a guerilla campaign.

  Meanwhile, the rest of the sector went largely untouched. She would need to commit a large portion of her forces to breach Cardine’s planetary defenses. And the FX-21 protecting Kol had become something of a bogeyman for her forces, with one ship fighting off an entire taskforce.

  It was only here, pretending to be just another officer, that she allowed herself to feel a tinge of that fear herself. It was a ridiculous notion, she knew. The rebels had been lucky. They had only actually destroyed one ship and they had even had fighter support from the planet. But the story went beyond that.

  Having indulged herself enough, Katerina stood up and left the dark room behind. She now had to return to the business of putting down this rebellion. Making her way through the corridors, she strode purposefully into her command center. Unlike in the observation room, the crew here immediately snapped to attention when she entered.

  “Commander Dolan,” Katerina said, “coordinate with General Schuma about what troops he can spare from the remaining Marines. I’m sending TF-413 and what’s left of 412 to Dantyne. Also, contact the commander of TF-422. I want to make a show of force at Mirthod.”

  “Any marin
es to accompany 422?” Dolan asked, his usual no-nonsense tone showing no sign of what he thought of the orders.

  “No. The ones aboard the ships already will do. They just need to show the flag and conduct some inspections. Nothing elaborate. They just need to remind the rebels who’s in charge,” Katerina said.

  “Admiral, Rear Admiral Garmoravi has contracted a strand of Sulasian flu that’s been running through the fleet. Would you like Commander Martin to command TF-412 and 413?” Dolan asked, throwing a wrench into her plans.

  Garmoravi had commanded 413 for many years and he had made a favorable impression on her when she’d met him. To have their senior commander taken out by a flu would seriously undermine the effectiveness of his task force. While Commander Martin, the other option, had experience fighting the rebels, he had previously seen most of his task force destroyed, including his commander. That potentially made him unpredictable.

  A solution occurred to Katerina, and she smiled. “Actually, you’ll be taking command.”

  “Admiral?” Dolan asked, surprised.

  “I’m activating your promotion to commodore. You’ll take command of Taffy-413 while Admiral Garmoravi recovers,” Katerina said, keeping her tone serious, though she felt joy at being able to see her protégé advance. He had put aside his promotion to join her on this mission, but he was more than qualified to handle command of a task force.

  “Aye, Admiral,” Dolan finally said, realizing she had made her decision.

  Major Samantha Anderson, Dolan’s deputy, offered her congratulations, as did others in the operations room. Dolan looked uncomfortable with the attention but handled it with good grace. Now she would see if he really would handle the burdens of command as well as she hoped.

  Saracasi started to feel sympathy for her brother. She had always known that he hated speaking in public. Every time he had had to go to Congress or address the troops, she had quietly laughed at his discomfort, even though she had always been impressed with how he had handled himself.