“And what are we to do with these ships?”
“Return to orbit, gain access to and man our own interface attack craft.”
“To what end?”
“To hold this world hostages to our nuclear weapons.”
“Before we go, why not gather some actual hostages, such as the human workers here in the compound?”
Graagkhruud stared at Yaargraukh. “It is a sound tactic. We shall do so.”
By my patriarchs, the impenetrable shit-scraper thought me serious! “You are deranged by the stress of this day. My suggestion—and these plans—are nonsense.”
“Have care, Advocate. By a prearranged signal, First Voice sent me after you not only to secure your assistance, but to afford you the opportunity to fully redeem your honor—or to forever lose it. So, I repeat, we shall use hostages—cities as well as individuals—to finally cow the humans, and so, save our brothers, this invasion, and our race’s honor.”
“And what if the Arat Kur have surrendered not merely on the ground, but in orbit also?”
“We shall hunt that st’kragh when we encounter it.”
“If we encounter that st’kragh, it will be our death. Without the orbital supporting fire from the Arat Kur ships, we are lost.”
“Which only proves that First Voice was—from the first—right about how to fight the humans. We should have crushed them the moment we could. Bomb their greatest cities directly, force them to capitulate, to agree to all our terms.”
“Oh, yes, we could have achieved that. And we would have been the puppets of the Arat Kur forever after.”
Graagkhruud’s eyes disappeared for a full second, so disoriented was he by this sudden redirection of their argument. “What do you mean?”
“Can you not see it? Even if we triumph here, we cannot reach the human star systems on our own. Our ships do not have the shift range to cross the gap from our worlds to theirs. But, deposited by our Arat Kur allies as occupation forces, we would now have colonies in the midst of the human spheres.”
“We would crush the humans and take their worlds.”
“Can you seriously think it? Have you seen this planet? Their cities, their factories, their infrastructure? They have managed to build and preserve, while we are always trapped in the process of rebuilding what was destroyed in the most recent Family War. And with the humans unified by a hatred of us, by an unquenchable thirst for vengeance, they would build so much, so quickly, that they would overwhelm us.”
“Not if the Arat Kur prevent them.”
“And so you make my point: we are dependent upon our allies. What will occur if, later on, we should dare to disagree with them over some policy? Will they not threaten to withdraw their support of our colonies in human space?”
“No, for they will wish to keep us strong there, as an aid in controlling the expansion and power of the humans, who will hate the Arat Kur just as much as they hate us.”
“Do not think it. The Arat Kur have been almost invisible on this planet’s streets. Overwhelmingly, the humans have seen us killing their insurgents and burning their towns.” He aimed his calar talons at either side of his head. “This, this is the face the humans will remember and hate. And as we grow stronger, the grubbers will find it useful for the humans and us to weaken each other in wars. They will play us one against the other. They baited the trap of this alliance with the promise of green worlds that were not ours. And what have we gained? Debt and a pointless waste of the blood of the brave.”
“So what would you suggest?”
“What I suggested from the first: that we side with the humans. They had the right of the Accord behind them. Our borders are far apart and we have no logical points of contention. And they can know both honor and the way of a warrior.”
Graagkhruud scoffed, looked at the smoking skyline. “This insurgency? You call this a war of honor?”
“I call it the war we forced them to fight.”
“Which they do not fight with honor.”
“Think of this as you would a Challenge. The Challenger calls for a test of Honor. What is the prerogative of the Challenged?”
Graagkhruud looked away. “The Choice of the Test.”
“Just so. That is what has happened here. We challenged the humans, so we cannot complain at their choice of weapons. That is the prerogative of those who have been Challenged—particularly when we attacked their homeworld. There may be fewer trained warriors among them, fewer who are ready to obey and die. But they are more inventive and better technologists, and quick to perceive and exploit new opportunities.”
“You are a traitor to your own race, servitor.”
“No. I am its true servant, because the prerequisite of success is a ruthlessly clear understanding of reality, of the facts with which we must contend. Without that, all plans begin in error, and so, they must end in disaster.”
“It is treason to speak so of First Voice’s plans, and you will pay for your insolence—but later.” Graagkhruud reared back, his crest erect. “You will accompany me to our interface craft. There we will gather what humans we can find, take them at gunpoint to orbit and use their lives as leverage to gain access to our craft and make our attack.” Yaargraukh made no move to comply or accompany him “Obey me, honorless pretender.”
Yaargraukh could not keep his crest from rising in response to “pretender,” the derogatory term for a Hkh’Rkh from the New Families. “I will not. And were I not your subalternate, I would challenge thee at this moment, in this place.”
Whether it was Yaargraukh’s disregard for the traditional authority of his Old Family leaders, his direct refusal to follow an order, or both, Graagkhruud raised up to his full height. As a sudden carpet-bombing sound built rapidly behind him, First Fist’s arms swept high, presaging a Challenge blow to the calmly waiting Advocate…
The bomb-thunder peaked. With a roar, the curtain wall behind them blew inward, spraying a cloud of both new and century-old cinderblocks into the volume of space occupied by the two Hkh’Rkh. Indonesian insurgents charged in immediately, following just behind the wave-front of debris, sprinting alongside chunks of rolling, clattering masonry—and over the prostrate forms of two Hkh’Rkh, whose argument of honor their demolition charges had preempted.
Permanently.
Trevor went past two prone Hkh’Rkh, recognized signs of high rank, shouted to Tygg. “We need those two alive. Leave someone you can trust on security, and take up positions to hold this ingress point.”
“Right. Beruwiak, get up here!”
Trevor pressed on, trying not to fall behind the nimble, lightly equipped insurgents that were with them. “Keep up, Stosh,” he called over his shoulder.
“Keep up yourself, sir.” The smaller, squarish SEAL passed him, huffing.
“Cruz, Barr, stay to the flanks and keep our guys moving in the same direction. Rulaine?”
“Sir?”
“Stay twenty meters behind me, with the Karpassos fire team. If anything happens to me—”
“Got it. I’m the shadow HQ. Give us a shout and we’ll provide covering fire if you get snagged and have to back out.”
Trevor smiled his thanks, hoped Rulaine would live. A good officer and a good guy.
“What about me, sir?” asked Gavin, the long barrel of the Remington M167 assault gun jaunting about like a naked flagpole.
“You’re also with Rulaine, Gavin. I want a good solid base of supporting fire, and you’re an artist with the Remington.”
“So I am sir. I’ll be your guardian angel.”
Gavin an angel? Heaven would blush. “Great.” Trevor drew abreast of Stosh as they neared the rally point from which they intended to rush into the inner compound—and he saw a figure staggering through the smoke toward them. It’s upright, so it can’t be an Arat Kur, and it’s too small to be a Hkh’Rkh. But it could still be trouble: Ruap’s troops or maybe some still-loyal clones. “Who goes there?”
A pause. “Trevor?”
Trevor placed the voice the same moment the face swam out of the humid mixture of mist and smoke: Caine Riordan. “Jesus—what the hell are you doing out here? Taking a walk?”
“More like a run. The Arat Kur have surrendered.” He shouted over the beginning of a few exultant shouts, including Stosh’s. “But the Hkh’Rkh wouldn’t have any part of it. They’ve gone rogue.”
“What’s their objective?”
“Not sure they’ve got one other than to kill as many of us as possible. They don’t have any real commo net left, so they’re defaulting to their basic game plan. When in doubt, terrorize the opposition with everything from knives to nukes until they cower in fear. Then take control.”
“They’re a little outnumbered for that strategy, don’t you think?”
“Of course, but at this stage, they’re not thinking. They’re operating as much on instinct as planning—and a bunch of them are after me, particularly.”
“You? Why you?”
“Long story. Worth telling if we’re both alive tomorrow.”
“Okay. Can you lead us to their command center?”
Caine looked around, squinting into the smoke. “Yeah—yeah, I think so. It’s over here near—”
Trevor caught his arm. “Whoa, let’s arm you first.” With one hand, he passed Caine a brace of smoke grenades, with the other, he reached back toward Cruz, who was unshouldering the rifle they were still carrying in anticipation of Winfield’s eventual return. “This is the eight-millimeter CoBro liquimix assault rifle: state of the art. I know we didn’t get a chance to train on one, but are you familiar with it?”
Caine hefted the long, light barrel. “Read about it.”
“Okay: here’s the quick rundown. All the weapon’s sensors feed data to the visor—yeah, there, hooked on the side—and include IR, laser-designator, rangefinder, and aimpoint. The video pickup gives you look-around/shoot-around capabilities at corners. The liquimix gives you plenty of control over projectile velocity and recoil, and provides the launching boost for the underslung smart semiautomatic grenade launcher. You’re familiar with that from Barney Deucy. It’s got dual purpose HE/frags in the tube. Got it?”
Caine nodded, a bit uncertainly. “Most of it. I’ll learn the rest on the job, I guess. You want their HQ?”
“Yup.”
“Then follow me.” And Caine jogged off into the fog.
Stosh looked after him. “Goddamnit, just what we need. Another officer.”
“He’s not really an officer, Stosh.”
Stosh looked Trevor straight in the eye. “Oh no? I’d know that tone anywhere. He was born an officer, even if he doesn’t know it yet.” And Stosh also disappeared into the mist.
As Trevor waved for the others to follow, he gritted his teeth and smiled at the same time: Damn Stosh, anyway.