“Enough said,” the major replied, as if conferring a favor.
“We’ll be back on Adobe six days from now—where we can build on this experience to make the battalion even more effective. Dismissed.”
Most of us are going back, Santana thought to himself. But four of our legionnaires will remain here. The dark-haired offi?cer rose and saluted.
Quinlan made use of his swagger stick to acknowledge the gesture, let the back of the chair absorb his considerable weight, and watched Santana leave. I own you, the offi?cer thought to himself. And, when the need arises, I will spend you as I see fi?t.
2.
And a great pestilence will be upon the stars, as billions are born, and billions must die.
—Author unknown
The Pooonara Book of Prophecies
Standard year 1010 B.C.
ABOARD THE RAMANTHIAN CARRIER SWARM
The carrier was in hyperspace, so the enormous hangar bay was pressurized as General Oro Akoto looked out over the two thousand eight hundred members of the Death Hammer Regiment. The Hammer, as it was popularly known, consisted of three battalions of crack troopers who were all standing at attention as they waited for the new Queen to appear. They were dressed in ceremonial attire, rather than combat armor, and stood with their wings respectfully vertical. The air was thick with the combined odors of chitin wax, cold metal, and ozone.
Akoto’s division included two other regiments as well, each on its own ship, as a Ramanthian Battle Group that consisted of more than fi?fty vessels prepared to strike deep into the Clone Hegemony. A powerful force, or that’s how it appeared, but the general knew better. The truth was that only one-third of the division, the regiment now before him, was truly battle-ready. The other regiments had been cobbled together from support battalions, reserve units, and so-called veteran volunteers. Meaning middle-aged warriors who were fi?t for garrison duty but not much else. However, the choice to use such a force was not motivated by desperation, but the Queen’s belief that it would be adequate for the job, even if Akoto wasn’t so sure. Would the previous sovereign have overridden his judgment? No, the old warrior didn’t believe so, but the new Queen was very different from the “great mother,” the much-loved monarch who had sacrifi?ced herself in order to bring more than fi?ve billion new citizens into the galaxy.
Akoto’s thoughts were interrupted by a ceremonial blare of foot-powered battle horns as the Queen shuffl?ed up a ramp to join him on the speaker’s platform. In marked contrast to the great mother, who had been incapacitated by her egg-swollen body during the fi?nal years of her life, the new monarch was not only extremely fi?t but dressed in spotless combat armor, signifying her intention to take the same risks her subjects did. It was a decision that horrifi?ed her advisors and thrilled the Ramanthian populace. As the so-called warrior queen arrived on the platform, and Akoto bent a knee, the offi?cer felt his body respond to the cloud of pheromones that surrounded the royal. The chemicals caused him and every other Ramanthian who came into contact with them to feel protective, receptive, and willingly subservient. The royal’s space black eyes glittered with intelligence as she motioned for the offi?cer to rise. “Good morning, General. . . . Or is it afternoon? It’s hard to tell sealed inside this ship.”
It was a simple joke. But one that made her seem more accessible. The banter was captured by the hovering fl?y cams that were present to record the moment for both historical and propaganda purposes. It was just one of the many tasks for which Chancellor Itnor Ubatha had responsibility. The civilian followed the monarch out onto the platform, took his place behind her, and felt a sense of satisfaction as he looked out over the warriors arrayed in front of the royal. Ramanthian citizens everywhere would feel a sense of pride as they watched their Queen address her troops prior to battle.
“Greetings,” the Queen said, as she stepped up to the mike. And that was the moment when the members of the Hammer realized that the royal was wearing armor identical to theirs. The high honor elicited a loud clack of approval as 5,600 pincers opened and closed at the same time.
“Seek approval, and enjoy its warmth, but under no circumstances come to rely on it.” That was one of the many teachings that the Queen had learned from her predecessor, which was why she made a conscious effort to discount the applause, and went straight to the point. Her much-amplifi?ed voice was piped into every nook and cranny of the ship. “By this time tomorrow, you will be on the surface of Gamma014 doing battle with the Clone Hegemony,” the royal said.
“There are two reasons for this. First, because the clones are human and will inevitably be drawn to their own kind. And second, because Gamma-014 is rich in a mineral called iridium, which we need for a multiplicity of applications.”
Ubatha had heard both arguments before but remained unconvinced. Yes, the clones came from human stock, but they believed themselves to be both morally and physically superior to the rest of the “free-breeding” species. That meant there was an opportunity to drive a wedge between the two groups, or would have been, had the royal been willing to pursue diplomacy rather than war. And there were plenty of other planets with signifi?cant deposits of corrosion-resistant iridium, so why go after Gamma-014?
Unless there was a third reason for the unprovoked attack, something the Queen wasn’t ready to share with even her most senior advisors—but would prove compelling once it was understood. Ubatha hoped so. Because the alternative was to conclude that the new sovereign wasn’t all that bright. A depressing thought indeed.
“You will have the element of surprise,” the Queen assured her troops. “And you will outnumber clone military forces two to one. But most importantly, you will be armed with the inherent superiority of the Ramanthian race, which is destined to rule the galaxy.” That was the line the regiment’s political offi?cers had been waiting for, and they took the lead as a resounding clack echoed between durasteel bulkheads.
“Finally,” the monarch concluded. “Know this. When you land on Gamma-014, I will land with you.”
That statement resulted in a storm of frenzied clacking, which continued even after the royal had left the platform and made her way down to the deck below. The people of Gamma-014 didn’t know it yet, but death was on the way.
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY
The Ramanthian attack came without warning as dozens of warships emerged from hyperspace, quickly destroyed the tiny contingent of navy vessels that were in orbit around the planet, and spewed hundreds of aerospace fi?ghters into the atmosphere. There were no pronouncements from space and no requests for surrender, as the sleek aircraft began a carefully planned series of surgical strikes. Precision-guided bombs hit government buildings, leveled power plants, and fl?attened the main military base. The targeting data had been gathered by Ramanthian, Thraki, and Drac merchants during the preceding year. But, thanks to careful planning on the part of General Akoto, certain airfi?elds, roads, and bridges were spared. The reason for that strategy soon became apparent as a swarm of assault boats dropped out of space, bucked their way down through the planet’s frigid atmosphere, and sought their preassigned landing zones. There were only twenty-three major cities on the sparsely settled planet, so it wasn’t long before they were in enemy pincers, as the Queen landed and symbolically entered the rubble-strewn capital. The fact that she was carrying an assault rifl?e wasn’t lost on the population of the Ramanthian home planet when they saw the video less than an hour later. The propaganda coup would have been impossible back when messages were carried aboard ships or faster-than-light (FTL) message torpedoes. But now, thanks to the new hypercom technology that had been developed by Ramanthian scientists, real-time communication over interstellar distances was an everyday reality.