Authors: William C. Dietz
Some of the team members questioned Manning’s sanity, since charging such a strongly held objective seemed suicidal, and stayed where they were. Others, those who understood, or simply believed that the security chief knew what he was doing, continued to follow him. They were the lucky ones because no sooner had they scampered to higher ground than a well-aimed energy bolt flashed through the planet’s atmosphere to obliterate those who had stayed behind.
The ground shook, the resulting shock wave knocked half a dozen still-fleeing slaves off their feet, and more explosions followed as the orbital shelling continued.
Heart pumping and lungs on fire, Manning rounded a corner and charged up a heavily rutted street. A dog barked from a doorway, the remains of a shattered street stall lay scattered in the street, and laundry flapped over his head.
Up ahead, a woman, her hands raised as if to defend herself, backed out of a cargo module, then staggered as half a dozen darts ripped through her body. Manning yelled, “Grenade! HE!” and heard a solid ka-chunk as a 40mm grenade arced into the cargo module. There was a flash, followed by a hollow boom, as still-morphing chitin sprayed out onto the road.
Satisfied that the way was clear, Manning turned his attention to the tower, which loomed ahead. As the security chief and his team made their way up onto the level area at the spire’s base, they encountered the spot where an incoming SLM had decimated the Kan assigned to defend the main entrance. The remains of their badly mangled bodies were scattered all around the blackened crater.
“Bring the C-4!” Manning shouted. “Pack it into the entrance!”
Now, as what remained of the original team approached the tower’s gore-splattered base, they realized that the manner in which the observation platform projected from the structure’s side served to protect the area directly below. That didn’t prevent the warriors from dropping the Sauron equivalent of grenades, however, many of which exploded prior to impact, and sent shrapnel screaming through the air. Manning heard one of the devices go off, heard something zing past his ear, and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Set the C-4 and let’s get the hell out of here!”
“It’s ready, sir!” an army reservist yelled.
“Who has the remote?”
“
I
do, sir,” the reservist replied.
“All right then,” Manning answered. “Stay with me! Give the team thirty seconds to get clear of the area and let it rip. Come on everybody, let’s go!”
So saying, Manning ran out and away from the tower, heard darts ping off the modules on the left side of the street, and dashed toward the relative safety of a heavily shadowed alleyway. That’s when he heard someone say, “Damn!” turned to see the reservist go down, and saw the remote skitter across the hard-packed dirt.
Bodies pushed past as Manning turned, made for the remote, accidentally booted the device away, swore a blue streak, ran the device down, and returned to get the reservist. He was lying on his back, holding a handgun with both hands, and firing up at the observation platform. The dark splotch on his camos showed where a dart had ripped through his thigh. “Here,” Manning said, dropping the remote on the man’s chest, “I think you dropped this.” Then, scooping the reservist up, darts stitching a line past his boots, the security chief ran for cover. He was halfway there when the weekend warrior punched the button, the C-4 detonated, and a giant explosion rocked the hill.
Franklin heard the boom, saw dust rise around one of the few spires that remained, and held his breath. Nothing seemed to happen at first. But then, with the dignity of a giant redwood falling in the forest, the column started to topple. Dots, which might have been Kan, could be seen spilling off the observation deck as the spire fell. A fraction of a second later it struck one of the stacks and broke into three sections. One burst into flames.
The ground shook as the tower hit, Manning felt a wave of heat wash across the back of his neck, and was thankful when another team member offered to carry the reservist. Together the two men ran, stumbled, and skidded down the side of the hill as a trio of Sauron fighters screamed in from the south. The pilots had orders to stay well clear of the citadel, but everything else was fair game.
The high-rise stacks made the easiest target, and the Kan pilots went after them first. Missiles slammed into Big Pink, exploded, and sent cargo modules spinning through the air. Some of the humans, those who happened to be inside when the break began, or those who believed that safety lay in staying put, had been hiding in the metal containers. Many died where they were, but a few survived the initial pass and skittered down the hill.
Nor was the surrounding countryside spared as the woods came in for an orbital bombardment followed by more than a dozen strafing runs. But that contingency had been anticipated, intermediate shelters had been dug, and most of the slaves were huddled together below ground when the energy bolts started to fall.
Some were not so lucky, however. Manning, escaping with the five remaining members of his team, had the reservist across his shoulders again as they entered the tree line, saw a woman wave, and ran in her direction. It was only after Manning had half dived, half fallen into the crude log bunker, and the woman had collapsed on top of him, that the security chief realized that the small body belonged to Seeko. She kissed him, he kissed her, and they held each other tight as the ground shook. Many people had died . . . but those who survived were free.
ON ASTEROID O Λ 2103
The Sauron shuttle slid along the flanks of a massive destroyer and thereby provided Tog with an opportunity to look out through the view port and gape at the damage done to the vessel during the recent conflict. Difficult though it was to believe, his fellow Ra ‘Na had attacked the vessel and blown a large hole in the side of its hull! It was madness, pure madness. Still, in spite of the fact that he disapproved, the prelate couldn’t help but feel a burgeoning sense of pride. Having never paid his race the respect they deserved, the Saurons had paid for their arrogance.
The shuttle dove into the gap between a pair of darkened factory ships, turned to starboard, and started to decelerate. Tog felt the tug and knew what it meant. Soon, within a matter of units, he would be face-to-face with Dro Rul. That’s when he would remove the custom-made weapon from his sleeve, point it at the other prelate’s body, and pull the trigger. Then, before Rul’s staff could react, Lim-Tam and his fellow Kan would emerge from hiding. Or would they? The possibility that they wouldn’t, that Hak-Bin would allow him to be killed, had kept Tog awake during the last two sleep cycles.
But what choice did he really have? If he failed to make the assassination attempt, Hak-Bin would kill him for sure. No, all he could do was carry out the plan and hope for the best.
More than a hundred units before, Asteroid O Λ 2103 had been equipped with external engines and mined. Then, after all the useful minerals had been extracted, the interior surface had been sealed and filled with water. An extremely valuable substance during long journeys between the stars. Nearly empty now, the asteroid awaited a new supply of H
2
O for use by the next generation of Saurons. Assuming that Hak-Bin was able to restore order, and had sufficient slaves to carry out the work, none of which was certain.
Rather than mate with one of the huge intake ports, the way a tanker would, the shuttle nosed into one of two open docking stations. The pilots, both of whom were Ra ‘Na collaborators, established lock-to-lock contact and killed power. The copilot released his harness, got up, and left the control room. He half expected to find that his passenger was up and waiting next to the hatch, but such was not the case. Tog remained strapped into his seat. “We have arrived, excellency . . . You can disembark whenever you choose.”
Tog nodded. “Thank you.” It took all the strength the prelate could muster to release his harness, come to his feet, and shuffle toward the lock. Air hissed, pressures were equalized, and Tog passed through the surface station and into the asteroid’s interior. Countless layers of pale yellow paint had been applied to the walls of the main passageway. It ramped downward and curved at the same time. A neatly painted sign commanded Tog to follow the illuminated line in case of a fire, power failure, or pressure leak.
The deck, which consisted of duracrete rather than metal, had been buffed to a high sheen. There were what appeared to be skid marks, barely noticeable lines that might or might not be consistent with slip-slide movements Saurons made whenever they were forced to walk. Did that mean that the Kan were where they were supposed to be? Waiting to bail Tog out? Or did that amount to wishful thinking? There was no way to be sure.
Because the main chamber was practically empty and had been undergoing maintenance prior to the rebellion, it was readily accessible via thick metal doors. These opened inward, so that when the chamber was full, water pressure would act to seal them against the walls of the reservoir and prevent any chance of a potential blowout. Why Hak-Bin and his staff had chosen this particular venue for the meeting was not only a mystery—but one Tog was unlikely to solve.
The prelate paused outside access hatch six, took a look around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. That being the case, there was nothing to do but step inside.
The main chamber was huge. Roughly spherical in shape, like the asteroid itself, the walls of the reservoir consisted of native rock covered with gray spray-on sealant. The storage tank’s floor was somewhat irregular, which meant that pools of water remained below the central column and the lowest set of water intake pipes. The central part of the structure was comprised of a metal pillar intended to strengthen the asteroid and hold it together. Winding their way around the supporting member and climbing toward the roof above was an ivylike maze of pipes, pumps, and platforms. Powerful work lights, rigged for the benefit of the maintenance crews, bathed the interior with harsh white light.
Tog felt very small as he stepped out onto one of six causeways that connected various access doors with the central pump column. Metal clanged as the Ra ‘Na made his way out toward the center of the chamber where, by the terms of the agreement, the meeting was scheduled to take place.
Once there Tog experienced something akin to an anticlimax since there was no one to talk to and nothing to do. The next fifteen units passed slowly. Water dripped from somewhere high above, hit the pool below Tog’s feet, and sent ripples out to the edge of the pond. A pump started up, ran for a few moments, and shut itself off.
Then, just as Tog was starting to believe that Rul wouldn’t come, he heard a distant clang. Then, a few units later, a hatch opened, and Rul stepped out onto the same causeway Tog had made use of earlier. Consistent with the terms of the agreement, two bodyguards followed the prelate out toward the center of the tank. However, much to Tog’s amazement, both were human. Had Hak-Bin anticipated such a possibility? Or were the Kan counting on smaller, less threatening adversaries? Assuming they were present at all. Tog felt his heart pump a little faster.
If Rul was frightened, or intimidated by the Grand Vizier’s presence, there was absolutely no sign of it as the prelate arrived on the central platform and stopped a few units away. As always his robes were plain and bereft of any ornament. The greeting was polite but cool. “Greetings, Dro Tog . . . you look well.”
Tog inclined his head. “As do you. Thank you for coming.”
“P’ere Dee insisted that I bring bodyguards,” Rul continued apologetically. “The female is called Jill Ji-Hoon . . . and the male is named Vilo Kell. The entire area was searched a few units ago—but they want to scan you too.”
Tog nodded to the humans. The female nodded in response, stepped forward, and produced a paddle-shaped device. She wore a translator, and the words had a formal quality. “Hold your arms away from your body please.”
The prelate did as he was told and held his breath as the metal detector was passed over each surface of his body. The woman nodded, said, “Thank you,” and returned to her previous position.
“So,” Rul said, “P’ere Has indicates that you are ready to join the resistance . . . Is this true?”
Tog slipped both hands into opposite sleeves, found the weapon with his right, and wrapped his fingers around the handle. Hours had been spent pulling the gun out of the arm holster, and the prelate felt confident that he could manage it. The rod, the one he would use to summon help, was clutched in his left hand. The trick would be to thumb the button
prior
to pulling the pistol.
“Yes,” Tog replied, “I am. I still favor order over disorder, but the slaughter must stop.” And it was then, as Tog mouthed the words, that a face appeared in front of his eyes. The face belonged to Isk, one of the four Ra ‘Na who had witnessed Hak-Bin’s surgery and subsequently been put to death.
Suddenly, deep within, something broke loose, rose to the surface, and blocked the prelate’s throat. Words refused to come, muscles wouldn’t respond, and tears streaked his fur. Part of him wanted to thumb the button, to pull the weapon, but another part resisted. The result was
no
motion whatsoever.
That was the moment when Lim-Tam, consistent with the considerable latitude granted him by Hak-Bin, decided it was time to intervene. A team of Ra ‘Na had searched the tank earlier but failed to find him. The humans were something of a surprise, but they were outnumbered two to one, and that advantage would suffice. He signaled his companions and they dropped straight down.
Kell sensed the movement above before he actually saw it, drew both handguns, and was firing before the Kan had dropped more than twenty-five of the fifty feet that separated the pump platform from the ground. The human knew it was iffy, knew he’d be lucky to hit one of the warriors before their feet touched down, and resolved to monitor his ammo. Once the Kan were down it would be damned embarrassing to stand there clicking at them.