Koban: Rise of the Kobani (80 page)

Despite Gotrak’s complaints, he knew this was a better group of hatchlings than the previous two breeding cycles had produced. Greater status earned from successful raids had finally allowed them to purchase thousands of eggs from pairings of superior male and female warriors of other clans. They traded with clans with a surplus of high breeder status eggs, sold for status points.

There was no way for the temporarily isolated Maldo leadership, with all available warriors invested in intense novice training and culling, to have yet learned that on K1 (Telda Ka) that Dorkda had been captured on a raid to steal two clanships (actually he was presumed killed). Not even Dorbo clan, who had been humiliated to lose those two ships, knew that the ultimate shame was that it had been humans from the Mark of Koban performing the theft. Now this Dorbo finger clan was in line for even worse treatment from the same ship. Humiliation, like crap, did appear to obey the law of gravity, and roll downhill.

The hand of training octets that Gotrak directed was actually composed of nearly twice that number of Krall. There now was nearly one experienced warrior assigned to each inexperienced novice in a training octet. Later, as culling eliminated the poor candidates (the euphemism of “culling” standing in for the more accurate term “killing”).

Last year, there had been three pre-novice candidates for each warrior to observe and instruct (“instruct” was frequently another euphemism for brutalize and punish). In absence of another clan’s novices to fight with, the warriors forced their inexperienced novices to face low intensity beatings from them, teaching them via the “hard knocks” rule how to defend themselves, first from blows by feet, hands, elbows, knees, talons, and even the head.

Recently clubs, spears, rocks, then knives and short swords had been introduced. The discipline by now was such that challenge matches were permitted when two novices had a grudge. It was too soon to lose many promising novices in death matches, but death sometimes happened. At least the weaker candidates “accidentally” eliminated this way increased the rate of culling.

It would be months before the culling revealed the one-quarter of the original candidates who were ready to receive firearms training. Those that had physical skills and discipline to survive the temptation to kill so easily would live to enter tactical training and movements, and someday learn strategy.

However, right now they were mostly a rabble of thuggish club and spear users, with a few having proven capable and disciplined enough to be issued knives and short swords. There were always some that believed this ability to kill with sharp steel weapons gave them the ability to defy an instructor, or challenge them when they saw they had no firearms. They proved to be excellent examples, by their deaths at the hands of the instructor, or from his instructor clan mate if the first sneaky blow was one of decapitation.

Today, Gotrak had the four octets he was responsible for practicing infiltration through the woods, to find the camp of another hand of octets and attack them by surprise. Gotrak and the other instructors, on both sides, knew where everyone was, and simply acted as observers and advisors. They provided advice such as “don’t step on that dry stick and make a noise,” or “don’t let that branch swish back into your team mate’s face.” This phase of training went much faster, because by now their battlefield memory had developed, and the breeding and instincts of the nine or ten-year-old novices meant they remembered what actions had previously worked well. Some were innovating, and combining ideas that led to a better way of attack or defense in the training scenarios.

There were hints of the new tactics needed against humans. Cunning and trickery were no longer discouraged when seen, and more of the survivors of the human war had lived by exhibiting some of these traits. Their eggs, in future generations, would gradually become the model for smarter, better warriors.

It was at the edge of the woods that Gotrak was able to see the dome and tarmac, where most of the clans hard earned clanship resources were parked. His IR vision revealed which ship had just landed, by the hot ramp and thrusters, although his battlefield memory, if examined, would have helped him find the new ovoid in the plump forest of clanships.

Whoever had arrived, they had opened a portal, but not lowered the ramp. That suggested they had jumped down and were running to the dome. He looked under the maze of clanships without real curiosity, to see if he might see Dorkda running towards the dome, perhaps with news that would improve each of the instructor’s moods, if there were a promise of real warfare for them soon.

There was nothing moving on the tarmac. He looked away and checked with his octet leaders on progress towards the “enemy” camp, which because they had placed lookouts in the woods, knew about his approaching “raiders.” This could become an entertaining morning, even before the sun rose very high.

Looking back to the dome, he instantly noticed that four portals were now open on other clanships near the new arrival. Most of the parked ships had not been entered for almost a year, other than a cursory check of the command deck consoles and thruster engines for power left active or fuel leaks. Could this be a sign that a returning envoy was verifying the preparedness of some of their clanships for a raid? Gotrak would prefer to participate in activity such as that, instead of the tedious but required duty he now fulfilled.

As he watched, one of the four portals closed, but in seconds another ship’s portal, on the opposite side of the new arrival ship, sprang open. There was no one in sight, no movement. These must have been operated remotely, from the dome or the new ship. He continued to monitor the activity in the woods, but checked the tarmac frequently. All of the original portals were now closed, but five other ships had one portal opened where he could see into the hold.

That very thought was interesting. He realized that looking through the one portal facing towards the woods he was able to see than none of the other portals
was opened. The dome could not see this activity. That prodded him to remember why the ships were periodically checked. To ensure they were truly shut down, that no warrior that wanted to learn how to pilot had activated a console. No one could remotely open a portal if the consoles were inactive. However, he’d seen seven of them opened so far, and most were now reclosed. Only a warrior manually pressing the keypads could open the portals, but he had seen no activity or movement at any of the ships.

While he was watching, another portal facing him, on a different clanship sprang open. He didn’t have a helmet or digital vision enhancers, but this was only two miles away. He could even see the outline of the keypads by the portals. There was no one there.

Gotrak called his fellow instructors and quickly told them what he’d seen. All of them had noticed the ship arrival of course, because it was uncommon during the seasons of novice training at a smaller clan like theirs. With their confirmation, he called the dome observers on duty at the top level, to ask if they knew who this arrival was.

They had not had contact with the arrival’s crew, and had expected the pilot or commander eventually to enter the dome to report to the clan leader. Gotrak learned that Dorkda was actually not expected to return before the next winter.

When he mentioned the periodic portal openings and closings that he had seen on multiple clanships, the dome observers were surprised, because they said they had not seen any from their vantage point. There was a pause, and then a new voice.

“Gotrak, I sent no warriors to those clanships, this must be an interclan raid.” It was clan leader Hashtok’s voice. “These raids are forbidden by the council, but smaller new finger clans do not have clanships to go to the war on Poldark. They could try to take ours. Take a force and seek them out before they have a chance to lift. Move fast and stay hidden. They will be watching the dome if we move from here.” Then he added, “
For the Path and clan stop them.”

This order demanded instant and maximum reaction, no questions. He stiffened, his left arm out with talons extended, and said, “I salute the Path and our clan.” The only reply allowed.

His action and words galvanized the warriors that overheard him. They knew only one command justified that reply.

Gotrak repeated Hashtok’s suspicion and his instructions. As the clan leaders designated voice for this action, the warriors near him each repeated the required reply.

“I salute our clan.”

Gotrak addressed them all. “Send the most trusted novice runners to gather as many of the trainers as can be found and lead them here.”

He had a simple basic plan, which he explained to several warriors. He singled one out now. “Fittdot, you will stay hidden inside the tree line to instruct how the movement to the tarmac will be done. One warrior will lead no more than three novices, who must stay directly in line behind the lead warrior until told to attack the enemy. A second warrior will be behind them to keep them in line. The lead warriors will use our parked ships as cover from the intruder clanship. You must cross the open terrain to the tarmac by running as fast as possible towards the enemy ship, with it always behind another ship. They must not see us coming from their view screens, or they could launch immediately with as many of our ships as they are able to steal. We must get inside our occupied ships and kill them all. I will lead the first line.”

He pointed at an octet. “I want three novices to follow me, and another warrior behind them to keep them moving. They will not fully understand what we do or why, but the chance to kill a clan enemy will give them spirit.”

He quickly shifted position in the trees until a parked ship blocked his view of the enemy clanship. He looked at the three novices, and the warrior behind them. “Follow me, as fast as you can run. We fight for great honor and our clan.”

He turned and started across the expanse of pale orange grass at a ground-eating pace that seemed too fast for slightly bowed, muscular legs, which were a bit shorter than their arms. A second and third string of instructors and novices followed on that same path, and farther along the tree line, other strings started across, and using different parked ships to block a view of them.

It was a long distance in the open, but their opponents gave no sign they had been spotted. Even before he reached the cover of the clanship he was using for cover, Gotrak detected a flaw in his hasty strategy. His memory held the picture of which ships on the ramp he had seen with portals opened. Most had already shut those portals. He didn’t know how their clan rivals had moved without being seen on the tarmac, but once inside closed ships that was irrelevant. He was the only one that could send warriors and novices to the correct ships, those he knew had been targeted.

Pausing behind a landing jack of the first ship they reached, he explained the problem to the trailing warrior. “That ship,” he pointed, “is one of those they opened. Try to reach it by concealment and enter. I will direct the others to the targeted clanships. Go.”

He repeated the directions for subsequent teams, but he had no silent way to inform the other approaches. Fortunately, there must have been warriors with them that had also seen some of the open portals, because they slipped around the landing jacks, going in the right directions. He cursed his rushed plan that had found a way to prevent him from making the first attack on their enemy.

Gotrak and every clan member on the ramp knew that the time for sneaking had passed when the first thrusters were activated. Some of these were ships he’d seen warriors and novices open a portal and enter, unopposed. At least two hands of warriors and novices died when the blast of thrusters of clanships ignited and burned them to cinders, which blew flaming over the tarmac. Some of their ships were being taken from them.

He started running towards where he’d been hearing sounds of shooting and screams of rage. He spotted a number of dead instructors and novices on the ground below a ship, with fighting continuing inside. He was on the verge of joining them when he heard the thrum of fuel pumps and knew the clanship was about to lift, and he could not get inside before that happened.

He stepped into the lee of a landing jack for protection and survived the heat of liftoff, singed and battered, as the ship rose with at least one portal locked open. He’d heard fighting inside, but unless they closed that portal, the fumes and then vacuum would cut the fight short. Another ship probably lost. He was enraged beyond measure.

There was still some shooting, but it was well across the tarmac from him, past the enemy clanship. If he ran over there, he would likely arrive too late again to help prevent another launch, and watch another lost Maldo asset roar into the red sky.

It came to him! There was another possibility. He might prevent the enemy clanship from escaping. It was surely too well defended for him to enter and try to overpower the crew. However, there was a more destructive and final alternative. It might permit them to find out who violated the interclan warfare ban, and give them a chance at revenge and compensation.

He leaped onto a portal rim on the cooler side of the clanship where he had taken refuge. The door rushed open and he raced and leaped up the darkened stairs closest to him. Half a life spent in clanships made even nearly total darkness no obstacle to a rapid ascent. There was a trace of warmth to furnish an outline of the stairwell.

Gotrak was confident that the last time this craft was used on a raid, it had returned with most of its defensive and offensive armament fully functional. After all, it was parked on
this
side of the ramp, instead of where the Prada and Torki performed most maintenance of damaged clanships.