Sunlord (62 page)

Ashian spun and took Capac's hand solemnly, his
insectile eyes sparkling. "Goodbye Capac."

"You are going to her?"

Ashian nodded. Capac returned to formal wrist clasp
that was shared between hunter and hunter. "I'm sorry...these last
few hours have been terrible for us all." Capac straightened
himself. "You shall be remembered. May you walk in peace with
Abas."

The corner of Ashian's mouth lifted with Capac's
reference to the god of the city people. The forester had learnt
now that his own Forest Mother and Ashian's Abas were very similar
- creator and collector of all life.

And it was with a simple "goodbye" did Capac see the
last of the young currach. He knew it should not have been like
this; the cruel twists of fate intervening when least expected. But
how could have Capac prepared for the moment when he lost a friend
of his soul?

Turning back to the fire a sudden cold washed across
his heart, and Capac knew what it was to be alone.

Chapter Nineteen

War.

War is the science of destruction.

- John Abbott.

One year passed.

The face of the planet changed in that period of
turbulence and death. It would long be remembered both in the
computer archives of the Federation and Hartrias armies, where this
was seen as the ultimate battle for control of the universe. It
would also leave its mark upon the natives, for their hearts and
minds bore testament to the battle over their homeland and no
matter the outcome, it seemed those remaining eloprin and currach
would spend an eternity in recuperation.

Federation forces met with the Hartrias fleet and the
battle was long and dirty, but it was clear from the outset that
the Federation's superior numbers meant they eventually ruled the
space around the critical point. Several hundred thousand pilots
and officers died as each side clashed time after time, the
Hartrias still maintaining the upper hand with the land based
Skycannon facility.

The league of human forces felt the sting of the
defensive weapon several times in their attempt to gain control of
the planet's surface. Forced away by strong shielding, the only
option for the Federation was to send paratroopers down onto the
surface and infiltrate the enemy's complex. For three months tanks,
footsoliders and aircraft ruled the land both in the north and
south continents. In the north the Hartrias dropsite was one of the
first to fall to invading Federation forces as they struck with
confusion as their ally. Troops wore gas masks and airtight suits
as chemicals weapons were implemented on both sides, and while they
fought air strikes shook the earth they trod upon, turning nights
as bright as day.

The Skycannon was lost to the Federation on the sixth
month of fighting. It was one of the single most bloody and
horrific battles ever fought; the entire southern continent was
ravaged. Once lush, thick forests of purple green and yellow plants
fell before the barrage of weaponry. The Hartrias' defence had been
admirable and had kept the Federation at bay for twice as long as
anticipated. Powerful lasers were erected upon the tallest of the
surrounding peaks emitting light flashes so powerful they instantly
blinded any solider to look upon them. Many Federation soldiers had
no defence against such a weapon - for if they could not use a
closed-circuit camera the only other option was to go into combat
with one eye covered. This way, if a blinding laser was used, the
solider then be able to remove the cover and continue the
fight.

It was no walkover, but the Federation army won out
in the end though the forces of sheer numbers.

It was decreed that the city of natives in the
northern continent should be taken as a strategic advantage. Laying
on the border of a large expanse of forest and being close to the
Hartrias dropsite it must be put to full potential.

The many hundred currach who had taken residence in
the city newly won from the Hartrias found it taken back from them
once more by the Federation. The latter's attack was no less deadly
efficient as heavy forward tanks and droids moved in to round up
every living creature and shot whatever tried to flee. The captured
currach were placed in a container and incinerated by the blast of
a modified attack fighter's afterburner. The Federation acted
quickly with no patience for charity, for the Hartrias had amassed
a counterattack and were already reclaiming underground
bunkers.

What Currach lay left alive in the city fled towards
the forests, leaving the Federation to rediscover abandoned
Hartrias equipment which further boosted their defence against the
counterattack. Nobody knew why the Hartrias had simply picked up
and left the city, but few cared.

Control of the quadrant of space around the planet
waxed and wanned as reinforcements added to one side's efforts, or
a cunning manoeuvre forced retreat. When twelve Earth Standard
months had passed no definitive advantage could be seen...

* * *

"Hey there." Shaun's tone was of forced levity as he
sat upon the stool beside the bed.

Richael opened his eyes slowly, as if disinterested.
"Are you back again? I thought you were off visiting the
Comitia."

Shaun tried not to let his eyes trace down the tight
white sheets where it was obvious Richael's body terminated at the
hip. The bank of computer equipment and drips that kept the young
ex-fighter pilot alive looked like a trap that would forever moor
him.

Richael had barely survived the explosion when his
Minnow had come under fire from the Rplore, and it was not until
several days later was he found floating in space. His life-support
system upon the ejector seat kept him alive despite third-degree
burns and crushed legs, and he had been put into suspended
animation for seven months while the battle raged.

Shaun bit upon his lower lip. "So what's up, little
brother?"

Richael did not answer immediately. He just looked at
Shaun, his eyes clouded. "Doing the same as yesterday, and the same
as tomorrow. Just great," he sneered.

"The medics tell me that you may regain muscle
control of your arms in time," offered Shaun. "It won't be long
before you're off these machines."

"Its not you laying here unable to move until the
med-droids turn you over for the night - so keep your damn optimism
to yourself."

Shaun bowed his head. "Yeah, right. Sorry."

Richael closed his eyes. "You didn't tell me about
your meeting. Any more accolades?"

Shaun glanced at his watch. "My appointment is not
for another half hour. They want me aboard the convoy heading back
to Earth. Our forces have managed to hold the critical point and
this is an ideal opportunity to ship in more reinforcements and
send some of us home. The med-ship leaves the same time. You'll be
home in less than month."

Richael did not respond. Finally, after a year in
suspended animation, the Federation had the resources to send him
home. Richael's eyes were closed as if sleeping but Shaun knew that
his brother was listening intently.

Clenching his fists and staring furiously at the
floor, Shaun finished, "I'm not going to go with you."

Richael grunted. "Why stop when you're on a roll? A
medal of Valour from the General and promotion to First Officer.
Hell, this war is doing wonders for your resume, not to mention
your ego."

"No, it's not that." Shaun knew regret being in his
position when his younger brother lay cripple and unrecognised,
when his sacrifice had been equally large.

"So why are you staying?" Richael asked.

"I must help some old friends. I've got to fight for
the natives; they deserve more. Perhaps the Federation will listen
to me."

Richael was silent for a long time; a silence that
Shaun wanted desperately to break but could not find the words. It
was obvious Richael cared as little for the natives as did the
members of the council governing the Federation army, the Comitia.
Standing abruptly, Shaun knew he had no more to say.

"Goodbye, Richael." He motioned to the sheets where
half of the young man's body was missing. "And I'm sorry."

* * *

It was good to get the muscles and mind working once
more. Shaun slipped down the corridor dressed in the standard issue
Federation helicasuit, his officers uniform discarded down the
nearest rubbish chute. Dress boots replaced by combat boots, a
small pistol tucked into his thigh and an arsenal of electronic
lock picks tucked into newly created pockets in his helicasuit. He
wore a backpack stocked with a gas mask, radio, navigator device
and other paraphernalia he thought may see him through the ravaged
warzone below. Shaun slunk into the hanger bay and strapped himself
into the seat as the craft warmed up.

"Flight identification," came the voice over his
headphones in a tone so calm and patient it could only be
computerised.

Shaun punched in the authorisation codes he had
obtained the previous night - the result of careful hacking and
manipulation of computer records.

"Confirmed. Be prepared for launch," said the voice.
"Computer control will take this craft to the first beacon."

The Minnow jolted as if drifted away from its
moorings. Weightlessness came and Shaun could only sit back as
lines of numbers scrolled across the screen, all other controls
inoperative. One minute and forty-five seconds later the computer
informed him to take manual control.

Glancing one last time at his wristwatch Shaun
breathed a sigh of relief. The controls were light in his hands and
he spun the small fighter craft into a descent towards the planet,
his movements smooth and controlled.

The message console blinked suddenly.

Incoming message

The visage of Admiral Rinhold appeared, red with
rage.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Rinhold
cried. "Turn that crate around and get back here before I strip
those medals from your chest!"

Shaun shook his head. "I can't do that, sir. I've got
a promise to keep."

"Dammit! You're not still on about those stinking
primitives are you? I refused you permission to return planetside
and now your in direct contradiction of those orders. I suggest you
turn around before things get worse."

"The Comitia won't listen to me. I've seen what's
happening to the eloprin and I can't just sit back on the sidelines
any more. Not after what I have seen." Shaun glanced away to check
his navigation vector and tweaked the control surfaces.

Admiral Rinhold's mouth pulled up at the corners.
"Come on lad. Leave the bullshit to the whingeing humanitarians.
Those natives aren't worth squat to anyone; this is a war not a
playground. I know you've been through a lot," Rinhold winked
conspiracy, "I've got my contacts in the Comitia - I'm sure if you
return now the whole incidence will be forgotten. What do you
say?"

"Goodbye, sir." Shaun reached for the End Message
switch.

"Damn it to hell boy! Get y-" Rinhold's snapped into
silence and the screen went blank. Shaun lowered his hand and
returned his concentration to directing the Minnow as it hit the
first banks of atmosphere.

* * *

Sounds of disturbance grew closer.

Capac stood and reached for his walking cane, head
tilted as he listened.

"What is it?"

Capac motioned the tribesman into silence. The
unchanging sounds of the forest was all that filled the air - the
cry of birds and the chirping of insects. Then it came again; a
bass rumble barely audible.

"It's heading this way," growled Capac, limping
forward and motioning with his cane. "Fetch Kiroth."

Nodding, the tribesman ducked out of the toolmaker's
shelter to search for the Clan Chieftain.

Hobbling stiffly, his left leg half-paralysed and
weak from the wound he had received a year before, Capac moved out
into the open air and sniffed deeply. Cursing, he instantly
regretted the long months he had spend resting and recovering
inside tents where his sense of smell had deteriorated from lack of
practice. He had not hunted for a long time; too long. Capac knew
that he would put up but a shadow of a fight, yet the aging eloprin
still carried a long sheathed knife at his belt and, despite
demureness to the contrary, was still able to throw it with
accuracy.

Kiroth appeared at Capac's side, his approach
typically silent. "You hear it too?"

"Sunlord tanks. Heading straight toward us."

A figure ran towards the pair from the late-afternoon
shadows of the forest. Tatura the Huntsmaster sped towards them, a
spear in one hand and his pace checked and even.

"My hunters have seen Sunlords moving in the forest,
approaching us from two directions." Tatura indicated with
gestures. "They are clearing everything."

Capac looked Kiroth in the eye. "We have been
over-confident in our hopes of the Federation's success. It seems
in our complacency the Sunlords have amassed their armies again. I
suggest we send the children away - quickly."

Tatura nodded; in his time spent with the Great Water
clan Capac commanded great respect and his suggestions were often
heeded. "Where should they be sent? From your tales it seems no
place is safe from the Sunlords."

It did not take long for Capac to reply. "Elio will
lead them to the west - it will take a full days march." A
mischievous glint shone in the old hunters eye. "Elio knows what to
do."

"Elio?" questioned Kiroth.

"He will know what I mean," finished Capac firmly.
"There are tunnels to take refuge in."

Tatura the Huntsmaster stabbed his spear into the
soil. "What are we going to do?"

"We've got to fend off the Sunlords long enough for
them to make it to safety." In a moment of painful concern Capac
prayed that Riel - Myshia and Ashian's child - would escape
unharmed.