Temo had participated in the disastrous attack on Headstone during which more than a thousand of her fellow citizens were killed. But she had never been inside the complex. So it was natural to pay close attention to everything around her, and she was impressed. The corridor was clean. Racks of weapons were located at regular intervals. First-aid stations stood ready in alcoves. Side passageways led to what might have been gun emplacements and missile launchers. And the troops who passed her in the hall appeared to be well fed. All of which was consistent with what Rhaki had been telling her for months: The Ramanthians were going to win the war. And that, according to Rhaki, was why companies like Temo Pharmaceuticals should establish meaningful relationships with the Ramanthians while such a thing was still possible.
Those were Temo’s thoughts as she followed the first soldier into a side corridor. A ramp led up to a door, where two sentries stood at the Ramanthian equivalent of port arms. They remained motionless as Temo passed between them and entered a spacious office. The walls were hewn from solid rock and had been left rough, a look that Temo knew to be consistent with the underground dwellings the bugs preferred.
Two beings were waiting to receive Temo, one of whom was Rhaki. He was seated on a Ramanthian-style saddle chair and stood as she entered. The Thraki’s brown fur was shot with gray. He had pointy ears, a short muzzle, and was dressed in a white business suit. A jacket with a high collar hung down over a pair of neatly bloused pants. The pull-on boots he wore were well polished and way too nice for the bush. “Donna!” he said warmly. “Commander Dammo and I were just talking about you.”
Having known the Thraki for years and having learned to read his nonverbal expressions, Temo recognized what she thought of as his sales mode. Without being told, she knew it was her job to play along. Not ideal, perhaps, since it put her under Rhaki’s control, but what choice did she have? Temo forced a smile but knew it wouldn’t mean anything to the other person in the room, a stern-looking Ramanthian with a bulging prosthesis in place of his right eye. “I don’t know what you were saying-but I hope it was nice.”
“Of course it was,” Rhaki said jovially. “Commander Dammo, please allow me to introduce Major Donna Temo.”
Temo looked at the Ramanthian. Here was the officer responsible for taking part of what she considered to be her planet-and killing more than a thousand of its citizens. She should tell him to screw himself. But not if she wanted to survive and see Temo Pharmaceuticals prosper. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Dammo was silent for a moment. He was seated on a saddle chair. The officer’s scarlet uniform fit just so, his leather cross belts were polished, and everything about him conveyed a sense of controlled power. And when he spoke, his standard was so good that Temo suspected that he had spent time on one of the Confederacy’s planets prior to the war. A military attache perhaps-or something similar. “I suspect those words cost you dearly,” he said. “But you were able to utter them nevertheless. Many of my peers would judge you harshly for that. Especially those who are members of the Nira cult.
“But I have no time for such nonsense. I, like citizen Rhaki here, am a pragmatist-a person more interested in results than process. And based on what I’ve heard about you, as well as what I’ve seen so far, it appears that you and I may be similar in that regard.”
Temo was impressed with what the Ramanthian had to say and the way in which it was said. “Yes, sir.”
Dammo nodded. A nonverbal gesture that the two races had in common. “Good. You humans have a saying. One I learned while stationed on Earth. ‘Talk is cheap.’ So I’m going to give you an opportunity to prove yourself.”
Temo looked at Rhaki and saw the concern in his eyes. The Thraki was worried. Everything was on the line. Her eyes swung back. “Thank you, sir. What do you have in mind?”
Dammo’s artificial eye whirred softly. “We’re going to attack the town you call Baynor’s Bay. And you will lead the way.”
THE TOWN OF BAYNOR’S BAY, PLANET O-CHI 4, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
It was a beautiful day, which made it perfect for flying. But as the transport skimmed the leafy treetops and the noise of its engines sent flocks of blue flits into the air, Temo barely noticed them. Her thoughts were elsewhere as she stood in the open hatch and allowed the slipstream to tear at her clothes. If she was willing to sacrifice herself, she could turn and open fire on the Ramanthian soldiers seated in the cargo bay. Then it would be a simple matter to go forward and shoot the pilots.
But it wouldn’t make any difference. Not according to Rhaki. Because the chits would still win the war. So focus, she told herself. Make the best of a bad situation. Members of the Temo family have been killed, she reminded herself. And now it’s payback time.
That thought generated a fierce sense of anticipation as the transports flashed past Signal Hill, flew out over the bay, and circled back. The TACBASE that sat atop the ruins of her grandmother’s house had opened fire by then. But it, along with all of the legionnaires within, were about to die.
Corporal Durkee was off duty, watching one of the vids stored in his onboard computer, when the shit hit the fan. Because most of the battalion was in the jungle, playing war games, only six people had been left behind to defend the TACBASE. That number was deceptive, however. Especially since the computer-controlled fortress could fend off minor attacks on its own. But it couldn’t cope with three loads of Ramanthian troops plus two Ramanthian aerospace fighters without support.
Still, the TACBASE had already begun to fire surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) at the enemy ships by the time Staff Sergeant Nello’s voice came over the intercom. “Look alive, people-the bugs want to play. Let’s blow their pointy asses out of the sky.”
Durkee could fire while parked in the bay-but only at a limited array of targets. Ideally, had the other quads been present, all four quadrants would have been covered. But his peers were out in the jungle somewhere, which left Durkee to do the job alone. He opened a com link. “Roger that, Sarge… How’bout I go out and teach ’em a lesson?”
“I dunno,” Nello replied doubtfully, as a missile hit the TACBASE and exploded. “We call you ‘gimpy’ for a reason.”
“All I have to do is get clear of the base, divide their fire, and let ’em have it,” Durkee countered. “Besides, I promised the major I would take care of things.”
The TACBASE shuddered as more missiles hit, 25 percent of the computer-controlled AA batteries went off-line, and Nello’s voice grew tighter. “Okay, Corporal… Feed the bastards a SAM for me.”
Having ordered his onboard computer to disengage from the TACBASE, Durkee crab-walked out into the roiling smoke. The enemy transports were busy landing troops, but the top of Signal Hill was taking a pounding from the Ramanthian fighters.
Durkee put an electronic tag on one of them, sent two fire-and-forget SAMs after it. He was about to fire on the second aircraft when a remotely piloted bunker-buster missile arrived from a base located more than three hundred miles away and scored a direct hit. The TACBASE and everyone inside of it ceased to exist. The resulting shock wave picked Durkee up and threw him off the hill. His fifty-ton body cartwheeled down the slope, skidded to a stop, and blew up.
But even as the legionnaire was dying, his missiles hit a Ramanthian fighter and exploded. The fighter vanished in a flash and puff of smoke. Had he known, the ex-murderer, legionnaire, and cyborg would have been pleased.
After landing, the Ramanthian soldiers split into smaller teams and shuffled their way through the streets, intent on razing the community of south bay so that the humans couldn’t use it as a staging area. And, based on the deal struck with Commander Dammo, Temo was in charge of a squad-sized group of them.