Or the Varnar are protecting them, he thought, morbidly. They would worry about the source of their cyborg slaves.
Being a Horde Commander sometimes meant admitting that there were battles that couldn’t be won. It was something that would have shocked the vast majority of his followers, who would have preferred death to dishonour. But the Horde Commander understood just how much their nomadic life depended on the more civilised Galactics. If galactic society as a whole decided to eradicate the Hordes, they could do so simply by refusing to sell their wares to the nomads or exterminating them outright through military force. There were times when it was wiser to back down than risk a fight they couldn’t win.
But this was something different. The humans either had support from one of the Galactics or they were becoming an interstellar power in their own right. Either way, they had to know the truth — and they had to know what had happened to the missing starships. And they had to do it before the humans found too many allies among the stars. If one or more of the major powers backed them, the Horde would have no choice, but to swallow the insult and return to their wandering ways.
It wasn’t something many of his subordinates would have understood, he knew. The Horde Commander, they thought, spent half of his time enjoying the perks of his position. He had the finest cuts of food, the best-looking women and the right to have as many children as he wished. But he also had to swallow his pride, while manipulating events so someone else took the blame. He couldn’t show weakness in front of his followers or they would start sharpening knives, largely unaware that the Hordes were weak, compared to the Galactics
They dreamed of pillaging their way across the stars, looting and ransacking whole planets. But the Horde Commander knew the truth. They were, at best, scavengers, scavengers utterly dependent on the Galactics. There was no way they could ravage the entire galaxy.
But they needed to know what had happened to their missing starships.
He looked down at the messenger, who had remained in the Posture of Ultimate Respect, extending his head for the sword, if necessary. The Horde Commander felt a pang of… pity, almost regret. He knew just how futile it was to kill the messenger, yet he also felt the same lust for adventure, reckless adventure, that his subordinates shared. Wouldn’t it feel good, he knew, to throw caution to the winds and just pillage the nearest worlds? But he knew they would never escape the Galactics when they retaliated.
“Inform my slaves,” he said. His subordinates were his slaves, as long as he remained strong. But then, slaves had to be constantly reminded of their place. “We will go to Earth.”
He watched the messenger crawl out of the compartment, then turned to look at the holographic display. Thirty starships, five of them ten kilometres long, looked an impressive force, but he knew just how many starships the Galactics could deploy. And to think he ruled one of the larger Hordes. The Galactics could have built a fleet an order of magnitude larger than his own without raising a sweat.
Go to Earth, find out what happened and back off, if necessary, he thought. He clicked his claws in irritation. It would be easier if I went alone.
But that wouldn’t be possible, he knew. No matter what orders he gave, the entire Horde now knew they’d lost three ships. They would demand some kind of retaliation, perhaps against a completely innocent target. And if he didn’t give them their retaliation, they might well try to overthrow him and take power for themselves. The Horde could not afford a major power struggle in interstellar space. Rumour had it that one Horde had managed to destroy itself through a civil war in their starships, opening them to the vacuum of space.
And if the humans were innocent…?
He snapped his claws together, then turned and walked towards the hatch. It didn’t matter, he knew. Someone had to pay. And why not a race that couldn’t fight back?
“This,” Mariko said, “is the life.”
Steve shrugged, then smiled. He had honestly never considered leaving the United States after he retired from the military, but he had to admit that Mariko was right. The unnamed island, one of thousands that made up the Maldives, was genuinely beautiful. There were shimmering white sands, patches of jungle and a couple of huts on stilts above the water, looking both primitive and modern. Inside, there were beds, a fridge and a small stockpile of microwavable food. There was no one else on the island at all.
He leaned back in his deckchair, allowing the sun to beat down on his exposed chest. It had taken weeks of nagging, from Mariko as well as Kevin, to convince him to take a holiday, but he’d definitely needed it. Relaxing, taking the time to recharge his batteries and consider the future without worrying about the present, seemed to have done him a world of good. It helped that he trusted the people he’d left in charge while he was gone, he decided. He made a mental note to insist that Kevin, Mongo and the others took holidays once he returned home.
The thought struck him, suddenly. When had the starship become home?
He couldn’t help feeling that he’d betrayed the American Stuarts. His family had built the ranch, after all, and contributed to the town that had grown up nearby. They’d placed great stock in the ranch, relying on it to serve as a training ground for generation upon generation of Stuarts. But he’d practically walked away from the ranch, converting it into an off-world embassy and then a recruitment centre for prospective lunar settlers. He’d never even been able to consider leaving the ranch before.
But Earth felt small and oppressive compared to the boundless vastness of interstellar space.
There are cousins, he thought. Several of them had gone into hiding — or travelled to the moon — when the reporters had started sniffing around, trying to score interviews on the subject of Steve’s family life prior to joining the military. The others had sniffed at the very idea of leaving Montana, certainly leaving the state permanently. One of them could take the ranch, if Steve’s children — or Mongo’s children — didn’t want to take it for themselves. As long as it stayed in the family, Steve suspected, the ghosts of his ancestors wouldn’t care.
He made a mental note to ask his children about it, then stood and looked over towards the shimmering blue waves. There was something about the gentle lapping of water against the sand that was almost relaxing, even though it also reminded him of crawling through the marshes at night, years ago. Pushing the thought out of his head, he walked towards the water and allowed the waves to wash over his feet, slipping and sliding as the sand shifted under his weight. Bracing himself, he stepped further into the water until he could swim properly, then started to swim around the entire island. It was small enough that he could circumnavigate it in less than ten minutes.
It wasn’t a challenging swim, something he found mildly disappointing. But the island had been billed as a private resort, a place where someone would have to be very stupid or unlucky to get themselves killed. Compared to some of the training he’d done, it was pathetic. But it was fun to relax, just for a while. Maybe, he told himself, he’d swim out to sea later and see what happened out there, past the barrier reef. If worst came to worst, he still had the interface. He could signal for emergency teleport if necessary.