Having said his piece, DomaSa set off for a pole-supported shelter that had been erected a few hundred yards to the east. It was gray, like the world around it, and shivered in the wind. The Hudathan savored the warm damp air, the way the rain pelted his chest, and the feel of gravel under his boots. It was good to be home.
ChienChu drew abreast of the admiral, took note of how pale the officer looked, and spoke via a heavily encrypted corn channel. It took less than a minute to brief Kagan regarding DomaSa’s actual rank—and urge him to use caution. The meeting would be critical.
Kagan took the information in, realized what it meant, and felt a deep sense of betrayal. After all the Hudathans had done, after all the murders they had committed, ChienChu, along with a bunch of suckass politicians were going to sell the Confederacy out. All to defend against a bunch of machines that might not exist. The whole thing made him sick.
That’s when Kagan came to an important realization:
He could end the insanity, he could save the Confederacy, he could go down in history. If he got the opportunity—if he had the guts.
North jogged through the rain, availed himself of what cover there was, but knew it was just a matter of time before somebody intercepted him. Would they shoot him? Before he could reach the people in the shuttle? That was his second greatest fear.
His greatest fear was that he had unintentionally betrayed the Legion, his battalion, and himself. Danjou had had many opportunities to surrender but had refused to do so. Here was an opportunity for glorious death, the kind the Legion respected, but rather than embrace it, as so many others had, he was trying to cheat his fate. Why? For the sake of his troops? Or out of cowardice? The possibility gnawed at his belly.
The legionnaire angled toward some rocks. Water splashed his ankles and wandered into his boots. He swore, allowed himself to slow, and pushed in among the boulders. One of them had cracked right down the middle during some previous storm leaving a V for him to peer through. It looked like an old-fashioned rifle sight. The enemy could be seen just beyond, preparing a meal. The legionnaire shoved both his assault weapon and his sidearm under a rock, used stones to wall them in, and returned to the viewpoint. North swallowed the lump in his throat, stepped out through the V-shaped crack, and raised his hands in the air. Nothing happened at first, and the officer was about to move, when a shout was heard. The words were in Hudathan, but there was no doubt as to what they meant. The officer stood fast.
The rain seemed to part tike a curtain. The troopers were huge. They gathered around. One grabbed the officer from behind. Another punched him in the stomach. The blows came hard and fast. North felt himself fold.
If there were negative things about Hudathan culture, such as their tendency toward genocide, there were some positive characteristics as well. One was a distaste for the trappings of power that so many humans lusted after. It could be seen in DomaSa’s matter-of-fact no-nonsense manner, in the plain rather utilitarian shelter erected for IfanaKa’s benefit, and the way that he waved them over. Much to ChienChu’s surprise, there had been no attempt to disarm Kagan or neutralize the Trooper IF’s weaponry. A sign of respect? A sign of contempt? There was no sure way to know. The exoskeleton and the Trooper IF were big ... but so was the tent. They whirred, whined, and crunched their way across the rain-soaked gravel. The fact that the shelter had no floor other than what the planet saw fit to provide was consistent with the lack of pomp. IfanaKa spoke Hudathan, but ChienChu’s onboard computer took care of the translation.
“Welcome. Please excuse me if I don’t get up. A Ramanthian war drone shot me more than fifty years ago. The butchers wanted to take the leg off but 1 wouldn’t let them. Now I’m too old for regeneration therapy, too set in my ways for a bionic replacement, and too mean to die. Isn’t that right. War Commander DomaSa?”
“I don’t know about the first two,” the Hudathan replied, “but there’s no doubt about the third.”
ChienChu took note of the military title and assumed the grunting noise equated to laughter. “So,”
IfanaKa asked, “who are you? And what do you want?”
The question was addressed to Admiral Kagan, since he was the only being who looked even slightly human. DomaSa, who was smooth by Hudathan standards, entered the gap. “Grand Marshall IfanaKa, this is Admiral Kagan. He commands the Confederate forces in our sector.”
The contempt on IfanaKa’s face was clear for even a human to see ... and DomaSa hurried to forestall whatever gaffe was in the making. “And this,” the Hudathan said, gesturing toward the hulking T2, “is none other than Sergi ChienChu, past President of the Confederacy, reserve admiral, Governor of Earth, and special envoy to the Hudathan people.”
ChienChu essayed a bow. “I apologize for my appearance. The body 1 normally wear was less than suitable for a visit to your planet.”
IfanaKa pushed himself up out of his chair and staggered forward. NorbaBa rushed to support him.
“ChienChu? The same miserable piece of excrement who fought PoseenKa off the planet Algeron?”
ChienChu tried to swallow but didn’t have anything left to do it with. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” IfanaKa said. “I served under the bastard, and he was tough. Very tough. So they sent a soldier to make their case? Smart, damned smart. Maybe there’s hope for humans after all.”
Disappointed by the warmth of ChienChu’s reception, and disgusted by the politician’s conciliatory tone, Kagan stood a little straighten Others could bend... he would refuse. ChienChu experienced a profound sense of relief, and was about to offer some sort of reply, when a disturbance was heard. All five of them turned toward the source of the noise. Captain North was a mess. His hair was matted from the rain, blood smeared his face, and his uniform was covered with mud. He had lost consciousness at some point during the beating and come to on a stretcher. That’s when he rolled off, dodged a slow moving trooper, and ran toward the tent. Maybe there would be someone in authority . .. someone who could . ..
A sentry yelled. North dashed for the tent, and waited for the inevitable bullet. It didn’t come. Not with two members of the Triad just beyond. He burst through the entryway and looked left and right. “My name is North! Captain North. Who’s in charge here? I want a word with them.”
That’s when the legionnaire saw Kagan, their eyes locked, and hatred jumped the gap. “Butcher!”
“Mutineer!”
Kagan went for his sidearm just as a 250pound Hudathan sentry flew through the entrance and hit North from the side. The two of them skidded across the gravel.
Undeterred, the naval officer raised his weapon, and was about to fire, when an ominous whine was heard. ChienChu looked through the sighting grid and knew the .50 caliber machine gun was ready to fire. “Hold it right there, Admiral. .. this man has something to say. I’d like to hear what it is.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Kagan allowed the pistol to fall. IfanaKa was amused. “I thank the Giver that humans spend most of their time at each other’s throats. Guard, help that officer up, and report for punishment. Twenty lashes should put you right. If the human were an assassin, I’d be dead by now.”
The sentry, who showed no reaction whatsoever, came to attention, did a smart about face, and marched into the rain.
North, who had the wind knocked out of him, spoke in short painful gasps. He described the battle, the attempt to escape, and what Kagan had done. The legionnaire had no hope of mercy from the admiral, assumed the cyborg was some sort of escort, and addressed himself to IfanaKa. “So, that’s it, sir. My people are ready to fight. Your forces will win, I know that, but we will kill a lot of them. And for what?