The messenger hesitated.
“Am I not right?” Thrakhath snarled.
“You are right, my lord.”
“Fine. Do you now realize what is happening aboard this vessel? Already a rumor is flying that something has gone wrong, that I have received a top secret message and it bears bad news. Before this watch is finished that word will have spread to all two thousand of this crew. Rumors will become fact, speculation of what disaster has befallen our Empire will gain embellishment, morale will decline, fighting efficiency will drop.”
He paused for a moment, looking down at the message.
“All because of your agitated, childlike stupidity.”
Ashamed, the messenger lowered his head.
“What does the message say?”
“Perhaps you should read it, sire.”
“You know its contents. I am willing to venture that the moment you leave my quarters you will be bombarded with requests concerning the contents. You will show your anxiety and, I am willing to venture, will whisper what is written on this scrap of paper to show off your importance, especially to impress some female that you wish to mate with.”
“I have never spoken a word of what I transcribe,” the messenger said indignantly.
“You don’t need to speak; your face reveals it,” Thrakhath replied, his voice cold. “Now tell me.”
“Sire. A burst transmission was picked up from the planet Vukar Tag. Nine Confederation troop ships attacked the planet, escorted by two light carriers of a new design.”
Thrakhath felt a cold chill but revealed nothing, his features set.
“Go on.”
“The scum landed on the planet with a full strike force and destroyed the ancestral home of the Emperor’s Dowager Mother. A holo image of the attack was transmitted with the message and is attached to the memo.”
Thrakhath was silent, looking at the messenger.
“You have disgraced yourself by your agitated demeanor. You are to leave my presence, speak to no one, and retire to your cabin. I think you know the only alternative you now have in order to redeem your honor. Now leave me.”
The messenger’s eyes grew wide with astonishment and fear at what he had just been commanded to do.
“But sire—”
“You know what you need to do,” Thrakhath said coldly.
“But sire, my family, I am the only son…” and his voice trailed away.
“Then don’t disgrace the ending of your line by groveling,” Thrakhath snapped, turning away as if the messenger no longer existed.
The young messenger attempted to compose his features and he bowed low. Walking slowly he left the room.
Thrakhath took the message and opened it. A small hologram disk was attached to the paper and he inserted it into his computer. The image was blurred, a problem with burst transmission which compressed a large amount of data into one extremely short signal in the hope of thus avoiding detection when the message was sent.
The camera operator, shooting from long distance, focused in on the ancestral home. Thrakhath felt a quick tug of pain, remembering a time so long ago, when he had gone there to visit his great-grandmother, who though already ancient in years was still spry and so full of life. She had taken him hunting in the canyons and there he had made his first kill of an Urgaka flying serpent. He smiled for an instant with the happy memory of her glowing pride in his accomplishment.
At least she was safely back at the Imperial Palace. With the start of the war her son, the Emperor, had insisted that she be moved from what might become a front line area.
He watched the image flickering on the screen. It was obvious what the damned humans were after. It was an assassination attempt, an attempt not on a warrior, but rather a cowardly attack on an old woman. They could have destroyed it all from the air and he studied the strike attack of the enemy fighters and bombers, none of which closed in on the palace. No, they wanted to do this one by hand, to desecrate and to truly make sure she was dead.
The human assault troops went in. He froze the image and enhanced the view of one of the ground assault vehicles. The crossed daggers and skull were clearly emblazoned upon the side. They had sent their best, the First Marine commando. Good troops, even a match for Imperial Guard. So they had sent their best for this defilement and he felt his anger build as he contemplated their foul smelling presence trampling through Imperial property. He unfroze the image and then stopped it again seconds later. He placed a cross hair marker on one of the humans, telling his computer to enhance the image and then cross check it against the human personnel file. Seconds later a small picture snapped on the screen with an intelligence bio briefing underneath. So their best division commander of the human assault marines was there as well. They had definitely sent their elite in, the commander taking personal charge. He unfroze the image letting it play out, watching as the commander stood with hands on hips and then appeared to laugh as the first commandos came back out, carrying their loot. The commander then walked up to the smashed gates of the palace. Prince Thrakhath watched with unbelieving horror as the filthy human relieved himself against the side of the building, the other males laughing, cheering, joining in to do the same.
“Lowborn bastards,” the Prince snarled angrily.
They fled the building, most of them carrying loot, sacred family relics, ancient works of art—the filthy bastard scum—piling into their vehicles, pulling back; and then there was the flash of light.
Thrakhath lowered his head for a moment, his heart sick with rage. He struggled for control, wishing to strike out somehow. No, he had to keep control. This was done as an insult, a deliberate attempt at murder and vengeance, this was no longer war.
He looked down again at the report. Nine transports and two carriers. The report did not specify. A modification of the Concordia design perhaps? No, there would have been more air support. Smaller carriers. He’d need more data, more information before formulating a plan, they’d have to contact the hidden surveillance base and get a close-up sweep of the enemy ships. But this had to be answered. Vukar Tag had to be retaken, the trick was not just to retake it, but also to gain a bloody and fitting revenge for this act of defilement.
He breathed deeply, closing his eyes, reaching inward for calm rational thought to help guide his plan.
There was a knock on the door.
He closed the report and switched off the holo screen.
“Enter.”
Another messenger stood in the doorway, features fixed with an appearance of cold detachment.
“Sire.”
“What is it?”
“Jamuka was just found in his quarters.”
“And?”
“He’s cut his own throat. He’s dead sire.”
“I know.”
The messenger looked puzzled and then the detached look returned.
“Bring our ship about, send an order to the entire home fleet to rendezvous at once at the Ujarka Sector. I will have detailed orders for the rendezvous within the hour. Also, I want a secured channel opened to the Imperial Palace. I wish to speak at once to my grandfather.”
The messenger, never displaying a flicker of emotion, bowed and closed the door.
CHAPTER V
“Jump initiation sequence is on full automatic and counting at ten, nine…”
Jason looked over at the holo screen in his office as it showed a forward projection from the bow of the Tarawa. The jump hit and the screen took a second to refocus. He felt a sudden tug at his heart as they came into the Niven Sector. He didn’t need a computer nav check to tell him he was back in a sector in which he had flown for hundreds of hours. A minute later the marine transport Bangor flashed into the sector several dozen clicks behind them and they both set course for the rendezvous point.