“And their Confederation?” That was Akhjer nar Val, the captain of the province’s flagship Dubav. “We know they can make new Temblor Bombs. Do we not run the risk of losing more worlds to them?”
He favored nar Val with a long and penetrating look. Dubav’s captain had an impressive battle record; he’d commanded a carrier at the Battle of Earth, and had received an Award of Valor for a single-ship action with a human escort carrier the next year. Ragark needed him, at least for the moment, to add some seasoning to a battle fleet roster that had few enough genuine combat veterans. But while nar Val was deemed apolitical, he had a conservative streak in his character that made him one of the cautious ones, one of the officers who looked on lost Kilrah with fear and despair. That could be a problem some day.
“The Terran Confederation is satisfied with the peace the traitor Melek has signed with them.” That brought a few angry mutters from the assembled officers. Melek had been no more than Thrakhath’s chief lackey, yet after Kilrah’s destruction he had arrogantly assumed the power to negotiate with the enemy, as if a low-born servant of the Imperial House could presume to the Throne itself. Melek called himself “Chancellor” these days, and pretended to have control of the Empire, but Ragark wasn’t the only clan leader or senior officer to ignore the upstart’s claims. “They want nothing more than to disband their military forces and go back to the decadence they enjoyed before they encountered us. This Landreich that stands in our way is an offshoot, a breakaway association of colonies with so little loyalty that they refused the guidance of their own mother planet and formed their own government in defiance of the Confederation…and the cowards of Terra let that defiance stand. There is no reason for the Confederation to take an interest in what we do out here. At least, not until it is too late.“
Ragark paused before going on. “In any event, we will soon be acquiring a powerful new accession of strength which will once and for all put us in a position to dominate the apes. I have recently had the final confirmation. Jhorrad is coming here to offer his claws and fangs to our service.”
A muttering sprang up around the room as Ragark’s words sank in. Dawx Jhorrad had become something of a legend in the Empire in a few eights-of-days. Already a hero of the Battle of Earth, with two capital ship kills to his credit in that one engagement, it was the story of his odyssey after the destruction of Kilrah that sparked the imaginations of the Kilrathi people. Jhorrad had refused to bow down to Melek when the Chancellor claimed caretaker authority and began negotiations. Instead he’d taken his ship out of orbit and set out into self-imposed exile, fighting off attacks by Melek and various jealous warlords at every turn. It had taken some judicious bargaining for Ragark to convince him to come here to Baka Kar, but it would certainly be worth it.
Dawx Jhorrad…and his ship. What a ship he was! Ragark allowed himself a moment’s baring of fangs. With Jhorrad’s mighty Vorghath, there would be nothing to stop Ukar dai Ragark from subduing the Terran apes and the fragmenting empire alike.
He stood up and leaned on the table, his eyes wandering across the assembly. “Victory against the apes of this Landreich will prove that the Terrans are not some kind of gods or demons, despite what they did to the Homeworld. The other clans will see that we can lead them to victory, and they will join our cause. Melek will fall by the wayside, and the Empire, reborn, will again bestride the stars!”
“Haka and Victory!” someone shouted. Others took up the chant, until Ragark raised his arms to call for silence.
“Victory it will be, my lords. But first we must plan our campaign. The apes must feel our fangs poised at their throats. Only then will the Kilrathi retake our appointed place.”
He sat down again and activated the monitor to show them the plans for their first move, but Ragark had trouble concealing the joy that burned inside.
The long days of frustration and exile were over. The day of the Haka was at hand.
CHAPTER 3
“Of all the weapons of the Warrior, it is the mind that elevates mere fighting to glorious Victory.”
Wardroom, FRLS Themistocles
Deep Space, Terra System
0447 hours (CST), 2670.278
There was something about being aboard a ship underway that made Jason Bondarevsky feel alive again.
Three days had passed since Admiral Richards had arrived at Moonbase Tycho. Now his mission to Terra was done, and the Landreich cruiser was shaping a course for home. For Bondarevsky’s new home, out on the frontier.
Like all vessels throughout human space, the ship operated on the same Terran Standard Time (CST), derived from Greenwich time on Earth, that was in use at Tycho, but Bondarevsky had been used to a different schedule from his stay in Odessa these past few months, and the shift in time zones had left his body clock out of step. So despite the hour-right in the middle of the Second Dog Watch, what some of Bondarevsky’s flight school comrades had referred to in days gone by as “zero-dark-thirty”-he was wide awake and restless. The lighting had been reduced to simulate night, and there was little activity on board except in the bridge and engineering sections, where the duty watches kept an eye on the vessel’s progress toward the jump point where Themistocles would make the interstellar transit to Barnard’s Star, the first leg of the long journey ahead. Bondarevsky had finally given up trying to sleep and had come to the officer’s wardroom for a cup of coffee.
Although he was alone in the middle of the ship’s night, he could feel the throb of power through the deckplates, the tiny fluctuations of the ship’s inertial dampers as the helmsman corrected the acceleration curve. Even traveling as a passenger aboard someone else’s ship beat spending his time planetbound. That much, at least, he could enjoy. He only wished he could switch off his brain for a while instead of worrying about the future.
Admiral Richards had returned from his meeting with Confederation representatives in a grim mood. They had been as unhelpful as ever, demanding that the Landreich rein in the “hotheads” they accused of stirring up trouble on the frontier. That had been roughly what Richards and Tolwyn had expected, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. The Landreich was effectively on its own. War was only a matter of time, given the Kilrathi ambitions in that part of space and the dogged character of President Max Kruger.
And Jason Bondarevsky was heading right into that war.
He still had no idea what Kruger and Richards had planned for him, though it was plainly a combat role rather than some staff job. Richards was as close-mouthed as always, and Tolwyn was no better. Not that Bondarevsky spent much time in Tolwyn’s company. There was a chasm between them that started with the Behemoth debacle but went wider and deeper than that. Geoff Tolwyn had changed since the old days, and not for the better. He was even more secretive than Richards, and there was a determination in his manner that worried Bondarevsky. He was like a gambler who had lost everything but lingered at the table hoping that one last role of the dice would change his luck, plotting and planning ways to stay in the game without regard for the potential pitfalls or consequences.
So Bondarevsky didn’t have an outlet to vent his hopes and fears. He might have used Sparks as a sounding board, but long habit made it impossible for him to discuss the affairs of admirals with a lieutenant who had risen from the ranks. You didn’t voice your doubts about flag officers with juniors.