With one foot he rolled the body of Khirgh away from his command chair and sat down once again. “Time to self-destruct?” he demanded.
Two minutes, Lord Admiral.“ The voice was calm and resigned. There was one officer, at least, ready to meet a warrior’s death.
The time passed slowly for Largka as he meditated over the familiar words of the Fifth Codex. Honor shall flow to the warrior who does his duty, for his Clan shall earn glory by his deeds. Honor shall flow to the warrior who meets death in battle, for his name shall be remembered. Honor shall flow to the warrior who strikes down his foe, for he shall win victory for his people…
“Eight seconds…” someone said. Largka heard another crewman quoting the Codices, and felt a swelling pride within. They had all done their duty…
A long moment later he realized the count had passed zero, but nothing was changed. “Report,” he snapped.
“The computer has gone off-line, Lord Admiral,” the engineering officer said. “Self-destruct sequence cannot be completed. I do not believe we could even trigger it manually. There is too much damage to internal systems.”
“Vraxar!” he swore. Was he to be denied the chance to take Karga out in one last moment of glory? Would he preside over a crew of the dead and dying, like the Wandering Conquistador of Kilrathi legend?
No…that was too much to ask.
“Communications Officer! Can you at least put me on internal channels? Or must I shout a message to the crew?”
“Internal channels, Lord Admiral.”
Largka licked lips gone dry and summoned up the will to speak. “This is Admiral dai Nokhtak. Our self-destruct system has failed. The ship has won a glorious victory over the Terrans, but all estimates indicate that we have already received lethal dosages of radiation. Repairs are impossible without the support of a base or a fleet tender; by the time we could accomplish anything on our own we would all be dead anyway.”
He paused. “Any crew member who wishes to take his chances in lifepods is welcome to do so. Some of our comrades may still be alive outside the ship and able to render aid. For myself, I choose the only honorable option, Zu’kara. Any who wish to do the same will do honor to their hrai, seeking a clean death in the moment of victory. Follow the dictates of your own consciences. That is all.”
Largka sensed the emotion in the flag bridge. Zu’kara-ritual suicide-was the ultimate expression of the warrior’s creed. The Kilrathi warrior took his own life if he or his clan stood to be dishonored, or to enhance honor when the odds were hopeless and there was no prospect of either survival or a warrior’s death in battle. It was not a decision to be made lightly.
The admiral ignored the currents of uncertainty that ran through the bridge around him. He took up the knife he had used to kill Khirgh, knelt beside the command chair, and placed the point of the blade directly above his heart.
Honor shall flow to the warrior who is true, to his hrai, to his comrades, to his people, and to himself, for only the true warrior shall know the gods hereafter.
His last thought was of the warriors under his command. He wished them all a chance at glory in death.
Then he drove the point of the dagger home, and felt the blood running free.
Shuttle Juneau Delta
Vaku Vila, Vaku System
1747 hours (CST)
The overloaded shuttle bucked and shuddered as it descended through the roiling atmosphere toward the planet’s surface. Donald Graham held on to the stick and fought to keep the craft on course as it bled off speed, all too conscious of his precious cargo. Sadness vied with relief within him as he contemplated the planet below. Three of the cruiser’s shuttles had escaped the Juneau’s destruction, and they had collected enough lifepods en route to pack each of the craft with survivors. But many more had died, including Commander Lindstrom and the entire contingent aboard Shuttle Alpha, caught by the last explosions that had consumed Juneau while trying to rescue a cluster of lifepods that hadn’t won clear of the ship.
Three shuttles packed to the gills…maybe a hundred men and women, all told, out of the cruiser’s complement of three hundred sixty. It was hard to even think of the loss of two-thirds of his shipmates.
But for the moment Graham couldn’t afford to let emotion tear at him. He was the senior surviving officer left out of the Juneau’s wardroom, and he had a responsibility to the survivors. The main job at the moment was to find a safe place to land and pray the conditions on the surface of this miserable planet wouldn’t be too harsh. It was listed as “marginally habitable” in the navigation files, but his sensor readings didn’t look promising.
A few degrees off his heading, the sensors were registering a concentration of metal and a few sporadic energy readings. That would be the Kilrathi survivors who had made it down earlier, from the damaged escort ship and whatever fighters and escape vessels had managed to get clear of the carrier. His first impulse was to put plenty of distance between his survivors and the Cats.
Then Graham considered again, and moved the stick to bank left and line up on the sensor readings.
He had no way of knowing what had happened to the Cats. They might be strong enough to be a real threat to the human survivors, in which case a quick overflight before they realized there were humans in the area might be the one chance Graham would have for estimating the danger. And if they were in worse shape than the/uneau’s survivors, there was always the chance the humans could overpower them and make use of whatever equipment and supplies they had on hand. After all, the shuttles carried plenty of people, but little else. They needed food, water, shelter…just about everything, in fact.
The shuttle broke through a cloud layer and Graham saw the wreck of the Cat escort ship spread out below. They’d come down hard, no doubt about that. Close by were a handful of shuttles and a line of fighters drawn up on a reasonably smooth stretch of ground. Figures were racing back and forth across the open plain, some stopping to point or raise clawed hands to the sky in defiance.
Graham swallowed, his eyes on those fighters. If they took off…
He reached for the control that would activate the shuttle’s weapons pod. Kilrathi had never been prone to surrender, even in the face of overwhelming odds. But that ragtag group on the ground looked confused and unready to fight. Could he force them to surrender?
Or persuade them that they had to work together with the human survivors if either group was going to see their homes again before the brown dwarfs strange radiation filtered through the clouds and killed them slowly.
CHAPTER 1
“ Fortunate is the Warrior who meets Death in Battle; no true Warrior should the in bed with his claws sheathed.”
Shuttle Port Three, Moonbase Tycho
Luna, Terra System
1228 hours (GST), 2670.275
Commodore (Ret.) Jason Bondarevsky leaned against the railing overlooking the reception area for Shuttle Port Three and shook his head in dismay. It was hard to believe so much could change in a matter of months, but the evidence was there before his eyes. It was the end of an era…or perhaps it was the start of a new one. Jason Bondarevsky wasn’t sure he liked either option much.
“Credit for your thoughts, skipper,” a soft contralto voice spoke up from behind him.
“Don’t waste your money, Sparks,” he said, turning to meet the newcomer. Lieutenant (Ret.) Janet “Sparks” McCullough was dressed in civilian clothes, though like Bondarevsky she was entitled to wear the Terran Confederation Navy uniform if she so desired. Her taste, though, ran to plain coveralls, the garb she’d been comfortable with ever since she’d started out in the service as an enlisted technician. Since then she’d risen through the ranks, and later earned a commission, but Sparks still had a taste for the nuts and bolts of technical work, and dressed to suit that taste.