“This evening would be fi?ne,” the Egg Orno replied gratefully. “Please let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
“We will,” Doma-Sa assured her. “And one more thing . . .”
The Egg Orno looked up at him. “Yes?”
“I meant what I said about the War Orno, but I had no desire to hurt you, and I’m sorry that I did.”
There was a long moment of silence during which the beginning of a strange bond began to form. And after they left the party, and spent more than two hours talking within the security of the Hudathan embassy, the bond grew even stronger. That was something that might well have been of interest to both Vice President Leo Jakov and the Ramanthian Queen. Had either been aware of it.
PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
The funeral pyres crackled as the orange-red fl?ames rose to enfold the dead nymphs, and the rich, fatty odor of cooked meat fi?lled the air, as six columns of black smoke rose to stain an otherwise-pristine blue sky. Efforts to repair the security fence were still under way, and Ramanthian outposts all around the camp remained on high alert, as Maximillian Tragg crossed the compound to the administration building. There was no way to know exactly why he had been summoned, but the overseer assumed the Mutuus were going to assign more of the reconstruction work to the POWs. That was fi?ne with the renegade because the prisoners were easier to control when they were busy.
As Tragg approached the headquarters building, he noticed that four Ramanthian troopers had been posted outside the front door rather than two as in the past—one of many changes resulting from the nymph attack. The human had to surrender his weapons and remove his boots before being allowed to enter the richly decorated throne room. It was a ritual the renegade had performed dozens of times before. Except this time there was something different in the air, a tension that could be seen in the way that the impeccably dressed commandant held himself, the fact that the War Mutuu’s sword was symbolically unsheathed, and the presence of six heavily armed soldiers. All because of the nymphs? Or was there another reason as well? The mercenary felt cold lead trickle into his stomach. Tragg lowered his eyes and bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Excellencies—”
That was as far as the renegade got when a baton struck him across the kidneys. The pain was excruciating, and he went down hard. “Don’t strike the animal’s head, and don’t break any of his bones,” the War Mutuu instructed as the blows continued to fall. Tragg had curled up into a ball by that time, with his arms around his head, as the troopers continued to beat him. It hurt, but the renegade knew more about pain than they did and had a tolerance for it. So he took comfort from the orders that the War Mutuu had given and waited for the assault to end.
“That’s enough,” the commandant said, after what felt like an hour but was actually no more than fi?fteen seconds.
“Help him up.”
It felt as if every bone in his body had been broken as the Ramanthians lifted Tragg up off the fl?oor. But that wasn’t the case, and even though the renegade’s knees were a bit weak, his legs were strong enough to support his weight.
“Now, having been punished, the animal wants to know why,” Commandant Mutuu said coldly. “The answer is simple. . . . Thanks to our brilliant scientists, a fasterthan-light communications device has come into being, which means offi?cials on Hive can communicate with planets like Jericho in real time. Such calls are rare, however. . . . So, imagine our surprise when Chancellor Ubatha called to inform us that a very special guest is staying here at Camp Enterprise. A person you chose to protect or, even worse, were so negligent as to overlook. Which is why you were punished.”
A moment of silence ensued, which Tragg chose to interpret as permission to speak. Clearly, assuming that he understood the Ramanthian correctly, a VIP of some sort was hiding among the prisoners. But who? The informer might have told him, but he was dead. “Thank you for the clarifi?cation, Excellencies,” the renegade said humbly.
“Please be assured that had I known such a person was present I would have notifi?ed you immediately. . . . Am I permitted to know the identity of this individual?”
“Yes,” the commandant allowed loftily. “You are. More than that, it’s our expectation that you will fi?nd this person and bring him to us.”
Tragg nodded. “If he’s here, then I’ll fi?nd him. Who is he?”
“His name is Marcott Nankool,” Mutuu replied. “And, until recently, he was president of the Confederacy.”
Tragg didn’t have eyebrows. Not anymore. But the scar tissue over his eyes rose. Nankool! A very big fi?sh indeed. Who was pretending to be someone else. A deception of that sort should have been impossible, would have been impossible, had it not been for the unforgivably sloppy way in which the POWs had been processed immediately after the surrender. That meant the POWs had been laughing at him all this time, because with the single exception of the informer, he’d been unable to get any of the others to fl?ip. The realization made the renegade angry—and brought blood to his badly scarred face. “Don’t worry,”
Tragg said grimly. “Now that I know Nankool is here, I’ll fi?nd him.”
“I hope so,” the War Mutuu put in, as he joined the conversation. “But there’s another possibility isn’t there?
The possibility that you killed him? Or allowed him to die? That would be very unfortunate indeed. Especially for you.”
Tragg tried to visualize the faces of the people he had shot in hopes of eliminating that possibility, but their features were lost to him, along with whatever impulse had led to their deaths. A lump fi?lled the back of his throat, and he was barely able to swallow it. But what about all the prisoners that you and your troops killed? He wanted to ask. But such a question would have been suicidal, so the renegade maintained his silence.
“You have until sunset,” Commandant Mutuu said sternly. “Find Nankool or die.”
It was uncomfortable in the tree, very uncomfortable, especially having spent the previous night in it. However, it did provide the scouts with an excellent vantage point from which to observe the layout and daily routines within the POW camp. Starting with the funeral pyres that were lit just after sunup and continuing with the routines that followed. Information was being recorded and continuously edited for playback to the rest of the legionnaires when Team Zebra regrouped that evening.
But there was only so much that one could learn from staring at the compound. And the process was somewhat depressing given what poor condition the prisoners were in. So Santana, Shootstraight, and Bozakov took turns staring through the powerful binos. And, as luck would have it, the Naa was on duty when the commotion started.
“There’s some sort of ruckus going on inside the wire,” the legionnaire observed as he panned the glasses from left to right.
Santana paused with a spoonful of mixed fruit halfway to his mouth. He was seated on one branch with his boots resting on another. The only thing he lacked was some sort of backrest. “Yeah? What’s up?”
“I’m not sure,” Shootstraight replied as he turned to pass the binos to the offi?cer.
Santana ate the fruit that was sitting on the spoon, tipped the contents of the can into his mouth, and savored the last dollop of juice. Once the can had been deposited in a dangling garbage bag, the legionnaire wiped his fi?ngers on his thighs before reaching out to take the binos. Interestingly enough, not a single patrol had ventured into the surrounding jungle since the nymph attack the day before. Probably out of fear that a sortie could trigger another attack. The hesitancy could work in Team Zebra’s favor so long as the nymphs left the off-worlders alone. Being so far up in the air, the offi?cer found it diffi?cult to look through the binos without becoming disoriented and had to grab a branch in order to steady himself as he eyed the compound. Shootstraight was correct. It appeared that all the POWs, including those who were sick, were being herded toward the center of the compound where the human with the dark goggles was waiting.