Koban:The Mark of Koban
Author: Stephen W Bennett
Date: 2013-10-24T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Science Fiction; Military
Description: Already faster and more powerful than the last 17 species that they have destroyed or subjugated, the Krall have set their sights on humankind. After testing humans on their future home world of Koban and finding them worthy opponents, the Krall start a war of slow extermination with the rest of humanity. The war is intended to last generations as they apply their own version of “natural selection” to cull their weaker warriors in combat, purifying the Krall gene pool with finest warriors for breeding. Why? The Krall desire to rule the galaxy someday, from their future home world of Koban, whe
Publisher: Createspace Independent Pub

The Mark of Koban

By Stephen W Bennett

Text copyright © 2013 Stephen W Bennett

All Rights Reserved

Cover image used curtesy of NASA and the Space Telescope Science Institute.

To Rob, first for his friendship, then for invaluable tips, suggestions, and advice. Proofreading what “fat fingers” produce, in copious amounts, is much harder than simply reading. Thank you.

To Anita, for unwavering support and encouragement, and endless patience when she calls me for dinner, and I say (falsely), “I’ll be right down.” Then type another two pages. I couldn’t do it without you Babe.

To my sons and daughters-in-laws, to the gaggles of grandchildren, thanks for all of your complements and praise (biased, or fairly earned, I don’t care).  I love you all, and thank my young Kobani TGs for protecting me from Krall and rhinolo.

Table of Contents

1. Gribbles’ Nook

2. Winter Hunt (Koban)

3. Slaughter on the Nook

4. Hub City (Koban)

5. Actions and Reactions

6. Caught by Surprise (Koban)

7. Poldark and Bollovstic

8. Mothers Provide (Koban)

9. This is not a Drill

10. Small Premonitions (Koban)

11. Operation Deep Lance

12. Wedded Bliss (Koban)

13. New Lance

14. The Blues Brothers (Koban)

15. Fjord

16. Sweet and Sour Sixteen (Koban)

17. Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

18. A Homecoming (Koban)

19. The OK Corral with Knives

20. The Mark of Koban

21. On the Mark, Get Set

22. K1

23. Risk Factors and Three Missions

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

1. Gribbles’ Nook

It was a quiet shift for Carl Grayson in the planetary traffic control unit; he wasn’t even wearing an earpiece this late at night, using speakers due to the low traffic volume. Three ground-to-orbit ingot transports from Standard Smelters were all that had been in orbit for the last two hours. Galactic Mining and Rim Land had finished their orbital ingot deliveries for the day.

Yesterday had been busier, when there were three Jump ship freighters in orbit, with a dozen ingot transports up gathering the parked ingot containers, produced by over a dozen mining companies. After the three blocky looking freighters had finished loading containers, they separately broke orbit and Jumped back to the Hub area.

Today, the two-month task of refilling the assigned parking orbits for the various mining companies had resumed.

It didn’t stay quiet. Not very quiet at all.

“Hey!” Grayson exclaimed in surprise. “Mam, we just had White Outs.”

“Mr. Grayson,” his shift supervisor replied in mock severity, “that’s hardly unusual is it? You would know we have an arrival scheduled today if you had bothered to read the pre duty list.”

“But it’s four bursts at once Mam and they’re all about five hundred miles out. I’ve never seen any ship pop out that close, have you? And four at the same time?”

She stood up and walked towards his display. “There must be some sort of software glitch, Carl. We only have two Jump arrivals in the next three days, and they never White Out close to the planet.”

“Mam, the computer shows four separate gamma bursts,” he insisted, “with no more than ten seconds between the first and the last. They’re clustered within thirty miles of each other too, over the northern pole.”

Lady Alice Lambeau could see the large traffic monitor display clearly now, and it did show what Grayson described. However there wasn’t a single chance out of near infinity that there could be four random Jump ship arrivals that close to a planet. Not clustered that tight and all popping nearly simultaneously. Typically, a ship was lucky if a White Out occurred within an Astronomical Unit of the target star, let alone practically in orbit at the destination planet.

“They aren’t sending their ID or registry either,” She noted another irregularity.

“Whoops,” she let slip her surprise as the display tagged additional White Outs. “There’s another four. Over the south pole?” Confusion was evident in her voice and perplexed expression.

The second cluster of gamma ray bursts had also originated from a small patch of sky, roughly five hundred miles from the planet.

“Mr. Grayson, call those eight ships and find out who they are, where they came from, and what they need. I’ll be at my console calling the CEO offices of the big three, to see which one of them forgot to tell us something. This is a sloppy way to run a business,” and she turned away.

She meant the largest three mining ventures on Gribbles’ Nook, Galactic, Standard, and Rim Land, which if combined, accounted for nearly two thirds of all of Nook’s shipping traffic.

“Lady Lambeau,” Grayson spoke in excitement. “You aren’t going to believe this! Another eight White Outs, two sets of four, opposite sides of the planet, same distance away. These are equatorial, outside the parking orbits.”

“I said to call them on the radio Carl,” she answered in exasperation. “I’m waking up some CEO’s to find out what the hell they have going on.” It was actually late night only for two of the largest three company offices, but Carl knew what she meant.

As she lifted the com set, she heard Grayson again, shouting this time. “Damn! One of Standard’s transports just exploded. He must have hit an ingot in the wrong orbit.” A loud emergency transponder alert sounded briefly, before Carl acknowledged it on his console.

The disaster triggered radio calls from the other two Standard owned spacecraft. Standard16 made a call to Standard21, the transport that had exploded, trying to contact the escape pod. The other transport was calling traffic control.

Grayson focused on the call made to him, but the two simultaneous transmissions on the same frequency had “stepped” on one another, and the old Artificial Intelligence computer system they had couldn’t sort them out.

“Say again, Standard23.” Grayson cursed the high profit mining companies for not investing in a better AI.

The pilot’s reply was insistent. “This is 23; I’m telling you one of the new arrivals blew 21 out of the sky! My radar happened to be active in 21’s direction, watching for stray ingots in the wrong orbit before I moved in to park mine. The missile track was obvious.”

Partly overhearing, Lambeau changed her mind about the call to the CEO’s, and instead  called downstairs to the Capitol City spaceport manager’s office, to get a rescue ship aloft. There really didn’t appear to be much hope for a survivor from Standard21’s small pieces of debris. There was only one pilot per ingot transport, and the cockpit ejection system was the escape pod. Her mind failed to register the reference to a missile.

She was speaking with the operations manager when she heard another panicky sounding transmission from Standard23. She paid closer attention this time. “I’ve been fired on. I dropped ingots and I’m braking hard to fall out of orbit. The missile is turning to f…” The transmission cut off in the middle.

A few seconds later Carl murmured, “He’s gone.” He watched as another cloud of debris spread on his radar display.

Immediately keying his mike, Grayson made an urgent call, “Standard16, this is Capitol Control. Drop your ingots immediately and break out of orbit, I say again, get out of orbit immediately. Your two company ships were fired on by the new arrivals.”

He had his mental fingers crossed that 16 would make it down fast enough. They hadn’t acknowledged his call before a third debris field blossomed.

Lambeau was now on the line with Capitol Rescue downstairs, but advised them to stay on the ground, explaining what had happened.

“No, we don’t know who they are,” she responded to a question. “Of course I’d call them hostile. They fired without warning on three of Standard’s ingot haulers.” Another question. “No. It’s too late, they’re gone. Notify the spaceport police, and I’ll contact the police forces of the other cities from here.”

Grayson asked, “What do you think they can do, Mam?” There were only modest local police forces on the planet, all hired by the mining companies. They primarily kept drunk and horny, largely single, male employees from getting too rowdy, mugged, or having their rights abused when impaired.

“Mr. Grayson, we do have armed police you know. There are only sixteen ships. We have eighty five million people down here, and some extremely hardnosed miners. They should be able to help the police keep those rogue crews in line, if they even dare to land after what they just did.”

Grayson had extreme doubts. These were not “rogues,” they had killed three men and destroyed the property of a powerful mining company on this world. That act didn’t seem to faze them at all. They had not answered his transmissions to them either.

Besides, the police here were lightly armed. Aside from bar fights, the most common crime was social. A large number of women on this crude planet were notorious for taking advantage of drunken men, illegally obtaining their sperm without contracts, or payments to them or to their mothers, using the oldest fashion method there was.

Except for knives and clubs, there were no serious weapons available to employees (they were not citizens), on the entire planet. Police officers carried batons, non-lethal Jazzers or Sonics, and sometimes tasers. The latter occasionally caused fatal heart stoppages, so police wouldn’t use tasers on Hub worlds, considering them too risky. On the Nook, a handful of SWAT teams had rifles and laser pistols in armories, but not very many of those. The well-paid employees didn’t riot often, not when their bosses owned everything but the workers nice bank accounts, which were subject to garnishment.

Modern society out on the Rim was more peaceful, cordial, and polite than it had been three hundred years ago, even on Hub worlds. Back when men had allowed much cruder standards for acceptable behavior. This was a gentler time. It was about to end painfully.

Lambeau told her older model AI to notify the various police departments of what had happened, and ordered the same alert sent to the CEO’s of every mining company. Once she had protected her backside by the necessary company notifications, she also informed the “Mayors” and “City Managers” of the company owned towns and cities.

Mayors and Managers on Nook were not politicians. Instead, whichever company had established and built the mining town appointed them. Usually a female CEO would select a woman for City Manager or Mayor, and they were on the controlling company’s payroll.

The problems caused by lack of a unified planetary government was about to be experienced through massive confusion and chaos, as the first ever planet wide emergency struck. However, in hindsight there wasn’t anything effective a hypothetical planetary government could have done.

No peacetime government would have been prepared, not in the face of what was about to crush Gribbles’ Nook. The Krall, a warrior race, were making their first strike into Human Space, to initiate what would be a very long war against all of humanity, intended to last for generations.

Losing weaker warriors in battle was how the Krall improved their breed of killers, striving for galactic domination through physical supremacy. That, and with the advanced technology they had stolen through conquests of previous races.

The Krall intended to motivate and anger the human government into a fast response, to move quickly to a war footing. Massive atrocities seemed the most efficient way to start. The novice warriors of the Graka clan were more than eager to achieve this goal. It had been over two thousand years since the Krall had exterminated the most recent alien race encountered. A dull period of planned inter-clan warfare had filled the interval. It was past time to write new history for the various clans.

Telour, the Graka clan sub leader awarded the honor of commanding this first small strike was pleased with the disposition of his hand of a hand of Clanships. The four groups of four Clanships, or sixteen ships total in the first strike by Graka clan had arrived at the orbital points where he had ordered the Clanship hand leaders to White Out. The Clanships did not all emerge simultaneously, as he’d have desired, but were well grouped after Jumping together from this star’s Oort cloud.

The remainder of the two thousand forty eight ships of the Graka clan’s fleet, holding over a million warriors, waited in the inner Oort cloud of this system. At roughly two thousand AU’s from the star, the gamma ray bursts of the full fleet’s arrival there were still days away from reaching the planet below. The main fleet would not participate in this demonstration attack. Simply showing the enemy so many gamma ray bursts would prove what a threat the fleet represented.

Telour was keenly aware that generations would remember this moment in the Krall’s long history. He wanted his first, preferably not only appearance in that history to be flawless.

His Clanship had reserved the honor of making the first kills. This was something he had severely warned the other fifteen ship commanders about on this raid. Three human craft in orbit as they arrived were perfect targets of opportunity, and Telour had immediately ordered them destroyed. The first kills were thus his, as he had wanted. However small they were. He would expand the ship sizes and number of enemy crew in the retelling.

Now, as planned, each ship commander descended on their own to land where there were clusters of humans. Telour had reserved the largest compound, where the main spaceport was located, for his own Clanship. He recalled that the human captives on Koban described a compound like this as a city, and smaller clusters were towns. The designations and names seemed pointless and arbitrary, but then animals seldom made sense.

The Clanships each held five hundred twelve warriors for this deployment, far less than full capacity, plus weapons and limited supplies. However, any warrior could exploit local resources for food if they chose to range and kill farther from the parent Clanship for the two-day operation.

Telour snorted in amusement. Living off the land would pose its challenges for even a Krall’s insensitive palate.

At best, these animals tasted disgustingly sweet, with pale yellow fat that ran counter to Krall preferences. The flesh was nearly repulsive tasting, compared to the Krall’s favorite food, dark red, tangy and lean Raspani meat. They were a race from one of the Krall’s much earlier conquests, herbivores kept now as food animals. However, humans were tolerable field rations if consumed raw when in combat. Cooked, the meat turned an even more unappealing gray color if it was overdone.

Sixteen Clanships would land near sixteen cities and towns, and then open their hatches to release Hell on their newest enemy, humanity.

****

“Mam, that ship is larger than the passenger liners we get here.” Grayson observed, as the vessel settled towards the tarmac, much too close to the passenger terminal.

He continued, “The AI couldn’t even find that design in our records. The other fifteen ships appear to be of the same type, based on the video images from other landings. They all dropped recklessly fast, and are setting down wherever they want, with no radio contacts.” He didn’t seem to be making an impression on Lambeau.

He finally came directly to the point. “Lady Lambeau, is it smart to send out the airport police to meet them, before we know who they are, how many there are, and what they want?”

“Mr. Grayson,” she responded with irritation. “We have to show these ruffians we will confront their rudeness with arrest if they persist in antisocial behavior. We may be living out here on the Rim, but we are not typical Rimmers. Except for the miners and laborers, of course.” She added in afterthought.

She elaborated, “The Galactic Mining staff of Capitol City is composed of Ladies and Gentle Men from the Hub and Old Colonies. We expect proper conduct on this world, and the sooner these scoundrels learn that lesson the easier it will be for them. I’ll wager there are males in charge of these ships.”

Grayson rolled his eyes at her blatant bias, since he was a male from a New Colony and barely a notch above a Rimmer in her eyes. He wisely held his tongue. Carl was worried about a friend on duty tonight with the small Airport Police contingent. No more than three or four officers were on duty this late in the evening. They would have to wait for the ship’s thrusters to die and the ground to cool before approaching the ship.

Grayson and Lambeau walked closer to the small tower’s plazsteel windows, curious to watch the landing. Beldor Grammer, the midnight watch stander, scheduled to relieve Grayson and Lambeau shortly, used his ID badge to enter the control center as the big ship settled.

“Who is that?” he asked, looking out the window. The muffled thunder of thrusters so close to the terminal had brought him in from the break room ten minutes early.

Lambeau glanced back to see who had spoken, so she missed the start of the invasion by a few seconds.

Even as the ship settled on its massive looking supports, the engines cut off and four hatches located low on the ship immediately snapped up into recesses in the hull, not folding down to form a ramp. Dozens of men in black and red-gray suits leaped out onto the hot tarmac, and like maniacs, they started running across the steaming pavement towards the terminal. It had to be blazing hot out there.

Suddenly Grayson felt coldness settle into his guts. Those weren’t men out there. They were too large, moved too fast, and the grayish red color on legs and arms was their skin, not part of a suit. Only the body appeared covered by a black uniform, with a few gray garments scattered among the throng. More and more of them were pouring out of the ship in a waterfall effect at each hatch.

The soundproofing of the tower had also prevented him from hearing something else. These creatures were shooting pistols from both hands as they ran the hundred feet towards the terminal, firing along its entire length. Windows, visible on an angled wing of the terminal, were blasting inward as explosive projectiles struck.

Lambeau turned at Grayson’s shouted warning to her, “Get down; they’re also shooting out the higher windows.” He dove towards the floor.

Lambeau, who had yet to see what was happening outside, stood there frozen with confusion registering on her face. That look was still there when the explosive rounds struck the windows. The plazsteel shattered into jagged shards and blasted inwards, ripping that expression from the front of her skull. She was dying when she flew back and hit the floor.

Grammer was a bit luckier, for a few minutes at least. Lambeau’s body, between himself and the window, had inadvertently shielded him.  Of the exploding fragments, only a few jagged pieces embedded in his left arm, and one tore a crease along the top of his forehead, starting a trickle of blood down his face.

Startled, Grammer first cringed, and then screamed at the pain in his arm and the horror of seeing Lambeau’s bloody faceless skull as she fell to the floor, long fragments of glittering plazsteel jutting out of her body everywhere.

An incredible crescendo of sound, explosions, gunfire, and screams now poured through the shattered window.

Carl crawled to Grammer over the sharp fragments, glancing only briefly at a clearly finished Lambeau, and tugged at his pant leg to get him to crouch down. The man seemed to be in shock. “Beldor,” he shouted his first name to try get through to him over the bedlam from outside. “We need to get the hell away from the port. The things from that ship are shooting at everything in sight.”

Tugging at a two-inch piece of plazsteel stuck in his bicep, he winced as it came out. “What things? Who is that?” He spoke in a dull monotone. He had been too far back from the window ledge to see the base of the ship as it spilled attackers onto the ramp.

Carl was about to describe what he had seen, when a dark shadow passed across Grammer’s face, and there was a crunch of something stepping on the fragments behind him. They were fifty feet above the ramp, how could anyone have climbed up here so quickly?

Beldor’s eyes widened to an improbable degree, and he screamed again and tried to turn and run. Something reached over Carl, where he crouched on the floor, and snatched the other man up by the right shoulder as if he were a toy.

Carl rolled onto his back and looked up at a fearsome apparition from Hell.

Standing over two meters tall, merciless black eyes with red pupils that reflected light like small flames glared down at him. The bony crested head seemed small for the thick chested body, and gray lips had pulled back from yellowed dagger like teeth.

The creature returned its gaze to the squealing and kicking man in its large taloned left hand, the four claw tips buried deep into his shoulder. It easily held Grammer’s weight two feet off the floor, despite the creature’s arm extending out straight. That muscular arm appeared longer than the thick, slightly bowed legs, which also terminated in taloned four toed feet.

Carl noticed that its right hand held what looked like a large pistol. In a nearly blurred movement, it smoothly holstered the weapon. It used its now free right hand to grasp Grammer’s injured left arm, raising it out to the man’s left.

In a seemingly effortless motion, accompanied by Grammer’s shriek of agony, it casually twisted and tore the man’s left arm out of its socket, with strings and tendrils of flesh and tendons dripping blood from the shoulder and the arm’s end. The screaming mercifully ended as Grammer went limp. Grayson first thought his friend was dead, until blood spurting from the gapping shoulder wound proved the man’s heart still pumped. He had passed out from the pain.

The monster, uninterested in playing with a quiet victim, made an easy over the shoulder reverse toss, casually throwing the limp body backwards through the shattered window without even looking, where it fell fifty feet to the tarmac. Carl vaguely heard the body hit, but he wasn’t interested in Beldor’s bad ending. The creature was looking down at him now.

It tossed the dangling arm in its right hand into the air and caught it smoothly, close to the torn upper end. Still looking at Carl with blazing eyes, it extended a long purple tongue to sample the blood. It seemed to draw back its lips as if in a caricature of a smile. It clearly enjoyed the terror the act produced in its next victim.

Taking a deliberate bite of flesh, the sharp teeth pulled a cleanly cut chunk from the end of the arm, and it chewed briefly, before shaking its protruding muzzle, and spit the piece of meat out. It made its first audible sound, a deep growl of disgust.

Grayson was nearly petrified, and grasped a long slender piece of plazsteel that his right hand came across on the floor. No matter what, he wasn’t going to die the way Grammer had, never having a chance to fight back.

He gathered himself and lunged towards the groin area of the beast with the eight-inch shard in his right hand, as he simultaneously threw glass fragments at the creature’s face with his left hand. At least he didn’t die as Grammer had.

The Krall released the dead man’s arm, reaching for both pistols in a blur, but blinked as the chips flew towards its eyes, delaying its reaction time a few hundredths of a second. The sharp shard in the man’s right hand managed to stab the warrior’s upper leg, and a fierce look of triumph was present in the man’s eyes before the explosive rounds blew him apart. The plazsteel’s tip broke off in the Krall’s leg as the human’s shattered body flew back.

Reaching down to remove the broken three-inch tip from his upper leg, the Krall novice remembered Telour’s warning that humans were tricky. That they could be a worthy enemy at times.

The warrior wondered what this human could have done with a real weapon, or with time enough to set a trap. The blood had already stopped from the insignificant leg wound as the novice went searching for more humans to kill. He wasn’t going to try eating any more of their flesh again, not even to intimidate another one of them. That taste wasn’t to be experienced without justification.

Telour had wanted to join his raiders on the first wave, but his position as commander dictated that he wait until they had subdued the immediate surroundings. This would ensure the Clanship’s security. Except these were humans, not opposing Krall clans they were attacking in an exercise. There would be no effective resistance, let alone a counter attack. He was itching to participate in the killing.

Finally, he had a report from a leader of a hand of octet’s that the buildings immediately around the spaceport had been cleared of humans. The other warriors were already moving in random directions, independently engaging any humans they encountered. This was the purest of individual combat that the Krall so enjoyed. If only it wasn’t so easy.

Telour commanded his K’Tal pilot and a hand of reserve warriors to follow him to his shuttle. He was in a hurry to move deeper into virgin human territory to hunt. Some place where a warning may have reached, and that might offer opposition to him and his force.

The four warriors he had kept back had not dared to complain, but he knew they had felt cheated of the thrill of an unfettered hunt. Many enemies and no restrictions on collateral damage, as they had when conducting inter clan warfare. Telour would make it up to them.

As the shuttle lifted, he selected a frequency scanner that permitted him to listen to the large number of frantic human transmissions on the airwaves. His skill as a translator would now pay dividends.

He halted the scanner and backed up a few channels to listen to a transmission that sounded more organized than the rest. He suddenly had armed human targets to seek. The direction and distance was indicated on the console display, and he pointed with a talon tip to instruct the piloting K’Tal to go there. Some humans were issuing weapons, and organizing some sort of a force to fight them. This was excellent.

2. Winter Hunt (Koban)

This was crap! It was cold now in Koban’s northern hemisphere. Dillon and Thad had spotted a small yak herd moving slowly south, on a gray day filled with light blowing snow. However, they needed to take four animals back with them today for the meat. If they hunted from an open hatch of the airborne shuttle, it meant only one man could shoot, and he would be exposed to a freezing wind.

If a stampede started, then the next three animals would be scattered well apart on the snow-covered plain. The herd was moving in the direction of a rocky knoll sticking up from the snow-covered former semi tropical savanna. The windblown snow had shown Thad that the rocks were downwind of the yak herd.

Thad proposed that with two shooters lying on the flat top of the rocky pinnacle, they should be able to drop two yaks apiece at long range with the .50 caliber sniper rifles.  This way they would have a close cluster of carcasses to pick up, before the herd even knew what was happening.

The drawback was the need to park the shuttle out of sight behind the hill, and clamber a couple hundred feet up over large rocks with the heavy rifles slung, to reach the top. There was a foot of fresh fallen snow on the flats. The rocks, now blown clean, had deep patches between them were snow had gathered into drifts or filled the hollows.

On the plus side, both men were eager to field test their latest three modifications for strength, endurance, and cold adaptation. The genetic mods, designed several hundred years ago, were originally for use with clones, not Normals. Implemented in Thad and Dillon several months ago, they had completed the virus carried cellular level gene transformation in less than two weeks. However, it had required months of exercise and high protein food to supplant the old muscle mass with the new, which the modified cell structure made possible.

They didn’t appear particularly bulked up, no more than any men that exercised regularly. However, they both could now run two miles at a modest clip in the 1.52 times Earth standard gravity. They were sure they could go even farther if they wished. Previously they were unable to jog more than a half mile on Koban, not without stopping to take a breather. They soon amazed themselves and their friends with the weight lifting capability they developed.

Dillon, the younger and fitter man had probably weighed 210 pounds, or 95 kg in Earth mass when the mods were administered, which was equivalent to about 320 pounds on Koban. The scientist, never having lifted weights, had no experience by which to judge his progress, but it was significant.

He was now able to bench press 280 pounds, measured from the numbers stamped on the weights in the fitness center of the Krall disabled ship, the Flight of Fancy. This was equivalent to lifting 425 pounds on Koban. He could squat (he hated that term) 450 pounds, or about 684 in the higher gravity. He had dead lifted 400 pounds, equivalent to just over 600 here.

Although Dillon was still increasing what he could lift, Jake informed him, in a bit of ego deflation, that his present efforts were not world records if adjusted to Earth gravity. However, this was still far better than other unmodified long-term captives on Koban could do, with years more of muscle adaptation behind them. Including Thad.

Therefore, when they parked the shuttle, the two newly rejuvenated and competitive men raced one another to the top of the rocky hill. Dillon would have won, but Thad Greeves, a former military man and a Colonel, cheated by gleefully shoving him off a boulder into a deep drift, and beat the younger man to the top.

Laughing as he caught up with him at the crest, Dillon told him, “You know I would have beaten you if you hadn’t cheated.” Neither man was breathing very hard.

Thad grinned. “In combat there’s no such thing as cheating. You win or you’re dead.”

“Hey,” Dillon protested, “this wasn’t combat!”

“I know, so I cheated,” Thad laughed. “You’re lucky I didn’t push you into that deep crevasse full of snow, just below the crest. I’d be sitting here eating yak jerky waiting for you.”

“It would serve you right if you had to eat that crud for cheating,” Dillon told him with a grimace. “It’s called yak jerky for its wonderful flavor.”

“That’s just the spices I used. It isn’t so bad.” Thad answered, defending his homemade snack. “I’ve eaten worse in field training.”

“Well, I’ll settle for fresh yak steaks, medium rare tonight,” and Dillon looked out towards the distant herd through the gray haze, still plodding towards them.

Thad advised, “We may as well settle down between these two largest boulders to get out of the wind. I’m not cold yet, but these parkas and our cold adaptation can only do so much. We have about half an hour before they get close enough. I have some of Tet’s Earth coffee in a self-warming bottle with me.”

“Won’t the coffee smell give us away?” Dillon asked.

“To a herd that was already downwind of this hill, sure. Check the wind direction mighty hunter.” Thad teased. “Besides, our own human scent is enough to alert them. They just don’t equate us with danger, not yet anyway. Any strange smell might keep them too far away to shoot.”

Slipping down between the two large boulders near the top, they used their gloved hands to scoop out piled snow to make a sheltered hollow, with an opening to the north, so they could still observe the distant yaks.

Thad triggered the power cell of a small bottle of coffee he pulled from his backpack, removing the cup-sized cap. “I’ll give you the cup, and I’ll drink from the bottle. It only holds about two cups worth anyway.”

In barely a minute, they were enjoying the hot Earth-brew coffee, which didn’t seem to taste as good when the beans were from anywhere but Earth. Supposedly first cultivated by the mythical Juan Valdez, whoever he had been.

The two men made small talk for a time. They discussed the people that had chosen to move to the abandoned main Krall compound on the southeastern coast, now called Hub City by its new residents. The name reflected their support for the laws and customs of the Hub worlds of Human Space. They disapproved, strongly in some cases, of the genetic modifications of humans conducted at Koban Prime. That was the former Krall compound, now called Prime City, where the aliens housed their human combat test “animals.” The bio-scientists from the Flight of Fancy had found several thousand willing volunteers for gene mods, mostly from among former captives that had experienced Krall brutality first hand.

Half of the meat Thad and Dillon planned to bring back was going to Hub City, because those more recent captives were as of yet unable to provide their own food. They didn’t seem to grasp the irony of the situation. Without the modified and boosted humans to help them, they could not survive here very long.

The coffee finally gone, both men, in tacit uncoordinated agreement, broke down their heavy rifles to ensure they were clean and in perfect operating condition. It didn’t matter that the yak bulls couldn’t reach them up there on the rocks. It was a survival habit recognizing that nearly every example of animal life on Koban was potentially dangerous to humans. Often they were deliberately and aggressively so.

Even genetically enhanced humans were at a severe disadvantage on Koban without technology to protect them, such as the shuttles, heavy and light weapons, electrified fences, communications, and their intelligence. People died several times a month from carelessly forgetting where they were and what to look for, even with guns and someone to cover their back.

Thad used his scope to sight-in the lead yaks and measure distance, noting as usual that it was large bulls breaking the way through the shallow snow. They were too far out, almost a mile yet, for accurate shots in this wind and light snow, on a gray day. There were perhaps a hundred animals in this particular herd. If given the choice, they would take only the whiter haired young females, as having the more tender cuts of meat. The larger bulls had more meat but were tougher. The bulls usually were discernible by the darker remnants of bluer stringy hair under their necks, as well as their size. They all had wide curved horns, and a cross-the-skull bony ridge.

He told Dillon, who was checking his own sights and scope computer, “We can probably go up and take our shots in about ten minutes, though they could be headed for the bushes at the base of our hill. There are still leaves on those, and the grass under the snow around the base on the backside felt thicker when we started our climb up here. If so we can have our pick of the herd if they walk right up to us to graze.”

Dillon lowered his rifle and was about to agree, when he paused, and placed a bare hand on the side of one of the sheltering boulders. “Do you feel that?” he asked. “A vibration.”

Thad placed his own ungloved hand on the same rock. “Tremor?”

Koban had quite a few active volcanoes, and was geologically active.

“I don’t think so. It’s steady, and I’ve been feeling it through my back for some time as I leaned against the rock face. It finally grew strong enough that I took notice.”

Thad looked out at the yak herd. “We aren’t the only ones to notice, or else they are causing it. The bulls have changed direction to our left, and have picked up the pace. Look at the snow they’re kicking up.”

“The vibration wasn’t coming from that herd,” Dillon hooked his thumb towards the yaks. “They just now started running. Doesn’t it feel like that stampede of rhinolo we triggered, a couple of months back? We shot a cow, and before we landed, we chased a big herd away from the kill using the shuttle. It felt like this through my feet.”

“If it isn’t the yaks, then it must be some other stampede,” agreed Thad, “because I’m starting to hear the sound, despite the muffling effect of snow. It isn’t rhinolo, not this far north.  Let’s get up top. We might be able to get our shots in before the yaks get too far away, and also catch sight of what’s running our way.”

They climbed out of their cozy rock and snow shelter, and as they reached the top of the wind swept peak, they could see the source of the distant rumble. It was an indistinct line of churning snow spray, a mile or more to the right when they faced the still turning yak herd.

“What do you think Thad, should we take our kills shots now before they get farther away? Or do we wait to see what the hell’s coming? We’re safe up here on the rocks.”

“I’m thinking we should take our shots, but let me put a scope on that line first.” Thad dropped prone, flipped up the scope shields and sighted in on the fuzzy stampeding line.

“What the hell are those?” he asked in amazement. “They’re huge, and they have what looks like trees on their heads.”

Unable to resist his own look, Dillon followed suit and from a prone position saw a line of lumbering animals with wide flat looking things growing from the top of their heads, and what could only be tusks, bounding up and down as they kicked snow ahead of the charging line with thick massive legs. They definitely looked elephantine.

“Damn, Gloria and Yancy didn’t make them up after all.” Dillon laughed in wonder.

“Make up what? That team has seen these before?”

Gloria Goodwin and Yancy Moulder made up another hunting team that helped keep nearly twenty five thousand people supplied with meat, and sometimes served as explorers.

Dillon Laughed again “So they had claimed, and they named them too, which is why I thought they had made the damned things up, to sucker me into repeating the story and looking like a fool.

“Those fine beasties are what you call moosetodons. I shit you not!” He laughed even harder.

Still chuckling, he explained, “Gloria and Yancy claimed they saw some of these when they took a shuttle farther north to check on another abandoned Krall compound, one Jake reported from our original landing day on Koban.”

“Why the goofy name? Wait! Never mind for now,” Thad interrupted himself. “We have to shoot some yak if we want to make our meat quota today.”

“Thad, these new animals are charging towards us, and have three times the mass of a yak, so any two of them will give us even more meat. We can wait for them to come close and take two of them down. You know us scientists types will be thrilled to have a new species to dissect. Plus you’ve called these elephant guns,” he patted his .50 caliber rifle. “Now you can prove that.”

“OK, you repeated that stupid name for them, and now the elephant gun comment. What are these supposed to be?” Thad asked.

“Gloria said they’re Koban’s equivalent to the Earth’s extinct mastodons, but with long thick hair, as a cold weather adaptation. Sort of like a wooly mammoth, also long extinct.”

“Fine, then why not call them a mammoth instead of…, what was it you said?”

A dopy grin on his face, Dillon repeated the name. “Moosetodons.” Unable to restrain himself, he snickered again.

Sighing, Thad had to ask. “Why the ‘moose’ prefix?”

“You said it yourself, they have a tree-like growth on their heads. Gloria and Yancy said they are wide antlers that resemble a moose’s headgear. They also have tusks and a short trunk-like proboscis. Now you know why I didn’t repeat their claim. I assumed they were pulling my leg, waiting for me to repeat their ridiculous description and look like an idiot.”

He looked towards the still thundering line, growing clearer by the minute “We’ll have good shots in five minutes.”

As the big animals grew closer, it was obvious they were at least nine or ten feet high at the front shoulders, with a back that sloped somewhat to the rear quarters. The legs were thick and very similar to an elephant’s, but slightly longer, better suited for running. They had mostly white shaggy, snow blending thick hair, with traces of teal that suggested they wore that frequently seen color in summer.

The line of the stampede angled to pass to the front of the hill, offering a perfect choice of shots for the two hunters.

Lying prone Thad and Dillon discussed which animals to bring down and how. They decided shots behind the rather small, two-foot wide flapping ears on those massive heads would likely be a fatal shot. Dillon cautioned that they would have to avoid hitting the seven-foot wide and slightly up curved antlers, which might deflect their bullets, firing from their high vantage point.

The tusks angled down and forward, at least six feet long, one on either side of a trunk-like lower lip that was wriggling up and down as they ran, as if in agitation. From time to time, they made loud bugling sounds, not at all like an elephant’s call, since their so-called trunk was not a long nostril, but an elongated prehensile lower lip.

“Thad, you take the first shot at that animal on the edge closest to us, and then I’ll do the same to the one behind him, as soon as you fire.” They lined up their selected targets.

The boom of Thad’s big rifle cut through the sound of thundering feet, followed immediately by Dillon’s own shot at an animal just behind Thad’s target. Both of the huge creatures staggered for a few steps and bugled loudly.

Thad’s target dropped to its front knees, its tusks digging into the trampled snow and ground. Momentum caused it to execute a slow motion flip onto it head and antlers, and then crash to the ground on its back before rolling to its side. Dillon’s animal ran into Thad’s kill, and simply crumpled to the ground and fell over. Diverting around the two dying animals, the other moosetodon’s didn’t even slow.

After the last of them had passed the hill, Thad gave an estimate, “I think there were perhaps a hundred fifty in that herd.”

“Did you see the blood and gashes on some of the animals in the rear?” Dillon asked. “I wonder if they did that to one another in their panic.”

“I saw some blood streaks, now that you mention it. However, you bring up a good question we haven’t asked ourselves. Why were these big suckers in such a panic? That was a long stampede for such massive animals. What had them frightened? We’re the only hunters out here.”

A huge roar behind them proved the fallacy of that statement.

Leaping from rock to rock near the bottom of the hill was a one and a half ton, thirty foot long white feathered raptor, a huge eighteen inch long claw on each of the hind feet. Powerful legs were rapidly bringing it up the hillside to meet and disembowel this fresh prey. The gaping jaws in a narrow head on a long neck seemed more than enough threat to Dillon.

Both men manually chambered fresh rounds on their bolt-action rifles, but the agile leaping beast was a hard target for a weapon configured for scope use. Dillon missed his first shot at a weaving head, and Thad merely winged the monster, which appeared evolutionarily related to Koban birds. He grazed the five foot long feathered and clawed left arm, or winglet. It roared its anger, and this time pain.

Two additional roars in reply sounded from below and behind the two men, from the base of the drop off where the men now stood, completely exposed. Thad looked back and saw two more raptors, one standing atop a dead moosetodon that they had obviously been chasing. The third raptor was using mouth, winglet claws, and clawed feet on muscled legs for purchase to scramble up towards the men.

It was too late to wish they had brought the semiautomatic versions of the .50 caliber rifles, selecting instead the more “sportsman-like” bolt action long-range sniper weapons to use for hunting. The raptor on the easier slope was likely to reach them, even if wounded, in just two or three more long leaps.

Thad made a snap decision; he shoved Dillon towards the on-rushing ravening predator, pushing down on the man’s shoulders as he flailed arms and legs going over the flat toped rock’s edge, losing his rifle. He yelled at Thad in hurt and shocked reaction.

Without hesitation, as the beast reached the last spring point to reach the top, Thad raised his rifle vertical against his chest, leaped forward and dropped down the rock face after Dillon. He felt the blast of hot air and fetid breath as the raptor snapped down at him as it passed over the gap in rocks.

Falling into the snow-filled crevasse, the same one he had previously told Dillon he should have pushed him into, he banged his knee painfully against Dillon’s dropped rifle, lodged in snow. He sank into the deeper snow, bumping against his friend’s shoulder, driving Dillon even deeper into the crevasse.

Dillon, belatedly realizing what Thad had done to save him, frantically shoved snow away from Thad’s legs, and guided his knee off his own bruised shoulder, allowing the other man to sink a little lower. That was none too soon. The raptor had whirled around and thrust its narrow head and slender neck down into the top of the crevasse. It was mere inches from biting onto the top of Thad’s parka hood, which had flapped up from its resting place on his back.

Dillon reached up and grabbed Thad’s shoulders and pulled him down hard, wedging the two of them tighter together in the crack, and shouted at Thad to pull down his parka hood. The animal scrambled to get belly down over the rocks, to be able to force its neck and head deeper into his prey’s hiding place.

The raptor finally succeeded in getting a fragile grip with its front teeth on the prey’s fur. As it tugged, the hair began to slip through its teeth, so it released and quickly lunged downwards again to get a slightly firmer purchase, using its raspy tongue to pull more of the hair into its teeth. It had a better grip this time so it should be able to drag the meal out of its hiding place.

The prey was struggling and making noise, spurring the raptor to try harder to dislodge the unfamiliar creature. It repeated the previous release and lunge to get a firm grip this time. Snorting in triumph, it couldn’t roar without opening its jaws, it steadily pulled the struggling animal up and out of its burrow.

It yanked hard and the animal came free, with a cry sounding from his prize. The raptor flexed its neck and tossed the annoying thing into the air; it quickly gained is footing and was able to snatch the prey in midair, crushing it between its powerful jaws.

“Thad!” Dillon screamed for his friend, as he felt his legs slipping upwards through his desperate grip. Thad’s rifle suddenly dropped down to wedge next to Dillon, just as he lost grip on his friend’s foot. He snatched at the rifle, which had a round already chambered.

Dillon raised the rifle, looking for a way to shoot without hitting Thad. Suddenly the light improved as the raptor leaped to its feet. Dillon, on the verge of pulling the trigger in a last ditch effort to save Thad, saw the sliver of sky darken again, and something jammed the rifle butt painfully into his shoulder, and the ‘something’ grunted in pain.

Grunted in pain?

“Get the damned muzzle out of my crotch, will you? Damn that hurts,” Thad complained.

Slipping the rifle butt’s painful pressure off his shoulder, it slid down along Dillon’s front, with Thad riding down with another grunt. The two fit a little deeper in the crevasse now, without Thad’s bulky parka to take up as much room.

“I thought it had you, man.” Dillon’s relief was obvious.

“It would have if I hadn’t dropped the gun and raised my arms. I was all the way to the top before I wiggled free of the parka. I looked down when I fell back and you had my rifle pointed up at me. Were you about to pull the trigger with my nuts on the muzzle?” Thad demanded.

“Well, you did shove me into two snow filled holes without warning today,” Dillon answered in his own defense. They both laughed the laugh of men that have literally just escaped the jaws of death.

The sound of the frustrated raptor above, tearing apart the mysteriously “skinned” animal stilled their laughter. Two of them soon appeared over the narrow opening, cocking their fearsome feathered heads like giant toothy birds, looking down at them. Dillon had raised the rifle, ready to fire if either one put its head down into the gap again.

Thad touched Dillon’s hand, “Don’t pull the trigger if you don’t have to, we might be trapped down here if you do.” Killing a ton and a half beast right on top of their crevasse could prove just as fatal to them. It was certainly a much greater weight on Koban than it looked to their eyes, perhaps forty five hundred pounds here. They might not be able to move its heavy carcass from over the narrow opening.

Obviously, the two predators didn’t recognize the danger from the weapon, but they were smart enough to know they couldn’t reach the two morsels either. The men could hear distant growls, most likely from their pack mate feeding on one of the two dead moosetodons. The two raptors above decided the big meal below the hill was worth more than the fun of a hunt that had devolved into a waiting game. They could hear them leave as they scrabbled down the rocks.

“So…, they seem to be leaving for the larger feast.”

“You know the old saying,” Dillon improvised, “a moosetodon in the hand is worth two men in a cleft.”

With a pained expression, Thad told him, “I should have jumped in without you and let them eat your ass. It would serve you right.”

“Maggi would be proud I kept my good humor,” he retorted.

“Be serious, she’d whack you in the head for dropping your rifle.” Shifting subjects, Thad added, “I don’t know how long it takes one of those things to fill its belly, but I’m not climbing out of this hole for a couple more hours, just in case.”

“You’ll be putting your cold adaptation to the test before then. How about we shift positions a bit and let me open my parka to share some body heat. Promise not to tell Noreen we got so cozy?”

“I don’t intend to tell anybody we got caught flat footed by a gaggle of big white birds, like rookie hunters. By the way, what do you think we should call them Mr. Scientist? Not Thad or Dillon’s Terrible Turkeys, that’s for sure. How about something a little smarter sounding than moosetodon?”

“They resemble dinosaur raptors from Earth’s past, so why not whiteraptor?” Dillon suggested.

“OK, that’s good enough for me,” agreed Thad. “We’ll have to wait awhile. Want some jerky?” he offered.

Dillon looked at his offering, “I’d rather yak.”

3. Slaughter on the Nook

Telour was disappointed. The team the humans had called a SWAT did have weapons somewhat equivalent to those they had provided to test subjects on Koban, but they were not as effective as he had expected.

Hand held rapid-fire weapons, called submachine guns, had managed to injure all four of his hand of warriors, but the ammunition pellets were so small that the injuries caused were hardly life threatening, even when his novices were struck multiple times. Had a human been able to steady their aim on the heads, there might have been the possibility of killing a careless warrior.

A captive human leader he had briefly permitted to live, for interrogation purposes, had told him these were the heaviest weapons allowed for his “officers.” He said the frangible bullets, as he called the pellets, avoid deep penetration and needless deaths. They were the only ammunition type they had. Irrational animal behavior like this frustrated Telour. The leader died slow, and poorly.

The SWAT humans had worn a partial type of body armor that proved somewhat effective against the Krall pistol ammunition. However, it did not cover their arms and legs, and the helmets were open on the front except for a fragile transparent shield. The warriors simply targeted the exposed limbs and faces, and the enemy fell quickly to almost any wound. Most disgusting were those that tried to surrender. There were more bad deaths for those cowards.

He did have a brief thrill that quickly turned to disappointment. In an effort to make an assault on his warriors, the humans with submachine guns first threw small hand bombs. They only made a bright flash and a loud noise, and were useless as weapons.

Telour had thought they were the same hand held explosives that humans used in their final combat testing on Koban. Those that the human clan leader, Mirikami, had ordered made. These he had called fragmentation grenades. Those humans had killed a warrior with a grenade, and significantly injured two other warriors with them.

After eliminating the SWAT team, he had released his warriors to roam at will, killing any humans they could find. He joined them for a time, hunting with his K’Tal pilot in a nesting area where human families lived. This kind of social grouping was a bizarre cultural feature found with some other alien races the Krall histories described. It was convenient to have all of the genes of the group clustered this way, to eradicate their line all at once.

Walking into a nest of one of the mid-level Galactic Mining employees, achieved by the simple expediency of kicking open the main door, Telour found a family grouping of five. Two of which, by the nature of their loose flowing lower clothing and smell, were females of their species. One was mature, and one a half-grown cub.

The adult female assumed the assertive role in confronting the large intruder. This was despite a larger male’s presence, who was shielding the three human cubs of various sizes. Telour had discovered on Koban that initially women assumed leadership roles, but were the physically weaker of the species. Soon, a partial reversal of leadership roles had occurred on Koban, after Krall requirements for specimens to use in combat to the death eliminated all of the female leaders.

To humans Krall females were nearly indistinguishable from males, although slightly smaller. The females fought alongside the males except when heavy with eggs.

The woman spoke incomprehensibly, at least for Telour’s command of Standard, the primary language of humans. “My Company will have you crude, rude, despicable creatures in court for destruction of property and assault. Galactic Mining protects their employees, and you will find that…”

Telour never learned what “that” might have been. He shot her through her open mouth when she raised a hand holding a legal document towards the three hundred sixty eight pound, seven feet one inch, saurian-resembling, reddish gray, armed and toothy, bloodthirsty alien.

Her presumed mate followed her immediately with another shot to the head as he shouted “Bastard” at the Krall. While the smaller two cubs screamed and cringed, the larger half grown female moved to a food preparation area. Telour paused briefly as he considered the ridiculous insult that humans seemed to consider the word bastard to be.

Krall cubs hatched alone and never knew their parents. Their only worth in Krall society came from the status they earned as they matured and became warriors and leaders. All Krall, if he understood the human word properly, were bastards by definition.

Looking down without the faintest trace of pity for the terrified and wailing cubs, he casually walked towards them in the surprisingly smooth glide of the bow legged Krall. He heard the faint swish of air behind him, whirled in a lighting fast motion and spotted the heavy chopping knife spinning through the air towards him.

His four digit taloned right hand swept up in a blur of motion, plucking the knife out of the air by its handle, and with a flick of the wrist, reversed the weapon towards its source. It was a defiant thirteen-year-old girl at a kitchen passthrough opening. The heavy knife struck her point first in the forehead, killing her before she barely registered its return. Telour approved of her novice effort, as she fell dead.

He needed to keep moving at speed, since he could hear his K’Tal firing in a human nest across the roadway, probably gaining kills while his leader lingered. He now regretted throwing the human’s knife because he hadn’t brought one of his own on his weapons belt. For speed and efficiency, neglecting the benefit of the atrocity factor he had recommended, he drew and shot the two younger male children as he spun to leave for the next nest building.

They only had two days for this attack, and Telour knew it wasn’t possible for eight thousand two hundred Krall to cull much of human population on this ridiculously named Gribble’s Nook. What was a gribble anyway? The alien wondered.

****

Sanji Gribble was a grandson of the original prospector, who had found this planet while operating his own small Jump ship. The ship had represented an investment of his entire family’s money. He filed a claim on the huge kimberlite magma extrusions in a cluster of cratons he found. He did this the same day he returned to the Hub to register the discovery of the mineral rich planet, after spending an expensive and hazardous year alone, exploring his find. He’d brought back several spectacular examples of diamonds, to substantiate his find.

Diamonds of spectacular size, color, and quality, matched by ease of access became John Gribbles’ legacy to his family. The atmosphere was breathable, yet there was no elaborate environment to speak of, to protect from the most efficient and crude methods of mining, digging huge open pits. The family owned operation, no longer the largest mining operation on the Nook, was still one of the wealthiest.

Grandpa had kept the planet’s resources secret for as long as he could, and the name Nook reflected his decision to try to maintain it as his own obscure and secluded treasure trove. By the time his seven years of proprietary rights of discovery had expired, he was wealthy enough to keep larger mining companies from coming in and pushing him around.

Sanji had been CEO of Gribble Gems since his grandfather had died in an accident eleven years ago. Sanji’s hardnosed toughness won him support over any of the women in the family. Labor contract problems were just one issue they faced every two years. The revelation that high quality copper deposits were on Gribble land had caused friction with Standard Mining. At just over 2% copper, the sizable deposit was the richest on the Nook. Standard owned all copper export rights on the Nook, and demanded the right to strip mine on Gribble land, paying for the access of course. They were still in court over this issue.

When the Capitol Spaceport AI notified the Gribble CEO’s computer of the arrival of sixteen strange ships, and shortly after that came reports they were about to make unauthorized landings. Sanji came in to the office, a short drive from his mansion, to find out what was happening. He learned from his  AI that an unauthorized ship was about to land at the company’s small spacepad, on the other side of Gem Town.

Their small AI had a link to the planet-wide radar system, and a mosaic map of the world showed landings at nearly every mining operation, large and small. Gem Town was on the low side of the population centers, with a population that hovered near hundred twenty thousand.

The spacepad was where the lone company transport and the family’s two space yachts parked, with an adjacent aircraft landing strip and hanger. When he called him, the night watchman was concerned that the large ship could be a diamond raider until Sanji reminded him that the two-month supply of 25 million monthly carat output had Jumped to the Hub yesterday. A prospective raider would never miss a shipment by that amount of time.

Suddenly his security guard shouted that people were coming out of the big ship, shooting at everything. Was it a dimwitted gem raider after all? Why were they shooting, when there was no opposition?

“Hawthorn, get the hell away from them,” he ordered the guard. “Get below and into the vault area, close and lock the outer doors behind you. Don’t draw attention and don’t shoot unless you need to defend yourself. Your life isn’t worth protecting a handful of damned diamonds.” There was only three quarters of a million carats of rough stones there now, a below average one-day’s extraction.

There had never been a robbery attempt here, partly because Grandpa John put some serious money into the underground heavy double vault system near the spacepad. Rough diamonds were stored there until they made the short trip to the heavily armored and armed transport. Then a quick launch to rendezvous with an orbiting Jumpship as they readied to depart. The vault was the most secure place on the planet, and Charley Hawthorn had been working for the family almost forty years.

Sanji called up the security cameras from the spacepad, and with a shock saw hundreds of huge men racing away from the big ship, firing pistols that must contain explosive rounds. Anything they hit experienced a small blast. The heavy company transport wasn’t being hurt at all, but the two family boats, fine little Jump ships, were already wrecks.

He was annoyed amid all this by a call from the Capitol Police. His AI had flagged it as an urgent call. Gem Town had its own emergency, but he accepted the call. It was a night shift Police Lieutenant, who informed him that sixteen ships had landed around the planet and were attacking everyone and everything around them. There were multiple deaths claimed, but unconfirmed because anyone that went to investigate didn’t make it back or report what they saw.

“The same thing is happening here,” confirmed Sanji. “My little police force is off duty, but would they be any use? We don’t have anything besides short-range non-lethal weapons.”

“Sir, what I saw on monitors shows me these guys are taking no prisoners, and…,” he paused uncertainly. “You may not believe me, but they aren’t human.”

“Bullshit!” Nevertheless, Sanji manually used the zoom on one surveillance camera, to look closer at the men, or whatever they were, who were still running away from the just landed ship.

“Holy Balls!” he exclaimed. “Lieutenant, you were right! These things are certainly not humans or even derived from humans. What are you doing about this there, that we can do here?”

“My night captain has called out the SWAT team, and issued weapons, but there are at least five hundred of the perpetrators, according to the AI. I don’t think we can even slow them down. Look, Sir, I have other calls to make, good luck to you.” The call ended.

Sanji needed to get everyone awake in town. The creatures were running at an amazing foot speed towards the outskirts of Gem Town’s Agriculture Center, located almost two miles from the sometimes-noisy spacepad.

There would be a half dozen people on duty at night, caring for the crops and livestock that fed his employees, and when they were here, fed his extended family for that matter.

He first sounded the seismic event alarm for the entire town, which would at least get everyone awake. Then he called the Ag Center office, which automatically rerouted his call to the supervisor out in the bubble compound.

“You’re up late boss,” answered Darlene Waltrip, noting the caller’s ID on her phone. “We forget to compost the cow poop again?” She tried to renew a humorous conversation they had a couple of weeks ago, when a malodourous smell had drifted over to the people living closest to the Ag Center.

Sanji cut her chuckling off, “Darlene, listen up, this is an emergency. You’ll hear the seismic alarm any second, but the threat is really a pack of armed raiders coming from the spacepad. They shot hell out of everything over there, and they are coming your way next, on the run. I’m calling for a general evacuation towards the mines.  Get yourself and everyone in there moving, and I mean right now! Your life probably depends on this.”

Calling them raiders would save explanation time. Saying killer aliens were invading wouldn’t speed the conversation.

“Uh…, OK boss, three are with me, the other two are someplace in the bubble. I can’t just leave them.”

“Hit the fire alarm, make a speaker announcement and get the hell out. Grab one truck, leave the other one for them and drive to the Pipe. Spread the word as you go. I need to call Brad Carson, I gotta go.” He disconnected.

There had been discussions in the past about what they might do if a robbery in-force was attempted. Hiding their people in the “Pipe” mine was an option they had considered. It was the closest ancient volcanic tube mine to the town, and had several sets of big elevators that could hold fifty people each, and a wide gentle spiral ramp for moving heavy equipment up and down the nearly mile deep hole. At least ten or twelve people abreast could safely trot down that broad ramp to get out of sight quickly. Numerous exploratory side tunnels, cut at various points, were suitable for hiding.

Brad was the so-called Chief of Police, slash City Manager, in their small community, in charge of the five men and one-woman force of “peace keepers.”

Sanji was pleased to see his other office line was ringing even as he finished with the Ag Center. It was Brad. As he picked up, he could hear the wail of the alarm in the background. He explained the situation to Brad, only this time he included the details of sixteen almost simultaneous landings, the call from the Capitol City police, and his own direct observation.

“Brad, these things came out of their ship firing, both here and at Capitol City, and probably everywhere. They never intended to try to talk to us, and there’s no way you can face them with Jazzers and batons. Everyone will be awake by now, so make a broadcast on all channels of the Tri-Vid network, just tell them it’s murderous diamond raiders, and to hurry to the Pipe mine, no delay and take absolutely nothing. They don’t have the time. No one will believe you if you say something ridiculous like space aliens are shooting at us. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

“OK, Sir. Should I send someone out to help you get the family out?”

“Brad, I’m in the office, I’m right in the heart of the family compound. The alarm will have them awake and they’ll hear your broadcast. We have plenty of cars here so we can make our own way to the Pipe. I’ll see you there. Good luck.”

“You too sir.”

In reality, most of his family didn’t live on Gribble’s Nook, but all branches had homes here, for when they had to put in their time learning and running the family business. Sanji spent the most time here, and was still off planet five months out of the thirteen-month Nook year.

He talked to the three family households presently here, his younger sister Nita and her family, a first cousin Janice and her family, and a matriarch old aunt, Mary and her contract consort of this year; it was eleven people in all. Now he had only himself to save. Despite the offers his money drew, he had yet to ‘sign the line’ on a contract for even a short-term marriage, and had no children. The business was his wife for now.

****

Grodol wasn’t happy. His status wasn’t high enough to earn a landing at one of the larger enemy compounds. He was fortunate just to have won command of a Clanship, and Telour had chosen him at random from a pool of sixty-four eligible warriors having equal status.

There had been no humans at the landing pad, though warriors reported fresh scent of what they believed was one at a nearby building. None of his novices had ever been to Koban and had never seen or smelled a human. The trail of this one ended underground, at a massive hard metal door, which their explosive and armor piercing rounds merely discolored and chipped.

After wasting thousands of rounds of ammunition putting holes in two small light space craft, and one very tough ship that only dented, the novices raced towards an infrared glow of a warm bubble, perhaps five hundred leaps away on this light gravity world.

The covering proved to be an inflated, lightly pressurized dome that housed unfamiliar plants and animals that must be food for humans. There was a smell of recently present humans again, perhaps six of them. This time they were luckier, they saw two probable humans. At least they matched the general description.

These animals were running towards an exit on the far side of the bubble. The warriors had simply torn their way through the transparent soft bubble to make an entry, and outrushing air was starting to deflate the soft dome.

Sixty or seventy Krall, all wanting the first kill, began firing at the two figures on the far side of the large dome. The distance was too far for good pistol accuracy, even with Krall eyesight and steady hands, but several hundred rounds of explosive and armor piercing rocket propelled ammunition managed to hit both targets multiple times. More warriors were entering as the first arrivals were racing to claim credit for the two kills. They all continued firing as they ran, so that when they reached the red smears that had been two humans, there wasn’t much left for over a hundred warriors to divide kill credits.

Grodol arrived as the dome roof settled over the internal structures and meat animals that were frightened by the noise and strange scent of the Krall. The roof also settled on almost a hundred of his novices, who now had to cut and tear their way out through the collapsed material.

When the Krall commander heard that at most there had been only two humans killed, for all this time on the planet, and so much ammunition used, he was enraged and humiliated. His command would prove to be ineffective and wasteful if they did not find many more humans to kill, and do it soon.

The sounds of possible human animal calls, similar to a language, and the noise of machinery came from the direction of the glow of the rest of the human compound. The dome had seemed a likely center of human occupation before landing, but that wasn’t the case. They should have landed on this other side.

Grodol ordered his warriors to resume their rush to reach these humans before they could escape. It was obvious they were not going to attack the warriors. That was why the commander had closed the Clanship and permitted the K’Tal pilot to hunt with him. Humans were weak and helpless, and so far had made no effort to resist his warriors.

Finally, they found their prey in quantity, fleeing in small four wheeled transports, in wide lanes between what could only be individual nests for producing their smelly cubs. Only there were few cubs. Humans here didn’t seem to be hatching as many young as their vast numbers elsewhere suggested.

Regardless of the lack of human cubs to mutilate for the atrocities Telour had ordered, the warriors found multiple mature targets for their weapons and knives. The transports were easily destroyed, and the humans inside, if not killed, leaped out and made loud noises in the Krall’s lower auditory range. Warriors pounced on the helpless prey, mostly shooting them, clubbing or tearing open some with taloned hands, or carving up a few with short swords or knives. They intercepted hundreds in the paved lanes dividing the compound into rectangles.

Because of the wanton firing before they even reached the population center, the ammunition the warriors carried on their utility belts was running low. There was no one now at the Clanship to transport fresh supplies, using the shuttle housed inside. This was another unfavorable reflection on their inexperienced leader, Grodol.

The alternative was still pleasurable, but the rate of killing switched from a high numbers game to one of close up and personal pleasure. It was more satisfying but considerably slower. Many of the animals in the vanguard of the exodus poured out of the other side of the open compound.

The raid leader had ample time to eradicate every member of this small cluster in the two days allowed. They could move the Clanship closer to where these mindless animals were fleeing to hide. Destroying all of the humans here would soften the reports of how poorly organized the initial assault had been. There was always tomorrow.

****

“There’s no tomorrow,” Sanji spoke in response to a comment by Brad that at first light they could barricade the entrance to the mine.

“Sir, it’s dark out here, we can’t see outside of the glow of vehicle lights. We parked the trucks and cars like you said, to illuminate the roadway into the mine, and parking some on the ramp gave us light there. Only I don’t think we can bring up the heavy equipment tonight, not with people trying to walk all the way to the bottom. After what they saw behind them, I can’t blame them.”

This mine had never operated at night, and the lighting in the depths did not help up here at the mouth. Nook had no moon, leaving nights with only starlight for human vision. There was no telling how well these aliens could see in the dark. Even after they destroyed the power distribution grid, the killing and screams went on without respite.

“What I mean Brad, is that we can’t stand around and wait for them to come out here to find our people. At least fifteen or twenty thousand of our friends and neighbors never made it out of town. We can’t count on mercy from these monsters, so we need to get the creatures moving in another direction, or make them pull back.”

“We don’t have weapons Sir and I watched how fast they moved when they focused on cutting off the escape columns out of town. We can’t match them physically, not even close, and all I can find are clubs and a dozen drilling lasers.”

“Brad, the drilling lasers are good, but they are not our best weapons. What do we usually do with them?” he had an idea, not a great one, but the only one that came to mind.

“I’m no miner Sir, I guess for drilling, obviously.”

“Saul, will you tell Brad what we do with those small bore holes the lasers burn for us?” He turned to one of his engineers that had sought him out in the dark and confusion.

“Fill ‘em with explosives and blow off a rock face, or crumble a flat area, like for the big bucket excavators when they drag the rocks to conveyors and pile them up for hauling and processing. Anything like that would slow or stop them.” He responded.

“Explosives are weapons turned to peaceful uses Brad. We have some here, and I think Saul can round up some crews to drill into the face of the cliffs leading back here, and do that tonight, as soon as possible. The explosives shack is safely clear of the mine, but we must have some stored there. Right?” He looked at Saul.

“Yes Sir, but not a lot. This old volcanic lava tube is almost played out, so we weren’t doing much blasting.” Saul pointed that out to his boss, seeing a glimmer of what he had in mind.

“But do you think you have enough that you could bring those cliffs down along the road when needed, on top of those murderous pricks when they come for us out here?”

“Absolutely, Sir. If we have enough time to drill and ram the explosives and rig them in the dark.”

“Saul, I think it’s safe to say that speed is needed more than safety, so can you have someone rig and string the charges in the road while others drill? Do just enough to pull the sides down and bury some of the bastards, and delay the others. The AI estimated there were just over five hundred of them. We may hurt them enough to make them pull back.”

“They can get around the blockage Sir, if determined. We can’t cover every route here.” Brad noted.

“Thus the second part of the plan to divert them away.” The shrewd CEO informed him.

“As everyone that lives in Gem Town knows, the main explosive storage dump is all the way on the other side of the spacepad, closer to where that ship landed tonight. I need to get there, along with a small crew that can rig explosives, run the big front loaders, and operate two or three of our largest dumpers.” The latter were the forty-foot long, twenty feet high dump trucks that hauled overburden and kimberlite deposits around.

“Sir, what will you do with the Big Dumps?” Saul asked, using the slang reference for them.

“Battering rams at a minimum on their ship, Saul. Perhaps more. Find some volunteers to go with me. We have the material and know how, and I’m sure we have the guts. We can take my family’s three air cars to get there faster, and skirt well clear of town. Which pit has the closest Big Dumps to the explosives? We can drop people off to drive those over.”

“Why not let the AI’s drive them Sir?”

Sanji looked over his shoulder to see a man he vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite place. “What’s that, uh…?” he left the sentence hanging, waiting for the man to fill in his name.

“Will Dawfem, Sir. I’m a ‘Turd,’ I drive the Big Dumps. I made my way over when I heard someone say you were looking for volunteers.”

“OK, Will, the AI’s can handle simple driving, so I guess that can get them safely to the explosives storage dump? But can it be done in the dark, with no lights?”

“Sure Sir. They have built in local maps updated every day, and laser, radar, and GPS aided navigation for steering. I can link as many as you want to the front truck and they’ll follow me like sheep.”

“OK, Will, and I need two more, ah, Turd you called your position?” He laughed, despite the situation. “I’m constantly learning more about this operation, after spending most of life listening to my Grandpa’s stories.”

“I can do it myself Sir, you don’t need other drivers.” Will told him.

“Will, we are going to split our force into three air cars, to increase the chance we make it there with every skill set we need. I’m not underestimating these invaders.” That placed a somber tone atop the recently upbeat mood.

Turning, Sanji looked at Saul. “You ain’t drilling yet?” he smiled to remove any hint of sting, but he needed everyone moving now.

Thirty minutes later, Brad had established lookouts on the bluffs looking back at the town with com sets in hand. Saul had drillers on cherry pickers starting boreholes, and in the roadway below the cliff faces, two rigger crews were stringing explosives for each side of the fifty-foot wide roadway. There were sixty-foot high rock walls to bring down, and they’d need a lot of explosives to blast the rubble all the way across, burying whatever was out there.

The first air car had lifted with Sanji driving, keeping low with the eight seats filled. Will was in front with him, prepared to drop out at the glamorously named Pit Number 3’s “Latrine,” the truck park where Will said he’d find the dump trucks needed.

The other two air cars were taking different routes, and they were going to pick up one big front loader apiece, to load the three huge dump trucks. They were not the normal means used to load the 400-ton behemoths, but it was what they could move to the explosives dump on short notice.

Sanji dropped Will at the truck park, using his lights only down at ground level and set on dim until the driver had climbed the twenty feet to the cab. The lights inside came on as soon as it detected the man’s implant. Not just anyone could operate the huge Big Dumps. He motioned for Sanji to leave, as he signaled two other trucks to light up remotely, setting them up to follow his own lead truck.

Sanji reached the explosives dump, keeping as low to the ground as he could, using hills to shield his movement to the extent possible from the spacepad. His selected crew bailed out and the supervisor of the dump unlocked the first of three isolated and shielded bunkers they would use. As that was happening the second air car arrived safely, having dropped their front loader driver. The combined crews started loading pallets of explosives on haulers, and bringing them out of the bunkers.

Once the pallets were outside, the riggers started setting detonators in place, using hand-shielded flashlights for illumination. They finally heard the rumble of engines in the distance. Sanji hadn’t considered this detail. The noise the heavy equipment would make.

A front loader was the first to arrive. As Sanji had instructed, its hopper already held rocks two to three feet in diameter. The driver had scooped them up along the way, from mounds of overburden. Then they waited, with the explosives rigged with everything but the remote initiators connected.

The second front loader drove up, also loaded with large rocks. However, the key to the plan was the Big Dumps. With the other equipment shut down, they were relieved when they heard the rumble, and soon felt it, as the three enormous trucks rounded a hill. Will had taken a more roundabout route than Sanji had anticipated, but considering the noise, it may have been a good idea.

When Will brought the trucks up to the men signaling him with flashlights, he pulled past them slightly, to leave the string of trucks all well placed for loading. They reminded Sanji of images he’d seen of elephants in his mother’s native country, India, on Earth. Like that line of big animals following each other, linked trunk to tail.

The hauler forks were not quite high enough to lift the explosive pallets over the lip of the backside of the dump trucks. Will and the other two “Turds” solved that by tilting the beds up five degrees, to allow the forks to clear the now lowered rear lip. Four men helped in manhandling the pallets off the forks, then a second, third and a final fourth pallet was loaded onto each truck.

The front loaders carefully divided their rock loads in the back of the trucks, and the remote initiators were only then attached to the chain of detonators. Banked dirt from the sides of the now empty three bunkers was used to cover the explosives. When finished they had three Big Dumps, ready to blow it out their asses.

The urgency of the plan gained impetus when Brad called to say that much of the town was on fire, and about three or four hundred of the invaders were moving at a rapid trotting pace on the road towards the Pipe.

Sanji spoke to the three truck drivers privately, and told the other men they could return to the Pipe in the air cars, or stay here, it was their choice. However, he was going in a truck with Will, and the other two drivers were going part of the way with them.

Brad recalled his lookouts from the top of the bluffs, and heard from Saul that his crews had inserted as many of the charges as they had boreholes. They were pulling back. They intended to bury the remaining charges in the roadway, closer to the Pipe.

****

Grodol’s mood was improving, slightly. A rough body count revealed that each warrior would share in just over thirty-two kills apiece, after the commander collected his share, and he then awarded additional points to warriors that could prove exceptional performance. This was below the hundreds of kills per warrior he had expected, but now they were seeking out where most of the humans had fled.

He had sent most of his warriors ahead, following the massive scent trail. He was returning to the Clanship with a hundred twenty eight warriors and his K’Tal. He would move the Clanship close to wherever the largest number of humans had gone to hide. There would be fresh ammunition to increase the kill rate if the prey tried to flee farther.

Over by the Pipe, from around another bluff, Saul watched the curve in the road through the explosives rigged area, hearing the rapid crunching of hundreds of heavy feet. These beasts were not only strong, but they ran the entire six miles from the flames at Gem Town. Even at only .81 of Earth gravity, these creatures were obviously very strong and tough.

Suddenly a wall of the large bipeds poured around the curve, almost filling it from side to side. They had a rather funny looking bowlegged look, but moved very gracefully, smooth like a cat. He was tempted to let the leaders get a little past the explosives, but wondered what he would do if even a few got past.

He flipped up the safety cover, and motioned the others to move back towards the Pipe’s entrance. Suddenly there was a barrage of shots, with rounds exploding near him. Somehow, they had seen his motion there in the shadows and were firing at him.

He pressed the button, the last valiant act of his long life. His head and chest errupted from explosive round impacts, just as massive explosions rippled along the rock walls, blowing tens of thousands of tons of rock through and over the suddenly faster rushing horde.

The few men in position to see what happened saw the incredibly fast reaction of many of the creatures as they leaped into the air, pushing off the sides of the walls and individual boulders to gain height. It didn’t work for most of those in the vanguard, as the crushing rocks buried them. It was impossible to see what happened to those around the bend of the curve, but the explosions must have caught many of them the same way.

Only three Krall escaped the explosion and wall collapse in the front. From screams of rage well behind them, they knew other warriors survived farther back. Strung out to fit through the narrow canyon, some had been clear of the blast, but many clearly were injured and angry that a prey animal had tricked them, after fleeing from them for so long.

The three warriors entered a berserker’s rage at the loss of so many clan mates, particularly from the insult inflicted by a weak cowardly enemy.

The three, as one, virtually screeched rage as they ran towards the next bend, emerging from the choking dust. When they rounded the next curve, they could see a hand of humans running, as if in slow motion to the Krall’s senses, passing between rows of the parked wheeled human transports. Like robots linked by the same software, all drew both of their pistols and pulled the triggers repeatedly.

There was only a single shot heard, because they had used the last of their ammunition firing en masse at Saul, in an excessive barrage. That one final round was armor piercing, and passed through the upper left shoulder of one of the engineers running away. He went down, but the rest continued running, as they looked over their shoulders to see the three gape jawed terrors gaining rapidly on them.

It would only be four or five leaps and the three warriors would have their hated prey. They passed the first of the transports when one of the humans, apparently resigning itself to death slowed and faced them. One warrior drew a short sword, to carve pieces from this human, to eat as it and the other humans watched.

It was that delightful thought he still had in his mind, as he suddenly departed the Great Path, the route to improving the Krall’s breed of warriors. These three killers lost all status points for this day’s killings, when the human that had slowed pressed the button of a second detonator. He watched the explosives buried in the roadway shred even the tough tissues of the three Krall.

Grodol learned of the disaster of the pursuit of the humans from an octet leader that had lost five of her warriors in the blast at the canyon. There remained only sixty-eight effectives, and two hands of warriors that might live, but were unable to pursue the enemy due to multiple lost limbs, or crushing injuries. Many were pinned under slabs of rock even several warriors could not move.

This particular octet leader, clearly angry with her commander, had communicated her report on an open channel that every warrior could hear. Grodol knew that this level of insubordination foretold more than a disgrace and loss of breeding points for him. His particular gene line would end. An honorable option was to turn berserker and fight humans until killed. However, he had no clear successor.

The leader of a hand of octets, ordered to follow Grodol back to the ship, eliminated this difficult decision. He did that by erasing the stain from Graka clan. He shot Grodol in the back of the head. There was a consensus of octet leaders that this was the most efficient way to resolve the issue. Now the highest status warrior in this raiding party was Daktor, and he would lead.

Daktor ordered all of the survivors to return to the ship with haste. The resupplied warriors would attack the humans from an unexpected direction, after he repositioned the Clanship on the other side of the blocked canyon. Telour had warned that humans were fond of traps and trickery. Therefore, the key was to place his warriors were humans did not expect the Krall to be.

****

The aliens would not expect the humans to be here. Sanji was taking the trucks off-road by the most direct route to the alien ship. He had learned of Saul’s death from Brad, but his chief engineer had taken many of the killers with him. The last of the explosives stored at the Pipe had killed the only three aliens that had made it past the initial blast in the canyon.

In a show of intestinal fortitude that Sanji admired, Brad had climbed the bluff to see what the aliens were doing where the canyon road was blocked. He could have run right into them, bypassing the blockage in the same way. Instead, for some reason they were racing back towards the town, he reported seeing the flicker of their shadows from the backlight of fires that they had set earlier.

Speculating, Sanji asked, “Brad, if you could climb up to get around the blocked road, why do you think they didn’t? Give me your best guess.”

“Boss, they somehow spotted Saul in the shadows and started firing at him, just before he blew the canyon. The number of shots they fired was relatively low. Only ten or fifteen rounds, from at least a hundred of them that were leading the charge. Of the three that got past the destruction, they all drew their weapons, yet only one fired a single shot, wounding one of the riggers. They holstered their guns and drew knives, still running at us, before Jason blew them to Hell. I think they used up most of their ammunition in town.”

Sanji considered that a moment. “Then you think the retreat is just to resupply at their ship?”

“Yes Sir. Would you invade a world only with the ammunition you could carry on your belt?”

“Makes sense to me. It sounds like there are two parties heading back to their ship now.  So,” he mused. “They’ll be there soon getting reloads, with the others close behind. All the rats in the same hole…” he left the thought hanging.

Suddenly he made his decision. “I’ll get back to you Brad.”

Next, he turned to Will for some instruction. “Show me how you link up a lead truck to make the others follow.”

Suspecting what his CEO had in mind, Will told him, “It won’t work without at least one certified transducer equipped driver in the lead truck, Sir. I’ll bet that isn’t you. The other drivers and I can drive them where you want. Tell us what you plan to do, and then you should get out.”

“Will, I won’t allow you to do something that I expected to do alone. I’ll not let any of you do it in my place. It could be a one way trip.”

“Relax Sir. I’ll tell you how a real Turd would do this.” He grinned.

****

Daktor, the K’Tal pilot, and one hundred twenty eight novice warriors reached the edge of the pad where the Clanship had landed. Using his com button on his shoulder, the K’Tal tapped out the coded signal to open the lower hatches. All four hatches snapped up into their hull recesses, revealing the stacks of pistol and rifle ammunition inside, and even heavier plasma rifles, if they were required.

Addressing his octet leaders, Daktor instructed them, “Make sure every warrior takes the maximum ammunition they can carry. We will use knives only when we have captured the last of the enemy, and no other traps or long pursuit is possible.” He wasn’t going to allow his warriors to rampage recklessly and run out of ammunition. That was Grodol’s mistake. One of several he made.

Reloading and stocking up was still underway when all of the Krall heard the sudden roar of a powerful engine. It was close.

Daktor was among the first to react, leaping out of one of the large hatchways. From around the side of the heavy human shuttle, on which so many warriors had wasted ammunition, rumbled an extremely large transport. It must have been sitting there waiting with engine off, because they would have heard it coming from a long distance away. That meant a human was in control, and trying a surprise attack on the Clanship.

A hundred thirty Krall, two pistols each, began firing at the gigantic machine. There was a cockpit-like compartment on the front, located under a wide heavy lip of what had to be part of the giant truck’s rear bed.

Explosive shells and armor piercing rounds were striking the monster all across its front, as they sought a way to bring it to a halt. It clearly was going to try to ram and damage the Clanship. The huge black wheels seemed impervious to their fire, as indeed they were for the most part. They were solid carbon fiber matrix, and although chips were coming off where explosive rounds struck, the armor piercing slugs were simply absorbed.

The plazsteel front windshield shattered, as hundreds of rounds sparked off the heavy hardened steel of the cockpit. The thick plate steel, there to protect drivers from collisions that would crush smaller machines, kept the bullets from damaging the electronics and the AI that steered the truck. However, it wasn’t a combat designed vehicle, and some serendipitous shots managed to hit hydraulic lines.

The machine began to slow, it’s steering appeared to be drifting to the right. The engine even increased its roar, but the huge truck wasn’t picking up speed. It continued towards the Clanship, no longer centered on it, as the speed gradually slowed. When it hit, it’s mass, even at only ten miles per hour rocked the ship with a huge clang and a sound of crumpled hull plates.

Several warriors raced up to the cockpit and emptied their pistols into it from over the edge of the shattered windows, in case there were living humans hiding inside.

Daktor was no longer interested in the disabled truck. He needed to inspect the landing jack that it had struck. Calling the K’Tal on his com set, he met with him to inspect the damage.

There was a hole in the hull from warped and torn plates, and the landing jack had bent slightly. This was not serious damage at all. The humans’ trick had failed. However, it was another clever use of mining equipment. Humans were good at improvising, he was learning.

He sprouted his internal ears as he caught the sounds of ultrasonic calls coming from the direction of the collapsed human dome. The remainder of his new command would be here shortly. The damaged jack would not retract, but that wasn’t necessary for the relocation he would make, nor would this hamper Jump travel. The K’Tal returned to the command deck to prepare for the short relocation flight.

With his superior infrared night vision, Daktor was able to make out the silhouettes of his returning warriors. Their bodies blazing with the heat of the energy they had been required to use by so much running, on top of the destruction of the human compound, and the slaughter of some of its inhabitants. Now it was time to find and kill the remainder of that hiding prey.

Two new powerful engine roars suddenly sounded, from opposite sides of the landing pad. There were two more of the giant monster trucks! This trap wasn’t finished yet. Only this time Daktor knew more about their weaknesses. The hydraulic lines that controlled the truck’s steering and transmission were vulnerable to the Krall’s hand weapons. Now that they knew where to shoot, simple pistols rounds could stop them much farther out, before they could damage the ship again.

The trucks were still only huge noisy infrared silhouettes in the dark, when the remaining seventy warriors arrived. There were only seventy novices because they left some trapped or severely injured warriors behind. They were of course aware of the command change, and as they were reloading, the new commander described the weak spots of the disabled truck the humans had just used to ram the Clanship.

He pointed into the darkness, where the warm glow of hot engines revealed the two oncoming threats, explaining what they meant. He had time, so he led them to the front of the dead truck and fired several demonstration rounds into the exposed lines, so they would know how to stop the massive trucks.

Instead of waiting for the trucks to get closer, he sent a band of warriors out to meet each of the enormous enemy transports. These would not reach his ship.

The shooting commenced as the shadows approached, and as before, the engine sounds became louder as the trucks labored to keep moving as they lost the fluids that were their life’s blood.

Except that the rumble and vibration of their approach had not lessened, it was increasing. As they came near, he saw that the outline looked different. At first, he thought these were a different kind of large transport. Then he realized the simple and effective thing the humans had done. The giant trucks were in reverse, a large pile of rocks in the back and the nearly indestructible tires were the only targets for their weapons.

He used his com set to order them to run around to the front side, to shoot at the hydraulic lines he had told them to hit. However, it was already too late to prevent them from reaching the Clanship. They were not moving as fast in reverse as the first truck had been in forward when it had started, but they were going to hit straight on this time.

Then, in a surprise action, one of the Clanship’s heavy lasers blazed across the short distance to one of the trucks. Daktor was elated; his K’Tal had obviously been preparing for the repositioning operation, and had seen the threat.

The ravening beam vaporized several warriors that had climbed onto the vehicle in an effort try to change its direction. Those were acceptable and honorable losses. Except the beam merely shattered a few the rocks from sudden thermal expansion, slagged some dirt, and melted soft spots in the huge truck’s thick metal bed where the edges were exposed. It could not reach anything vital below that heavy deck.

He realized they couldn’t stop them. Daktor was forced to step aside, firing his pistols without effect as one truck swept by him and crashed thunderously into the Clanship. That was followed a second or two later by an equal crash on the opposite side. If anything, the second impact may have prevented the toppling of the ship. The heavy laser cut off, as the K’Tal no doubt was rushing down to see the damage.

Daktor didn’t need a K’Tal to tell him that the Clanship wasn’t going to lift after these more damaging double impacts. He could see damage to the main thruster column down the center of the Clanship. He ordered The K’Tal stop at the third deck and open the hangar bay for the stored shuttle. He would use that small craft to search out the humans, carry extra ammunition, and bring the fusion bottle powered, portable plasma cannons this time. His now grounded warriors would root out and savage any human they could find.

It was a tribute to the new leader’s fierce desire to exact revenge that he initially ignored a question from one of his octet leaders. It was also a weakness in leadership. One which led to his downfall.

Insistent, the octet leader repeated his question, as ammunition was unloaded to be placed inside the shuttle once it was out. “Where are the humans that drove these giant transports? There are no bodies inside the small control rooms.”

“They must have jumped out,” Daktor suggested.

The octet leader didn’t think so. “The transports changed direction to stay on track to strike the Clanship and they accelerated. They did this when they were close enough we would have seen humans leave. Where are they?”

Daktor had an ugly premonition. He recalled the canyon ambush that he had only heard about. His premonition proved exceedingly accurate.

****

Will, a remote control unit for a Big Dump still on his lap, was looking at a video image from the first truck’s cab roof camera. “I think all of them are next to the ship now Sir, unloading ammunition.”

“Good!” Sanji had wanted all the rats in the trap. He pressed the radio detonator.

All three trucks simultaneously vanished in a splatter of large heavy metal fragments that cut down anything the three immense explosions did not destroy directly. The rocks covering the explosive pallets blasted out of the concave truck beds as if from a shaped charge. Two of the trucks had backed up to the ship, and their boulders struck it squarely.

The rocks and truck beds acted much like giant pellets from immense claymore mines. The high velocity stones and fragments tore through the heavy hull plates. The Clanship now resembled a sieve more than a Jump ship. Every Krall in sight had shredded or vaporized in the triple balls of flames and debris.

Except for eradicating the handful of injured or pinned Krall in the canyon, the people of Gem Town, what was left of it, had exterminated these particular vermin. At a terrible personal cost, however. After a rough head count at the Pipe, they knew these monsters had slaughtered probably fifteen thousand of their people. Moreover, there were fifteen other cities and towns still under attack on the Nook. There was no sign they planned to leave, and no way to make them.

****

A day later, Telour calculated that his raiders had killed perhaps two million humans. The despicable creatures had proven adept at distractions, misdirection, creative ways of hiding, and in a limited number of cases, a startling ability to strike back.

Other than the destruction of a Clanship, the counterattacks were trivial. That one anomaly was largely due to an incompetent commander, who was replaced in the field after excessive blunders left the ship vulnerable. Telour had randomly selected him from a pool of equal status sub leaders. He would not make that error again, no matter how much of a rush he was in to form a raiding party.

Humans had only killed six hands of warriors on the rest of the entire planet. He had lost more warriors from recklessness, being careless, or simply stupid. They improved the Krall gene pool simply by their loss.

They extracted nearly on schedule, although shuttles had to make numerous pickups of warriors too far from their Clanships to return quickly. Telour had been tempted to leave them to their fate. He was convinced otherwise when several ship commanders noted that the late returns were the warriors with the highest kill ratios.

Overall, the raid accomplished what the clan had wanted, and the atrocities he had requested were common enough to spur the passive humans into greater preparations when they raided the next planet. Humans would have to be pushed hard and often, to make them increase their warrior kill ratios if they were to match Krall expectations.

His report to the clan leaders noted that novice warriors would have to learn to fight smarter against humans. This was a different direction than had been the norm, where outright strength and speed were the only criterion for status increases, and proving breeding potential. It would take time. Something the Krall had in abundance.

4. Hub City (Koban)

“You don’t really have the time to do this, Tet.” Maggi repeated for the nth time.

“Besides, going to meet Governor Cahill on her own turf is a mistake. That egotistical hack had the hubris to push her supporters into giving her that grandiose title. It’s a deliberate attempt to make her appear your superior.” This was another of Maggi’s pet peeves that Mirikami had heard repeatedly.

“I’m not a politician Maggi,” Tet replied yet again, with a sigh. “I never will be. I’m uncomfortable because all of you started calling me Commander. I certainly don’t want to be Governor of anything.”

Although it was essentially an uncontested election, the remaining five thousand six hundred residents of Koban Prime had in fact appointed Captain Mirikami, from the Flight of Fancy, as “Commander” of the former Krall compound. They foisted the leadership role and title on the unpresuming Spacer, who reluctantly accepted the position.

The residents now were calling the former Krall prison compound Prime City, a change from Koban Prime, in reaction to the naming of the other larger Krall compound, Hub City. The term Kobani, for all humans living on Koban, was mainly restricted to use by the residents of Prime City. The nearly twenty thousand Hub City residents did not want to call Koban home or refer to themselves as Kobani, despite the near certainty they would all live here for the remainder of their long lives.

Noreen backed Maggi up, “Tet, it’s true, Cahill could have called herself Mayor, as even her supporters first proposed. She suggested the title of Governor to them, explaining that they had the larger population, larger dome, and the moral high ground. A Commander should report to the highest authority on Koban, not the other way around.”

“I am not reporting to Ana Cahill,” Tet emphasized. “I’m coordinating our mutual support, and offering cooperation in areas that are not related to the primary stumbling block in our partnership. I’m not asking them to support the genetic modifications we have used, and will use, in our plans to survive here long term.”

Roni Jorl’sn, his usual shuttle pilot, was listening through the open cockpit hatch. As “Commander,” Mirikami always encouraged her to offer her opinions, so she offered one now. “We know that you are not ‘reporting’ to Cahill, Sir. However the perception that you are is just as damaging to your authority.”

“Roni, I wasn’t elected to office in Hub City, Cahill was, and I really don’t have authority over her, or the residents there.” He felt outnumbered by his own people.

“How did I manage to get myself alone on a long flight with three obstinate Ladies?” he complained. “I need a male’s perspective to back me up.”

Maggi had a comeback for that argument. “Thad is a hell of a lot more adamant against your personally making this trip than we are.”

“Dillon too,” Noreen chimed in, affirming that her lover’s opinion matched Thad’s.

Groaning over his plight, Mirikami addressed his pilot, “Can’t you pick the pace up Roni? I’d rather face three ignorant Cahill’s than have to deal with even one of you three for two more hours.” He grinned to assure them he was kidding, but only slightly.

“Sir, with one dressed moosetodon and two yaks in the sling, this is the best speed we can make. Frankly, despite the longer trip, I’m glad there wasn’t room inside for the meat this time. Yaks really stink when they aren’t skinned and dressed first.”

“Glad I’m better company than a dead yak,” Mirikami grumbled.

“The smell is marginally better, but you aren’t nearly as bright.” Maggi chuckled over her little zinger.

The next two hours were going to pass very slowly for Mirikami.

****

Meanwhile, back in the mad scientist’s den, Aldry Anderfem was speaking sternly to Dillon and Thad.

“The Earth normal animal trials were satisfactory my Gentle Men so far as the physiological side is concerned, but if anything goes seriously wrong with your minds, we can’t just euthanize you and serve you for dinner.” The two men had just volunteered for a human trial.

She was explaining to them that implementation of the most recent Koban genetic insertions had been physically successful in animals. The scientists had tested on pigs, cattle, sheep, goats, and of all things to find out here, kangaroos. The Krall brought along shipments of cargo when they capture Jump ships destined for recently settled Rim worlds. To the aliens some of the cargo consisted of humans; some was the livestock humans ate, or animals they wanted to have around, with only unimportant distinctions from the Krall’s point of view.

Indifferent, they brought them all to Koban. Unfortunately, dogs did not survive capture because they didn’t like the Krall, and refused to control their aggression. The people on Koban had no house pets, as of yet.

Dillon, a scientist with respectable, even exceptional genetic academic credentials, knew about the results. He had participated in the necropsies of the test animals, and had carefully examined and tested the parallel superconducting nerves. Those had grown in adjacent to the native nervous systems, after the gene insertion via man-modified delivery viruses.

He told Aldry what he knew. “Rafe and his team are convinced, as I am after working with them, that the new parallel nervous systems functioned, transmitting and receiving nerve impulses as rapidly and strongly as we see in Koban’s native animals.”

He continued, determined to prove to her he was making an informed decision, “The Earth evolved animals continued to function normally, in most respects, and grew and thrived until their unfortunate, for them anyway, demise for the necropsies, and the subsequent dinner table functions held in their honor.”

“There is the catch,” she pounced. “I heard you acknowledge it. You said functioned normally in most respects! I’m aware of those particular ‘respects’ Dillon, and we don’t know how the faster than normal nerve signal delivery affected the way they think.”

“What does a cow, pig, or sheep think, anyway? We can’t know that.”

“We know that they exhibited higher levels of stress hormones in the beginning, and also based on observing reactions to startling events we manufactured to test them. We found that when they did finally react via the original slower nervous system, they overreacted, much more than the same fear induced event caused in control animals.”

Rafe, the scientist that headed the so-called Koban Gene Initiative, interjected his own comment now. “Aldry, Dillon and I are convinced that the initial stress levels, which diminished after a few days I remind you, were caused by the rapid delivery of fight or flight related impulses. The organic superconducting nerves send signals that their brains could not process in time to transmit useful impulses to respond to the threatening stimuli.

“Both Margret and Jason in my lab hypothesized that the test animals recognized a need to react before they could make it happen in reality. Even sending a signal more rapidly back from a slow reacting brain can not make a slow reacting muscle system twitch significantly faster. That has to be a source of stress,” he suggested.

“It’s probably something like a short term premonition that can’t be acted upon as soon as you wish you could.”

He explained with an analogy. “Let’s say you spotted a deadly poisonous spider on your arm, and it took you five seconds to brush it away after you saw the danger, but you wanted to do it in the first second. Would you feel stressed about that extra four seconds? A roughly five times faster return signal reaches the muscles via the superconducting nervous system, but they can’t react because they are not properly connected. The normal functional impulse to activate the muscle to twitch arrives via the old nervous system, five time later than they wanted to act.

“If the brain had been able to process the inbound information faster, we believe the fast outbound signal back to a muscle connected to the new nerves would be generated significantly sooner, thus improving on the factor of five speed increase.” However, he wasn’t finished yet.

“As you know, the next generation Kobani will be born with this parallel nervous system in place by inheritance. In addition, those children will be able to accept a modification to the neural network tissue that can actually respond to the faster signals to and from the brain. The enhanced musculature they will inherit from the parents will respond faster, but with no more strength than we already gave to poor old slow Thad and Dillon here.”

“Thanks. I think. I hope you meant physically slow.”

“I did Thad,” Rafe replied, grinning. “The dual passing of ‘ghost’ signals, as we are calling the slower old nerve impulses, will be present in the SG kids, but they will be able to react faster using the superconducting nerves. Instead of a premonition, they should experience a sense of déjà vu when the slower signal arrives and they have already finished the action.”

Aldry was swayed somewhat, but still had a question concerning mental stability for a human subject. “You don’t think that Thad or Dillon, being aware that far ahead of the action needed and unable to execute the action, won’t be driven a bit nuts? If you don’t mind a nonscientific description of a condition I have no training to analyze.”

“That’s something we can pose to the one psychologist and two psychiatrists at Hub City,” Rafe proposed.

“Rafe,” Aldry answered, “they went there because they are opposed to our project. Do you really think you can convince them to become part of helping us be more successful?”

“It doesn’t matter Aldry,” Dillon interjected. “We have to try this, or else our whole survival plan for humans on Koban is out the window. Despite a wisecrack that I know Maggi would deliver in rebuttal, Thad and I are aware of what’s happening. Unlike the ignorant animals were.”

He raised a warning eyebrow at Aldry as she appeared about to fill-in for the absent feisty Maggi Fisher. She smiled and held her tongue.

“Thad and I survived our last hunt by dumb luck and fast thinking. We will never match a whiteraptor in strength, but greater speed and strength would allow our grandchildren to react fast enough to use the weapons and defenses we already have. If I’d had five times as much mental preparation available to consider my first shot at that beast, as it climbed the rocks, and the physical ability to hold my aim steadier, it would never have reached us.”

“Does Noreen know you plan to do this?” Aldry asked. “Maggi informs me the two of you have discussed, as she quaintly put it, ‘tying the knot’ soon.”

Puzzled and blank looks from Thad and Rafe made Aldry laugh. “That means the same thing as ‘signing the line’ means today, Gentle Men. Maggi likes using archaic terms when she has a chance to put those dumbfounded expressions on anyone’s face.”

Dillon had taken the unusual and normally brazen step for a male, of offering to sign a marriage-with-children contract with Noreen. Gentle Men traditionally accepted such offers from Ladies.

In this case, he had needed to know her personal position on the genetic modifications he was planning to accept. If she weren’t interested in a contract for children after he had ‘gone Koban,’ as it was described, then he would not volunteer for this next step. He loved her more than long-term survival meant to him.

However, she had enthusiastically agreed, followed by another of their exhausting marathon love fests. It was Jungle boy versus Queen of the Jungle fantasy time.

Noreen had wanted to volunteer with him, but Dillon insisted that the contract signing and her own modification had to await the results of his and Thad’s first Koban gene mods. She would return from Hub City before implementation of the new program.

Aldry relented, since she had no more arguments to present, and there were certainly no better-informed volunteers. Thad had agreed at every step, and so they now had the first two human subjects ready to “go Koban.”

****

The shuttle deposited the sling load of fresh meat near the north entrance of the Hub City dome, with a number of eager residents ready to unhook the provisions.

Looking at the dome, it struck Mirikami by how uniform the Krall were in all of their structures. On reflection, there was sameness in Clanships, shuttlecraft, trucks, weapons, in fact everything he had seen of their artless society.

The closest he had encountered to literature for the Krall were histories of their conquests, instruction and operating manuals, and inventories of equipment and supplies. The histories themselves might contain a bit of art, since he’d observed a tendency to interlace facts with exaggerated details to enhance a warrior’s accomplishments, or a clan’s greatness.

Krall technology all seemed manufactured from standard designs, apparently produced by slave labor unless there was a class of Krall humans had not seen.

These unfeeling creatures didn’t name the places they lived or their ships, since they were merely objects to use. Similarly, a human had no personalized name for a hairbrush, shoe, or a Tri-Vid hologram system. The Krall used words that described these things, that told where they were located, or which clan used them, but didn’t assign names to them. Conversely, the Krall did use the human names for things and places when they spoke Standard.

The dome for Hub City was simply a scaled up version of the one at Prime City. It had the same fusion plants and furnishings (few of the latter), wheeled and tracked ground transports, and a ringed outer wall and electric fence. The outer compound here extended out to a roughly forty-two mile radius, except for a cut-out where it met the sea. This provided almost three times the original walled area that Prime City had.

The Krall had not blasted their gates open here when they left, or destroyed their fusion plants as they had at the human compound. To make the dome habitable, they had needed only one of the human fusion bottles to provide the startup current to reinitiate fusion reactions in the three Krall power systems.

Clearly, the Krall never expected humans to make it away from the opened up and exposed compound where they left them to die. In their version of efficiency, they saw no reason to destroy another compound that might be useful to them at some unspecified future date.

“Tet, look at her,” Noreen indicated through the cockpit windscreen as Jorl’sn set them down on the tarmac. “Cahill is waiting at that tiny grandstand for you, wearing blue robes, of all things. You should have worn your Smart Fabric formal uniform.”

Before Mirikami could respond, Maggi shot that notion down. “No, your casual civilian attire is fine, Tet. She has dressed herself almost exactly like a Presidential appointed Governor of a New Colony world. That little dais deliberately has room only for her and the three cronies with her. They are people she appointed to ceremonial positions, present just to kiss her ass and make her look important. Expect a handpicked spontaneous crowd to be ready to trot out to listen to her. ” Maggi snorted her distain.

“Tetsuo Mirikami,” she spoke to him firmly, “you will for once, accept my political advice. I strongly urge you to wave politely to her as you walk directly past her and into the dome. March straight to their Great Auditorium, climb up on one of the tables that you shipped here, and address the people that you came to feed. You are not her uniformed delivery boy answering her summons, to stand obediently at her feet.”

Now Mirikami knew why the shrewd little woman had talked him out of wearing a utility uniform today when he insisted on making the trip.

“I assure you, for our future good relations with these people, you must make them identify you, and Prime City, as their actual benefactors, and not Cahill the politician. She’ll look ridiculous as she gathers her flowing robes and scurries down to hurry after you with her groupies in trail. When she arrives, you’ll be standing on a table already speaking to the people, and looking down at her. The three of us will be standing on the bench seats, and slightly lower. Cahill will not be able to clamber up to try to dominate the moment. Your casual informality will be warmly received, more so than her puffed up obvious display of self-importance. Don’t you dare call her Governor?”  She looked him right in the eyes, to see if he had received her message.

“OK, Maggi.” Tet agreed with a nod.  “I’ll follow your suggestion, because it’s good advice. Besides, I forgot to borrow a cup from Dillon and I don’t want to get whacked in the groin.”

The three Ladies laughed delightedly at the remark. Maggi was known for her physical retaliations on her younger scientific protégé. The two frequently sparred verbally, but the diminutive little old woman often resorted to thumping Dillon on his prominently and fashionably displayed groin. Dillon had taken to wearing an athletic cup.

Socially, men had become somewhat peacock-like in society, a custom deriving from a male population more-than-decimated by the Gene War, which nearly ended the human race less than three generations ago. Fashion trends had led to many men wearing flamboyantly colored clothing, which displayed their physiques if they were well proportioned, and placed brightly colored accent patches over their manhood. This advertised their reproductive value to the Ladies in the social market place.

Dillon possessed brilliant scientific credentials, which unfortunately qualified him as a geek in any age. Therefore, the young full professor had overcompensated by wearing the fashionable clothing of an available stud advertising his “wares.” A former Ladies man, he was now a one-Lady-man with Noreen Renaldo, the First Officer on the Flight of Fancy.

However, absent a clothing store or tailor on Koban, his larger than average frame was stuck with the wardrobe he’d brought with him when the Krall captured the Flight of Fancy. Maggi treated Dillon’s accent patches as her bull’s eye, for rebuttals that abruptly ended discussions.

No sooner than the shuttle hatch raised and its four occupants stepped onto the pavement, fifteen or twenty people exited from under the overhang of the dome entrance, right on cue.

“She isn’t as popular as she pretends,” Maggi said in an aside to the others. “With nearly fifteen thousand claimed supporters, this is all she could call on to listen to her little welcoming speech?” The gloating chuckle sounded all too much like Maggi was going to enjoy the day.

The four, with Tet a step ahead, started for the dome, their path naturally passing well in front of the small dais, actually beyond the small cluster of congregants watching them with suspicion.

Mirikami noticed with alarm that although his armed group carried Krall made pistols and human made neural Jazzers, he couldn’t see a single weapon on any of Cahill’s people. They were outside with no protection. Were they crazy? His own group was looking up and around, whereas these people were only watching him.

He glanced up and saw that as usual, when they saw activity at a human habitat, two squadrons of wolfbats were circling overhead. Not flying as high as the fliers did at Prime City, where residents there often took shots at them. Former captives there always watched for these bat-like dog-sized intelligent hellions, having lost too many people to their attacks.

Winter cold wasn’t the only reason that Skeeters were less prevalent closer to the coast. The potentially killer pests apparently preferred a jungle as a breeding ground, such as Prime City had nearby. Nevertheless, the milder climate of Hub City, provided by the warm ocean currents, allowed more cold weather active time for the stinging eighteen-inch wide bloodsuckers. It was shirtsleeve weather here today, and sunny. What were these fools going to do if either of those threats appeared, swat them with their bare hands?

The small crowd divided as the four approached, clearly forming a lane for them to walk up to the dais, to “report” to their self-described Governor. This would put the militia-like leader of the lawless Prime City element in front of the representative of Hub law on Koban, surrounded by her supporters. Only it didn’t happen that way.

Glancing down the human aisle at Cahill, Mirikami nodded and waved cheerfully, as he continued towards the dome entrance.

Maggi also beamed her sweetest smile, like an arrow to the heart of her bitter rival from the original Board of Directors of the University consortium. Maggi had wrested the Chairfemship of that Board from Cahill.

The same Board that had organized the charter of the Flight of Fancy, for its uncompleted scientific trek to Midwife, a now destroyed remote biological research station found by the Krall. To Cahill’s mind, Maggi was the reason she found herself stranded on Koban. The Chairfem’s rival now knew research at the remote station was actually to hide outlawed genetic research for human colonization efforts.

Flabbergasted, Cahill watched her adversaries simply pass by her carefully arranged ambush. “Stop,” she shouted, sounding desperate. “We are meeting out here, in the…, uh, beautiful sun light.” She considered trying to order him back, but knew that wouldn’t work and would only serve to show how little power she had.

She pulled up her blue robe’s trailing hem, and called for the three ministers on the platform to help her down in this damned dangerous gravity. She had ordered the platform’s height built to place her feet at Mirikami’s eye level, forcing him to have to look up sharply at his superior. Now she also had to call on those below to support her, with hands gracelessly placed on her backside, to help lower her awkwardly to the tarmac.

Her supporters, some smirking despite themselves, pulled back to permit her to lead them in the rush to catch Mirikami and his “lieutenants” before they entered the dome. The Prime City criminals were walking rapidly, clearly taking advantage of the illegal gene modifications they had used on themselves.

Like a trail of ants following their queen, her followers fell in behind her as she made the best speed she could to catch the four about to enter her city uninvited. In an effort to delay them Cahill called out. “Show some manners and civility when visiting someone’s home.”

Mirikami glanced back at the shout, but Maggi said in an undertone, “Don’t pause or answer her Tet.”

She was dismayed when Tet stopped and turned to face Cahill and her minions. In fact, Noreen and Jorl’sn followed suit. Had none of them listened to her advice? She had no choice but to do the same, since she wasn’t going to enter alone.

Cahill, seeing the idiots pause, sensed she could salvage her strategy, because only her followers had seen the indignity of the last few moments, plus a few insignificant Rimmer workers. Those five were too busy placing the fresh meat on pallets for delivery to the freezers to pay attention.

Lumbering her way forward, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing several behind her to ram into her ample posterior, nearly knocking her down. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing! These horrible criminals were prepared to go farther outside the law than she had ever imagined. They had all drawn their weapons, staring intently at her and her followers from fifty feet away. Point blank range for those Krall made weapons.

As they aimed two pistols apiece at her personally, she screeched and dropped painfully to the pavement, her gathered robes billowing over her head, blocking her view of the assassins. She screamed repeatedly at the sound of their guns firing. The screams of her followers rang in her ears, proving they were dying under the onslaught.

She heard more firing from farther away, near where the Rim laborers had been working. They must be trying to drive her attackers away. She had misjudged the loyalty of those ignorant scoundrels. She felt around, and detected no injury greater than that to her knees and hands from her fall. Somehow, Mirikami’s group had missed her when she cleverly dove down to escape their fire.

The shooting had ended. Other than whimpers of wounded behind her, it was quiet. She struggled to pull the fabric away from her head. The sunlight dazzled her for a second as she accidentally looked directly into the sun.

Blinking to see clearly, she heard a male voice. “Is everyone alright? Stay away from the two on the tarmac, they might not be dead.” Huh? That sounded like Mirikami’s voice. Had they only killed two people with all of that shooting?

There were ragged cheers from behind her, and shouts of thanks, and affirmations that her people were not hurt. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes blinked away fear born tears that were not truly from a brief glance at the sun or from pain. She saw her followers either sitting up or climbing to their feet, looking towards the sky.

Cahill looked in the same direction, and saw two squadrons of wolfbats flapping away frantically, with two members missing out of the two groups of five from the trailing three bats.

One of her ministers, the one who had ran into her ass, shouted thanks to Mirikami for killing the wolfbats. That Minister of Food Distribution would be looking for a new job, Cahill decided.

Mirikami called back to the woman, “The men recovering the meat hit one of them, Gracious Lady. It’s a very bad idea to come outside without a gun. The wolfbats can tell when you’re unarmed. They have great eyesight. You had better help your people get that meat into the freezers, it’s partly what drew the bats. That represents almost three tons of food.”

Scrambling to her feet, hair in complete disarray, eyes tear streaked, robes off kilter and a rip under one armpit, Cahill was determined to salvage some of her image by entering the dome at Mirikami’s side, as if grateful to her subordinate. She started to hurry toward them as the four continued under the overhang of the truck parking area.

As she closed the distance, running heavily and gasping for every breath, she heard a shouted warning from Maggi, “Skeeters! Under the overhang.”

The tiny woman had her Jazzer in-hand. Cahill heard it buzz two times, aimed at the ceiling. The self-styled Governor screamed, and instantly reversed course back to her milling supporters. They would provide an alternative target for the nasty bloodsuckers. She could hide in the crowd, thus reducing her own risk.

After the four visitors stepped into the dome, on their way alone to what the residents here called the Great Auditorium, Mirikami said with a smile, “I didn’t see any skeeters Maggi.”

“Hmm. My eyes are getting old.” She shrugged. “They must have been there. I’m sure Cahill saw them. Did you see her pick up speed going the other way?”

5. Actions and Reactions

The Hub president was livid. “Admiral, telling me that the invading force lost six point nine percent of their invasion force compared to only a two point four percent civilian loss is asinine.”

Admiral Anderfem, formerly of the Planetary Union Navy, now retired and a Presidential advisor, cringed at Charlotte Stanford’s words. The Admiral’s characterization was simply her attempt to make the Gribbles’ Nook disaster sound less one sided, to help the President’s public image.

Stanford detailed the fallacy of the numbers. “The human cost was nearly two million fifty thousand souls, in exchange for five hundred sixty seven, or sixty eight aliens, depending on how they reassemble the pieces at Gem Town. Do not make that percentage comparison publicly, or even in private, Jean.

“Those Goddamned barbarians sent only eight thousand two hundred twenty soldiers…, scratch that. Sadistic murderous bastards is the more appropriate description…, against an unarmed civilian population of eighty five million three hundred thousand or so people.”

“I’m sorry, Madam President.” Anderfem told her sincerely. “I didn’t mean to sound as if I were diminishing the loss of so many lives. It was stupid to couch the numbers in percentages that way. I just don’t like how the media keeps laying the blame on you as heavily as they have been doing. Who had any idea we had hostile aliens on our door step?”

“Jean, I apologize as well,” she told her friend, the heat leaving her face. “I know you were looking out for my best interest. Nevertheless, don’t get trapped in a numbers game like that. It would play right into the hands of my opposition, where they could claim I’m insensitive to the human tragedy involved.”

“Yes Mam.”

“I know you’ve been conferring with our active duty military, and have poured over the data that’s been arriving with each courier Jump ship. Give me an outline of what we know. I don’t have time for an in-depth briefing right now. I’m addressing parliament in less than two hours, the Senate and House in joint session.”

“Yes, Mam, I’ll try.” She took a deep breath as she mentally organized what she had learned.

“The analysts all say the available surveillance images show each of the sixteen ships held exactly five hundred twelve aliens in black or gray uniforms, at an eight to one ratio, suggesting the gray suits were squad leaders or team leaders in units of eight fighters. Then there was one blue and one brown uniformed alien per ship. The observations prove the blue uniform represents a leader of each ship, equivalent to a Captain. At least one of those leaders, in Capitol City, spoke excellent Standard in an accidentally recorded interrogation. That video recording ends horribly for the Police Captain involved. The brown uniformed aliens are likely only pilots, but possibly second in command, even though we saw no sign they controlled troops.”

“Jean, the numbers and clustering of their combat teams, aliens per ship and the number of ships themselves seem familiar somehow. What is the pattern here that I can’t quite identify?”

“Mam, the aliens have four digits per hand, a total of eight, so we believe they use octal numbers as the basis of their number system, just as we use base ten for our own numbers. We are finding multiples of eight in squad sizes, number of ships, and number of fighters per ship. The two blue and brown uniforms per ship is an exception.” Anderfem paused before broaching the next item.

“In addition, another far more significant multiple of eight has been identified. This was marked top secret until you decide to release this data publically, or not. It might cause a panic.” Anderfem looked extremely concerned.

Sighing, knowing it could only be worse news, “Let’s hear it.”

“The sixteen attacking ships all performed their White Outs virtually at orbital distance from the planet, in clusters of four. A feat of navigation we can’t match, by the way. We categorized the recordings of the gamma ray bursts for all sixteen ships as deriving from sixteen identical mass ships. This correlates with what we already knew, from the subsequent landings.” Here came the worse news.

“What has not been revealed is that there were two thousand forty eight such bursts detected with identical characteristic White Outs in the Oort cloud of the Gribbles’ Nook system. This happened the same day as the invasion. However, it required several days at light speed for the bursts to reach Nook. We suspect the sixteen attacking ships were a small flotilla from a much larger fleet in the Oort cloud.”

The President shook her head in dismay. “Ok, what’s the best guess for alien numbers in a fleet that size, assuming the same number of aliens on each ship?”

“Over one million fifty two thousand aliens, as a lower estimate.” Anderfem told her grimly.

“Lower limit?” Stanford had caught that.

“Our analysts believe the landing ships held far less than half of their maximum capacity, assuming the interiors were as roomy as comparable sized human ships.”

“My God, we’re lucky they didn’t land their entire force. In two days there wouldn’t have been anyone alive to tell the tale.” Stanford realized.

“That’s why we think they held the other ships back, Mam. This was a demonstration attack, intended to terminate after two days. They committed horrible atrocities, such as cannibalism, in order to provoke us, not to kill the entire population. Something they apparently could have easily accomplished.”

“Jean, I don’t wish to sound ridiculous, but they aren’t human, so those weren’t examples of cannibalism, it could be actual feeding, or perhaps a means to extract the maximum emotional fear and terror from us.”

“Yes Mam.” She accepted the factual correction, but retained the personal opinion that it was a form of cannibalism. This was why she posed her own rhetorical question next.

“These are an advanced technological race, so why would they eat another highly intelligent life form? We were slow to clean up our own act, but people eventually banned consumption of our more intelligent species on Earth. Such as dolphins, whales, higher primates, dogs, cats, and horses.”

The President shook her head, “Jean, I have an unpleasant feeling we will find out a lot worse about them. This is only the opening move. What do we know about them physically? They kicked the hell out of anyone that went up against them, but we have some of their remains for study.” She looked at several Tri-Vid images of the aliens.

“How long before we have a profile of their capabilities, and anatomy. Perhaps something I can tell the joint parliament to convince them to enact the defense spending measures I plan to propose?”

“Mam, the alien autopsies will not be ready in the couple of hours you have. Or, is that a necropsy for these things?” She didn’t want to be nitpicked again on the difference.

“I shouldn’t have corrected you before, Jean. We aren’t going to make diplomatic contact any easier if we use terminology that reduces these ‘people’ to mere animals by our choice of words. As distasteful as it will be, we must try to enter negotiations with their leadership, or government representatives. We killed millions in our own wars, and yet we formed alliances with former enemies.”

“Yes Mam,” Jean acknowledged, but without a shred of conviction. “Until their corpses have been examined in detail, why not use some of the less graphic footage of their physical capabilities as examples of what they can do? Although that may be redundant with the Tri-Vid news ‘wolf packs,’ as I call them, splattering the worst gore they can find on every channel. Naturally it’s always prefixed with the courtesy warning that what we are about to see may be disturbing.” She shook her head.

The briefing went on, until Stanford said she needed to rehearse her upcoming speech. She was grateful that her first six-year term of office wasn’t at risk for four years. However, her support from Parliamentary coalitions in the House might fall apart, if public outcry forced those Representatives to shift positions. They would be facing the wrath of the people they represented if they lost their confidence.

A third of the Senate was up for election in eight months. The election results would feel the impact of what they did, or didn’t do, to satisfy the voters this week. Nevertheless, her large Senate majority support would likely endure, at least until the next third of them came up for election.

For the first time in three hundred years, a Planetary Union president needed to propose a huge defense budget increase. The Navy was going to be very happy. If they could keep the aliens away from the planets, there would be no more massacres on the ground.

****

Gatrol Kanpardi was addressing the joint clan leaders. “This new prey has no ground forces to oppose us yet, and they have no way of preventing our warriors and Clanships from landing when and where we want. We must be patient, and maintain small but steady pressure on different worlds, until they build the armies we now know they once possessed. Then we can expand our attacks and allow every clan, large and small, their full share of the Great Path.”

He was Graka clan’s supreme commander for this series of initial strikes into Human Space. The title of Gatrol was equivalent to General in the human language they called Standard, although he also commanded his own clan’s fleet.

The other clans wanted to begin invasions of many human worlds now, and as Gatrol of the Krall, not just of Graka clan, Kanpardi had to convince them to postpone that action. He had the difficult task of explaining why this would not be the most efficient use of the resources that this slow-to-react species represented.

He was convinced that humans would be a worthy enemy, given time and proper “motivation.” The Krall selective breeding program for walking along the Great Path required that they force humans to organize to fight as they once had done. When human opposition reached a certain level, where their ground forces could reduce invading Krall raiders by ten or even fifteen percent, the Krall could increase pressure. Initially more raids on selected planets, then invading certain outer worlds, would push the humans into expanding their forces on each planet.

The difficult part for Kanpardi was to get the joint clan leaders to themselves organize, to decide which clans would attack the selected human worlds, and in what order. He hated interclan politics. A simple weapon and an enemy before him was all he really desired, but he had an obligation to his race first, his clan second, and himself last, in achieving the racial goals.

The Krall knew they were destined to conquer and rule the Milky Way galaxy. However, the Great Path to achieve this had encountered a pothole, if it deserved an analogy. To conquer every race they might meet, the Krall believed they needed to be physically superior to them all. They had thought they were close to that goal. Until the Dorbo clan stumbled onto a wild lush planet that they named Koban, before even exploring the world.

It was located inside a volume of space once colonized by the Malverans. That race had been a useless reptilian species, and the Dorbo clan had easily exterminated them on their own. However, Koban proved to be a destiny changer when a Krall settlement was attempted.

There was no intelligent technological species on Koban, but the heavy gravity planet, with a much higher than average percentage of heavy elements had, in its primordial era, produced organic superconducting neural networks in the most primitive of life forms.

Evolution had passed this trait along to subsequent higher forms of life for billions of years. The native animals now on Koban were not only strong, something the Krall had also achieved and could increase, but had superconducting nerves that made the Koban animals too fast for the Krall to match. Animals destroyed their first settlements and warriors in short order, unless protected by walls, weapons, and electric fences.

If they were to be sure of defeating every opponent in the galaxy, the Krall decided to direct their breeding to incorporate organic superconducting nerves. Fortunately, they believed they could do this within as little as fifty generations. After twenty five thousand years, they surely had the racial patience to wait. That long history won the day for Kanpardi’s argument.

He reminded them of how long they had worked to reach their goal. They had left Koban in isolation, to preserve it in its pristine form for their eventual return, to make it their home world. He overlooked that it was pristine except for the humans left behind, for Koban to erase for them, a forgone result that deserved no thought.

Finally, the joint clan leaders reached a consensus. The major clans would produce a list of which clans would have early opportunities for limited attacks on human worlds. The first worlds targeted would be those in their outer settlements, the region the humans called Rim worlds. There were over a hundred to choose from, but those planets closest to the Krall sphere of influence were more convenient. That lowered the number of targets to perhaps thirty, which the clan leaders would consider individually.

With the major clans in agreement, Kanpardi left the meeting. Now he had the task of selecting a world as a base of operations for perhaps the first five generations of the war. It could be any world he found suitable on the edge of Human Space. For this selection, Kanpardi had considerable discretion, because it would be a human world where Graka clan, acting entirely alone, would conduct the assault. They would eliminate all humans on the chosen base world. They would bring in a number of properly trained and submissive Krall slave races. These would build the infrastructure of a forward base for the Krall for perhaps the next one or two hundred years.

For help with his decision, Kanpardi called in his clan’s eight most experienced sub leaders, controlling two hundred fifty six Clanships each.

The Gatrol outlined some of the requirements for a suitable world. “The selection should not be based on the best test of our novices in the conquest. That will last no more than a week for any of the suitable worlds, because of low prey populations on worlds so remote from the enemy’s center of expansion.”

He knew other clans would judge Graka clan on the quality of the forward base, not on the quality of the conquest itself.

Kanpardi listed some of the consideration, “The major clans will each establish compounds and nest areas there, so climate, gravity, natural resources, Raspani grazing and slave security from excessive risk should be considered. Fewer novices protecting our food and production mean more warriors on the Great Path, to be culled by the enemy when it builds its armies.”

The Krall always valued efficiency. The human population in this case was merely vermin infesting their new temporary quarters. This step, to make a base, the Krall had made many times, and would be the first of perhaps four moves to temporary forward bases as the conquest slowly chewed through humanity’s seven hundred twenty four occupied worlds. The joint clans wanted the overall conquest to last a thousand years. Twice that time if humans proved to be a worthy enemy, as only two previous opponents of seventeen had achieved. They held high hopes for prey number eighteen.

After examining scouting reports, then holding a short debate, Kanpardi selected a world which humans called Greater West Africa, a relatively new Rim region colony. Compared to most human colonies it had fewer nest areas to be cleared, and was less developed and therefore less disturbed from a Krall perspective.

Its tropical climate and well-watered open plains on the two main equator-spanning landmasses were ideal for Raspani herds. It also had suitable territory for the Krall’s most useful slave races, seashores for the giant land crabs called the Torki, forests and jungles for the simian-like Prada. The gravity was lower than the Krall liked, but that was generally true for most habitable worlds other races preferred. It was also not located within twenty light years of another human occupied world.

All that remained was coordinating the fleet’s Jump to what Graka clan was calling Telda Ka, the less-than-poetic designation of “Base 1.”  Of course, the trivial matter of exterminating eighteen million humans remained, with minimal collateral damage to buildings that might prove useful to slaves. Over all, it appeared to be an acceptable world once properly cleaned.

Kanpardi issued the order to ready the Graka Clanships for Jump, and informed the joint clan leaders to summon their own fleets in one week, with material and slaves to build their own forward compounds on Telda Ka. He sent a courier to Graka clan’s old base planet, on a former Raspani colony world, to do the same. The new base planet would be ready for occupancy when they arrived.

****

“Men!” Stanford was exasperated. She was speaking in private with her sole military advisor and friend, Jean Anderfem. “Sometimes I wonder why we restored them to full suffrage.”

She said this in jest, though it was only half a joke in her present mood. The president was genuinely annoyed at Senator Bolivar Ortega, the junior senator from the Old Colony of Ponce, and the man that was the source of her irritation.

The president wasn’t finished venting. “That twerp only got on the Armed Forces Committee because it was such an irrelevant and antiquated body. It seemed a cliché when a male lobbied for an appointment. The Navy is the only military force of significance, and saner heads dominate on the full committee. I wasn’t aware we even had a subcommittee for Airland. What’s it responsible for again, Jean?”

“Mam, I had to look it up. It is responsible for Army and Air Force programs, even Navy and Marine Corps tactical aviation programs.” She noted the president’s incredulous expression. There had been no Marine Core for four hundred years.

“Mam, this wording was retained from the original United States Senate committee structures from before the Collapse. When the Planetary Union formed, this structure was never reviewed when the military forces were disbanded. Except for the smaller Space Navy, of course. Senator Ortega is presently the only member of the Airland subcommittee, and thus is the de facto chairperson.” She saw Stanford’s negative head shake.

“Madam President,” Anderfem needed to explain what Stanford wasn’t ready to accept. “He was within his rights to present his recommendation to the full Armed Forces Committee.”

“Fine,” Stanford replied, clearly showing that it was not fine with her. “Except for the first time in probably the last two hundred years, every damned Tri-Vid news outlet was covering that meeting. I invited them, specifically to publicize the actions I recommended for expanding the Navy. To authorize new ship construction, recruiting, and training.” The president was beating herself up now for the fiasco.

“Yes Mam. However, some sort of news coverage would have been at the full committee meeting, so the story would have gotten out anyway.”

“Sure, buried in the late news, after the latest corruption or sex scandal,” The president complained. “Not on prime time news in every home and bar on Earth. Just wait until it hits the colonies.”

What exasperated her most was that the publicity backfire was her own doing. She had requested the committee meeting’s actions be broadcast as reassurance for the public. Well, that was almost the most exasperating aspect.

Waving her hands in the air she asked, “What possessed him to recommend a Military Draft, for us to build, train, and equip an Army? This isn’t even the Senate’s responsibility; it belongs to the House of Representatives to vote on, and for the President to sign. Not for some little shit to wag the whole dog.” The vulgar language demonstrated the depth of her ire.

“Mam, what may have ‘possessed him’ was Admiral Canard’s testimony that because the aliens performed sixteen White Outs, barely five hundred miles from the surface of Gribble’s Nook, that the Navy would not have much of an opportunity to repel an invasion. We would need to focus on driving them away after the fact. The enemy would be on the ground before any naval force could move to intercept.”

Anderfem, a former Admiral, privately held the same opinion, but didn’t feel it was wise to express that to her angry friend, and her President.

Stanford pointed out what she thought was the absurdity of the Senator’s proposal. “Ortega’s suggestion would require a ground force on virtually every planet we need to protect. Of course, that would be every single one of them. I’d be pilloried if I omitted any.”

She cocked her head at a remembered phrase from the Senator’s own mouth, in an interview. “Did you hear the melodramatic remark he made in the hallway for the press after the meeting ended? Really!”

Stanford shook her head in exasperation. “Remember the Nook. That is his rally cry. What does he think that was, the Alamo? We were hardly wiped out to the last woman and man.”

That poorly conceived comment would personally haunt Stanford to the end of her term of office, and long afterwards.

Three weeks later, a fleeing Jump ship reported a massive raid of extermination was underway on the Rim colony of Greater West Africa. The ship had recorded a broadcast, reputed to be from an alien that gave its name as “Telour.”

Speaking oddly accented Standard, it claimed that his race, the Krall, intended to make war on every human world until they had conquered them all. It was an odd declaration of war, because parts of it sounded much like personal bragging. The speaker claimed responsibility for the raid on Gribble’s Nook, took credit for individual kills, then provided details that suggested he was telling the truth. There was no offer of negotiation or terms offered, only the promise that if humans did not fight, that they would be exterminated.

The President, under tremendous public pressure, backed House Bills to create a Planetary Union Army, and initially to rely on volunteers. However, a revival of a Selective Service process was under consideration if an all-volunteer force wasn’t large enough. Ten million soldiers in arms was the initial goal, but that would clearly spread them thin among so many planets.

The militarization measures, debated hotly by some pacifists, had wide public support. Both houses in Parliament approved the final versions of the Bills in a week, a record time for so massive an expenditure, and the President signed them into law the same day.

Confirmation of the newest disaster spurred the political process. A huge groundswell of sympathy for the colony’s sponsor, the West African Republic, stirred memories of past neglect of the parent region. The post-Collapse merger of the former nations of Nigeria, Ghana, Niger, Senegal, Mali, Mauritania, and five other smaller countries had a rebounded population of two hundred fifty million people. They were a solid block of voters that Earth’s representatives to Parliament had to please.

Scouting missions, conducted by hurriedly reconfigured automated Jump drones, supported the finding of a probable total massacre of the Rim colony’s eighteen million people. The Navy also sent well-armed crewed ships to investigate, none of which returned. Only a fraction of the large number of drones sent out reported back, but some did. They showed an enormous fleet of alien ships in orbit. The constant landing and departing made it apparent the Krall were settling in for a long stay, converting the planet into a base.

****

“Madam President…,” Anderfem started, before she was interrupted.

“Jean, please,” her hand raised. “It’s just the two of us Ladies today. Can we go back to our college dorm days? I just want to be Char right now. Duty can bully me later. I need some down time, and a friend is needed, not an advisor. I want to talk about life, forget aliens and death for now.”

Pleased that her old friend was ready to “let her hair down,” Anderfem quickly agreed.

“Char, you aren’t the only one that yearns for the simpler days. We both became career oriented and went separate ways after school. You went to law school, and eventually into politics here. I shunned politics for Navy life, because on Alders, politics is all that my family does. Having had a Grandfather as the last male President, is hard to overlook as a family precedent.” She chuckled.

“Your younger sister managed to stay out of politics, as I recall. Didn’t Aldry head a science department at Staunton University? That wasn’t political. You both broke away from family tradition.”

“True, though Aldry became more of a black sheep than I did. She went into the biosciences, and just between the two of us, Aldry confided to me that she was delving into genetics. Our mother would have disowned her. It was the last thing she was working on.” It sounded as if she was revealing her sister had become a gangster.

Stanford had a bad premonition, though, because Jean had said it was the “last thing she was working on.”

She put out a feeler. “How is Aldry?” Why does this feel like such a loaded question?

“Oh…,” Jean answered in a way that indicated a painful revelation was coming. “Aldry disappeared several months ago, on a trip to a research station. Neither the ship or scientific station were heard from again.”

Oh God! Stanford thought. This is horrible. How can I tell her?

Jean had learned to read people as she rose in rank. Charlotte had a light complexion, yet she positively blanched with a stricken look in her eyes.

Misunderstanding, she told her friend, “Char, we had a quiet memorial service only for the family. We didn’t even make a formal announcement because of the nature of the ship’s mission. There could have been some unpleasant news coverage.”

Stanford wasn’t one to avoid a difficult decision, nor duck responsibility. “Jean, I think Aldry was on the Flight of Fancy, headed for Midwife Station, which was orbiting a world the scientists called Newborn.”

Anderfem realized her friend knew too many details to have stumbled across the story. “Char, how do you know about this?”

“Jean, I surreptitiously provided grant money for the University consortium that organized the Midwife research project. I learned that their chartered ship, the Flight of Fancy, failed to return on schedule. A rescue mission to the system found no trace of the ship or the station. They found the automated radar stations they had set up, several still working.  However, there was no debris, no sign of them.

“All hands were reported lost, and for the same reason you mentioned, the controversial nature of the mission, there was no major news release. I had no idea Aldry was aboard. I didn’t even know what branch of science she had entered.” Stanford wondered if her friend would blame her for the loss.

“Char, I can tell from your shocked expression you had no idea. Dear, I’m not going to blame you for the loss of Aldry’s ship. Any more than I blamed her University for letting her go.”

They hugged for a few minutes, before pulling back to dry their eyes. Jean, almost against her will, felt her mind pushed towards a new speculation.

“Char, Midwife station was a couple of hundred light years from the edge of the Rim, in the same general direction of Gribbles’ Nook and of Greater West Africa.” She left the implied Inference hanging.

“I hadn’t made that connection, Jean. I suppose it’s possible those scientists ran into the Krall a couple of months before they attacked Gribbles’ Nook. We know the aliens have been studying us for some time, because they know our language, and seem familiar with how we will react. I’ll bet they have had humans to study well before they invaded. I think I’ll ask the Navy to send a couple of scout ships back to Newborn to see what they might find.”

Anderfem shook her head sadly, “If they encountered the Krall, I doubt they survived the introduction.”

6. Caught by Surprise (Koban)

“You survived meeting the Krall so this is just a walk in the park,” Anderfem told the two men.

Thad made a face, and told Aldry, “We didn’t expect to walk there naked, with a hundred tiny little guns shooting our asses along the way.”

He was looking apprehensively at a casket-like box with a lid, equipped with at least a hundred injectors. They would produce high velocity tiny fluid jets, simultaneously penetrating their skins to introduce the viral carriers of the Koban organic superconducting gene mods.

“The walking part was just a metaphor Thad,” for some reason her smile reminded him of a predator. “We’ll have you strapped down so tight you won’t be able to do more than tighten your sphincter. Besides, it isn’t a hundred shots at once…, it’s a hundred twenty!” Her chuckle would have done Joseph Mengele justice. He was the war criminal Nazi doctor that organized horrible genetic experiments on captive twins, during World War II on Earth.

Dillon asked, “We’re going to have anesthetics, right? There no reason to do this ‘wham-bam-thank-you-mam’ is there?”

Maggi took her turn now, “Wham-bam…, isn’t that sort of how you injected all those young admiring Ladies at Rhama University? Did you even thank them?”

Dillon reddened. He was glad he’d talked Noreen into helping Mirikami on another project today.

“You two sadists are enjoying this too much,” Thad grimaced.

Aldry offered a bit of comforting information. “You’ll have a topical anesthetic sprayed over your entire body to numb your skin. The injections are not painful at all. You both have received similar shots multiple times in your lives. We just don’t want you jumping or moving around when they all go off at once. We will adjust the nozzle positions for each of you separately, to hit the targeted spots.”

“The other mods didn’t need this elaborate a set up,” Thad complained.

“We may not really need this complicated a setup for these,” acknowledged Aldry. “Since we don’t know the full physiological side effects of the superconducting nerve generation, as it progresses through your bodies, we decided to give it an equal start everywhere in your systems at once. At least as well as we could manage with the equipment we have available.”

“Why didn’t you do this for the livestock trials?” Dillon questioned.

“You want us to treat you like a pig? No problem,” Maggi offered, grinning enthusiastically.

“You know what I mean,” he recoiled from her pretend eager grasp. “They came through alive and well with only four or five injection sites,” he reminded her.

“Did you interview them after it was over to see how uncomfortable it was for them?” Maggi asked him.

“That’s a dumb question,” he declared.

Whack! The sound was from the back of Dillon’s head. It was caused by a slender wooden door trim strip Maggi held in her hand, illustrating what she thought of his observation.

“Hey!” Dillon voiced his objection to his usual friendly mistreatment from the tiny woman. “You should be nice to me, to both of us. You ladies will get to see two perfect specimens of naked manhood today.” He leered at them.

“Oh God,” Maggi groaned. “When we have them strapped down and helpless, is there anything particularly debasing you’d like to do to this one Aldry?”

“I’ll have to think on that,” she answered, assuming a thoughtful pose.

Trying to get the project’s discussion back on track, Thad asked, “Who goes first, and when do we start? I want the waiting to be over.”

Aldry told him, “You’ll go first Thad. Jake used your body metrics to help us preposition the injectors this morning. He will monitor your vital signs as you lay there for about an hour. It’s OK to talk up until injection, but we don’t want muscle contractions or joint movements to affect absorption for the first hour. You won’t feel any of the effects for a few days. That’s about when the animal trials seem to indicate changes that were detectable by the subjects.”

“Jake, Link us all together, including Rafe and his technicians when they arrive, and display Thad’s vital signs on the wall monitor.”

“Yes Mam,” the AI replied.

The salvaged casket-like box was a med lab from a medical department of another Krall disabled passenger ship. Rafe’s team had modified and rigged it with tubes and injector jets from several med labs and spares from other ships.

Rafe Linked in to say they had almost finished filling the virus-laden vials for the injectors, and were leaving the refrigeration unit in five minutes. He suggested the first volunteer (he actually said guinea pig) should strip and position himself inside the med lab.

The two Ladies, both Doctors, but not physicians, both elderly, but not dead, politely turned their backs so Thad could strip and climb into the med lab. Nude, he first stepped through a decontamination booth, converted to spray a light coating of a topical anesthetic.

His eyes had a set of plastic goggles over them. Aside from protection from the spray, the goggles provided a firm attachment for two ultra-fine injectors that would see to it that the optic nerves integrated into the gene modification process very early.

By the time Rafe’s team arrived, Thad was as comfortable as the modified framework would allow. His view of the room was one of tunnel vision with the goggles in place. Even that view reduced once the injectors were mounted. He wouldn’t see anyone else in his exposed state, but he was on full display for all seven people in the room.

Tie down straps were made snug, and the hundred twenty vials were screwed onto the injectors. The final set up took less than twenty minutes, while the lumps and corners of the med lab equipment taught Thad how little he ever wanted to spend a week convalescing in one of these things.

They were ready to start before Thad expected them to be. The last steps were of clipping injectors to each fingertip and thumb.

“Thad,” He recognized Aldry’s voice, since he couldn’t see anyone. “We’re ready if you are. I’ll count up to ten, and we trigger the jets on ten. You can answer me right now, but avoid speaking for the next hour.”

“I’m ready,” he muttered, equipment mounted around his face and neck muffling the words.

“Fine, here we go. One, two, three…,” Pshhht went all one hundred twenty injectors.

“Humphh,” was all that Thad uttered.

“That was damned sneaky!” Dillon laughed. Admiring how Aldry had ensured her patient’s muscles were relaxed before the injections took place.

An hour later, Thad climbed out of the med lab, rubbing at the places that had grown numb from things pressing too hard on his anatomy. Jake directed the minor repositioning of the injectors. Dillon stripped while Rafe’s team returned with fresh vials.

The younger man was similarly strapped down when Maggi stepped to his side. Aldry was busy examining Thad’s injection sites.

“OK, cowboy, same drill. I’ll count up to ten, then inject. Right?”

“Sure,” was his skeptical reply. She smirked, knowing he couldn’t see her, but clearly expecting the same trick.

“Here we go. One, two, three…,” she paused. “Dillon, stop tensing up. I’m not going to go on the same damned number you twit. Relax so I can start counting again...”  Pshhht. She caught him by surprise anyway.

A grunt was all she heard. Good.

An hour later Dillon was out of the med lab getting dressed, and found they had a lovely meal prepared of supplement loaded meat and fish, with mineral laden drinks to wash the delicious stuff down.

“The greatest drawback I see to doing this mod,” Thad commented, “is the crappy food reward we get after enduring your torture. Where’s the chocolate cake?”

“That may not be too far in the future,” Rafe told him. “One of the cargo ships the Krall captured had a lot of coco seeds in one of its containers. They’re the hardy Forastero variety coco trees, which were headed to Greater West Africa for cultivation. Their loss is our gain,” he added, unaware of the grim irony.

“Jimbo Skaleski has had the trees growing in the new Hydroponics section on the former Krall top level of the dome. He says they’re doing very well. Luckily, this genetically tweaked variety matures early. The trees were modified well before the Collapse, naturally. We have peanuts and peanut butter coming too. Jimbo’s going to provide us some fresh tastes of home.”

“Terrific! That really makes this crap much more enjoyable today. Thanks.” Thad grumbled.

“How soon before you said we might experience the premonition illusion?” Dillon inquired. “I’m sure I’m experiencing it right now.”

Rafe looked puzzled. “Sensing something an instant before your standard nerve path does? That can’t happen until the superconductor nerves complete most of their growth. It shouldn’t occur this early.” Now he looked worried, as did Maggi and Aldry, sensitive to anything going wrong.

“Well,” Dillon looked alarmed, “I sense I’m about to throw up this shitty tasting food.” He watched their faces for an instant before he burst out laughing.

Whack!

“Hey! I hid your damned wood strip,” Dillon yelped.

“What?” Maggi asked smugly. “There’s only one piece of wood on Koban?”

****

“Commander,” Noreen called out, “Port side, a bit behind us, I think I saw one just outside the wall.” She liked using his new title, despite his mild objections.

Mirikami stood up to change sides in the shuttle, to see where she pointed, just as Roni banked the craft left where indicated, causing him to half fall into the left side seats.

“Were?” he asked. Noreen shifted her arm to match the roll to the left, and indicated a spot now more to their front.

“I see it. In fact there’s more than one, they’re directly against the outside of the wall.”

As the shuttle passed well above Prime City’s compound wall, all three occupants could see there were four whiteraptors, feeding on a bloodied white haired moosetodon. It appeared they had trapped it against the thirty-foot high wall, isolated from the rest of its herd. Tracks in the three feet of snow showed the direction the rest of the fleeing herd had gone.

“Jake, was right when he said to look over here. He couldn’t see them on cameras from the ship or dome, but the new seismic sensors picked up the stampede. Dillon predicted the sensors should detect something like this.” It was an idea conceived after Dillon had felt the ground tremble on a hunt last month, when raptors chased a moosetodon herd.

Mirikami bobbed his head in approval. “The sensors are not only a way to passively scout for nearby herds to hunt, but if there’s a stampede we need to be on the alert for predators.” The four raptors looked up suspiciously at the sound of the shuttle, but didn’t seem in the least frightened. With their size and speed, not much should frighten them. They were apex predators.

Noreen had a question to have relayed to Jake. “Roni,” she called to the pilot, “Ask Jake if he still can detect the herd’s vibrations. I see the snow cloud they’re kicking up, at least five miles away.”

The AI was out of transmitter range of their tiny embedded transducers, which only had an effective range of about seven miles. Roni used the shuttle radio.

The pilot asked the question, listened a long moment, and repeated the reply. “He says they have slowed, but he can still identify a sensor signal from them, now that he has a sample of what the seismic pattern is. From the center of the compound, he believes he can probably identify a herd of moosetodon simply marching at thirty to thirty five miles out, and if stampeding, much farther away. He asked me about a jumbled harmonic with them that didn’t match the four-legged moosetodon patterns. Any idea what that might have been?”

“It may have been the hopping and running two legged raptors he picked up,” Mirikami surmised. When these three depart, we can find out what if anything he can detect from them in isolation. I don’t suppose they’ll be leaving any time soon. There’s a lot more meat than they can finish in a single meal. They will likely stay close for a day or more.”

Roni had a question. “What use is Jake going to make of identifying the sound of the big animals?”

“He’ll help us conserve shuttle fuel,” Noreen provided.

“Excuse me?” The crinkling over the bridge of her nose displayed her confusion. “How does he manage that by the pitter patter of big feet?”

Noreen explained. “When we range farther to hunt, we use more shuttle fuel. Until we can manufacture our own, we have to siphon from the grounded ships. Knowing when we can hunt closer to home saves longer trips.”

“Oh. Well, in the interest of saving some of that fuel,” Roni proposed, “why can’t we give Jake the footsteps he needs to detect the raptors right now? We can buzz low over them, as we do rhinolo herds to drive them away from our own kills. We might even be able to salvage most of that fresh meat. We have a sling in back.”

Mirikami pulled at his lower lip, his usual indication of thinking something through. “Besides giving Jake his data, and possibly gaining some meat, I’d like to know how fast these things can run, and how hard they are to chase away.” He explained his reason.

“Thad and Dillon waited in their shuttle several hours for three of them to walk away from their own hunting kills the first time they encountered these things. A shuttle buzz might have cut down the waiting time. They had already sat freezing for a couple of hours in a snow filled crevasse, just waiting for the raptors to get gorged and sleepy.”

He clapped his hands together. “Let’s try it Roni. Swing around to the inside of the compound and pass low over the wall. They won’t see us coming until we’re directly overhead. That should make them jump.” Those were prophetic words.

Mirikami took the right side second seat in the cockpit, while Noreen leaned over their shoulders in the open doorway. Roni slowed the shuttle to what was essentially a forward drifting hover, moving towards the perimeter wall at about fifteen miles per hour, ten feet higher than the roughly thirty foot high flat-topped wall.

The Krall had originally capped the wall with an additional twenty-foot electrified fence. The humans had scavenged the fencing here, to form a smaller electrified fenced compound around the dome. They had needed to do this after an angry Krall raid leader had destroyed all sixteen gates in the wall, because he was pissed off at Mirikami.

This retribution had allowed dangerous large native animals and predators to enter the human’s compound. Getting the animals back outside of an area twenty-six miles in radius was beyond the former captive’s ability at present, so they built an inner electric fence barricade, salvaged from the top of the wall.

Roni called the AI, “Jake, we will use the shuttle to drive off the four raptors feeding next to the wall. Be alert for the seismic impacts when we tell you they are running away from their kill.”

“Yes Mam.”

Noreen asked, “Roni, we can’t see them, are we lined up with where they’re feeding?” As they approached the wall this low, it blocked the view of the feeding raptors.

Roni pointed through the front plazsteel window, “The two bushes sticking up through the snow, next to the wall, those are just a bit to the left of where they’re located on the other side. If I stay to the right of those bushes, it will take us directly over their heads when we cross over. That’ll get us some action.”

As the shuttle drew closer to the wall, the thruster noise, muffled for the occupants was clearly audible outside. On the blind side of the wall, the increasing noise caused the four raptors to pause in their feeding. They weren’t even close to feeling sated, not after the energy burned stalking and chasing that herd for several miles.

Something was coming closer, its rumbling roar resembling to them a threat to take their kill away. They were the alpha predators in their food chain, so there wasn’t anything that would force them to back down. Sensing the direction of the threat, the largest female backed away from their kill by several hops, craning her long neck to try to see the threat from over the lip of the wall.

The instant she saw the nose of the oncoming interloper beyond the rim of the wall, she screamed a challenge and rushed towards the wall, using the seven-foot mound of dead moosetodon as a launching pad. Her leap intersected the wall twenty-five feet up just as the intruder passed over the top. She kicked again on the wall and deflected her two-ton body higher, banking off the wall’s rough side.

Roni had left the retractable landing skids extended, because they were only making a low speed short flight from the dome. The raptor grabbed the “limb” in its jaws, and momentum swung its heavy body up under the shuttle to strike at its exposed underbelly, using one of its carbon fiber eighteen-inch long slashing toe claws. The hard claw deeply scoured the surface of the metal, but didn’t gut the “animal” as the raptor expected.

However, the claw did find purchase when it hooked on the same right side skid, and her added mass rolled her opponent to its right side. She pulled it to the ground with her, even as it roared louder, and fought to fly away in its strange wingless manner.

In the cockpit, the three had been watching intently to catch first sight of the big raptors, to observe their reaction. To have one suddenly launch itself up at them, jaws agape and already above the top, startled all three.

Roni, at the controls, yelled “Damn!” and immediately applied power to the smaller vertical thrusters, but not the powerful main rear thruster. This proved to be a crucial mistake, because the powerful rear thrust would have broken them free.

As they felt the heavy thud on the underbelly, the shuttle rolled hard towards its right side. The vertical thrust vector quickly became a horizontal one, unable to counter gravity and an additional two tons of mass. It took only seconds for the small craft to fall forty feet, where the impact in the snow was partly nose down, rolling onto its right side.

Mirikami and Noreen, neither one secured, flew forward, with Noreen falling into Mirikami in the right seat, forcing him painfully into the cockpit window and ceiling. Roni, strapped in, was still turning the yoke to the left when they struck, and now cut the useless thrusters completely.

Fortunately, the forward velocity was low, but Mirikami hit the ceiling with more force than he could resist, particularly with another person’s weight on his left side. He struck his head, causing a laceration, and he lost consciousness.

The raptor had been brushed off as the craft scraped along the ground in its short skid. The aggressive female scrambled to her feet, bruised but uninjured, and now prepared to finish the kill. Her three pack mates, two females and a young male, raced to join her in subduing this unknown competitor.

Inside, Noreen, also bruised but uninjured, called out, “Tet?” When he was unresponsive, she saw the blood dripping from his head wound, where he lay on the right side window.

Roni, unwilling to unstrap because she would then fall onto Noreen and Mirikami, told her “I can pull him up by his arm if you can drag him between the seats into the back when I do.” They both obviously thought they could administer first aid better in the larger rear compartment, even if it was lying sideways.

As they started lifting and pulling the smaller than average sized man from the cockpit seat, crashing impacts on the outside began, and shaking and rocking of the shuttle made the task more difficult. However, Noreen managed to get Mirikami onto her lap, head cradled, where she lay awkwardly along the aisle, stretched across several sideways seats.

“The blood is from a minor scalp cut Roni,” she told her companion. “It isn’t serious, but the loss of consciousness worries me.” Neither woman paid much attention to the raptors banging on the outside of the shuttle. After all, it was a spacecraft, built for the potential stress of a less-than-optimal atmospheric reentry. Flesh and blood wasn’t likely to tear through the hardened carbon fiber composite hull.

The shuttle suddenly rocked more violently, as the frustrated largest raptor leaped onto the creature that refused to bleed, tear open, or fight back. Her weight bearing down on the now top side extended left skid, caused the shuttle to roll back upright with a jarring thud to those inside.

With Tet now on the flat surface of the open aisle, Noreen pulled him farther into the rear cabin, as Roni helped untangle and lift his legs and feet from the right seat and center control console.

Noreen lowered Tet’s head gently and said, “I’ll get the first aid kit. See if you can contact Jake to get some help out here.” As she glanced up at Roni, what she saw behind her friend froze her breathing and raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Looking through the plazsteel were two fearsome toothy faces, their forward facing blue eyes staring in at them. Roni, seeing Noreen’s wide-eyed reaction, looked to the front and gave a shriek when she saw two sets of killer teeth, just feet from her face.

Roni laughed in nervous reaction. “Crap! That scared me half to death.” She reached for the radio mike clipped to the control yoke. She had just keyed, saying “Jake…,” when she flinched involuntarily as the larger raptor lunged its face into the plazsteel directly at her. The bang on the transparent steel-hard surface was unnerving, but it wasn’t scratched, let alone cracked.

Jake’s voice came over the open speaker circuit. “Yes Mam? I detected several possible running impacts, then a very heavy impact signal. However, the sensors reported no extended running. Did…” Roni cut him off.

“We crashed Jake,…” The rest of that transmission was never completed.

The alpha female, frustrated at the rigidity of the flying animal’s body and its lack of fight, was drawn to look into its giant eye by the gaze of her youngest offspring, the smaller male raptor. He had seen movement within the creature, behind its clear eyes.

The female saw a small animal moving just inside, perhaps an unborn offspring of this bizarre unknown thing. She struck hard at it, earning only a painful smashed muzzle and the feel of a broken front tooth. Enraged, she pulled her head back, leaped into the lair at least ten feet, and brought down her right leg and foot, carbon fiber claw cocked and ready. Just as the foot reached the large eye, she brought the claw down with maximum force.

With satisfaction, she felt the creature’s eye shatter, and a scream of fear sounded from within. Her impudent young son rushed to insert his head in the eye to snap at the presumed fetus. He quickly discovered this creature’s young were less helpless that the mature adult appeared to be.

There were loud reports from inside the larger animal’s head, accompanied by screams of fear and pain. Some of that came from her offspring. The mother roughly shouldered the brash youngster aside, and it withdrew a bloody maw with something in his teeth, but his left eye was also gushing blood.

In the cockpit, Roni screamed with greater fear when the shattering impact broke open the entire one-piece crystal of plazsteel. She frantically pressed the seat harness quick release, but a large head came darting into the opening as she rolled to her right to get out of the seat. A crunch of bone as teeth sank into her left forearm brought a scream of pain. Her right hand reached for her pistol, as she heard shots sound from the cabin area. Noreen had both her weapons out, blazing away at the head and neck of the raptor.

Roni managed to bring her pistol up and fired it at near contact range into the intense blue eye of that fearsome head. She thought it was about to release its crushing grip as the bite pressure eased. However, the larger raptor knocked it roughly aside, and her lower left arm separated and went with the beast. It withdrew, snarling with the pain of its lost eye and multiple other neck and head wounds.

In shock, Roni turned again towards Noreen, struggling to climb out of the seat, blood spurting from the left arm stump. Noreen, keeping a gun in her left hand, reached with her right hand to pull her friend out of the cockpit and into the main cabin. They nearly succeeded.

Roni’s eyes stayed locked onto her friend’s when the end came, Noreen’s hand pulling her right forearm instead of her hand, because Roni still held her pistol.

The larger raptor struck again, this time without a plazsteel barrier in the way, and sank its teeth solidly into the body of its screaming victim. It started to withdraw its head when the supposed helpless “fetus” began somehow striking the raptor with painful loud blows on its face and mouth. It saw another supposed “fetus” behind the first, holding onto the one it held in its jaws. It too was somehow hitting the raptor painfully with loud noises. Suddenly the animal in its jaws experienced a spasm, and then grew still. The other “fetus” continued to strike the raptor, and the female suddenly lost vision in one eye. It quickly pulled away from this surprisingly difficult prey, taking the small kill it had so painfully earned.

Noreen, sobbing at Roni’s terrible death, grabbed Mirikami’s jacket collar and drug his limp form to the back wall of the cabin. Presumably, the raptors wouldn’t be able to reach them there. That was her hope.

Wiping her tears, she reloaded both her weapons and confirmed Tet’s were loaded before getting the first aid kit from the rear bulkhead compartment.

She could hear Jake’s voice on the cockpit speaker, but wasn’t about to go forward to answer. The sounds of raptor snarls and crunching steps in the snow were too close.

Jake had made some correct assumptions. He said another two shuttles were coming, and that he had informed them that there were whiteraptors present.

Mirikami started to stir as she applied a sealing gel to his one-inch scalp cut. The battery powered med kit analyzer indicated a mild concussion with no internal bleeding of his brain. She administered the anti-swelling agent the kit recommended, and a mild pain reliever.

Mirikami recovered his senses quickly, and immediately felt the cold outer air in the cabin, with the unfiltered smell of fresh air, mixed with a musty animal odor. He looked around the rest of the empty cabin area, and at the broken front windscreen. He glanced at Noreen, the unasked question obvious to her tortured mind. What happened, where is Roni?

The tears came again, but his time the dam burst. She was hardly able to get the words out, that Roni was gone, the raptors had her, she couldn’t let her go, couldn’t let them eat her alive. Sobs wracked her at every breath. Despite the dizziness as he pushed himself to a sitting position, Tet pulled Noreen to his shoulder, and she cried there, repeating how she couldn’t let them have her.

After several minutes of listening, and holding her, Mirikami thought she had released enough grief that she might be ready to listen to him. Her sobs had dwindled to just crying now. Not knowing exactly what happened, he thought he’d reassure her that their friend’s death wasn’t her fault.

“Noreen,” he stroked her long black hair, in a fatherly way for a grieving daughter. “You didn’t cause her death. It was all of us underestimating the raptors. It could have been any one of us.” The vehemence of her denial startled him.

“No! I killed her,” she told him, another sob rising. “The damned monster had her in its jaws and it was going to eat her alive. She looked at me for help…,” she told him, sobbing harder, “and I shot her in the head. I couldn’t let her die like that, but she wanted me to help her.” The sobbing went on longer this time. Only now he knew why, and what he would say when she was able to listen.

He could hear the sound of an approaching shuttle. Over the cockpit radio, he heard Dillon’s anxious voice calling to them. Noreen also heard and her crying suspended for a moment. Now he could talk to her, and explain that what she had done was show a friend the greatest love possible, at considerable self-sacrifice. He knew it would be some time before she believed the truth of that herself.

7. Poldark and Bollovstic

“Stanford is just trying to get tighter control over Poldark,” Colonel Henry Nabarone protested. “This training base will bring tens of thousands of off-world recruits for us to turn into Planetary Union soldiers, and they will feel no loyalty to you, Mike. I think it’s a mistake to allow this.”

He was speaking to Michael Boldovic, Poldark’s Governor. He formerly was the planet’s President before the referendum to join the Planetary Union. That had passed by well more than the required two-thirds majority of the planet’s citizens. Nabarone had opposed the change in status.

“Hank, you see Hub conspiracies everywhere,” Boldovic told him. “You previously suspected Mavray Doushan’s disappearance was some political move by Stanford, to block a trade agreement between us and Bollovstic's Republican Independency.”

Nabarone wasn’t giving up yet. “Yes, well if Doushan had succeeded with the trade negotiation I don’t think the Planetary Union’s economic proposals would have sounded so good to our people. The referendum might not have passed. It was a plausible idea that the Hub could have acted to block his mission.”

“I question your use of the word plausible, Hank,” rebutted Boldovic, “but we now know that it was the Krall, not the Hub that kidnapped Mavray and his diplomatic mission, including your mentor, Thad Greeves. We have had the recording analyzed that the Krall used when they captured several passenger ships right after they made their White Outs. The man that identified himself as Mavray Doushan had a Poldark accent; he matched Doushan’s voice imprint, and the date of captivity he mentioned matched closely the date his ship went missing.

“I listened to that recording, Hank, it sounded just like the man I knew. There isn’t any possibility the aliens could have faked that.”

Nabarone’s nod conceded that point but not his other. “It still doesn’t mean Stanford isn’t using the alien scare to try to gain more control over the Rim worlds and New Colonies.”

Boldovic sighed. “Again, Hank, the Planetary Union will relocate the troops after training, placing them on the worlds considered at highest risk. Poldark is one of those high-risk worlds. The Planetary Union is only planning to keep ten thousand permanent postings here. Having the continuing availability of partially trained recruits at TB-85 increases our level of protection. That security in turn will encourage the investments that we want the Hub corporations to make.”

A New Colony, Poldark was located on the boundary of what most “Hubbers” considered the Rim. A region noted more for its comparison to North America’s old Wild West, than a stable place to do business. By joining the Union, there had been a promise of corporate investments to follow, based on the assumption of future stability. Union spending for government construction and hiring civil servants would also increase employment.

“Stanford is only keeping ten thousand here, eh? That’s nearly nine thousand more than the militia Thad trained before he disappeared, and that I command now. I’m sure they will be better armed than our troops. We can get better weapons you know. There are ways to get them if you’re willing to pay.”

Boldovic was tired of the word game, and played his trump card with pleasure and anticipation. “Actually the permanent Planetary Defense commander will actually have eleven thousand troops, who will have the best weapons and body armor the Planetary Union can provide. This will include our militia, who are already trained.” Now he waited with an amused expression for the explosive outburst he knew was coming. He wasn’t disappointed.

“You gave away my own command to the stinking PU?” blasted Nabarone, in red-faced outrage, oblivious to the pun he’d made. “When does this happen?” he shouted in full betrayal mode.

“As soon as the local commander I nominated is prepared to accept his commission in the Planetary Union Army,” answered Boldovic, with a smirk.

“Local? Local?” repeated Nabarone, sputtering. “Who?”

“I believe I told them it was General…, uh, Nabarone.” The Governor finished. He enjoyed Hank’s strangled expression. The former Colonel had to swallow his next verbal explosion undetonated.

“I, uh.., I mean…,” he stammered.

“I believe you mean, ‘Thank you Governor Boldovic, I’m honored to accept, Governor Boldovic,’” supplied Boldovic, enjoying his strongly opinionated friend’s discomfort.

There was nothing else to say. “Yes, I accept,” agreed Nabarone. “But only for you and Poldark.”

Then the reality of the moment struck him, and his predicament. “Fuck it Mike, I’ll be in Stanford’s chain of command! She’ll be my ultimate boss.”

“Oh, I’d not worry so much about her. Think of the layers of Hub Generals she’s creating above you, mostly a bunch of Ladies that have no ground pounder experience what so ever. Not that there are many men with experience either.” He smirked.

“Oh, damn you Mike,” Nabarone warned with a wry smile, “I’ll find some way to get even for this.”

“What? Nominate me for the Senate and send me to Earth?” he countered with his own grin. “I decline.”

Nabarone did some quick thinking. “Some of my militia cadre will still be needed to help run TB-85. I want you to apply leverage to allow me to select the best recruits they recommend for the permanent Poldark force. As you mentioned, out here we are a high-risk Krall target.”

He nodded agreement. “Hank, I know you have seen the media interviews with some of the commanders appointed on other worlds. They all seem to want tanks, heavy weapons, aircraft, fortifications, automated drones, and orbital defense platforms. I’m sure I didn’t catch all of their recommendations, but I know you were paying attention. What do you think we should do?”

“Mike, we know they have single ships that we can’t match, which have Trap drives in a small package that can out accelerate anything we thought possible with a living being aboard. Those ships have displayed evasiveness and reflective shields our lasers and plasma beams couldn’t penetrate, and I’m positive we haven’t seen all of their technology. They can Jump directly to orbital levels at will. We can’t keep them off our planets, and I don’t think the defensive strategies being considered will work very well.”

“I assumed you might have some ideas of your own. Thad Greeves was a good teacher, and you were a good student. What would you suggest?” Boldovic asked.

“I studied the Nook recordings in great detail,” Nabarone told him. “I noted that even when the Krall operated as teams of eight that their warriors; I use that term deliberately, fought usually as individuals. We will train soldiers to face warriors, which in large force engagements can work to our advantage to offset their hugely superior physical capability. However, I don’t know if we will see armies against armies.”

“You confused me Hank. Warrior or soldier, same thing aren’t they?”

Shaking his head, he told him, “Common mistake Mike. A warrior fights to protect a family or clan, for personal wealth, notoriety, or glory. Warriors stay in a battle so long as they are achieving what they wanted.  They may quit the fight for a time, if they win the bounty they wanted. The Krall left the Nook after two days. I think they got what they wanted, and left. We sure didn’t drive them away.”

Nabarone continued, “A soldier isn’t concerned with self-enrichment or personal glory. I don’t mean a soldier can’t win glory, but he or she submits to the orders of the State, or to those that represent the State to defend an idea, to fight for their fellows. Guided by honor and loyalty, the soldier serves not themselves, family or clan, but their nation, planet, or society. They act in concert to achieve the larger goal, which does not lead to personal gain, and in fact requires sacrifice.”

Shrugging, Boldovic accepted the difference, but asked, “Why might that suggest to you they won’t fight us like the other new generals think they will?”

“Thad prepared us for possible guerrilla warfare,” answered Nabarone. “Where our small militia would become the guerrilla’s. He knew we couldn’t prevent a large-scale invasion from the Hub, if they ever turned aggressive. Nevertheless, we could fight them effectively using asymmetric warfare. I think that type of warfare will appeal more to the Krall’s style of fighting, their personal preference if you will, to conduct raids where a smaller number of warriors wreak havoc for personal glory or to prove themselves.”

“How would that affect your strategy?”  Queried Boldovic.

“I think we need to create mobile fast reaction small units to intercept raiders. We can structure them so that we can send as many as the raid size dictates we need. We can reach any place on Poldark quickly if we preposition our units close to probable targets, which on Nook were population centers. The Krall like killing humans, they don’t want the real estate or our property. We know when confronted that they are relentless in their attacks.  We should sucker them into ambushes and traps. In the field, they haven’t seemed very bright so far, despite spectacular capability as a warrior slash fighter. Those miners on Nook, with no training at all, pulled one group into two different traps.”

Boldovic wasn’t entirely comfortable, “I’m certainly no expert, Hank, but if the Krall doesn’t attack us like you expect, and comes at us in force, we can lose a lot of people before you pull in your fast reaction units. Those units won’t have training in large force operations. We won’t have logistics in place to supply them. I’m worried about spreading out all of our forces.”

Nabarone shrugged, “Mike, we will have a hundred thousand recruits at TB-85, being processed in four staggered training cycles. About three quarters of them at any time will have received basic weapons training at a minimum. As training cycles pass midpoint, half will have received the latest in fitted, powered, active camouflage armor.

“The most advanced one quarter of the trainees will have started heavy weapons training and will have war games practice. This isn’t an ideal force, obviously, but they will be better equipped than any of our civilians will be. If we maintain transports at the Training Base, we can move them if we have a larger force to face. We can’t post large units all over the planet anyway, we won’t have that many.”

“Hank, you just gave me an idea. Our civilians are unarmed because there never have been any legal arms they could buy, none even produced. I know, you told me earlier we could get them if we paid enough. I think Civil Defense is something we should look into. Our citizens are a bit rougher around the edges than the ‘fluffs’ of the Hub worlds. They’ll like owning guns. Hell, I want one myself.” He grinned.

Nabarone clapped him on the shoulder. “Expert or not, you just came up with an obvious idea that our ultra-safe Hub driven culture kept me from even considering. Arms manufacturing is going to explode, pardon the pun. I think you should offer guns to people that have clean records, and will accept firearms training and gun registration. I think most will pay for their own weapons.”

“Hank, I’ll pass the word to the new Central Command on Earth that you are Poldark’s choice for commander of our Planetary Defense Force. I assume they will be sending a commander for the training base, but if you want to sponsor anyone on your staff for that position, I’ll forward your recommendation. I’ll also broach the subject of arming civilians. However, I can initiate that on Poldark even if they won’t furnish the guns free. The Emergency Powers act just passed gives me latitude in that respect, although I doubt their civilized minds even gave that application a thought.”

****

Ortega’s Airland subcommittee had gained four new members, but by rule, the junior Senator retained his position of Chairman for this session of Parliament. He’d been the committee’s only member when he acquired that “lofty” position.

The subcommittee had gained considerably more influence as the government moved to place humanity on a wartime footing after three hundred years of peace. However, the full Armed Forces Committee wielded the real power and final say on major decisions, which mostly concerned expanding the Navy.

The ten million-man army was a concession to public demand and to Ortega’s “Remember the Nook” rally cry. Every world wanted a ground force for defense against a Krall invasion. However, effectively defending the entire surface of a world with just ten thousand troops on each was nearly impossible. That’s why the full committee shunted the Governor of Poldark’s request to Ortega’s subcommittee for consideration.

“What is Poldark’s population?” asked Lady Haruko Takahashi, a junior Senator from cold Yuki Matsuri, a Japanese Old Colony commonly called just “Snow” by Standard speakers, rather than Festival of Snow.

Ortega checked the AI’s terminal. “Three hundred twenty four million at the last census, taken just before the referendum to join the Union,” he supplied.

“Do we even have that many weapons to ship to them?” she asked incredulously. “The automated factories have just converted to produce those weapons.”

“Governor Boldovic did not ask for one per person,” Ortega pointed out. “He wanted a weapon for each household, which would be roughly one fifth of the population. That’s perhaps sixty five million guns. Which, to answer your next question, we also do not have available as of yet, nor the ammunition for that many automatic rifles.”

“Then how do we respond to the full committee?” asked Lady Chaudance Kessington, another junior Senator, from the Old Colony of New Glasgow. Ortega was out “femmed” by the four female Junior Senators that had joined his subcommittee, and they were unaccustomed to deferring to a male, in government or otherwise.

She added, “They expect a recommendation for furnishing New Colony worlds with means for their own defense until we have a trained Army. I’d hate my first committee assignment to end with an apology, telling them in a publically televised session that we have no ideas.”

“Gracious Ladies, I didn’t say we have no options,” Ortega was pleased to announce. “We simply don’t have any weapons to send, as of yet. However, we can send them something else sooner, and shift the burden of production and shipping from the Hub worlds, to their own systems.”

“How can we build them factories there faster than we can build and ship them weapons from here?” Takahashi wanted to know.

He told them confidently of his solution, “I did a search, and learned there are several hundred mothballed orbital factories that were no longer modern enough to produce contemporary consumer products, and which have outdated automation control systems. They have been sitting airless and preserved in orbits around moons of dozens of Hub and Old Colony worlds, hardly worth the value to cut up for scrap. We can return them to operational status in weeks per factory. They were built Jump capable, to reach their production worlds from where they were built. All of them will need new fusion bottles and newer AI software, and their computer directed machine shops can be reprogramed to make human portable weapon systems.”

In a scornful tone, Lady Kessington asked, “If they can’t make modern consumer products how are they going to make modern weapons?”

Ortega smiled patiently in reply to her skepticism. “We don’t need them to make modern weapons, Dear Lady, such as laser rifles, smart guns and self-directed ammunition, pulse or microwave cannons, or super Jazzers. The projectile weapons in use three hundred years ago for the Clone Wars are at least a match for the weapons the Krall used on the Nook, and some of the old weapons are even superior. Instead of making bicycles, gyro cars, exercise equipment, and so forth, they can produce rifles, pistols, machine guns, mortars, and ammunition.” He glanced around the table in triumph.

The Ladies were not done. “If the Krall start using better weapons than that, then what do we do? Their technology base is more advanced than ours,” supplied a smug Lady Eldridge, Senator from the Canadian Republic, a (barely) New Colony that dated from just before the Collapse.

“They don’t want to overwhelm us immediately Gracious Lady. They say they plan to fight us for generations,” he reminded her.

“Tell that to Greater West Africa,” she sneered at the upstart male.

Even the other Ladies saw she had made a boneheaded argument. Takahashi was the first to break ranks. “The Krall needed a base of operations within our sphere of influence, and that colony was apparently convenient and suitably isolated. It wasn’t a slow conquest because they needed to wipe them all out to take possession. The early broadcasts, while they lasted, proved that the alien warriors used the same weapons as they did on the Nook. However, there were at least a million of them, and they never left and never quit killing. I’m sure those poor people wished they had weapons.”

A unanimous subcommittee sent Ortega’s recommendation up to be presented to the Armed Services Committee, where it was not only approved (by a slender margin), but it was expanded to send many operational orbital factories to as many outer worlds as possible for arms production. It occurred to enough of the Ladies on the committee that luxury consumer products were going to be a bit less important than survival to their voters.

****

The Tanga Clanship performed a White Out three hundred twelve miles above the planet, already in stealth mode (other than for the unavoidable gamma ray burst). It promptly vectored away from its reentry point, moving around the planet as it released thirty-two stealthy single ships.

Parkoda wasn’t at all concerned with detection or attack on the Clanship. It was merely his desire to disperse his warriors efficiently, to allow them to land covertly and conceal their small ships close to population centers. This way he wouldn’t have to spend much time recovering as many warriors with a shuttle, assuming the prey discovered the craft while their operators were away raiding. Before the Clanship departed, it would blast unrecovered single ships of any dead warriors.

The gamma rays were detected, of course, but this didn’t generate a planet wide alarm when no radar returns were seen. The Clanship’s unique arrival burst characteristics; previously measured at Gribbles’ Nook, were not yet part of Bollovstic’s Traffic Control Center database, so they ignored the presumed anomaly.

The local government was aware of the Krall threat, but they were well down the list for Hub assistance as a nonmember of the Planetary Union. Something they would soon reconsider.

This predominantly agricultural world, once considered definitely in the Rim category, was now flirting with Hub respectability, as other settled planets in the region became New Colony members. Their closest neighbor and frequent trading partner, Poldark, had joined the Planetary Union recently.

Most of the single ships settled into the forests and hills near larger hamlets and villages of the more established agricultural regions. A few ships decided to accept the challenge of landings on the outskirts of the largest cities.

The novices had no mastery of Standard, and nothing to say to their prey if they did. The warriors concealed their ships and started their hunts. Their raid leader had told them that the humans would be unarmed, and not expecting this raid. Their mission was to terrorize humans and to remind them that such raids would continue, taking place at random times and places, and would gradually increase in intensity and duration.

The novice warrior, Potok, had never smelled a human, but had seen them in recordings. In twilight on the continent where she landed, she was near an apparent human nest, much like those their slave race of Pradas made in agricultural regions. She scented multiple animal smells, but was unable to determine which odor might be from a human. Having followed one scent through a field, and passing a pile of warm feces along that trail, she decided it was probably not from a human. Unless humans behaved more like Krall grazing meat animals than she expected.

Her superb hearing picked up multiple sounds from a large red building. The big double doors were closed, and there were no windows. She dashed to the side of the building at a corner near the doors. The structure appeared to be made of woody native material, probably from the local trees. It was coated with some thin artificial surface, which an extended talon scraped away to show it was the source of the red coloration, with amber fibrous wood underneath.

The wood had been applied in long parallel slabs that did not feel very strong. Up close, the sounds were much louder from inside, but it was impossible to tell if it was a spoken alien language. There were clearly multiple speakers.

Through slender cracks between slabs of wood, she could see into a darkened interior, where there was movement. She also noted that the slabs were less thick than the base of her talons. She was confident she could break through the wall with ease, and avoid any possible trap that might wait behind the double doors. Parkoda had cautioned them that humans preferred trickery to direct combat.

Her mind made up, Potok drew her two pistols in a blur, armor piercing shells in one, explosive rounds in the other, and rammed a shoulder into the thin wall, which gave way with a crash. She rolled into the building on the floor, firing at every startled cry and movement she detected. Realizing she was surrounded she fired indiscriminately at every target, reloading rapidly. They apparently had been waiting in small compartments to each side, hiding as they waited for her to enter by the double doors.

The screams of the dying and wounded was thrilling to her ears, as her dark vision completed its couple of seconds of adjustment. She had fired and reloaded several times, and gory death surrounded her.

With her eyes now adapted, she rose to her feet. Looking around, she didn’t see any mangled forms that resembled the images she had seen of humans. There were large and medium four legged animals blown apart and bleeding in stalls on each side of the aisle leading from the double doors. She had just managed to heroically, and single handedly, kill all of the human’s unarmed livestock. She was alone, so no other Krall had seen her humiliation, requiring a Death Challenge to silence.

Nikola Milankovitch, his wife Vlada, and their daughter Mira were about to sit down to dinner when the explosions and animal screams from their cows, pigs, and goats erupted from the direction of the barn. He quickly ran to a front window as he flicked off the lights. He couldn’t see anything unusual for a moment, until he saw splinters fly from some of the planks on the barn. Ragged holes appeared in the boards, and animal squeals and screams accompanied the explosions. All of the chaos clearly came from the barn. There was a whooshing sound just before each of the blasts.

Nikola frantically shushed the questions of his wife and daughter. Whoever was in the barn was obviously heavily armed and slaughtering their livestock. It seemed self-evident the house could be next.

This particular continent of Bollovstic was subject to rapid moving weather fronts, with warm moist air mixing with colder air, much like the North American plains on Earth. Tornadoes and fierce thunderstorms were relatively frequent, and most farmhouses had storm cellars.

Nikola kicked the rug away from a trap door and raised the hinged lid over the narrow stairway. He had to shush Vlada and Mira again, pushing them to descend as quickly as possible.

“Hurry and be absolutely silent,” he instructed them. He bent to kiss them as they stood on the stairway. “Go down now, make no sound or turn on any light. The glow might be seen through the floor boards.”

“Nikola, get down here with us,” his wife said, in a hushed but louder than-a-whisper tone.

“No, whoever shot our animals will know someone is here, our lights were on before. I will put the rug over the trap door, and move the table to hold it down. You must guard Mira. Don’t let her cry.” Their daughter was only eight years old. Giving his wife her protective duty, he knew she would obey without further objection.

Blowing them a final kiss, he lowered the door, quickly pulled the rug over it, and lifted the heavy table in a display of adrenaline driven strength to place it on the rug. He had placed just two chairs at the table before his repeated glances through the twilight lit window caused his heart to freeze.

A nearly two meter tall apparition came out of the barn, not through the doors, but through a sidewall, in a spray of shattered planks. He knew instantly from the Tri-Vid images at the community hall that this was one of the aliens they called a Krall. They had one defining characteristic; they killed any human they encountered, no hesitation, and no mercy.

Nikola knew what he had to do for his family. He pulled the loaded crossbow from over the doorframe and pulled on the long lever that drew back the carbon fiber chord. Locking and cocking the chord in place, he made sure he positioned the bolt properly. He had other bolts, but he knew this was a one shot opportunity.

He cursed Hub laws that had forbidden manufacture of firearms. They were changing that law he had heard, but it wouldn’t help him now. Holding the crossbow in his left hand, he picked up the long handled ax he’d left by the fireplace with his right. Having seen the creature burst through the side of the barn, he didn’t expect it to do that to the heavy insulating log timbers of the house, but the windows and doors would be no barriers.

He backed into a corner between two windows, with a view of the front and side door of the living and dining room combination. He would hear if it came through a window of a bedroom or the back door of the storage room. It certainly hadn’t been using a subtle quiet approach so far.

His aim just happened to be towards the window and front door to his left when the glass exploded inwards, and a massive body came through firing its weapons. Fortunately, it focused first on the jacket laden coat rack, also to the left of the door, so it wasn’t looking his way. He pulled the crossbow trigger almost by accident, startled by the shattering window and frame. He instantly started swinging the ax towards the beast as its feet hit the floor, and he took a step towards the thing.

The crossbow bolt struck the alien in the side rather than the back it had presented to him when he pulled the trigger. The Krall had started twisting in midair as soon as the bolt had left the grove, as if it had heard the nearly silent weapon. Nikola let loose of the swinging ax just as the first armor-penetrating round passed through his lower rib cage. The projectile passed easily through his body and out his back, but he continued his step towards his killer, right arm out stretched towards the Krall. He raised the crossbow as a club in his left hand.

The next three rounds of explosive and armor piercing shells ended Nikola’s further participation in the fight, as his head and chest exploded messily. He didn’t live to see the ax cleave the deployed left ear from the side of the Krall’s head, as she was unable to turn away as she fell to the floor.

Potok rolled to her feet with a springing graceful motion, and whirled around to cover the rest of the room, which was clearly empty. A rapid search of the few other rooms showed the house to be empty of humans. She now had time to pull the bolt from her side, and the three-inch deep wound promptly sealed itself, and the bleeding stopped as the punctured lobe of that part of her multiple lungs shut down.

The more embarrassing wound, the loss of her ultrasonic left ear, wasn’t particularly debilitating, but it would be obvious when she returned from the raid. Parkoda would ask why she had extended her high frequency internal ears when attacking humans. The raid leader had briefed them that only the Krall had ultrasonic conversation to overhear, the humans being mute in that frequency range.

The bleeding by her ear also ended quickly, but her left side hearing was now impaired. Angry that she had “killed” the threatening looking clothing rack first as she crashed through the window, she knew that had allowed this slow moving creature to injure her twice before she made the kill. She would have to rush to a population center quickly to score more kills after this personal fiasco. She dove out of the same window she used for her entry, unaware of the two “kills” she left behind, right under her feet. The dead human had beaten her a third time.

****

Humans sighted two of the landing single ships, despite the silvery reflective coating that made them difficult to spot in the daytime sky.

Goran Milošević saw a small reflective ship descend into the canyon on the other side of the ridge he was prospecting. That was where his nearly played out gold mine was located. He was searching for a continuation of the gold bearing vein on the other side of the ridge. His first thought was of a claim jumper, so he was cautious as he climbed to the top of the ridge, careful to avoid outlining himself against the clear blue sky.

Peering around the rocks and bushes at the top, he couldn’t see any sign of the small silvery ship, which he estimated was only thirty feet long, and perhaps five or six feet in diameter. However, he easily caught sight of the large red-gray man shaped demon in a black body suit. It was rushing recklessly through the tough scratchy brush at the bottom of the little valley, moving in the direction of Kragujevac, the town where he sold his gold and bought supplies.

Fearful, Goran waited long after the demon had disappeared, passing around the bend at the end of the rocky canyon. Nevertheless, when he didn’t see another demon, and that one wasn’t apparently coming back right away, he wanted to see if his one-man mine was untouched and the entrance still concealed.

Cautiously, he made his way down the familiar but steep sides of the canyon, where he had prospected for several years. He kept the location of his mine secret, even though he had a claim that included this valley and the next, where he had been prospecting today. Claim or not, he stockpiled his gold nuggets and dust until he could make a quick foray into the town five miles away. He knew of people that would rob him if they knew exactly where he hid his hard-earned wealth.

When he grew close to the concealed mine opening, he immediately recognized that the covering dead brush had been disturbed. It was over the opening, but not in a natural arrangement like similar dead brush dotting the hillsides. Goran had carried the tailings away by hand for years, to keep his mine’s location secret, but the dead brush was vital to hide the color changes and the opening itself.

The demon had replaced the brush in a clumsy imitation of the cunning way he had protected his mine for years. However, this wasn’t Goran’s main concern. Was his gold cache safe? He rushed down the rest of the slope and proceeded past his small cabin inside a dense grove of trees, built next to the small creek he used for water. The rickety cabin had been smashed open on one side, rather than at the only door. Again, he was concerned, but this wasn’t what he was so desperate to see.

Striding directly into the cool water of the creek up to his knees, he waded to the side of a large boulder that water flowed around lazily. On the downstream side, he plunged his arms into the cool clear water to his elbows, and felt for the capstone he had placed over his hidden gold stash. It was in place, and a brief strain to lift it proved that his accumulated wealth was safe.

He restored the capstone, and looked around carefully. Except for his footprints, no one had been on the creek bank today, so the demon had not found his gold nor even looked near here. He carefully used leafy underbrush to wipe away his own footsteps leading into and away from the creek. Then he examined his damaged cabin.

The demon had apparently taken nothing, the only destruction had been the hole it had made smashing in the wall, large enough for it to enter and make its exit. The door was latched as he had left it yesterday, before he started his camping trip to prospect for a new gold vein.

Goran was now burning with curiosity about what the demon had been doing at the mine entrance. It certainly hadn’t had time to dig, and even if it had done so, he knew there was almost nothing left to extract from the played out gold vein.

He had forgotten about the small spacecraft itself, and looked around to see if he could spot its hiding place. He solved that minor mystery when he pulled away the brush from the mine opening. He assumed the little ship had used radar to see through his camouflage bushes.

The slender craft was inside the ten foot by ten foot opening, with the dusty floor swept clear as the thrusters that supported the little ship blasted it away. It had been set down close to the right side wall, presumably so the demon could squeeze out of an opening along the left side. The reflective surface was now a flat dull gray, smooth and warm to the touch.

Running his hand along the surface as he walked into the tunnel, he felt no breaks, just a minor depression in the middle, but the light was dim. He dug into his tool pouch and withdrew the small intense hand light he always carried. Setting it for a wider beam, he walked another forty feet to a side alcove. His small supply of explosives and code activated electronic detonators were untouched.

He pondered why the demon had hidden its ship. It was clearly coming back or it wouldn’t have gone to the trouble. It had left in hurry but when it returned, it might have more time to search.

“It might have time to find and take my gold.” He talked to himself, as he often did. “It can’t carry it away if it doesn’t have this for an escape,” he reasoned. The mine was no longer productive anyway, and he intended to abandon it soon. Why not use it to prevent the demon from using its ship to run off at all, with or without his gold.

Now in a rush, he started carrying his explosives and detonators to the front of the mineshaft. The little ship was about twenty-five feet from the opening, and there was a high bluff over the mouth of the mine. That tonnage would seal the ship away from even a demon, he thought.

In thirty minutes, he had placed enough explosives to bring the roof down, and he hoped much of the bluff above. Perhaps it would crush the damned ship. His plan was to collect his gold, and set off the explosives as he headed out of the canyon in the opposite direction from Kragujevac. No way did he want to run into a returning demon.

In another thirty minutes, he’d gathered some supplies that he’d not carried to the other side of the ridge for prospecting, and had a backpack stuffed with his modest hoard of gold. It was time to move on if demons haunted this claim. There were many other promising places on Bollovstic to prospect. Looking back towards his labors of several hard years, he pressed the detonator pack without any regrets.

He saw the dust and rock billow out of the mouth of the mine before he heard the booming echoes in the canyon. For just a moment, he thought the bluff would stand, but then it started to sag and crumble as it collapsed and obscured the mine opening under a thousand cubic yards of rock.

Shifting his pack, he started for the next town over from Bollovstic, called Sombor. A smaller town, but it had an assay office where he could sell his gold. He wouldn’t be wealthy but he could live well for years off what he had saved.

Later, after he learned about the Krall and saw they looked like demons, he would make a great deal more money out of the Planetary Union, for leading them to an intact buried single ship, and its advanced tachyon Traps and drive.

****

The other human that observed a single ship land also saw the warrior leave it in a section of forest. He soon heard firing and screams as it entered the outskirts of his own hamlet. Jovan knew about the Krall, and that this one was killing people he knew. They always departed after killing as many people as they could in the time they gave themselves. Jovan wanted to see if he could find a usable weapon in the alien ship, or at least disable the ship so the alien could not escape to do this again to another city.

Jovan found the shallow depression of the hatch release, which the warrior had not bothered to encode. It had no respect for the “animals” it was here to kill, thinking they were too stupid to find the ship, or enter it if they did. He was wrong on both points; one did find it and get inside. Unfortunately, this human didn’t comprehend the Krall characters on the countdown timer on the console. He also didn’t know how to stop a fusion bottle’s loss of containment even if he had recognized the threat.

The explosion leveled the large grove of trees, and the sound and location of the small mushroom shaped cloud informed the Krall of his loss of transportation. He was so upset that he would be required to explain this mistake to Parkoda, that he killed far fewer humans than he had planned. It was a tough day all around.

8. Mothers Provide (Koban)

Merki missed her pride, and her lost mate. When Bolar died, the result of a poisoned rhinolo horn’s scratch, she nearly joined him trying to divert the bull’s attention. Her pride mates interceded to save her from a futile sacrifice, reminding her with mind touches that she needed to protect the two cubs they all knew she was expecting.

Her pride mates drew the aggressive bull closer to the rhinolo cow he was trying to protect. The pride had crippled and brought the cow down and it was only a matter of time until the rhinolo herd would have to leave the female to her fate. However, this gave Merki a final chance to race in and touch neck frills, to exchange mind pictures with the steadily weakening and doomed Bolar.

She shared with him, for the last time, the impressions of the barely aware cubs in her womb, her first. Bolar cautioned her to protect their cubs from other males, who would want to mate with Merki when he was gone. They would not want to feed and protect cubs that were not their own, and another unmated female would have to take them.

Bolar passed her an image that he knew that the mere scratch had doomed him moments after it happened. He had smelled the waxy yellow substance on the minor wound when he licked a trickle of blood away. The pride had pursued the cow well into open flat grassland, with no shelter for Bolar before temporary paralysis rendered him helpless.

Just as he accepted the rhinolo cow’s death to benefit the pride, he accepted his impending death from one or more of the avenging bulls of the herd. He had been careless and complacent as he toyed foolishly with an old bull, drawing it away so some pride mate could finish suffocating the cow with a jaw grip on its throat.

Because the herd was far from any forest, where the dangerous bushes usually grew, he had not bothered to sniff the bull’s nose horns for the aromatic wax traces from the shrub’s thorns. Clearly, the bull had recently found such a bush, and wiped its horns on the thorns, collecting the waxy neurotoxin. It was too early in the spring awakening for ripe fruit on a bush, so the old experienced bull had done it exactly for this purpose, to coat its horn. It was recently enough that the substance had not yet degraded. Belatedly, Bolar granted the bull respect, it had done its best to defend its herd.

His awareness would not diminish as he lost the ability to control his body, although the flaming pain as the poison started to spread through his body was impossible to ignore. He let Merki know that death would be a release from the terrible pain. He also knew that despite her youth, she had shared mind pictures from pride elders of the agony he would soon feel, passed down from those that had eventually recovered from similar wounds by reaching shelter. There would be no gradual recovery from the paralysis for Bolar.

As the bull turned back to exact its revenge, he urged Merki to leave him, to protect his cubs. That was the last mind image she carried away as their telepathic organ, their fleshy neck frills, broke contact. That imperative had led her to follow a course of isolation, away from her pride and new suitors. This had indirectly led her into her present trap.

Without the pride or a mate to work with her, it was difficult to catch the fleet small prey she could easily kill by herself. She was fast and strong; they were slightly faster even in short pursuits when she hit her burst of speed. The small prey was nimble and changed direction often. Larger prey was harder to take down alone, and difficult to ambush on the plains because their higher positioned eyes saw her crouching in the grass farther away.

Migrating rhinolo were plentiful, but healthy ones were unobtainable by a lone ripper. Fortunately, smaller prey often grazed along parallel tracks, adjacent to migrating herds of rhinolo. It was the smaller prey that Merki had been seeking today. There were rhinolo passing close to her hidden position, but she had spotted a group of gazelles, browsing near the enclosed area claimed by the red ones.

Merki approached the wall of the red one’s territory to take advantage of the cliff wall around it, to reduce the directions her agile prey could use to flee. The pride had witnessed that the red prey, with their dangerous stinging sticks, had departed into the sky in many of their not-life carriers. A new slower prey replaced the red ones. These were much less dangerous, even with remote killing stinging sticks and not-life flying things. They were very slow.

She had stalked the small herd of gazelles to the cliff wall. She was ravenous, and her twins were sending her distracting mental hunger sensations. They had no visual images yet, but they knew hunger and other basic feelings.

The prey group was moving closer to the cliff wall, where, if she charged them, they would have only two directions to flee from her. Left or right, and some would choose one or the other direction. Merki had only to commit to one or the other side to have an increased chance of getting her claws and jaws on one animal that had too few other directions to leap.

The gazelles happened to be grazing near one of the cliff openings. These openings the red ones sometimes used when their not-live carriers were the type that stayed only on the ground. If Merki could force one or more of her prey to touch the not-live deadly vines that guarded the openings, she might achieve more than a single kill. That would be enough food to last her beyond the birth of her cubs, due within weeks.

When she determined the pursuit angle was at optimum, she could force them to split when she rushed them, then she would leap to one side to try to capture one of the prey directly as they scattered. Now it looked as if there could be a chance to force a second gazelle to touch the deadly gray not-live vines, providing a potential additional kill.

Finally, the dozen gazelles were close enough to the cliff and the protected opening. Merki surged to her feet from her belly crawl and charged slightly from the left of the prey, forcing more of them to choose to turn to her right, as anticipated. She immediately adjusted her next leap to her right, ready to sink her claws or fangs into one of the prey forced to remain parallel to the cliff. Either that or they might contact the deadly straight gray vines that killed from the slightest touch.

Instead, the eight prey that had moved to her right suddenly turned directly towards the cliff opening, away from her rush. They might all die if they touched the vines.

To her surprise, there was an opening in the vines. It had not been apparent from her approach from the left. All eight gazelles attempted to turn to pass through the narrow opening through the cliff. Several of the prey animals made contact with the vines, or with the stiff grey trees that held them off the ground. They did not die!

One of them stumbled, first as if afflicted by the touch, but it quickly struggled to its feet and continued through the opening, limping. Not sure why the vines no longer had a killing effect, Merki’s hunger drove her through after them, staying well clear of the sides of the opening. She pursued the injured looking prey, which although still fleet footed, was unable to leap as high or switch course as quickly as normal for its kind. Merki was confident she could run it down.

A short pursuit ensued, and she was able to strike at its rear legs as it tried to turn, too slowly, and knocked its rear legs from under the animal. It was over, as the ripper swarmed onto the fallen bleating prey, claws holding it firmly. She sank her massive jaws into its throat, simultaneously piercing blood vessels with her canines, and crushing closed the trachea. The touch of her neck frill transmitted the thrilling sense of the prey’s terror, as its life slowly faded over the next few minutes.

This was the first sizable kill for her since she had parted from her pride nearly two weeks ago, and she needed to eat for herself and her cubs. There was a grove of low trees nearby, and she quickly drug the carcass under them, out of sight of harassing wolfbats or scavenger birds. Without pride mates to share guard responsibility, a squadron of wolfbats could prove very troublesome and distracting.

She started feeding, tearing away the unwanted stomach with her claws and teeth, even bypassing the acceptable intestines, going for the more nutritious organs, such as the heart, liver, lungs and kidney. The hindquarters and ribs would come later, since they would keep for a longer time. Without a need to share the kill with a pride, she would consume all she could hold over the next week. The head she would save for last provided there wasn’t a fresh kill to replace this one.

Merki was enjoying a sense of fullness when her keen hearing detected the sound of a not-life ground carrier like the red ones used. She had never seen or heard one herself, but the pride had shared mind pictures from members that had encountered the red ones in the past. She crept to the edge of the grove, sighting the retreating object. It looked as if it had come from the cliff wall opening she had used. Despite anxiety to investigate, she waited for the not-life to disappear around a low hill.

Keeping low, she rushed through the tall grass until she neared the opening. As she did, the mind image of a scent she had never sensed directly told her that two of the slower prey that ruled here now had been in the not-life carrier, not red ones. Looking apprehensively at the opening, she confirmed her dread. The gray vines now stretched across the opening she had passed through so recently. She didn’t know for certain, but sensed that they were deadly to the touch once more. The separation from the pride she had avoided was now genuine, trapped inside this unknown territory.

Except for the gazelles she had followed in here, there might not be any prey for her to hunt. The uncropped tall grass made it appear that no herds had grazed this area for a considerable time. What would she eat when the prey she had now was gone? She had two cubs coming soon.

****

“Amelia, I know you were thrilled to see the rhinolo and other herd animals, and wanted to stay longer. However, it’s very dangerous out there. Not only would a bull rhinolo charge us if we got too close, on rough terrain it might even catch us. You wouldn’t believe how fast those massive animals can run.”

Lady Simpson hugged Flaven Dawson, her new consort, in gratitude. “I know Flav, but weren’t they impressive and magnificent? There haven’t been vast herds like that on Earth for hundreds of years. A handful of colony worlds have big native animal herds, but not with such rich beautiful colors, and not animals so energetic and powerfully built. The gravity does add a sense of ‘irresistible force’ to them. I wish we had some inside the walls where we could see them all the time.”

Flaven patted her arm in return, keeping a firm hand on the truck’s steering stick over the bumpy ground. “There are other animals out there, such as predators, that we definitely don’t want to encounter. Rippers are just the smartest ones. Koban has jackal type pack animals, and analogues to Earth cheetahs, leopards, hyenas, the little raptors we call screamers, and those are just the warm weather killers. The whiteraptors occasionally come this far south.

“We don’t even have local names for many of Koban’s animals yet, because it’s so risky to do what we just did, to go outside and study them. If we had fully enclosed, extra heavy-duty trucks, we might risk it more often. Only we don’t have them now. That’s why I left the gate open, ready to race back inside if something came after us.”

“Oh, I thought you did that so we wouldn’t accidentally touch the electrified fencing as we drove through.”

“I wouldn’t want to do that, for sure,” he laughed at her innocence. “But there are cutoff switches in boxes on the walls next to the gates. That’s what I was doing when I got in and out of the truck. I bypassed the voltage before pulling the double gates open, and then I closed the gates when we returned. They are charged again now, to keep even a rhinolo outside.”

“Flav, you’re sure you won’t get in trouble for taking me out? The Governor was so mean to me when I asked permission.”

“I made sure I had a valid excuse for taking a truck out, and just like when we left, I want you to duck down as we pull near the dome and park under the overhang. Keep your video recordings safe sweetheart. We each appear in them, so we can’t claim we weren’t out there.”

“I’ll be careful Flav. This was our harmless secret holiday.”

****

Merki was hungry a week sooner than she had expected. Due to her inexperience, her gazelle carcass didn’t provide nourishment for as long as expected. For her, that is. The little brown stingers from below the ground had covered and stripped the meat from the bones overnight, while she slept in the low tree branches.

After the fact, the reason for the lush small grove of low trees revealed itself in a mind image previously shared by pride elders. The roots of the low trees benefited from the soil turnover and waste products of a subterranean stinging insect colony. The cool foliage refuge sometimes drew small overnight residents that checked in, but didn’t check out.

The problem with many shared mind images was context. Until you encountered the circumstances, the images often had no meaning. Thus, Merki was hungry sooner than expected, but now knew to store her kills in trees, or at least away from those small low groves.

Her nose and scouting quickly drew her to a strange clear wall within the larger territory where she found herself confined. Other than occasional traces of the seven surviving gazelles she had followed inside, the only prey scented away from the central nest of the slow ones came through small holes in that clear porous wall.

The second wall proved much tougher than her claws and teeth. The material yielded slightly but would not tear or puncture. She saw and scented the sizable but unfamiliar prey animals behind the barrier. Initially they ran when they saw her prowling the perimeter, but gradually realized they were safe from attack by her. After that, they would gather to look at her in obvious curiosity, which Merki found disturbing for mindless prey animals. That was because they didn’t seem completely mindless in their behavior.

The slow ones that lived in the central den were definitely not mindless, but that meant they represented a threat because they used not-live carriers for protection, and stinging sticks that could injure or kill at a distance. They also controlled the killing vines that guarded the top of the cliff walls and the openings. They were seemingly weak prey, yet strangely powerful.

As a group, they were a great danger to her, but in isolation, she was certain she could stalk and easily kill two or three. They would not react fast enough to oppose or threaten her if she got close. They didn’t even maintain sentinels when outside, or watch anything but the sky, presumably because they thought the flyers were the only threats that could enter their territory.

Her cubs were sending hunger impressions again, and she needed to build her reserves to make the protein secretions they needed after birth, and would suckle from her. That was in two weeks, at most. She had no choice. Her needs and those of her cubs outweighed the risk of preying on the slow ones. She had to prepare a suitable birthing den, and then obtain a fresh supply of meat.

****

Holding hands, the couple was apparently taking a pleasant evening stroll, enjoying the cool temperature and mild breezes before the heat and humidity returned. Outdoors was also a place where they could have a private conversation.

“Candice, Stewart simply wants to improve our relations with Prime City. We rely on them for food right now, and for manufacturing products that we need in the machine shops from all of the ships grounded there. Really, all we can repay them with is our good will. Cahill is risking that source of vital material with her anti Kobani rhetoric.

“A famous woman like Lady Alstot will gain listeners for a male like my brother, just by being with her at social functions.” Glen MacDougal was explaining to his wife why his older brother had formed a consort liaison with a haughty former socialite.

“Glen, I understand the why of it, but now you don’t get to spend much time with him. We aren’t high enough socially to revolve in those elite circles. I know, like you and I, Stewart doesn’t like Governor Cahill at all, and yet he’s rubbing shoulders with people in her group, using Lady Alstot’s celebrity and former position. I emphasize Lady Alstot’s former prominent position in Hub and Old Colony high society and wealth. I don’t see how that translates into the same position now, with her stranded on Koban like the rest of us.”

They actually were enjoying their nightly evening walk around the dome, it just happened to be away from potential eavesdroppers. That in itself was an indication of how matters were deteriorating under Cahill’s administration. Factions were developing, and social cohesion was fragmenting as informants were listened to by Cahill, and their opinions and reports were solicited and rewarded.

“Candice, Hub society has inertia, it keeps steering some people after logic says its social construct is no longer the best guide or even applicable. Even I haven’t given up hope that someone looking for all of us missing people us will look far enough away from Human Space to stumble onto this world. Stewart has the same hope. I know you think we should accept where we are, and turn this into home, in our hearts as well as in fact.”

He looked up into the darkened sky, moon glow faintly illuminating some of the higher clouds; the view of the moon was blocked by the bulk of the dome a hundred feet away. The strange constellations were not a concern to people that had traveled to so many worlds. Almost no one remembered the sky locations of the random star alignments of Earth, which had ancient mythical names.

Candice followed his gaze. “This is a beautiful world Glen, despite its hardships and dangers, I can love it. Can’t you?”

He was about to answer when a click of claws on tarmac, and the faint scrape of paw pads caused him to start a turn as he reached for the pistol at his hip. Wolfbats did not fly at night, and it was still too cool for skeeters to be very active, but anyone with sense went outside armed.

The ripper was on them before Glen’s weapon fully cleared the holster, and he died without ever seeing his killer. A swift gape jawed bite and head rotation as it leaped over him twisted and snapped his neck instantly.

Candice, even slower to react, was struck on the back of her neck and head by a powerful-clawed foreleg as the ripper leaped over them both. It had determined how to strike them both simultaneously from behind, but the unfamiliar hard tarmac had thwarted a complete surprise when her claws made brief contact for the final leap. She had shifted position in midair to adapt to the prey that was slowly reaching for a stinging stick. That reduced the force of the impact to the neck of the smaller prey, stunning it rather than delivering the deathblow intended.

As Merki touched down on the rock-like hard ground, she now used her claws, fully extended for the greatest possible grip despite the scraping noise, to turn back and finish the stunned smaller prey animal. It had fallen forward and rolled, the second stinging stick falling well to the side, out of its reach. Merki’s night vision could clearly see this, and there were no other of these prey animals nearby to concern her. There was no rush to complete the second kill.

She sprang back to the still living prey, intending to experience its mind terror as it confronted death. She wanted to experience the thrill of the first kill of one of these prey animals by her pride.

There were no shared mind pictures from any of her elders of this prey animal. However, she assumed it would match those shared images of the red ones, rarely slain in the past. They each had held a belief in their superiority over all living things, and a hatred of her kind, mixed with respect. The mental images remembered from them came mixed with fear and awe that they were defeated by one of the pride.

The prey was seriously injured and unconscious, robbing her of experiencing the animal’s terror.  However, that would not prevent Merki sensing the most recent thoughts and impressions from the animal’s mind. She brought her neck frill into contact with the creature’s head, to form a clear connection.

I love this world my mate is hurt I miss home I hate the red ones I want cubs how can we get home…

Recoiling, Merki broke contact, stunned at the overwhelming intensity of the kaleidoscope of images, feelings, and impressions from the female. That was another shock! She knew this unknown creature was female and her mate, whom she loved, was lying dead near her and was still a clear sharp image in her mind. These animals were self-aware! As the pride and their hunter cousins were aware, only this was a stronger sense than she had ever experienced, even with direct frill contact with her pride mates.

Reluctant to try contact again, Merki nevertheless approached the female she knew was only moments from death. An impending death was a sensation any of the pride could feel from a mortally injured prey animal, and this creature instinctively felt death approaching, even if she was not conscious.

Instead of contacting the head, where her people knew lay the source of images, she lowered her own head to permit the frill to contact only the outstretched front limb. She found the images were still present, but that degree of filtering made them weaker and less painful. They were slipping away as her life also slipped away. Merki absorbed images that were confusing and strange to her, lacking any context for most of them.

Others images were not unlike those experienced from pride mates that opened their minds, not deliberately shielding. Merki sensed Images of this creatures own pride mates, some whom she loved or liked, and some she did not like. Again, a fleeting image of the red ones and a strong fear of them for her entire pride came through, unmistakable.  This creature’s people hated them as predators that killed wantonly, for pleasure. The same sense of wrongness the pride images conveyed of the red ones. The pride shared a similar morality with these slow ones.

The mind faded as Merki’s senses told her the heart had finally stilled. Confused, she backed away a short distance. It wasn’t easy to consider this female as prey now. Oddly, that impression did not fully extend to her dead mate. He had tried to defend against the attack, and use the stinging stick to kill her. Yet that wasn’t why he felt more like a prey animal, and the female did not. It was possibly because there had been no mental connection with him.

A sense of hunger reminded her of why she had stalked these creatures. Her responsibility to her cubs overrode her reluctance. She regretted having made frill contact with the female, because of the confusing and conflicting sensations she now experienced. The slow ones no longer seemed like normal prey to Merki. However, her cubs needed the nourishment the meat would indirectly provide. This was not a wanton kill, and wasting the meat would make it one.

Placing the carcasses almost parallel, heads touching, Merki used a method she’d seen in mental pictures. She opened her massive jaws wide, gripping both of the skulls, with left and right canines puncturing the tops and bottoms of each head. An awkward wide stance as she dragged them away made her slow, but the weight was minor for her.

After reaching a medium height tree some distance from the slow one’s den, Merki placed one carcass there, well off the ground. Now, with one carcass, she could move faster to reach her birthing den on a rocky hillock quite some distance away. She then raced back to retrieve the second kill. She had made sure there were no subterranean insects near her new den, to steal her store of meat. Now she would feed and await the delivery of her cubs.

She had no idea how she was going to keep producing the protein rich milk for them unless she continued to prey on the slow ones. It was the only way to keep the cubs alive until she could escape their territory, although stalking them had lost its attraction.

The mind images from the dying female and its feelings were disturbing to Merki, because they conflicted with her life experiences, what she had learned. Her cubs had learned nothing directly from the outside world yet, receiving only what their mother provided. Now they had these foreign images.

9. This is not a Drill

General Nabarone finally had his new Planetary Union command complete. Ten thousand troops, the pick of the last six training cycles from TB-85, twenty five thousand recruits per cycle, the best soldiers out of one hundred fifty thousand, processed through an ever tougher training program as the Krall maintained their murderous pressure on the Hub government.

“Mike, you followed through for me. My boys in the training cadre spotted the best prospects, and the signing bonus you provided kept many of them here. Frankly, the raid on Bollovstic provided as much motivation as the cash. These are motivated young people, ready to fight. Finally out from behind mother’s apron.”

Governor Boldovic was annoyed. “Hank, your loose tongue and anti fem sentiments will get your ass fired, and I personally don’t care for your attitude any more than I like the anti-male sentiment we’ve endured from the Ladies in charge.”

“They wouldn’t be giving this much of a role to the men if they could do it themselves, Mike and you know it. We are entering another reversal in culture.”

“Hank, women make up almost one quarter of your new crack troops, and if humanity dies, the Ladies go with us. Men are not sacrificial lambs in this war; we all face the same fate. If you disrespect any of your own troops, I’ll replace you myself.”

Nabarone paused in thought a moment. “You’re right. You are right and I apologize, Mike. I’ve had that shoulder chip so long it’s hard to knock it off myself. I’ve seen how my female troops perform. They are smart, fast, and good at improvising, and all of them became good shots. With the powered armor, they can match up against any man except for height and weight. None of us can match a Krall.”

Boldovic waved his acceptance of the apology. He accepted his friend’s sincerity because Hank seldom felt the need to apologize, and his pause just now was his typical reaction when he reconsidered and admitted he was wrong.

“Anyway Hank, I asked you here to tell you that the orbital arms factory will be Jumped in-system sometime this week, and the news of that impending arrival was delivered by the Union cargo carrier that bought your twenty new combat shuttles and pilots.”

“Hot Damn! Now I can start to disburse my troops to protect more cities. But shuttles are far cheaper than tanks, why only twenty? I requested a hundred.”

Boldovic laughed out loud. “That was fast even for you Hank. From ‘hot damn’ to looking the gift horse in the mouth in ten seconds. Did you also ask for trained pilots?”

“Ah, no. I assumed we could scrounge those up on Poldark, and train them,” he admitted.

“Well you now have fast, well equipped and heavily armed shuttles, and two Warrant Officers to operate each of them.”

“Warrants?” He asked suspiciously. “Navy?”

“Navy trained, because they have the only school, but they’re Army, and in your chain of command and have to answer to you.”

“OK. Except with only twenty fast transports, we aren’t going to be as mobile as I was planning. The Krall attacks on colonies Bollovstic, New Dublin, and the one deeper into the New Colony, Brussels, all followed the rapid, brief, and dispersed strikes I predicted. Thirty-two single ships, except for the additional eight on Brussels.

“You recall that I wanted to distribute our ten thousand troops widely, to move one hundred defenders into one hundred population centers in less than an hour. How many can each of these shuttles carry?”

“The communication I read said fifty troopers plus two medics, and all of their equipment.”

“Hell, that’s only ten percent of my force that’s mobile Mike. We need to get our troops where the bastards are killing people.”

“Hank, it goes against my grain, but if we sell our new factory weapons to people that want them, even at lower than fair prices, that income can be used to buy civil shuttles locally to eventually meet your needs. That’s really a hidden tax, but they won’t resent it as much when they get guns.

“In the meantime, if you spread the other nine thousand troops among the larger population centers, we have ground transportation to move them to the outskirts. The Krall have so far landed outside of towns and cities, and then raided into the suburbs. We can protect most of the people most of the time, to paraphrase.”

Nabarone grumbled and mangled his own old saying. “If it was their ‘ox being screwed’ I suspect the Hub would respond to the pressure a lot faster.”

“You’re mixing up your metaphor’s Hank.”

“No I’m not.”

****

Actually, the Hub government did feel political pressure. However, the outer worlds felt the pain and loss of their citizens and security. Bollovstic was the first to suffer, when thirty-two Krall single ships landed randomly on the planet, and those warriors killed at least nine thousand defenseless men, women, and children before departing. The Krall’s only losses were two single ships, one destroyed by its anti-tamper device, and a miner collapsed a mineshaft on the other.

That Krall warrior had concealed his ship inside a gold mine, of all places. Literally, and metaphorically as well, as it turned out. The crafty miner made a hundred times more money from selling the ship’s location to the Planetary Union than he had ever made in five years of gold mining.

The Krall had needed to retrieve those two stranded warriors with a shuttle, for a net loss of zero Krall lives. That was probably a null genetic improvement mission from the Krall’s standpoint, if they intended to gain more than simply the terror effect.

****

Admiral Anderfem stood next to the captured Krall single ship. “Doctor Magnus, I have to say that this doesn’t look like a leap in technology. It’s not very impressive looking, about five and a half feet high and…, what? Thirty feet long?”

“Close Admiral, thirty four and a half feet by five feet nine, ignoring some fractions. That flat matte grey finish isn’t flashy either. However, this is one hot little ship, with a tough hull, with active and reactive skin.”

“Can you turn it on for me yet? I heard that we’ve been unable to switch on Krall equipment.”

“No Mam, we have not managed to activate their systems. It just doesn’t respond to us when we try to power it up. However, that did not prevent us from studying its design, and figuring out what it does and how it does things. Much as we might study a Tri-vid set we couldn’t activate, and learn what it did and how it might work. We know some gee whiz stuff, but don’t understand everything.”

“I’ve been hearing rumors, why don’t you just list the gee whiz features you know about, even if you don’t understand them yet. Assume I haven’t heard any stories. I’ll have to brief the President later, and neither one of us were physics majors, so go easy.”

“Yes Mam. Well, consider that dull unimpressive looking hull. It’s a nearly diamond hard carbon crystal matrix material that we are trying to understand at a quantum level. We know that when a laser, maser, or plasma strikes it, the surface instantly becomes reflective at that specific frequency, or for radar, it can also become absorbent. It can vary that reflectivity for multiple beams of different frequencies at different places on the hull, meaning it is a localized effect, not a global change. Otherwise, we could hit it with multiple beams of differing frequencies at different spots and one might burn through if the entire hull was set to reflect at a single frequency. There is a feedback mechanism that takes the impinging radiation and…” Anderfem was tapping him on the arm, interrupting his thoughts.

“Go easy on me. You do remember that request, made just one minute ago Doctor?” She was smiling.

“Oh. Sorry, I’ve hardly been able to get this gem out of my mind. OK, onward to the next gee whiz it is.” He walked over to four protrusions on the hull, spaced evenly around the front circumference. There were four matching protrusions at the rear.

“These are the Krall equivalent of Trap field emitters. Not enough to form a full spherical enclosure for a Jump Hole, and in fact they appear to exist only to trap low level tachyons for powering the Normal Space drive and inertial compensation system.” He patted the hull almost reverently.

“The Trap based Normal Space drive system is one that we can’t match in a ship this small. This one would out power a naval cruiser.

“That’s why we can’t get away from them when we run, we’ve observed them accelerate or decelerate at just over two hundred gravities external. Our best inertial compensation capability would allow whoever was inside to experience forty-four gravities, assuming we could package it this small. And if we also didn’t care about them being crushed into a mush patty.” He glanced at her quickly to see if his wisecrack had crossed the line. Anderfem just nodded.

“Even allowing for Krall physical superiority, this is beyond certainty a fatal level of g’s for them as well. Forcing us to conclude that they found a means that exceeds even our theoretical physics concerning what we can do with gravity and inertia via feedback from Tachyon Space.”

Anderfem had a grim expression. “Then we can’t even match them in our understanding of fundamental physics and math?”

“That was our fear at first Admiral, despite our impression that the Krall, on average, are less intelligent than the average human. Both species could have exceptionally brilliant members, but our exceptional geniuses should be smarter than theirs should be.”

Magnus tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow with a twinkle in his eye. Anderfem sensed an Ah Ha moment was coming. She was right, but it took more than a moment to get it out of the good Doctor.

“We reanalyzed the Gribble’s Nook raid. We noted the times of arrival and clustering of the Krall fleet into the Oort cloud of that system by the later arrival of the White Out gamma rays. Then we examined the arrival times of the other sixteen ships from that fleet at the planet. Exactly two thousand forty eight ships had White Outs in the Oort cloud, then exactly sixteen White Outs at the Nook. The sixteen raid ships Jumped inwards at Tachyon Space superluminal velocity, and naturally arrived long before the original Oort cloud White Out gamma rays did, because those gammas traveled only at the speed of light.”

Before Anderfem could complain about him not “taking it easy” again, he raised his hand to forestall her.

“The surviving fifteen ships of the Nook raid rejoined the Oort cloud fleet, we know precisely when each of the fifteen Jumped from Gribbles’ Nook, in somewhat staggered departures, and several days later we received the identical gamma ray staggering of their White Outs as they returned to the Oort cloud fleet.” Now he had the payoff.

“Those ships could not have outraced light speed by as much as they did in Tachyon Space. They traveled at least five times as fast as our quickest couriers travel, and exceeded our theoretical velocity for ships of that mass range in Tachyon Space. Just as this little craft” he patted the hull again, “can accelerate, and gravity compensate in Normal Space beyond our theoretical limits. We believe it’s the same technical mechanism to accomplish both!” He ended on a triumphant note.

“Doctor, I applaud your people’s deductions, and I’m certain that you think you just explained something of value to me and the President. Let me assure you that you did not! However, you certainly will.” Her tone killed the grin on the man’s face, as he rushed to explain what all this meant.

“Admiral, we have built a working model of a Trap field system that obviously employs a scientific leap in the use of Tachyon Space. We have already used it to catch extremely high-energy tachyons several hundred times. From orbit of course,” he added hastily, “in a cruiser’s hanger bay, then dumped them. The Krall Traps work at least a hundred times as fast as the cruiser’s own Trap field at catching the rare high-energy level tachyons.

“Several of our mathematicians have studied the data, and spoken with the experimentalists. They see evidence for an unsuspected second level to Tachyon Space, which might fit with higher dimensional math with no known physical counterpart in the real world. It suggests a higher space where we can catch tachyons faster.  Perhaps form a Jump Hole that may let us travel faster in that higher space. In any case, we can master this technology.”

He ended that with a rush, as he watched the Admiral’s face steadily darken as he spoke. Then as if he’d thrown a switch, the flood light beam of her smile brightened instantly.

“Doctor, I was on the verge of teaching you what my British Navy forbearers called keel hauling. I’m sure it’s more serious when conducted in space.

“Good work. Keep me apprised of your progress, and I can guarantee that you will have the resources necessary to study, build, and test whatever ideas you have.”

****

“This is not a Drill!”

That follow up announcement blared out of the barracks speakers following the First Sergeant’s initial call of “company, mount up, full load!” The local time now being early “dark thirty” for this small detachment, the last words removed the sense of routine for previous early morning test alerts.

A mount up order had issued from the speakers a couple of times a week for the last two months, sometimes for a single underperforming one of the four platoons, sometimes for the entire company. Sometimes it was a “no load” timing exercise, to see how fast they could assemble in front of the barracks in their armor. This was only the fourth “full load” order, and they’d never heard that final announcement. This was the real thing. They would finally face off against the Krall.

Every soldier wore penetration resistant Smart Fabric utility uniforms, so they were always ready to step into their powered armor with little notice. Each trooper’s suit hung by their bunk, helmet attached. They backed in, using handholds to support themselves as they stepped headfirst up into the removable helmet, pre-attached to the suit’s shoulders for speed, the torso section already opened wide. A hanging suit was normally stored closed, but a “mount up” call triggered them to flare open for quick entry. They looked rather like a human shaped dark gray lobster shells, split wide open.

The suit’s limbs were also splayed, and slipping one’s feet into the open boot tops and hands into the gauntlets triggered the suit to curve snuggly around arms and legs, as the torso clam shelled closed and sealed.

There was a ten second diagnostic for suit integrity and electronics, and for the mechanical carbon fiber “muscles,” built into the armor to activate. Simultaneously, closure activated the Mobility computer, which synchronized itself to the wearer’s muscles, to mimic and amplify human muscle movement in the armor’s carbon fiber muscle equivalents. A preprogrammed user profile bypassed the additional ten seconds of synchronization. Therefore, after a suit completed closing and it detached from the support and storage rack, a trooper was ready to move out in just ten seconds. That was optimally, of course, which was what the drills were trying to achieve.

The armor only had a few built-in weapons, such as wrist mounted clip-on four-inch pistol barrels with a feed of six forty-five caliber bullets along the forearm, with five spare ammo tubes attached around the upper arms. Such pistols could clip to either wrist or one on each, as the trooper preferred. There were two small short-range missile launchers built into the left and right oversized shoulder pads, with three reloads for each. Four grenades were attached at the waist on each side.

The main armament was what the soldier carried. The standard weapon was a forty-five caliber short barrel submachine gun, with an under barrel grenade launcher, attached and hanging from the right side suit chest plate, on a retractable and detachable lanyard. One person of each squad carried a .50 caliber semiautomatic long barrel rifle, which was effective as a sniper weapon.

There were standard and explosive rounds available for each weapon. The explosive smart rounds were equipped with the Braxton chip, a tiny bit of tough electronics that triggered the round’s explosive charge on command, or on contact with the target. The chip could be set to detonate a round at a specified measured distance down range, as it was fired, so that even if the laser ranged slug missed, the round detonated before completely passing the intended target.

The troops preferred to call the Braxton smart rounds “KK’s,” for Krall Killers. Until it was field-tested, the name was optimistic. However, in testing, nearly every shot fired at your laser-identified target either struck directly, or exploded in fragments next to the target, producing some level of damage. This proximity detonation worked even on a fully concealed enemy behind a barricade, if you fired over them or to the side.

The powered armor permitted every trooper to carry a significant number of reload clips on attachment points around the suit, and to sling ammo pouches over each shoulder to hang at hip height, or to slip around to the backside as a fanny pouch. A fully loaded trooper looked cumbersome, but in reality, the suit could carry considerably more mass if it wasn’t so bulky.

In autopsies of the Krall killed on the Nook, their enemy’s organ redundancy and rapid control of bleeding, along with their physical size, strength, and tissue toughness, suggested that you needed many hits to kill a Krall. Therefore, running low on ammo and “fixing bayonets” wasn’t an option. That didn’t keep the Army from issuing some nasty looking eighteen-inch double-edged combat knives, serrated on one side. Many troopers carried one strapped to the side of each calf.

Because maintaining a high rate of heavy firepower was essential, spare ammo and weapons for the highly mobile force needed to go with each of the company’s four platoons. A squat robot, wheeled, and with extendable six jointed legs, filled that role. It could follow the platoon over nearly any terrain, carrying additional weapons, and ammunition. The on-board AI was normally in contact with and responded to the platoon leader, but squad leader sergeants or corporals could also call for the ‘bot.

The official Army designation was the MOD-5, for the fifth version of a past war’s Mobile Ordinance Delivery system. This was the first one ever equipped with artificial intelligence, a radio, and a voice. No self-respecting unit would stick with any stale, impersonal Army designation for such a vital piece of equipment. Each one gained its own name.

First platoon was the first of the four platoons to complete assembly in the quadrangle in front of their barracks, three squads of eight soldiers each, lined up in two rows behind Lieutenant Margold, the Platoon Leader.

Margold’s AI, his platoon sergeant “surrogate,” had identified and timed all twenty-one of his trooper’s response, and that of their squad leader sergeants. They had beaten the fastest of the other three platoons by eleven seconds in assembling. Except, where the hell was Waldo? It wasn’t parked behind second squad, where it should be.

Margold was about to query his AI, when his helmet’s corner display showed an image of the heavy squatty robot darting down the barracks ramp, and it joined the platoon. First platoon’s MOD-5, “weapons and loads delivery orderly,” designated Waldo by vote, reported that it had just acquired the Army’s newest issue of .50 caliber KK smart rounds, thus explaining its delayed arrival. The previous issue of 50KK’s had sometimes detonated early, before reaching the target’s tagged distance if they sensed a miss too early. This was worth the wait, and first platoon was still first to assemble anyway, because the other MOD-5’s were also late arriving at their respective platoons.

Captain Krysinski was in armor, of course, standing in front of the assembled troops, his First Sergeant a step in front and to the side.

First Sergeant Nobutu didn’t take roll call because there wasn’t need actually. Her AI told her everyone was present and accounted for, the suits reporting that to her. The rumble of four shuttle engines powering up at the airfield nearby was apparent. Calling soldiers to attention standing in armor was pointless, since you couldn’t really tell if they complied, but some traditions demanded their respect.

“Atten-hut! All troops assembled Sir.” She announced, without turning or saluting the company commander. That was a tradition that was waning, after introduction of armor and AIs. In addition, if this briefing delay in loading the “quick response” shuttlecraft caused civilian lives, Captain Krysinski decided he’d eliminate the assemblies. Briefings on the move were just as practical.

“Thank you, First Sergeant. People, an unknown number of Krall single ships are landing or have landed on Poldark in the last fifteen minutes. Traffic control radars detected a single White Out with the characteristics of a standard sized large Krall ship twenty minutes ago. It was in stealth mode so radar didn’t see where it went after that. We believe that they normally can carry thirty-two single ships, which are also radar stealthed. It is launching them as we speak.

“However, all of our largest cities now have entertainment style laser array systems installed as impromptu detectors. I’ve just been told there were a number of beam deflections detected from unseen airborne objects over Belgrade. This is when visible green lasers beams suddenly take a right angle turn after striking a reflector, leaving a hole in the green light in the sky. That happened at two locations in the last ten minutes over the city. One was to the northeast of Belgrade, another south. Considering the Krall typically land at the outskirts and kill their way into the suburbs, we are deploying to the outskirts of the city in those two locations, two platoons in each area to intercept. If we guessed wrong, we’ll move again.

“Platoons one and two take the northeast, three and four the south. I’ll stay airborne to observe and coordinate. Platoon leaders, move your people out and let’s kill some Krall.”

****

Two single ships of the thirty-two released chose the same large city to attack, although they each found concealment for their craft in different quadrants of the target.

Borkdol set her ship down in what appeared to be a deserted mining area or stone quarry, a short distance south of the nearest apparent human nesting area. There were dozens of small structures along a roadway that ran past her place of concealment. She would hunt through those nests first, killing the humans she found. Then she would make her way into a more congested nesting area, deeper into the nest grouping her raid leader said the humans called a “city” in their language. It was larger and more dispersed than the domed compounds the Krall preferred. The individual nests were for related human clan mates, but they were not usually clan related to the neighboring nests. She decided that in the absence of clan affiliations that like the Krall, the humans would offer little assistance to neighboring nests.

Perkta chose to land on nearly the opposite side of the huge human nesting area from his clan mate. He had previously participated in a raid on a neighboring human planet, but didn’t remember what the name of the mostly agricultural world was.

His primary recollection of that raid concerned the two warriors that lost their single ships and the different consequences for each. The angry raid leader had shot the warrior that lost his ship intact, apparently buried under a small mountain. The warrior that had his ship explode, tampered with by a human, had only lost eight points worth of his over two hundred fifty six kills. The death of the tampering human actually offset that penalty by one.

Perkta chose a landing place on the roof of a twelve story human nest in a more built up nesting area. He could stalk his way down each level, killing any human he could find. When he moved on to other buildings, if any animals survived and found a way past his coded lock on the sealed ship, that would trigger the tamper device and destroy the large nest. He would claim at least eight kills for the destruction of the building with the ship if that happened, erasing the points lost.

Neither warrior was still inside their ships to observe the console monitors when the automatic tracking began of inbound targets towards their general landing areas. Each warrior had already dismissed the feeble human laser defenses their Olt’kitapi designed ship had easily deflected. The weapons were so low powered and useless that both warriors elected to ignore them. It would be a waste of time to destroy the source of the sky scanning low powered green laser system. They were unaware that its only purpose was to deflect a visible beam off a craft invisible to eyes and radar.

Borkdol, after she made her exit and sealed her small ship by a quarry wall, noticed a distant droning variable pitch sound, repeatedly changing from low to higher to lower pitch sound.

Her com system on the shuttle console had detected thousands of human transmissions as she descended, which increased geometrically in number shortly before she landed. Not being a translator, knowing only a few hands of human words, she made no effort to listen to the avalanche of mobile phone warnings her intended targets generated. They were phone calls triggered by residents hearing the citywide outdoor raid sirens, and the general civil defense broadcasts on all public access channels for Tri-Vid.

Most of the population was still unarmed, but they were more aware of the threat this time.

Running down the edge of the paved roadway, using what little cover was present, she closed the distance to the family unit nests nearest the quarry where she had landed. Initially, there were lights on in some of the nests, or some more came on as she made her way down the street. However, the nest lights were all now extinguished, except for a few widely separated high positioned lights along the street. No matter, Borkdol could see the heat outlines of the buildings, as well as by the reflections from the street lights.

There was a sharp sounding loud and repeated animal noise, coming from the enclosed small territory around the first nest she was approaching. The gaps between the short vertical strips of the enclosure revealed the warm outline of a four-legged animal, running back and forth along the side of the enclosure, making that sound.

She angled towards that animal, in the event it had alerted the humans in that nest to her presence. She was unprepared for the hail of automatic weapons fire that came from a blocky low stone structure, placed in front of the nest on the other side of the roadway from the noisy animal.

****

Branko Berzinski had been a quarryman his entire working life, he had lived all that time on this very road, in his parent’s house, now his property with their passing. He bought a submachine gun as soon as the government offered them for sale, using some of the insurance money from his father’s accidental death earlier this year. Then he had used cast off granite blocks from the quarry, to build his own small pillbox in his front yard. He thought, I’ll bet the neighbors won’t call me crazy now, will they?

At the first sound of the raid siren, he’d flipped on the Tri-Vid, which already had an official talking head giving details. This was literally true, he thought with amusement. After all, this is a hologram close up shot. As soon as he heard that one of the alien ships was possibly detected on the southern outskirts of Belgrade he ran out to his pillbox, carrying his weapon and extra ammunition.

Branko wasn’t very tall, although powerfully built and thick through the chest. Even so, he had to duck slightly to enter his defensive shelter, with its three firing slits that covered the street in front and both approaches. He set his ammo case down and opened it to lay out extra clips, both on the three slit ledges, and on the dirt floor. He placed two clips in each of his two back pockets, and pulled the slide on his gun to chamber a live round, making certain the safety was on this time. He didn’t want Gertrude Mazowitz to laugh at him again if he accidentally squeezed off another round in his pillbox. Only the dirt floor had probably saved him from a ricochet caused wound last week, when he rehearsed what he would do on a dark morning just like this.

It had been a quiet morning. Right up until he accidentally triggered the predawn shot that roused his closest neighbors. They’d also heard him shout and curse.  He’d always had a “thing” for Gertrude, homely as she was, her family living across the street from Branko’s family. She seemed like a good match for his own coarse features and squat build. He’d never had the nerve to talk to her about his feelings, although now that he had a house of his own, he was working up the courage. Her giggle had hurt his feelings, when her father asked Branko “what the hell he was doing” so early in the morning, shooting off his damned new toy.

His position prepared, Branko stepped outside to watch the sky and to listen. He knew the Army had fast response units that he might hear fly to where a Krall raider landed, and there would of course be gunfire. What he heard first was a whooshing sound from the direction of the old quarry, the newer quarry site being too far down the road to see. He’d not seen anything against the starlit and partly cloudy sky, but there shouldn’t be any noise from the quarry this early. The company only parked equipment there overnight these days.

The distant city raid sirens had obviously awaked more than Branko. He saw lights come on in four other houses. Gertrude’s father stepped onto his front porch, looking towards the tracery of green laser light over the city. The glow and sound of their Tri-Vid set in their living room told Branko they were listening to the latest reports. “Old man” Mazowitz looked across the street at Branko’s darkened house, clearly wondering where the neighborhood “nut job” was this morning, now that there was a genuine raid alert.

He didn’t much like Gertrude’s father, who had been too critical of Branko over the years as he grew up, as the clumsy boy from across the street.  However, she also lived in that house, so Branko decided to wave and call out to him. “Mr. Mazowitz, something landed at the old quarry just now, I think. And the Tri-Vid said a Krall ship might be near here.”

“That’s what I was checking on, Berzinski. You heard something that direction?” He pointed up the road to the quarry a half mile away, just as the front gate fencing ruptured outwards at the drive way entrance, as if hit by a truck.

“Get out of sight and switch off the lights, Sir. I have my gun with me.”

Mazowitz turned and went inside, but he first let his dog out into the yard, a large mixed breed animal that the other neighbors complained about when it barked. It was why he kept it inside at night.

A light breeze was blowing down the road, and the dog quickly started barking, running up and down the fence along that side of the yard, looking through the pickets of the fence, to try to see what it scented.

Branko ducked back into his pillbox, and placed his short gun barrel on the slit ledge that faced towards the quarry. He caught a glimpse of swift movement, from shadow to shadow, staying close to the edge of the pavement. Whatever it was, it never passed under any of several widely spaced streetlights that glowed in bright amber ovals on the roadway. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, but sunrise was still quite some time away.

Suddenly the Krall was faintly visible, silhouetted against the glow from the last street light it had passed. Dressed in a black uniform this was clearly one of the savage beasts he’d seen in Tri-Vid recordings from previous raids on other worlds. It was looking around everywhere, even his direction, but appeared mainly focused on the barking dog.

That’s when he realized it was moving towards Gertrude’s house! Shifting to the left side of the front slit, he aimed up the street where he knew it would appear when it approached her yard. He wanted it close and well within his ability to hit it as many times as possible. He’d heard the Krall were very hard to kill, but he’d die before he let this one slaughter Gertrude.

The Krall was moving surprisingly fast on its short legs, and it covered more distance than he expected when it came into view. Nevertheless, he centered the alien in his sights and pulled the trigger, unleashing a barrage of bullets at the killer, the noise deafening him within his enclosed space. The Krall appeared to be hit on the left side, but it instantly dropped and rolled as it fired back, using its right hand pistol to shoot at the pillbox. Numerous explosive rounds detonated harmlessly on the outside, but one shell found its way through the slit and detonated on the wall behind Branko. The fragments stung his back, but the noise seemed deadened by the effects of his own gunfire. His clip ran empty and, as he had practiced, he yanked it out and threw it aside, grabbing one from the slit ledge and slammed it home.

As he pulled and released the slide again, the street light next door revealed the Krall leaping high over Gertrude’s fence, also reloading, but with a pistol in its mouth and using its right hand to insert a clip. With a thrill, he knew he had hit its left arm and it was wounded! He started firing at where it had dropped behind the wood fence, splintering the pickets.

The Krall was scrambling along the side yard’s fence line in his general direction, trying to get closer, and raised its right hand higher than the fence to fire back at him. Damn! It was accurate even on the run. Shells were splattering all around the outside of the slit, spraying his face with rock chips. These were not explosive shells now, and seemed to do more damage to the thick blocks. However, even the armor penetrating slugs were not getting through ten inches of granite.

Branko fired blindly in the Krall’s direction, unable to stop blinking and flinching away from the debris flying through and around the slit. Suddenly there was a brief pause in firing, and he heard the snarls of the Mazowitz dog attacking the Krall. Taking advantage, Branko looked through the slit. He saw movement by the fence just as the dog, howling in pain, flew into the air and the Krall shot it before it hit the ground.

Now Branko had a target area behind the fence and fired the rest of his clip, hearing a satisfying snarl of pain from that direction as he apparently scored one or more hits. He was changing clips again when he saw the alien dash into Gertrude’s house; or rather, it smashed a shoulder through the solid wood door on the front porch.

After an instant of shock, followed by a scream of rage, Branko bolted out of the rear of his pillbox and charged around it towards Gertrude’s house, firing recklessly as he ran. He never once thought of the risk he took of hitting her or her parents, just of shooting the Krall and keeping it away from her. That reckless act actually saved their lives.

With bullets whizzing through the windows and thin walls around her, Borkdol continued out, or rather through, the rear door of the human nest. She had wounds to each arm, her left leg and side, with one of her two pistols hit and smashed by a bullet and discarded. The shattered left elbow would not bend but she ignored that pain, as she did the deep penetrating bullet punctures in her left side. However, she needed a bit of time and distance to make a brief recovery and assessment, then come back to finish this fight.

Borkdol couldn’t wait to return and skin this surprisingly lucky prey. Her briefing had warned that humans liked to spring ambushes, and this one had surprised her like a cub, waiting for her inside a prepared strong position. She had spare weapons at her ship, and more ammunition. It wasn’t even light yet. There was plenty of time, she had this prey’s scent now and would return to hunt it down.

Branko found Gertrude safe with her parents, all of them crouched on the floor behind a door barricaded with a heavy chest and a bed’s thick headboard. Two bullet holes in that door attested to his fierce onslaught on the Krall. He figured he might work up the nerve to talk to Gertrude about his feelings for her now.

****

Captain Krysinski, communicating with the city’s Civil Defense center, was aboard the shuttle with first platoon, at the command and control console behind the cockpit. He updated Lieutenant Margold, and Lieutenant Cranston of second platoon, using reports of citizen calls about a Krall single ship seen landing on the roof of an office building. He passed the two Lieutenants the coordinates for the building.

Lieutenant Margold directed his shuttle to land in the street on one side of the office building, and Lieutenant Cranston chose to land on the top of the building’s attached three story parking garage on the other side. The intent was to seal the Krall inside. Captain Krysinski would take first platoon’s shuttle back up, and block the Krall’s retreat path back to his single ship on the roof.

“First platoon, move out!” Margold had given each squad leader their holding positions on three sides of the building, using any cover they could find.

Second platoon was spreading through the garage, one squad each covering two short pedestrian bridges and a squad at ground level.

Believing they had the Krall boxed, Captain Krysinski had the shuttle copilot train the craft’s forward laser array on the roof entrance, as they hovered fifty feet above.

****

Perkta set his anti-tamper device and rushed to the rooftop entry door. To avoid alerting the humans below, he ripped the door open by hand rather than blast it open as he approached, with explosive rounds.  One of the great weaknesses of inefficient humans was that they entered a period of nighttime dormancy, when they were unaware of their surroundings. This was something that a Krall never experienced.

That briefing knowledge was partly what guided him to land on the night side of the planet, and to choose this large darkened nest, so he could use his blades, and silently kill as many dormant humans as possible, before they started running, screaming, and hiding. A clan mate had revealed privately that he had followed this strategy to earn almost four hundred kills on a recent raid.

Silently, he raced down the stairs to the first door, which was unlocked. Pulling it open, after a push failed, he stepped into a wide corridor, with transparent partitions used as walls, and human furniture visible. There were opaque compartments within, the view blocked by horizontal thin strips, and doors with translucent panels. That must be the sleeping areas. The scent of many humans was pervasive, but it didn’t seem fresh.

Perkta forced a double door to open from the corridor, without breaking the clear material as he broke the flimsy lock. He quietly went to the end opaque compartment, intending to work his way through the labyrinth of interior rooms, killing silently.

He first thought the door he tried was locked, but a small lever released it with a low sounding click it when he pushed it down. Drawing a short slender blade, he started to slip through the door. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom inside the building, which was broken only by dim lights at exit doors in the main corridor.

Suddenly, he was bathed in glaringly white light from above, and the human that had activated it was hiding. He instantly dropped the knife and drew both pistols in a blur of motion as he dove to the side of a brown rectangular box in the rear third of the room, where the human was most likely hiding. He fired twice through the sides of the box with armor piercing rounds, having seen the wood grain texture. Perkta assumed it was either hollow, or shielded the human.

There was no cry of pain, and no fresh human scent. He looked around the rest of the room before standing. There were several items of human furniture to see. One was a well-padded stool with a back, placed behind and partly under a backside opening of the brown box, and two less ornate backed stools in front. Several examples of artificial plant life were placed in a corner and on shelves, with a poorly photographed replica of a mountain scene on the wall. On closer inspection, the photograph was actually revealed as artificial, made by some human with nothing useful to do.

Perkta, knowing his shots might have alerted other humans nearby, he retrieved his knife and cautiously made his exit, to sample the next doorway along the line of five. He was not startled this time when a glaring white light came on as he entered. These must be motion activated or heat sensitive detectors, intended to light the room when occupied. That suggested that darkened rooms might not contain his prey. Unless that was another human trick. He’d have to check rooms at random on this level, and there were three parallel main corridors, with smaller connecting ones at the ends and one through the middle.

Five minutes later, he decided that if sixteen compartments contained no humans, and there were no fresh scents, he needed to try the next level down. Perhaps the humans did their work at the top of the buildings, and lived lower down. The next level was a near duplicate of the last, and he randomly tried only four compartments. Not all illuminated as he entered, but many did. Some compartments that he tried, and that lit up automatically, had an outside wall with large windows. That glare was surely visible for a considerable distance, marking his passage through the nest. As he passed one compartment that he’d checked earlier, he noticed the open doorway was dark now. That made sense if the lights activated because of his presence, and went off after he departed. He’d avoid compartment testing near outer walls; to prevent the revealing lights from showing his position to outside observers.

He’d eliminated the top two levels, and he decided to drop two levels before checking again for dormant humans. It was while he was looking into other interior rooms that he heard the high-pitched noise of what sounded similar to a single ship maneuvering thrusters. Krall ships had thrusters designed to reduce the sound from high-pitched jets, because of their more sensitive ultra-sonic deployable internal ears. This frequency range told him it was a small human ship, and what he thought was a harmonic, resolved itself into a second small craft that was on a different side of the building. Obviously, humans had noticed either his landing or the lights.

Good, he thought. Perkta realized he had inadvertently selected a non-nest building, left uninhabited at night. Nevertheless, the humans had foolishly come to investigate. Dormant or alert, dead was dead. He’d kill these, and then fly to a more populated area.

****

“Sergeant Griswold, I have motion on the ninth floor, a strong heat signature was briefly at a window. There are residual glows from a couple of windows on the top two floors, as if the lights and air circulation was active a short time ago.” The sergeant had assigned Private Alicia Gomez to run IR surveillance for this end of the twelve-story office building.

“Gomez, feed your playback to squads one and two and the Lieutenant. I’ll send it to second platoon, and get whatever they may have seen.” He was gone, and back in a minute.

He selected a “push” for all three of first platoon’s squads, which included the platoon leader. “Second platoon has successive IR returns from the eighth and sixth floors, all on third squad’s east end of the building. It looks like the Krall is coming down a stairwell to meet us at this side.”

Griswold Linked to his platoon leader. “Sir, if the Krall tries to break out on our end, the top of the parking garage has an oversight of the area. Good spot for a sniper.”

“Good idea sergeant. Let me call them.”

Griswold checked the positions of his seven people. Gomez was atop a parked truck directly across the street from the office building, where she had a clear, but exposed view of the whole east end of the target building. However, he didn’t want her down from there just yet. He had a man at each end of the same truck. Slade had the 50 Cal with KK’s loaded, in the front, Ackerfem was at the truck’s rear, and he had KK’s and grenades ready.

The other four of the squad had to find what hard cover they could, but the street was sparse in that regard. The green pips on his helmet display showed Dill was in a midblock doorway, Trevor at the building’s corner behind him, and DiGeronimo at the far corner of the same building, facing the Binders Insurance Building, where the Krall had landed.

Except where was Castro? His pip indicated he was ten feet above the ground, along the sidewalk of the same facing building. Griswold looked up along the shadows and spotted the IR splotch on a ledge just below the second floor windows. Castro must have used the suit to leap and chin himself up.

Griswold himself was behind a covered public transit system bench, thirty feet in front of the parked truck. Except for that truck, the entire squad had a view of the target’s building. He idly wondered if the Krall was in there buying life insurance. Selecting that building to land on seemed out of character. There were no apartment buildings for several blocks in any direction. This was an expanding new business district on Belgrade’s outskirts.

If the Krall came out on this side, from the stairwell emergency exit onto this east end street, all eight of the squad were ready to go. The sky in the east was getting brighter, and it looked like a good day was dawning.

****

Perkta needed to get out of this trap before dawn, or he might have a bad day. His glances out the windows revealed humans in armor on all sides of the building, and a shuttle hovering in place overhead, covering his exposed single ship. He could get away without the ship.

Their armor did not match with the briefing of what humans had used on Koban for combat testing. This equipment had good active camouflage, that if not for his infrared vision capability he might not have seen all of them. Unfortunately, he had not set up his com system to alert him to nearby human transmitter locations before leaving the shuttle’s master processor. Not that he could understand their conversations, even if not encrypted. However, he could have detected where some of them might be hidden behind barriers if he knew their direction, and form a better idea of how many he faced.

So far, he had counted six hands worth of the enemy, and he knew there were more. The total numbers were not that important, because only those on the side were he made his breakout mattered. It appeared that there was just a single octet on this end. Humans were notoriously slow to react, and the Koban style armor for humans was of ultra-light weight material derived from complex Raspani technology. They did not have the means to fabricate that light substance, and this armor looked heavy, which would slow them even more.

He had just his two pistols for firepower, so he made sure he had full clips in each, armor piercing and explosive. The human’s weapons were probably fully automatic, but he could fire manually nearly as fast, and certainly more accurately. His debriefing from this raid would adjust the equipment the next raiders brought with them.

He decided that the two humans positioned the highest would be his first kills. One was on top of a transport, fully exposed, and another a bit higher and behind, on a ledge of the next building, equally vulnerable. They would have better shots at him when he was below them in the street than the others, so he would eliminate them before that.

All of them appeared to be looking most often at the base and corner of this building, below the stairs he was using. They were virtually telling him where they expected him to exit. He wondered why they had not fired at him as he descended, briefly approaching a window to peek outside several times. Probably their reaction time was too slow. Nevertheless, he didn’t look out at every floor as he descended, and used variable locations to avoid a pattern they could predict. At the third level, based on the distance remaining when he looked down the stairwell, he risked one final fast glimpse out a window to see if the enemy was still stupidly poised where they had been from the start.

They had not repositioned even once, surely knowing he had seen them. He formed his mental battlefield picture, and backed away from the third floor window. They were looking at that corner often, so he fired one explosive round down to that level, to give them a sound and flash to focus their attention in the wrong place. Then he ran and crashed through the third floor window feet first, firing at his designated targets in the order he had decided cleared the most dangerous enemy soonest.

****

Captain Krysinski relayed another update from the city Civil Defense center, this time it was a more definite report. A Krall had just attacked a number of houses on the southern edge of Belgrade, and the caller said he’d wounded the alien.

“Its ship was said to be in a quarry on the same road. Check your computer, I pushed the map coordinates.”

He considered a moment. They had a single ship isolated on a roof, so a second one wasn’t as unique a prize. “The Krall disappeared in the dark, but if it’s wounded, it may be returning to the ship. If you get there first, blow the hell out its transportation. The quarry is a safe place for a large explosion.”

Both shuttles altered course slightly and increased speed. They reached the site in a matter of seconds, banking hard to stay close overhead. A quick visual scan spotted a half dozen trucks parked near the front of the extensive property. However, in the back against a wall was a dark cylinder the right length and diameter. The third platoon shuttle came around in a hover and used its forward floods to verify that it was a single ship. Both shuttles pulled back and coordinated their missile attack. Each fired two brimstone missiles apiece from a mile away. The secondary detonation made them wish they had been farther away.

Lieutenant Capers, third platoon, called in the results. “Captain Krysinski, the Krall ship is destroyed. I caution you to be careful before risking the same thing for the one on the rooftop. We were about a mile away and the blast wave hit us pretty hard.”

“Roger that, we saw the flash from the other side of the city. Don’t assume the Krall was inside. Third platoon start at the quarry and search towards the houses where it was seen last. Fourth platoon land in the road near the houses for their protection, and see if you can pick up a trail.”

After acknowledgements, he returned his attention to the situation below, with a Krall trapped inside an empty office building. Suddenly, the Krall was in the street and first squad, of first platoon, was fighting for survival.

****

Sergeant Griswold shifted aim from the door as the third floor glass shattered outwards, the Krall firing with two hands as it fell, twisting in the air, pivoting for a landing in the center of the street. Griswold and Slade were firing, as was Trevor, the troop behind Griswold at the far corner of the building. Gomez, Castro, and Ackerfem were not shooting, despite having the most favorable angles. Two icons in his helmet turned amber for Castro and Ackerfem, Gomez was red. Three down, one fatal.

The Krall landed and rolled towards the truck’s rear, where Griswold, Slade, Trevor, and Dill had no shot, and Ackerfem lay wounded. A shot rang out and Ackerfem’s icon went red. Everyone in the squad could see the icons.

The damned alien had taken out three squad members best positioned to fire at him as he jumped into the street, and rolled behind the truck as the best cover from most of the other shooters.

DiGeronimo had the only clear shot, and he had hesitated as the Krall rolled next to his now dead squad mate. DiGeronimo resumed firing, but ducked back as explosive rounds exploded on the wall next to him and one round glanced off his breastplate.

Griswold thought Slade was hit when he suddenly fell to his right side, but instead he fired his 50KK’s under the truck at the Krall’s feet. At least one struck home, and others exploded in close proximity. The Krall roared its pain and anger, the sound fed to them through the external speakers. DiGeronimo must have hit it a time or two as well from the other side, and it rolled back to the street side of the truck’s rear wheels for added cover.

The Krall fired under the truck as it moved, and Slade’s icon went amber. The man wasn’t hit so bad he couldn’t move, because he crawled around to the left front wheel for more cover.

Griswold signaled Trevor to move out with him, and he started to move towards the center of the street to have a clear shot at the alien down the side of the truck. He intended to pin the Krall down with triple fire from himself, Trevor, and DiGeronimo to the rear. Dill, and possibly Slade, could cover the walkway side of the truck if the Krall tried to go back around that way. Only it did something else entirely.

With its right foot missing, it still managed to leap up and grasp the top edge of the truck and pulled itself on top. Gomez was still alive up there!

Griswold screamed, knowing the suit AI would broadcast his warning. “Squad, it’s on top!” He dove into the street on his back, firing up at the Krall, seeing only its left shoulder for a target. His clip was empty after four rounds, and he fired his wrist pistol by bending his right hand down and squeezing his thumb rapidly. The six KKs struck home or at least exploded near enough, and they served to distract it from Gomez for the moment. The Krall flinched down as it spun around to see where the shots came from. Griswold was still inserting a fresh clip in his submachine gun when the Krall threw away an empty and shoved a fresh clip in his pistol so fast that Griswold knew this was his last view of the alien.

He was wrong.

As the Krall brought its weapon up in a blur, the front of its face exploded out in a splash of gore, and it collapsed forward, sliding limply down onto the cab of the truck. Griswold saw the back of its ruptured head was just as attractive as the front. He realized a second platoon sniper had made a kill shot just in time to save his slow sorry ass.

****

Borkdol was less than halfway back to her ship when she heard the annoying high-pitched whine from the thrusters of two low flying human shuttles. She first thought they were passing by its hiding place, but they both turned back. One hovered high, as the other moved in low and slow, with bright spotlights stabbing down into the quarry.

She briefly thought they had overlooked it, gray and sheltered against a similar color rock wall, because they both pulled up and moved back towards the city. She decided to get to her ship quickly and move to a different location.

She was nearly back to the entrance when she noticed that the two shuttles had turned around again, causing her to suspect they had somehow seen her furtive movements. The four missile exhaust trails told her the single ship was actually the target. She knew what was going to happen when the anti-tamper device triggered. She raced back towards a low granite outcrop by the roadway. She had used it for cover before, now it would have to serve as shelter. She nearly made it before the blast slammed her into the rocks.

A Krall is tough, bleeding stops quickly, healing and regeneration happens relatively quickly, and they can disconnect their mind from most pain. However, broken limbs, such as both legs and both arms, several ribs, and multiple deep bullet wounds do tend to weaken them a bit and slow them down. Her remaining pistol was nowhere to be found, despite some painful crawling around. All she had were her two skinning knives, ammunition clips, utility belt, and a com set.

Calling the Clanship for recovery wasn’t a solution for her problem. She mentally listed the negatives. She had lost her single ship, lost her guns, was physically disabled by her enemy, had earned zero points, and would face an unsympathetic raid leader. She was certainly dead if she called for recovery, and the disgrace for her and her clan would be worse. When she heard one of the human shuttles return and land, she saw armored humans spread out to look around the quarry, and some cautiously moved down each side of the roadway. The sky was growing light and she had no cover, and could only crawl slowly.

The humans would capture her alive unless she did something, and willing herself to die, stopping her two hearts, took time that she didn’t have. Cutting her own throat, something she wasn’t sure she could manage anyway with broken arms, might not be fatal because her circulatory system would cut off the bleeding when she lost consciousness and quit sawing. She finally conceived a workable solution. With difficulty and considerable pain, she managed to get onto her knees by using a ledge and her shoulders for support. Positioning the knives with difficulty, she threw herself forward towards the rocks, mouth opened wide. The impact drove the two points through the roof of her mouth and into her brain, an organ with no redundancy.

****

“Hank, your troops handled themselves well. They saved many civilian lives this week, and taking down eight warriors is no small accomplishment for the first meeting.” Governor Boldovic was trying to boost Nabarone’s spirits, who had been morose for two days.

“Seven, my people killed seven. The dead Krall we found near the Belgrade quarry took her own life.” He was a hard man to complement when he didn’t feel very successful.

“Your shuttles destroyed the Krall’s single ship, and that blast crippled her, she had no choice if she was to avoid death or capture by your men.” By now, an autopsy had confirmed it was female Krall.

“That quarry worker gave her the bullet wounds and the anti-tamper device provided the big bang that broke her.”

“Damn it Hank, we came off better than any planet has on a similar raid, we lost hundreds, not thousands of lives to so few enemy. It was the first real resistance they’ve met, and you will learn from what didn’t work, and improve on what did.” If his pessimistic friend didn’t acknowledge some gains, he’d toss his depressed ass out of his office.

Nabarone saved himself from the unceremonious ejection. “My troops showed the Krall we have guts, and capability. I’m extremely proud of them. Nevertheless, we seriously underestimated the value of concealing our heat signatures from the Krall. Active camouflage for human vision isn’t protection enough.

“Combat recording show they made accurate shots at troopers that were virtually invisible to the camera, sometimes doing so while looking elsewhere. They seem to have a mental picture of the surroundings before they explode into action, and know exactly where they will shoot in advance, no need to look again. Just watch that action in Belgrade. That warrior jumping through the third floor window took out the three most dangerous positions to him before he even hit the ground. A thirty-foot drop in .97 g’s without powered armor.

“It then went to the best possible cover after that wild leap, which blocked fire from four other squad members. They may not be intellectual giants, but it doesn’t take a genius to see we have to perform better on the battlefield. I lost seventy-three troops versus seven of theirs. No, Mike, I’ll not accept credit for my people on the one at the quarry. However, you should, indirectly at least. ” He looked smug now, which was better than morose.

“Mind explaining that, and why you are trying to reverse my congratulations for you into credit for me?” He couldn’t help chuckling.

“Easily explained. It was your Civil Defense measures.” He held up his hand to hold off the Governor’s follow-up question, and pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket for reference.

“In the person of Branko Berzinski, the blue collar ‘everyman’ that bought one of the guns the government offered, and prevented that Krall from killing a single person. Funds from those gun sales paid for one of the shuttles that blew the hell out of that same Krall’s single ship. So there! You deal with success.” His grin was back, a good sign.

With a deep sigh, Boldovic made a partial concession. “You didn’t know this Hank, but there is an award presentation for Mr. Berzinski this Saturday, in Belgrade. His fiancé, whom he saved, will be present, and his story will make him the poster boy for arming our citizens.

“Initially, his home pillbox idea sounded like a militia nut going overboard, but he’d be dead without that. Civil Defense intends to offer plans, possibly kits, for constructing a variety of low cost home defenses.

“I learned today that Mr. Berzinski was offered a position in the office of Belsouth Quarries, designing and selling other granite block versions of his pillbox. With widely spaced raids and so few attackers in each, those may seem excessive. However, we know that as military forces like yours improve and expand, that the Krall will match us, or even raise the ante. What are you planning to do to address the problems you found?”

Nabarone considered the question a moment.

“I can break it down into local resolution and Hub resolution items.”

“Locally we need to revise our tactical thinking on what constitutes having a Krall ‘trapped’ since they so frequently broke out of them. We also want to find ways to draw them into a firefight that looks more favorable to them than it appears.

“They have a huge ego, and if we can learn how to ‘hurt’ that, knock a chip off their shoulder so to speak, they seem to make brash attacks. We have to conceal our IR signatures better. That will be a HUB item in the end, by the way. We need to program some suit AI control of our weapons firing, because we waste too many rounds that are not on target. The Krall manage with semiautomatic pistols against submachine guns because they are their own high speed fire control system.”

“One of the toughest things we’ll need to instill in our troops is that they have to be more ready to risk collateral damage to friendlies when they have a shot at a Krall. Multiple times my soldiers held fire briefly, when a warrior moved in on fellow squad members. None of those troops survived the meetings anyway. AI control of weapons fire may help there, and prevent friendly fire incidents. We’ll see.”

Nabarone shrugged now, when he shifted to the second list of items.

“Our armor is proof only against fragments from exploding shells or glancing hits from the armor piercing shells. Those last mentioned rounds have a near diamond hard sharp tip that gets through too easily. I already described the suit’s IR signature problem. The Hub military needs to put some money into redesign of personal armor, but my recommendations have not met with favorable responses.”

“No reasons given?”

“Not directly. It sounds more as if the Hub wants to spend money first where it will do the most good. I’d accept that, except I hear hints of big new ship building projects, and I don’t quite see how more ships can keep the Krall off our backs on planets. There may be some breakthroughs. I know they were happy to get that single ship we pulled off the roof in Belgrade, and they got one from Bollovstic.  I’m sure the returning Krall ‘mother ship’ would have blasted it if we hadn’t hidden it underground.

“That mother ship did a White Out only two hundred miles out, already in stealth mode, and spit out thirty two single ships in under thirty minutes. How can the Navy block landings like that? Not a single Navy ship has been lost on these attacks, or even been involved, and we’ve lost one planet and over eighteen million people on the ground, none in space.”

“Hank, I’ll pass those larger concerns on as if they’re mine, through political channels to the Hub. I know you and every Planetary Defense commander want the same things. It’s tough for everyone.”

10. Small Premonitions (Koban)

“Well, it isn’t as tough today as yesterday. At least I’m not flinching as often.”

Dillon was referring to the dual signals his brain was receiving from the two independent nervous systems he now had. One, his normal neural pathway, was primary and operational but slower than the new secondary parallel organic superconducting nerves. Those would deliver “early warnings” to his brain that he could not act on, except via the slower pathways.

Maggi, sharing the breakfast table with him and Thad, was present in part to observe how well the two men were adjusting to the first stages of Koban gene mods. Another part was to have fun at their expense.

She observed, cheerfully but unhelpfully, “I find it entertaining to watch you flail like morons at a fly that has already departed your nose. Of course, I need a rain parka to keep Dillon’s cereal off my clothes if a rat crosses the table.”

She chuckled, reminding Dillon of the embarrassing event of yesterday morning, when a Koban rat dashed across the table like a little blue streak, targeting rhinolo bacon on Noreen’s plate. Dillon had smacked his hand down where his enhanced senses predicted it would be. However, his muscle reaction was too late, and he overcompensated by swiping his hand sideways to smack at the annoying pest. His supplement laden cereal bowl had gone flying, coating Noreen with the goo.

Reddening, Dillon told her defensively, “Rafe has measured our reaction times and says the forewarning really does increase our response time slightly. Our brain starts the return signal to our muscles a couple hundredths of a second sooner than it normally would have.”

Grinning like the mischievous sprite the small woman resembled, she turned to Noreen, “Is he just as premature in bed, dear? Only scientific curiosity, of course.”

Noreen, a product of their sexually open society wasn’t the least discomfited by the question. Nevertheless, she knew that her lover would be sensitive to her reply.

“It appears to sustain a longer climax for him,” she answered almost clinically. “It lasts nearly as long as mine.” She smiled warmly at Dillon, who appeared grateful for her support. After all, he did splatter cereal on her clothes.

“So, we can mark that down as a positive change, I suppose.” Maggi acted as if the answer were a datum of scientific interest.

Thad, sitting on the other side of the table had more than scientific curiosity. “Really, Dillon?”

“Yes, it’s true, but it wasn’t exactly something I felt like sharing with everyone.” He sounded mildly irritated.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve had some offers I put off until I knew what effects this mod would have on us. I damn well won’t put them off any longer.”

“I think we’ve found our motivation for gaining more male volunteers,” Maggi concluded, with the same grin as before. “Rafe might call this the climax of his career.”

Everyone groaned and shook their heads.

Before the morning meal ended, Mirikami Linked in to speak with Dillon and Thad. “Good Morning. Are you two still at breakfast?” he asked.

Dillon answered first, since Thad had a mouthful. “We are, Tet. Maggi and Noreen are with us.” He had tilted his head in the typical indication to others that he was in a Link.

“Jake, include the others in the Link.” Mirikami requested.

“Do you mean just those others at the table with Doctor Martin and Colonel Greeves, Sir, or everyone on the ship?”

With a sigh, “Just those at the table, Jake.”

Mirikami immediately told them why he had Linked. “Stewart MacDougal has asked for our assistance. Hub City needs hunter help. They had two fatal attacks last week at twilight that they think were by a ripper, or possibly a desert panther. Our other two hunter teams are out on hunts, since you two have been out of business for the last two weeks having your nerves jangled. Would you be feeling up for a trip to Hub City?”

“Who is this MacDougal character?” asked Thad. “Those twits get rid of Cahill already?”

“MacDougal says he is Cahill’s new Lieutenant Governor. He didn’t say if she appointed him or if they had an election. Cahill apparently dismissed her other aids after they all thanked us profusely for saving them from the wolfbat attack on our last visit.

“MacDougal said she refused to call us for help, but they don’t have our level of outside surveillance from the derelict ships we have parked here, and none of them feel particularly competent with the guns we gave them. They have shuttles and good pilots from some of the ships they arrived on, but they haven’t spotted the animal from the air. MacDougal thinks the predator is a recent arrival, and with nearly fifty five hundred square miles to check, they don’t know what to do.”

“They have the enclosed Raspani herd area, has the animal killed any of those?” asked Thad. “That would be a natural food source for a ripper, and cut down on the search area.”

“I asked MacDougal, but the Hub City people don’t go into the enclosure often, and its low ceiling makes a shuttle search impossible. Two of our scientists went there a couple of weeks ago to study the Raspani. I spoke with Vince Naguma and Sarah Bradley after talking to MacDougal, but they haven’t seen any signs of predator activity.

“The missing man and woman appear to have been killed close to the dome. They were armed, but their pistols were both found on the ground unfired, near blood trails, and the bodies were gone.”

Dillon had a question. “How would a ripper or desert panther get inside the compound? The electric fence is still active on the top of the wall I take it?”

“The voltage monitors we set up for them indicate so,” answered Mirikami. “But MacDougal claims that someone spotted a few gazelles grazing near their dome a few days ago, and those can’t get over a thirty foot wall even if the power went off for a time. I suspect one of the thirty-two double gates is, or perhaps was open, and the power bypassed. As you know, when someone manually opens an outer gate, the power diverts around that short piece of fencing to avoid accidental electrocution. Then they need to rearm the outer gate when it’s closed. The electric fence on the walls stay powered continuously when someone bypasses a gate.

“I’m thinking we could use the heat sensing and night vision capability of your armor’s helmet visors, plus the semiautomatic 50 caliber rifles, which we will not give to them. I’ll also send more surveillance equipment for their dome. I plan to go along, and if forced to do so I’ll run interference with Cahill’s supporters, and take along any of you that want to visit our Raspani researchers. At least that will be a good pretext to take so many Prime City folks with me.”

Greeves was ready. “Tet, I want to go outside and play. I’m tired of being cooped up and prodded and poked to see if I’m any crazier than I was before the Kobani mods.”

Maggi chimed in, “Thad does seem fine and adjusting well, though Dillon is probably just as nuts as before the last mods.”

“Maggi always has a kind word for me Tet,” answered Dillon, with a grin the Captain couldn’t see. “I agree with Thad. I’m ready to field test any detrimental effects the nerve mods may have had.” Then he committed his faux pas.

“Who will we get to fly us over, since…” he bit off his words. How stupid could he be, with Noreen sitting right next to him? Continuing, he tried to cover the slip, “Since I don’t know the shuttle qualified pilots of the other crews very well.”

If anything, his hesitation focused everyone’s attention on the loss of Roni Jorl’sn two weeks ago; in the whiteraptor attack on the Flight of Fancy’s only remaining shuttle. There were other shuttles to use, but they needed a pilot. Noreen had taken Roni’s death very personally, and neither she nor Mirikami were forthcoming about everything that had happened.

All Dillon knew was that a large raptor had Roni’s ravaged body in its jaws when he and Thad arrived in another shuttle. Thad had killed it with a .50 Cal semiautomatic rifle from a rear hatch, and two other raptors ran away. A forth, smaller raptor, was already on the ground mortally wounded, apparently by Roni and Noreen, since Mirikami had been briefly unconscious and never fired a shot. A later necropsy found Roni’s left forearm in the upper gullet of the smaller raptor. It must have been very traumatic for Noreen to witness, and he wouldn’t ask her for details.

Noreen patted Dillon’s arm in reassurance. “I can fly them there, Tet. Could you ask the Rimmer’s Dream to loan us their larger shuttle?”

“I’ll check with Marlyn Rodriguez. She still calls herself First Officer after the ripper attack killed Captain Johnfem, but she’s taken on the duties of Captain for her crew and the Rimmer’s Dream passengers. If not their shuttle, I’ll find another. Gather up what you need for the trip, and I think we can be on our way by noon.”

****

Stepping into the secure lab, Aldry found the man she had been seeking.  “Morning Rafe. I saw your lab lit up late last night. Has your team managed to locate the genes the whiteraptors use for growing those carbon fiber claws and nano tube bone reinforcements?”

“Morning Aldry.” He was red eyed from the all-night analysis. “I think we’ve identified the primary genes, but we’re looking for the source of some proteins that help merge the nano tubes into bone growth. The huge toe claws were straightforward genes to identify, but we don’t know of an application yet, since we don’t want to put black claws on humans. However, raptor bone growth is a mixture of calcium, minerals, and long carbon nano tubes that make them incredibly resilient and difficult to break.”

He shrugged, and added, “At first we didn’t really know why they needed bones that strong, even with the 1.5 g’s of stress they undergo. It didn’t seem they needed that for running. Antelope and gazelles, which are fast and perform impressive jumps, don’t have the nanotube reinforcement, nor do the heavier rhinolo. Then we thought about the stress that raptor bones undergo for those high leaps on moosetodons, to slash down at their prey.

“The large female would have an Earth weight of a ton and a half, or equivalent to over four thousand five hundred pounds on Koban. Tet says the big one was at least forty feet off the ground when she caught the shuttle by the landing skids.”

Aldry thought she had a counter for that hypothesis, “Didn’t it use the moosetodon carcass and wall as step-ups to get that high? It didn’t simply jump forty feet straight up using only its muscles.”

“Ah ha,” Rafe grinned, “then it needed to survive landing from that high without breaking a leg or straining a leg muscle in case it couldn’t hold on to the prey. We didn’t think it would act that reckless unless it was sure it could do so safely. Testing proved the bones and claws could take the landing strain easily, but a calculation from our dynamic model indicated that their leg muscles shouldn’t be able to absorb the landing without tearing. And the beast did get forty feet high, which also suggested more strength than we would have expected in this gravity, even using the available leverage.”

“You’re stringing me along, Rafe,” she prodded him gently in the arm. “You probably already know how it could do that. Give.” She ordered with a knowing smile.

He displayed a sheepish grin. “We don’t have that gene complex fully isolated yet,” Rafe acknowledged, “because we didn’t start out looking for it. However, we discovered sheets of tough carbon fiber woven into the muscle tissue on the necropsy. It is there on other Koban animals as well, at least in the muscle tissue. Everyone missed it initially because we didn’t think to look for that. We didn’t expect anything like that.

Aldry looked a bit surprised. “I’ve heard of prosthetics for amputees that couldn’t regenerate a limb, which use carbon fiber as synthetic muscle. It was an idea taken from the powered military armor developers, from around the time of the Clone Wars.”

“You’re right. Only here it’s natural. My team believes it explains why Koban muscle mass and size is no greater than that of similar weight Earth bred animals. Evolution solved the bulkiness problem here by making the muscles stronger, without investing so much mass and resources into building them up to exaggerated sizes.”

Anticipating the answer, she asked, “So what use do you think you can make of these genes, once you have them all identified?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing at all for normal control humans, I think. Not even for people such as you, me, Dillon and Thad, with or without the Koban nerve mods. We, basically, are standard model humans with minor enhancements, compared to where we want to go. We might not be able to use these mods for our children, which will be born with the new nervous systems that react faster, to take better advantage of the enhanced human muscles they will have at birth.

“We’ll have to wait until we have some of the second-generation kids to decide if we can enhance them with new Koban muscles and bones. I’m staying on the conservative side of adding risky new features. If we produce any life threatening genetic failures, our list of willing participants will dry up, and we will eventually lose to the Krall.

“However, the third generation will certainly be receptive to these new genes, especially if we can incorporate them at the fetal stage, before the bones and muscles form. I’m not ruling out a bone and muscle retrofit for second-generation children, before they reach maturity. We need to verify all of the genes required, and the insert points for them. Then we have to prove that not only are they heritable, but compatible with our Normal control groups for reproduction. Reproducing would be proof that they were merely greatly enhanced humans. That would save us a full generation in achieving a higher level of Kobani adaptation.”

Aldry fully understood the implications. “Wow. We had better keep this within the Inner Circle, and share with the gene volunteers of course. The more Koban adapted we become, the more Cahill and her supporters will oppose us, until we can prove that those children can breed true with Normals…” She paused just a moment then added, “Who the hell am I kidding? Ana Cahill will oppose us at every step because she wasn’t in on the project from the start, and has polarized herself into the ‘Loyal and Fanatical Opposition’ so strongly that she can never reverse course.”

“Well, I’m already certain,” Rafe concluded, “from the discussion you, Maggi and I have had previously, this is the only route to making humans physically superior to the Krall. With the nerve enhancements, we would be faster than they are only until they bred in the ability to grow organic superconducting nerves of their own. Telour told us the Krall were within perhaps fifty breeding cycles of doing that. They lay eggs; their cycles must pass faster than our generations of live births.

“However, our present capability to enhance human muscle and bone structure isn’t going to make us any stronger than the Krall. We also don’t have the organ redundancy, or the rapid self-healing they exhibit and limb regeneration. We do have medical technology to replace organs and regrow limbs, which is nearly as good if you actually survive a fight. If a Koban adapted human is faster, smarter, and also much stronger than Krall warriors, then our only concern will be how badly we, the Kobani, are outnumbered.”

“Gee, is that all?”

****

As the shuttle approached the Hub City dome, Mirikami asked Noreen to fly over the Raspani section. Nearly one quarter of the Krall compound was covered; tented was the word that came to Mirikami’s mind, because there were thousands of roughly one hundred foot high tripods that supported a transparent tough membrane.

The membrane, perforated over most of its surface except where the “tent pole” tripods provided support, allowed air to circulate in and out. Numerous large ground level fans at the sides of the enclosure aided that flow of air. Rain and sunlight freely entered, via perforations and transparency, to sustain the mild climate that supported the Koban grass and leafy shrubs the Raspani herd ate. Those plants were essentially the same savanna grasses and plants that rhinolo and other native grazers browsed. Except Mirikami sighted wide swaths of red and green growths that he had not seen elsewhere on Koban.

“Any of you know what the red and green plants are?” Mirikami asked.

Marlyn Rodriguez provided an answer. “Your scientists told me they were probably from the original Raspani home world. They thought the plants were perhaps nutritional supplements that were lacking in the Raspani diet, and brought here by the Krall.”

Marlyn had previously ferried the two Prime City scientists over here to study the Raspani, and brought their equipment and personal effects. She had spent two days with them before returning. She had willingly loaned Mirikami the Dream’s largest shuttle.

However, when she learned the nature of the mission, and that Thad Greeves was part of the team, she asked if she could be part of the search for the predator. The Colonel was a strapping good-looking male, who had a reputation for toughness and honor. Those were bedroom qualities she admired anywhere, but on Koban those might be “sign the line” features.

As evidence that the shuttle loan was sincere, Noreen had flown it all the way over, with Marlyn riding in back as a passenger, discussing the mission and the political atmosphere at Hub City. Marlyn had been the first one of the final Krall captives to request the clone gene mods. After her successful example, a surprising number of Spacers from various ships also volunteered.

Like many of the Spacers, Marlyn pragmatically accepted that Koban was where she was going to spend her life. Their two hundred light year separation from even the Rim of Human Space felt more “real” to Spacers because of their travels. They understood that in the vastness of space, no human exploration ship was likely to stumble on them in their lifetime, particularly with the Krall now at war with humanity.

As the shuttle flew over the enclosure, Noreen pointed out the grazing Raspani herd. The creatures merely glanced up at the commonly seen craft. It wasn’t the first time the people aboard had seen them, but Thad and Dillon had not seen them in a herd, only penned in a corral close to the dome. On that occasion, several Raspani were being treated for injuries suffered out on the grasslands.

The grey creatures, paler on the stomach than on the back, looked somewhat like a pigmy hippopotamus from Earth. They were nearly three feet high at mid back, and five feet long in the lower torso. The upper part of their torso was vaguely centaur-like, which when held upright placed their heads five feet above ground.

They had a pudgy pair of human-like jointed arms and dexterous looking six fingered hands. When grazing, they held their upper torso horizontal, but did not eat directly from the ground. Instead, they plucked tender grass shoots and fern leaves with their hands. Usually they rose up to feed themselves the foliage in an almost delicate manner.

Raspani also ate fruits and berries if they could find them. They had the broad masticating side teeth of most herbivores, but also sported two serious looking sharp dentures, or residual tusks,  jutting up from the lower front jaw. These protruded three or four inches above fleshy lips, one on each side, framing features arranged much like on a human. They had a central flat nose above their lips, with two large nostrils, and large forward facing brown eyes under light brown furred brows. The head was smooth, rounded, and hairless, but there was some sparse brown hair growing on their upper and lower backs. The ears were pixie pointed, and upright on the sides of the head, no larger than a human’s ears.

Their feet had six thick spread out toes to support their weight of perhaps four hundred pounds, and they could rise up on the ends of the clustered toes when they chose to run. However, their speed was about the same as a normal human on Koban. Meaning they were slow and helpless against any of the predators here. There appeared to be some genitalia below and to the rear of some of them, probably marking those as the males.

There were a dozen cute small ones frolicking around the placid adults. It was hard to imagine how this formerly intelligent species had endured the casual Krall predation and cruelty.

Mirikami observed approximately one thousand Raspani below them through the windows. “Well, we aren’t going to find out much about this predator up here. I’m sure Hub City has noticed our arrival. I don’t know if MacDougal told Cahill about our visit, but she will know of it now. I’d like to get down before she organizes some foolish committee to greet us and get in our way.”

With a possible welcoming committee in mind, Noreen flew low over the tarmac on the north side entrance they most often used, then lifted over the dome and swiftly landed on the south side by that entrance.

Maggi approved. “Noreen my dear, that was clever. If Cahill had already rushed to that entrance, then she’ll have to run all the way through the dome to intercept us over here.”

Mirikami was using a pocket handset to call the two Raspani researchers, with whom he wanted to have a meeting. Thad and Dillon were unpacking their armor and weapons, plus some infrared scanners, and removing wheeled cases holding the surveillance cameras they had brought. Neri Barr, a machinist mate helped them. She would help mount the cameras and wire the monitors for an improved security system at Hub City.

Mirikami told them, “I reached Vincent Naguma. He and Sarah Bradley were out in the Raspani enclosure in a truck. They saw us circle overhead and Vince is now on his way in to pick me up. Does anyone want to go with me? I plan to see the Raspani up close, and find out what Vince and Sarah have learned so far. That should keep me away from Cahill for a few hours.” He winked at Maggi.

She felt torn between her scientific curiosity of the Raspani, and the anticipation at possibly making a fool of Cahill again. Curiosity won by a narrow margin. “Where do we meet Vince?” she asked.

“He described a sort of airlock building for entering and leaving the enclosed area. It’s mainly to keep skeeters and wolfbats outside. It’s that one story building with lift doors over there.” He indicated a low building made of the same material as the dome, built into the closest side of the Raspani tent section, less than a mile away. As he pointed, a wide door lifted on the side of the building, and a Krall made truck with an expanded cab pulled out. A figure briefly jumped out to close the door, and then the truck started towards the shuttle.

“That must be Vince with our ride. Anyone else going with us?” Mirikami asked.

Noreen and Marlyn both said they were staying to help Dillon and Thad, which was no surprise to Mirikami, or Maggi. They had already noticed Marlyn’s interest in Thad.

Neri was already rolling a case with the small cameras towards the Dome overhang, glancing to the sky periodically as all of them did, anytime they were outside. Obviously, he was planning to start work with his counterparts here, setting up the new cameras and monitors.

The Krall truck pulled up and Vince stepped out to greet them, extending his wolfbat-scarred right hand.

“Tet, Maggi, glad you decided to come see what we’re doing.” Vince Naguma was a wolfbat casualty from their first day on Koban, when he lost his left hand to their attack, and received a mangled right hand, with bites to his head. He wore a clearly artificial prosthetic left hand. Until the Krall had departed Koban, he had stayed in hiding, fearful the Krall might kill him on sight if they saw his combat limiting disability.

“Sarah and I have some exciting things to tell you about the Raspani. We have a camp set up in a grove of trees, and the herd appears to prefer being near us. I’ll take you there now if you wish, or do you need to put some luggage in a guest room first?”

“Do you have room for us to stay out there with you Vince?” Mirikami asked. “If so I’d prefer to stay with you at least overnight. We have some cots, blankets, folding chairs, and a four-person tent aboard. Maggi, how about you?” he asked.

“I have all I need in my duffel,” she replied. “A night outside might be a very pleasant change. Assuming it’s safe. I have no desire to swat at foot long skeeters or worse.” She told them.

“Don’t worry,” Vince assured her. “The Raspani are nearly defenseless, more so than we are without guns, and they have been safe here for years.” This rather overlooked the irony of their being a food staple when the Krall were in residence.

Vince, using the prosthetic hand for an aid to lift their camping gear, helped Mirikami load it in the back of the truck.

Maggi, noticing his care to avoid placing too much stress on the appendage, felt compelled to pass along news from one of the labs not involved with genetics research. “Vince, we have five doctors from the other ships that have volunteered with our medical research lab. They believe we have reacquired the medical technology to promote regeneration. It will take a few months, but I think you can get that hand back. Almost good as the original.”

“Really? They sure are making fast progress. I didn’t expect that capability back for a couple of years. When we finish our first round of research here, I’ll check it out. This thing,” he waved the stiff pink hand, “comes unstrapped sometimes, and the neural command to grip or open is too damned slow to be of use in a hurry.”

“I’m not surprised at our progress,” Maggi answered. “We don’t have real jobs here, so people throw themselves into projects to avoid boredom, and for the satisfaction of making a contribution. Like you and Sarah are doing,” she added in illustration.

“True. This study has nothing to do with my field of microbiology, but it fascinates me to study a fallen alien species that once was more technologically advanced than we are now. I wish we knew what they were saying,” he added.

Mirikami caught that reference as he tossed his own bag in the truck. “They talk? I didn’t know that. The people here at Hub City said they made nonsense sounds.”

“Sarah made a recording of two of them apparently talking, and broadcast it to Jake to analyze. It’s a sort of low frequency pigeon Krall, mixed with words for which Jake had no reference. No one at Hub City knows any Krall…, not that many of us at Prime City know much either,” he chuckled.

“Vince,” propose Mirikami, “you and Hub City could use more access to talk to Jake, or the other AI called Jeb, or to any of us at the other compound. I think we can arrange that to be easier. The long rage radios we have now depend on bounce from the ionosphere; it isn’t reliable and has a low bandwidth. We have a satellite relay originally intended for one of the fledgling Rim world settlements. If we attach an ion propulsion unit and lift it to low orbit, it can reach a geosynchronous orbit. After that, Jake could communicate directly and reliably here.”

He didn’t mention that they also could use Jake’s spare transducer relay to allow private Links here. Thad and Dillon could have made use of instant Links as they hunt for the unknown predator.

Saying their goodbyes to the rest of their group, Vince drove them out to meet the Raspani.

Dillon and the others looked up as a man walking alone from the dome waved and called a cheery welcome. The four waved back, and Dillon introduced his companions and himself when he drew close, discovering in the process that this was Stewart MacDougal.

“When I spoke to him on the radio, I thought Commander Mirikami was also coming.”

“He’s here,” Dillon acknowledged, “but he went into the Raspani enclosure to see them up close, and to confer with the two researchers observing them.”

“Avoiding our dear Governor, Lady Cahill, I’m sure.” MacDougal’s sarcastic phrasing when he said “Lady” was evident.

Noreen asked, “You’re her Lieutenant Governor, are you not?”

“Yes, for now. Cahill is at the north entrance waiting for you to land. I told her you were searching the compound for predators and wolfbats before she came outside this time. I realized you had actually landed here and came over to meet you alone.”

“Not a very good way to hold your job, is it Mr. MacDougal?” Dillon observed.

He laughed. “It wasn’t going to last longer than I could stand kissing her ample ass anyway. I needed some credentials and prestige for a day or two, and she was looking for a new set of sycophants. I applied and buttered her up, telling her any ‘real’ Governor had a Lieutenant. I was her choice this week, long enough to gain access to the radio room.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Thad. “We sent you folks the radio for requesting our assistance, and routine communications between the compounds.”

“Right. Only that isn’t how Cahill and her supporters do things. They placed it in a so called ‘radio room,’ which is a Krall compartment with a locking door code that only she has access to open. I don’t know how she managed that, since the codes are set by the Krall and they’re gone.”

“I know how,” answered Thad. “I had a living area like that at Prime City at one time, and could change the code myself after I had it set for me the first time. There’s probably a Krall computer in each of the maintenance areas at the four entrances, and the room door codes can be set from any of those. When the system powers off, like when the Krall left, the restart sets all the door codes to the Krall equivalent of zeros. It happened to us at Prime City when they killed our power, and I suppose Cahill learned about that, and set a new personal code to a locking room. Barring a reboot, you need the new code to change the door again.”

“Why did Cahill lock up the radio anyway?” Dillon asked. “Our researchers were able to use it earlier this week.”

“She lets who she wants use the radio, and keeping you folks from knowing of the restricted use keeps you from correcting the situation. She didn’t want us ‘consorting’ with you corrupt criminals without being monitored. Do you have more long range radios we can use?” MacDougal asked.

“A few,” answered Noreen, “but she can lock those up too if you people let her do it. Why do you?”

MacDougal explained. “Cahill has some support from close to two thirds of the people here, at least passive support from that many. Then there are her strong supporters, militant in their condemnation of your genetic research, which represent perhaps one fifth of her total support. I’ve been in the third that didn’t support her, but also never actively opposed her.”

Marlyn told him, “So, you have passively permitted the beginnings of a totalitarian government, which thinks it knows what’s best for all of you, without consulting most of you.”

“That is a neglect I will correct for my part,” he admitted. “However, I don’t want to be seen as ignoring or condoning illegal gene modifications, or as helping the people that do it or receive the changes. With my position made clear on that subject, allow me to say that I do not consider you evil people, and in many other way’s you have behaved very honorably and lawfully. Nevertheless, I think we will be found by some scouts or explorers from the Hub eventually, and I do not want to go to prison for your actions.”

Noreen nodded.  “Mr. MacDougal, I appreciate your candor, and we obviously don’t agree with your stance against our method of surviving on Koban, and perhaps of facing the Krall someday. I think we can cooperate within the limits you outlined, and assist you in a way that does not expect your support or acceptance of actions we take, which you consider unlawful.”

MacDougal grinned and offered his hand to each of them in turn, “Nicely said. I told you I found you folks well behaved and honorable, just a bit illegal.” He chuckled now.

As they shook hands, Dillon had another question for him. “You ingratiated yourself to Cahill to gain access to the radio. What did you want from us that she wouldn’t support?”

“She didn’t want help in finding whatever animal or animals attacked and killed our two people. I got you here to do that.” He stated firmly.

“You’ve probably made Cahill an enemy now. Was it worth that much to you?”

“Yes,” he answered in a subdued manner. “My brother Glen and his wife Candice were the victims.”

All four offered their sympathy and condolences. Thad told him they would do everything they could to find and eliminate the predator or predators.

“Do you have any idea when or how a large predator could have gotten inside the compound? I agree with Commander Mirikami, that a gate left open is the most likely scenario, because the fence monitors never recorded a power loss. Has anyone made a trip out of the compound that you know of recently?”

He shrugged. “We have a former zoologist that wanted to see some rhinolo and other grazers once the weather warmed up. Cahill wouldn’t authorize her to check out a truck, telling her that if she wanted to study Kobani animals she should return to Prime City to live.”

“Did she go out anyway?” Thad inquired.

“She may have, but I don’t know that. Lady Amelia Simpson’s current consort is a handsome young Rimmer ramp worker, truck driver, and handy man, named Flaven Dawson. Your shuttle pilots see him each time you bring us fresh meat or supplies. He has regular access to a truck, so he might have given her a ride out and back without logging it for Cahill’s equipment watchdogs to report.”

“Does anyone ever go out to actually check the gates?” Noreen asked. “If the trip were made recently, just after the snow melt, truck tracks might still be visible. We were going to fly the wall perimeter today, with Dillon and Thad wearing their armor’s helmets and visors. We can look for signs.”

MacDougal shook his head. “Cahill doesn’t really focus on anything that isn’t social climbing or controlling and manipulating people, so no, I don’t think anyone is assigned to check the outer compound walls or gates. I can’t believe she was trained as a logical thinking scientist.”

“Yes to the education, no to the logical thinking part.” Dillon answered. “She had a little used advanced biology degree that got her on our project’s consideration list, but it was her political machinations that actually got her on the Midwife Project, and eventually on our Board of Directors. She has always been political, and in my estimation, rarely logical.”

Thad asked, “If Lady Simpson did get her truck ride out, do you know which of the thirty two gates she might have used?”

“The rhinolo herds stay to our north and east in their migrations, I’m told. That’s something we all are generally aware of, since we hope to have our own hunters working for us soon, and that’s the direction they intend to go look for game.”

“Thank you Sir. We’ll look there first,” Noreen agreed. “You’re welcome to ride along if you wish,” she invited.

“I would, but after I get on Cahill’s ‘dirty’ list today, I had better create an appearance of some distance from you folks. No offense intended. I’m a recent consort to a certain influential Gracious Lady here that probably would not accept shunning because of me. I want to try to change things here politically, with her backing.”

“Good luck to you Mister MacDougal. We will keep you informed as to our search results.” Noreen replied.

Thad and Dillon soon appeared dressed for a Krall combat test.  They wore armor, holding rifles and two Krall pistols on their hips, spare clips on their weapons belts. All they needed was to don helmets to be ready to fight.

Noreen looked at them both, an amused look on her face.

“What?” Dillon asked.

“Maggi isn’t here. I feel a need, on her behalf, to make some appropriate remark. Perhaps something describing you two buckaroos.”

“Not appropriate at all. That’s a cowboy reference she uses. We’re dressed like soldiers of old,” he proclaimed proudly.

“Sure, like a couple of GI Joes” Marlyn added, “only with dirty, scratched, second hand dented armor.”

Thad thumped her lightly on the arm, laughing. “Hey! I resemble that remark!”

They were climbing back into the shuttle when they heard a shout from the direction of the dome. It was Cahill, with several Ladies in trail, hurrying out to greet them.

“Oh crap!” Noreen muttered, as she motioned the others to continue into the shuttle. She turned, with a forced smile to greet the bulky woman, who on this occasion wasn’t wearing her billowing blue imitation Governor robes.

“Are you going home already?” Cahill demanded more than asked. “Where’s Mirikami! I have a few things to say to him.”

“The Commander is visiting our two researchers out in the Raspani enclosure,” Noreen answered diffidently, not caring for the woman’s tone and lack of manners. “For your information, we are not leaving the area,” she corrected Cahill. “I’m about to fly our most experienced hunters over the perimeter of the compound, scouting for the entry point of whatever killed your two citizens.”

Cahill snapped a reply. “I think whatever it was has gone. It hasn’t shown a sign of its presence for a week. We’ve seen gazelles browsing near the dome. They wouldn’t be there if a ripper were stalking them. We don’t need your help.”

Sticking his head out of the hatch, Thad had obviously overheard. “This predator, which may or may not be a ripper, had two humans to eat, so it won’t need to hunt for a week or more if it’s alone. You wouldn’t see signs of it, not if its stomach is full and it isn’t stalking prey. The next sign might be another human blood trail. How do you know there aren’t even more of them now? Those gazelles didn’t just hop over the wall. They got inside somehow.”

“I didn’t invite you here,” she retorted. “You didn’t even ask me before coming.”

Noreen came back at her, “We don’t need your permission to come here, and you are not the person that asked for our help.”

“My former Lieutenant Governor exceeded his authority in placing that call. He has been fired, or will be when I see him.”

“Lady,” Thad spoke to her insolently, “if the potato peeler here asked for my help I’d offer it with no strings attached. It doesn’t have to be anybody you consider important.”

Cahill sputtered in outrage. “You are speaking to the lawful Governor. You can’t go flying about here without my authorization!”

“Self-appointed, I believe,” Thad answered, as he rolled his eyes, his impudence turning her face an even deeper purple.

Trying to prevent matters from growing worse, Noreen made her an offer. “Governor,” hoping use of the claimed title would placate her, “you and your party are welcome to accompany us on our flight today. We have plenty of room.”

The eyes brightened for her three companions at the prospect of aerial sightseeing. However, catching a glimpse of their anticipation, Cahill crushed the invitation in a brutal and ultimately final manner. It proved to be a painful experience for the Governor.

“I think not,” Cahill responded with a sneer. “I’ve heard how flights with you end. I’d rather live to…”

She nearly didn’t live past her abruptly terminated sentence. Noreen struck her square in the nose with a powerful right cross, backed by her gene mod strength and pent up anguish as she stepped into the punch. The sound of the fracturing nasal bone was clear. As Cahill squawked in pain and fell back into her cronies, Noreen drew her left pistol in a swift smooth move a Krall might have admired.

Noreen looked down her extended left arm, over her steady pistol sights, index finger resting lightly on the easy squeeze trigger. Centered in her sights was the face of the nearly blinded-by-pain chunky woman, starting to gush blood from her nose. Noreen held the pose long enough for Cahill to get her eyes to open and to see the gun pointed directly at her forehead.

Noreen told her coldly, “I hereby challenge you, anytime, any weapon of your choosing, at any location you select. It’s your choice or your apology. Pick which comes first.”

Cahill’s “friends” carefully backed away.

Blubbering with fear and having an understandable nasal tone, Cahill squealed, “I’m not armed, d-d-don’t shoot.”

“Wrong.” Noreen corrected her. “You have a pistol right there on your hip. All of you do.” She had noticed that each of the Hub City women packed Krall guns today. Probably a lesson learned from their previous unarmed blunder when out of doors.

“I’m making sure you keep your hands away from your weapon until you’re in a condition to fight me, or to wait for you to apologize.”

Cahill stammered. “I.., I meant no disrespect. I’m s…, sorry.”

“Yes, you did mean it. However, I accept that you truly are a sorry person.” Smoothly holstering her left pistol, Noreen backed carefully away from the downed woman. “The challenge stands,” she told her harshly. “It is suspended until such time as you are prepared and wish to respond. I will not push for satisfaction unless you offend me again, understood?”

Cahill, merely nodded, fumbling for her shirt collar to pat gingerly at the blood, keeping her hands as far from her pistol as practical while sitting on her butt.

Noting that all three of her own companions were now watching her back, Noreen turned around calmly and stepped up into the shuttle.

Dillon and Marlyn followed her in, and Thad stood watching the four women through the edge of the closing hatch until it was sealed.

“Noreen!” exploded Dillon. “I cannot believe you did that to me!”

Defensive and hurt by his reaction, she shouted back at him, “She pushed me too damned far. You actually shot the bully that threatened you, if you recall.” She reminded him of an incident when they were new arrivals on Koban.

“No! I mean you did it and I didn’t even get to see you slug her, damn it. I didn’t even have a premonition.”

There was an incredulous pause, before the four of them exploded in laughter. Noreen laughed until she had tears coursing down her cheeks. This emotional release was one she hadn’t realized she needed. Her ribs were aching when she enveloped Dillon in her arms and kissed him passionately. A “thank you” down payment, rendered for his supporting remark.

Thad chuckled at a thought. “Wow, I almost wish she had remembered she had a gun. That would have removed a huge pain in our asses.”

“Damn it to Hell!” Noreen exclaimed, in an uncharacteristic use of profanity. “I have just made things tougher for Tet. He’s trying to keep us on cordial terms with Hub City, and I just ruined that for him.”

“We never had good relations with Cahill’s clique,” Marlyn reminded her. “We were never going to be friends with them anyway. MacDougal proves there are people here that are capable of a rational conversation, even if they disagree with us.”

“Well, let’s get busy and help MacDougal and others like him. We need to find when, where, and how whatever killed his brother and sister in law got inside. Then find and kill the thing.

****

Mirikami was enjoying a rare relaxing day away from decision-making, drinking Death Lime juice under a shade awning on a hillock, next to a sweet smelling grove of everblue fir trees. Vince and he were simply talking about how beautiful this dangerous world was.

Maggi and Sarah were discussing the imported plants the Krall had brought for the Raspani. They were curious as to the reasons behind the consideration this appeared to imply on behalf of the Krall. They were a race that never showed concern for even other Krall.

Deciding to pull the men’s conversation into something more productive than pure appreciation of nature, Maggi asked Mirikami his thoughts on the two species of plants.

“Sarah informs me there are two vitamins and an enzyme in the green fern plants that is missing from Koban plants, which the Raspani need for vigor and improved health. The Raspani need this to thrive, but it isn’t essential. We both can see the Krall motive for furnishing the plant if they want faster growth and healthy stock. Otherwise we doubt they would have bothered.”

Mirikami agreed. “I’d say Krall efficiency is at work there. More meat for the harvest, with no care for the actual well-being of the Raspani. What have you learned about the plant that’s red colored? Is it from somewhere else on Koban or imported from off world?”

“It shares many matching genetic markers with the green fern, proving they both originated on the same world.” Sarah told him.

Maggi noted, “The red leaves may actually find some use in cooking for us. It’s safe for humans to eat, if you can tolerate the heat. The coloration provides fair warning.”

“Excuse me? Heat?”

Sarah smiled. “Spice, not temperature Commander. It contains a compound very similar to the capsaicinoids in some Earth chili peppers. The Raspani appear to enjoy eating it, but we’ve found nothing present in them that appears unique nutritionally, or lacking on Koban. Therefore, it must be a flavor of their home world. Not a flavor they crave constantly, but they appear to enjoy it in moderation.”

“First of all Sarah, please drop the Commander title, I beg you. I’m simply Tet.”

“Tet, you are nothing simple, but I’ll remember. I’m interested in your thoughts as to why the Krall might have brought the pepper plant here. You must admit, you have had some success in figuring out Krall thinking and motivations.”

“Perhaps I’ve had some luck in doing that Sarah, but I always assume anything the Krall do has some self-serving motivation at its root. The plant can’t just be for giving the Raspani pleasure, or it probably would be something for them that’s equivalent to sugar, or work like an addictive drug does for humans. The Raspani don’t crave the flavor if they eat it in moderation.

“You have to ask yourself, what use did the Krall have for keeping the Raspani alive? The answer is they use them for food. The green plant helps increase the health and quantity of that food. Perhaps the red pepper is for quality?”

“How would the plant help that?” asked Vince. “A cooking spice?”

“The Krall like their meat fresh and raw, or dried as jerky when in the field. I can’t see a Krall carrying spice leaves around and a cook pot, can you?”

“Then how do you think they use the plant?” Sarah wanted to know.

“You’ve heard the phrase ‘you are what you eat’ haven’t you? I suspect they feed it to the Raspani for the flavor it imbues in their flesh.”

Maggi asked Sarah a couple of questions. “You say they don’t eat a lot of this plant. Is the spice extremely concentrated?”

“No. less so than the ground peppers we compared it against.”

Mirikami thought a moment, tapping his lip. “I saw some pens inside the airlock building, apparently for holding the Raspani before slaughter. Are there feeding and water troughs there? A hungry Raspani might eat whatever it’s given, if held long enough. The Krall complained more than once that humans don’t taste good, that we’re too bland. This may be what spices up the flavor for them.”

“I think you could be right,” agreed Vince. “The pens you noticed hold exactly eight Raspani, the Krall’s favorite number. We saw that there were curious bracket mechanisms that could lock on and hold each of the Raspani with the upper torso forced down over the troughs. They could have forced them the spice as long as they wanted. Damn them.”

“That’s our compassionate enemy for you Vince. When we have the improved communications installed, Jake can listen to and observe the Raspani. He might find out how much language they retain. We may discover what they still know.”

****

Noreen took the shuttle up over the Hub City dome in a hover a few thousand feet overhead, to allow Dillon and Thad to open both rear hatches to calibrate their helmet displays, IR sensors, and adjust camera zoom.

Over the suit radio, on a shared frequency with the shuttle, Thad pointed out a recent rutted trail.

“To the north, there’s a double path through the grass and muddy patches. Looks like wheel tracks. Could be from a truck going out and returning. There’s been no rain in the last couple of weeks, since the snow melted, so they could have been made at any time since then. I think we should see if they lead to a gate.”

Noreen followed the tracks at a modest pace, to keep the slipstream low around the raised hatch doors. The tracks wavered around terrain obstacles, such as hills or sporadic growths of trees and bushes, but maintained a northerly path right up to one of the compound’s gates.

Noreen set down well away from the tracks and gate, to avoid disturbing the scene, in case there was useful detailed information up close.

The gate used the airlock principle, with two hinged gates at each end of a thirty-foot corridor extending out into the savanna.  The wire tunnel formed of closely strung parallel heavy wires stretched between gray metal frameworks.  Those frames were insulated from the ground by a few inches.

The Krall had high voltage applied to the entire metal assembly. The procedure was to disarm the gate assembly by throwing a manual switch that bypassed the current, and open the inner gate. Drive into the protected wire tunnel, close that gate behind you, open the outer gate and drive out. Stop and close the outer gate, reapply the electrical power to the whole assembly via a switch outside, and just drive away.

However, there was nothing that prevented you from leaving both gates open, or to leave the power off.

To prevent plant growth from contacting the electrified gate, there was a wide paved area under everything. Time and winds had placed a layer of dust and blown detritus that accumulated on the paved surface.

Dillon, first to arrive at the gate, could see two sets of truck tracks went through. However, there were also dainty looking small hoof prints leading into the compound, some obliterated by the truck tracks that had returned, passing over the hoof prints and the outgoing set of wheel impressions.

“Thad, whoever went out and back must have left the gate open long enough for these gazelle hoof prints to be put down.”

His fellow hunter was at the closed switch box on the wall, which he opened and glanced at the single small light inside. “The power is on now, so it’s just as Tet supposed. Someone left the gate open for a period of time, letting in the gazelles, and certainly something that must have been stalking them.”

A more experienced tracker, Thad came over closer to the fencing, Noreen and Marlyn were curious but staying well back, their pistols out, looking around nervously.

Thad pointed, “Look at the smeared dried mud on the right side, by the fence, like something slipped and fell into the wire. Is that a print next to it?” He closed his faceplate to access the helmet’s video display, and zoomed in on the dried print he’d noticed in the hardened mud.

Dillon did the same. “Wow. That’s a panther or ripper print, I think.”

With assurance, Thad said, “It’s from a ripper. See those deep indentations in the mud? Two inches in front of each toe. That’s from its extended claws, and they are two inches out from the toes and too deep for a panther, which is smaller. That isn’t as large a print as a full grown male’s, but it could be from a young male, or a female.”

Because they had closed their faceplates, and not switched on their external speakers, the two women hadn’t heard that chilling pronouncement.

As they turned back to the Ladies and opened their faceplates, Marlyn asked, “Aren’t you two Boy Scouts going to pick up a piece of poop to taste, just to tell us female yokels what the gazelle’s had for dinner?”

Noreen snickered, and even Dillon couldn’t suppress a laugh. Thad smiled appreciatively at the joke, but he was busy scanning the area, his hand on his slung rifle. “Let’s get into the shuttle folks, right now. We have a bad kitty somewhere around here.”

That sobered the mood up quickly, and they hustled back inside the shuttle, watching the two hatches close, with weapons at the ready. They had already seen how easily a ripper could handle even armed humans.

Noreen got them airborne and started a search pattern, while Thad radioed Mirikami.

“Tet, you were right. A ripper got in last week when someone drove out and back in a truck, carelessly leaving both gates open at once. A number of gazelles came through, perhaps running from the ripper, because one of them fell and slid on mud into the unpowered fence. The ripper left a print on top of the gazelle’s slip and slide streaks. We’ve started a search for a possible den, but it isn’t going to be active much, with so little game to hunt. Are you safe out there with the Raspani? How sturdy is that enclosure?”

“Thad, the Raspani haven’t been attacked, because Vince and Sarah keep a head count. Let me ask them about the tent material.” They could hear him talking in the background, mouth away from his handset. He was back quickly.

“Vince tested the material and it’s far stronger that our Smart Fabric, and much stiffer on the sides, more so than what you see draped from the poles as a roof. We’ll confirm the top material is just as strong, in case the ripper climbed up to try to enter.”

“Just be careful. The two people it took will only feed it for so just long. Then it will be after the easiest prey again. Will you warn Hub City? I don’t think it should be through the Governor. She won’t want to talk to any of us right now, or ever again possibly. We’ll explain later.

“We met MacDougal just after you left with Vince, and he’s a decent sort and no fan of Cahill’s. He won’t side with us on genetics, but he’s friendly. See if you can reach him. Be delicate in your ripper warning. The two people the ripper killed were family for him. A brother and his wife.”

“So. That explains his contacting me, despite Cahill’s objections. I’ll find him, even if we have to go into the dome looking. Keep me updated on your search.”

“Will do, Tet. Out.”

Noreen, waiting for the call to finish, asked, “What sort of den do rippers use? What am I looking for, Thad?”

“The prides I’ve seen from the air near Prime City gathered in groups on the open plains during breezy or cloudy days or under trees if it’s hot and sunny. I think they used some shallow caves or shady rock ledges farther north. I don’t know what they do at night, besides hunt sometimes. It’s hard to get very knowledgeable of animals we can’t go near.”

“I’m about to pass over a group of low trees and bushes. Do you boys think your IR sensors would pick out a heat source under that?”

“It should, and I guess we need to look at them all. Dillon, you take the right side I’ll cover left. Let’s pop the hatches open. We might be doing this for hours, if not days.”

That proved to be a prediction for boredom, as there were a thousand such places to check, even with the Raspani enclosure cutting down the search area. After several hours, Dillon’s helmet sensors highlighted an icon’s heat signature right out on the open grassland. He quickly switched to normal vision and zoomed in on the spot in tracking mode, to compensate for their movement towards the next grove of trees.

“Gazelles HO!” Reading off of his helmet’s range finder, he added, “Two o’clock, at just over three miles. Seven of the little guys grazing out in the open.”

Thad stepped over to the other hatch for a confirming look. “Hold up, hover where we are, Noreen. Don’t go too close or you’ll spook them into running. I have an idea that might bring the ripper to us rather than our hunting for it over all this territory. We might be able to catch one or more of these gazelles and stake them out near the dome.”

Dillon gave him a look. “How the devil do you propose caching one? All you and I have ever done is shoot them, and that’s hard enough with those bouncing little blue and white balls of muscle, changing directions constantly.”

Thad shrugged. “Perhaps drive them into a bunch of staked out cargo nets with the shuttle. We have one aboard now, and we can get more back at the dome.”

“What if these seven scatter instead of running together straight? It isn’t as if we have a big herd to chase, to increase our chances of snaring one.”

“OK, that might not work. Though getting the ripper to come to us is more likely to succeed than what we’ve been doing all morning. We may have already passed it by without knowing it, if it’s under good cover.”

“Gentle Men,” Noreen interrupted their manly hunter speculations. “Look out the hatch, please. They’re running.”

Thad, in his best “I told you so” tone to Noreen said, “I knew if they saw us they’d spook and run.”

“Then explain why they’re running towards us, oh wise and clever hunter.”

****

Merki’s stored mind pictures from female pride mates had grown stronger, as her impending delivery placed them in proper context. The dwindling food value of the two slow one’s, the carcasses now nearly consumed, would not sustain her or help her produce the secretions her cub would need in the weeks to come. She needed the pride to hunt for her, to help her. Too late she realized that her dead mate’s desire to save his own cubs from other males had caused her to endanger them in another way.

In fact, a steadily increasing metabolism was making her hungrier. Her hormone driven body was trying to make her to eat enough in advance to provide the extra energy for the double births, and to be able to stay with her cubs and nurse them through their first weeks of greatest vulnerability. Isolated as she was, her mother and sisters couldn’t help her now.

From the protected den in a modest rock outcrop, she constantly looked out over the lush but empty plains where she had trapped herself. True, she was protected from the non-existent rhinolo herds that might trample her cubs if found. Equally absent were other small predators and scavengers, which might threaten her unprotected cubs when she hunted. However, hunger was now stalking their future, and hers.

When her keen nose detected the faint scent of gazelle on the northerly breeze, she quickly moved with maximum stealth to the highest point on her mound of rocks. The direct breeze there sharpened the scent. She couldn’t see them, but the strength and variation in scent told her they were not very far, and there was more than one. Probably the same ones she had pursued into this cursed and enclosed territory. She started down, and moved into the uncropped grass, moving in the direction the breeze told her to go. At least the high grass was better concealment than if vast herds had grazed it all to the shortness found outside.

She moved cautiously, staying low to scent the air, to ensure she was still moving in the right direction. Luckily, the breeze remained constant, coming off the great ocean to the south. She knew from experience that it would stay that way most of the day. However, it wasn’t long before she found a trail to follow that didn’t depend on the breeze. The small herd had passed this way, moving into the same breeze, using it to detect the smell of threats in front of them.  Merki’s nose confirmed they were the same prey she had pursued previously.

She noticed the freshness of their scent and of their droppings, and observed the small detail that they were nibbling only the tender tops of the seed laden grass tips.  This told her the prey was not very far ahead.  The gazelles had browsed at their leisure, calm and complacent because there had been no sign or scent of predators for many days. Merki wanted to keep them relaxed that way a little bit longer.

Confident she knew where they were, Merki diverted to a gentle rise to her right, where she would be high enough to see the prey over the grass and what lay ahead and to the sides. She needed to maximize her chances for a kill, to take advantage of any terrain features.

From the higher vantage point, she could clearly see the relatively straight course the prey had made through the three-foot high grass. Their backs, heads, and horns were clearly visible above the grass. A darker blue meandering dip in the grass, away from the rise Merki was on, told her that in heavy rain, the runoff from this low hill followed that course, towards a spot the prey would soon cross.

That was a place to lay in wait. To burst out from the side of the trail they were blazing in the grass. There would be several animals close enough for a good chance to knock one down. Even a pursuit should be easier in the high grass, since it would hinder them more than her, with her mass and strength to force her way through thick grass.

Dropping to her belly, she crept into the shallow gully and followed it to near where she could hear them rustling in the grass ahead of her.  They made contented little bleats and snorts from time to time, as they nibbled the nutritious seed covered tips. She was careful to stay far enough back to prevent small vagaries in the direction of the breeze from bringing them her scent. Once they started crossing the gully, she would crawl until near enough to rush them and pounce.

They were nearly to the gully when they stopped their rustling of the grass, and made nervous snorting sounds. Something had put them on alert, but she was sure it wasn’t herself. She had not started to move again and the breeze had not changed to bring them her scent. Raising her head slightly, keeping it well below the grass tops, her nose tested the breeze but detected nothing out of the ordinary. However, her ears picked up a faint whine in the far distance, from the other side of the trail the gazelles were making.

It sounded much like a not-life sound of an airborne carrier for the red ones, or even the slow ones. She knew the concerned gazelles would all be looking that way. Merki risked raising her head a bit higher so she could see farther east, where the sound originated. Low in the sky was a dark shape that was clearly one of the not-life carriers of the slow ones. It was nearly motionless, but it would frighten away a desperately needed kill if it came closer.

However, it did give her a perfect distraction if she acted now, and the slow ones were less risk to her kind that the red ones. She started crawling along the bottom of the gully, closing the distance, passing between tufts of clumped grass silently, the waving tips masked by the breeze, while the gazelles were watching the not-life noisemaker.

Suddenly, she saw movement through the grass ahead of her, to the left, the rump of a gazelle, its hooves dancing nervously, facing the wrong threat. She leaped without a sound, she thought, but the skittish animal appeared to have heard or sensed something, but the visible threat in front and “something” heard from behind was enough to confuse and delay its leap. It was still lowering its haunches to spring when it lost the battle for survival. Merki landed on the helpless animal, claws firmly implanted, and powerful jaws clamped on the back of the neck. She snapped its neck with a savage twist and it went limp and collapsed.

The other six gazelles started a frantic dash through the grass directly away from the now definite threat, towards the unknown object that had not attacked them. Merki started back along the trail the gazelles had made, taking advantage of the tramped down grass to avoid leaving a new swath of waving and crushed grass to reveal her passage. She needed to get closer to her den quickly, where there were areas clear of tall grass, and she could make better time without leaving a visible trail.

****

Marlyn offered an observation as they flew towards the panicked gazelles. “They’re splitting up and turning away now that we’re closing with them, so they were frightened by something besides us. But I thought you said there were seven, Dillon.”

Unable to see them through the hatch once the shuttle turned towards them, Dillon said “Yes. There were definitely seven. The helmet had an icon for each and numbered them. Why?”

“Because only six of them branched away from us as we flew near. There are only six trails in the grass leading back to where they started. One of them is missing, so are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Thad nodded. “There’s only one predator in the compound that we know of, so it may have come to us after all. Noreen, take us higher and we can look for IR signatures, starting from where the stampede began.”

From several thousand feet, the IR splotch streaking along the gazelle’s back trail was clear. It suddenly made a left turn onto a rock-strewn outcrop and left the high grass.

“It’s making for that rock covered hill about a mile ahead, I think. If it has a den, we’d have to go down on foot to root it out. I don’t plan to face a ripper on the ground. I lost my sense of sportsmanship with those raptors on a previous rock pile. A ripper has at least twice the intelligence. Rifles on automatic Dillon, this magnificent beast can’t be allowed to make it home.”

“Noreen, we’ll both fire out of the left side hatch, where you have the best view from the pilot’s seat. Go down to a few hundred feet and overtake the ripper. Try to keep as steady a pace as possible. Dillon, let’s see if we can make head shoots. We want as intact a carcass as possible.”

The ripper obviously knew they were there, the noise would be impossible to miss as they drew close. Yet it did not drop the gazelle it had in its jaws, which would have increased its speed and mobility.

Both men settled on their stomachs at the hatch floor, rifles protruding. The shuttle slowed from roughly sixty knots to about thirty-five, the pace of the ripper. The ripper rolled its eyes in their direction, but maintained a grip on the gazelle. Its reluctance to drop the prey seemed to speak to great hunger, yet it was a beautifully muscled animal, running steadily and powerfully.

“Dillon, on my mark, we both shoot. Ready, set, fire!”

Amazingly, the first two carefully aimed shots missed when the big cat braked briefly, and turned away as the muzzle flashes occurred.

****

What Merki couldn’t anticipate was that these heavier weapons were automatics, something the pride’s mind images could not convey based on experiences with the red ones. The volume of stingers that flew from the sticks proved unavoidable. One bullet struck her right shoulder, and passed down through her body, nicking her great heart. Another struck her lower jaw, shattering that. She stumbled and fell, releasing the gazelle her doomed cubs had needed if she was to insure their survival.

Merki struggled to regain her feet but her body would not obey. She was bleeding out, and knew she was dying. She thought these slow one’s might have actually been seeking her. She had killed two of them, and had a mind image received from the female before she died, that her “pride” would protect their own. Something Merki could understand.

She sank and rolled to her left side, pain wracking her chest as each beat of her heart pushed her life’s blood through the opening torn in one chamber. The stingers had stopped flying, but she could do nothing if they had not. She felt something strange happening inside, where she sensed her cubs in distress. They were moving, shifting position in response to hormone changes triggered by the desperate run, and now her injury and blood loss.

Merki experienced pain and spasms in her rear quarters and internally, not related to her great wound. When placed in context with existing mind pictures, this told her she was experiencing an accelerated delivery of her cubs. Her dying body was attempting to give birth, possibly to permit another lactating female of the pride to suckle her cubs.

Only she was all alone. At best they would die connected to her umbilical, at worst eaten by those that had killed her. Then oddly, a strong mind picture that could not have come from her pride pushed its way forward into her fading mind. The female she had killed had wanted cubs of her own. Her “pride” of slow ones loved their own cubs, of course, but often loved the cubs of other species. They may not save them, but they would never eat her cubs. She experienced one final lucid moment before expelling her cubs in their membranous sac. She sent them a powerful mental image of their mother’s devotion and love.

****

The shuttle hovered at low altitude, well to the side of the downed ripper, blowing the grasses and dust about violently. All four on board were watching the heaving sides of the great teal colored cat as it took its final breaths, blood pouring from the massive shoulder wound.

Noreen was the first to notice, because the left side cockpit window was closest. “Oh my God! It’s a pregnant female, she’s aborting.”

She abruptly set down and shut off the thrusters. Both men kept steady aim on the motionless huge cat, ready to resume a withering fire if the animal so much as twitched. Noreen rushed to the left rear hatch and looked ready to step outside when Dillon reached over to place a gauntlet on her thigh, holding her back.

“Noreen, don’t go out there, what if it’s waiting for us to do just that?”

“Dillon, it just gave birth, as it quit breathing. We may be able to keep the cub alive if we act fast. We may never get another chance to see a live one up close.” He heard the urgency in her voice, echoed immediately by Marlyn.

The two men got to their feet, and motioning the women to draw their weapons and stay behind them, they stepped down into the grass, now blown flat. Keeping their rifles trained on the still cat, they cautiously covered the twenty feet to the beautifully muscled animal. Its teal fur was short and sleek.

The men were startled by a slight movement near the ripper’s rear. Then shocked when the two women abruptly went around them, and approached the bluish pink translucent sack where the movement was located.

Noreen reached back with an impatient wave of her right hand to Dillon, who had protectively stepped close behind her. “Give me your knife, quick!”

He bent down, drew the eighteen-inch blade, and gave it to her handle first.

She quickly inserted the sharp tip in a lifting motion and cut the wet and bloody looking sack open. She and Marlyn pulled the membrane away and revealed two slimy and wet looking little teal colored cubs. The two umbilical cords, as with mammal analogs of many worlds, passed through the sack and into their dead mother. They were wriggling and mewling, their eyes closed.

With “ooohs” and “ahhhs,” Noreen gathered the two cords and cut them both, with enough slack left for her to tie them in knots. She and Marlyn then each reached down to gently pick them up with hands hooked under their front legs. Ignoring the mess, they cradled the wet cubs against their shirts, using their sleeves to wipe at their mewling faces.

Marlyn was the first to place her hand under the chin of her four-pound cub, were there was a fleshy frill under its chin. She instantly froze, with her thumb and forefinger cupped under the cubs chin. None of the others noticed that right away. Then Noreen also placed her bare hand under the second cub’s neck to raise its head, and she promptly ceased moving and cooing to the little ripper.

Thad noticed Marlyn’s stillness and touched her arm in the process of asking her a question. “Hey, why so…” The words froze in his mouth. Even filtered through the gauntlet’s contact with her arm, the confusing images were startling for their novelty and clarity. He saw flashes of life through the eyes of generations of rippers. Felt a ripper’s delight at the sense of terror experienced from their prey, understood the now dead father’s fateful instructions to his mate. He saw the images of the two humans the ripper had killed in her hunger, experienced the mother’s powerful last message of love to her cubs, and sensed her regret for killing the female human who had wanted cubs of her own.

Thad cried out and pulled Marlyn’s hand away from the cub as he pulled back. She nearly collapsed, abruptly sitting down, bursting into tears.

Dillon was now aware that something strange was happening, connected in some way with the cubs; he reached down to pull the cub from Noreen’s arms. As his armored hand made contact with hers, he also touched the cub’s frill. He experienced the same kaleidoscope of images pouring into his mind.

After several seconds, with an effort of sheer will power, he broke contact by pulling his hand away. However, Noreen remained frozen with her hand on the cub’s neck. He now knew the source of the mesmerizing images, and how to end them.  He had to break Noreen’s contact with the frill without his touching her directly with his conductive armor or bare skin. He snatched off his fabric pistol and ammo belt, dropped the end through the gap between her right arm and side, looped it under her wrist and pulled her hand away. He did this gently. He didn’t want her to drop the cub, simply to break the connection.

Noreen also had tears in her eyes, and looked wobbly on her legs. Dillon helped her sit, as Thad also moved to support Marlyn from behind. The two men, helmet faceplates already open, looked at each other, the look of amazement and wonder mutually apparent, and they each knew the other understood exactly what they had both experienced. Knew what the two women must have felt, only stronger with their bare skin contact, and for a longer time.

Thad summed it up in his own delicate and expressive manner. “Holy crap! That was intense.”

Dillon agreed. “I was nearly knocked over by the raw emotions and images. I could sense it was filtered down through secondary contact with Noreen, but I believe my dual nervous system may have fed me the images more strongly than I would have experienced otherwise. I experienced each image twice. Did you?”

“I absolutely did. I also picked up feelings and images that didn’t come from that cub or its mother. Marlyn, is that how you really feel about me?” He was kneeling beside her, leaning over to look into her eyes.

Dazed, Marlyn answered, her tears having ended. “I sensed your worry and fear for me, how protective and caring you felt. And you have one wicked fantasy that I think I’ll be happy to fulfill, you randy man!” Her voice grew stronger as she finished, flashing him a sultry smile.

Looking down at the cub she said, “I also think I’ll keep my bare hand off that little gal’s neck for a bit. I definitely want to be better prepared next time.” She realized she held a little female, and her brother was resting in Noreen’s lap.

Noreen was also emphatic. “I agree. I will try that again. However, it needs to be under controlled conditions, and I’ll be in a better mentally prepared state. Oh, and Dillon, I accept!”

“Huh?” he responded, a marvelous reflection on what a brilliant perceptive scientist he was.

“That was a marriage proposal I sensed from you, you big dummy. I was going to ask you, just as a proper Lady should. Nevertheless, I’ll ‘sign the line’ and ‘tie the knot.’ That will be shortly after we return to Prime City with this new genetic treasure for Aldry and Rafe. The first example of contact telepathy humanity has ever discovered.”

Thad agreed with the quick return. “Dillon, grab that cargo net from the shuttle. We need to take the adult ripper back with us, and see if she has any milk we can extract and replicate for these soon to be hungry cubs. I’ll call Tet to tell him what we’ve found, and that we need to get back to Prime City today.”

Noreen had a better idea. “No, please, let me call him. I hope this news will take his mind off my punching the lights out of Cahill. Besides, I can invite him to the wedding and bribe him with an offer to make him a godfather. Oh, that reminds me. Dillon, like you were thinking, I also want to have a boy first.”

“Huh?”

“Close your mouth love, there are flies out here.”

11. Operation Deep Lance

The president was tired of excuses from the Planetary Union Navy. Three years of expensive breakneck construction, and the Krall were still raiding Rim and New Colony worlds at will. Her conduit into the inner workings of the Navy was her military advisor, Admiral Anderfem, retired. She was on the carpet right now, and told to sit quiet and hear the President out.

Stanford had her summary list for reference. “Jean, you passed along the Navy’s requests to me, with your recommendation to support their construction programs and to push for them in Parliament. I did that, and every program requested was approved and budgeted.

“The Navy now has their new faster fleet. All of the ships were purpose built, or modified to use the new Tachyon Squared Jump, and better Normal Space drives, copied from Krall technology.”

She almost knew it by heart, but she checked the list anyway. “We’ve built them two carriers, each with fifty single piloted fighters and twenty-five two-man fighters. Two huge dreadnaughts, six battleships, eight battlecruisers, a dozen heavy cruisers, fifty destroyers, twenty patrol ships, two mine layers, and various support ships that are too many to count.” She laid the summary on her desk.

“Add to that total the old ships we already had, which now have retrofitted T-squared drives. That’s one more battleship, thirty cruisers that are actually light cruisers now, and sixty destroyers that are more like glorified large patrol boats in the new Navy.

“By the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs own reckoning, we have thirty-one capitol ships to none that we know of for sure for the Krall. Even our old retrofitted cruisers would seem to be a match for a Krall Clanship. I read the intelligence estimates that we have observed roughly four thousand Clanships, but most stay parked on our former colony, now designated as Krall base one or K1.

“We are heavily outnumbered in total ships as of yet, by about four thousand to 171 fighting ships. However, it looks to me that the quality of our larger ships can give us the advantage if we pick our battles wisely. I’m hardly a military mind, but this seems self-evident to me, and to the public that has been paying for these ‘toys’ for the Navy.

“The Krall have yet to deploy in force against us, seldom using more than one to sixteen Clanships on a raid, as they called them in those more recent broadcasts to us in Standard. Nevertheless, there’s nearly always a raid underway on some Rim world or New Colony, often two or three raids in the same week on different worlds.

“These raids are always initiated by Clanships, which I’m told are roughly equivalent to a light cruiser in mass, but are used mainly as troop transports or pocket fighter carriers for their single ships. We have seen a few Krall ships the size of our battleships, but we have never seen what they do. They arrive at K1, land for a few days, then lift and Jump for parts unknown.

“The summary reports say the enemy has attacked us in only two ways. Dash in with one or more Clanships, release eight to thirty-two single ships from each, then leave for a couple of days before returning to pick up the warrior survivors. Then three months ago, they started landing and offloading five hundred or so fighters per Clanship at large cities or towns. They used eight to sixteen Clanships on three occasions, almost a duplicate of the action initiated on Gribbles’ Nook. Then they pull out in three days, before we even learn of the attack here in the Hub. Not even the new T squared fast couriers can tell us soon enough to send help. The local ground commanders have to fight them with their own forces. Luckily, the citizenry isn’t as completely helpless as they once were. Nevertheless, they are no match for the Krall, who swarm to the sounds of a firefight.

“The Navy has yet to prevent a single one of these attacks, or to drive them off before they damn well decide to leave. The Krall make what looks exactly like preplanned orderly withdrawals nearly every time. Only worlds following Poldark’s mobile force example have ever gotten an attack to terminate early, by killing twenty-five to forty percent of the Krall attackers. That is entirely a ground force success. Provided we consider triple the combat casualties on our side a success. Obviously, the uncounted thousands of civilians that they saved think it’s more successful than their own slaughter.

“The new armor, weapons improvements, and recruitment that the ground commanders asked for was delayed for eighteen months, to allow us to pay the Navy’s immense budget. The Army’s total request was just about the cost of a single new battleship.

“Explain to me why I shouldn’t ask Parliament to shift war production over to what has at least shown some positive results, and which has every colony Governor calling for my head if I don’t expand and improve their Army forces.”

Anderfem knew this might be an uphill struggle, but her contacts in the Navy, and the Department of Defense told her the Navy was about to hit the Krall, to make them pull back to defend their base on K1. The Navy intended to take out thousands of Clanships where they sat.

“Madam President, the Joint Chiefs wish to meet with you to brief you on Operation Deep Lance, our first offensive action.

“The fleet’s recent shakedown testing was partly a dress rehearsal for an attack on K1. As you know, most of the fleet has been performing shakedown and coordination missions out in the anti-spinward Rim region, on the opposite side from the Krall incursion. The Captains and navigators needed to learn how to Jump deep into gravity wells with the same precision displayed by the Krall. This way our ships won’t waste hours, or even days, vectoring into the targeted planet, after getting to the solar system three times faster than before. This practicing has been successful.

“I was informed that our new ships can Jump from any point in Human Space, and White Out within four or five hundred miles of a planet’s surface. We only need recent detailed orbital data of the target system to fine tune the computations while in the second level of Tachyon Space, or T squared as the scientists have it named.”

Stanford liked the sound of this. “So they believe that popping out on the Krall’s doorstep will give us the element of surprise for a change? I’ll be interested in what they intend to do when they get there. The Krall are damned fast to react to threats.”

“That’s where our use of Artificial Intelligence and computers should reduce the gap between human reactions and the Krall preference to ‘fly by the seat of their pants,’ so to speak. Our AI’s are a technological edge that the Krall don’t appear to share, instead they rely on their physical reaction times. They are obviously faster than a human, but then that’s why we use AI’s, because they are so much faster and precise than a human.”

“OK, Jean. When can we hold this Deep Lance briefing, and how close do the Joint Chiefs say we are to being ready to launch?”

“Madam President, the briefing can be conducted as soon as you can clear your calendar. The launch date could be set for a week or two from your granting approval. Our fleet can be widely dispersed, and coordinate their launch times to reach the rendezvous points at the target without revealing the impending attack by gathering our forces first.”

“Fine. I’ll clear my schedule this afternoon. How long do you think it will take to complete?”

“Mam, the preliminary presentation I saw was only about an hour long, but you will have a question and answer session afterwards, and of course you can bring along any analysts you select for more expert questions.”

“Jean, you’ll be there to advise me, and the Joint Chiefs and their staffs are my analysts. Please set it up.”

“Yes Mam.”

****

Admiral Hawthorne, Chairfem of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stepped to the lectern as the slickly produced Tri-Vid presentation ended. “Madam President that is the nucleus of the plan we are recommending. I believe you and your aid must have some questions, since both of you made notes at various points. I’m sure if I don’t have an answer to your questions, we have the technical minds that worked on this operation standing by.”

“Thank you Admiral. You’ll forgive me if some of my questions sound simplistic and nonmilitary. This is the first offensive action on such a large scale in over three hundred years, so I have no precedents to guide me. However, as Commander in Chief, I am not only accepting responsibility for Operation Deep Lance, but also the consequences that may follow.

“There were icons used to represent the various divisions within our forces, the actions each section is responsible for, and which targets on K1 they are assigned to strike. What I couldn’t discern was the number of ships in our fleet that are involved. I saw only one carrier group icon, and two battleship groups, with icons for the heavy cruisers and screens of light cruisers and destroyers.

“We have one hundred seventy one fighting ships, against their four thousand plus Clanships and uncounted numbers of single ships. Our element of surprise and heavier firepower aside, how many of our ships are we placing at risk? The Icons didn’t tell me that.”

“Madam President, I apologize. There was a legend on one of the early screens that indicated the strength of the differing groups, but that legend wasn’t carried forward to appear on the following graphics. However, here is the Order of Battle.

“We will commit one carrier group, the Intrepid with its seventy five fighters and bombers. They will be held in reserve, well off planet, for after the bombardment to engage surface and near atmosphere targets.

“The dreadnaught Invincible is our flagship.

“Battleship division one and two, with three battleships in each.

“Two cruiser divisions, each comprised of two battlecruisers, four heavy cruisers, and five of our older retrofitted light cruisers.

“Then we have four destroyer squadrons, with twenty ships each.

“Oh, and we will also take ten patrol ships.” She added, in an afterthought.

“Thank you Admiral. Please bear with me a moment.” Stanford was typing at her personal computer pad.

Completing her calculations, Stanford had an observation to make, and more questions.

“Admiral, we will have one hundred ten of our fighting ships participating in this operation, most of our newest and best. Please note that I’m not discounting the patrol ships, but they don’t have the firepower of any of the others.

“My questions are more of asking for explanations. Why not send all of our fleet, or conversely, why so many? Is what you plan to commit enough firepower to meet the goal of forcing the Krall to draw back to K1? If this operation fails, are the other sixty one ships enough to leave us an effective fleet on which to fall back?”

Hawthorne was taken aback by her questions. She’d expected the President, with virtually no military background, to simply rubber stamp their proposal. Not that she thought the President’s questions were foolish, however. The Joint Chiefs had wrestled with this same issue.

“Madam President the firepower of this many ships, capable of launching thousands of networked smart missiles immediately after White Out, should provide us with total surprise, and take out most of the Clanships on the planet. We are providing for two missiles per Clanship, capable of switching targets if the primary target has moved. The missiles form a dynamic shared intelligence network, which will cloak the entire surface of the planet and its atmosphere. They each can automatically seek new targets, either Clanships or single ships, hit a habitation dome, or new targets as we specify. They have forty-minutes of flying time in atmosphere, and all of them will launch with five minutes or less flight time to reach the surface.

“In addition, from three hundred to five hundred miles out, our heavy lasers can burn their way through the atmosphere to also hit Clanships, single ships, domes, and targets of opportunity.

“The assumption that we might lose all of the ships we send on Deep Lance is well outside the most severe worst case scenario we could project. Our point defense lasers, plasma beams, and short-range missiles are the best we’ve ever had. We have computer tested them against our own new faster T squared powered fighters. The point defenses are more than a match for our pilots, though our crews can’t tolerate the same level of uncompensated g’s the Krall can. We programmed the defensive fire control AIs to target any Krall single ship with three laser beams of different frequencies, and to add a plasma beam’s energy as well, if we can’t burn through the reflective hulls fast enough. All of our new laser pods have the triple frequency beams built in to them.

“We consider a fifteen percent loss of our ships to be serious, and we would withdraw the fleet if that appeared imminent. All our ships will go in with minimal Jump capability retained in their secondary Traps. In case things start to go wrong, they can bug out, using a typical tenth light year Jump to a preselected rally point. Our T squared drives can snare a high-level tachyon for a longer Jump in a few minutes to get home from there. We are not at risk of losing the entire battle group.” Admiral Hawthorne had wound down.

Nodding appreciatively, Stanford really was impressed with the explanations and answers. Turning to Jean Anderfem, the only staff aid she had brought with her, knowing she was knowledgeable enough to ask the right questions and grasp the answers. She prompted her for follow-up questions. “Admiral Anderfem, you’ve sat in on preliminary planning sessions, and now have seen the final proposal. Are there any questions you think I need to hear asked and answered? Even if you already know the answer, I will not.”

“Yes Mam. Admiral Hawthorne, have you selected the overall Commander of the Operation?”

“Yes. It was very competitive, as you might imagine, Jean. Vice Admiral Golda Mauss will command Operation Deep Lance, and she is conducting a large training exercise as we speak. The Joint Chiefs are discussing the possibility of reviving the Fleet Admiral rank as the fleet grows. This is a proposal we might present to you in the future Madam President, which if you approve the final candidates, the list could be sent to the House for consideration.”

Anderfem nodded her personal approval of the Operation commander. “Admiral Mauss is a good choice. I knew her as a midlevel officer. She’s level headed and tough. Now I have just one other question, which you might find the answer interesting, Madam President.”

She addressed the Chairfem again.  “Admiral Hawthorne, the fleet’s simultaneous White Outs at K1 is going to envelope the planet within a spherical formation of our ships. Yet the fleet is widely dispersed now, to avoid giving away our intentions. How is that going to be accomplished?”

Hawthorn’s eyes lit up at the chance to explain a bit of gee-whizz trivia, made possible by the precise navigation offered by the new T squared Jump drives.

“Madam President, Admiral, the navigational precision possible in the much higher energy realm of the second dimensional level of Tachyon Space, or T squared, is related to the high energy accelerator conundrum in the early twenty first century. They built the legendary Large Hadron Collider to probe ever-smaller regions of space around fundamental particles. Scientists needed to build larger high-powered accelerators to smash into the particles with more energy, to get closer to them to see what happened with the strong short-range forces as they broke apart.

“Higher energy was needed to reach more precisely into the tiny regions where new and interesting physics happen. The huge energies we get from use of T squared tachyon particles likewise translate into vastly better short scale precision for targeting the location of a White Out in Normal Space.

“Not only that, but because we are not traveling in Normal Space, a massive object, such as a planet at the center of our destination point in Normal Space is no obstacle to our arrival. We pick the point, in this case the gravitational center of K1, select coordinates that surround that point at, say four thousand five hundred miles. Then we feed in the known orbital characteristics and our time of arrival to predict where K1 will be. Next, just before the Jump, we boost in Normal Space to match the known orbital velocity and direction of the planet, face our ship towards where the gravitational center will be, then use the predetermined time of the arrival to stagger all of our Jumps to get there simultaneously.

“The longer the time needed for each Jump, the earlier you enter the Hole, of course. We have tested this extensively. In fact, we believe we do it better than the Krall, because of our use of AI’s. The Krall missed the mark a bit at Gribbles’ Nook, and the sixteen Clanships didn’t all arrive simultaneously. They started their final Jump to the planet from much closer, only out in the Oort cloud rather than from many light years away, and still missed simultaneous arrivals by over a minute.

“To keep Krall scouts off guard, our largest capital ships will be on the far side of Human Space when they Jump. Only lighter elements will be stationed closer to K1, orbiting various Old Colony worlds. This dispersion should disguise our attack.

“That is how we believe we will have the edge for the surprise start of our attack. We can launch all our missiles within seconds of White Out. If this is as successful as we hope, we may send destroyers, fighters, and patrol ships into atmosphere, to hit at their infrastructure, and take down more of their domes.”

“Thank you Admiral. I’ve ran out of questions, yet I sense you have more answers. I yield, and I approve of Operation Deep Lance. Please coordinate with Admiral Anderfem on the exact launch date, so I can provide advance notice of the attack to ranking members of Parliament. I’ll also want some of your fast couriers ready to send word to the colony worlds as soon as Vice Admiral Mauss reports back.”

Finally, Stanford thought, we’re doing something besides waiting for the Krall to strike.

****

Sixty seconds after her dreadnaught, Invincible, made its White Out five hundred miles above K1’s northern pole, Vice Admiral Mauss had one thought.

The Krall were waiting for us!

There were at least a hundred Clanships already in orbit. Oddly, they clustered near the widely scattered six battleships, with hundreds of single ships swarming in the space between them. Two battleships, Gauntlet and Mace, had each lost one of their three fusion bottles within thirty seconds of White Out. They were also venting small jets of air in multiple places, apparently from minor breaches. The fusion bottle losses each eliminated one third of their plasma beams, but the laser pods on the effected hull sections could draw power from the operational bottles. It only required manual power switching by the Drive Room crew. The fusion bottles were located deep in the bowels of the ships, where design placed them for maximum protection. How did they lose them without major external damage?

****

On the battleship Gauntlet, Captain Caruthers was satisfied with the quick launch of their first complement of three hundred missiles, all of them away in three volleys, from one hundred launch tubes, twenty seconds apart. They were loading another hundred for a cleanup volley if different targets presented themselves.

The threat board display, repeated in a corner of her own monitor from the Combat Information Center (CIC), had surprisingly shown more than a hundred Clanships already in orbit at three hundred miles, well below the fleet. All of the Clanships clustered close to various battleship positions. More hundreds were climbing out of atmosphere. These ships were above the “engage” envelope selected for the network of smart missiles, because the missiles expected their targets to be on the ground. The three volleys just fired would pass by these Clanships, including the single ships they were spewing into space around them. However, they could reprogram the fourth and final one hundred-missile volley, and that would finish loading in five to six minutes.

A shocker was radar returns that had revealed dozens of small missiles already inside the optimum range of their point defense system as they performed the White Out. The CIC officer had quickly released fire control to the AI in her division. Belatedly, laser fire was picking off some of the evasive little missiles still inbound.

It was a much greater shock when Caruthers’ command AI, “Joe,” informed her one missile had already hit them before radar even detected it inbound. It couldn’t have covered the distance from the nearest Clanship in the time since the Gauntlet emerged. Caruthers assumed the missiles were part of a protective screen. Except, that seemed too bizarre to consider. They would have fired at empty space, before the fleet emerged.

“Joe, what was the damage from that hit?” She hadn’t felt any shock or vibration from an explosion. These weapons looked no larger than aircraft launched air-to-air missiles. They couldn’t have much of a warhead. Why use a peashooter on a battleship?

“Mam, the weapon did not explode on contact, and it has passed completely through the ship and out the opposite side. I det…” Caruthers interrupted the JO model AI.

“How can a missile that small pass through us? It should have crumpled on our armor if it didn’t explode.”

Joe answered in a bland voice that was sometimes irritating to hear on a stress-filled warship. “That was also my initial assessment, Mam. However, we are venting atmosphere on both sides, and have compartment damage in a straight line with the projected path…” The bland voice suddenly changed, sounding more emphatic, perhaps more like Caruthers might have wished, but not in a reassuring way.

“Emergency! Fusion bottle number two has vented plasma to space. Power to weapons in sections…”

“Stop.” Caruthers cut it off. She knew what the power loss from that bottle meant.

She could hear her First Officer was already Linked and speaking with Damage Control.

The Captain Linked and confirmed with her CIC officer that power had manually been rerouted to the  center laser pods, and that the effected plasma beam chambers received enough power to cool slowly, so as not to crack the ceramic tubes inside the now dead magnetic focus coils.

Joe Linked with more bad news. “Mam, there is another atmospheric hull breach, near where the previous missile made its exit. I believe a second missile may have penetrated and is passing through internal compartments. There have been several casualties.”

“Why didn’t the auto sealers prevent decompression?”

“Mam, the auto seal system is working. The casualties were caused when the missile passed through crew members, not from pressure loss.”

“Damn! Joe, how are they penetrating the hull and bulkheads?”

“The method is unknown, but the results are four point two inch diameter holes left in the wake of the missiles. The second missile is considerably slower than was the previous penetrator, and is slowing even more. It will probably reach fusion bottle one in thirteen seconds, causing a….”

“Link to Drive Room audio.” Without waiting, Caruthers shouted. “Get out of the Drive Room, another missile is boring towards bottle one. Evacuate before it blows. Five seconds. Move! Move! Move!”

She knew her Engineering Officer, the Chief Petty Officer, and several Drive Rats would now be physically close to bottle one, checking on the damage delivered to adjacent bottle two. Even with the failsafe venting fusion plasma to save the ship and Drive Room equipment from catastrophe, it still might not be survivable for humans.

The hot com set mike picked up shouting and the Chief’s voice screaming at his Rats to get through the hatch. A swishing or hissing sound, followed instantly by screams and the start of a loud roar cut off as the com set died.

“Emergency! Fusion bottle number two has vented plasma to space. Power to weapons in sections…”

Captain Caruthers wasn’t listening. Her Drive Room crew was possibly all dead, and bottle three powered only the stern defensive lasers. Without the crew to switch power feeds manually, Gauntlet was nearly defenseless as she was presently oriented, bow on to the enemy. The Captain ordered her ship rapidly rotated to face away from K1, to offer defense against the additional small inbound missiles. If the third bottle were lost, any failure of their Traps and they’d lose Normal Space drive and be a sitting duck, unable to run, Jump, or shoot back.

She coordinated with Castle, her First Officer. “Bo, the Drive Room crew may be gone. We have only aft point defense. I plan to launch the stern tube missiles as we move away. These Goddamned Krall missiles are like worms. They bore right through us as if we were a rotten apple, apparently seeking the fusion bottles. We may have to request permission to Jump.”

Bo nodded his understanding. “Mam, Joe filled me in as you spoke to Nav and CIC. The first missiles clearly came from the Clanships, but the new entry is on the opposite side, with no enemy in sight there. Joe says the first missile pass slowed as it penetrated, and this entry is very much slower. I think it may be the same missile having turned back. Worm’s a good description. We can’t risk another hit from one of them.”

Caruthers looked grim. “We’ll stay as long as we can fight. The whole fleet’s being hit hard.”

****

Mauss was trying to absorb the rapidly evolving battle. The good news was the entire fleet had launched their three volleys of missiles, the bad news was they were targeted on many ships that were either already airborne or would be soon.

Mauss checked with Captain Codry, commanding and fighting her flagship, and was satisfied with her quick response. She had ordered weapons control to retarget Invincible’s hundreds of missiles to seek Clanships in or out of atmosphere. Mauss passed that recommendation to the full fleet.

The point defenses of the large ships had so far kept most of the single ships at bay, and several dozen were drifting and dead. The Clanships were standing off one or two hundred miles, avoiding close combat. They had apparently released approximately ten small missiles apiece towards the battleships. However, looking at the separation from the Clanships compared to how close the missiles already were to her ships when identified, Mauss realized with a shock that the launches were made even before the fleet made it’s coordinated White Outs!

How did they know where the hell we would be?

Many of the speeding missiles were inside the optimum defense range of all six battleships, though several dozen flashed and vanished from laser or plasma beam hits.

Mauss was actually concerned that the Krall had launched so few of them, and they were small, no more than four or five feet long, per her sensor readings. It implied they had considerably more capability than their numbers and sizes implied. The early damage to Gauntlet and Mace might be possible examples if these missiles had caused that. Damage control teams reported four-inch holes that went completely through the fusion bottle casings, and only the new failsafe’s had vented the plasma to space without catastrophic explosions. Automatic blowout sealers had controlled the minor air venting, which was also through four-inch diameter holes.

Suddenly a heavy cruiser flared in a searing flash of brilliant white light, about a third of the way around the planet from Invincible. It was simply gone in an immense ball of gas. A radio report from the other side of the planet relayed the news that two light cruisers had been destroyed, one killed in a bright flash like that of the heavy cruiser. The other appeared to have exploded internally when a fusion bottle ruptured. The older ships didn’t have failsafe plasma vents, but bottle ruptures were extremely rare. Before a fusion bottle was exposed to direct enemy fire, you would expect massive hull damage.

Two Clanships, close to one of the damaged battleships, flashed brightly as missiles destroyed them. However, the Clanships revealed they had effective laser defenses, which used much more energetic beams than a human made fusion bottle should be able to power.

Clanships lasers were even delivering damage to the point defenses of the battleships and scouring their thickly armored hulls with extremely accurate fire. On the heels of hits that eliminated multiple laser defense pods on sections of hulls, one of the small missiles would bore in for what appeared to be an anticlimactic impact. There would be outgassing, but no explosion.

The true nature of the damage these missiles caused required several more strikes, and subsequent losses of fusion bottles, before the fleet suspected and shared the information. Somehow, the four-foot long three-inch diameter missiles were passing entirely through their targets. They were also homing in on the fusion bottles. When ships already struck experienced additional penetrations without the ship detecting new inbound missiles, it was apparent that the little horrors could make repeated passes through the same ship. They left a perfectly round four-inch hole through virtually anything they encountered on their way, including crew.

The older light cruisers were particularly vulnerable. Rising Clanships, many surviving the gauntlet of fleet missiles by virtue of their highly effective laser defenses and sheer numbers, were launching more of the small penetrating missiles. A light cruiser would flare every few minutes, when a fatal fusion bottle penetration happened.

The destroyers were also on the defensive from swarms of single ships that were flashing by them in nearly suicidal close passes, somehow opening their Trap fields and releasing their tachyons. Then other single ships would use lasers to knock out some of the field emitters for their Traps while the Normal Space drive was down.  If they could still generate a Trap field they could reclose them and quickly capture another particle. However, each time the Traps were opened, they briefly lost their Normal Space drive, leaving them vulnerable to other single ships to hit their emitters.  The Krall had effectively knocked fifteen destroyers out of the fight. Not killed, and they could still shoot, but they couldn’t escape by Jumping or powering their Normal Space drives with tachyon energy.

Five of the battleships were down to one fusion bottle, and a sixth, the Gauntlet, had all three knocked out and resembled Swiss cheese. Mauss had to order the Gauntlet’s Captain to Jump away before she lost her ship. That first departure apparently triggered greater urgency on part of the Krall to exact a greater toll from the humans.  Although Mauss couldn’t see how they did it, the result was devastating.

Three of the struggling battleships instantly vaporized in searing blue-white flashes of expanding gas. As did five heavy cruisers in rapid succession. There was a corresponding loss of Clanships, but there was no way Operation Deep Lance could trade ships for ships. They had lost over thirty-five percent of the task force in thirty minutes, nine of them capital ships.

Thankfully, the lone carrier and ten patrol ships stayed well away from the planet, their involvement predicated on a successful elimination of Clanships and single ships, so that atmospheric surface attacks could commence. Over optimism had brought them along, caution had spared those resources any damage.

Mauss issued the general recall, and the battered fleet started a ragged series of Jumps to the rendezvous point, a tenth light year away. Invincible was the last to leave. In its polar position, selected for improved observation of the mainly Northern hemisphere attack on the two largest continents, she had to helplessly watch as six of the scattered surviving disabled destroyers valiantly tried to fight off the hoard of single ships swarming around them. It made her sick at heart, but over a hundred Clanships were closing with the flagship. Invincible Jumped, leaving the doomed destroyers to their fate.

****

Early in the After Action Briefing, Admiral Hawthorne made an introduction. “Madam President, I am pleased to present Vice Admiral Mauss. She has specifically requested to speak here today, to personally answer your questions concerning the actions at K1, and to describe our losses as well as our accomplishments.” Hawthorne turned to face the tall, almost lanky Vice Admiral, climbing the three steps to the low stage.

Mauss looked resolved, perfectly willing to accept the blame for their defeat, and she intended to offer no excuses. She would be brutally honest about her failure to react sooner to changes in the battle. She wanted to offer her first hand observations and opinions, so that in future Krall confrontations, by different Naval commanders of course, they could learn from her mistakes.

Hawthorne extended her right hand and Mauss reciprocated. A handshake being offered rather than a salute while indoors. The Chairfem moved to the edge of the stage and sat at the end of a row, joining the other Joint Chiefs.

Mauss, left alone, faced her Commander in Chief. “Madam President, I am at your disposal. Where would you wish me to start?”

“Admiral, when the Chairfem contacted my office two hours ago, it was the middle of the night on the east coast.  The fleet had just made its collective White Outs near our Lunar repair facilities. At that time, the Chairfem only knew we had lost thirty-five percent of our forces in Operation Deep Lance.

“Vice Admiral Mauss, could you detail our losses for me, and then I’ll allow you to describe what we faced at K1, and how the events unfolded. I’m sure this is difficult for you, and I apologize that this debriefing is happening so quickly after your arrival.

“However, the Fleet’s return is the top news topic in the solar system, and the damaged ships and those that are apparently missing are topics of hot discussion and speculation. I have no idea how the number of ships comprising Operation Deep Lance was leaked.” She shot a look at the Joint Chiefs, letting them know that more than Mauss’ ass was swinging in the wind.

“This was a secret military operation, but the press even knows the types and names of the ships we sent. We’ll find out if they also knew where it was going and when. I need to have a statement prepared for a press conference in a few hours. Admiral, please proceed at your own pace, and I’ll ask questions as they arise.”

“Yes Mam.” Mauss mentally girded herself for this. The week spent returning from K1 had given her time to prepare, and analyze. The Flagship’s AI, Jacqui, the newest JQ model available, had been linked to every ship in Deep Lance, and had also monitored Krall transmissions and movements.

“Our losses amounted to thirty-seven percent of the fighting ships we Jumped with. I exclude the fighters and patrol ships, which did not engage the enemy.

“We lost three battleships…,” She hesitated. “Uh, Excuse me Madam President, do you wish the names of the ships lost?”

“Not at this time Admiral. I’m sure I’ll receive those later. I only wish to hear the number and types, to gain a perspective for your following analysis.”

“Yes Mam. As I said, we lost three battleships, six heavy cruisers, ten light cruisers, and twenty-two destroyers. Out of the one hundred ten ships of Deep Lance.

“Of those ships that successfully Jumped from K1, there was severe damage to the other three battleships, lesser damage to two battlecruisers and two heavy cruisers, and severe to light damage to thirty-two destroyers. We lost nine thousand eight hundred thirty one Navy personnel, and a hundred twelve civilian scientist and technicians. There are injuries that are still life threatening to more than two hundred of the two thousand three hundred twenty six wounded.”

Stanford interjected a few questions. “The fatalities are much higher than the number of wounded. I thought that was reversed in combat, more wounded than dead.”

“Perhaps that’s true for ground combat, Mam. When we lost a ship to the Krall, it either exploded in a ball of gas, or was taken by boarders in single ships. The Krall take no prisoners and don’t trade wounded with us. Our only wounded returned with the surviving ships.”

“Of course, I wasn’t thinking when I asked that. You listed civilians lost. Who were they Admiral?”

“Our ships operate with new and copied technology, never used in combat by us. It’s still under development. We had science and technical observers with us, some placed on each class of ship, to learn what went wrong and what worked right. Many of them were as unlucky as the naval personnel.”

“I understand, Admiral. I was comparing the losses by class of ships, and I see that the largest, our battleships, aside from the undamaged dreadnaught Invincible, experienced high losses and damage, as did virtually all of the light cruisers. Why were our strongest, and our oldest, the two most vulnerable categories?”

“Mam, that is part of the analysis I have prepared, but let me first address an anomaly in that study, the light cruisers. These were retrofitted older cruisers, with less effective point defense protection. The Krall Worm missiles reached them all, and none of them had failsafe fusion bottles as part of their original design. When one or the other of their bottles ruptured, the plasma that released internally blew them apart.”

“Excuse me Admiral…, Worm missiles?”

“Sorry Mam. I was ahead of myself. The Krall used a weapon we have named the Worm missile, which we had never seen, probably because we have not had a significant naval engagement with them prior to K1. These are fiendishly effective weapons, and deceptively small.

“The ones we have captured, or rather some that ran out of fuel inside our battleships are about four and a half feet long, and just under four inches in diameter. They are a slender tube, with a low-tech reaction style drive, burning fuel and generating thrust. Instead of a warhead, they have a device in their nose that will bore holes through virtually anything it encounters. Not a drill, but one of the scientists that examined them, described it as a quantum decoherence device. Another scientist thought it might be a quantum probability controller. Believe me Mam, I’m only parroting their speculations, I don’t know what they mean.

“However, personnel that saw them in action, indeed a number were unfortunate enough to feel what they did, have called the warhead a disintegrator beam.”

“My God! They used these beams only in missiles? Why didn’t they just carve us up at a distance?” They had been afraid of what hidden advance technology the Krall had in their arsenal.

“Mam, none of the scientist understand how they work.  However, they found circuitry inside that can switch the effect on and off, and adjusts the apparent focal length from a few inches to a maximum of just over a hundred twenty feet from the device. These are apparently short-range beams, and the quantum device itself looks like it was adapted to fit on the missile nose after the fact, and probably not originally intended for such use.

“The beam always has a narrow four inch cylindrical coverage, and any material we have tested with it simply converts into its constituent atoms, breaking every molecular bond. It forms a gas that expands in the cavity created. That gas expansion tends to oppose the progress of the missile until a vent hole disintegrated in front releases the pressure and it continues forward. It has a simple guidance system that seeks the most potent magnetic field source. Namely, they seek a fusion bottle’s magnetic confinement field.

“That’s how we lost all of our light cruisers, when a bottle catastrophically ruptured with no way to safely vent the released plasma to space. The newer ships all survived the loss of a bottle due to the failsafe designs. Some ships, like the Gauntlet and Mace even lost all three bottles and Jumped home. The Worms match their name by passing through a ship, turning back and doing it again and again, until their propulsion gives out.”

“If that explains the loss of all ten of the light cruisers Admiral, what killed the newer large ships?”

“Kamikaze Krall Clanships, Mam.”

“An alien word Admiral? What does it mean?”

“Sorry, it’s a word from the old Japanese language on Earth Mam. A military historian, as a lot of us Navy types are, will know the reference. They committed suicide with a damaged Clanship that was out of the fight. They still had Jump capability, and using the precision of T squared drives, with the target so close they can see it, they made a short Jump and performed a White Out inside one of our ships.”

“I didn’t think that was possible, or at least it was almost impossible.”

“With our original Jump drives we didn’t have the precision, and also couldn’t Jump such short distances. This was a use of T squared capability that hadn’t occurred to us. Obviously, the Krall have had thousands of more years to think of ways to kill.

“I thought every Krall’s goal was to live to breed and make baby Krall just as dangerous as the parent. Doesn’t suicide circumvent this?”

“Not if you have your sperm or unfertilized eggs preserved for use if you prove to be a credit to your race or clan. Our AI’s have been slowly learning the Krall language, or rather both of them. They have a low frequency and a high frequency language.

“In any case, the suicide ships each received or made a transmission before their self-destruction. The rough translation seems to be of two forms. One, from a Clanship, was an announcement of intention, and a request to preserve their bloodline. The other messages, from various domes on the planet, appear to have caused Clanships to copy this action. The order given was approximately phrased as ‘do it for the roadway and clan’ or perhaps ‘for the path and clan’ is more accurate.

“I believe leaders of the Krall told certain ships to make the sacrifice. This only began after the Gauntlet Jumped to safety, at my explicit order. They apparently wanted to prevent any more of us from escaping.”

“Can we counter the Worm missiles and suicide ships? I know you have just returned, but you had time to consider and confer with your officers on the way home.”

“Mam, the suicide ships were more successful because I let my ships maintain fixed formations and orbits, making them more predictable targets. That was my error. New tactics can eliminate most of that sort of predictability. We can also supplement our point defenses with more flexible close-in laser systems than our movable triple beam pods, intended for single ship protection. The Worms were easily knocked out if hit, nevertheless, once inside the optimum defense range of the laser pods, it was harder to hit them.

“The main cause of our mission’s failure was in not totally surprising the enemy. They were forewarned, and some were waiting for us, with others rising to meet us as we arrived.”

A dangerous tone to her voice, Stanford asked, “Do you think there was a leak, like that the press obviously received to announce what ships were being sent?”

“That press leak is surely a public relations problem, Mam. However, it couldn’t be responsible for the warning the Krall had. For one, the enemy would have had all four thousand Clanships up and waiting to surround us front and rear if they knew that far in advance.

“What we observed were a few hundred Clanships that apparently arrived just before we executed our White Outs. It was not a random distribution, and they clustered only between the battleships and the planet. There were none clustered below the battlecruisers or the other ship divisions, even though they represented more overall combined firepower. Furthermore, the first Clanships to arrive had already fired Worms at the points where our battleships were about to pop into Normal Space.

“They knew not only we were coming but also where some ships would emerge. Specifically they knew where the battleships would be, and they didn’t know it very far in advance.”

Stanford sensed a confidence in Mauss’ declaration. “If the Krall had no general warning of the overall operation, Admiral, do you have an idea how they only zeroed in on our most powerful, most massive ships?”

The President could see that the Joint Chiefs were virtually on the edge of their own seats. They didn’t know about this either, and couldn’t interrupt the President’s briefing to pose the questions they must be burning to ask.

“I do have an idea Madam President. My Flagship was the most massive ship and a more crucial target if the Krall knew of our planned dispositions. Yet I had no more Clanship coverage than the light cruisers, which was none at all. I now believe that it was our plan to disperse our most capable ships far away from K1 that set the stage for a last moment early warning to the Krall.

“All of the six battleships were on the ant-spinward side of Human Space when they jumped. The Gauntlet and Mace were located the farthest from K1. Those two ships were the first hit by Worms as they emerged, and a study of the proximity of Worm missiles to the other battleships as they made their White Outs shows that the farther away the battleship was when it started its Jump to K1, the earlier the Clanships must have fired their missiles at the arrival points.

“Had the other ships traveled farther, I believe the Krall would have had Clanships waiting for them as well. The pattern of ships still climbing out of atmosphere, below others of our arrivals, matches well with the various distances they had to travel to reach K1.

“It will take scientific analysis of these indicators to reveal how much notice they actually had, based on our Jump distances. However, I feel confident that the Krall have technology that detects some advanced signal that tells them when and where a White Out will happen.”

“A faster than light signal Admiral?” Stanford knew it was a stupid question as it left her mouth.

“Nothing can travel even that slow in Tachyon Space, or T squared Space, Mam. The Krall obviously can sense some advanced wave or effect of where a White Out will happen, if it travels for long enough. We won’t make that mistake again. Now that we know the effect must exist, our scientists can watch for it by setting up Jump tests. And we might figure out the rocket propelled quantum bore devices too, since we have five of them that ran out of fuel inside our ships.”

Stanford stood up to leave. “Admiral, you only lost our first battle, outnumbered, against an experienced and technologically more advanced enemy, and you survived to learn from the experience. You brought most of our fleet home, along with clues about the Krall’s technology. We might have fared a lot worse. Thank you.”

****

Kanpardi, as Gatrol of all the Krall forces for this early phase of the war on humans, had a requirement to address the joint clan leaders when they called for an explanation. He considered it an inefficient use of his time, but the leaders wanted to know more about how the humans had managed to mount a surprise attack on their new forward base.

“The humans launched a failed raid, and lost more than one third of the ships they sent against us. We detected their arrival points for their longest Jumps in time to wait for them.

“Many of the prey’s big ships were those we detected, and were the first destroyed or damaged. Some were killed by warriors that chose to earn guaranteed breeding rights by their destruction, and a place for their names in our histories. We seriously damaged many surviving human ships with the old Raspani weapons.

“I will now maintain Clanships in orbit, to be ready for them more quickly. We can bring orbiting weapons platforms here if that is wanted. I do not believe we need the Olt’kitapi ships for this new tactic from the humans. We do not have so many Olt’kitapi ships as we once had, and no experienced operators.” He was careful not to call the Krall that could control those ancient ships “warriors.” The meeting would waste more of his time in the following discussion of why those Olt’kitapi changed Krall were still allowed to breed.

Kloptra, of Dorbo clan had a complaint to voice, as Kanpardi expected. “My clan lost three domes and nearly half of our Clanships. How will you compensate us for this loss, caused by your failure to prevent this attack?”

“Dorbo received the same warning that launched Clanships from Graka, Tanga, Mordo, and even your finger clan Maldo. Those clans and others activated their ship defenses or rose in time to meet the enemy, and lost few ships on the ground or in atmosphere. It was your clan’s decision to train all of your novices for fighting humans on the ground, and left none on duty in your ships. You knew, as did all clans, that humans had built a fleet. You chose to ignore the threat.

“We have called for Clanship construction to increase on three slave worlds, and over one thousand twenty four existing replacements will arrive from our other worlds. However, you will not receive a larger share because you were not prepared. You would not have had domes destroyed so easily if your Clanships were able to defend them.”

“Then allow my clan to invade and take a human planet as penalty for this attack!”

Kanpardi snorted in ugly humor. “The humans have taken a step closer to becoming a worthy enemy, and Dorbo would slow all of us in our steps along the Great Path to discourage this? To kill a human world now, which many clans can use to purge their weakest novice warriors is not an efficient use of this prey. It would reward your clan for poor preparation today. However, it is a matter for the joint council to consider and to render a decision.” He knew the way he had worded his criticism that Dorbo clan would not prevail.

They spent much of the remainder of the council meeting deciding the proper distribution of new Clanships. Another part spent on how to divide the breeding points of today’s kills among the clans. He was impatient for the discussion to end. He had raids to plan and approve.

Kanpardi gave some thought to what the fast learning humans may have learned from their failure here. The Krall had known for some time that humans had learned how to use the higher level of Tachyon Space. The more rapid speed of travel between stars was of limited advantage, since the distances were such that lightning fast raids ended before distant space based reaction forces could arrive. The joint clan council had even considered finding a way to give them an intact Clanship, to allow them to copy the drive. This clever prey had figured it out without help. They probably did this from study of captured single ship drives that accessed second level Tachyon Space, even though they didn’t have Jump capability.

That faster Jump technology would help build-up human ground forces with improved weapons more rapidly. The latest human body armor, improved fire control, and fast mobile forces were reducing the novices in raiding parties sooner than scheduled withdrawals, with early recalls becoming more frequent. This was good for superior novice selection, but if the trend continued, the novices would have to learn to fight in their own armor, with heavier weapons.

They loved the bigger faster firing guns, and disliked the encumbering armor despite the electronic sensors that it furnished. The core of experienced novices was increasing, and soon larger scale raids with those battle-trained warriors could start. For now, they were breeders and slave race work monitors. The larger raids should push the humans harder, to improve and arm even faster.

There probably would be more space battles, which the Krall didn’t find as enticing, because the personal thrill of a face-to-face kill was missing. He was actually envious of the novices that had boarded the smaller disabled human warships left behind. Those were armed and desperate prey, knowing surrender was no option. They had fought to the last human, taking a considerable number of careless warriors with them. The surviving novices of the boarding parties were ready to join the growing ranks of experienced predators, but there were proportionately fewer of those produced that way, due to the limited number of chances for such fighting inside ships.

Until humans guessed how their arrival was expected, there could be more one sided space engagements. Specially designed weak Trap fields could detect ripples from massive objects moving in level two of Tachyon Space from many light years away. The signal was particularly strong if the direction of travel was towards the sensors. The ripples, like bow waves, traveled only a little faster than the mass causing the ripples in the second level of Tachyon Space, but if the journey were long enough and the mass great enough, the advance wave could arrive early and strong enough to provide a useful warning. Such as the twenty-two minute warning they received today for the battleships.

The number of other ships the humans arrived with had surprised him, pleasantly so. They had not experienced a space battle for thousands of years. The outcome was never in doubt, not even if there had been no warning. The drawback was that dome destruction killed more warriors without the value of culling weaker talent from greater. This was wasteful on a small scale in the short term. The warriors that had responded most rapidly were those that met the humans in space or at least had launched their Clanships. Those killed in domes or on the ground were of lesser value to the Path, overall, because they reacted slower or were less prepared.

The humans would know that some ship White Outs were detected in advance, even if it was only slightly.  They probably would not know how it happened, other than as a warning given shortly before they arrived. Human treachery was something they would surely consider, if the captives left to die on Koban were typical examples of the species.

He was less concerned about humans having samples of the ancient Raspani tools turned into weapons. If humans recovered any of them, the quantum beams were surely too complex for their primitive science to reproduce. The Olt’kitapi had only taught the science to the Raspani, who had nevertheless fallen easily to the Krall. Kanpardi idly chewed a spicy strip of Raspani dried jerky as he walked to his waiting shuttle. In twenty two thousand years since they killed the Olt’kitapi, no race other than Raspani had understood how they functioned. Despite how clever the weapons worked, in battle they were of limited use because of the short range.  When you understood their threat, a ship could avoid or destroy them.

The human space fleet was more a nuisance than a threat to the Krall’s advancement on the Great Path. Ground combat was the more certain way to generate large numbers of superior surviving warriors. Humans couldn’t build enough ships to block lightening ground raids, and once warriors were on the ground, humans could not easily use space bombardment of scattered targets mixed in with their own people.

Humans persisted in wanting to protect material things, places, and property, and most of all, lives of their noncombatants. The Krall didn’t want “things” or to possess places, nor did they care much for individual lives of their warriors. They wanted pure one on one combat, and the only thing they treasured more was an honorable mention in the histories that described the exploits of great warriors.

However, space borne attacks as humans conducted today could delay launching new ground raids. Kopandi would bring in different weapons, those they had preserved or copied from various other conquests. Even before the clan meeting, he had send couriers to return with sixteen orbital platforms to defend their base. He also called for sixteen of the inertial ball weapons, having small Jump Hole generators buried inside a protective collapsed matter armored casing. Those would provide some surprises, and disrupt the human’s next raid, particularly when they turned to flee to supposed safety.

Another attack here was inevitable, but allowing it to delay ground raids for so many days again was unacceptable. It was clear that humans were not as weak willed as their frail bodies suggested. The next attack on this base needed to fail more decisively, to convince the human clan leaders that ground defenses were more effective than space fleets. It was true, but humans always seemed to require convincing.

12. Wedded Bliss (Koban)

Maggi met them at the shuttle, and promptly hugged Noreen. “You managed three impossible wonderful things in one day? Dear, I’m speechless.”

“I only wish.” Dillon answered, careful to stand well out of reach. “Besides, what’s so impossible about my asking her to marry me? Telepathy and what else were so wonderfully impossible?”

“Well, you guessed one out of three you knucklehead. Cat telepathy was obviously the greatest; breaking Cahill’s nose was second. The third thing, which you got the most wrong, wasn’t that she learned you wanted to marry her. Anyone with an intellect above a rhinolo’s butt knew that. The miracle was that the cub found anything to read in that dung pile you call your mind.” Obviously, standing clear of “Tiger Lady” wasn’t necessarily safe either.

Maggi turned and offered another hug. “Marlyn, my dear, I believe congratulations are in order for you as well. You roped in one of the best in the herd.”

Thad, shaking his head looked at Dillon with a lopsided grin. “I don’t sense the change in society that’s supposed to be taking place, do you? I feel like a piece of meat in a market the Ladies own, culled from the herd they manage.”

Maggi patted him on the arm. “You both get to make the big wedding decisions. Like what color suit to wear, the choice of flowers, cake flavor, and so forth.”

Vince Naguma and Sarah Bradley were nearby, looking at the dead ripper before the shuttle departed for Prime City. The two had seen the cubs, but they were told not to touch them. Wrapped for warmth, and shielded from casual contact, the cubs were in an improvised nursery made from a small shipping crate. “Hey, congratulations to both of you couples.” Vince called out. Sarah echoed the same sentiment.

Mirikami had been listening with amusement. “I’m not going to be the ring bearer, or strew flower petals.”

Maggi smiled, and said something that proved she had been expecting this. “No, Tet, you can follow one of the oldest traditions in Space. Buried in the regulations, which Jake verified for me, is one that that still grants Captains the authority to perform certain ceremonial duties. You can officiate at the wedding. The old vows are contained in the records. I’m sure Dillon will balk at the requirement that he must ‘obey’ his wife, but that’s a mere detail of semantics. Tet, you could perform a double ceremony, if that’s what the couples want.”

Marlyn looked to Noreen, who nodded. “That would be wonderful. We have not had a lot to celebrate here and this should be a tradition to bring back. We can ‘sign the line’ afterwards.”

Thad put on a resigned expression. “Dillon, I’ll wear my old military dress uniform since I don’t own a suit. Do you have any flowers you like best?” He laughed.

“Sure. I’m tired of blue and teal. I saw some lovely small orange and yellow blossoms down here, and we can use some of those red Raspani plant leaves as a spray.” He directed a smirk at Maggi.

Mirikami interrupted the byplay. “I see Stewart MacDougal and some others coming out to talk. I called him to inform him the ripper that killed his brother and sister-in-law was dead. I didn’t make mention of the cubs. Should we tell him, or simply let him see the dead adult?”

Thad spoke up. “The appearance of cubs after the first ever kill of a female ripper will be connected. We want trust with Hub City leaders, and MacDougal might be a future leader. The female ripper felt regret that she killed the two humans. After experiencing mind contact with the woman, it recognized us as aware ‘people,’ and she only carried the bodies away because of the need of her cubs, and a refusal to waste a kill when there was nothing else to eat.”

“Do we want him to know that they are telepathic?” Maggi asked. “Live cubs are one thing, but knowing what they can do is a vital bit of information. We are certainly going to find the genes that make this possible, and that knowledge might be dangerous to us in the hands of our opposition.”

Mirikami made a decision before the man drew closer. “No. We let him know there were cubs, and that the lack of other prey to feed them must have driven the mother to hunt humans. Her carcass is proof of death, and if he wants, we can let him see the cubs, but no touching.”

When MacDougal arrived, without even speaking to anyone he walked over to look at the dead ripper in the cargo net. Dozens of people had followed him out and joined him.

“It’s huge.” Was all MacDougal had to say.

“An adult male is significantly larger.” Thad told him. “This was a young female, trapped inside the compound with almost no animals to hunt. She must have been desperate to feed her cubs.”

“Cubs?” His head jerked up.

“Yes, a male and a female, they’re very small.” Thad saw no reason to mention they were born as the mother died.

“You kept them?”

Mirikami answered. “Of course we did, Stewart. Our scientists need to study them. They are one of our greatest outdoor risks, even more so than the whiteraptors in winter, because they’re so smart and more of them.”

“Well, I guess you earned the opportunity to study them. Thank you for coming. Without your help, yet again, we’d still have this killer inside the compound. I personally want to apologize to Commander Renaldo, on behalf of many of us here, for the inexcusable insult Cahill offered her. However, it seems she has already received a measure of retribution.” He smiled in spite of himself. “I regret I didn’t get to witness that myself.”

“Told you so.” Dillon muttered.

More of the Hub City residents came to look at the ripper, and many offered their thanks to the people that had come to help them. There were mumbles of discontent directed towards Cahill, who had been adamant that there was no continuing threat. When MacDougal revealed that she had locked up the radio to prevent any requests for assistance, the grumbling grew louder.

Neri Barr had come out to talk to Mirikami, the two of them quietly discussing something in isolation. When they finished, Barr walked over to look at the ripper as well.

Mirikami approached MacDougal, but spoke loud enough that most of those nearby could hear. “The new surveillance cameras are in place to let you see what’s outside all of the time. Mr. Barr, working with your own machinists and ship’s engineers has explained how to tie in our com systems with the one the Krall had. We can bring over a satellite dish, and if our proposed geosynchronous relay satellite works as well as we hope, you will not only have communications throughout the dome for all of you, but also with anyone at Prime City. You would be able to call any time you wish, just as you can on any world in Human Space. Until we can send up more relay satellites only this hemisphere will have coverage, but that’s where all of us live for now.”

That announcement drew applause, and multiple thanks. This trip was proving to be a public relations success, despite starting with breaking Cahill’s nose.

When Mirikami called for volunteers to lift the ripper in the net and load it inside the shuttle, there were more hands to help than they needed. The trip back would be faster without the net dragging in the wind. They were also going to try to extract some milk from the still warm carcass of the ripper. Sarah had given Maggi a syringe and some medium sized sterile vials, to try to extract as much of the protein rich “milk” as possible.

They reduced the trip time to Prime City to barely an hour when Mirikami authorized the use of more main thruster fuel to reach suborbital altitudes. Saving the cubs was too vital to waste another two hours in travel. The reservoirs of mother’s milk from four teats completely filled two vials, and third vial was three quarters full.

The cubs were stirring, and even though kept warm, they were clearly seeking the mother’s teats. Careful to avoid contact with the frills, Noreen and Marlyn were eager to feed the babies. With the needle removed, they used the tip of the syringe to inject the rewarmed mother’s milk into eager little toothless mouths. The cubs appeared sated before consuming even half of the fluid available in the partial vial, so they sealed it for later use.

When they arrived at Prime City, they were met by a small army of people ready to help or just wanting to see a ripper up close. The dead ripper went to a lab for dissection and tissue sampling, and her babies went to the hospital for a thorough check up and body scans, use of insulating gloves mandatory. One vial of mother’s milk went to another lab for analysis.

Aldry and Rafe drew blood and tissue samples from the female ripper, particularly from the frill. A careful tracing of the nerves from the frill to the brain would help decipher how that part of the ripper’s nervous system worked.

All the possible testing was underway, the “babies” under the best of care, it was time for some wedding plans. Thankfully, the “boys” were not included, so Dillon, Thad, and Mirikami went to the lounge on the Flight of Fancy to have a boy’s night out.

When they reached the lounge they met the Chief, Neri, Chack, Ricco, and most of the former Stewards and ship’s male complement, drinks at the ready. It appeared it was going to get drunk out tonight.

****

It wasn’t the first thing they had accomplished when they got back from Hub City. In fact, the double wedding had taken more than a week for the Ladies to plan, and a week for the two honeymoons. The couples had taken two different shuttles, yet traveled north together to the mountains where yaks and moosetodons spent their summers. Whiteraptors also lurked there, but it wasn’t difficult to park the shuttles on inaccessible mountain ledges with spectacular views. Each couple had privacy at night, for whatever their energetic metabolisms and new musculature allowed their sexual fantasies to explore. Thad wouldn’t say what his wicked fantasy with Marlyn was about; his provincial Poldark upbringing made him less comfortable talking about such things. However, he certainly displayed a sense of exhausted contentment in the mornings.

Before the week was up, it was time to pay for the use of the two shuttles. The boys had brought more than one set of “guns” with them. While the women flew, the men laid prone at the open rear hatches as they flew over a herd of moosetodons. Each man shot one large animal apiece, repayment for the fuel used on the trip.

There was also one intangible benefit reaped in the hours spent on ledges, watching the yak and moosetodon herds. The main use for those ridiculous moose antlers became obvious when they observed them under the abundant everblue fir trees. The fir trees produced a five-inch diameter plump brown fleshy fruit with a cluster of three or four one-inch thick black seeds inside. The moosetodon’s thick short neck prevented their raising their heads high enough for their relatively short prehensile lower lips to reach the higher fruit, which hung ten to fifteen feet off the ground, above the reach of most animals. The moosetodons simply walked under the trees and locked their antlers in the lower limbs, shook the trees violently and knocked the fruit loose. Then they picked the fallen treats off the ground.

Because all of the fruit hung at exactly the right height, it appeared primarily intended for consumption by the moosetodons. There was no obvious reason why the tree would have evolved to benefit the large animals, at least until Thad mentioned he had found some of the black seeds in the big lumpy droppings from the animals, observed when he once was hunting and tracking a herd that had passed recently.

Dillon thought he knew the answer. “Were the seeds changed? I mean they’re shiny black and the size of the end of my thumb when I cut the fruit open.”

“Well sure, after the big side teeth crunch them, some are completely smashed, and a few others make it through the gut with most of the shell dissolved away.”

Dillon nodded. “I think the ones swallowed whole are only partly digested when pooped out, and probably can germinate easier when they fall to the ground with the hard outside eaten away. No doubt, the droppings are also rich in partly digested grasses and leaves, and provide a fertile moist place for the seeds to sprout. The trees probably spread farther because of the moosetodons. This is an example of a mutually beneficial plant animal relationship, encountered on other planets.”

“No shit?” Thad winked.

“Then no trees.” Dillon chuckled.

“So that’s why the moosetodon craps in the woods. Great mystery solved.”

Noreen shared a knowing look with Marlyn. “Are you two adolescents finished with your poop jokes? We need to haul these carcasses five hundred miles, and there might be raptors in these woods.”

They laid out the cargo nets, used the shuttles and ropes to roll the beasts onto them, then lifted both and flew the long trip back to Prime City, honeymoon over, marital bliss ready to start.

****

“Those blissful two idiots have no idea how their bachelor lives are about to change.” Maggi’s laugh was conspiratorial, shared with Aldry and Rafe, who shared the same knowledge.

“The fertility treatments don’t always take, Maggi.” Aldry raised an eyebrow.

Rafe was more confident. “They miss once out of a hundred times, and I’m confident that the Ladies made sure the grooms offered more than a routine effort. Single egg conception will take, and the genders will be male almost to a certainty. Three hundred years of experimenting with gender selection took all of the mystery out of that.”

“OK. We will have the start of our Second Generation SG children in nine months.” Maggi grinned. “I can’t wait to have the little farts running around.”

Rafe had a correction for her. “Enhanced metabolisms, remember? I predict full term by seven months, perhaps eight at the outside.”

“What about the other fully enhanced couples Rafe, also with Koban nerves? How many have opted for children this early?”

“Maggi, twenty eight have asked for the fertility treatments, with gender selection. Another sixteen want fertility without gender selection. We have two hundred thirty four other such fully enhanced couples that will let nature take its course, pregnant when it happens, gender as that happens. We should have forty-six SG births before fall, for sure, and potentially two hundred eighty SG’s before year’s end, most with the inert Koban nervous system in place.”

“And the ‘control’ couples?” Maggi inquired.  All prospective parents had to have the first four human clone derived gene mods just for the fetus to survive, making them a ‘control’ population.

“We have more than a thousand of those couples that have entered short marriage contracts. Some will have babies. When you took the poll, did they say if they would try for conception, or use contraception?” The city needed to know for allocation of future resources.

“We didn’t hold their feet to the fire for an answer yet. They have a couple of months to make a decision.

“In addition,” Rafe anticipated her next question, “we have quite a number of mixed SG couples, where only one partner has the redundant Kobani superconductor nerves. I know some of them will let nature take its course, and some will use contraception until they trust the results. However, no matter how we look at things, we’ll be hip deep in children in a few years.

“The SG’s will be born fully enhanced, many with the Koban parallel nervous system, and there will be SG.5’s, with only one parent fully enhanced. Those ‘point fives’ will present a mix of heredity of Koban nerves and standard features that we will have to monitor for instabilities. We understand the old clone mods well, but the Koban nerve mod is new. If there are problems found there, we will have to set genetic switches to prevent incompatible gene combinations on future births, and correct problems that arise after the fact.”

Aldry focused on where the discussion was leading. “We need to start preparing for the population shift, and find people to be our teachers, pediatricians, daycare staffers, people to manufacture what children will need, and make things they will want. There were very few toys in those cargo ships destined for the Rim Worlds. We’ll have to make some, and design and produce clothes for infants first, and shift production as they grow and mature.”

Maggi brought up something she had heard Dillon and Thad talking about. “We will need to produce weapons suitable for the smaller hands of children, and decide when they will be taught gun safety and use.”

Rafe was shocked. “Are you nuts? Give kids guns?”

“Rafe, go outside and walk around the inner fenced compound tomorrow for two hours, no weapons or armor.” Maggi stared at him. He caught her meaning of course.

He didn’t want to concede. “Then we can’t let the children go outside without armed adult supervision.”

“Ever? In addition, we know that it takes two sets of eyes, and two guns to ensure greatest safety. Do you think two adults will accompany every child outside at all times? This is Koban, not some safe Hub or Old Colony world. Wild and wooly Rim worlds have to let children out to learn about their environment. Besides, even if we don’t want them out, they will sneak out. It’s better to teach them self-defense early. There will be careless accidents, yes, but surely less damage than what native life will cause if they don’t have weapons. We can start with nonlethal jazzers for them. We’ll be making those soon, now that we can manufacture the chips, small klystrons, and high capacity battery packs.”

“There will be parents that will not go along with giving their kids guns.” Rafe sounded like he’d be one of those, even though he had no children.

Maggi nodded. “Probably so, for a time. I can’t imagine we will ever have a requirement that forces that choice on parents or their children. However, they will likewise not have the option of denying that gun choice for others. There will be armed children that will go outside alone. I don’t mean at age five or six, but they are going to be gun qualified at some age well shy of maturity. We will never inhabit this world from inside a dome, and so long as Krall inhabit our Galaxy, we will never be safe anywhere in it without our guns.”

Rafe shrugged. “Well, on a less contentious subject, the fortified gazelle milk sufficiently matches the ripper milk sample. We matched it nutritionally that is. The cubs will survive and thrive, although they don’t like the taste as much what mom used to make. We are looking at how to improve the taste aspect as well. They are growing fast, like everything with a high metabolism on this world. I think they’ll want meat in another month, since their first teeth are sprouting.”

“Aldry and I looked in on them yesterday, and their beautiful blue eyes were wide open, watching us carefully. They both tracked my gloved hands as I reached in to touch them. They have such little claws, and they extended them to bat at my fingers. Has anyone tried a frill contact again, since our married couples went on honeymoon?”

“No. Both couples made additional frill contacts under controlled conditions and monitoring before they left.” Rafe shrugged. “The cubs now seem to have imprinted or bonded on the first human minds they contacted. The ripper mother was first of course, but she’s gone. It seems like they have each chosen two new ‘parents’ as replacements. Kit imprinted on Marlyn and Thad, and Kobalt bonded to Noreen and Dillon. By the way, those are the Koban sounding names the couples picked for the cubs.”

“I’m eager to try frill contact myself,” Maggi admitted. “However, I’ll let Noreen or Dillon serve as a filter for my first contact with Kobalt. They tell me it can be overwhelmingly intense the first time. I’m intrigued that the cubs seem to intuitively grasp our alien thoughts and respond to them in kind. Such as our naming them, and then learning the rippers use individual names for one another. Who would have ever expected that level of self-awareness? They know their biological mother was named Merki, the more remote father was Bolar, and there are names embedded in other images from the pride their mother was from.”

Aldry had thought about this as well. “In a roundtable discussion with a number of our people, we rather think that the only reason rippers don’t have a full-fledged symbolic mental language with words for everything, as we do, is that a picture really is worth a thousand words. The cubs may be able to grasp our words quickly with picture reinforcements.”

“What are we going to do when they get their teeth and reach a size that’s really a risk to us? Put them in a cage? Wild animals on Earth always remained wild at heart, and could have a bad day and turn on the humans that loved them. Hell, Maggi, you even shot Dillon in the balls with a jazzer when he pissed you off once.” His grin was short lived.

She directed her notorious “sweet little old lady” smile towards Rafe, which suddenly made him wish he had not made that last comment to the legendary “Tiger Lady.”

“How flattering, to be compared to a wild animal.” Then she fluttered her small hands, as if dispelling another thought before offering her opinion.

“Unlike thick headed humans, mostly male, I’m hopeful the cubs will accept all humans as part of an extended pride. We may be able to instill a need for self-control more firmly in these cubs, simply because we can send pictures and feelings.”

“I guess time will tell,” was Rafe’s answer.

13. New Lance

Admiral Hawthorne had just returned from the Presidential Palace, and made her way to the depths of the War Room, below the Defense Department complex. Stanford had requested the Chairfem and Joint Chief’s deliver the New Lance mission briefing there. That was because the President’s reelection campaign manager had wanted news footage of the Joint Chiefs arriving to brief the President and her Cabinet.

The planned fleet operation was secret, and it wouldn’t be revealed until the mission was over. However, a successful attack on K1 would help Stanford’s reelection chances.

Admiral Mauss waited in the War Room for her superior to arrive. Newly promoted from Vice Admiral, she was again the commander of an operation against the Krall base. Only this time it wasn’t just a task force, she was effectively the Fleet Commander, without the rank, because nearly the entire fleet was going to K1 this time.

Hawthorne cleared the last security post and entered the War Room, the heavy door closing behind her and electronic security and jamming activated. No one believed the Krall had penetrated their security the last time, since they didn’t seem to care what their enemy had planned. The heightened security was to guard against leaks to Tri-Vid news companies, which had known almost as much about the previous strike as some of the Joint Chiefs.

“Golda, she signed off on New Lance, just as you predicted she would. She didn’t even have many questions this time. I had my doubts she would approve. She got burned badly after the last raid, and in an election year I thought she might play it safe and wait.”

“Nancy, for Stanford’s administration this is put up or get out of town time. She has been the Navy’s friend, she listened to us, lobbying for money for repairing the fleet, and for making the changes asked for ship defenses. Her reelection eggs are all in the Navy’s basket. Our fates are linked.”

“Speaking of fates, what have we learned from the recon drones?”

Mauss indicated the big monitors with the pictures and radar data. “We have been going over the last drone reports from K1. Those sixteen orbiting stations at five hundred miles are as large as dreadnaughts, with large bore ports for Plasma beams, and presumably heavy lasers behind those shield doors we can see. The undersized thrusters suggest they are not very maneuverable. Those probably are to adjust orbits and attitude, more so than to move to engage an enemy. They obviously have Jump capability, since all of them appeared virtually overnight three months ago.

“They must be vulnerable, because there are always eight Clanships near each of them for protection. That makes one hundred twenty eight Clanships active and in orbit at all times. No matter, I’m staying with my plan to avoid close-in action with the platforms, which means our White Outs will occur at one thousand miles above planet, and thus five hundred miles above any of them. Whatever new technology they offer, we will be more respectful of that possibility this time.”

Mauss noticed Hawthorne was looking at images of the newest mystery objects orbiting K1. “I see you have spotted the newest items we found in orbit this time. I decided to call them ‘Eight Balls’ because they are shiny black, and spherical. It’s not easy to tell the scale from the zoomed image you are seeing on that screen, but they are only about thirty feet in diameter.”

Hawthorne shook her head slowly, obviously worried. “How many of them are there? Do you know when they arrived or have a clue as to what they are? I don’t like surprises just before we launch an attack.”

“We counted sixteen, and apparently each came docked with the platforms. Clanships moved several of them while our recon drones watched. They docked with the orbital stations, detached the balls from their hulls, and towed them several miles from the orbital stations at full thrust. They have to be immensely massive because of the amount of thrust and time it took the Clanships to move them even that far. Because of their small size, they have to be extremely dense, almost unbelievably so. The initial estimate is in the thirty thousand ton range.

“When the Clanships released them, a warrior in a suit appeared to enter a hatch on the balls as the Clanship moved away a safe distance. Shortly after that, the balls accelerated with what had to be Normal Space drives and went into polar orbits spaced between the platforms. A super zoom image of one of them reveals small little bumps symmetrically spaced on their surface, which are surely emitters for Trap Fields. They may even have Jump capability. After they were in polar orbits, the Krall removed the operators by Clanship.

“We tried to get more data on them using wide aperture radar on one drone, to get a sharper microwave image. That was how we first noticed the small bumps, but the image was in data collected by several different drones and assembled here by our scientists. That was because the inbound microwave radiation had changed frequency on return. The balls are nearly perfect blackbodies. They absorbed the radar frequencies and re-radiated the energy in a different spectrum in a classic blackbody curve. However, no sooner had we ‘pinged’ a couple of balls, which revealed the location of that formerly passive drone, the Krall Jumped a Clanship near and were scanning for other passive drones. The AI’s Jumped the drones home, to save what they had recorded.

“Our technical experts say the ‘Eight Balls’ mass as much as a battlecruiser, based on how hard a Clanship had to work to move them and the speed attained. They must consist of some form of collapsed matter. They aren’t nearly as dense as neutronium, such as material from the core of a neutron star, but perhaps a hundred times as dense as lead, and they are hollow because there must be a control room inside for Normal Space drives, and at least a fusion bottle. That has to be cramped for the pilot.”

Hawthorne watched a replay of the positioning of spheres in fast play mode. “They don’t appear to be extremely maneuverable, and need an operator that doesn’t stay aboard. Admiral Mauss, I’d suggest you target them as soon as you pop out. Take them out of the equation early. I must say, however, they don’t seem very big or dangerous.”

It looked like the cozy first name mode of address was shifting in the direction of professionalism, and of telling Mauss how to do her job.

“Mam, if they are made of some form of collapsed matter, a conventional warhead might not do much damage. We weren’t initially very worried about the Worm’s size either, which was small and relatively slow.

“These balls have an unknown capability and purpose, and clearly display a materials technology we don’t understand. Our scientists say we can’t make stable dense matter like that outside of a lab, and even then only with tiny diamond anvils. We can make it in pinhead quantities that last for a few microseconds when pressure is released. They claim there is a theoretical stable crystalline structure of certain elements that might maintain stability after the pressure is released, but the binding energy of the material potentially could release in a powerful explosion if the crystal is broken or cracked.”

Hawthorne shrugged. “Well Admiral, we won’t find out what they do with our fleet sitting in the Rhama system. The President needs to show that the money spent on the Navy can at least slow down Krall attacks, if not stop them.”

Hawthorne was clearly not going to accept another delay from Mauss, simply because they didn’t know the enemy’s new weapons capability. The truth of the matter was that only by going up against them would we discover what the Krall had in store for the fleet.

“I might add that the President was very impressed with your proposed counter measures for the Worms. I told her they did have sensors that steer them towards nearby powerful magnetic fields, such as fusion bottles. Your idea of putting unshielded fusion bottles on the outer hulls with magnetic confinement fields active but no dangerous plasma inside was outstanding. Like moths to a candle, they made perfect decoys in testing of the captured missile steering systems. I don’t know how well the new internal magnetic shielding will work against them, but they shouldn’t get that deep with more enticing targets out where the new reactive armor can sheer them into pieces when they penetrate the decoy modules. I too was impressed that you had a better and simpler solution than our big brained scientists came up with.”

Chuckling, Mauss accepted the praise with a caveat. “Having missiles fired at your ass tends to focus your mind more sharply than the intellectual challenge of a chess match. Besides, an engineer from Gauntlet accidentally gave me the idea. In a hospital visit of our wounded, she mentioned to me that she wished she’d been off to the side rather than standing right in front of a bottle. A nearly expired Worm missile entered the Drive Room compartment, found room to turn, and drilled through her thigh enroute to the bottle. Obviously, it wasn’t after her. She simply stood close to the magnetic field it was designed to find.”

“What if a Worm still gets deep inside a ship? Will the new magnetic shielding conceal the bottles?”

“Not totally, Mam, but we have other internal decoys to activate and draw them, and we can spin the ship and alter internal gravity to throw off missile guidance. That will play hell on the Drive Room crew’s equilibrium, but saving weapons power for the ship is more important than their vertigo.”

“What about the kamikaze Clanships? I told the president you would be zig zaging to be more unpredictable. The Krall pilots fly mostly by eye, based on our analysis of their flight tracks. So our navigational AIs will randomly shift courses, and you say they can compensate our targeting systems by feeding the upcoming course changes to the fire control AI’s for offense and defense?”

“It works in training, Admiral. That’s all I can say.”

“What does it feel like internally, with all that shifting and turning?”

“Better take your motion sickness shots early. However, we are finding T squared gravity compensation can improve inertial stability considerably more than we expected originally. We didn’t foresee a need for so many quick maneuvers when we kept the inertial compensation reaction speed at rates we had always used.”

The Chairfem next stepped dangerously close to a forbidden line. “No matter our own prohibitions, don’t you wish you could nuke those orbital platforms and Eight Balls and go in deep for a knockout punch?”

Mauss wondered if this was a test of her sense of duty and discipline, or if the Chairfem was exploring the boundaries of how far Mauss would go if given free reign. The brief hesitation before she answered proved she had considered her reply.

“Mam, the Krall have made it clear that weapons of mass destruction, if used against them on any of our worlds would result in the total eradication of life on those worlds. We may be attacking a world where they have already killed all humans, but they are definitely not going to accept that as prepayment if we used nukes on or near K1. There can be no doubt they are temperamentally capable of destroying all life on one of our worlds, even Earth itself. They would not hesitate to kill as many billions of humans as it took to drive the lesson home.”

“Oh, of course Admiral. We could never take that risk. I was just thinking of how this strike’s chances of success would be assured if we could knock out those platforms. Only…, don’t you wonder why they presented us with that ultimatum? They have never landed a large force where such mass destruction weapons could find a concentration of warriors. Except, those forces concentrated on K1.”

“Admiral, they say they intend to make war on us for generations. We had over seven hundred twenty worlds when the war started. They took one lightly populated world as a base, and we have withdrawn from several others that were more private corporate property than real colonies. As a race, as a civilization, we haven’t really been hurt so far. People living on Hub worlds see the war on Tri-Vid, but have not been personally a risk. However, if we greatly increase the level of our attack on K1 and can’t contain them, the Hub worlds or Old Colonies might pay the price.

“K1 is only a forward base in our space. We still don’t know where the Krall come from, and where their ships, orbital platforms, and other weapons are built or stored.

“We don’t even know how many of them we face. Autopsies of dead pregnant female warriors revealed dozens of eggs. They can probably reproduce much faster than we can. The tattoos of most warriors sent on raids show us that we mostly face novices each time, with the most experienced warriors placed in charge of Clanships, and slightly lower rank warriors lead octets or groups of octets. Where do those newly experienced novice warriors go after extraction?

“We kill twenty-five percent of their surface raiders overall, and sometimes thirty to forty percent on more prepared and disciplined worlds like Poldark. Yet the rank and file warriors all have empty throat tattoos on the next raids. I think the Krall are holding the experienced survivors in reserve. They are probably waiting for us to build up our own ground forces, applying increasing pressure on us to build our armies until they can mount wider scale large raids. Only then does the prohibition of weapons of mass destruction make sense, because it is on our own invaded worlds we would be most tempted to use them. In my opinion, the hundred four million people that have died so far are only the prelude.”

Hawthorne wasn’t pleased with her remarks. “Admiral Mauss, I’m somewhat relieved you didn’t go with us to brief the President and her Cabinet. Aside from you needing this final recon data, I’m afraid your views might lead the President to mistakenly shift spending from the Navy to the Army, and also to our newly reconstituted Marines and Air Force.” When she laughed, Mauss thought she detected a twinge of nervousness.

Hawthorne reinforced that thought. “We need to reward the President’s loyalty to the Navy, the only force she commands that has taken the battle to the enemy. If we knockout the Krall on K1, we can go looking for their bases and production worlds in their own space. We’ve long thought we could make them pull back if we hit their home worlds for a change.”

“I originally thought that myself Mam. However, the Krall don’t display as much concern for their own warriors as we do for our livestock. They don’t value the same things we do. I doubt a threat to one of their worlds would provoke strong protectiveness, even if we find some of them. Not as that same threat would draw us to defend a human world.”

Hawthorne shook her head. “Let’s hope that isn’t the case. Forcing the Krall to pull back is our best hope of preventing the slow destruction of our society. We don’t believe we can ever match them head to head in ground warfare. They have matched us in every single weapons and armor improvement. The Army analysts think the Krall deliberately lag a bit behind us so that our troops appear to have a slight equipment advantage. However, their physical capability, speed, instincts, and strength, always outweighs the equipment advantages.

“When that physical advantage isn’t quite enough due to our new equipment, the very next raid against our equipment uses Krall weapons or armor suddenly improved enough to restore the near balance. Poldark has seen their thirty to forty percent kill ratio diminish to about the same twenty-five percent level as on worlds that have not kept up with Poldark’s push for better equipment and tactics. Krall raiders are better equipped on Poldark, but not on other worlds. They tailor the raiders to match the opposition.

“The Joint Chief’s now accept the truth that the Krall have had many thousands of years of warfare. They can incrementally improve their ground attacks as much as needed, for as long as we can fulfill our role of killing off their less skilled novices. However, they don’t appear as skilled at Space warfare. At least the jury-rigged Worm missiles and kamikaze attacks suggest there’s a gap we can exploit there.

“Per your own analysis Admiral Mauss, we can nullify their advanced White Out warning by Jumping from so close that they can’t predict when or where we will emerge. You have made sure the Worms will be little threat this time. You determined the dispersed attack we made last time played to their strengths of individual ship against ship fighting. The combined fleet defenses this time should keep the Worms away and the group random movements of the entire fleet will make suicide attacks less successful. If they try those anyway, the Clanships will often miss their targets and emerge in the midst of a hornet’s nest of concentrated fire. As you said, you will avoid the orbital platforms. The only question mark is the ungainly looking Eight Balls, which you will have to adjust to when they go active.”

With a sour look, Mauss nodded. “Yes Mam, as you say, the only question mark is self-propelled dense matter balls that we can’t make ourselves and don’t know what they do. In addition, we don’t really know the firepower capability of the platforms. Our new heavier fire-and-forget missiles have to get past those platforms and Clanships to reach targets on the planet, and we will have to retarget many of the missiles on the balls and platforms as well as the orbiting Clanships. The Clanships and single ships normally exit White Outs in stealth mode, which we can’t fully match with our ships, and we can’t get radar reflections from the strange quantum controlled outer skins of theirs. We don’t know why they didn’t use stealth last time. Yet, you think all we need to worry about are the Eight Balls.”

There was a threatening tone to the Chairfem’s reply. “Admiral, are you prepared to conduct this mission?”

“Yes Mam, as much as we can be prepared, and I am more prepared than anyone you might send in my place. We have to test the enemy again, but I don’t want unrealistic expectations placed on the outcome. I’m hopeful we can hurt them, but I’m afraid that the hurt we receive in return will be as out of proportion as every confrontation we have ever had with the Krall.

“When Poldark killed nearly forty percent of a four Clanship raiding force several months ago, they killed over eight hundred of the two thousand plus raiders. The media and our government trumpeted that as a great success. You, the Poldark government, and I know that it came at the expense of three thousand two hundred civilian deaths, and two thousand six hundred casualties in their armored quick reaction forces. A mere seven to one loss ratio has somehow become a measure of our success. I pray we measure the fleet’s success this time differently than that. I will do my best to make it so.”

“I trust that you will Admiral. I saw your staff uploading the new data for your AI’s database on the fast courier waiting for you as I passed the security post. At least I’m confident the media will not know about your mission in advance this time. When do you Jump for Rhama?”

“I leave as soon as we are done here, Mam. I will need a day at Rhama to adjust the fleet’s actions for the White Out at K1, and retarget some of the missiles with contingencies if the orbiting Clanships and platforms go into stealth mode.”

“Very well, Admiral. Good luck to you. I will see you for the mission debrief.” They shook hands.

****

Stanford took a break from campaign strategy meetings and recording short Tri-Vid messages. “Jean, I hate the necessities of political life. I made politics my career, but the things required to run a successful race have nothing to do with being successful in office. I was forced to drag the Joint Chiefs here just for the photo op of recording their entering the Presidential Palace to talk to me. I’m worried sick about risking the entire fleet on this mission and I’d have preferred a less public venue to find out what they really think of the risks.”

“Char, the military, except for the Army of course, see this strike as the best chance to hurt the Krall and slow them down. Besides, it isn’t the entire fleet. The two Carriers and the Patrol Boats aren’t going, so they won’t just stand off and watch this time.”

Stanford grimaced at the attempt at humor. “Right. Well, the Army wanted the fighters as ground support if we can ever manage to get the carriers to a planet where a raid is also happening. Only two carriers to support the hundred fifty-one planets the Krall have hit to date.

“Jean, I have to admit I rubber stamped the Navy’s proposal this time because they want redemption, and I need the political points of showing that we are striking back. They really do seem to have found ways to counter what went wrong on Deep Lance. I expect losses and so do they, but the chance to hit the Krall hard may be too tempting, an illusion.

“Tonight I focused on looking Presidential for the cameras, with the Cabinet and Joint Chief’s used as a backdrop. I didn’t even question them this time because I didn’t want a record of any doubts to appear in public. What was the ship count this time for this task force? I had specifically intended to ask that of Admiral Mauss because she is such a cool confident presence to show to the public, and she wasn’t even with them.”

“I asked about her Char, and it seems they had a squadron of recon drones just returning from K1 with the final pre mission intelligence. Mauss wanted to go over that personally. However, I have the briefing paper they left with us, to fill out the mission commentary on the edited news clips.”

“God! I’d better at least know what we are risking with my approval. Kindly tell me what fleet elements we are sending, other than the two carriers, their one hundred fifty fighters, and the twenty patrol boats that are not going.”

“Wow, you did remember some trivia. Let me tell you the important crap you forgot.”

They had a stress-relieving laugh before Anderfem listed the fleet elements by category.

“Admiral Mauss will be on the Invincible as her flagship again, accompanied by the Indomitable, our other dreadnaught. The Mace and Gauntlet are fully repaired, and joined by Spear, Archer, Shield and Lancer in a six-element battleship division. We have eight battle cruisers, all part of a single division, as are the six ships of a heavy cruiser division. We have eighty-eight destroyers to screen them.

“All told, there are one hundred ten fighting ships total. The same number as we sent last time. Only we have no other reserves except what are currently under construction in the Rhama shipyards and on the yards on Earth and Mars. The orbital repair docks at Rhama are empty now, since every ship that we could repair or refurbish is ready and in the fleet.”

“Jean, I admit I don’t know fleet composition, but there were more divisions last time.”

“Char, the fleet was more dispersed last time and independent actions and maneuvers were anticipated by various divisions. It never happened. This time the fleet will stay together for mutual support, because Mauss doesn’t anticipate facing divisions of Krall fleet units, since they didn’t coordinate or fight that way last time. In theory a concentrated force will be more difficult for individual Clanships and single ships to attack, and if they penetrate with micro Jumps there will be fire coming from all sides.”

“I heard Admiral Hawthorne say they were holding Jump capability in reserve to return as a unit, all the way back to Rhama. If things go well, they may go down to pound the planet, and withdraw as the situation dictates. I like the optimism. I hope it isn’t misplaced.”

“Char, we have nearly all of our space borne forces invested this time, so it had better not be misplaced. Mauss elected to Jump back to Rhama simply to expedite quick repairs. The Krall haven’t raided any New Colony yet, and Rhama is the most populated and technically capable world close enough to the Krall incursion to repair ships quickly. When not repairing, they can actually build new ships. The Navy should be able to have the damage repaired for follow-up action in a lot less time than after the previous attack.”

“Let us hope, Jean. Let us hope.”

****

Mauss had ordered the entire fleet to assume its globular attack formation, with the outer lighter ships screening the more vital heavy ships located in the center. The formation was oriented with all ships facing the same way, currently coasting sideways in concert, with clear firing lanes between them for their missile launches. The initial launch would be computer executed the instant the fleet performed its White Out, followed by two more salvos in the next ten seconds. Then the first fleet course shift would occur before the next three salvos were ready within thirty seconds.

The pre Jump movement of the combined fleet was designed so they would emerge with a Normal Space velocity that would match K1’s orbit around its star, appearing one thousand miles from the surface of K1 over the northern hemisphere. The fleet would emerge facing their opponents, already in a strong defensive formation.

In practice, the movement of the fleet had resembled a school of fish moving in tandem, except there were small and medium fish surrounding and protecting the larger sharks and killer whales nearer the globe’s center. While the direction of fleet course changes were random, the order to execute the turns were transmitted for several turns in advance, and timed to allow the missiles of the previous launch to clear the edge of the formation. With launch tubes mounted forward, aft, and at midship, the fleet elements could fire from any course ordered. The missiles were smart enough to adjust course to avoid accidental friendly hits due to course changes, but this would slow their acceleration towards the enemy.

Mauss linked to Captain Codry. "Megan, it looks like the fleet is trimmed up. A few of the destroyers, with less experienced crews were late to adjust, but Josie has coordinated with the other AI’s and I’ve turned over master control for the Jump to her. I assume you’ll get your wish this time, and get into the fight. We all get there at the same time, and the Krall will get less than fifteen seconds warning of the mass emerge.”

“Thanks, Admiral. I know how much the last retreat bothered you, without our getting an opportunity to go head to head with the Clanships. I hope we can knock hell out of the platforms, and then zap a few Clanships.”

The two dreadnaughts had the heaviest missiles, and the Invincible and Indomitable were taking on the eight orbital platforms that the computer predicted would be reachable from above the northern hemisphere of K1. The other eight platforms would eventually pass over the poles and come into range, one or two at a time, but targeting them would have to wait.

“Well we are the big guns, so I’m sure the Krall will want a piece of us. Josie is listening, of course, so I’m about to give her the time mark for the Jump. Josie, Jump us in sixty seconds from now!”

“Yes Mam. I passed the countdown to the other ships.”

“Thank you. Fleet Link please, Josie.”

“Ready Mam.”

“Attention, this is Admiral Mauss. Your AI’s have received the one-minute to Jump countdown. When we emerge in five days, let’s give them hell. I’ll see you all back here at Rhama. Good luck everyone. Mauss Out.”

Expecting them all to return was overly optimistic, but they were better prepared this time, mixing a stronger offense with a much-improved defense. The remaining forty-five seconds counted down, and then the fleet elements entered their individual Jump Holes on cue, winking out of Normal Space, within the heart of the Rhama system. Ostensibly, they were conducting yet another training exercise so Jumping out of the Rhama system was a common occurrence.

Scientists had not yet found a way to communicate between ships while in the Hole, but they believed there should be a way. They were trying to use something similar to the advance wave a massive ship generated while in Tachyon Space. For now, there would be no chance to talk ship to ship for the next five days, but each ship would be combat ready, launch tubes loaded, plasma chambers heated, lasers armed, all released to AI control for immediate fire control at White Out. Humans would be directing the AI’s to modify the battle plan, but the greatest targeting success in the last battle had been when the AI’s made the instantaneous decisions, following human guidance.

****

Kanpardi yielded to the joint clan council’s argument, with a cautionary warning. “It is true that the humans have made no new attack on our base since the failed raid. However, they retain a fleet as large as the previous one they sent. We have detected several of their small spy ships recently, proving they have not lost interest in our base. They should have learned from their mistakes, and I believe they will attack us again.

“Reducing the number of Clanships in orbit would permit humans greater opportunity to launch missiles at ground targets, which we cannot entirely defeat with only sixteen Clanships and the orbital defense stations. A single Clanship per station can’t do much to protect them if the humans launch many missiles at each. The ancient Malveran computers in the platforms are inferior to human computers. They have powerful plasma cannons but have slow targeting, just as the Malverans themselves reacted slowly. This is how we defeated and captured them in that war.”

Hardrol, leader of Tanga Clan, had been mostly listening to his aid, Parkoda. “The humans are cowardly. They fled from our counter attack before, and we now have three new weapons they have never faced. They will not return soon anyway. Parkoda knows humans well, and has just reminded me that he captured more of them alive than any Krall warrior. Their surrender to him is proof of their cowardice. Tanga clan wants our orbiting ships and crews available for the increased raids we plan. Waiting for a human attack that will never come is wasteful of our resources.”

Kanpardi shook his left shoulder in acknowledgement. “The joint council has agreed with you, and I will release the ships you want returned to your control. However, I have explained the weakness of the orbital stations. I remind you that the other two weapons were not effective when they were used against us, in long ago wars.

“Humans are proving to be worthy enemies, and adjust quickly to surprises. When the stations launch the small ‘Eaters,’ they will see them coming. The first ones may be successful in swallowing some of their ships, but they can avoid them after that, and Eaters are vulnerable from the side and behind. The ‘Hammer Balls’ are not quick to respond, and take time to build to high velocities or to make a turn. The humans could do much damage before these become effective, and Clanships will take time to reach orbit to face their fleet.”

Hardrol was first to speak again. “We will be warned in advance, as we were of their previous arrival, and Tanga clan maintains pilots in all of our grounded ships at all times. We will not be caught unprepared, as Dorbo clan was caught, with empty Clanships on the previous human raid.”

“I am not prolonging the debate, Hardrol, but as Gatrol of this first phase of our campaign, I advise the council of the risk I see in following the course ordered. I will do what the council has instructed me to do, but I will not accept the consequences of that unnecessary risk.”

Parkoda was at this lofty council meeting only because he was now an aid to his clan’s leader. He was resentful of Graka clan’s stealing the leading role in the start of the war from him and his clan. Kanpardi, Gatrol over all of war effort was of Graka clan, and thus a natural target of Tanga clan.

Parkoda took aim at that target. “Tanga clan is prepared to increase the size of our raids, and to attack the more populated human worlds. We need all of our Clanships. We will not be timid in pushing the humans to fight harder.”

Had Parkoda directly called Kanpardi or his clan timid, he would instantly find himself in a challenge to the death. Kanpardi was dangerously close to offering the challenge anyway, because the inference that he was timid was obvious, even if not stated. However, as Gatrol he could not offer a challenge to Parkoda, a subordinate, unless he gave up his position as war leader. No doubt, that was Hardrol’s intention in allowing Parkoda to speak.

This clever insult was probably not Parkoda’s doing, since it could have no good outcome for his own future status. The sly move was certainly something Hardrol, a wily Tanga clan leader, could have suggested to slower-witted Parkoda.

If Parkoda had come right out and demanded the right to fight Kanpardi, the Krall equivalent to a general or admiral would be free to defend his honor without any risk to his leadership position. He ran the risk of dying in the fight of course, but a Krall never expected to lose. However, if Kanpardi did die, Tanga clan would try to nominate one of their own to become the next Gatrol.

If Kanpardi were provoked enough into making the challenge himself, he would have to step down first as Gatrol, leaving the same leadership vacuum, which Tanga clan would try to exploit. There was a possible advantage for Tanga clan either way if a challenge arose.

Kanpardi was too intelligent to let this shallow Tanga clan ploy derail his and his clan’s rise in status. He would maintain his place in the histories simply by avoiding a rash move. Parkoda was apparently too dense to understand that even if he won the fight he hoped to provoke, his personal climb in status would end because the joint council would never name him as Gatrol over all the Krall. Naturally, if he lost the fight his status hopes became irrelevant. Tanga clan clearly considered Parkoda’s future superfluous.

Kanpardi made a generous offer on his clan’s behalf that heightened his clan’s level of respect. “I will release your ships, and those of the other clans that do not wish to defend the sixteen orbital stations that protect our base. Graka clan will guard them from our enemies, even though it reduces our own raiders. We do not think our sixteen Clanships are too great a price to pay to guard the Great Path.”

Hardrol and the other clan leaders were more than willing to let Graka clan waste ships on what they considered pointless guard duty.

****

The New Lance fleet blasted into Normal Space a thousand miles from K1 with a great burst of gamma rays, and a preceding advance wave in Tachyon Space arriving just fourteen seconds ahead of them. Only nine of the paltry sixteen Graka clan ships protecting the orbital platforms were in a position to respond. They had each launched eight Worms apiece as the human fleet emerged. Only four of the Clanships were even within a few thousand miles of the edge of the human fleet, and just one was at the closest point possible, of one thousand one hundred miles.

The first of three heavy missile salvos started launching as the fleet was still emerging, spreading the launch out over a few second spread, followed in five seconds by the second launch, then the third in another five seconds. The fleet, as a single unit, turned twenty-three degrees port as soon as the last missile of the third launch cleared the globe, and they simultaneously applied a reverse thrust to slow their approach to the planet by point five miles per second. The fleet’s plasma beams flashed out, star heat directed towards the orbital platforms. Heavy lasers targeted the Worms, and the nine Clanships that had launched them.

The Clanships were primarily engaged in defensive fire to try to protect the platforms, which were finally ready to engage their massive plasma weapons. The Clanships had to jink back and forth to keep the impinging hundreds of lasers from staying focused long enough to damage their own plasma and laser firing ports. The nine Clanships were heavily out gunned, both by the number, and by quality of the heaviest attacking ships. However, their first duty was to keep the platforms alive and firing back as long as possible. Then they would defend themselves in order to fulfill their second role.

Several dozen of the inbound heavy missiles were exploded or had their steering damaged, but it was obvious most were going to get through. The closest Clanships had to switch from platform defense to self-defense, if only to survive to fend off the second and third salvos five seconds behind each other.

The nine platforms exposed to the fleet pulsed out their ravening near-light speed return beams, as their own thick hulls received blasts, with inches of armor vaporizing in foot wide traces. The targeting of individual human fleet elements was calculated by all nine defensive platforms, coordinating which targets each would strike, and how many beams per target. One hundred eighty beams, twenty per platform, fired together on the selected human ships. Except the human ships had altered course and speed several seconds before the beams were generated. The enemy beams, tens of times more powerful than even the dreadnaughts carried, blasted through the locations the human ships had occupied.

The majority of targets had been the destroyers and heavy cruisers, simply as the closer targets along the surface of the globe. They missed all of the designated targets, due to the slow reacting Malveran computers. However, as always the case in war, random bad luck was in play.

The surface area of the fleet’s globular formation was just over five thousand square miles, and was forty miles in diameter.  With nearly sixty square miles of the globe surface to protect by each of the eighty-eight destroyers, the smaller warships had ample fire overlap to engage enemy ships even if a member of the screen were lost. The destroyers on the side of the globe nearest the platforms were unscathed because of the course change. Not so for one unlucky destroyer, and a battlecruiser, on the far side of the fleet. They happened to change to courses that intersected the path of two of the one hundred eighty beams.

Destroyer DS-42 simply blasted into two sections as the three-foot diameter beam vaporized its way through the slender hull seventy feet behind the control room, the motion of the ship and force of vaporizing material tearing the remaining three hundred feet of the aft section away from the front of the ship.

The battlecruiser, a much tougher ship, was hit a grazing blow, but it suffered a hull breach amidships, and lost a plasma port and adjacent heavy laser pod. This was not a significant reduction in firepower, and the breached compartments were automatically sealed.

However, the ease with which the beams generated that level of damage shocked Mauss, and made it clear that keeping the platforms off target was vital. “Josie, shorten the time between random course changes for the fleet.”

“Yes Mam. That will reduce the number of missile salvos per course change for optimum fire rates.”

“I understand. Inform the other Captains of this change.”

You can’t fire from a dead ship, Mauss thought, but didn’t say aloud.

The Admiral was pleased to see escape pods were coming from the command section of the destroyer, and that the aft section retained thruster propulsion. The Drive Room obviously had taken flight control.  The aft section could collect the escape pods, but it wouldn’t be able to stay with the formation without a Normal Space drive. Some of the Trap emitters were gone.

The fleet’s next salvo, fifteen hundred missiles entirely destined for selected ground targets, executed its fourth launch. Then the fleet jointly made another, earlier than originally scheduled turn and speed change, before making the next launch, thus avoiding predictability.

The initial missile salvo was about to reach the closest platform and guardian Clanship, with fourteen missiles closing with each of them. The Clanship blasted one missile out of existence, then it entered stealth mode. The AI’s in two missiles immediately shifted trajectories to try to estimate where the Clanship may have gone next, but all of the remaining missiles chose the platform as their target.

The platform blazed out twenty more plasma beams towards the human fleet, ignoring the closer more dangerous targets simply because its system couldn’t adjust fast enough. Its last act of defiance was to try to launch missiles from the now open shield doors. The human analysts had suspected these were heavy-duty laser batteries, but they were launch tubes for what the Krall called the “Little Eaters.” Ten of the Eaters were moving up their tubes when multiple impacts of the human missiles struck the platform. The blasts rotated the structure so that the accelerating missiles struck the sides of the launch tubes and self-destructed.

Mauss, seeing the first platform spread apart in a spray of bright flashes and debris, knew now that those particular weapons were not impregnable. Its final blast of plasma beams had not struck any ship, thanks to the fleet’s second shift. The first Clanship to enter stealth mode was matched by others going stealth, as missiles and beams sought them out.

However, the Krall ships didn’t appear able to fire when cloaked, perhaps they were blind when invisible. The beneficial effect was that the missiles targeted on them continued safely on towards the planet or the platforms. Clanships were now appearing on radar, still deep in atmosphere, but rising. They would be targets for those missiles if they passed close enough, otherwise domes and manufacturing sites were alternate targets.

The fleet shifted course again, as other platforms fired plasma beams that missed. They not only were slow to retarget, the cycle time between pulses was slow, perhaps because of the tremendous energy required to heat and focus the plasma for each powerful burst. The human ships fired less powerful pulses, but fired many more to accumulate more damage on the platforms. As a result, the fleet was taking relatively little damage from the heavy plasma, giving better than they received.

The next missile launches targeted surface targets and rising Clanships.

Captain Codry Linked into Mauss. “Mam, we’ve detected launches from the other eight platforms, just ahead of our missile impacts.”

“Are those more Worms?” Only two Worms had survived to reach any ship, a destroyer and a battlecruiser. Reactive armor destroyed both from the sides, as their intangible quantum beams bored into the armored magnetic decoy pods on the hulls of the two ships. The fleet picked off most Worms using improved close range point defense systems. In addition, the constant shifting of the fleet wasted much of the limited thruster fuel of those Worms that penetrated the defensive globe.

“Josie says the new missiles are larger than Worms, and look exactly like a single ship, and have Normal Space drives as well as thrusters. Our tracking, and where their own radars appear to focus, indicates they are seeking the dreadnaughts and the battleships. They shifted course just after we did, still aimed at the center of our formation.”

Mauss issued a fleet response order for the new threats. “Josie, have the fleet heavily target the new missiles launched from the platforms, use both missiles and beams, please. We don’t want them to get close.”

These were something newer than just a single ship, and obviously powerful and dangerous if only because they came looking for the strongest ships in the fleet.

Speaking of dangerous and powerful, what was happening with the Eight balls? Mauss selected the weapons and targeting summary display, and looked at the results of the multiple missile hits and plasma strikes on ten of the dense targets that were in orbits still on this side of the planet.

“Josie, I don’t see an indication of damage or destruction of any of the Eight Balls we hit.”

“There is no indication they were damaged Mam. Other than minor orbital deflections from missile hits, they all appear just as they did when we arrived. I have a close up image from a destroyer nearest the one passing below our formation now. Do you wish to see that?”

“Yes. Give me full magnification, main screen.”

The image of the black ball half-filled the screen, with the planet and cloud cover passing below the object as the camera followed. Suddenly the image was lost as the fleet executed another course and speed shift, but returned quickly under AI control of the destroyer’s camera.

“Josie, can you clean up the image, to remove the distracting background of the planet?”

Even before the AI answered, the Eight Ball appeared on screen, gleaming from reflected but distorted sun and starlight, framed against a pale artificial background that provided excellent contrast. This was a better view than seen from the previous more distant reconnaissance drone pictures. The ball looked perfect, no scars or even blemishes.

“Josie, the weapons report says we hit this particular ball with six missiles, and dozens of plasma and laser strikes. Am I seeing the correct ball on screen?” It looked pristine.

“Yes Mam. All of the other visible balls appear undamaged as well. One anomaly was a debris field surrounding, and expanding from a ball that has since passed around the limb of the planet. The ball appeared unmarked.”

“What sort of debris field?”

“Mam, it was consistent with the remains of a Clanship. The replay of the destruction indicates a Clanship was probably in stealth mode before hit by accident, and apparently was next to the ball. This was an apparent collateral destruction event.”

Shit! Mauss cursed to herself. That’s where they went!

“Josie, have the destroyers concentrate their laser and plasma beams on the Eight Balls and the areas close around them. The stealth Clanships are docking with the balls to transfer a pilot. Pass that information to the entire fleet to watch for movement of those objects.”

That better explained the lack of firing from the orbiting stealthed Clanships. They didn’t want to draw attention to their approach to the manually controlled Eight Balls. Mauss had no idea how the Krall would use them, but there were sixteen of them that she didn’t want to see in action.

While she was preoccupied with the Eight Balls, two more orbital platforms were totally destroyed, and three so damaged that they were slowly tumbling in orbit, and firing sporadically only as plasma ports came to bear on the fleet. Another fortuitous hit, from a Krall perspective of course, was a plasma beam strike on the bow of a battlecruiser.

That hit had killed the entire five-person Bridge crew, forcing operational control to shift to the backup battle center near the Drive Room. Other than a delay in matching the next fleet course shift, the Golem was effectively operational. The deeply buried and protected AI automatically repositioned the ship into its proper formation slot, and returned decision control to the officers in the new command center.

Mauss was more than satisfied with battle results thus far. They had lost only one destroyer and suffered damage to four ships, none disabling, the Golem being the most serious but still in the fight. In contrast, there was wreckage of six orbital defense platforms and perhaps a hundred fifty Clanships destroyed, most of the latter hit while still in atmosphere. They had entered stealth mode, but the disturbed air paths through atmosphere had revealed them to the missile AI systems.

Radar and visual sightings also indicated multiple hits on a large number of Krall habitat domes, manufacturing structures, and additional destroyed grounded Clanships.  Many of the inbound missiles were knocked out by Clanships parked around the domes, being used as antimissile batteries. It looked as if the Krall ship losses from the previous attack on K1 had more than been made up in numbers. The computers and recon drones indicated there were perhaps six thousand Clanships at K1 now, each roughly equivalent to a heavy cruiser in size, yet mounting plasma cannons of a battleship’s power, although only four per ship.

Three quarters of those Krall craft were just leaving atmosphere, but they were not launching single ships as of yet. It was fortunate that a hundred Clanships had not been up and waiting for the fleet when they emerged this time. The fleet could have appeared with a swarm of Worms already inside the formation. This was clearly a lesson learned well last time. Jump the fleet from a closer point, thus preventing a warning to the Krall of the attack.

Josie reported another of the sixteen original orbiting Clanships destroyed. It too had apparently docked at an Eight Ball. Soon they would find out what those nearly indestructible dense little beasts could do. They each had likely received a pilot before Mauss realized where the stealthed Clanships had gone. Considering the durability of the balls, if the destroyed Clanships docked with them had not yet transferred a pilot, they still be could be boarded on the other side of the planet, out of the line of fire.

Two of those balls, which had been out of sight in their polar orbits, were just coming into sight over the planet’s poles, their orbits changed slightly. They were already under manual control.

Josie reminded her of the other new threat, the launches from the orbiting defense platforms. “The large missiles that flew out of the platform launch tubes appear to be modified single ships. They are attempting to use radar to track our larger ships, and they alter course towards them each time we maneuver the fleet. We are using jamming and decoy targets, plus mimicking the radar returns of a larger ship with smaller drones that fly parallel to our ships.”

“What of our defensive fire? How many have we knocked out?”

“We have not managed to destroy or damage any of the thirteen launched at us thus far Mam. They are not flying a complex evasion pattern as single ships usually use, and I do not think there is a Krall pilot aboard them. Their nose-on angle reduces the effectiveness of our multi-spectrum lasers and plasma beams on the ultra-reflective single ship hulls at the current range. We should do better when we have more side shots.”

“Even nose-on we ought to be able to hit and hurt them, particularly if they are not dogging and twisting as usual. What about missiles? There should have been extra from the last salvo to target some of them.”

“Mam, these single ships are essentially missiles themselves, and are taking no evasive action.  The first three of our missiles to reach the nearest two of their missiles were apparently defective. They did not explode, and did not continue on to other targets.”

“Wait. Show me the playback of the one we missed twice.”

She watched as the glow of a main thruster of an AI controlled missile approached the target, and suddenly the glow vanished about a half mile in front of the target. A second vanishing exhaust glow followed on the heels of the first. The enemy missile continued through the points where the glows had vanished.

“Josie, query the missile AI’s to find out why the proximity programming did not detonate the warhead when the target passed them, and report on the thruster failures.”

“Mam that is why I assumed missile malfunctions. The three AI’s do not respond on any frequencies, and radar does not detect them or debris.”

“Our tracking doesn’t see the missiles behind the targets, coasting?”

“No Mam. None of our radar feeds from any ship can see them or any debris.”

“What about plasma beam splatter and laser reflections off the noses of the enemy missiles? Any scatter detected from those or from radar?” The closest of several were now a couple of hundred miles out and closing fast. They needed to know how to hit them.

“Mam, our detection systems can only see them on radar or by laser ranging from ships in the formation that are off to the sides. There are no reflections from the front of the targets at all.”

Mauss was stumped. Why could they only be seen from the sides? “Give me a zoom view from any ship along the projected track of one of the missiles. I want to look straight down its nose.”

“Mam, there are no such views. These missiles are not visible from a nose angle, only from a side angle.”

“Humor me. Give me the head on camera view anyway, right now.” AI’s had little imagination.

The screen then showed a limb of the planet as an offset backdrop to the scene, filling part of the right side, but there was no missile or single ship seen. “Josie, where on the screen should the image be if I could see it, in relation to the planet?”

“Just to the left of the planet’s limb, about six degrees, in the very center of the screen.”

That was the black background of space. Except…, where were the stars that should have been visible there? Mauss saw other stars farther off to the left side, and above and below screen center. Then she observed as a distant star, visible above the dark center, suddenly seemed to shift and spread, as if about to form a ring, then was gone.

“Josie, do you know about gravitational lensing? Observe the stars near the center of the dark areas around each missile from its nose. Check to see if stars near that start to shift or form a ring.”

“That has already been observed Mam. It was assumed to be an artifact of the camera because there is no distant massive gravitational mass to create that effect, known as an Einstein ring.”

Shit again!

“Josie, assume a closer small compact massive object, much like a Jump Hole that did not rotate into Tachyon Space. Could that small a diameter black hole object produce the same effect?”

“The effect seen is compatible with an event horizon approximately two to four hundred feet in diameter, located about one half mile in front of the single ship.”

“Fleet Link!” She didn’t have time to wait. Several of the objects were within a hundred miles of the edge of the fleet globe.

“This is Admiral Mauss. The missiles launched from the platforms may have some sort of Jump Hole projected a half mile in front of them. Plasma and laser beams are swallowed, as are our missiles if met head on. If you can see them from the sides, fire anything you can bring to bear now at the closest three, before they get inside our outer formation. Fire at will.”

It only required the human battle directors to issue the instructions to the AI’s, but this took seconds to describe, the retargeting took a second, shifting from the zone each ship was assigned to guard to one outside their designated area of responsibility. The inbound missiles were now traveling at many miles per second. The first two were quickly within the tenuously defined boundary of the formation’s mostly vacant globular surface.

No one had assigned any ship which of the targets to hit, so the collective AI’s, following standard Navy safety protocols to avoid friendly fire incidents, all selected the trailing target as the “safest” at which to direct over a hundred plasma and laser beams. Some few beams were lost to the small event horizon in front, but the reflective single ship hull, despite its remarkable quantum controlled reflectivity was absolutely no match for the millions of gigawatts of energy aimed at its sides. It vanished in a well-dispersed vapor cloud as the event horizon collapsed in a flash of light and gamma rays as the tachyons held by the Trap field escaped.

That was far more spectacular looking flash than the end of the destroyer that happened to be in front of the oncoming event horizon of the untouched lead missile. DS-31 was not the intended target, any more than the missiles and beams the small event horizon had “eaten” earlier were its targets. DS-31 just happened to be in the way as the missile sought a battleship or dreadnaught.

The destroyer swiftly crumpled and shrunk towards the boundary of the event horizon in seconds, except for two slender jets of vaporized material that briefly formed and squirted away on opposite sides of the mini black hole. These “squirts” were merely the remnants of the ship and crew that didn’t fall directly into the hole. Like huge stellar mass black holes that eat too fast, this small one regurgitated the excess remnants along beams squeezed small by twisting magnetic field lines created by the stripped atoms of plasma in a small accretion disk.

The plasma, directed at right angles to the brief accretion disk was itself dangerous if it struck another ship. It was partly composed of positrons, which were antimatter electrons. The jets did not strike another ship, and the “squirt” quickly ended as the remainder of the disk fell into the event horizon.

Mauss saw what had happened, and realized that the two missiles within the formation were the greatest threat, with an impenetrable defense when they steered directly at their target.

“Josie, fleet Link. Mauss here. Override the AI’s friendly fire restrictions and fire on those two ships manually. They will eat us alive if not stopped. Pick side shots and take them down. Mauss out.”

Random shots started striking the missiles, but without a mass of accurate AI controlled fire, they were not as easy to kill. The fleet suddenly did a preprogramed random shift, which had the unfortunate effect of creating a sixty-mile per second closing velocity with battleship Mace, and the other missile, the one that had not killed DS-31.

Mace’s Captain, Commander Dawkins, instantly recognized the situation and she broke formation, turning aside to avoid the onrushing missile, firing nearly recklessly as she tried to gain a better side shot. Gauntlet, a fellow survivor of the last fleet action fired as well. There were ablation gasses seen as the target’s reflective hull began to degrade, except the missile turned again towards Mace, negating the targeted battleship’s firepower as it “ate” the incoming energy.

The Gauntlet now had only a tail shot, a smaller surface area as a target and Mace was nearly in line if they missed or simply grazed. They couldn’t just blaze away, needing to use some finesse and a slower rate of fire. They wanted to avoid hurting the battleship they were trying to save.

Dawkins diverted a lot of her secondary tachyon energy into Mace’s Normal Space drive, sacrificing the energy reserved for powering the plasma cannons, which were useless with an event horizon closing with them in front of the intended target.

Mace, its huge mass slow to respond, nevertheless surged ahead at eighty-four gravities acceleration in Normal Space, the internal uncompensated effects pushing her crew deep into their couches. However, the far lighter single ship matched that acceleration easily, as whatever Krall computer it used for automated steering sensed the nearby energetic Trap fields of Mace.

It activated the field projector that could reach into Tachyon Space to touch other Trap fields, and inverted the Mace’s secondary Trap field. This happened just as the big ship was widening the angle for its heavy lasers to strike from the side. The stored tachyons in the secondary field were suddenly dumped, killing the surge of acceleration.

Scientists had not learned how to generate this inversion trick yet, or to block its application. However, the standard solution was to cycle your Traps off and back on, and quickly trap another of the plentiful and energetic T-squared tachyons in the higher level Tachyon Space. It was a fast process, but fast is relative. Fifteen to thirty seconds when you only have ten or fifteen seconds to live is too slow. Captain Dawkins had her still intact primary Trap already charged with Jump energy. She chose to save the ship and ordered the AI to Jump.

The last moment decision would have worked if the smaller ship’s computer had not altered the focal point of the Jump Hole generator mounted on its bow. Instead of a two hundred foot diameter horizon at a half mile, it extended the focus to form a four-foot diameter black hole at twenty-five miles, and the closing velocity brought the little killer just close enough to Mace to start tearing at the aft end of the battleship. The mini black hole swallowed another field projector on the big ship, killing the primary Trap, along with devouring part of the hull and penetrating aft compartments. Crewmembers spilled into vacuum, but reached the small event horizon sooner than they could die of sudden decompression.

The infalling material had some angular momentum, so naturally formed an accretion disk in a tiny fraction of a second, tearing matter apart down to individual atoms and ultimately, stripped even those to fundamental particles. Some of that shredded material came from people that were still living seconds earlier. Fortunately, the deaths were mercifully quick.

The ravening four-foot wide little monstrosity was insatiable. Even with the attractive gravitational force dropping with the square of the distance, one sixteenth as strong at four feet as it was a foot from the singularity hidden within the event horizon, the overall force of attraction was huge near the bizarre object. As the generator’s focus shifted, the black hole moved with the relative movement of the missile and the battleship, it very quickly ate its way completely through Mace, tearing apart two of the four giant main thruster engines, spilling their volatile reaction mass. That triggered a massive chemical explosion of the self-oxidizing fuel from the small but intensely hot plasma jets from the sputtering accretion disk.

The missile itself finally passed behind the Mace, the small black hole now projected far from its victim. The onboard computer adjusted the focal point back to just a half-mile ahead, and the two hundred foot diameter event horizon again protecting it from the front. It turned towards the dreadnought Indomitable.

Gauntlet was no longer directly behind the missile, and its combined plasma and lasers ended that particular reign of terror with another flash of a vaporizing hull, and the collapse and gamma ray evaporation of the small event horizon. Captain Caruthers of Gauntlet, reporting numerous escape pods leaving Mace requested permission to recover survivors before rejoining the fleet for the next course shift.

Mauss granted that act of mercy, and told Caruthers she could also try to recover the survivors of DS-42, now nearly a thousand miles from the fleet formation, but under no current threat.

Ships firing from the side had destroyed a number of other black hole generating missiles launched from the nearest orbital platforms. So long as you didn’t stay directly in front of them, you could counter them with conventional firepower.

Mauss noted that radar reported more of the same type missiles coming towards the fleet from the more distant orbital platforms. Those platforms were in orbits too remote to offer significant plasma beam threats. This was because the charged particles in the plasma, initially focused into a tight tube, gradually dispersed with distance as the same-charge particles repelled each other. After a couple of thousand miles, even a powerful beam was a reduced risk for any ship but the lightly armored destroyers.

Repeated missile salvos had knocked down at least another two hundred Clanships in atmosphere, but now there were over a thousand in vacuum, some of them stealthed, with more coming. They were spreading out to come after the fleet in the typical Krall warrior mode. Every Clanship commander was out to make a personal kill. There appeared to be relatively little coordination between them, although there was encrypted conversation between some of them. Except for small clusters of ships, apparently working with their own clans, there were no large group attacks taking shape.

Mauss was willing to trade blows with them for a time, since thus far operation New Lance had hit K1 much harder than the Krall had hit the fleet in return. However, she didn’t intend to let hundreds of Clanships get into her formation for suicide micro Jumps. The fleet made another course change, and promptly launched another lighter salvo from their most heavy ships, the destroyers and heavy cruisers having used all of their smaller stores of missiles.

They shifted course again as soon as that missile flight cleared the edge of the globe. The prompt shift was fortunate, because several Clanships suddenly did White Outs very close to where Invincible and two battleships would have been. It appeared that kamikaze short jumps were starting. The Invincible and Indomitable promptly fired on two of the closer Clanships, the AI’s coordinating heaviest fire on one target nearly midway between them. It fought back furiously, scouring their armor with its more powerful plasma beams, but it didn’t last long, receiving four times the firepower it could muster itself. The fleet’s new reactive armor overlays not only protected the capitol ships from Worm missiles, it countered the Krall heavier plasma beams better. The trapped Clanship launched a clutch of eight Worms at Invincible, just before its hull armor ruptured near the bow, probably killing the pilot and commander instantly.

Captain Codry now focused Invincible’s fire on the Worms, while Indomitable finished off the Clanship. The other two Clanships were taking damage, but bore in together on the closest battleship to them, the Archer. Two battlecruisers joined Archer in pouring in fire on the two Krall ships.

The Clanships twisted and shifted course and speed, and maintained a stream of fire on Archer, ignoring the two battlecruisers. One of the Clanships received damage to its Trap field projectors and lost tachyon power for normal Space drive, falling behind with reduced acceleration when it had to rely on thruster power alone. It only had full use of lasers, since it apparently lost plasma cannon power. As it continued slower towards Archer, it focused on the bow in an obvious effort to disable the Bridge.

Archer simply responded by rotating the ship, to dissipate the incoming heat over more of its hull armor. The AI had no difficulty coordinating the return fire from plasma ports and laser pods, as they would bear on the two Clanships.

It appeared that the lead Clanship might be intending to ram, and Archer and one of the battlecruisers concentrated all of their fire on that target. That was enough firepower to terminate the status seeking of that particular Krall commander, when his vessel became a bright spreading ball of gas. The third slower Clanship soon followed it into a lovely blossom of death.

The fleet promptly shifted direction, and soon two more Clanships did White Outs inside the formation at its new edge. They emerged relatively close together, and combined to launch sixteen Worms at two destroyers and a heavy cruiser that the destroyers were helping screen. The Krall focused laser and plasma fire on the two destroyers, which found themselves hard pressed to fend off six Worms each. The four Worms tracking for the heavy cruiser briefly kept it busy with point defense. Two Worms reached one destroyer, and one survived to reach the other. The heavy cruiser killed its four easily.

The Clanships made small Jumps away from the human ships, as if to watch the destruction of the destroyers. If so, they must have been disappointed. The reactive armor and decoy magnetic bottles kept the Worms from penetrating and breaching the real, and shielded fusion bottles.

Mauss noted that only one of the last missile salvos managed to kill a Clanship, the other several hundred being blasted before they reached the mass of now nearly two thousand swirling ships. They were staying directly between the fleet and the planet, apparently protecting the surface because of the damage earlier missiles had inflicted.

She was wondering why the Krall Clanships were behaving more standoffish than on the previous raid here, when suddenly a battlecruiser on the side of the formation farthest from K1 exploded, destroyed in an intense blue-white fireball. There were no escape pods from its complete destruction.  A few seconds after that blast there was another explosion of a destroyer on the opposite side of the formation, it was a smaller intense blue-white flash. No escape pods.

Mauss checked her threat displays again, since she had seen nothing coming at them. What the hell where they using?

Josie Linked in, and provided Mauss with the explanation.

“Mam, two Eight Balls made White Outs near our formation, one struck and shattered a battlecruiser, the other shattered a destroyer, then each Eight Ball performed another Jump as soon after they passed out of our formation. The impacts with battlecruiser Rambler and DS-22 apparently did not damage the balls seriously, because both were able to perform a Jump.”

“Eight Balls did that with actual collisions and survived?” Despite her best intentions she had lost track of the dense objects, assuming the fleet’s AI’s and weapons officers would advise her if they were moving on the fleet. “Why weren’t we warned of their approach to the fleet when they moved?”

“Mam, all of the Eight Balls we could see on this side of K1 were monitored, and observed to follow headings directly away from the fleet’s position. Then each one entered a Jump Hole, still accelerating away. The consensus of the AI’s, and also of the officers in our combat centers were that they were fleeing the battle to avoid destruction, or capture.”

“Where did these two come from then? Radar didn’t see them coming?”

“Mam, one performed a White Out less than eighty three miles from the edge of the formation, the other just over one hundred and twenty two miles. Both were traveling at nearly nine hundred miles per second. There was too little time for an aural warning. They reached the fleet formation in roughly a tenth of a second. Each completed a pass through our forty mile diameter globe in approximately four hundredths of a second.”

“Was that too fast to fire on them?” She demanded, more than asked.

“No Mam. All AI’s detected the gamma rays, and nineteen ships were in a position to direct plasma and laser fire towards them, before they closed the distance. That massed fire had no effect. Shooting halted as they penetrated the globe’s formation due to concern over friendly fire situations. I have just shifted the fleet early, to try to counter possible targeting by other Eight Balls and Clanships.”

“How did the balls get up to those speeds and turn back on us so…” Josie interrupted Mauss’ question. “White Out.”

Mauss expected destruction of another ship, but there was no sign of an explosion on her monitors. Before she could ask what happened, Josie apologized.

“I’m sorry I spoke over you Mam, I assumed you wished to be warned of the last Eight Ball’s passage.”

“Yes, I did. What happened? I didn’t see it on my screen.”

“It shifted course a small amount, but did not have time to intersect with any fleet elements. The velocity was less this time, at seven hundred ninety four miles per second. It came from a different direction, nearly at right angles to the other two. I have made an analysis of the three paths followed, and note that all three courses correspond exactly with the departure paths of three of the Eight Balls that we assumed were fleeing the fight.”

“OK, so how does that relate to these three coming at us from the opposite sides, at blazing speeds?”

“Mam, I believe the balls continued to accelerate with their Normal Space drives at the same rate we observed after they Jumped the first time, on a course directly away from us. They must have made an exit somewhere nearby and continued to build velocity in Normal Space. Then they did another Jump, calculated to emerge on the opposite of the fleet on the same course, making a pass through our formation. When they return to Normal Space they retain that high velocity, just as our fleet retained its velocity to match K1’s motion before we Jumped here.”

Mauss understood the simplicity of the new attack. “Then they are simply acting as high velocity ultra-dense battering rams, using some degree of steering to try to hit us as they pass through our formation. There are thirteen more of them coming, and these three will be back. Josie, calculate the possible return paths for the other balls and try to move the fleet out of their paths, immediate action! Oh…, and avoid the pack of Clanships if possible, and see if that move will help us recover the Gauntlet. She is out there alone right now.”

She had given the AI multiple complex conditionals, and was wondering if the AI could juggle all of those variables fast enough. That thought was interrupted before it completed.

“Calculated, coordinated, and executing a fleet shift Mam.”

That is why we let AI’s do that for us, she reflected.

Mauss felt the familiar rapid twist of the Invincible rotating, and a harder push than before as the whole fleet duplicated the movement. She felt severe vertigo for a moment, but motion sickness was once again held at bay by the shots. If this action kept up for very long, she’d have to have the med teams administer a second dose.

“Josie, Fleet Link.” Without waiting, she started talking.

“Attention, this is Admiral Mauss. The Krall are using the Eight Balls as heavy rams to hit our ships. They have boosted speeds to eight or nine hundred miles per second. They are using short Jumps to loop back and make repeated high velocity passes through our formations. I am moving the fleet farther from our present position to try to avoid them. Their high speeds and extreme density make them lethal and nearly indestructible, but they have sacrificed quick turn mobility.

“I’ll try to get us some maneuver room and more time here at K1. We will resume attacks on surface targets and try to draw Clanships close enough to us that our combined fire will cause them losses. I see that Gauntlet has recovered Mace’s escape pods and those from DS-42 as well. Our new course will take us close to her, so Gauntlet can rejoin quickly. Watch for nearby White Outs of inbound Eight Balls, and of suicide Clanships. Allow the AI’s full rapid fire control, since humans are too slow to react. I’m also releasing friendly fire restrictions on the AI’s. We are far more likely to have ships killed by the Krall than by our own fire. The next faster course shifts will not wait for our missiles to clear the formation. They will simply have to adjust to miss us. Waiting on the course changes leaves our tracks predictable for too long. Mauss out.”

While she was speaking, two White Outs produced Eight Balls that passed through the volume the fleet had just vacated. They might not have a way to stop that blunt force weapon, but they could bob, weave, and duck the punches. Josie was moving the fleet towards K1’s southern hemisphere, and fresh ground targets. They had, per her weapons display, almost two thousand remaining medium to small missiles aboard the larger ships, and she preferred not carrying any bullets home this time.

****

Kanpardi calmly faced the enraged clan leaders of the joint council, meeting in the damaged council dome, the smell of smoke heavy in the air. He reminded them. “You were forewarned, by me, of the risk you chose to take. I suspect that some of your clan sub leaders, those that advised you to remove your clan’s ships from orbit, have now helped you move along the Great Path. Dying at the hands of our persistent new enemy would be the most efficient manner. The purge of weak and unprepared warriors proceeds swiftly today.”

Hardrol was particularly angry, because the defense platforms destroyed happened to be orbiting over lands Tanga clan controlled when the attack started. The heavy human missiles that made it past the wrecked platforms had stuck Tanga domes hardest, wiping out a major nursery of eggs from their most recent warrior couplings. Those future cubs would have been the results of breeding Tanga’s highest status novices from months of raids. They were to have been their first fruit of the new war. They would have to start over.

Tanga Clanships had also suffered heavier losses than other clans did, simply because they had to rise in atmosphere while facing an onslaught of missiles. The missiles appeared to use clever computer programs that located and destroyed stealthed Clanships by air disturbances, before they reached vacuum. That success was partly because Clanship pilots and commanders had grown too confident of their invisibility.

Hardrol wanted to shift the blame. “The Graka ships abandoned their guardianship of the platforms too quickly, permitting their premature destruction. That loss exposed my clan to a heavier attack.” Hardrol suspected Kanpardi had ordered that quick withdrawal as payback for his attempt to kill or replace him as Gatrol, at a previous council meeting.

Kanpardi was prepared. “I warned all of you that a single Clanship could not fully protect a platform, and had Graka followed Tanga clan’s example, there would have been no protection for them at all, clearly proving that you bear responsibility for your own losses Hardrol. The hammer balls required pilots, and only Graka Clanships were in orbit and able to provide them before human ships might have reached them, forcing us to fight just to control our own weapon.

“As I also predicted, the human ships arrived without a useful advance warning. Had my clan not sacrificed to protect us all, the damage would be greater. It is Graka clan’s pilots flying the hammer balls, and have tasted enemy blood. What to your pilots do Hardrol?”

Jastek, of clan Mordo, wasn’t interested in more of the perpetual bickering and infighting of old and powerful Tanga and Graka clans. “This attack will delay the start of larger and longer raids on human worlds. Fighting in space is not as efficient at producing stronger faster warriors. There are few opportunities to face our enemy physically that way. Your previous advice to limit the effects of another human raid on this base was valid. I am ready to listen more closely to your new proposals.

“We must convince humans that to be a worthy enemy they should meet us in combat on the surface of their worlds, not in the space above ours. How can you teach them this lesson Gatrol, to make them learn it and remember? Will you bring an Olt’kitapi ship here?”

“No,” he answered swiftly.  “We have safer options before we take the step of activating the ancient Olt’kitapi craft. Just one of those ships vaporized our old home world. We have fewer of the soft Krall to operate them than in the past.” His distaste at describing those members of their race was palpable to all.

“If the need arises for the powerful old ships, increased breeding of those reluctant operators would be required, to give us hostages that matter to them. They must be controlled, to prevent their turning the ships against us, or from escaping.”

Hardrol made a grunt of derision.  “As Krall they should do whatever our race requires of them.”

Kanpardi snorted and lifted his muzzle in dark humor. “They are exactly what the Olt’kitapi made them, what would have been made of us all under their plans for our race. The soft ones are useful, if only as a reminder of what we escaped. However, they are also the only Krall that the ships will allow to control them. If a true warrior could make the ships work for us, to obey us, we would not need the soft ones.

“For now, we have not fully used all of our weapons we have brought, nor have we attacked the human ships strongly. I waited to order a strong attack until we saw their response to the little eaters and the hammer balls. They now know how to kill eaters from the side or behind, and their defense for the hammers is to move away before they return each time. I will now put warriors in the single ships with the eaters on the nose, to directly control them, and I will slow the hammers so they can turn to strike human ships more easily.”

Jastek had a concern. “If you slow the hammers, the humans may learn their weakness. The disguised portal on the rear is a soft spot. A lucky heavy beam hit could burn through and kill the operator, and we lose that weapon. Hammers are difficult for the Torki slaves to make for us, and it takes very long. If the balls fly even faster than now, the human computers will not find the soft spots with only a short time for plasma bursts. The operators should just change the White Out points more often so they can follow the human fleet. Enough passes through their formation will kill even their biggest ships.”

“No challenge is intended Jastek, although I think you may not know the histories of how to use the old Botolian hammer weapons. They are very hard to damage, but if they fly much faster and strike a great mass, like the large human ships here, their binding energy can be broken and they will explode. A single human ship is not worth the cost of a hammer.”

Kapdol, the speaker for the Dolbrin minor clan asked, “What is your plan, Gatrol? What do you want us to do?”

“We now must inflict enough damage on the human fleet to make them flee. They will return to their base, or some point of safety for repairs. All of their ships arrived here from one place, different than they arrived on the last raid, when they came from many locations. We know this because they all arrived with the same closely spaced advance waves, which gave us no time to prepare. They will probably all leave together, or perhaps stagger the departures, with the most massive class of ships leaving last, as they did before.  However, all ships make waves in Tachyon Space coming and going, and one large ship, or many smaller ships together will make large waves. We must unleash our warriors.”

****

Mauss flinched as another destroyer, at the top edge of the formation, vanished in a ball of blazing gas as an Eight Ball slammed into its stern at just below eight hundred miles per second. It wasn’t entirely a lucky hit, even though the fleet had just made another large relocation move. With practice, the Krall pilots of the balls were making better guesses of where to make their White Out on the return Jump. If they had human computers or AI’s to use they would be able to make more passes through the center of the formation, sometimes striking the capitol ships. Invincible had had a narrow escape; an Eight Ball flashed by her within a half mile as they ineffectively fired on it for all of the half second it was in range.

She had ordered a salvo of five hundred ten missiles before the last fleet shift. Perhaps one in five survived the barrage of defensive fire from the intervening Clanships. They had sent most of the missiles at ground targets in the southern hemisphere.  However, two Clanships flashed into incandesce as they passed through the swarm of hundreds. One explosion appeared to have been the result of a chance concentration of “friendly fire” from nearby Clanships.

It was curious that the Krall had not coordinated a full on attack yet, instead sending four to eight ships in grazing firing runs, rather like Indians attacking a circle of wagons in the old archived pre-space westerns. There was damage on both sides, and a trade of one destroyer and a heavy cruiser for four Clanships wasn’t so severe a loss that Mauss was ready to leave. The screening destroyers had suffered the most damage, followed by the heavy cruisers, the next closest to the formation’s edge.

They had been here almost two hours, a far better showing than the previous fiasco. Josie Linked in to deliver Mauss an update on enemy disposition.

“Mam, a transmission from the planet appears to have triggered a change in Clanship movements. We don’t know what was said, but the milling around appears to be organizing. The shield doors on the surviving ten orbital platforms have opened again. Our recon drones on the planet’s far side already report launches of black hole generators from those platforms. There are also single ships launching from Clanships, the first ones we have seen today, except for the computer piloted black hole missiles. It appears they are preparing for a large assault.”

“That it does. Fleet Link, please.”

“Ready, Mam.”

“Attention, the Krall appear to be getting ready for a massed attack. Black Hole generators have already left platforms on the other side of K1, and the shield doors are open on those we can see on this side. There are single ships launching and Clanships are organizing into a loose formation. My status board shows all fleet elements are reporting a Trap holding onto Jump energy for a quick withdrawal. Confirm that information, and be prepared if I issue the order to Jump to Rhama. We have given more damage than we have received, particularly when we count ground targets. I want to retain that advantage. Retarget all remaining missiles for Clanships, and for side shots at the black hole missiles. We are shifting to place more distance between us and the massing Clanships, and to duck the next pass of Eight Balls. Admiral Mauss out.”

Something else seemed off kilter. Mauss thought for a moment before it came to her. It wasn’t something she saw, it was something that wasn’t happening. “Josie, when was the last Eight Ball White Out?”

The sixteen balls had been making repeated loops, shifting their reentry points to try to guess where the human fleet would be. One would pop out every two or three minutes, most of them close to where the fleet would have been before a random course change. The ball pilots were heading away when they Jumped, and had to select some place behind them as a micro Jump destination for the next return pass.

“Mam, that pattern appears to have changed. Based on previous repetition there should have been four or five White Outs since the one that destroyed DS-12. There have been none at all, not even any that missed us completely.”

“Alert the combat centers of this. The enemy may be holding them back for a mass set of Clanship micro jumps into our formation. Shift fleet course now.”

Fifteen seconds later, a hundred Clanships winked out and did instant White Outs, but only half were within the loose globe of fast moving human ships, which had suddenly shifted their vector. A Clanship managed to emerge in part of the space occupied by the battlecruiser Mauler. The Krall were probably not bent on a suicide mission, but to the former crew of Mauler, now a brilliant ball of tens of thousands of tons of vaporized metal and traces of organics, the intent was irrelevant.

The firefight was fierce and conducted at much closer range than had been the case earlier. Single ships, launched from some of the Clanships, charged at the outer destroyer screen, a few of the similar looking black hole generating ships hidden in their numbers.

The release of fire control to the AI’s, with no restrictions for friendly fire risks, made rapid concentrated and coordinated fire from the human ships very effective, despite the heavier plasma and laser beams of the Clanships. Five Clanships quickly flared out of existence, sandwiched as they were between large capitol ships, but two battlecruisers took considerable damage and casualties as they received poundings by a happenstance concentration of nine Clanships around them.

A destroyer suddenly crumpled and vanished with a dying flash, as a small black hole pulled it into the maw of ultimate darkness. Its death accompanied by small jets of escaping plasma, which visibly squirted thousands of miles at relativistic velocities.

Then a Clanship dove towards the dreadnaught Indomitable, as if trying to ram the huge ship. Mauss watched on screen as it received help from two other Clanships, taking out laser pods and plasma ports that fired on the inbound Krall ship.

The invincible was only ten miles away, and fired laser and plasma beams to help defend Indomitable. The Krall pilot was distributing the energy input by rapid spinning. The closing velocity was small compared to that of an Eight Ball, and the Indomitable out-massed the Clanship by a factor of five or six. A collision would certainly destroy the Clanship, but would not inflict severe enough damage to disable the heavily armored thick-hulled dreadnaught.

It finally turned as if to skim past the larger ship. However, it did something completely unexpected as it drew within a quarter mile. It Jumped, forming a monstrous sized event horizon. It took an enormous semicircular bite out of the Indomitable at midship, nearly three quarters through the ship. It had captured a tachyon of immense energy, and used it to form a far larger Jump Hole event horizon than it needed for its own size, and when the volume it enclosed rotated into Tachyon Space, everything within the radius of the overlarge sphere went along.

The cut was precise, down to the atomic level, sheering open the interior of the dreadnaught, spilling atmosphere, fluids, and people into vacuum. One and a half of her four fusion bottles went with the missing mass. The suddenly released plasma in the opened half bottle could not vent through the now missing failsafe system, and instead vaporized the remaining doomed Drive Room crew and the equipment that regulated the other two intact bottles. The ship went dark.

In a reversal of fate, the Bridge was intact, but the “safe” backup command center and personnel were gone, dumped into Tachyon Space. In an instant, a mundane seeming Jump revealed itself as a potential close-up weapon of terrible destructive power.

Mauss had instantly directed other fleet elements to come to the aid of survivors of Indomitable. She didn’t have much time to rescue them because her decision was firm. They were withdrawing as soon as they had picked up the crew. She couldn’t pull in fleet elements for long without making them better targets, and the rescue force would be stationary targets if there were suicide prone Krall that saw them.

If she ordered the fleet to Jump now, the many hundreds of survivors from Indomitable would be lost. She had never forgotten the image of single ships boarding disabled destroyers as she left K1 at the end of the last battle. The decision to delay retreat this time saved several hundred from Indomitable in the next thirty minutes of maximum fire from the entire fleet, blasting away with missiles and beams at any Krall that came near. However, that delay was punished, when it resulted in the trade of sixty lives on a destroyer, as another Jumping Clanship cleaved it in half, with single ships attacking the stern section that remained behind.

There was no time to search individual compartments for possible trapped crew on Indomitable, but as far as they knew, there was no one left alive. On Mauss’ command, the AI’s coordinated the simultaneous Jumps of the fleet.

The ships of New Lance winked out of Normal Space, leaving the milling Krall ships behind. They now had five days of travel back to Rhama. There was time to care for the wounded, and repair some of the internal damage to their ships. They could also reflect on the first significant damage humanity had inflicted on the Krall. The Navy would be riding high in the public’s and the Administration’s eyes after this strategic success.

****

Jastek asked Kanpardi the inevitable question. “Is your plan being followed Gatrol? There was little time to inform the hammer balls, and they have poor equipment inside for your pilots to use, and nothing but air for supplies.”

“My second in command, Telour, was in a Clanship watching as the Humans departed. His wave detector points the direction. He gave commands to three of my hammer pilots that were able to Jump the direction where he instructed. Telour Jumped with them and will tell them when he senses the time to end their travel.”

Hardrol was critical. “The hammer pilots have no supplies, and limited air. They will not survive a long flight. You have thrown away three of our strongest weapons when the pilots die. They will stay in a Jump Hole to die, or emerge in the space between the stars and die there.”

Kanpardi gave a snort. “I plan better than Tanga clan does, Hardrol. That is why Telour flies the Clanship with them. He can speak to them in the Hole, even if talk goes slowly, to tell them when to exit. He knows how long they can live and will command that all of them exit together if the travel is too long. He can give them supplies if they must stop before they reach the human ship’s destination, and then Jump again for the final location.”

With a snort of derision, Hardrol offered rebuttal for that claim. “If they must stop before the place the Humans ran to for shelter, the waves Telour’s detector follows will spread too wide and will be gone. We still risk the hammers for little chance of success.”

“If Telour was replaced by your aid, Parkoda, the risk truly would be too great.” Kanpardi offered the insult in return. “However, just as Telour was smarter than Parkoda on Koban, his ability will help him succeed this time as well. It is a simple matter to look along the line of the Jump from here to where they exit if forced to do so early. Telour will use the ship’s navigation system to see what settled Human world lies on that same long straight line. Or the Humans may have gone to a place close enough for Telour to reach them before hammer air is gone.”

Hardrol persisted in trying to find fault with Kanpardi’s leadership and planning. “The hammers keep their Normal Space speed. They will leave Telour’s Clanship behind when they exit the Jump together.”

Sniping was all Hardrol had left to do, because it was probable that he would not remain as Tanga clan’s representative on the council. His decisions had lost them more than material, which wasn’t considered serious when slaves could make more. Tanga had lost the eggs of combat survivors in the new war.  The historical record of the conquest of the Humans would tell this. That Tanga had stumbled on this first new step along the Great Path. That would be a small setback in the fullness of time for long-term Krall racial goals, but not easily forgiven in Krall culture.

Kapdol, although from a minor clan, spoke up to explain to Hardrol something he expected even a novice to grasp. “The hammer pilots can loop back, as they did with the human fleet, and slow until Telour’s Clanship can match velocity to supply them. Even if they die first, he can speed up and dock with them to place new pilots aboard.” He looked to Kanpardi, “There are additional warrior pilots with the Clanship for this purpose?”

“Yes, of course.” Kanpardi accepted the support, thinking how he would reward Kapdol’s Dolbrin clan for that help, perhaps a larger role in some future raid.

Jastek had one final question. “When will we know if Telour found where the Human fleet has gone?”

“When he returns, we will know.” If he returns, Kanpardi thought. The three hammers were hard to kill, but were to be destroyed if unable to return. The Clanship that furnished them with guidance information might reveal itself by transmitting to the balls, even if stealthed. It was not as hard to kill. In addition, Telour had a message to give to the humans, if the hammers did their intended work.

****

Mauss breathed a sigh of relief five days later, when the fleet emerged in the outer Rhama system. The brief spatter of White Outs was not as tightly clustered in time as they were on reaching K1, but the globular formation was intact, minus the ships that had not survived the battle.

The Indomitable was a hard loss to take, as were a battleship, two battle cruisers, a heavy cruiser, and eight destroyers. Thirteen ships was nearly twelve percent of Mauss’ total force, but the ships and lives lost were considerably less than the thirty eight percent of ships killed in the first attack on K1. This raid was a success, and the fleet could probably return to K1 soon, with a month or two of repairs here at Rhama. If they had similar results the next time, the Navy could seriously curtail the Krall’s ground attacks.

Mauss spoke to the orbital transfer station to send Gauntlet and other ships with wounded there. Gauntlet was carrying the largest number of survivors and injured from the Mace and DS-42, but there was ample space for a dozen other ships to dock there as well. She sent damaged ships to the two large orbital repair docks, to await repair crews. Invincible would lead most of the fleet elements into orbit around Rhama. There, shuttles would meet them in the coming days. The first would pick up wounded, and then the crews would go to debriefing sessions before receiving leave.

As Invincible approached Rhama, Mauss was sitting in the wardroom with Captain Codry and her First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Dawkins, enjoying real Earth coffee. They were chatting about what they would do for leave over the next few weeks, before starting plans for the next attack on K1.

The idea of leave was instantly forgotten when an alarm sounded and all three women heard a chilling Link from Josie.

“Attention. Four White Outs with enemy signatures have been detected. Three are consistent with the mass of an Eight Ball, one with that of a Clanship.”

Mauss and the other two officers leaped to their feet. Mauss ordered, “Emergency alert all ships, sound Battle Stations, weapons hot now under AI control. Tell us where they are and what course for the Eight Balls?” They were running for their respective command posts. Mauss’ post was in the bowels of the ship, close to the battle center, the other two officers headed for the Bridge.

How did they know where we went? Mauss asked herself. It was obvious these came from K1, so they either guessed right, or had a way to follow them. She would bet heavily on the latter, probably something similar to the advance warning waves in Tachyon Space.

How many will be arriving after them? Was her next thought.

Josie had the data she had requested. “They emerged close to the fleet’s own exit region. The Clanship has low velocity relative to the system primary; perhaps twenty miles per second closing with the star, just less than two AU’s out. The Eight Balls each have velocities in Normal Space approximately the same as all of the balls had when we last saw them, close to eight hundred miles per second. One ball is traveling towards local system north at a distance of two point two AU’s, two have velocities roughly towards system center at two AU’s away.”

“How many of the heavy ships have plasma chambers hot?” The lasers were nearly instantly ready, but heating plasma chambers took time, and the ceramic tubes of the cannons had to be preheated to avoid cracking.

“No plasma chambers are hot, but all are heating under emergency protocols. Some may possibly fail. However they have not proven effective against the Eight Balls.”

“Determine the targets of the balls, and if any of the four enemy craft make a Jump.”

“Mam, the two balls inbound towards system center could alter course to target any of the fleet ships. The ball moving at right angles could Jump to system south, below the planetary plane to target them as well…” The AI’s voice paused briefly, something they didn’t do often. “The Clanship just entered stealth mode, right after it transmitted on a standard Krall frequency. The north bound ball has Jumped, destination unknown.”

“Warn all fleet elements to watch for a ball to White Out south of the system plane, moving north. If that happens, calculate a possible target as soon as possible. Connect me to the orbital transfer station’s manager or commander, whatever title Rhama gave him or her.”

“Commander James Nelson is in charge. Please standby.”

In less than a minute Mauss heard a man’s voice. “James Nelson here, Admiral Mauss. What do you want us to do?” He obviously was aware of the Krall presence.

“I recommend you start an emergency evacuation as quickly as possible. Has the Gauntlet and the other ships with wounded off loaded their patients?”

“Yes Mam. There are numerous shuttles here for them already. Should we use those to take them down now?”

“Gentle Sir, I suggest you pack those shuttles with as many bodies each of them can hold as quickly as possible and get them away from the station. Then get every shuttle you can find and direct them to dock there to take people away with maximum speed. You have escape pods, so fill them right now, and wait to see if you need them. I believe the Krall may destroy the station.”

He sounded puzzled. “The whole fleet is here. Can’t you stop only four of them?”

“Sir, not what’s coming your way. We just fought three of these weapons at K1, and they are apparently unstoppable. Get your people out now, no delay. I’ll see that you have as much warning as possible if we see they have you targeted. I have other calls to make, good luck. Admiral Mauss out.”

“Josie, instruct all of the ships at the repair docks to get away from them. I expect them to be targeted.”

“The Captains of each of them have all confirmed that they are recalling crews. They will cast off as soon as they have them recovered.”

“Tell them that Admiral Mauss orders them to button up and leave immediately if an Eight Ball has the docks targeted. Losing the ships along with the docks and some of their crew members will not help our war effort.”

“Eight Ball White Out, south of the system.” Broke in Josie. “Course altering towards the main transfer station.”

“Tell Nelson, and warn our ships docked there. They need to get away. How much time?”

“The Eight Ball emerged a hundred fifty thousand miles from Rhama, and is accelerating. It should arrive in just over ninety seconds. It is adjusting course for a direct hit.”

“Damn. Link me to Captain Caruthers, on Gauntlet.” She knew it was too late.

“Ready, Mam.”

“Captain Caruthers, Mauss here. Do you see the ball?”

“We do. I can’t get my people off, and from a near stop I probably can’t get clear in time. Plasma isn’t ready, not that it does any good. It was a good fight and I feel honored to have served and fought with you Admiral. Goodbye and good luck. I’m going out to meet the enemy.”

“I understand. The honor was mine. We will carry on the fight as long as we can. Goodbye.”

****

What none of the humans knew was that the hammer pilot had informed Telour that his air was not going to last long enough for the Clanship to match speeds and recover the pilot. They could not let the hammer fly off for the humans to eventually track down and capture. The Gatrol’s order was explicit. The hammer must be destroyed, for clan and the Path. He continued acceleration.

****

From Invincible’s distant perspective in a much higher orbit, what looked like an explosion of confetti raced away from the station, as escape pods and shuttles fled to safety. Gauntlet separated, and engaged her Normal Space drive too close for comfort to the huge orbital structure. She started south, towards the onrushing Eight Ball at the full eighty-four real gravities a battleship’s mass permitted. There were not many seconds available, but at eighty-four g’s she still made it from a standing start to over six thousand miles per hour, and was several miles out when she launched escape pods, and fired all of her laser pods that could bear on a point dead ahead of her. The defiance was magnificent.

The impact happened at such a high velocity that the incoming small Eight Ball wasn’t actually visible to the human eye, but the two opposing masses had an impact that rivaled a nuclear explosion in the energy invested. The combined velocities and masses easily exceed the binding energy of the partly collapsed dense crystal of the Eight Ball, as Telour intended. The battleship and Eight Ball became a small nova of vaporized heavy elements, expanding in a gaseous sphere that retained much of the momentum of the ball towards the station.

Fortunately, the expansion rate of the fireball was great enough that much of the material missed the station. What did strike had greater than stellar heat, fused the surface of the station’s skin, and ruptured all of the many view ports on that side. However, the heat and particle sleet did not penetrate very deeply. Most of the people not directly on that side of the station survived to brag that they had lived through the “Rhama novae.” A brag that would soon lose its allure.

The other two hammer balls had been boarded by pilots later in the attack on K1. They had a little more breathing time remaining. They decided they had another few passes they could make before bad air forced a withdrawal.

That was time enough for them to destroy both of the repair docks, which they did at slower and safer velocities, shrugging off the laser, and eventually plasma fire of the Navy. They were unable to “catch” any of the nimble Navy ships that knew how to avoid them. One ball also picked off a civil cargo ship that had been in a parking orbit, awaiting a place at the repair dock, with a minimal crew aboard. Then the two balls Jumped to the outer part of the solar system, as revealed later by their gamma ray bursts when they made their White Out.

The Clanship Jumped there as well, fought to match velocities with each as they slowed down, eventually relieving the two nearly asphyxiated pilots. On one of the hammers, Telour replaced the pilot, and transferred food, water, and extra oxygen tanks for the fresh new operator. Telour furnished that pilot with computer coordinates for K1, fed from the Clanship’s navigational computer, and sent the hammer back to base.

Telour gave the last hammer ball a temporary pilot, who accelerated it on a new course at a velocity certain to exceed the binding energy of the collapsed matter shell if it hit a human ship. However, that was unlikely to happen. The Clanship remained docked with it for almost an hour, monitoring the projected track.

Then, using the towing method of using a very large Jump Hole radius, Telour micro Jumped both the Clanship and the ball deeper into the human system, performing a White Out at one hundred seventy three thousand miles from Rhama. Then he made the broadcast Kanpardi had instructed him to send. It was short and to the point.

“Humans, we will not accept new attacks on our bases from space. You now know we can follow your ships back to your worlds. We will teach you another use for a hammer ball. Think how hard this lesson would be if it arrived at half the speed of light, over your home world.”

He then undocked his Clanship from the empty ball, and Jumped for K1, as over thirty thousand tons of unstoppable collapsed matter dove towards Rhama. At two thousand nine hundred sixty six miles per second, one hundred seventy seven thousand miles per minute, or over ten million six hundred seventy thousand miles per hour. Rhama was about to experience an event that would exceed the dinosaur’s extinction on Earth, sixty five million years ago.

****

Admiral Mauss listened to the broadcast, stunned at her ultimate failure, ignoring Josie’s calm voice as it described the track and velocity of the oncoming juggernaut. There was no ship in position to intercede in so short a time to try to save the planet, as Gauntlet had defended the orbital station.

She experienced a brief selfish thought. Her life had been devoted to the Navy, and her career was over. There was no doubt in her mind that the Navy’s lead role in the war was finished. She had done her job so well that the Krall would not permit her, or a successor, to repeat even that small measure of success. She had only slowed the Krall, not crippled them.

She couldn’t stop her lifetime of strategic thinking. There were counter measures for the Eight Balls; she had seen Gauntlet explode one before it did the damage it had intended to deliver to the transfer station. There would be other ways to trigger that self-destructive explosion, short of a heavy ship ramming them. An ultra-high velocity railgun slug of depleted uranium might work, triggering a release of a ball’s binding energy at some small crack created on its surface. However, that would not be tried now.

President Stanford, or it would surely be her successor when she lost the election, would yield to public pressure. The Hub government would not risk Earth, or any heavily populated world for a naval attack that could not guarantee victory, nor block Krall retaliation.

Sick at heart, she watched helplessly as death, for probably tens of millions of people, approached Rhama, the dense ball shrugging off the futile laser and plasma beams that deflected from its near impervious skin. Only the planet’s mass could oppose it now, triggering a blast that would unbind the energy used to compress its matter as it penetrated deep into the crust.

The white flash of the silent blast, dimmed by electronics on the Admiral’s screen, blossomed against the night side of Rhama. It was oddly beautiful in its horror.

Mauss fervently wished she had been in command of Gauntlet, vaporized in a heroic blaze of glory.

14. The Blues Brothers (Koban)

The two eight year olds were hunting. It was Carson’s turn to play bait, and Ethan was in the spider hole, jazzer ready, the grass covered lid held open on one side about two inches. Carson had bagged a skeeter earlier with a jazzer, as it hovered over Ethan as the bait. They had propped the skeeter corpse up with sticks now, as if it were feeding on its victim. The only time a skeeter held its wings still was when feeding or asleep, so it presented a plausible scene.

The boys were after larger game now. A squadron of five wolfbats was circling ever lower. The bats commonly let skeeters claim the blood reward earned when they stunned some prey or another. However, after allowing a suitable time for sucking blood, the wolfbats would swoop down to drive the smaller fliers away and claim the flesh of the kill for themselves.

It was awkward lying on his back, limbs twisted in an unnatural manner, as if stung and paralyzed in midflight by the scorpion skeeter. Carson’s right hand, holding his own jazzer, was now a lump of uncomfortable pressure against his kidney. He couldn’t so much as even twitch or the wolfbats would see the movement. His Dad had told him their sharp eyes could actually see his breathing. When an orbiting squadron reached about twenty-five or thirty feet, one wolfbat always separated from the squad and swooped down with a screech, to chase the skeeter away. That was their window of opportunity. When the skeeter failed to fly away, the wolfbats would withdraw in suspicion, so they had to spring their trap on the swoop.

The boys previously had used a fresh gazelle carcass and another dead skeeter, two days past, and they had expected the wolfbats to land on the gazelle to feed. The two hiding boys had hoped to stun two wolfbats at once. Except the single screeching low pass, which failed to drive off the “feeding” skeeter spooked them, and they all left. Ethan told his dad what they had seen, and he explained that the Krall had once used bait like that to draw in and shoot wolfbats for sport.

The Krall? That was a really long time ago, before the almost nine year olds were even born. If wolfbats knew of these things now, they apparently passed the stories on to their young. That was why they wouldn’t attack anyone with a weapon displayed, they knew about guns. They were smart animals, and the boys wanted to catch one or two, to see if they could turn them into pets. They hadn’t told any adults about their plans, because they would just say no. Both youngsters thought their mothers were especially over protective. The boys applied a universal child’s philosophy. Don’t ask permission, so then you aren’t disobedient.

Today they didn’t have a fresh small animal kill to borrow from any of the hunting teams, so they thought of the bright idea to use themselves as bait.

Right now, only Ethan was in a position to risk a whisper. He had placed a small mirror in front of the lid of the spider hole, giving him a narrow view of the sky above Carson. “They’re getting lower, be ready for the scream,” he stage whispered across the ten feet of short cropped teal colored grass.

Thirty seconds later, there was a loud screech and both boys flashed into motion. Carson whipped his gun from under his back, not wasting time to raise it for a careful aim, pressing the firing stud while the small weapon was still close to his side. Ethan had instantly slid forward from under the lid via a push against the opposite side of the pit, twisting as he did so, and fired his jazzer simultaneously with Carson.

Whichever one may have hit it first was a toss-up, and the twice-struck wolfbat’s screech ended as suddenly as it began. It tumbled five feet to the ground and rolled to a stop. Each boy ignored the motionless wolfbat, instead focusing on its squad mates, which had briefly started down just as the two boys sprang into action. Now they were flapping furiously higher and away. They were already out of jazzer range, but not out of pistol range of the gun on Ethan’s hip. Carson’s gun and weapons belt were in the pit, to avoid making the bats more cautious. Neither boy was interested in killing a wolfbat. They actually rather liked them, and now they had one to examine up close, and alive.

Carson retrieved his pistol and belt from the pit, and a sturdy collapsed wire cage they had talked Neri Barr into making for them. The machinist hadn’t even asked them what they intended to put into the cage. They unfolded the framework and placed the twenty-pound wolfbat inside, twisting the wires at the corners to hold it securely closed.

Carson considered their “catch” for a minute as both boys studied it, lifted the lips to see the short canines, and fingered the sharp little hooked claws along the “forearms” of the wings and on the short hind legs where the teal wing membrane attached. “These back leg hooks are how they carry small prey when they fly away.” Carson lectured his friend.

Ethan ran fingers along the wing and side of the comatose predator. “The fur is so soft, and it’s waterproof. That’s why Dad says the Hub City snobs make hats and clothes out of their skin. I think wolfbats are glitzy. I won’t let anyone kill ours, not just to make a stupid hat.”

Glitzy was part of the new kid’s language the hundreds of Prime City kids were inventing, completely sure their parents and other adults would never understand their slang. It was fabuli, knowing words that even the adults didn’t understand. As every generation had thought before them.

Carson looked at the distance they needed to cover to get to the dome. “Even if we run, it might wake up before we get it out of sight. What if it makes a lot of noise? Should we stun it again? Jake might tell our folks if he realizes it’s still alive.”

“Car, Jake already knows we stunned it, he can see every square inch out here. It’ll be in a cage. So long as we don’t let it lose in the dome he won’t call an alert.”

“Yea, you’re right. Besides, after we take it to class tomorrow everyone will know about it anyway. Then, right in front of the whole class, we can ask Mr. Rigson to talk to Commander Mirikami for us. You know the other kids will be on our side. The Commander might let us have one of the empty rooms with all the windows, and let it live in there. Nobody uses those rooms anyway ‘cause they don’t have any privacy.”

“Some of the Hubbers are moving back here my Mon says. What if a bunch of them move here and fill up all of our spaces like those?”

“They won’t want to live in a room with one glass wall. And if either of our Moms hears us call them Hubbers again, we might be spending a lot of time in our own rooms.”

“Car, it was your Mom that broke the nose of their old mayor. She didn’t like those people very much back then.”

“That was when old lady Cahill called herself a Governor, not a Mayor. Mayor MacDougal is friendly with us. He told Commander Mirikami that he even agrees that probably nobody from Human Space, where we all came from, will ever find us. That’s why some people are moving here, to get adapted as real Kobani, just like us and our folks are. They can’t have kids if they don’t change.”

“Well, we need to get home for supper or somebody will ask Jake what we’re doing.”

They were close to the inner electric fence, so they had nearly two miles to walk back to the Prime City dome. Prime City had reclosed the outer compound gates several years ago, and the dangerous rhinolo driven out or hunted down for food. They permitted the “safer” grazing animals to remain, since they provided easier game to hunt for people that were too afraid to venture outside of the compound.

The electric fence on top of the wall was never rebuilt, so the outer compound wasn’t fully safe. As the boys started for the dome, carrying the unconscious wolfbat’s cage between them, their backs were toward the twenty-foot electric fence. Two pairs of blue eyes were watching them.

The two rippers, a large male and a female had observed the two young humans capture one of the flying animals, using small stinging sticks that threw no stingers. Instead of killing the flyer, they placed it in a not-live container. Now the young humans were oblivious to what was behind them, looking at their captive, making noises between each other, showing no awareness of possible dangers. Just like stupid prey.

They also had the dangerous type of sting sticks with them, and had faster reactions than the larger mature versions of their kind, but they were too careless. When the prey was far enough from the not-live killing vines, where they could not hear the slight sounds that were unavoidable, both predators planned to leap over the dangerous barrier. They touched frills briefly, to coordinate their intentions and the stalking to come. They would go different directions once beyond the killing vines.

The humans deviated around some low bushes, which they had to pass, and that growth briefly obstructed their view if they looked back. The moment they went around the shrubbery the two rippers rushed forward, and as they neared the not-life vines, they leaped upward, with those massive haunches driving their muscular bodies easily over the twenty-foot fence, each clearing the deadly barrier by several feet.

They landed with their powerful front legs absorbing the landing with a cushioning effect that limited the sound. Now, before the objects of their stalking moved clear of the vision obstructing bushes, the rippers went belly down to the ground and one moved right, the other left, taking advantage of clumps of similarly teal colored clumps of grass, terrain dips, and other shrubbery. They moved parallel to the two human’s path, staying behind them and to the side. A lone everblue fir tree on the most direct path to the large nest was the agreed upon trigger point for the ripper’s simultaneous ambush. When they passed that, the predators would rush them and pounce together.

“Ethan, where do we want to keep the cage overnight? It needs to be close to our classroom, but we don’t want Mr. Rigson to hear it when he unlocks the door if it flutters around.”

“How about the utility closet they built down the hall from the classrooms? Nobody goes in there until after school, for cleaning stuff. There are some old tablecloths stored in there that we can cover the cage with, and the bat can’t pull at them and tear them up either. They’re Smart Fabric.”

As he spoke, Carson belatedly looked back along their path, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Noting his action, Ethan looked up and around for any sign of returning wolfbats. They had been chatting and neglecting the drummed-in security protocols their fathers always were drilling into them. Their current project was a serious deviation from their normal restriction to stay within a mile of the dome. However, too many eyes would have seen them build the spider hole, and would have asked questions. They had heard many stories about those hidey-holes that Mirikami’s combat team had used against the Krall. It was fun to make and use one of their own.

It was hot today, but the two boys were born heat adapted, and also had the strength and endurance that their parents had needed to have added as genetic enhancements. The boys had always lived with the dual nervous systems, and could effortlessly focus on the input from either set. The organic superconductors did increase their reaction times slightly over Normals, or Controls as Aunt Aldry and Uncle Rafe described them.

The Second Generation children, or SG’s as the scientists labeled them, knew that their strength would continue to grow to become significantly greater than that of Normal adults once they matured. There weren’t any Normal children against which to measure SGs. That was because unmodified Normal adults could not have children on Koban. Once modified to be an SG, their children were born as SGs.

The boys automatically studied the everblue tree as they approached. It’s year round dense needles could conceal a threat, so they automatically stayed a hundred feet away since they each had one hand occupied holding the cage. The wolfbat had started snorting as it breathed, indicating it was probably beginning to recover.

The dual ripper attacks, when they came, were from opposite sides. The ear splitting roars spurred the boys into action, and they had already seen the two big cats as they left the ground in their leaps. They released the cage, both hands reaching a jazzer and a pistol butt before the cage could hit the ground. Even as they drew, they fell backwards towards the ground to try to let the cats pass over them, and to gain a few tenth’s of a second more time to raise their weapons.

Both boys, using their faster nervous systems, recognized they wouldn’t make it in time because they couldn’t control their muscles as quickly as they sent the impulses to them along superconducting nerves. The two cats, in a beautifully coordinated move, twisted in air to meet paws to paws, halting the impending overshoot, and they dropped directly down, each straddling one of the eight year olds.

The rippers opened massive jaws and swiftly lowered them over the fragile human skulls, canines poised for crushing kills. The boys shoved their hands up, pushing at the neck frills of the two massive killers.

From their victims, the thrilling sensations of their surprise attack poured through the two rippers, and they froze in place, enjoying the pleasure, the sheer fun!

“Kobalt! Get off me. Your breath smells like rhinolo butt.” Carson was pissed. The anger directed mostly inwards.

Ethan felt equally embarrassed and chagrined. “Kit, you made your point. Let me up please.”

The cats didn’t fully understand the human words, but the mental images connected with the boy’s words made the meanings as clear as crystal to them. Who ever said cats don’t laugh had never met a ripper.

The highly amused cats stepped to the side of each boy, allowing them to get to their feet. Carson still had a hand on Kobalt’s frill, sending a mental inquiry. Would he tell Mom and Dad?

Kobalt looked directly into Carson’s dark eyes. He was a little shocked at the question. They were “brothers” of the pride; parents did not need to know everything their children did. The eight hundred-pound ripper loved its human “parents,” but it frequently filtered out the images that it chose to share with them, or with any human except Carson. It shared everything with him, things it might not willingly share with his sister, Kit. However, humans did not have a very good ability to filter thoughts and images. Anything Carson learned from Kobalt, Kit learned by frill touch with Carson. The same was true between Ethan and Kit. The boys were beginning to learn how to guard their images, and to filter, but it wasn’t instinctive for them.

The cats were less than a year older than their two “siblings” were, but by the nature of differing evolution, Kobalt and Kit had grown and matured much faster than slower developing human children. Long after the two cats were capable of independent action, trusted to go outside on their own, taught (clumsily) to hunt by their human fathers, their smaller pride mates had needed protection for many more years, and still needed that protection. As their laxity today had so clearly demonstrated.

The boys decided that riding Kobalt and Kit back to the dome would be too awkward with the need to carry the cage. The cats had known of the boy’s interest in wolfbats for some time, and knew they would try to capture one alive. They hadn’t known they would choose several days when the two cats were gone on a mission, making first contact with one of the two neighboring ripper prides.

Leaving the two boys to walk the rest of the way back with their caged captive, they ran ahead with their ground-covering lope. They needed to share with pride elders what they had accomplished. The two boys now knew that, of course, and talked about it as they walked.

“That one female ripper, Telror, killed a friend of my Mom and of Commander Mirikami. I wonder if we can really have…,” he paused, trying to find a word that matched the images shared from the wild pride.

Ethan, knowing exactly the mental images Carson was struggling over found a word he though matched. “Truce. I think that would be the right word. It would be where they leave us alone if we leave them alone.”

“Right, Kobalt’s mind impression was that we could hunt the same herds as they do if we don’t kill for fun, only for food. We also have to share with them the parts we don’t like to eat. I think it was Kit’s idea to do that. She knows you and I hate liver, brains, hearts, lungs, guts, and other yucky parts. Rippers like some of those a lot.”

“My Mom likes liver!” Ethan made a face.

“She can have my share.” Carson matched the repulsed look.

A vibration in the cage drew their attention. The wolfbat was stirring around. The boys pulled off their shirts, as they had discussed when the cage was built, and draped them over the cage as if removed for the summer heat. This way they didn’t appear to be obviously hiding anything from view, or so their adolescent minds thought. In any case, they managed to get inside the dome and easily climbed the stairs up to the twentieth level, where the school was located.

They managed this without any real notice, since only the SG kids used the stairs very much. Adults preferred the elevators, even if modified. Besides, most people were already in the Great Hall for the nightly communal supper. They stashed the cage in the back of the utility room, and covered it with a stack of old tablecloths. Then headed for the place in the hall where their family and their friends always sat for the first of two dinner shifts.

****

Sitting at the customary family table, Noreen was scratching the right ear of her big “baby,” and Kobalt made a noise that wasn’t a purr, but was some sort of deep rumbling equivalent. Anyone unfamiliar with a “tame” ripper was unlikely to enjoy the sound. Particularly when it came out of a fierce looking, well-muscled animal that was over four feet high at the shoulders, about fourteen feet long, including tail, and weighed over eight hundred Earth pounds. He yawned in contentment, exposing his large four-inch canines, fully aware of the discomfort that caused in some of the nearby adults when he did that. He rather liked that idea, wishing he could rub his frill against them right then, to sense what they felt.

The kids that had grown up with the two rippers always around thought it was “cute.” Perspective was everything. They had never had one hunt them in the dark for food.

The Commander had joined Noreen and Dillon’s family tonight, with Marlyn and Thad’s growing family at the adjacent table, with Maggi as their guest. Mirikami made it a frequent practice to sit at various tables during the week, on different dinner shifts.  This way he stayed in touch with nearly everyone, maintaining the open lines of communication.

So long as there were only about eighty two hundred Prime City residents, he could make that work. Much of Prime City had become hydroponics and manufacturing areas. However, there were almost a thousand three hundred backed up requests for couples from Hub City to move here temporarily. They wanted children, like those they saw the modified citizens enjoying. Not a single pregnancy had succeeded in a live delivery in Hub City, after a hundred heartbreaks over a seven or eight year span.

There was no pressure to convince any of them to accept any modifications at all, no matter the reason for moving to Prime City. Most “converts” asked for the bare minimum gene changes, the four human clone mods, to help a woman grow strong enough to carry a child to term. The father also needed the mods, since otherwise the fetus was at too high a risk in the high gravity. That child would inherit the genetic traits of both parents of course, joining the other SG kids, except none would have the Koban nervous system, as parallel but inert.

For now, the organic superconductor nerves were redundant and only couples that wanted their grandkids to be fully Koban adapted opted for them. Although, a rumor had it that SG’s with “nerves” might be able to receive other levels of Koban derived modifications that required the faster nervous system.

The occasional and subtle repetition of the lists of nearly a hundred fifty “standard” genetic mods that virtually all modern humans carried, and had carried for hundreds of years, gradually wore down some of the societal objections in Hub City. The “original defective” genome of the race, from the mid twenty first century, no longer existed outside historical preservation in various laboratories and gene banks. The general population, as far back as three hundred years ago rarely had these defects, and at one time paid only a few days salary to have genetic problems corrected. Health plans had routinely paid for repairs that were life altering or life threatening.

The only reason for the delay in moving so many couples into Prime City was logistics. Many suitable quarters for habitation had become manufacturing or hydroponic areas. That production would have to move to Hub City to create living space here. It was underway, requiring those that wanted to move to participate in the relocation efforts, going both directions.

Mirikami, sitting across from Dillon, used one of the new verbs that had entered common use. “I frilled both Kobalt and Kit when they returned. I personally don’t see any drawbacks to an agreement with the northern pride, and I believe it will eventually lead to cooperation with other ripper prides, once we each lose our natural distrust. With that major predator threat removed, hunting will get a lot less hazardous.

“Except rhinolo, moosetodons, and yaks aren’t going to make friends or become pets, but then we aren’t going to stop eating them either.” He laughed.

Maggi, sitting at the end of Thad’s table, right next to Dillon’s family, said, “This is only the third intelligent alien species we’ve met, and the second one we found that we can make agreements with. Not that the Raspani really make agreements. Their original brilliance has been bred out of them.”

Marlyn had maintained an interest in the Raspani. “Is the new training school Vince set up for them making any progress? Jake has their pigeon version of Krall and Raspani language fairly well decoded, I thought.”

“They have a relatively small vocabulary dear, and their minds are reduced to a simplistic level. One thing they all seem to believe, is that some of their people went far away and will return for them. That makes more sense than just wishful thinking on their part, because none of us can see how the Krall could have hunted down every last member of every star faring race they conquered. I hope refugees from each of those races exist elsewhere in the galaxy.”

Kobalt and Kit rose up as two disheveled boys came running into the Great Hall, late for dinner again. Noreen and Marlyn checked their hands for being freshly washed, which they were. That was more than their dusty bluegrass stained pants and shirts could say. They each frilled the cats before rushing over to the self-serve tables of hot and cold food, and loaded up a heaping tray each. SG kids ate a lot of food for the sake of their increased metabolism, and usual childhood hyperactivity.

When they returned to their family tables, they took their usual places beside their fathers, rudely shoving the next oldest child aside. Katelyn was the six-year-old sister of Carson, and Bradley was the six-year-old brother for Ethan, both younger ones shoving back at their big brothers, in the normal sibling resentment and pecking order. The youngest child of each family sat by their Moms. Both were three-year-old boys, Cory with Noreen, Danner with Marlyn. The children’s similar ages were a tribute to Planned Parenthood.

Carson shoved a bite of cubed rhinolo stew meat in his mouth, and asked “Uncle Tet, are we going to have a truce with the pride on the north side?”

Noreen spoke first. “Don’t do that again. Ask first, or swallow before you talk.”

Mirikami smiled. “We just found out about the offer. I can’t imagine that anyone wants to turn the northern pride down. However, we do have to give everyone here a say before we make a final decision. Even the pride elders will ask the opinions of the pride members. At least that’s what I gathered from Kobalt and Kit’s impressions.”

Ethan hadn’t filled his mouth yet. “Oh, the pride will all agree. Kit made a really good connection with a female named Telror, and she had her own mind images to share that would show the pride that humans are really people. Kobalt and Kit have those kinds of images, but they are outsiders that lived with us.”

Thad looked down at his son. “How do you know all this? Kit just arrived, and when I wanted to know if she had seen you on the way back, she didn’t have any frill contacts with you to share, not for the last two days.”

Noreen reached over to Kobalt and touched his frill a second. Kobalt looked at Carson, then away. “Odd, Kobalt has no image of seeing Carson all day either, but that was a very pointed and insightful question my son.”

Uh Oh. Carson thought. Rippers would withhold information, but they would not lie. A gap in mental story telling was a red flag for an omission.

“Uh, we knew what they were going out to do, and I was sure they would convince the wild rippers.” He ended that lamely, as he realized that Ethan had already spilled more details than they could possibly have guessed. Busted.

His Dad spoke up. “I don’t think we need to cover all of this at the table, in public. It can wait.”

Carson knew that wasn’t a reprieve, merely a stay of sentencing. Besides, now their parents might decide to ask Jake what he saw. There’d be no memory gaps or filtering there.

Dinner continued with various items of chatter, while Ethan and Carson ate mechanically, their appetite gone.

Later, after the families cleaned their tables and left for their quarters, and the next supper shift filtered in, Tet grinned at Maggi. “What do you think those four were up to?” He obviously included the cats.

She smiled back. “The kitties are only guilty of loyalty and cover up. It’s hard to say about those two scallywags. Look who their fathers are.”

With a sigh, Tet asked. “Scallywags?”

“Crap! Watch an old movie sometimes. Why do I always have to translate for illiterates?”

****

The next morning, Carson was up early for class. His parents hadn’t really laid into him when they got to their cubicle cluster. They sent him to bed early, right after homework, no watching an old Tri-Vid recording of a show in a life and place he didn’t know about anyway. Except, this particular level of discipline happened almost once a week for him. He got off easy.

After breakfast, he was about to leave for class when his Dad handed him some work gloves, made of Smart Fabric. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered in confusion.

Just then, his mother stepped back into the small eating area, with Kobalt in trail. “I discovered you intended to take Kobalt to class today, he told me. I cleared it with your teacher. Mr. Rigson is expecting both you and Ethan to arrive with the cats.”

“Sure.” Now he was more confused. The cats were normally too much of a distraction for the kids to work on their lessons. They wanted to frill them all the time, but today the cats were to be part of the presentation he and Ethan wanted to make.

“Why is it OK today Mom?” He was suspicious.

“It’s a show and tell day on the class activity list isn’t it?”

“Yes, though everybody has seen and touched Kobalt and Kit a zillion times.”

His Dad looked at him meaningfully. “Ah. But have they ever sensed what a wolfbat was thinking?”

They were really busted!

“Uhh…, I guess that’s what the gloves are for, so it won’t bite me?” There was no point in trying to deny it now, since they obviously knew.

“Hummph. I never thought of that.” His Dad fingered his chin. “No, those are really for cleaning out the animal corral after class. That will make you late for super, so consider yourself excused in advance for missing a meal. Have a nice day.”

****

Mr. Rigson was waiting in front of the utility room door when they arrived. “I checked, and it’s fine, and the cage held it OK. It dragged one of the tablecloths partly inside through the mesh, but couldn’t damage or chew Smart Fabric of course. Leave the cloth over the cage. It will make a good surprise for the class if nobody sees it first.”

Carson was puzzled. Does everyone know what we did?

Then Carson remembered his Mom had called Mr. Rigson. He and Ethan carried the covered cage to the classroom, and placed it under the teacher’s desk, out of sight. The bat was unnaturally still he thought, until Mr. Rigson asked them to send the cats to the back of the classroom. The wolfbat certainly had scented and heard the two rippers. It wasn’t about to attract attention. The boys let the cats know why they were sent there, and that they didn’t want the wolfbat to die of fright in front of everyone.

After the usual routine of show and tell presentations, Ethan and Carson went last. The other dozen kids had noted the cats, and despite the lack of novelty, they were perfectly willing to frill the cats again. When the boys pulled the covered cage from behind the desk, their interest shifted. Lifting the cloth, the whole class uttered the expected excited exclamations. The wolfbat itself was clearly terrified, and instantly spotted the rippers through the herd of humans that surrounded its pen.

The flyer called for any Flock mates that might be near, but received no reply. The echo returns, jumbled as they were with the moving herd surrounding it, still told it that it must be inside the big nest. Just as it had suspected, after regaining full consciousness, and buried under that sound absorbing covering all night.

These smaller herd animals, and one large one, all carried the loud things that killed at a distance. They had him trapped inside a strong container where they could kill him if they wanted to, and which was no protection at all from either of the rippers. Why were the rippers not attacking this other prey? They were calmly watching the herd. This was strange behavior, and it had been reported by other squadrons that two rippers were seen going in and out of the large nest, and did not kill prey from this herd, but did kill other prey. This must be those two rippers. Whatever was going to happen, he was not going to return to his mate, and their two pups. His mate must think him already dead, and if she didn’t hunt for food tomorrow, the pups would rapidly weaken. Leaving pups that young alone for that long to hunt was a great risk.

He had no experience with predators or prey like these, none of the Flock had. You don’t hold prey, you kill and eat it, and he was now their prey. He believed he was doomed, and so were his pups.

He had no room to spread his wings, but if he drew them in close to his body, he could turn around with difficulty. One dimension of the web of hard material holding him was longer than the other, preventing his quick reversal. However, he would bite and claw at anything that he could reach. He would die, but he would not surrender.

He was touched from behind several times, when his captors reached through the small gaps. As quick as he was, the confinement prevented him from biting their probing appendages, which looked like long toes, before they withdrew them. These smaller prey turned-into-predators were nevertheless quicker than his Flock stories suggested from experience.

Part of his attention never left the huge rippers, so he noticed instantly when they moved, holding very still as they both advanced towards his container. He was afraid, but defiant, hissing at them in a low frequency range that he knew these half-deaf animals could hear. Instead of tearing open his container to get to him, they lay on their bellies, facing him, massive heads resting on their front paws.

His eyes had immediately told him the rippers were a male and female, simply from the size comparison. Scent had also confirmed the gender identification earlier, although smell similarity revealed a close relation, a brother and sister, not mates.

Next, the two smaller prey-turned-predators that had captured him, placed their hands on the ripper’s necks, and reached towards his enclosure from opposite sides. He could not face both at once, and because they were approaching from the narrow dimension, he could not whirl around to defend himself from attacks from two directions.

The first one to try to grab him came from the side with the female ripper, and he snapped in that direction. As he did so, he was touched from behind.

The pictures invading his mind were confusing, reassuring, terrifying, comforting, threatening, and a bizarre mixture of thoughts and images that he had never experienced. He forgot about biting, not certain if he was safe or about to be eaten.

Abruptly, the comforting images had somehow pushed away the terrifying images; the ones that had enjoyed his fear were gone. He sensed he was not going to be eaten, not even hurt. Naturally, he took advantage of this sign of weakness and snapped at the contacting appendage.

He barely missed closing on one of the two slender “toes” placed on his rear right haunch, breaking the contact as it withdrew, freeing his mind from the confusion. It didn’t last. A new touch on his undefended left side poured a new and different mixture of conflicting images into his mind.

Here the comforting and reassuring images were much weaker than the overpowering and threating images that warned him he was on the verge of death if he tried to bite the new “toes” touching him. Suddenly he was able to sort out the sources of the conflicting stream of thoughts. The female ripper would kill him, with pleasure, if he bit her smaller gentle relative, her brother, now touching him. How was that small animal her brother? Her brother was the giant ripper on the opposite side.

Despite his confusion, he clearly perceived that his continued life depended on not attacking the animal that was touching him. He decided that was the prudent course of action for now. Instantly, he felt a withdrawal of the threatening presence, and a different soothing set of images remained, curious about him, not threatening, offering safety. No matter his instinct to take advantage of this sign of weakness, he did not snap this time.

Suddenly the other small animal was also touching him, and the “scent” of the mental images (he didn’t know how else to think of them), were different. It was equally curious, and nonthreatening. In the background was the faint “smell” of the male ripper’s thoughts, but he deliberately held them back.

The flyer didn’t know how these thoughts reached into his mind. He had an unexplainable belief that the rippers controlled the images, and that the smaller animals used them. Surprisingly, an image showing him one of the smaller animals touching the fleshy fringe on the male rippers neck appeared in his mind, followed by an image of it not touching the ripper. Abruptly the mind images from that animal ceased, but he felt its continued touch on his right leg. Then the images returned, and he clearly saw its front leg resume contact with the big ripper’s neck. The ripper was the source of pictures when the small animal touched the ripper.

The flyer realized they had “heard” the question he had formed in his mind, almost as if he had made a call to a squadron mate. Wolfbats were not the top thinkers on Koban, but they were far from stupid, and they had a rudimentary language of complex calls and signals. They formed strategies for coordinating attacks and changing flight formations. They had an astonishing ability to form mind pictures created from sound echoes, which required considerable memory storage.

His high metabolism and lack of food and water had left him shaky, particularly after a night frantically trying to escape his hard cage, burning energy. He wanted to be free to hunt for food, to find water.

The creature paired with the male ripper pulled away, and made calls to the other herd animals. Several left on the run, and another went to the side of the nest area they were in, and he heard the sound of splashing water. In a moment, a shell of water appeared next to the trap he was in, except he couldn’t reach the fluid he desperately wanted. A powerful image came that the shell could be placed in his container, but if he moved even a small amount to escape or bite; the female ripper showed him an image of his dead carcass being eaten.

The small animal that brought the water placed some new “skin” over its front “toes” and did something to the side of the enclosure.

“Ethan, I have the gloves on so I’ll put the bowl inside, but I don’t want Kit to kill him if he tries to get out. We have a dozen jazzers in here. We can stun it if it gets out. Right Mr. Rigson?”

“Lads, you two boys have done a good job so far, and from what you’ve told us, the bat can sense and respond to instructions, and now has asked for food and water. That is communication, and cooperation. I would not dream of preventing this unless it attacks one of you kids. I have my own jazzer ready, so the rest of you keep yours holstered. I don’t want half my students stunned by reckless shooting. Carson, open a corner just enough to put the bowl inside at the far end. Ethan, you keep it reassured and calm with Kit.”

“Yes Sir, but I think Kit already has it convinced not to move. I’m sure it doesn’t want to be a lunch snack.”

The other kids giggled. They were familiar with the intimidating kinds of thoughts the rippers could send. Of course, for them it was always non-gory play-acting. It wasn’t “play” when she sent her thought image to the wolfbat.

As Carson raised the corner, warping the lid enough to slip the small bowl under, Kobalt raised up to look down over his shoulder. The wolfbat didn’t wiggle so much as one of its sensitive muzzle whiskers. At least until the lid was refastened, and Ethan gave it permission to move. The twenty-pound bat quickly crawled to the bowl and lapped at the water until it was gone. A girl had a cup handy to pour more in without reopening the lid. The bat drank only half of the replacement water. Frequent drinks were preferred over the flight weight of too much water.

The classroom doors burst open as two boys and a girl ran in, each with pieces of raw meat from the kitchen. They were out of breath, so they had probably ran the twenty fights down and back up, to avoid waiting for an elevator to make several stops, due to adults aboard.

Rigson grinned and shook his head. He had all the mods, as did all of the former Flight of Fancy crew by now, but he couldn’t match the energy of the SG kids. It wasn’t only age, he suspected, it was probably mental. These kids didn’t have a memory of old limitations, and didn’t expect to be tired, as did the older generation did when they surpassed the limits of their former capability.

As the kids drew close to the cage with the gazelle meat, the wolfbat’s nose rose and sniffed the air, obviously interested. Ethan, who had resumed contact, felt how ravenous the animal was.

“Colby, Arlene, Biz, don’t try to feed it by hand. It’s too hungry. It might bite you in its hurry. Just drop one piece at a time through the top.”

They did that, and it devoured the first four large chunks in gulping bites, hardly chewing more than to smash them enough to go down its gullet. They kept dropping in the smaller pieces they had, but noticed it had changed its eating style. It dipped its head without really chewing as it swallowed, then raised its head and shook it side to side in a twisting motion.

Arlene noticed the lump first. She pointed to its neck the next time it raised its head and twisted. “He’s got the meat stuck in his throat, stop feeding him. He’ll choke!”

Mr. Rigson calmed her worry. “Arlene, you made a good observation, but have the wrong interpretation. Wolfbats have an internal pouch for carrying food back to their dens, or nests, which ever you chose to call their homes. That food can be for their own consumption later, or to feed to a mate and pups.” It was time to expand the lesson to more of the kids in the class.

“Ethan, Carson, we all thank you for this opportunity to learn more about one of our commonly seen, but little understood local predators and frequent pests. I’d like all of the class to have a chance to frill the cats as they touch the wolfbat, so long as it stays cooperative. Everyone gets one minute each for contact, no interruptions from anyone. Then after all of you have taken a turn, we will talk about what each of you sensed. I’ll go last so I know some of what you will discuss. Arlene, you go first, chose your cat.”

She picked Kit, as did most of the girls, and most of the boys picked Kobalt. This was a long ago noticed preference pattern of the kids for the cats. Much like boys more often chose traditional “male” oriented interests and girls chose “female” interests. Not universally, but it was common. On academic school subjects like math and science, society had removed those distinctions hundreds of years in the past. Males and females excelled equally overall, but certain fields drew more of one gender or the other.

The eternal pattern of human sexual differences extended into mental processes as well as the physical dimorphisms. The girls liked the life viewpoint offered by Kit; the boys were drawn to Kobalt for his more aggressive attitude. However, physically for the SG kids, the girls were as good with a gun as the boys, and except for slight differences in strength, girls were as physically adept as boys were. At least for now, before hormones bulked the boys up as they matured.

Amused at his own preference, despite the clinical analysis he used as he watched the kids, Rigson touched Kobalt’s frill and experienced the usual impressions he’d feel from the cat, and stuck a finger through the mesh to touch the wolfbat’s back leg. By now, the bat accepted the contact without even the appearance of discomfort. Apparently, the general feeling of good will towards it had eased its fear and distrust.

However, Rigson immediately sensed urgency on the bat’s part. It wanted to fly. That wasn’t surprising coming from a flier such as this, but it was a more desperate feeling than a mere desire for flight. It seemed a life or death matter. He sent a comforting image that they were not going to harm him. The mix of images Kobalt fed back to him was fast and a bit confusing. With less exposure, he wasn’t as adept as the children were or even as the cat’s parents, at understanding and interpreting the mental pictures.

Breaking contact with both the bat and Kobalt, he smiled inwardly when he realized that it was Kobalt that “told” him about his “parents” understanding of the mental pictures. Family was how the cats thought of the humans that had raised them, and some other humans were relatives, or friends. The rest were either simply part of the pride, or a neighbor pride.

Telling the children to take their seats by their computers, he leaned back against his desk. He picked kids at random, asking them each what they had learned from the frill contact. Instead of the range of things he expected, the first five of them said the wolfbat needed to get home, its family was in danger, or some variation of that theme.

He ignored the other hands waving in the air, each trying to be the next to answer. He motioned them down. “I believe you all have better sensed what our captive here wants than I did, although I felt some of that. Ethan, or Carson, do you have an idea of what it wants and why it’s so urgent? What was it doing when you stunned it? ...Yes, we know you must have used your jazzers, and no, the cats didn’t tell us. It just makes sense.”

Carson, the brasher of the two boys spoke first. “I was playing bait, lying on the ground with a dead skeeter on me, to draw a squad down close enough to zap one of them. Ethan was under cover to protect me, and I had my jazzer under my back, out of sight. There wasn’t any risk Sir, honest.”

Laughing, Rigson assured him. “I wasn’t really asking how you did it, though that was inventive, if more risky that I know your mother’s would accept. No, what I wondered is what were the bats doing, and you indirectly told me that. They were hunting and this one was assigned the job of driving away the skeeter for the squad to steal its ‘kill,’ which was you. I’ve seen that a number of times.”

He posed a question. “Do you think this little guy has pups at home to feed?” he got multiple answers.

From the girls it was “Yes.” “It has two.” “He has a mate and babies.” All of the girls voiced a similar expression.

From the boys it was mostly “I dunno.” “I think so.” “Could be.” Or some equivalent uncertainty as to why it needed to get home so urgently.

The difference in focus and the questions the kids wanted answered by the wolfbat followed the pattern of what the girls might have had more interest in, compared to the boys interests. Boys probably wanted to know what flying was like, what it hunted, how they killed it, and not why it needed to hunt, or if it had a family.

Rigson, after his run-in with, and injury by wolfbats on his first day on Koban, had learned as much about them as he could. He was sure the girls had homed in on the wolfbat’s problem. “Now that we heard various answers as to why our little captive wants to go home, and we watched him store the extra meat in his throat sack, how many of you think he was hunting to feed his family? A show of hands, please.” He knew he was manipulating their response, but it was a needed lesson.

Every hand went up. After the uncertain boys heard the more probable answer from the girls, they all recognized it as the correct reason. Now he needed to get them to do the right thing. Without their teacher having to tell them what to do.

“Should we let it return home to feed his mate and babies, or keep him here for us to stare at him in a bigger cage?” Boy was that an unfairly phrased question. He got the only answer he had made sound fair and reasonable. However, they felt like it came from them, not their teacher.

It was unanimous. They all wanted to let it fly home. He was particularly pleased with the shamefaced looks Carson and Ethan shared. Their motives for catching the bat were good. Their understanding of why it needed to be free was better.

He was simply going to escort the class outside to effect the release, when Carson had a proposal first.

“Why don’t we explain to him why we are doing this? Ethan and I can use the cats to tell him.”

Rigson nodded. “It can’t hurt, and he might understand. Give it a shot.”

Both boys kneeled on each side of the cage, signaling the cats to come close. The wolfbat didn’t look particularly nervous this time, after so many repetitions. It tolerated the double touch without stirring. The boys sent it whatever images they had decided on for almost a minute, then simultaneously pulled their hands out of the cage, smiling.

In deference to Mr. Rigson, they all rode an elevator down to ground level. Taking the north exit, Carson and Ethan carried the cage about fifty feet from the dome. The wolfbat had grown gradually more agitated as they left the dome. By the time they sat it down it was actually quivering.

The boys untwisted the ties along three side of the cage top, but waited to raise it on an agreed joint signal. The class and Mr. Rigson stood about twenty feet back, the cats with them. The kids had their focus on the cage, so didn’t notice their teacher had his jazzer in his hand, but held it under his old Stewards vest. The two boys looked at him, and he nodded.

They raised the lid and stepped back quickly. Instead of leaping out and flapping away furiously as they expected, it hopped onto the edge of the cage and looked up, then back at its former captors.

He spread his wings and shook them to remove the stiffness of the day spent confined. Then he flapped quickly, but not in a panic, and climbed in a spiral over the herd that it no longer thought of as prey.

Then he angled off towards the forest, outside the territory of these strange animals. He had food for his mate and pups. It was high quality food, and because it was morning, his mate would not have left to hunt yet, reluctant to leave her pups. He gave a scream of joy in a Flock signal. He heard an answered from a distance.

****

The boys spent a long smelly afternoon and early evening cleaning the stinking Earth animal corral, shoveling stuff that went into either a compost pile, a Krall recycler machine for grinding and drying or into a bin for the hydroponics section to claim tomorrow. Modji, the woman that was looking after the corral tonight told them they were both supposed to go to Carson’s home when they were finished. Their parents would be there.

Terrific! They were getting another lecture, and in quadrasound this time, from two Moms and two Dads.

They showered in the corral’s locker room, slipped on the change of clothes they had brought, stuffing the reeking work clothes in bags.

When they walked in the door, they discovered their parents, Uncle Tet, Aunt Maggi and Aunt Aldry clustered in the family eating alcove sipping drinks and picking at snacks. Stepping from around the corner of the eating alcove, a sandwich in hand was Mr. Rigson. He saw the boys in the doorway, and said hello. This caused the others to look their way. There was no sign of their brothers and sisters. This looked like some sort of high-level adult only gathering. What new kind of trouble were they in now?

Uncle Tet held up his hand to their parents to wait a moment and came over to them. Carson didn’t think the adults looked angry, but Uncle Tet was going to talk first. That probably meant he was Commander Mirikami tonight.

“Carson, Ethan, I’m not here to talk to you about your capturing the wolfbat or how you two managed that. You’ve already paid for that activity. I’m here, as we all are in fact, to talk about what happened in class today, and the subsequent release of the wolfbat.”

When he said they were all here for this talk, they looked up at their parents, and saw they were smiling. If they weren’t in trouble, what was going on here?

“Mr. Rigson told your folks, Aunt Aldry and Maggi, and me, all about the unusual communication your whole class had with the wolfbat. That it was able to understand some of what it was told, and it told you about itself. You did that using Kobalt, Kit, and their unique frills, of course, but you did it by passing the thoughts through yourselves and the cats, something we adults had not thought to try.

This opens up a new interspecies method of communication. We believe the human go-between method might be useful with the Raspani, if we can find a way to make it happen without frightening the poor things to death with the cats.

“You also helped us in another way. After spending some time frilling with Kobalt and Kit, while you worked off your penance tonight, we believe the wolfbats are even more intelligent than we thought. The cats repeated the images you used, and the bat’s reply, and it seems you made the first steps towards generating cooperation with him. Similar with the proposal we are trying to set up with the ripper prides.

“According to the images you and Ethan pushed to the bat, you told him you would give him food if he wouldn’t attack humans. That is pretty close to the agreement we offered the prides. We want you to follow through, and see if you can get more wolfbats to participate. It would be great to have two of our most serious threats become our allies on this planet. Will you do that?”

“Yes Sir.” They both answered, thrilled to have their first adult task to perform.

Commander Mirikami wanted to let them know how much he appreciated their taking on the serious job. “That must be glitzy, even fabuli.”

Both boys looked at him strangely. He knew the words but not quite how to use them.

Mirikami shrugged it off. “Since that wolfbat might be working with us, do you have a name for him? I don’t want to keep calling him ‘bat’ or some such generic word.”

Carson had one. “Ethan called him a bandit once, and the name seems to suit him.”

Mirikami’s inquiring look at Ethan drew an eager nod. “OK, Bandit it is. Now I think you two have some food waiting for you.”

The boys headed for the table, and received the inevitable cautionary warnings from their mothers, along with contradictory congratulations from their proud fathers, as the boys essentially tuned them out while stuffing their faces. Just as all eight-year-old boys (almost nine!) will do when parents talk on and on.

Aldry and Maggi joined Tet in the living room. Aldry brought up the subject she and Rafe had discussed, after he also experienced the wolfbat’s images provided by the cats. Kit and Kobalt were babysitting the younger siblings tonight, at Thad and Marlyn’s quarters next door.

“The bats have ultrasonic hearing, probably better than what the Krall have artificially bred into their own genes. We didn’t want to copy even a single genetic trait from the enemy, but here is an independent example, which is more natural and Koban derived, and doesn’t involve that weird extra set of ears they deploy.”

Maggi looked skeptical. “You aren’t considering hairy pointed blue ears are you?” She laughed.

Returning an amused chuckle, Aldry shook her head. “Nor movable ears for better directional hearing either. However, just as we have parallel nervous systems now, we have room in our heads internally for the small sized ultrasonic sensory receptors. These could at least pick up the sound of Krall or wolfbat high frequency speech. Knowing they were even making the sound would help alert a person to their presence. Once you can hear them, it’s a matter of time before you learn to understand what they are saying. Jake can already teach us both Krall high and low speech, and some wolfbat calls.”

Tet nodded his agreement. “Aldry, I’ve heard Maggi repeat an old expression, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound,’ probably from an old movie. Although I don’t understand the money connection with weight, in this context it means we are already committed to so much from Koban life, why stop when we find another useful gene?”

Annoyed, Maggi informed him, “I say again, if you people won’t watch classic old movies, you will remain semi-illiterate. A pound was also a term for a larger unit of money in old England. However, I agree with the sentiment and with incorporating that modification.

“We have superconductor nerves already, we’ve isolated whiteraptor genes for strengthening both bones and muscles, we have the ripper genes for contact telepathy, and we talked about adding the ripper’s night vision. So why shouldn’t we have ultrasonic hearing?

“None of these mods will alter our outward appearance, and all of them are inheritable. When combined, they should make us more than just competitive with the Krall. If we can’t meet and beat that enemy then all of this is a wasted effort, because there won’t be any humans alive in another thousand years.”

Tet was out of the loop on some of the gene research lately. He had a question. “How can you call it ‘a normal outward appearance’ if we have a neck frill?”

Both Ladies laughed so hard it drew the attention of those in the smaller alcove. The parents left the boys eating, both lads grateful to escape from the lengthy “kind” parental advice.

Aldry told them what they were discussing, and repeated Tet’s question, not sure if they had spoken to Rafe recently either. Dillon had of course, since when he wasn’t hunting for the dome’s meat, he worked part time in Rafe’s research lab, and offered an explanation.

“Tet, we won’t need to employ the complete biological mechanism the Koban feline equivalents evolved here. That started as a rare mutation in a primitive common ancestor of the Koban feline lineage.

“We did think we might need to use the frill at first, if we wanted that trait. Their contact telepathy nerve endings only extend to their necks, and are densely concentrated in the fleshy frills, but the nerves are simply superconductor sensory links, as we now have everywhere in our bodies. The rippers sense our images, and pass some to us when their frill contacts any part of our anatomy, but it is strongest with us when in contact with our hands. In humans, the densest nerves are in our tactile sense of touch in our fingertips… Well, I won’t discuss some of the other even denser nerve clusters. Or else Maggi and Noreen will both smack me for being crude and vulgar.” He glanced at both of them before he continued.

“In any case, Rafe has determined that he can place the ripper genes for that sixth sense in the appropriate sections of the cerebral cortex of our brains, where our finger’s tactile nerve endings terminate. Specifically, the contact path will start from the thumb, index, middle and part of the ring fingers, to the median nerve. The median nerve enters the brachial plexus, then to ….” He stopped, as Mirikami raised a finger to press it against Dillon’s lips.

“Son, I’m not going to design the damned modification myself. How will it work when adapted? What would a modified person use to touch someone, and connect where on their body to sense their mind, or to send them mental images from their own mind? OK? Keep it simple for a simple Spacer. And I understand that it will not involve opening the fly of your pants.” He winked.

With a sheepish grin, Dillon resumed. “The next generation will do much like we do now with the cats, use a thumb and two fore fingers for contact. However, any place we touch will provide some level of connection. Not with hair of course, but it will be strongest hand to hand. Not hand to head like we first thought, though that might be a decent connection.”

“What about filtering input and output, like we know the cats can do, as they did do for their best little buddies yesterday. They don’t appear able to lie, but they can hold information back.”

“That’s an unknown quantity for us, Tet. Based on the cat’s earliest memories today and our own studies of them as they grew, they could not always block or select what they send to us.  That required practice and learned mental control. Humans have no experience with this, but we will probably learn to guard or control our thoughts just as they did.”

Then Dillon’s grin turned devilish. “Just like most of us can hold our temper, instead of acting on whatever impulse pops into her empty head.”

Whack! Whack! It was a double retaliation. Noreen aimed high, Maggi low.

Dillon simultaneously tried, and failed, to cover groin and head. He flashed a hurt expression at his beloved wife.

“Why did you thump me? I was talking about Maggi!”

“Oh…, I thought you meant when I got mad and punched Cahill. Well, it doesn’t matter, we Ladies have to stick together.” She and Maggi smacked palms together, with winks.

15. Fjord

The Krall had largely bypassed Fjord, after nearly four years of light to heavy raids on other Rim worlds. Frequent raids had forced abandonment of several Rim worlds, including the first Krall target in Human Space, Gribbles’ Nook.

The Nook was effectively a privately owned world operated by mining companies, and without a citizen base, it could not vote to join the Planetary Union to receive a mobile defense force. Contract labor wouldn’t sign on without greatly higher wages and benefits, and they insisted on owning their own guns. The companies couldn’t enforce their former strict control, nor make enough profit. Therefore, they pulled out.

Using remote monitoring it was clear that the Krall virtually ignored Nook after the humans were gone. This was further evidence they didn’t particularly care about holding on to even valuable resources. The Krall didn’t care about territory other than as a place to build a base, such as Greater West Africa, now called K1.

What drew them were opportunities for exciting combat, many kills per warrior, and significant warrior culling. Fjord didn’t offer them much in that respect.

The infrequent small Krall raids here had encouraged the population to resist joining the Planetary Union. If they voted to become a New Colony, they would be expected pay for and host at least ten thousand troopers in a mobile force. That system was based on the most successful ground defense system found thus far, the Poldark model. It was a double-edged sword if they did this, possibly making them a more desirable target. The discussions on why the Krall seldom targeted this planet centered on several factors.

First was climate. The cold world had a Nordic type climate even at the equator, with huge polar ice caps extending over a half way to the equator. The equatorial landmasses, with seaports ice-free only in the summer, were rife with narrow glacier gouged steep walled coastal valleys, remnants from past ice ages, the most recent one being in slow retreat. Glaciers had been gradually retreating since humans discovered the planet three hundred years ago.  Because the Krall preferred warm climates, they usually raided temperate worlds.

Second, it was true that worlds that were the most successful at driving off raids, such as Poldark, also received more raids, presumably because they were better opponents. The basing of troopers on Fjord might draw a large Krall raid.

Third, a sizable percentage of the population lived on boats or giant floating rafts where they docked their fishing fleets and where they built fish processing plants. Much of the remaining population lived in coastal regions, with sections of towns built on piers out over the water. The Krall didn’t like water and, with their dense bodies, they swam like flailing rocks. When one or two warriors raided a town on Fjord, the heavily armed population evacuated to the rafts, boats, or other locations over water, limiting the Krall’s options for reaching them.

As the name Fjord might suggest, hardy, independent Scandinavian immigrants with a generous smattering of other Nordic peoples had settled the colony. With a population of barely fourteen million, spread widely, they didn’t want ten to twenty thousand socially disruptive armed outsiders in their midst, accompanied by the taxes for their upkeep and equipment.

Instead, every family had one or more automatic weapons, and the volunteer militia, five thousand strong, had decent older model armor, with good IR concealment and AI controlled weapons.

Furthermore, they possessed several hundred of the new plasma rifles that killed a Krall relatively quickly, unless they were in their own armor. They also had fifty dual barrel plasma cannons on AI controlled platforms to share among the largest towns. This defensive capability had proven adequate for previous raids, when a normally stealthed Clanship released only one or two single ships at a time, rather than the usual eight to thirty-two. This light raid pattern was almost unique to Fjord.

Every one of the warriors that came to Fiord in the past had stayed and fought until killed. This was different from single ship raids elsewhere, when a Clanship returned to retrieve warriors one or two days later. Planetary Union Army advisors, sent to train the local militia, had told them non-retrieval single ship landings did happen on other planets, but it was very rare.

The poorly equipped and stranded warriors never had armor or plasma weapons, and always fought with more reckless abandon than other Krall. They behaved rather like ancient Viking berserkers, apparently intentionally left to fight to the death. The reason for that was speculative, of course, but analysts suspected the Krall were punishing those warriors. One factor was that they never lived to collect any of the breeding rights they considered currency. Apparently, their clan leaders allowed them a fighting death against an enemy, but not the right to reproduce.

Fjord seemed to be the most common destination for such punished warriors, possibly because it offered the least desirable conditions for the Krall. It was a world that offered cold weather, icy water, and prey that retreated to difficult to reach positions over frigid water.

The season now was well into fall, with ice forming on the edges of the shorelines and under the piers and docks every night, taking longer to melt each day. The season for trawler fleet fishing was over and soon ice fishing would start, with fishermen dropping lines through the ice, and sitting in warm huts with four to a dozen friends, drinking and relaxing. Telling stories was nearly as important as fishing in that slower season. No one was thinking of the Krall threat here, not at this late season.

So naturally, today would deliver a different sort of raid. Unfortunately for the residents, Fjord was about to join the mainstream of other Rimworlds. Four Clanships performed simultaneous White Outs four hundred miles above the night side of the planet. In the absence of planetary defenses and radar, the Krall ships didn’t bother going into stealth operation. One of the Clanships entered an orbit towards New Oslo, as the other three descended and spread out to release single ships, distributed over Stockholm, Reykjavik II, Copen, and Nuuk.

The planetary alert network triggered as soon as any Clanship White Out was detected, galvanizing the populations to start moving towards boats, docks, piers, and the floating fish processing plants. Most people went armed all the time, packing large caliber pistols, loaded with the KK chip ammunition that was now common issue.

People owning heavier automatic weapons kept them close, and even carried them to and from work. The militia members needed to go home to get their armor, or some of them carried it with them in government subsidized work trucks. Despite fewer Krall attacks, the high loss of life from past berserkers had promoted strong civil defense preparations.

One of the preparations had been cities taking advantage of the mostly narrow terrain of the fiords, where they met the water. A flat paved area was located close to where the piers and docks started. This was the only landing pad suitable for spacecraft in each city, where New Oslo and other cities shipped out their frozen fish exports. They became a quickly evacuated flea market at other times.

Artful construction of sturdy stone buildings of various heights around the pads and along the streets of the narrow strip of level surface made setting down elsewhere next to impossible for the Clanship’s landing jack design. Cities built much of the residential housing into the steep sides of the fiord’s rock walls. Extensive tunneling provided horizontal and vertical shafts for two-way slidewalk corridors, elevators, ramps, and escalators in those sidewalls.

Four plasma cannon platforms, built into the rock faces, had two miles of city between the walls, with coverage of the only possible landing place located midway between them.

Agneta and Henrik Heilesen were married and both in the New Oslo militia. They had raced the short distance home from their bottom level cheese shop to get into their armor. Once suited, they leaped onto the slidewalk that ran past their midlevel apartment towards plasma gun 3, their nearby duty post.

Henrik checked his communications as he and Agneta smoothly stepped in towards the faster belts. “Eric, Greta, have you suited up yet?” He saw Greta’s icon in his helmet, proving her suit was coming on-line. That couple worked gun 4, a half-mile farther along the same rock face, on the same level as gun 3.

Greta responded. “I’m stepping onto the slidewalk, Henrik. Eric just reached our apartment when I ran out. He’ll be on-line any moment. What do you hear from Jarl and Elin, or Alf?”

They were the militia members that staffed guns 1 and 2, the plasma cannons on the opposite rock face of the fiord, two miles away.

“I called you first when I saw your icon, but let me check if they are in-suit yet.” Henrik was the senior member of New Oslo’s four-Battery unit, and technically in charge. In practice, any of them could step in to coordinate their operation, depending on who was able to get to their station and get the AI’s data feed of what the Krall were doing.

Before he could make a call, his suit helmet flashed icons for Alf, and Elin, and they were reporting in. “Henrik, this is Alf. I’ll be at number 1 in about two minutes.”

Elin jumped in, “Henrik, Jarl wasn’t home yet when I suited. I’m about three minutes from gun 2.” While Alf and Elin were reporting in, Eric’s icon had appeared, meaning he was on the heels of his wife, Greta, heading for their duty post at number two. Jarl was the only one of the seven members of the four plasma batteries that had not reported, and his wife was already on her way.

At this pace, all four batteries would be staffed and operational within ten minutes of the alert, well before the Clanship could arrive. The AI had automatically initiated the heating of the dual plasma chambers for each Battery when the alert sounded. The four fusion bottles that powered them stayed on all of the time, furnishing power to adjacent apartments and local businesses normally. If the cannons required all of the power, other power customers were quite likely to be forgiving of the energy diversion.

As Henrik and Agneta neared the “step off” closest to their gun platform, they moved outwards towards the slower moving strips of the slidewalk, moving around people that were hurrying home to pick up their own weapons, or headed for the waterfront. Those people respectfully stayed out of the militia’s way, knowing they would be staying behind, risking their lives to cover the evacuation.

As Henrik and Agneta entered the heavily armored room of gun 3, Agneta pressed the code to close and seal the thick outer door. When sealed, the inner armored door opened to admit them to the control room for the plasma cannon. The outer double armored walls, with insulating ceramic between, would provide protection from return plasma or heavy laser fire.

The planners had buried the AI computer deep below the base of the western rock face, and it could operate the cannons independently if a human decision maker was not available. The team named the computer Norb, and he was in a constant Link with the four batteries, and usually with all four team members.

Norb had the current visual tracking feed for the incoming Clanships, sending it to monitors in each control room. The lack of stealth wasn’t a surprise, because after previous small raids the Krall had stopped bothering with stealth mode when no targeting systems ever tracked them.

Aside from Fjord not having the tax money to build such a defense, they had proven largely ineffective for repelling the Krall on other worlds. Here, with the enemy uncloaked, they could visually follow them. It hadn’t mattered to the previous suicide berserkers if humans were expecting them. Apparently, the various Clanships that delivered them had reported the unopposed airspace penetrations and departures. Now, perhaps that overconfidence would work to the benefit of the militia, which had never needed to face so many Krall before today.

Henrik could see the monitors, but didn’t have the benefit of the tracking histories. “Norb, where are the four Clanships headed?”

“Sir, three Clanships are currently releasing single ships over four other cities, but it appears that the fourth ship is inbound for New Oslo. It has not released any single ships as it passed near other cities, traveling from the night side. This appears to match patterns on other worlds of a five hundred twelve warrior landing attack, when a Clanship passes viable targets and drops no single ships.”

These type of murderous landing raids typically lasted three days, or perhaps less if the number of warriors killed reached thirty to forty percent sooner than that. These more destructive attacks had completely bypassed Fjord. Until today, that is.

Every city located in a relatively narrow fiord, such as where the first settlers built New Oslo, and nearly all of the other larger cities on Fjord, had recently cleared buildings and other property to build those distinctive and inviting landing pads. They placed the pads so they were the most practical place to land a spacecraft amid the surrounding and densely built up cityscapes. Every large city had four plasma cannon emplacements in the rock walls covering the landing pads. Apparently, New Oslo had just “won” the lottery.

Henrik linked to the team via their suit coms and the AI. “Ladies and Gentle Men, we have an inbound Clanship, and it isn’t dropping single ships. We have seven minutes before we get five-hundred twelve visitors, and we want it landing on the pad.” He flipped a switch and new sirens sounded a mile away, around the pad. This ensured that anyone that had not yet evacuated that area did so more quickly. It was now ground zero.

After five minutes, the team members were all at their posts, Jarl Boldsen having driven his delivery truck recklessly to get home. Alf was the only militia member present at gun 1, due to his wife being too pregnant to fit into her armor. Henrik silenced the sirens near the pad. There should not be anyone within a mile of it by now. He activated another control console, which lit up similar consoles in the other three control rooms. Any Battery could operate any of the circuits those special defense consoles controlled.

Still Linked to all of the team, Henrik said, “Nord, range and synchronize all batteries.”

“Yes Sir.”

They could hear and feel the sound of the heavy duty mounts rotating, and the massive three-foot thick shield doors opening just wide enough to pass the dual plasma beams. Heavy mirrored panels also slid out of protective “cleaning” slots, prepared to deflect laser fire as long as possible. Clanships had four heavy-duty lasers, eight lighter lasers, and four potent plasma cannons, providing three hundred sixty degree and overhead defensive or offensive fire for the ship.

“Team, arm the manual overrides.” One person at each Battery went to a set of large joysticks with triggers, and activated several video monitors that showed recticles on screen for the aiming point of their cannon.  This targeting was via three small video cameras located along the rock face, well away from probable enemy fire.

These modifications came at the request of the militia. They wanted direct human control of the weapons if Nord was unable to remote Link to the guns, and/or he lost the incoming hard control lines, or the AI was somehow disabled. The manufacturer’s tech reps insisted that the automated control systems were foolproof and redundant enough. However, the technical experts lived on safe Hub worlds, and their asses were not on the line.

Direct human operation provided yet another redundant set of controls that were fully contained within the armored compartment. A useless feature or not, it made those that staffed the batteries feel more secure.

The Clanship finally appeared on local video cameras and not just on computer projection feeds of the track over the planet towards New Oslo. The ship rapidly slowed and hovered over the water in the inlet, obviously examining the options for landing. Even with flea market awnings and small stands on the perimeter of the pad, and a roadway roundabout of a small fountain in the center, the Krall ship’s radar would see that the area had ample flat surface for several starships.

Several of the smaller ship lasers lanced out to torch a sizable section of awnings and temporary stands of merchandise. When off-planet shipments of fish, crabs, and other sea products took place, owners of these family owned stands could fold them up and remove them with a couple of hours’ notice. The Krall used a faster more efficient solution.

The ship drifted rapidly over the freshly scorched area, and as it settled, the thrusters blew ashes clear of the scorch streaks left on the tarmac surface, and blew down the remaining unburned awnings. It settled close to the center of what was effectively a bull’s eye for the four plasma batteries. They made minor shifts in aiming points.

Almost the instant the landing jacks touched, the thrusters cut off and the ship quickly lowered another five feet on the shock absorbers. Simultaneous with the settling, four hatches slammed upwards into their hull recesses, and the first armored warriors leaped out onto the hot tarmac. They were firing their plasma rifles towards building windows, and anything they though looked inviting.

The first targets of the four plasma cannons were the main thrusters, to prevent a possible liftoff and aerial attack of the city. They lanced out with ravening blue-white energy, visible in twin nine-inch atmosphere ripping beams of charged particles of nearly star core heat, moving for all practical purposes at the speed of light. They needed only a few seconds to rupture the sides of the main thruster tubes, but that was ample time for the Clanship’s pilot, and its raid commander to respond with their own high-powered lasers. They needed only to follow the clearly visible plasma beams to their origins on the rock faces.

The heavy high temperature polished mirrors of the passive Battery defenses now reflected much of the incoming laser energy. Nord automatically retargeted two of the batteries on the Krall laser ports, and the other two on the yet unfired plasma cannon ports on the Clanship. Previous raids on other worlds had revealed that the Krall generally landed with their plasma cannon chambers warm, but not ready for instant firing if there had been no orbiting human warships to offer threats or any other defenses. Fjord deliberately maintained that defenseless image, just for a day like today. Previous Krall patterns determined the sequence of which targets to hit on the Clanship first.

The militia batteries disabled the Clanship’s four plasma tubes before they could be fired, and then combined to kill the four heavy duty lasers before they did more than crack a couple of mirrors, and melted some of the surrounding ancient volcanic rock. The militia’s cannon tubes were made of ceramic with bell mouthed ends, which could withstand the heat of the heavy laser beams. If they were pre-warmed, then heated by their own plasma fire, they were immune to the laser heat. The wide ceramic bell ends shielded the magnetic coils wrapped along the length of the tubes behind them. The coils confined and accelerated the charged particles in tightly focused cylindrical tubes.

The batteries had rendered the Clanship stationary, and now they had pulled its largest fangs. However, this progress came at a price. Warriors had continued to avalanche from the four large hatches at the base of the ship in that crucial ten to twelve seconds. It was time to try to cork that flow. The batteries now depressed lower to fire on the open hatches, and simultaneously switched to the second reservoir of preheated plasma, refilling and heating the first.

As the next round of targeting commenced, Nord offered a bland warning for the Battery teams. “Battery number three is unable to depress low enough to fire on the hatch that it is responsible for covering. Melt rock has apparently flowed…”

Henrik cut him off and made the human decision he was there to provide. “Target the warriors that have already left the ship and are spreading away from the landing area, target buildings they enter, try not to let any move towards the docks.”

As Nord followed that instruction, Henrik started speaking to the militia command center, knowing the suit’s AI would automatically patch him through. “Commander Hendricksen, some of the warriors will make it away from the ship because Battery three isn’t able to depress to cover one of the hatches.”

Even as he spoke, armored Krall were dropping as they tried to exit the grounded ship at three of the hatches, and the plasma beams were gradually burning through the thicker hull armor. The warriors swiftly shifted to making their exit at the one hatch not covered by sun hot beams. The minutes of life expectancy of the Clanship were draining away, just as the warriors drained away from it like its lifeblood.

Even after the batteries destroyed this ship, another Clanship would come to retrieve these warriors, after they had rampaged through the city on a killing spree for days. They had to force the warriors to request an earlier pickup, if they could.

Hendricksen was pragmatic. “Henrik, try to keep them away from the docks. We have thousands of people still moving along the slidewalks and in sidewall corridors. Obviously, they have to break into the open to get to the docks and boats. We have the streets to the docks covered now, but if very many of them get away from the ship, they’ll discover where they went and turn in force to attack the docks. Do what you can son.” He signed off.

Henrik had kept the link to the team open so they knew what to do. The batteries that could target Krall in the streets made them smoking vapors. Incidentally, this caused considerable collateral damage to structures and property. In public discussions, the citizens decided lives ranked higher than property.

It became apparent that perhaps three hundred warriors had made it away from the ship. This was already at the forty percent casualty mark for this particular ship, but with so few humans killed, it was highly unlikely the Krall would call for withdrawal this soon.

New Oslo was the largest city, so one thousand members of the militia were located here. With four other cities under attack, they were not going to get much in the way of help from the other four thousand spread out troops. Experience had demonstrated that three to one odds against a single Krall wasn’t favorable for the militia in general. With one thousand against three hundred Krall, they needed to improve the odds. It was time for the next set of works-just-one-time traps.

“Team, we have perhaps three hundred Krall that are about to discover the population left their workplaces, and most people have reached or are headed for the sea. When they turn and start for the docks, we need to try to force as many as we can to use ‘Dropsy’ and ‘Flopsy’ Avenues. Alf, take manual control of your Battery when the Krall figures out the population all went that way. From your side you can fire on those that try to use other streets, but limit hits on Avenue D to encourage them to travel down ‘Dropsy.’ Eric or Greta, you do the same for Avenue F.”

Eric pointed out a problem. “Henrik, your gun 3 has a better angle to push them to F than we do.”

“Not with melted rock limiting how low our gun can depress. It can’t do what we need. Agneta and I will let Nord continue to take long potshots to the far side, which number three can still reach. We’re going to come down to cover your door Eric. It isn’t as if the Krall can’t figure where our platforms are located, and they will be coming for us. We’ve always known they would do that. However, Agneta and I can cover your tunnel and hold them off longer.”

Jarl had a suggestion. “Alf is alone in number one. He has no one to fight off any attempt to burn through the doors. I can go out to cover his back.”

“And leave Elin alone?”

Elin had an answer. “Nord can work our Battery too, and I’ll go with Jarl to protect Alf’s door. This way we keep two batteries in play for longer. After we herd the Krall down Dropsy and Flopsy, we might get them to pull out by tonight.”

As they talked, Nord achieved a task he had been working on with just one of the batteries. The tough Clanship hull finally burned through, and plasma beams struck the stored ammunition intended for the next three days of slaughter. This caused a huge internal explosion and flames to erupt through the open hatches, and even blew out some hull docking stations were single ships could attach. This tactic might only work once against the Krall, but it was working fine this time.

Henrik called Commander Hendricksen. “Sir, we are going to leave Battery three and two under Nord’s control, to fire on exposed Krall that go deeper into the city. Guns 1 and 4 will manually concentrate on funneling the Krall down Avenue D and F, once the warriors realize it’s a ghost town and head for the docks. Are your engineers ready for that Sir?”

“They are, and we’ve had a few random warriors work down this way. I’m sure they have reported to their octet leaders that there are a mass of people behind prepared defenses on the docks and the processing plants. If Nord will be running guns 2 and 3, what are you four team members going to be doing?”

The militia was all-volunteer and considerable autonomy was granted to the members, but the ‘boss’ wanted to know what his critical plasma gun crews were planning. He could veto any ideas he considered bad.

“Sir, Battery three has damage and can’t aim low enough to cover our side of the city and it can’t force the Krall towards D and F. Now that the ship is dead, the next step is to push the Krall where we want them. That’s best done by manual control by guns 1 and 4 to selectively fire so as to keep the most warriors moving down Dropsy and Flopsy, where we want them. Some Krall will surely be trying to get into the gun platforms while that happens. The four of us will cover the approaches to batteries one and four, to keep them on-line and firing as long as possible.”

“Very well son.” He gave his official stamp of approval. “But it’s risky giving up the protection of the double armored control rooms.”

“Sir, you and the other militia don’t have that protection. Besides, Krall plasma rifles have longer lasting power packs than ours do, and concentrated fire will burn pinholes through both doors in five or ten minutes. If plasma gets inside the control rooms, even a pinhole penetration will force evacuation and gun failure. We four can at least slow that down from outside.”

“Right. Well, good luck to all of you.”

“Thanks, luck to you too Sir.”

****

Trudok, the second highest status sub leader on the raid, found he was now the highest ranked surviving leader of all of Dorbo clan’s raiders on this cursed and cold human nest. The clan’s raid leader, Blutor, and his K’Tal had both died defending the Clanship, which humans lured into landing at the center of a trap. They had lost the ship, but not the battle. By fighting to keep one hatch free of plasma fire, Blutor had managed to save more than half of the warriors caught in the killing zone. He deserved to die for his poor decision to land where he did, but he had preserved his honor.

Because Krall sub leaders lead from the front, the other high status warriors were among the first to step into the intensely hot plasma beams the humans directed at the ship, and died.

Seeing what was happening, observing that novices without experience were fearlessly ready to brave the beams in their armor, Trudok took charge. He had ordered them to hold back and exit from the only hatch not under fire. They had assumed that speed would take them through the beams intact. This was true, but not safely.

Personal armor could endure the seconds needed to clear the beams, but the residual star heat would pass through the overheated armor to the body inside in another few seconds, roasting the warrior alive. Inexperienced novices thought merely making it clear of the beams, as they observed hands of warriors do, was all that was required. Experience told Trudok that many of those warriors that passed through fast enough would die, unless they immediately discarded their damaged armor when clear. This placed them at a disadvantage when faced with human plasma rifles, and they would likely suffer debilitating burns in most cases. Krall interclan battles sometimes escalated to plasma cannon use.

He had preserved the bulk of the raid’s force, but the novices had quickly spread out looking for individual combat opportunities. A beam from one of the four plasma cannons would lance out when a warrior stayed exposed too long, or chose a shelter that wasn’t heavy enough. He commanded four octets to seek out the batteries from behind, and destroy them.

The reports he was gathering from leaders of other octets told him that they had found few humans in the main part of the nest. Where had they gone?

Nearly forty burn-injured warriors had survived exposure to the plasma beams, and now without armor they had sought safer cover. They were among the first to enter the maze of corridors inside the rock walls that hemmed this cluster of human nests so tightly. They encountered many humans there, but discovered them armed with projectile weapons. The injured warriors no longer had their heat damaged plasma rifles, lost with their armor.

Each warrior that abandoned their suits had two pistols, kept in armpit holsters inside the armor.  However, replacement ammunition and rifles were no longer available with the explosion of the Clanship. Pistols, knives, speed and agility were of limited use on massed humans with automatic weapons. These humans used the projectiles that exploded next to a warrior if it had missed a direct impact. The accumulated spray of fragments gradually decreased the effectiveness of the unarmored novices even if they stayed behind cover.

The kill ratio was down to four or five humans for each warrior that fell in those walls. With so many armed humans, this wasn’t as favorable a trading game as they were accustomed to having. Trudok sent armored warriors into the tunnels to support those without armor, and to discover how many humans were in there, or where the rest of them had retreated. Humans were proving to be good opponents, but their first instinct to flee was frustrating. You had to corner them to make them fight the hardest. Otherwise, they chose clever trickery to win with less risk. That was cowardly!

Gatrol Kanpardi had said that within ten breeding cycles the cleverness of their novices would show a noticeable increase. This was because those that saw and avoided human traps, or created their own traps, were more likely to earn status and live to breed. It was strange to think that their prey altered the Krall’s steps along the Great Path, but the Gatrol claimed it had always been so.

The octets he sent to seek the deadly plasma cannons were fighting their way through tunnels and up ramps. The humans they faced were not trained or armored, but some had large armor piercing projectiles, which came from single-use small shoulder fired tubes. Against the heavy breast and back plates of Krall armor, they were rarely fully effective. However, if they struck an arm or leg joint, or glanced off a helmet, they could remove the limb, or stun the warrior for several minutes. In that case, the warrior might survive to return to the fight, but was obviously less effective.

The octets were closing in on the magnetic signature their sensors detected from each pulse fired, even from inside the rock walls. Soon they would silence the plasma cannons that had nearly ended the raid before it started. He was determined that their recovery ship would not have to face these hidden weapons.

The raiders here were from clan Dorbo, but the three single ship launchers were from an allied finger clan, the Maldo. After ejecting their loads of single ships, they had withdrawn and Jumped nearly to the tenuous cloud of icy bodies beyond the outer gas planets. They would wait there and return in two days. He could call on them to bring their shuttles to recover his warriors. His problem was that if he sent a recall request now, at the speed of light the signal would not reach them for nearly two days anyway. He had to win this battle first; something he was determined to do anyway, despite the shame of the large early loses.

****

Henrik and Agneta chose alcoves cut into the granite walls of the slidewalk corridor, located across from the heavy door to Battery number four, and twenty feet above the floor of the 3 story high residential section along that main avenue. These were actually balconies of currently evacuated apartments, with a nine-inch thick, waist high granite-railing wall they could use for concealment.

Henrik checked in with his friends. “Eric, Greta, Agneta and I are perched on two balconies across from your door, a level above the corridor floor. We each have a good field of view, some cover, and a path of retreat up to the next level.” The apartments occupied two levels, with bedrooms placed another level higher, accessed by internal stairs. Both levels had doors leading out to smaller passageways deeper into the complex. So they could move to different balconies and apartments if forced to shift positions.

Eric answered. “Agneta, you better keep that pretty head down. I see your helmet sticking up over that wall.” He had angled a recessed remote camera in the corridor wall to see her.

“Can you see my tongue sticking out at your door camera, smarty pants?”

“Nope. Can you see my ass picture from in here?” He sent her helmet visor’s screen an image of his wife’s armored posterior, standing by the manual gun controls.

“Gee, that looks too smart and petite to be something as big and dumb as your ass, Eric.”

They heard Greta laugh as she heard the zinger. They were staying “hot mike” most of the time, for rapid coordination.

Jarl chimed in. “I guess we need some Krall to attack before we waste our best insults on each other. By the way, Elin and I are across from Alf’s door. I think we’ll go up a level, like you did Henrik, the apartments over here are all single level, but do have granite balconies.”

Alf had a suggestion. “I saw you and Elin as you came up the corridor on my camera, and after Eric sent that picture of Greta’s butt, it gave me an idea of how you can keep from being seen by the Krall too early. How about we send your helmets our door camera views of the corridors so you can stay concealed until you need to shoot?”

Henrik saw a problem. “Nice idea Alf, except how do you plan to do that? Point your helmet cam at the door monitor while you fire the cannons blind?”

Nord, monitoring the conversation, had a solution before Alf replied. “Sir, I am currently using street and building cameras to locate Krall to shoot at outside. I can request the city AI for access to indoor cameras, and I already have a Link to the Battery door cameras. I can furnish each of you full time corridor surveillance from many locations, individually tailored to each person’s view request.”

“Damn. How come we didn’t know you could do that?” Henrik was astonished.

“I was not asked about this, but it is within the mission parameters of things I am authorized to use.”

Elin asked the AI, “What else do you have to offer us that we may not know you can provide?” Before the others could speak up, Nord began to list them.

“I can control traffic signals to expedite militia traffic, I can appropriate communications…”

“Stop!” came from multiple voices.

Her husband’s exasperation voiced everyone’s thought. “Elin! Is this the first time you’ve ever spoken to an AI?”

“Sorry, I was just so surprised a simple idea like that was never brought up in planning.”

Henrik needed to put this discussion off to another time. “OK. Let’s use it now, discuss it later. Nord, I want two images divided on my left side visor, in see-through mode. Top half, the door camera aimed at warriors approaching in this corridor. Bottom half, any cameras that show them as they enter the corridor and then follow them here. Everyone else, use a private channel with Nord to set up your choices, mine were just an example.”

The teams split off to private Links to speak individually with Nord, then came back to the customary group Link.

Henrik already knew there were sixteen warriors inside his east wall, moving in two groups through various lower corridors, all coming from the same general direction. They apparently couldn’t read the signs in Standard, and they didn’t understand the maze of ramps and stairs that were clearly marked. They were all running swiftly below the main slidewalk corridor, and had passed an up ramp that would have taken them nearer Battery number three, Henrik’s own gun. That gun was on its own with only Nord to operate it. He heard a ripping pulse as it fired, the sound passing through the walls with no clear direction to the echoing sound’s source.

Apparently, it was clear to one Krall, because an armored warrior in the lead suddenly glanced at an instrument attached to his forearm. It looked stiffly upwards, bending back to do so. Then looked back down the smaller corridor towards the up ramp they had passed. All sixteen warriors rapidly reversed their steps, moving in that fast smooth pace they always used, even when in armor.

Henrik passed this tidbit along. “Teams, they have a sensor that either traces the source of the sound of a gun, or its magnetic signature. The two octets below the slidewalk here on the east side are retracing steps to come up a ramp they had already passed. They’ll be in the main passage in a minute, and will pass gun 3 first.”

They couldn’t hold their fire to hide their location, or the guns were useless, but firing them helped the Krall find them from within the many corridors. Henrik heard Battery four’s pulse next. Because he was only seventy-five feet from the heavy door, the sound’s source was obvious this time, routed through his external audio pickups on each side of his helmet.

The city had nine parallel streets, named avenue A through I that went straight to the port area. All but D and F had large open areas to cross over to get from the main part of the business district to the docks. The open areas were covered by all four of the plasma cannons.

Greta had some information for the two teams now guarding the doors to the manually controlled guns. “Folks, I just blasted three Krall that made a run for avenue A. I see more of them flickering from cover to cover towards the docks, holding up at the gap.”

Alf confirmed that for his side of town, saying he had fired twice on Krall groups working towards the port along avenues H and I as they tried to cross that same gap. He killed them, thus discouraging others from breaking cover there. Of the nine avenues leading to the docks, defensive planners had designed only two streets to provide cover for fighters on foot, where they could bypass the open killing fields at other streets. If they moved down the wide avenues D and F, there were buildings and deceptively good-looking cover all along those routes, and no gap to cross while exposed to plasma cannon fire.

The militia down by the docks had long open fire lanes up all streets, but would keep their fire rate low on D and F, to encourage more of the Krall to use that approach to the docks.

E street, between D and F, was a relatively narrow pedestrian walkway between tall buildings, which had ambush written all over it, and that was indeed the case. Well-protected militia bunkers on high buildings were at key points, to fire down on and force the enemy to move over to D or F at cross streets from E.

Jarl advised that cameras revealed warriors moving along the main corridor on the west side. There were no longer any people to see out in the open area of the slidewalks. He suggested they activate the outer defenses for guns 2 and 3. Henrik verified the east corridor was also empty of humans, and authorized going live on the automated defense.

Eric, leaving Greta the fun of shooting at Krall, went to the defense console and activated the automatic corridor weapons outside the entrances to gun emplacement two and three. There were no people in sight in either corridor right now. If any suddenly appeared and ran past, they wouldn’t trigger the defenses. However, if triggered to kill Krall, an unprotected human within a couple hundred feet in any direction was probably dead meat. The potential for killing people placed the activation responsibility on a human being.

Because there were two octets on each side and two guns per side, based on typical Krall effort to achieve maximum speed and efficiency, it seemed probable that each octet was assigned one of the plasma cannons to kill. They were grouped together now simply because the closest large entryway into the warrens on each side provided a single logical place to start their search.

Henrik realized both octets on the east side would pass the entry to gun 3 nearly together. Before they separated, he wanted to see if he could attract both parties to cluster near Battery three’s massive door.

“Nord, unless you have a target just too good to pass up, I’d like you to hold your fire on gun 3 until the Krall in the East Slideway are all close to the entrance door. Then take a shot at any convenient target. I hope that sound will draw them all closer to the door.”

“Sir, you want to help them find the door to Battery number three, and for all of them attempt to make an entry?”

The AI didn’t sound confused (he couldn’t), but the question showed he didn’t understand.

“Nord, they will find the door eventually anyway. However, our door defenses are active in that area and I want as many Krall at ground zero as I can get there. Understand?”

“Yes Sir, I do now.”

“Jarl, Elin, did you catch on to what I meant? Can you pull your two octets together, just outside gun 2’s door?”

Elin answered. “It doesn’t look like we can. The two octets here are presently on different levels. The lower group is below the West Slideway and would need to backtrack to the up ramp.”

“OK. Get as many as you can, then.” Now they needed to wait perhaps a minute, as the warriors advanced the quarter mile from the up ramp to gun 3’s door. Once the manual activation of the defense system was done, any of the team could order Nord to trigger them, or do it manually from one of the four consoles inside the bunkers.

Henrik and Agneta watched the corridor scene on their visors, safely concealed behind the forty-two inch high retainer walls of their respective balconies. The initial action would be another quarter mile away, but they didn’t want the notoriously sharp-sighted warriors to see them peek out for a look. They were nervously gripping their plasma rifles. There were sixteen Krall out there, and however many escaped the automated defenses down at gun 3; the two of them would have to expose themselves to shoot at survivors outside gun 4 up here.

The two also couldn’t even raise their heads to see what was happening outside gun 4, until the fifty caliber machine guns, grenade launchers, auto-fire plasma guns, and the final fireball blast had subsided below them. With any luck, there wouldn’t be very many warriors at this door after the same defenses chewed them up at gun 3. The Slidewalk would need repairs, but the chips and scorch marks on the gray granite walls wouldn’t look too out of place from the original rough texture they had now.

“Nord, the group is about to pass the door. Wait for me to give the signal to shoot.” He let four warriors of one octet pass the door on the far side of the corridor, and the first ones of the other octet had just paused to look at the seam of the heavy metal door. The door was fabricated to look much like other metal doors along the way, but the heavier construction and double door set was different.

“Nord, shoot.”

The sound of the plasma cannon reached them a second later. The Krall had all thrown themselves flat at the sound, and the ones next to the door had sprung towards the center of the still moving slidewalk. Both octets started firing plasma rifles at the door, but the ones on the sliding walkway had to scramble to get off the moving belts. They were laying prone so Henrik called for the automated plasma guns, concealed as light fixtures in the high ceiling, to fire down on them first.

“Nord, ceiling guns now. When they get up, start with the 50 calibers.”

The prone Krall suddenly had two dozen automated plasma rifles firing straight down on them, seeking their center of mass. Their armor could deflect the shots for a time, but the heat would burn through on repeat strikes, and it passed through the thinner flexible armor on limbs quicker. The plasma could flash melt and freeze the outside of an arm or leg joint if that were hit.

Their reaction speed was remarkable, because they were all up and firing their plasma rifles at the source of the ceiling beams in an instant. They hit a few, damaging the barrels and those guns fell silent. One warrior’s plasma rifle also went dead from a hit, and he was using a laser pistol to shoot back, to no real effect. Several of them moved stiffly, an arm or leg not fully flexible due to a partial joint melt. Using their great strength, they were able to force the stuck limbs to bend. They moved to the sidewalls, where the downward plasma fire was lighter.

It was lighter there by design.

Next, the concealed 50 caliber automatic machine guns, loaded with armor piercing KK shells, fired into them from twenty-foot high vantage points. There were two guns on each side behind slotted openings, sweeping across the warriors hugging walls to escape the still raining plasma bursts. Three warriors went down as slugs penetrated their helmets and exploded inside. Two more had penetrating wounds to legs, but continued fighting back from crouching positions at the base of the walls, making themselves smaller targets.

The other eleven warriors moved a step away from the walls for freedom of movement, since they now could see where the machine guns were pointing, and threw themselves to the side or forward when a gun pivoted towards them, forced to brave the plasma fire coming down. The plasma took longer to do its damage, but that damage would build up with repeated hits, so they started moving along the corridor, in both directions, away from the heaviest fire.

“Nord, grenade launchers now.”

Four grenade launchers shattered open their glass covers with the first shots. They had been disguised as functioning direction signs, placed on each side along the walls, outside of the original kill zone. They began blasting heavy fragmentation grenades onto the floor in front of where the novices were trying to retreat, and in among them as well. The Krall were forced back towards the center of the kill zone as the hail of collapsed uranium pellets from the grenades found entry points at limbs, and cracked faceplates on their helmets. Each warrior now had multiple suit punctures, and three more were down, but still firing back at the robot weapons.

Half of the overhead plasma guns were silent now, providing some clearer places to stand. Two fifty caliber guns had jammed or quit firing early from Krall plasma fire, heating or damaging the barrels, and the ammo belts on the other two had run out. One grenade launcher was hit as it fired, and the projectile exploded in the barrel. With that example to follow, the warriors quickly disabled the one on the opposite side of that wall, giving them a direction to escape.

“Burn them, Nord.”

Two dozen jets of a liquid petroleum based product sprayed from the walls on each side, coating the Krall armor, some penetrating into the punctures and cracks of the suits. The thermite type material, mixed in with the tacky liquid, quickly coated them. The plasma guns, those that still worked, set a number of warriors ablaze in a hot blue fire, which quickly ignited the thermite into dazzling white sparkles. One Krall, a hole in her faceplate from a glancing slug, walked right in front of a nozzle just as the spray started. Her quick reaction had turned her face right into the new threat, giving her a dose of the fluid right through the faceplate. She fired her plasma rifle at the flammable stream’s source, saving the overhead plasma guns the trouble of lighting her up. There was a spout of white fire coming out of her helmet, as she turned and blindly fired her plasma rifle again. That glancing bolt set afire another warrior charging down the corridor, past the two disabled grenade launchers.

Henrik noted with satisfaction that ten of the sixteen Krall were down, seven of them for good. The other three were apparently unable to walk, and had smoke coming from some of the suit holes. However, they had functioning rifles, some taken from the dead.

Damn they’re tough! Henrik thought. If sixteen of his militia had been caught by surprise in that same trap, he was certain there would be sixteen dead bodies.

Six more Krall had managed to get out of the kill zone, five of them were on fire when they left, but had managed to roll and scrape the fluid off, and pat out the spots still burning. The liquid itself wasn’t hot enough to burn through a suit. It simply held the thermite on, and helped it start burning. It looked as if every one of the six had injuries, although that was difficult to discern when concealed in their armor. It appeared that both octet leaders had fallen, identifiable by the magnetic sensor clipped to their arms. One was dead, and the other was one of the three sitting on the floor back at gun 3’s door.

He motioned the six mobile warriors to continue to the other gun, and probably transmitted the orders as well. They continued on, limping and smoking.

That leader, with two warriors to command, had them crawl around and gather two more rifles. The three of them set focus to very narrow beams, and started firing at a spot chosen by the leader, at the center of the door seam. That was where a bit of the star hot plasma could penetrate easier. They were gradually burning a hole through the first door, the size of a human pinky finger.

Henrik appreciated their tenacity. He would have appreciated one of those 50 caliber guns returning to life even more.

Agneta brought his attention to what had just happened outside gun 2’s door, while Henrik had directed Nord on this side. Nord gave him a quick replay on his helmet visor.

Jarl had only a single octet arrive in front of the door to his vacant battery. He’d repeated the trick of firing the cannon as they got there, they dove flat and much of the rest of the trap worked the same. Six were killed, with one disabled survivor sitting on the floor. One novice had escaped the killing zone, but had returned limping after the fire on his armor went out. They were starting to burn though the door now.

Henrik was startled to see such similar response of different warriors under intense combat pressure. It was such consistent behavior that you began to see how thousands of years of breeding had produced these living machines, bred only for fighting and killing. There would have been a much wider range of reaction from humans in the same situation. Aside from not surviving the trap, that is.

It was variability and lack of predictability that seemed to make humans so hard for the Krall to anticipate. People made things up as they went, after carefully planning what they would do in advance, and then completely changing plans in midstream if needed.

Waiting for the Krall to reach the gun doors that he and Agneta guarded, Henrik checked in with their boss. “Commander Hendricksen?” He knew Nord would automatically Link them.

“Here, son. Make it quick, we’re getting busy.” He could hear shouting and plasma rifle fire through the Link.

“Checking on how the traffic is on D and F Sir.”

“That’s why we’re busy. The Krall took advantage of gun 3’s inability to depress and cover some streets. They got a couple of dozen warriors across on avenues H, and I. That was while depleted plasma chambers recycled for gun 4, ‘cause it had to work harder. We need the guns to force them back to the center streets. Except the Krall don’t like to be forced to do anything, or ever take an easier way we give them. Keep herding them towards the middle or too many will make it to our barricades at the docks. We can’t hold off a couple of hundred. Gotta go; keep those guns hot as long as you can. Out.”

Agneta pointed out to him that the six Krall they would have to ambush were drawing close to gun 4’s defenses. Jarl told them that the octet that had bypassed below gun 2 was approaching him from the other direction now, and were moving cautiously, looking up, and at the walls. They weren’t going to walk into the traps this time.

Staying well back, two warriors of each group started firing at the disguised wall mounts for the grenade launchers, striking some innocuous signs in the process, making certain they found them.

Henrik and Jarl had Nord activate the weapons, aiming them as far down the corridors as possible, setting the delay on the grenades for longer, to let them bounce closer before exploding. However, the Krall dropped to the floor as most of the fragment pellets passed harmlessly above them. Jarl reported one fortunate hit broke the faceplate of a prone Krall firing at long range, and it had ceased shooting at the launchers but wasn’t dead. Another warrior took over the task. They managed to disable the two closest launchers in each corridor, letting them move closer to fire on the other two launchers, and on the concealed slits for the 50 caliber machine guns.

Nord had activated the guns as soon as the enemy moved closer, but in a bit of design shortsightedness, the traverse of the machine guns, with the too-narrow firing slits, couldn’t fire directly on the warriors, who kept their distance. Only ricochets could reach them and the partly flattened slugs did not have penetrating power. Damaged KK chips, from the ricochets, also frequently failed to trigger the shell’s small explosive charge.

Repeated, and superbly accurate plasma rifle fire at the gun slits eventually silenced the weapons, permitting them another shift up the corridor towards gun 4. Now they took careful aim at the ceiling plasma guns, knocking those out easily before passing under them, with no risk at all. They advanced to just short of the first set of spray ports of the napalm and thermite, and took out the next set of grenade launchers. It was a crisp, methodical dismantling of the outer defenses of the battery.

Henrik and Agneta had lain on their backs on the second floor balconies, watching camera images on their visors, and directly seeing bolts slam into the ceiling lights and guns there. The “equalizers” were being destroyed, one by one. Jarl and Elin said they were watching the same thing happen on their side, only they had lost sight of two of the warriors.

Elin made an optimistic comment. “I don’t see how they can disable the thermite sprayer holes with plasma rifle fire. They still can’t just sit on the floor and gradually burn through the doors covered in a sheet of fire.”

Henrik had already thought of a solution he would use, but Jarl beat him to the punch. “Why sit in the flames when you can get behind them?”

“Exactly,” Henrik agreed. “They can kick in a corridor door and walk down the inside hall, kick in a door of a small business that faces the battery door across the Slidewalks, and you can take your shots from those doorway in safety. If they do that, we can start the fires to hold them at bay a little longer, and block their aim, but that blaze will go out in minutes.”

“But then we can’t even ambush them from behind, on the balconies. They’ll be below our feet, and inside. Damn! Their knowledge of the thermite trap is working against us.”

“Start them now!” It was Agneta. “It won’t help us, but if the fire has burned out before they get there, perhaps they’ll stay in the corridor.”

Even as Jarl was agreeing with the idea, Henrik told Nord to activate the thermite outside both battery doors. They forgot that the destroyed overhead plasma guns were the intended ignition source. The gooey substance sprayed out over the floor and lower granite walls, and puddled or stuck there.

Thinking fast, Henrik detached a phosphorous grenade from his suit waist. Told Jarl to do the same, but not to throw it yet. The sprayers were still working. “Nord, swivel the grenade launchers and 50 Cal’s as a noise distraction. Jarl, toss when you hear the sound. They may not see where they came from.”

As soon as his external mike picked up the grinding of the damaged weapons, he tossed his grenade to the far wall. When it burst, the flames spread…, well, like wild fire. Jarl also reported ignition on his side of the valley.

Despite nine inches of granite wall, and self-contained breathing and cooling of their armor, it grew warm and smoky on those balconies. Except for isolated spots, all of the hot thermite fueled fires burned themselves out in less than four minutes. The four of them had switched to infrared in the obscuring smoke, but did not expose their heads above the balcony rails, aware that the Krall also had IR vision. Nord was able to confirm that the warriors had stayed in the corridors on both sides, backing away from the flames. The Krall on Henrik’s side backed up the most, probably because of the holes in their suits, and fond memories of the last time they watched this cozy blaze from the inside the flames.

Jarl reported that the single warrior casualty on his side could move, but apparently wasn’t able to see. He didn’t back up until he felt the heat. It was apparent that even squad mates didn’t do much to look out for their disabled comrades, if comrade was a term that applied between them.

For Krall warriors, the return up the corridors to the gun doors was cautious. However, caution for them meant a trot versus a run. Humans would have scouted more, and would have perhaps crawled back into a former killing zone, like these were designed to be.

“Agneta, when they set up to burn the door they’ll have their backs to us. Use tight focus beams, a quick few shots, then into the apartment and up the steps to level three.”

My love, just remember which of us scored highest on accuracy and maximum fire rate in training.”

“Yea, yea, yea. I heard that all summer. These dummies will shoot back, and I love you. Be careful and be fast.”

“I love you too. Two are sitting in front of the door, two standing over them; the other two are sideways, watching down the corridors. Who do you think we take first?”

“The lookouts. Head shoots on the sides of their faceplates. If we make quick kills, the others may not notice before we get a second shot.

“Eric, Greta, the instant we start shooting, fire the gun when I say so. We can keep the other four looking at the door.” There had been a few booming shots heard before, and the Krall always paused to look at the door for an instant.

“I’ll do it,” answered Greta, obviously still on the gun herself.

They heard Jarl make a similar arrangement with Alf to fire as a distraction. He said the warriors had started the burn over there.

The warriors below and between Henrik and Agneta had started as well. “OK, Greta, fire!”

Henrik and Agneta had risen quietly and swiftly in their powered armor as the signal was given. They took quick aims on the targets they had previously seen on their visors. Two pulses lanced out and hit both warriors on the sides of their faceplates, the weakest area of the helmets. The loud boom of the plasma cannon sounded through the walls, not interrupting the four beams pulsing at the door crack.

Agneta’s target toppled forward, Henrik’s victim staggered sideways, and tried to turn towards where the shot originated. Instead of a second shot at another Krall, Henrik put his second shot through the center of the faceplate. As that warrior started to fall backwards, Agneta’s second shot hit another warrior’s plasma rifle power pack, which exploded. That didn’t injure the warrior, but his plasma weapon was now useless.

As coordinated, both of them ducked down and spun into the apartments through the sliding doors they’d left open. Nevertheless, plasma bolts came up in reply to hit the ceilings of the balconies, and some shots hit apartments on either side. Apparently the Krall didn’t know how many shooters there were, just how high, and about where.

****

Jarl and Elin, also intending to coordinate their ambush with a pulse of cannon fire, were ready to stand up and take their shots. As the thrum of the plasma cannon sounded, there was a crash behind them. A warrior, having seen where the fire starting phosphor grenade originated, had kicked open the apartment door. They were far too slow to turn and fire, with Elin the first to die as her faceplate exploded. Jarl had only a bare instant to realize his wife was gone, when he joined her. They had never uttered a sound. The Krall stood over them and added another pulse to each shattered faceplate for good measure.

****

Henrik and Agneta raced up the narrow stairs, a tight fit in their armor, but took a second to close the stairway doors behind them. No need to let the warriors that might come up here to find their exit point too quickly. The stair doors looked just like other doors on closets and bathrooms, which they had shut earlier. The heavier front doors were wide open, to suggest they had gone out that way.

“Hey babe, he called to his wife.” Breathing hard from fear and excitement rather than exertion in the powered suit. “Good first shot, what happened on the second?” His jibe was obvious, after she had reminded him of her range scores being better.

“We don’t want them burning through the door do we? Now that one will have to sit and watch. Your second shot simply finished off the first target.” She was also breathing fast, but it sounded like she was gloating at his need to hit the same warrior twice.

As they both reached the top of the stairs, he pointed out a tiny fallacy in her thinking. “We just left him two spare rifles to pick up from the dead Krall. You should have made another kill shot.”

“Well, I had no faceplate shot from the back side, but I should have put one through its arm or leg armor.” It was a concession to mistaken tactics, not her marksmanship.

As planned, they crawled onto the third level balconies. They knew this time at least one or more of the warriors was covering those openings now, confirmed by the camera image on their visors. Even if they got off a quick shot, doing it simultaneously, one of them wasn’t likely to avoid a kill shot while exposed for that second.

They each stripped off a full belt of five grenades, similar to the ones the launchers had fired, and flipped off the safeties of all, then in rapid succession, pressed the activation studs, timers already preset for seven seconds. Henrik started counting aloud on the Link when he activated his first one. They both tossed the belts over the edge at the count of four, with three seconds remaining. The suit visors showed them camera images of where the Krall were located.

Three warriors were occupied with burning through the center of the gun door, and one was covering their backs. His cover fire came quickly at the two balconies, where he’d seen the two belts of unknown objects fly out towards the center of the wide corridor. The novice then wisely dove to the floor in self-preservation, but the three Krall burning their way through the door reacted too late, not seeing what their guardian had seen, and had delayed in telling them.

At his last second radioed warning, the other three spun around to also fire on the balconies, just as the belts struck the floor. The first explosion on each belt spread the other grenades around. Each one exploded in rapid succession, ten individual bundles of quarter inch depleted uranium pellets filled the air. They were coated with a hardened metal shell, designed to hold the pellet’s shape when it hit tough armor. With less flattening and impact absorption, there was a better chance for penetration.

In that second or two, none of the three warriors had a chance in the lighter Fjord gravity to drop all the way to the floor, where fewer of the pellets might have found them. That was because some of the deadly little balls would hit the floor, only to rise again to strike a higher target, and others went directly and randomly, to find what obstacles they might encounter.

The three Krall were the nearby higher obstacles for the balls to encounter. Two of them would not live to see their next birthday, if egg-hatching anniversaries were a Krall tradition. Probably not.

A grenade was knocked spinning across the floor a half second before it exploded, with two very aware Krall looking straight down at it between them, from less than two feet away, with their finely tuned senses, keen vision, and their (almost) instant reactions useless while suspended in air, falling. Their two faceplates looked more like food strainers when they hit the floor. The ichor that strained through didn’t look very edible.

The third warrior, Gondat, was shielded from that nearest blast, by the inadvertent selfless shielding provided by his now deceased clan mates. Not that he escaped entirely without injury, with multiple new limb penetrations to match those it had earned at the last door. The heavier torso armor deflected or shed the pellet strikes again. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to be running after their attackers, not with a shattered knee on the right side, and a half torn open ankle joint on the left foot. The blood would stop quickly, of course, and he would ignore the pain.

The low status novice warrior had let his surviving octet members down, both with his failure to stop the attack, and then not to warn the others of the impending grenade assault. He had received not a scratch. The higher status wounded warrior promptly assessed their situation, and ordered the novice after the humans, before they could again delay his burning through the door.

Even in armor, a human could not hold out very long after he burned through, and hot charged plasma would play havoc with the electrical systems of the gun controls. All Gondat needed was a little more time. His new raid leader, Trudok, said that these guns were preventing the remaining mass of warriors from quickly swarming the trapped humans. They had discovered where most of them had apparently retreated. They were trapped on the docks, with no retreat possible. He would earn his higher status by completing this task, and silencing the cannon.

He wasn’t so sure about the remaining novice’s ability, but if he could chase the humans guarding this door away, the warriors at the previous gun would be finished shortly, and one of them was mobile enough to limp here. They reported there was a second door visible through the first hole, but simply holding a rifle to the hole continued the burn into the second door. Measured by the time to get through the outer door, the next one should be penetrated at any minute.

He resumed his impatient burn on the outer door, confident the small hole would be through soon despite the slower progress with a single rifle. He tried holding a second rifle in the other hand, but a fragment had entered and broken it at the original trap, and even ignoring the pain, it refused to close tight enough for steady aim.

He heard repeated booms from this big human gun, and from the more distant gun down the corridor. He was looking forward to the satisfaction of the silence following their destruction. Then he suddenly received part of what he wanted. The other octet leader reported they had penetrated the second door, and were firing one of the two remaining plasma rifles with a partly charged power pack into the inner chamber. The relentless heat buildup and conductive plasma would end the talk of that gun soon. The octet leader could not walk, but a warrior, using two charged plasma rifles for assistance in walking was limping his way to this other door.

For Gondat this was the third battle with humans, and the fiercest by far he had experienced. However, the humans had again used remotely controlled weapons to spring a trap. It was cowardly! Why wouldn’t they die properly, at the hands of a superior foe?

He would be content when his small clan joined a full-scale attack on some world, where small traps that worked on the scale of an octet would be of no use on a larger army. The humans had been punished for delaying the Gatrol’s next phase of larger, longer attacks. After the near destruction of an important human world for their attacks from space, they changed their strategy, arming more warriors of their worlds to fight on the surface, as the Krall would have forced them to do anyway. Dorbo was a small clan, and this raid was a test of their readiness to fight a protracted battle. It wasn’t proceeding well so far, but if they exterminated the humans of this city despite high loses, they would earn enough status to be included.

When the blowback of plasma suddenly ceased, he knew he had breached the outer door. He continued to fire, as the power pack ran down. He only had two more partly charged rifles, and he might need a third one to finish. The reinforcement from the other door would bring a good rifle, or he could always recall the novice, whose name he had not learned. It would be a good day.

****

To Henrik, it wasn’t looking like a very good day. The lone Krall warrior had leaped up to a second floor balcony, and then another jump reached the third level, between himself and Agneta. They were separated now. The Krall could be suckered sometimes, and whittled down with preplanned ambushes, but their toughness made it hard for even two humans to win against one in a straight up combat situation, not without one or both dying in the process.

They were out of grenades, and on his visor, he saw the image of one Krall burning the door to reach his friends. Nord had said the warriors at gun 3 had breached both doors, and one of them was on the way here. Waiting wasn’t going to improve the odds. Nord couldn’t find a camera image of the pursuing Krall, because it had not entered the outer corridor, and wasn’t visible on the balcony it had entered.

“Agneta, I’m taking a shot at that Krall below before the other one finds us.”

“Henrik shoot at his rifle. He only has one spare left, and it may not be enough.”

“Won’t help. A warrior is coming up the corridor with two more. He’s using them as crutches, but I’ll bet they still work. I’ll try a head shot.”

“Won’t penetrate from the back of the helmet fast enough. He or the other one will get off a return shot.”

“Then wish me luck, love. Here I go.”

He confirmed the position by camera, stepped to the balcony, aimed down and fired. The pulse had just left the rifle when his left elbow was blasted by a bolt from two apartments away.

He nearly dropped his rifle before he could step back out of sight. His elbow was burning, and the suit’s emergency cooling was routing liquid nitrogen to the joint, which had fused and would not straighten. He screamed from the pain, and the suit injected him with a fast acting analgesic.

“Henrik, my God, are you OK?” Agneta was in a panic.

Through gritted teeth, he managed to get out, “Elbow hit… by the one after us… I don’t know if I hit the target.”

“No. He’s still burning.”

Crap! He’d exposed himself for no gain.

Nord calmly told him, “The warrior that shot you fired from a balcony three apartments to your left and he has now entered the outer corridor, and is approaching your position.”

Suddenly he heard a sound in the corridor, and a crash of a door being smashed. He brought his rifle up right-handed, assuming the Krall would be crashing through from the other room. Instead Nord started to speak, but instantly was overridden by Agneta.

“I hit him in the back of the knee and he smashed through an apartment door across the hall, one door short of you to take cover. Get back down the stairs, quick.”

His bride had given him a reprieve, shooting the Krall from behind as it charged down the hall. He wasted no time getting to the stairway in the corner of the bedroom, and awkwardly pulled the door closed behind him one handed. He could hold his left arm across his chest, but it was clumsy going down the narrow stairs. He was able to leap to the landing, then again down the last flight. Unlike a Krall normally moved, he was making a hell of a lot of noise. However, the warrior had learned exactly what apartment he’d been in when he took his failed shot. Henrik crashed through the door at the bottom, and raced towards the still open front door. He heard a crash above him as the warrior entered the apartment from the upstairs hallway.

As Henrik burst into the lower hall, he damn near shot his wife out of sheer surprise, seeing an armored form coming right at him. Agneta had beaten him down the stairs, and she was halfway up the hall to join him.

She was relieved to see he was still able to function and prepared to fight. “How’s the arm?”

“The suit has me feeling no pain. Let’s get moving and find an unlocked door to get out of the hall.” There was another crash behind him, from the direction of the stairwell door. Fortunately, the Krall was too thick in the chest to fit down the stairwell, and was bashing and blasting his way through the walls and floor. They stepped into another unlocked apartment.

“Eric, Greta, we can’t stop them and they’ll burn through pretty soon. Take your last shot and get down the rabbit hole.” The gun platforms all had a heavy armored set of floor hatches, opened manually from the inside. The slides led to ground level, with an exit tunnel into the inner corridors, or one went to the outside.

Eric opened the hatches as Greta fired and returned the gun to Nord’s control. Eric brought them up to date with bad news. “Guns 3 and 2 are down. Alf’s still firing his, but says the Krall disabled his outer defenses, just as they did here. His camera over the door was shot out, but another one up the corridor shows three warriors burning at his door. The worst news is that there are two warriors on second level balconies across the way. We have been unable to Link to Jarl or Elin, and we can’t see their suit icons either. Nord has not heard from them since just before you took your first shots. They never did that, and were supposed to shoot when Alf fired his cannon.

Henrik had been so focused on his own situation that he’d lost track of his other outside team. He sucked as a leader. He was an amateur militia member, not a trained professional soldier. The Krall octet on the west side had the advantage of hearing of the first ambushes Henrik had arranged. They were not stupid. They must have sent two warriors inside to catch Jarl and Elin from behind. They could be fooled by a particular trick once, but it wouldn’t work twice. It was time to own up to the gun loss to their boss.

“Commander Hendricksen, we are about to lose all four guns Sir. I’m sorry. I also believe we lost Jarl and Elin.”

It was almost fifteen seconds before Hendricksen answered. Henrik was afraid he’d too had been killed, and was about to Link to the second in command when he answered. “Henrik, I’m sorry about Jarl and Elin. Tell the other gunners thanks. They have done what we needed and held out just long enough. The majority of Krall have finally infiltrated onto D and F. They are using the cover there, moving down the centers against our sporadic fire, moving closer to the docks. Over a hundred of them on each avenue. Your people can help close the back door if you’re fast enough.”

“Thank you Sir. The others are Linked up and heard you. We’ll make our way over. Out”

Henrik’s next words were for his teams. “Leave the guns under Nord’s control for as long as they keep working. Rabbit out now! Eric, Greta, we’ll meet you on the outside. Alf, I’m so sorry, but you’ll be on your own for a short distance, but there will be other militia outside, waiting to seal off the exit on this end of D and F. Let’s meet there.”

Henrik and Agneta went all the way through the unlocked empty apartment they had found, reach another hall, went down a level, and cut over to an outside exit. There was no sign of the warrior that had been after Henrik. He couldn’t use his nose to follow their scent very effectively in his armor.

They linked up with Eric and Greta, just as Nord demonstrated that both guns 4 and 1 were still answering his control. Twin pulses lanced out from opposite sides to knock down structures that previously had furnished cover for the Krall to reach Avenues D and F in relative safety. Now those wrecked building would shelter the militia members that would try to block any Krall from retreating towards the city.

With powered armor to help, and painkillers to block the sensation from his burned elbow, Henrik asked Eric and Agneta to help him pull his left arm straight, breaking free the weld that held his left arm bent.

As they paused to do that, the former gunners also observed the total devastation of the buildings on the edge of the wide parks. They had only seen it via helmet visors, or on video monitors in the gun control rooms. The direct view offered a more vivid testament to the effectiveness of the plasma cannons in stopping the Krall there. The charred remains of at least fifteen Krall lay in the open areas on this side of the city, where some had foolishly thought thick tree trunks or a stone park bench provided cover from a plasma cannon.  Those parks had been attractive additions to the downtown area, but their real function was to provide an open gap the Krall couldn’t cross. They had seldom lived to reach the streets the militia didn’t want them to use.

Gun 4 fired over their heads again, demolishing another decorative structure along Avenue F, erasing the last potential cover if a warrior tried to return in that direction. The bulk of the Krall were now two or three blocks closer to the docks, many probably bunching up behind the convenient heavy cover built down the center median of the two extra wide streets. Avenue D and F had many statues, covered pedestrian shelters with stone benches, small sturdy gift shops, food kiosks, and public restrooms. All of them made of shades of polished granite or other stone, which made for excellent cover from plasma rifle pulses or machine guns. The Krall were taking full advantage.

As the gunners joined up with roughly a hundred additional militia members, they infiltrated the rubble at the ends of Avenue D and F for cover. E street, between them was actually only a relatively narrow pedestrian walking area, with little cover for the Krall.

Just before Alf joined them, Nord reported that both remaining plasma cannons had ceased responding to his control. For purposes of offense, they now had to rely mainly on plasma rifles, grenades, and ten 50-caliber machine guns, mounted on armored cars. There was militia on the docks, now only about four hundred fifty strong, behind the first barricades. Farther behind them, there were at least a hundred thousand citizens with projectile weapons, spread out at various barricades, and on floating manmade islands for the fish processing plants. They still faced probably two hundred fifty Krall, with some wounded warriors scattered in other parts of the city. At least several dozen of the three hundred that managed to escape the clanship were already dead. There was no count of human dead reported yet, and if an AI knew or had an estimate, announcing it wasn’t something that would build confidence.

Henrik figured they had no more than five minutes before they learned if their final strategy would save most of the city’s residents, or if the Krall would overrun the militia and start killing the unarmored citizens.

All the militia heard Hendricksen tell them to standby for suppressive fire. The intent was to have roughly five hundred plasma rifles firing from both ends of Avenues D and F, aimed along the open sidewalks and the deliberately designed smooth fronts of stores and businesses, where there was little cover, and no gaps between buildings.

****

Trudok had saved the raid’s success, despite the inability to silence all four of the plasma cannons as quickly as he had expected. In hindsight there should have been two octets sent to attack each gun, not just one per gun. The humans would of course have strong defenses prepared for those four critical elements of their ambush of the Clanship, and a key defense of their nest. The margin for victory had been almost as narrow as a hand of warriors, finally able to silence the last two guns.

However, before the guns were destroyed, he had discovered another way to assure Dorbo’s victory. Trudok had climbed to the roof of a building to observe how the humans were preventing his warriors from infiltrating the paths they needed to use. He had ordered them to follow the long open paths through the nests buildings, which led to where his scouts had discovered most of the humans hiding. From the roof, he saw that the big guns blocked access to many of the paths, using the open areas that his warriors must cross to kill them.

With both sides of the nest visible to him, he recognized the weakness of this defense. The center paths were not exposed to plasma cannon fire for the entire way. Instead, those center paths had nest buildings to shield his warriors. The paths were defended by outposts on the tops of buildings, using individual human operated plasma rifles and projectile weapons. There was no way they could hold back warriors with so weak a force. He directed all of his warriors to avoid the cannon fire this way, and as a good leader did, he led the first charge of warriors to follow those protected paths.

The humans with armor were at the far end, behind protective walls, with open lanes of fire on every path, but two of the middle paths offered many places in their centers for warriors to find cover as they moved closer. He led the way nearer to the humans, reaching a place where the protective cover ended on his path. He paused there, and ordered his warriors on this, and the similar path behind buildings to his right, to wait for the bulk of the trailing fighters to join them.

His plan was to gather the mass of his warriors to rush the human’s defenses all together. They would swarm over them at those two points, and once behind their barricades, they could spread out to engage them in the finest fighting a Krall could desire. One on one, close up. It would be a marvelous slaughter of this tricky enemy. Then the unarmored humans behind them would be easier to kill. Nevertheless, they would be very satisfying kills after the Clan’s loses here. There would be time enough to make many of them die slowly, for the trouble they caused, as much as for cowardice.

Trudok was on the verge of ordering the mass charge, the waiting novices aware of the spreading excitement of the anticipated event. He had broadcast the order that all of them were to await his command. Octet leaders at the rear were reporting to him from both of the paths they were using. The bulk of the last of the clan’s warriors were about to join the back of the pack. He wasn’t waiting for the slower warriors, or the limping wounded.

Suddenly, as if in anticipation of his command, there was a huge increase in fire from the humans. It was flashing down each side of the paths, along the open areas by the nest buildings. It only had the effect of clustering his warriors closer to the concealment the humans had stupidly provided in the center, perfect for the Krall to use.

Let them run down their power packs! He thought. Many of the foolish humans would be switching to a fresh pack when he ordered the charge. Then he heard a loud series of noises, from well below his feet, and felt a vibration that increased, as he sensed he was settling with respect to the nests to each side. In a flash of belated insight, he ordered the charge his warriors were expecting.

Too late! Even as they leaped out into the sleet of plasma and projectile fire, and started towards the enemy, the hard ground beneath their feet dropped away, the heavy stone structures and objects that had been shielding them were toppling over. They were collapsing, along with the entire center of the two wide paths.

A roar of anger escaped Trudok’s lips, heard and echoed by over two hundred of his clan mates. It was a final trap from these cowardly animals!

He was determined to fight and climb his way out of this still forming pit. He was certain most of his warriors would easily survive the fall, since they were atop the falling material.

Then in a far more unexpected and much more unpleasant surprise, he did not experience a jarring halt at the bottom of a trench. Instead, he heard extremely loud sounds of splashing water. In an instant, he was engulfed by a gush of frigid dark water. He continued to fall, but at a slower rate, deeper into the turbulent dirty watery depths. He reached bottom in a few more seconds. His armor, airtight when needed and watertight as well, had automatically sealed. He could breathe indefinitely with the powered rebreather equipment to scrub his air when it grew stale.

However, it was unlikely many of his warriors could climb to the surface on the sides before the humans stood over them to pick them off from the edges of the path as they emerged. He had noted the sides close to the nest buildings did not fall with the center area. That was the reason for the heavy fire over those areas, just before the collapse. It was to keep the stable ground clear of his warriors.

Unsure how well his signal would spread, he ordered all of his warriors to walk or crawl along the bottom, forward to the end of the watery trench, towards the humans at the barricades. They would form a chain of warriors to climb out, and all come up in one place. They should be able to hold the humans back long enough to get a significant force out of the trap.

Then he heard splashing overhead. A lot of splashing. Something hard and solid bumped him a glancing blow on his armored shoulder. He activated a helmet light, which did little to penetrate the silt filed water, but it was quite revealing as he bent over to look around his feet.

Lying amid the jumble of paving stones, and slabs of the structure he had hidden behind, was a human hand bomb. The kind that used a delayed explosion. It wasn’t a good day after all.

****

Henrik picked up another belt of grenades from the boxes in the back of the armored cars. He, Agneta, Alf, Eric and Greta were running along the cracked sidewalks of Avenue D, arming and tossing them into “Dropsy” pit. The heavy thumping sounds, flashes of light from the bottom, and eruption of bubbles and gas were a mild seeming testament to the savage destruction the grenades were causing at the bottom of this watery mass Krall grave. All along Avenue F, “Flopsy” pit was also receiving its share of Krall killing splashes.

Henrik paused midway down the three-block stretch of caved in street. He removed two grenades from another new belt, and looked at his wife and friends. “For Jarl and Elin.” He waited until the others held two grenades each.

“For lost comrades, never forgotten.” He thumbed his two grenades to activate them, and lightly tossed them to the center of the churning turbid water ten feet below. Eight more grenades splashed at different places. The resultant rapid series of thumps, flashes, and eruption of water wasn’t enough to ease the pain, but real grieving and a celebration of the lives lost would come later.

New Oslo needed extensive repairs, but had the necessary surviving citizens to get it done. It would be decided later if the old canals under Avenues D and F would be dug out and the water covered again, or completely filled in as had once been proposed by city planners. The narrow fiord offered little room for the city to expand, and the old canals had furnished sheltered docking for the smaller fishing fleets of the early colony years.

As the town grew, it built up towards, and over the water and into the rocky cliff sidewalls. Eventually, they needed to make better use the area around the old canals. The growing Krall threat had convinced Fjord to prepare for larger raids. That raid had been several years in coming, but the planning had been well worth the inconvenience of roofing over the canals to create two large central avenues. It was time for New Oslo, at least, to consider the next plan.

16. Sweet and Sour Sixteen (Koban)

“Maggi, I wouldn’t have backed or voted for you if I thought you’d actually get enough support for this inane law to pass.” Mirikami was highly annoyed with the recently elected mayor of Prime City.

Mayor Fisher had a suitably dignified rebuttal prepared. “Splurrpp!” The official sound made when air passes over a mayor’s tongue when it protrudes between moist lips.

Dillon agreed with the sentiment, even without a legal translation. “Tet, I believe she has also eloquently countered whatever new argument you may have belatedly considered.” He was grinning from ear to ear. Happy for once to be on Maggi’s side, and safe from a sudden groin or head slap.

In turn, Tet had a grumpy but effective reply for Dillon. “I don’t need to give you a fresh counter argument, Doctor Dead Man Walking. All I have to do is wait for Noreen to remove and feed your ass to wolfbats. She’s going to be less than happy with you and with Thad for that matter, for supporting this law. After Marlyn helps her mangle the two of you adolescent boneheads, there will be two less living supporters of this nutty law at the next referendum. It barely passed this time.”

Maggi snickered. “Think you can turn out more voters for your side next time? We had nearly a hundred percent participate this time.”

“No, I’ll try to change some votes. It may be cynical of me, but I’ll see if I can capitalize on my ‘Hero of Testing Day’ reputation to convince people to sign a new petition to increase the age from sixteen to eighteen in the next vote. I’ll admit, in hindsight, holding out for age twenty one was unrealistic.”

Maggi smiled sweetly. Always a sign you were losing a debate with her. “You forget Tetsuo. Under the new law just voted on and passed, our three hundred twelve impacted teenagers, the sixteen and seventeen year olds, now get to vote on gene mod issues that apply to them. To many of those kids you now are ‘Commander Tyrant,’ who wanted to push back their right to decide their own fates. How do you expect to sway their three hundred twelve new votes? Perhaps offer each a pet wolfbat?” She chuckled at that irony. Mirikami himself had encouraged wolfbat “bonding,” and every kid now had one that came for food when called by a code signal on an ultrasonic whistle.

“Come on, Tet, you are a terrific strategist and leader, but a poor politician.”

He sat down with a sour grin on his face, shaking his head in dismay. “God, it’s going to be hell trying to rein in reckless teenaged super humans.”

Dillon came to the defense of those teenagers. “Tet, the risks and threats of this planet made most of the kids more cautious and well behaved when they were younger. Those lessons will carry through with them now.”

Mirikami thought, he surely means the other people’s kids.

Quick to demonstrate the fallacy in Dillon’s argument, Tet aimed directly at the two notable exceptions he and Thad would find it hard to ignore. Their oldest sons.

Mirikami ticked off the list of questionable and risky things those two boys had tried or actually accomplished. “Carson and Ethan live tested saddles to ride rhinolo, in a stampede that they deliberately caused. They tried pulling plows behind wild moosetodon for farming the savanna. Teased a whiteraptor from the walls, just to pluck the forearm feathers when they tried to climb up, giving the feathers to girls. Went out of the compound and caught a desert panther in a hand net so they could check its frill. Went backpacking to the foothills to the north, a hundred ten miles away for three weeks after school ended this past summer, completely unapproved. Without Kobalt along, they’d probably be dead. Do you recall the wolfbat capture when they were only eight or nine? These are just some of the dangerous things that we know they’ve done, with their current physical capabilities. Do you think making them stronger and faster will curtail that sort of risk taking?”

Maggi offered her opinion. “They were going to do those things anyway, Tet. Hell, they did do them. Being faster and stronger would have made their chances of success, or at least of survival, that much greater each time.”

It was Mirikami’s turn to snicker. “How fast and strong do you have to be, to not get trampled in a rhinolo stampede when your poorly designed saddles slide down a rhinolo’s humped sloping back and on the ends of their butts? It must have been like steering an avalanche, with those useless ropes on the side nose horns. Without Kobalt and Kit there to save them by splitting up the herd and cutting their rides out of the crowd, they probably would have been trampled into mushy red mud at age fifteen. To what purpose? Who the hell wants or needs to ride a rhinolo? I say those seventeen year old boys are still too immature, and there will be admiring sixteen year olds joining them, following the bad examples.”

Dillon started to speak in his son’s defense. “I think it would be thrilling to ride a…” he was rudely interrupted by a whack on the head from Maggi.

Crap! He thought. Sides sure change fast around here.

“You aren’t helping their case you childish twit,” Maggi told him. “You presumably have the maturity Tet expects them to display before they receive the next Kobani mods. Bad example, knucklehead.”

Mirikami, normally entertained by the bickering between Maggi and Dillon, was worried about not just his two godsons, but for all of the Second Generation kids. “Let’s get the Circle together and go talk to Rafe.” He Linked with the AI.

“Jake, locate the rest of the Inner Circle members and invite them to meet with me at Rafe’s lab, and tell Rafe we will be visiting him in about a half hour.”

“Yes Sir.”

He was referring to the former Koban Committee members, which had evolved into calling themselves the Inner Circle, which had formulated the early tactics for surviving on Koban. First against the Krall, and later against the hostile native environment. Both challenges had been partly met with genetic technology out of Aldry and Rafe’s labs.

He saw both Maggi and Dillon roll their eyes, thinking at first they were in disagreement with him to meet, until he listened to their replies. He heard an exasperated Maggi say, “Jake, Dillon and I were standing right next to him when he made the invitation. You can see us all right there on that camera.” She pointed at the lens in irritation.

Dillon merely sighed and said, “OK Jake, I’ll be there.” Mirikami had asked the literal AI to invite the rest of the members.

After seventeen years, the same basic group of people made most of the decisions about what direction the gene modifications would take, and which Koban mods would, or would not be used. Rafe’s department decided when they could be used, and to be integrated in what order.

With time, and general acceptance of some gene mods, the number of people considered part of the “Circle” had grown only slightly, but secrecy about mods was no longer an issue.

There was SG children and modified humans living in Hub City, as well as Prime City. Not all SG kids had Koban nerve genes, because many conservative Hub City parents would not accept the legal risks of accepting alien genes for themselves, to pass to their children. That was an odd and meaningless legal position to take in some respects. Under Hub law, the clone derived modifications that made their survival here easier, and bearing children possible, already placed all of them at risk of the death penalty back home. Koban genes wouldn’t earn you a “more serious” death penalty.

****

Rafe was well aware of Tet’s concerns, and of his general opposition to implementing the next round of Koban genes with youngsters. The appointed “Commander,” after seventeen years of universal acceptance, had finally insisted on shifting the city to elected civilian leadership, and he had urged Maggi to run for mayor.

Tet hadn’t realized how strongly five of the eight Inner Circle members had been in favor of making the next steps in gene mods available so soon. Maggi won election, and had promptly circulated a petition to see if there was support for a city law to give sixteen year olds a say in their genetic future. She smartly had the kids pass it around, ensuring full coverage and maximum lobbying at home. It was close to a 50-50 split on the polling, so she put the measure to a vote.

Tet, Noreen, and Marlyn were the only members of the Inner Circle that had campaigned to wait until the kids were legal adults, at age twenty-one. Slightly less than a majority of the dome’s adult population had agreed with them. The slight majority of those over twenty-one voters, 51%, had said that the teenagers destined to receive the new mods should have some say in when they got them, not merely if they wanted them. Sixteen was old enough most said, since they had carried guns (jazzers first) from the age of six.

The geneticists in two different labs had reported on the research and testing of the various Koban mods on livestock. The mods were thoroughly studied, and every problem they had identified had been corrected. The work had resulted in a number of “super” goats and pigs that could compete with the native fauna (inside the compound). With wolfbats and rippers now in partnerships with humans, they were no longer the greatest threat. The modified animals had proven adept at surviving outside on the native grasses and shrubs (and human scraps). Their speed, alertness, and reaction times could handle skeeters and small predators just fine. Not even the SG kids could catch them easily, and they did make a game of that.

However, one facet of the animal gene work had revealed that integration of the Koban mods worked faster, and better, the earlier in the subject’s life they were introduced. When there still was some natural tissue and bone growth ahead for the gene recipient. Otherwise, the changes would cause considerable discomfort for a much longer period if introduced after maturity. Human growth hormones could prolong the rate of growth, to assist the process, but it had its limits when applied to an adult’s body. The expert’s recommendations? An informed decision, made in the teen years, was the optimum time morally, physically, and mentally, for a person to decide.

With the known opposition in mind, Rafe mentally formulated his planned discussion around Tet’s and the two concerned mother’s objections, even though he didn’t want to appear to direct it to them specifically.

“OK, here we are again. It’s been years since we last went over a list of new attributes available for various gene mods, deciding what we can use right now, and in which particular order they should be applied.” Aldry had made the previous presentation, back when it was only human derived modifications under consideration. Rafe had become the Koban gene expert.

Looking around the room at Marlyn, Thad, Noreen, and finally Tet, he decided to start with basics that the four nonscientists would better grasp. No matter had they heard some, or even most of it previously. “Before I start, are there items or areas you particularly want me to cover or focus on?”

Marlyn spoke up first. “I’ll have questions about possible side effects on my son, but that can wait until you’ve finished. However…,” she paused as she glanced to her side, “do you have use for waste organics or useless body parts? I’ll be dismantling my dear husband shortly, if he keeps smirking over his side’s ‘victory’ on today’s vote.” She shot Thad a dark threatening look that wiped a smile off the burly military man’s face in an instant.

Noreen echoed that look at Dillon, who had been more careful to keep the elation out of his expression. Years of ‘playful’ whacks had taught him to use a poker face when the chips were down, and if he was within arm’s reach. Maggi’s influence on his wife’s behavior was disturbing to him. She had never conked him before they were married. It didn’t occur to him that he invited that reaction by his sassy boy’s demeanor around women.

“Ladies, and Gentle Men,” Rafe said laughing, “please settle your differences in the parking lot, after the presentation.”

Certain that salient points had been made by the mothers, Rafe continued.

“As with one of the original human clone mods, we have a Koban derived muscle improvement, where sheet-like filaments of carbon fiber muscle tissue will infiltrate virtually every existing muscle in the body, down to the eyelids, goose bumps, and butt cheeks. Initially we were expecting to use genes from whiteraptors for this purpose, simply because that’s where we first identified that tissue structure and the genes for them. However, it turned out for a couple of reasons, that ripper genes are a better match for our purpose. Rippers use the same carbon fibers in muscles, and pound for pound, the muscles are just as strong. However, they also offer superior neural interface compatibility with the eventual contact telepathy, night vision, and scent mods we will also copy from our ripper friends.

“The new organic superconducting neuroreceptors and motor axons, which are presently lacking in those born with the parallel Koban nervous system, will grow and link with the existing Koban nervous system in their brains, and also with the new Koban muscle tissue. That will happen as they all grow simultaneously.

“Conscious control of the new muscles with the faster nervous system will gradually take place. The sense of Déjà vu that we all experienced, when our new super-fast nervous systems grew in, will be rather reversed for the SG children. They never felt that “happened-before” sense, because they were born with the superconducting nerves, and learned from birth what we adults struggled with for months to learn. Ignore the first fast signal that tells our brain we need to swat at a bug, and focus on the slower impulses that actually controls our human muscles.

“The SGs will be able, with focus and practice, to react to the faster signals and then command those stronger muscles to move sooner, harder, and faster, to obey the swifter processing of their brain. They will think faster and react faster than we can.

“Animal tests suggested that the ‘echo effect,’ the inverse feeling of Déjà vu, will have them thinking ‘I already did that’ when the older human nervous system finally sends a message to the brain, and it returns back to the old human nerve receptors in their muscles. That will be at least five to ten times to slower, I might add. In later generations, we might switch off growth of the older slower nervous system, depending on the effects on interbreeding with Controls. We will not abandon the principle that our children and grandchildren must be able to marry and bear children with Normals. Not only enhanced Normals as defined on Koban. With Earth Normals.”

“Next, coupled with Koban muscle strength, are the whiteraptor carbon nano tubes that reinforce raptor bones. Rippers don’t have this feature, nor need it for their smaller size and weight, but we wanted it for ourselves anyway. It makes the weaker thinner human bones far stronger without increasing bone thickness, and much less likely to snap if the new muscles overexert. An interface with the nervous system is less vital here, so raptor genes are OK for bones.”

Rafe looked around. “Questions so far? We have talked about this for the last few years.”

Tet had a technical question. “Rafe I know what an SG is, I’ve heard mention of an SG1 and an SG.5 bandied about in conversations, which I’ve overheard between you ‘brain trust’ scientists types. Yesterday, Aldry said something to Maggi about TGs and used some numbers. What are you folks talking about?”

Rafe nodded. “OK, a simple chart, and I hope a fast explanation.” He paused a moment to order his thoughts, and turned to an electronic drawing board, and wrote with a finger, which a computer turned into print.

SG

SG.5

SG1

TG

TG.5

TG1

STG

TTG

“Second Generation you know, but I bet you haven’t thought about graduations within that group. We commonly call all of the initial clone mod generation, ourselves included, SG’s, but there is a difference between, say Ethan and Carson, and most of the SG kids born over in Hub City.”

Mirikami nodded. “Since you divided them that way, it’s obvious. Almost none of the Hub City kids have the redundant Koban nervous system. They were born only with the old clone mods, which are entirely derived from human genes. Nearly all of our kids have the Koban superconductor nerves. Is that the reason for the numbers?”

“Yes, for the SG numbers. The Hub City kids are SGs, ours are really SG1’s, and if the two groups intermarry and have children, their offspring will be SG.5s. Exhibiting some combination of genes from both their parents, meaning about half will inherit Koban nerve genes, half will not.

TG is Third Generation, which isn’t as straight forward as we envisioned originally. We anticipated we would not see a TG until two SG1’s married and reproduced, and we then incorporated the first of the functional Koban genes in them. That’s the very muscle and bone enhancements that we are discussing today, to give to our SG1’s.

We are skipping ahead to create TGs earlier, because more years of research and testing have proved we can safely give an SG1 additional Koban genetics. Intermarriage between TGs and SGs or SG1s creates some other numbers.

A child of an SG1 and TG1 is an STG, Second and Third Gen mixed. A child born as a Third Gen, not simply enhanced from a SG1, is a TG1. A TTG will be a True Third Generation Kobani. One born with every enhancement we envision, and both parents were TG1s.”

Rafe shrugged. “I said fast explanation, and I lied. Sue me. But the chart’s simple.”

Mirikami laughed and quipped. “You’ll hear from my lawyer.”

“Humph. I thought the nasty Krall had all left.”

“A lawyer joke? Rafe, I thought a serious scientist was above that.”

Maggi spoke up as Rafe opened his mouth for a comeback. “Next genetic step, please. You two are like listening to Dillon and Thad.” A satisfying four at once putdown.

“Oh…, right you are Maggi.” Rafe re-gathered his thoughts.

“I’ll list the additional four Koban derived enhancements we expect to see in TTGs from birth, or perhaps added to TGs, if we have more animal tests to prove we can enhance them again safely. We may add even more Koban genes to our SG1’s that we turning into TGs. I know that this sounds like incest, but we won’t always have to wait for our kids to grow up, marry, and have kids to move along to some intermediate steps. We simply don’t want to take too many steps at once.

“These next Koban mods I’ll describe are all sensory system genes, with complex brain connections. We aren’t willing to try them with the initial Koban mods, at least not yet. These will give us ripper night vision, their sense of smell, and most importantly the contact telepathy sense. Ripper night vision isn’t full Infrared, as the Krall have, but it seems superior overall. We will also include ultrasonic hearing from the wolfbats, placing the tiny bones of the additional ear ossicles behind the eardrum, out of sight within the middle ear, and they connect to a new superconducting auditory nerve.”

He looked around. “So…, that’s our list so far.”

Thad, speaking finally, said, “I think I got everything, except for the icicles in the ears.” He grinned.

Rafe, at first puzzled, suddenly made the connection. “Oh..., you mean ossicles. Those are tiny bones that…” Marlyn, with a jab in Thad’s ribs, interrupted. “Excuse him Rafe. My smart assed husband knows exactly what you said. It’s his lame sense of humor.”

“Ah, Yes. I see the joke now.” Rafe gave a perfunctory chuckle.

Not to be left out, Dillon added, “We have all the elements for a build-your-own super human kit.”

“I like our son just as we made him!” Noreen retorted, still upset.

Aldry, sensitive to Noreen and Marlyn’s objections, felt compelled to offer an observation. “Dear Ladies, we are unlikely to ever see the mothers that bore each of us again. However, think back. Would our own mothers have wanted us to undergo the gene changes we needed simply to survive here? Yet our mothers would surely have wanted us to live. Would your mothers feel different, if they knew that you experienced the joys of having your own children here, made possible only by those changes?

“I’m positive you want your sons to survive, to marry, and to have your grandchildren. They are now capable of basic survival on Koban, but thriving, expanding, and long term survival is our goal.

“We know, eventually, the Krall are coming back here. If a solitary Clanship returned in our lifetimes, would any of us survive that meeting as are now? Your two teenaged sons are stronger than most of the adult men in Prime City, but still physically helpless before our greatest enemy. Do you not feel an obligation to see that our descendants are prepared for that inevitable meeting?”

Noreen looked at her friend. “Aldry, I accepted that Carson would choose the enhancements someday. I bore all three of my children with that knowledge, even expectation. I didn’t want it while they were so young. I know Carson wants this so bad he can taste it, and he has the legal right to do it now. Even if Tet’s alternative age of eighteen were in place, Carson just turned seventeen. I have to let him become a full Kobani man, and it may as well come while he’s young enough for it to go more smoothly.” She sighed, and Dillon put his arm around her.

Mirikami shrugged, yielding to the inevitable. “What’s the plan Rafe? Staged implementation of the two mods they can have now, bones and muscles separately, or do both together?”

“Well, the new law says they can decide, to select which mod and when, or to skip them. My team recommends both together, to use as much of their young growth potential now, and get the physically uncomfortable phase over all at once. That will take about two months, and require a reduction in their normal level of near hyperactivity.” He laughed at the truth of that last remark. All the SG1s stayed quite active.

Thad spoke up again. “We should have built that brig I suggested years ago. Then we’d have some place to lock them down.”

Marlyn looped her arm through one of Thad’s. “You know the kid spy network spotted us coming to the lab, right? That means they know what we are discussing, and what the law says we have to allow them to decide. Lover, how about you and I talk to Ethan together, right now, and tell him we both support whatever he decides.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him, and said, “It will go hard on you tonight if I see the slightest sign of you gloating over winning this small battle. The war could turn ugly at bedtime pal. I’m willing to negotiate a vigorous peace treaty, but remember that Kit doesn’t like company sleeping in her own den if the peace is broken.”

The tough former Colonel merely smiled and said “Yes Mam.”

****

Carson was rubbing at the injection spots that still itched after leaving the gene lab. Ethan was digging at a couple of spots as well. It had been embarrassing to have both their mothers there to observe, since they had to get naked. They made their Moms turn around when they had to drop towels and get into the boxes. It was ridiculous that they both told them that they were their “mothers, and had changed their diapers.” So what? That was before they were men!

On the way past the end of the lab, they nonchalantly waved at their friends sitting outside, waiting for their own turns at the upgrades. It was as if this was no big deal for the two of them. Just another run-of-the-mill adventure, like many others they were famous for at school. Their heart rates had given the lie to their pretended casualness when they entered the box. Not that they knew that, of course.

Ethan’s younger brother Bradley, only fifteen and too young for the process, ran up to ask them how it went. Did it hurt, was it scary, a rain of other questions followed.

“Hold off, bat brain. I’ll tell you about it. We were told to head straight to the Great Hall for some yucky food, supplemented with Koban minerals. You can come if you want.”

“I already ate. What was it like?”

Carson, deciding to make it a real story, told him “They put you naked in this box, full of long thick needles, and close the lid on you, leaving you in the cold darkness. Then they lie to you and say relax, it won’t hurt. They do a countdown, but before the end of the count, they surprise you when over a hundred needles plunge into your body, all over. It injects the carrier virus that inserts the new genes into your DNA. They stick even your eyeballs, and into your private parts. You know what I mean? It’s like fiery agony.” He rubbed at his groin, pretending pain, and thinking, that should worry him. He was wrong.

“Glitzy! Let me go tell the ones still outside waiting.” He ran off to spread the tale of gruesome horror, and to no doubt embellish the partial fabrication even more. He knew his big brother and Carson too well to believe their stories at face value. His Dad had told him there was a box, and it did inject you, but with aerosol injectors, after you received an anesthetic. He said it didn’t hurt, but did itch a bit afterwards. He was really going to frighten the girls. They had seen him talk to Ethan and Carson, the first two to have the procedure. They’d believe him.

Ethan looked at Carson. “That was mean…, I wish I’d thought of it.” They shared a good laugh at the kid brother’s expense.

“That was a nice touch, Carson. ‘Fiery agony’ in your privates. You are an evil genius.”

****

It was fiery agony! He felt so stupid. Carson was really sorry that he had manipulated that particular ‘muscle’ of his anatomy. He was bored, horny, and wanted to see how strong his muscles were getting. It was the third week of this restricted activity crap. Why couldn’t they have had the vote back when school was in session? He could at least be avoiding homework and not fun. It took him hours to get to sleep.

His mother intruded on his mood of self-pity the next morning. “Get cleaned up, you look and smell bad. Aunt Aldry is coming by to check on your progress, and she’s bringing a portable brain scanner. Let’s hope she finds something inside that lumpy unkempt hairy mess you call your head.”

“You have a real talent for comedy Mom. Ha, Ha! See how entertained I am?” Sour mood aside, a hot shower not only did not make the burning worse, he felt much better afterwards. Who knew? The parental badgering to keep clean and get dressed each day, trying to make him get out of bed and pajamas, might actually work to improve his mood. He’d hate to let them know if it actually worked. Couldn’t set a precedent he’d have to live with later.

Aunt Aldry showed up as promised, a suitcase sized box on roller wheels in tow.

“Noreen, it’s good to see you.” They exchanged hugs.

“Dillon tells us that you have been stuck here at home, with some sort of dirty troglodyte?” Smiling, she glanced across the living quarters and spotted Carson, sitting in front of a Tri-Vid set, watching some ancient flat image movie. “I see yon trog, and he appears to have cleaned himself off a bit. How go’s it today Carson?”

In a permitted concession to his changing muscles, he wasn’t expected to get up, so he waved. “I took a shower and shaved, just for you, Aunt Aldry.” He returned his attention to the old western he was watching. Aunt Maggi had gotten him hooked on some of them, if they were in color.

At the mention of his shaving, Aldry looked quietly at Noreen, and pantomimed feeling whiskers and shaving, the raised eyebrows making the silent question obvious.

Noreen smiled and shook her head no, and shrugged. Carson had started a weekly shaving ritual a couple of months before he received the gene mods. He had only the usual adolescent fuzz, and unless a man wanted treatments to grow a beard, centuries old gene mods had virtually eliminated unwanted beards four hundred years in the past. However, the rough and tough men in the old movies he watched sometimes shaved, and so he thought he should. The inevitable nicks and cuts were his badge of manhood, which he seemed to show off mainly to girls as proof of his maturity. To the adults, it proved exactly the opposite.

“Carson, I’ll have to ask you to put your movie on hold. I need to check your vitals, tap a few places, ask and answer questions, and give you a quick brain scan. I have a lot of other house calls to make today.”

She checked blood pressure, heart rate, lungs, eyes, ears, nose and throat. After a gentle manipulation of limbs, poking a few muscles, asking what he felt, she placed the small adjustable helmet on his head and started a scan. As an image appeared on a screen inside the lid of the box, she manipulated, rotated and zoomed in on sections, and read out the data the new software program extracted from what it detected.

“Carson, your new neural connections are forming extremely well in your brain, well ahead of our expectations. However, the new carbon fiber muscle tissue will take a while longer to complete infiltrating all of your muscles. If you send signals to the muscles along the ‘fast path’ nerves right now, you will be sending motor impulses from your brain that are currently terminated in human only muscle tissue, without the proper nerve receptors. That causes a burning sensation. Try to focus on the slower nerve pathways for the remainder of this month. We know it can be done, because even the pigs and goats learned, without an explanation.”

“Uh, OK.” That wasn’t a very brilliant reply, he thought. I’ll ask a question.

“If the superconductor nerves don’t connect to the new muscle receptors yet, then why do I feel the burning in the exact place where that muscle is?” He had one muscle in mind, but wasn’t about to name the one that burned last night.

“That’s a pertinent and perceptive question. The sensation really only exists in your brain, where virtually all of our physical sensations are processed. The brain’s mapping of our body tells the brain where on our anatomy that sensation originated. It already has the map, and if there’s a short circuit, it thinks the pain comes from the appropriate location, when actually it happens in the brain. It’s a bit like phantom pains and itches we might feel if we lost a leg and the missing foot still seems to need scratching. You can feel that until the leg regrows. Your phantom burning will end when your new muscles and superfast nerve receptors are joined.”

He was glad she didn’t use the term “imaginary pain” like Aunt Maggi had. It might be phantom pain, but it damn well wasn’t imaginary!

He wanted a bit of confirmation. “So focusing consciously on the older slower human nerve sensations will avoid triggering the burning?” He’d sure try that.

“In principle, yes, but that’s a hard thing to do in practice, I think. How do your joints feel, and particularly the leg bones, when you stand?”

“Not bad. A dull ache is always there, but not intense.”

The bone changes caused general aching all the time, but because there were fewer nerve receptors involved, that ache stayed dull and was tolerable. Aldry gave him a few words of encouragement, talked with his mom a bit, and left for her next house call. After watching the movie, he returned to his personal “cave.”

Troglodyte! I’ll bet they thought I didn’t know what that meant.

At times the tingling, itching, and burning were too distracting to sleep. He spent many late hours talking with Ethan, Arlene, Jaylene, and other friends that had the same sleep problems. They seldom saw one another for the first month of the change, since that encouraged physical activity that could “cause discomfort.” A charming euphemism that meant your ass, arms, legs, or whatever, was on fire!

It was another sleepless late night com call to Arlene Parkinfem that convinced him to try the concentration and focus technique he had practiced after Aunt Aldry had left that morning. He believed he had that method down now. He was sure he could do what a goat or pig had done.

In their wandering conversation, Arlene reminded him teasingly of the “kissing and touching” that had followed his presenting her with the first ever seen blue colored, two-foot long whiteraptor arm feathers. That was a very fond and stimulating memory for Carson. As soon as they finished talking, he tried his new technique. Only to discover that certain emotionally laden thoughts were not subject to “focus” and clinical “concentration.”

Hence, the intense burning ‘muscle’ pain he caused himself again tonight. He needed to think of something else for a relaxation exercise. Such as how he got those feathers.

They came from an adolescent raptor from early last winter, born blue, and which had not turned full white yet. It was only fifteen feet long, or else he and Ethan would never have tried to draw it closer to the thirty-foot wall, urging it to leap uselessly up at them, where they could grab at feathers when it extended its grasping small forearms. In their imaginative retelling of the event, the creature had grown considerably larger, and the feathery proof had garnered him his first near sexual experience with Arlene that evening. Ethan had used his share of feathers to score points with Jaylene Cotes.

The next afternoon, alerted by Mister Rigson, their old elementary school teacher, his Dad investigated the source of the blue colored raptor feathers that two girls were flaunting to their high school friends. He heard the story behind them, so he and Ethan’s Dad flew out to the wall to check security, taking their heavy rifles. They returned to tell their sons that one-day old tracks of a large female raptor were all around the base of that wall now. They had missed dear old mom raptor by a just little bit. Everyone knew that a determined big female whiteraptor could scale those walls, with the right incentive. The boy’s peashooter Krall pistols would have been useless if she had made it over.

Ahh. Thinking of his Dad’s reaction had calmed the burning sensation. So…, that long endless lecture finally offered some benefit.

****

The second month was a huge improvement, pain wise. One week into the second month and Carson, along with the other forty-nine first week candidates felt aches, but no burning. The second fifty candidates, a week behind, were happy to hear that. The fifty from the week after them were ecstatic, and so forth back to those that were only now entering the painful burning phase. The order of processing the kids was by date of birth, fifty per week, and Carson was four days the oldest, just ahead of Ethan.

Of the three hundred twelve Prime City kids eligible for the mods, only nine had opted to delay. Some for family vacation reasons, some for flaky sounding reasons that were likely based on apprehension and fear, or they had family pressure. One girl had turned sixteen last week, and asked to receive the mods for her Sweet Sixteen Birthday gift. It was quickly turning into a coming of age event for the Prime City Koban born.

For the two months of transformation, Carson was spending as much time with Kobalt as he could. However, the cat had found a mate in the northern pride. He was frequently gone overnight, or for a couple of days.

Actually, it was his third mate in the last six years. Ripper males were fickle, and drifted from female to female after one or two seasons. He had sired seven cubs; or rather, they had been cubs. All but two were now independent of their mothers, who did the primary raising. Carson was introduced to them all, but he had not been able to grow as close as he had hoped. It was due to the wild influence of their mothers, and the images they grew up sharing, taken from the pride’s long history. Humans were recent allies, formerly prey, and humans had hunted rippers for vengeance. The latter was hard for the wild rippers to understand, and wasteful. They had done nothing wrong, and killing prey that you ate wasn’t wrong.

Kobalt and Kit had become adept at understanding human images and translating concepts from wild rippers. That process worked in both directions actually, supplementing confusing human images with other pictures that helped explain our thoughts, and soften those that felt too harsh or unreasonable to a wild ripper.

Kit was more selective than Kobalt, and had mated only twice, bearing twins both times, as her ripper mother had done. She had delivered her litters with her “mother” and “aunt” by her side, in her den. Carson was close by with Ethan the first time, but both had to leave when it grew too tearful for the then fourteen year olds. Aunt Marlyn and his mother were crying and blubbering something awful. The cubs were adorable, both female, and Thad and Marlyn were planning to let them bond with Bradley (he got Kayla) and Danner (got Kally).

Unless Kobalt could convince a female to join him and live with the human pride, it would be difficult to have his cubs grow up with humans. Ripper tradition was that most males joined and left prides, eventually leaving the one in which they were born, in order to mate with nonrelatives. Females generally stayed with their birth pride. One possibility, offered in negotiation with three prides that hunted near Prime City, concerned orphaned cubs if a mother died. If there were no home-pride females able to take them, they asked if the human pride could raise them.

Unlike Earth lions, ripper prides were more protective of cubs when a new male suitor came courting an unmated female with cubs. The suitor may not hunt for them or teach the cubs to hunt, but he would seldom try to kill them. That difference from lions was probably a function of frill contacts making the prides more strongly bonded. Although, infanticide did sometimes happen, as Kit had learned in memory images from the wild prides.

With Kobalt to provide frill contact, Carson found that the cat was able to help him sort the double signals his brain was receiving much sooner than his peers. Ethan reported the same effect with Kit.

Both boys found that the frill contact was growing much more vivid, and the rate of flow of information was accelerating. The cats indicated that their normally “slow” human brothers were rapidly becoming fast thinkers. It was fun for the cats to exchange ideas as fast with their “siblings” as they did with each other, and with other wild rippers.

It was an amusing revelation for the boys to learn that the family pets had considered their “parents” and “siblings” lovable, but slow-witted as well as slow moving. They decided to save that discovery for some future joint family gathering, when they could “gently” explain to their parents the “facts.” Then offer to do the heavy thinking for them in the future. That should spark a fun exchange.

****

By the end of the second month of the Koban gene modifications for the first week’s fifty candidates, all of the kids had completed the expected tissue and bone growth, and the organic superconductor nervous system finally had links between the brain and the greatly enhanced muscles. The next month or two would involve their learning to shift mental focus from the older nervous system to the new, and to control the stronger muscles without exerting excessive force.

Smacking yourself hard, when merely reaching up to pick your nose, led to bloody noses. Not surprisingly, this happened mostly with boys. Everyone became extra cautious around the teenagers as they started leaving their enforced isolation. They had pent up boundless energy that was often under poor control. However, there were two notable, and initially mysterious, exceptions.

Carson and Ethan displayed far more control of their actions right from the start. They weren’t close to their maximum physical strength yet, because that would take months of strenuous exercise, which they were now capable of exerting. Yet they were moving much more smoothly and confidently than the other forty-eight candidates from the first week were.

Tet and Maggi had heard some rumbles that Carson and Ethan had received some sort of special “treatment.” People had noticed the boy’s advanced skills with the new modifications. Knowing that the special treatment allegation was false did nothing to dispel the rumors, or explain the differences. They decided they needed to do something before they had a problem.

To assure a free and open discussion, Maggi invited the first fifty candidates, and their parents, to meet in the old Krall fighting arena. Half of that level had become a hydroponics section, the other half was now an exercise area for residents, and there were two partitions for school use, divided between primary school and high school. The meeting would use the exercise area.

There was room for three times the hundred and fifty people that came. The exercise equipment from multiple derelict passenger ships was in the room, with a padded floor on one side for tumbling, yoga, acrobatics, martial arts, boxing, wrestling, and even hand-to-hand combat practice. There was a weight lifting section, and a full range of exercise machines to develop any muscle or groups of muscles that needed help in meeting Koban’s heavy gravity demands.

The room was familiar to most of the residents of Prime City. This level had been off limits when the Krall were here, but there had been a smaller area for humans to exercise. That was where those facing combat to the death with the Krall had worked out. Later, the exercise habits continued even after the Krall left, and with more people, they needed a larger area.

This room was where the newly enhanced SG1 teenagers, now changed to Third Gens, had been coming to work on their coordination, and building strength into their new muscles. It was also here that other parents had watched Carson and Ethan work out, and saw them performing side by side with their own TG kids. They claimed there was a significant difference, and they wanted to know why. So did Tet, Maggi, and the boy’s parents.

Maggi moved to the center of the padded area, and invited everyone to seat themselves on the edge of the pads, leaving the center open.

In her drill sergeant voice, a constant surprise to even those that knew the small woman well, she addressed the assembly. “I think you know why we are meeting here, but I’ll make certain all of you know. The first class of fifty new Third Gens has been working out here, and some of you have observed a difference in how advanced Carson and Ethan are in their adaptation, compared to most of the other TGs.” She paused just a moment.

“Maggi,” a voice spoke up from the crowd. A man rose to his feet. It was Frank Constansi, one of the members of Mirikami’s legendary Spider Hole combat team. He remained close friends with Tet. “They aren’t good compared to most of our kids. They are far above any of them. I don’t think you’ve watched them all exercise together. Unlike some suspicious types I’ve heard speak out in the Great Hall, I know that you and Tet wouldn’t hide anything from us, nor condone favoritism. I suggest there is a reasonable explanation, and I want us to help you find what it is.” He paused briefly to look around at the other parents.

“When we do understand how they got so good so fast, then we can see that all of our new TGs get that same benefit, my son included.” There was scattered applause.

Maggi nodded her approval. “I’ll admit I have not seen Carson or Ethan when they were up here, although I’ve looked in on others exercising, and I was impressed with their leap ahead in strength, and how fast they are. I did see signs of coordination problems. Trips, falls, accidental smacks to a friend’s face or body when they play fight. They all appeared able to lift a huge amount of weight for their size. I heard Dillon say that both Carson and Ethan have broken his own personal weight lifting records by a large margin, and even the girls are matching or beating his old lifts, made when he was younger. Is that what you mean? That Carson and Ethan are a lot stronger?”

There were multiple “no’s,” and head shaking.

Frank explained. “The difference doesn’t appear in strength, because I watched another seventeen year old boy, Matt Dempsey, beat Ethan on a squat lift. In the strength category, nearly all of the seventeen year olds understandably outperform the sixteen year olds. The difference is in those two boy’s speed of movement, in the level of coordination they have. That’s where they beat anyone they match up with. I think you should watch some examples. The kids know what I mean. Let them show you.”

“OK. Let’s see what we are here to discuss. Ethan, Carson, please step out her next to me, and I’d like Matt Dempsey to come up, and several other seventeen-year-old boys. I want to avoid the age issue with the younger boys, and with girls that would have less muscle mass.”

Reluctantly, seven boys walked out, half of them pushed there by their parents, including a red faced Carson, with his dad doing the shoving.

Maggi motioned them to join her. “I won’t bite,” she assured the reluctant participants. They moved closer, but acted as if she might be lying about the biting.

“OK boys, I assume we aren’t talking about who can jump highest, and it isn’t weight lifting, or other strength related ability. So how about we see a demonstration of what Mister Constansi means. Matt, you did a lift that beat Ethan, what is something else he can do that you can’t do? Describe it and then the two of you show us.”

Matt turned red. “I’d rather show you with someone besides Ethan or Carson. I don’t want to look stupid.”

“Fine, pick one of the others first, but that isn’t going to show us the difference we need to see.” Maggi was being unusually gentle with the shy boy in front of the crowd.

Matt motioned to Jose Wittgenstein, his friend, and a son of a former Spider Hole team member.

Matt explained they were going to do two things, but warned they wouldn’t look very impressive. He told them the demonstrations were simply a child’s games, and the first was patty cake. Only with superfast hand movements, palm slaps, and handclaps. The two boys sat facing one another, close together, legs crossed, placing their hands on their own knees.

Before they started, Maggi couldn’t help reverting to her natural acerbic manner. “Matt, you didn’t want to work with Carson or Ethan because you would look stupid. However, you and Jose will play patty cake for us. That’s better you think?”

The comment drew laughs from the gathered parents, and both boys turned red. Matt simply replied, “Perhaps you should just watch us Mam. This involves speed and coordination.”

At a nod from Matt, the two started in the standard slow manner of clapping their own hands once, then smacking each other’s palms together, then clapping their hands, slapping their knees, then alternating palm slaps from both right hands, then both left hands, and repeat. It was a variation on a child’s game seen on many worlds. The repeated cycles always sped up until one or the other player missed a clap, palm smack, knee smack, or missed the other person’s hand. Someone always made a mistake when it got too fast.

The boy’s movements gathered velocity quickly as they got the rhythm going, and in five repetitions, their movements had accelerated to what seemed an impossible speed for a human. The loud staccato crack of their hands sounded like rapid applause, at a machinegun pace. Their hands were near blurs, and they continued at this pace for thirty incredible seconds. Until Matt smacked so hard he pushed one of Jose’s hand too far back, spoiling the flow. They stopped, everyone’s ears ringing from the rifle cracks of their hands. For a “stupid” game, there was now stunned silence.

Matt looked up and said, “I lost control of the hand slap I was trying to deliver. I could easily see Jose’s left hand coming, but I hit too hard and off center, and pushed his hand back and to the side. It was my mistake, so he wins.” He shrugged.

“That always happens with this game in about ten or fifteen seconds, for most of us. Not for Carson or Ethan, because none of us have their control at higher speeds. Just now, Jose and I leveled off at a speed where we wouldn’t make mistakes too soon in front of everybody. We stayed slow for that reason.”

Maggi was shocked. “That was slow? Hell son, I could barely see your hands you were so fast. Silly game or not, being able to do that so fast is positively not child’s play.”

“Well, maybe not, but I don’t last three seconds with either Carson or Ethan. Nobody does. They don’t make mistakes, and we can’t increase speed without losing the rhythm.”

Maggi glanced at Ethan, right next to her. “Who wins between you and Carson?”

“We can go ten minutes without a mistake usually, and it’s true that we can go faster than the other TGs. It can be either of us to make a mistake, but it’s probably more often me. The speed of the other kid’s movements, their muscle speed, isn’t really the limitation with playing us. It is their ability to keep the hands meeting the target dead center, with the proper force. That’s where Carson and I are better. Our eye-hand coordination and muscle control at high speed.”

Matt reminded her of the other game he’d mentioned. “Mam the other example I was going to show is even dumber to watch, and has the same outcome if we play against them. One person holds out both hands palm down, the opponent places their hands palm up under yours. You’ve seen this game. The person on the bottom has to bring one or both hands up and over, trying to slap either or both of the top hands before the other player can pull them back. None of us has ever beaten Ethan or Carson. They react too fast for the rest of us.”

Matt clarified. “None of you guys, I mean you SG1’s can beat any of us in these games, or even come close to keeping pace. Moreover, even if Carson and Ethan can beat us now, we aren’t as far behind them as you are behind us. We see we are slowly improving compared to them, but we don’t know how they got so far ahead of us.”

Jose laughed, and added what proved to be a telling remark, and a first clue. “Ethan and Carson can also beat Kobalt and Kit, and Kit’s first cubs, using a variation of the hand and paw slap game. The cats are tremendously fast, or I used to think so, but I think all of us will eventually be faster than rippers are at some things.” He pointed at Ethan and Carson. “You should see them at the fast draw. No Krall will want to face any of us if we all get that fast.”

“I never saw you practice that here,” Frank told them.

Carson answered for them all. “We only practice on the range, and just in the last few days. It’s always been us alone, since almost nobody goes there anymore.”

His Dad spoke up. “Son, how about we unload, and test out our draws on one another. I’d really like to see that.” Dillon had once practiced often with the pistols and holsters Thad had given him and Noreen many years ago. He had thought he was about the fastest in the dome, “back in the day,” as Maggi might say.

He removed his own clip, pointed it up and pulled the trigger, making an audible click, to confirm a slug had not come loose and stayed in the chamber. Despite Carson checking his own gun, good old dad double-checked it anyway.

Carson seemed annoyed, prompting Dillon to say, “If you shot your dear daddy dead, do you think you’d survive dear mommy’s lifetime of unending lectures?”

Noreen’s voice floated clearly over the chuckles from the crowd. “Your gun is not the one dear daddy had better worry about when he talks like that. Mine is still loaded.” That drew a lot more than chuckles.

The two squared off, about twenty feet apart. Carson nearly as tall as his father, but less filled out. However, he was still growing, and everyone told him he was better looking, which was saying something. He had inherited additional good looks from his mother, and had her Earth origin Hispanic complexion.

“Son, you can draw when you’re ready.” Dillon felt extremely calm and confident, because he still secretly practiced his draw in a mirror, when nobody was around to watch.

Calm, until Carson answered. “No Dad, I’d like you to feel like you had at least a ghost of a chance. You start first. I’ll even let you clear your holster before I go.” They were both using the low-slung tied down holster version Thad had introduced.

Dillon answered the pretend insult with as fast a draw as he had ever felt challenged to make. He moved his hand back against the butt and rolled the gun easily out of the holster on the back sweep, so that when it cleared the leather, the barrel would already be pointing at his target, not needing more time to raise the gun, with his finger inside the trigger guard squeezing.

What Dillon saw and heard was a rapid series of clicks from Carson’s pistol. It magically appeared chest high, aimed at his heart, without an apparent draw having taken place. From the number of clicks, that weapon probably would have fired an eight round clip, all before Dillon’s own gun made a forlorn, much too late, single click.

Metaphorically, daddy was dead meat, overkilled by his beloved, faster-than-greased-lightning son. Crap!

It had happened in front of many amused watchers, the worst, from his perspective, being Maggi, Tet, and his wife. The humorous references would follow him to his grave he assumed.

Thad uttered a simple “Wow.”

Tet wanted a better measure than simply wow. “Jake, you recorded that, I know. Measure the time taken for Carson’s hand to start to move towards the gun until the first trigger pull. Compare that to recorded examples of Krall pistol draws seen on the Flight of Fancy and here on Koban. Tell me the result over the speaker system here in the exercise room please.” The AI, being a computer, was even faster on the draw.

“Sir, the total time that Carson used until the first trigger pull, compared against the averaged collection of all Krall pistol draws I’ve recorded from various holster types and attachment locations on their belts, was two point six times faster. However, it was only one point nine times quicker than the fastest Krall I’ve observed drawing a pistol.”

“Wow indeed,” concluded Mirikami. “Carson, you just outdrew the fastest Krall Jake ever saw pull a pistol, by nearly a factor of two. Frankly, I’ll want to see this recording played again, in real time, then in slow motion. I’m not sure what I saw. That was just a blur.”

He looked around. “Can you other kids do that? Or close to that speed?”

Mirikami saw general nods. If they weren’t that fast now, they would get there soon he thought.

Dillon pointed out something that made Carson’s draw seem slower than it really was. “Son, you raised the pistol to chest height before pulling the trigger, wasting time. You could beat that fastest Krall even quicker if you learn to shoot from the hip. Nicely done, however.”

Maggi resumed control of the meeting. “Let’s get down to what we all came here to find out. How is it that two of our first fifty candidates have adapted sooner to the new nervous system than the other forty-eight? What is different about them, or what did they do differently?”

Matt said something that offered the second clue. “If I could have practiced with one of the rippers, I think I could have gotten faster on the hand slap game. Carson and Ethan sure got faster that way.”

Ethan explained how it had happened with him. “At first I could never beat Kit, her paws always got me. Except after a time I could sense sooner when she was about to move, and react earlier. Do you think just that bit of practice would help?”

Dillon, with his knowledge of both the gene mods and the ripper nervous system, had a different idea. “I doubt if it’s simply practice. I’m sure most of the kids practiced those moves because it’s fun to amaze us slow pokes. However, I think Carson’s and Ethan’s faster progress is connected to frill contact with rippers. Frilling may have stimulated early maturity in the newly forming super conductor nerve receptors. Both boys have certainly had frequent exposure to frilling, which may account for accelerated nerve receptor maturation. I suggest we try this for a week with some other candidates. Some from this group and a couple from the next class, and see if we can measure an increased rate of progress.”

Marlyn made an offer as well. “Kit’s cubs from two years ago, Kayla and Kally, are returning from a visit to their father’s pride this week. Her newest cubs weaned last month, and if Kit will permit the exposure, I’ll see if we can get her to let some more kids spend time with the babies. Kopper and Kandy are too young to play the hand slap game, but that would expose at more TG’s to increased ripper mental contact. If it’s not just the game, it could be the mental exercise of using the new nervous system, which frilling may encourage.”

The simple experiment started with a random drawing, done by Jake, who announced names of six TG kids that would start frilling with the older cats today and with the new cubs if they received Kit’s approval.

After the meeting, Tet asked Dillon, Thad, and their boys to go with him to the firing range. He wanted to test them a bit more than watching a quick draw and hand slap games.

When they entered, Dillon said laughing, “Not sure what you’re up to, Tet, but I’ll not get into a shooting competition with these two. I’m proud of them, but I had my butt handed to me once already.”

“Aw, come on Dad. I’ve never beaten you at anything physical, and now I can. Let me try.”

“Perhaps later son. I really do want to see what you can do.  First, I’d like to know what Uncle Tet has on his mind.”

“I’ll get to that soon Dillon. I want them to show off a bit first. Look down range to the farthest targets, the one in each lane at a thousand feet. The Krall are notoriously accurate shots. If you are faster, but can’t kill one before he kills you, your speed is useless. Reload your pistols and use eight of the target rounds on the table. I’m not interested in a fast draw now. I want to see you hit the bull’s eye, single shots.”

Both boys half-filled their clips with the frangible practice rounds, and took a bead on the far distant targets. The familiar Whoosh as the rocket propelled rounds left the guns sounded almost simultaneously. Both hits were nearly dead center of the bull’s eye.

“Very good. I hear you’ve been practicing here since you started feeling better.”

He got an affirmative from both.

“OK. Now both of you do a quick draw, Carson you go first, then Ethan. I’m not as interested in which is faster, but in speed combined with accuracy. GO!”

Carson’s hand and arm were a streak of motion as he drew and fired as the final word was still on Mirikami’s lips. Another hit in the bull’s eye. Ethan went next, with no discernible difference that Mirikami could see. However, Ethan sounded irritated with himself. “Darn.”

“What?” Thad asked him.

“I didn’t loosen the gun in the holster first, and it stuck slightly as I pulled, and it slowed me down.”

“Yea, I saw that. But you were closer to center than I was.” Carson apparently had the only set of eyes that could see that slight holster movement in that split second.

“So far so good.” Tet responded.

“What do you mean? We both hit center slow, and with a faster draw.” Carson was a bit defensive.

“Thad, on your Testing Day you had a Krall running towards you and your team, dodging and rolling you said, as three of you fired at him, and I presume he started from farther away than these targets. How accurate did he seem to you?”

“Extremely. We were ducking as soon as we fired our guns, and his slugs were smacking the wall behind or the rock in front of us where our heads had just been. He hit within almost as tight a cluster as each of your shots just were. My friend was at least as far away as that target when he took a slug through his right eye, while the Krall had just lost a forearm to an explosive shell, and did a tuck and roll as he had fired.”

“I think you see what I’m leading up to now, don’t you lads? I don’t want a tuck and roll, but I’d like you to go fifty feet up along the line here, and run back this way, firing as you go, spreading your shots out so we can see them hit individually. Fire the last round as you pass us.”

Ethan went first, and with blazing speed, he covered the fifty feet in well under whatever the world record for that split of a hundred yard dash was, and put all six of his remaining shots in the bull’s eye of his target. Despite the instruction to space out the shots, they struck so fast that the dust from the successive rounds obscured Tet’s view.

“OK, Carson you go.”

It was a near duplicate of Ethan’s test, but the last two shots clearly puffed on Ethan’s bull’s eye, the rest were on Carson’s target. It had sounded fast, but something was different to Tet’s ear. Was that too many shots?

Ethan confirmed that. “Clever trick, jackass. I didn’t see you add to your clip.” Both boys had loaded eight rounds at first, and had fired twice each before the last running accuracy test. Unseen, Carson had slipped two more rounds to his clip, and used those on Ethan’s target as a bit of one-ups-man ship.

Looking at the targets, there were no dark spots to show either had missed the two-inch bull’s eye center at all. They had both filled their spots, and hadn’t missed them even in a sprint.

Carson was ready for a personal challenge now. “Hey, Dad. Ready to match that?” A grin plastered his face, remarkably lopsided like his father’s matching grin.

Mirikami held a hand up to forestall the fun, ready to explain why he brought them here. “Boys, I’m not interested in seeing you beat your fathers at anything tonight. However, a goal we set ourselves when the Krall left us here to die was to do more than simply survive on Koban. We wanted to make it our home. Collectively we have already done that, with the gene mods your father’s and I have now. After we made peace with the rippers and wolfbats, we began to leave the domes and change this world to suit us. Only that isn’t enough.

“I don’t want you boys to ever forget that humanity’s greatest enemy promised to return here. If they do that, within your lifetime, or even your grandchildren’s life time, they will kill every single human on this planet.”

Ethan wasn’t ready to accept that. “Uncle Tet, you said it yourself, or rather Jake said it. We Third gens are twice as fast as they are, and the next mods will improve those that follow us even more.  We’re probably already stronger than they are, and I always heard that we outsmarted them often. We’ll not sit back and let them walk over us. We’ll fight.”

Tet looked at them, then at their fathers, and saw the understanding in the men’s eyes. “Ethan, I’ll let your Dad explain the cold hard numbers involved. Why you would lose that fight.”

He knew Thad’s militia background and training had taught him basic strategy and tactics, and the man was intelligent. He knew their limitations on Koban, and those extending considerably into the future.

Thad began with a hypothetical question. “Ethan, if you and Carson were forced to go up against all of the other human beings on this planet, in a fight to the death, would you win?”

“Uh, why would just the two of us have to fight? We’d lose for sure.”

“The two of you against the twenty three thousand surviving people that arrived here as captives, plus the nearly three thousand children they bore in the last seventeen years. That is better odds than all of us combined would have against the entire race of Krall. We are a single, severely under populated, undeveloped world. It would be no contest. These creatures have depopulated hundreds or thousands of worlds, destroying billions or trillions of alien lives, usually fighting against more advanced cultures and science than humanity currently has. They are presumably doing that to our worlds in Human Space now. We do not want them coming here.”

Carson was confused. “If this is all a waste, then except for the thrill we get from being stronger and faster, what use is this big project to make us better than the Krall?”

Mirikami had his answer ready. “We don’t plan to simply sit here and wait for them. I promised that we would go looking for them. We will do that, take the fight to them, and not give away our home world’s location.

“That may seem impossible, since they definitely know where Koban is located. However, we don’t have to let them know that’s where we are from. They expected us all to die within the first year after they departed. Humans, coming from Koban? That will be an impossible concept for those arrogant bastards to consider. Ethan, your dad has talked with me, and others, about what we’ll need to do.”

“Dad, they will still outnumber us if we go looking for them.” Ethan looked to his father for explanation. He didn’t even ask how they intended to get off Koban, and Jump out of this system.

One detail at a time, Mirikami thought, letting Thad explain their strategy.

“Son, we will initially need support from other human worlds, where there is the production and technology we require. Our enemy builds nothing that they use for war themselves. By that, I mean the Krall themselves do not. Slave races do all of the actual production, on established base worlds inside the space they now control. We have learned some of this from them, some from the slave race they left behind here, the Raspani. We have pieced together smatterings of oral histories these remnants of a great race still retain, and hand down to the next generations.”

Carson asked, “The rest of humanity, with all their population, their productivity and technology can’t beat them, how can we help beat them?”

Mirikami told him. “Their weakness is their dependence on slaves to make their Clanships, weapons, habitat domes, essentially everything that they appear to use, down to uniforms and weapons belts. That is the heart of their capability to make unending war, how they devote every member of the race to fighting and breeding for better warriors.

“We have to kill that war making capability with a symbolic spear thrust to its heart. The machinery of war the Krall have been running for thousands of years will grind to a halt without replacement parts.”

Carson demonstrated his grasp of the problem. “You tell us we are too few to even defend our own home. How can that same group of us, here on Koban, make any difference if a trillion other humans can’t?”

“That spear I mentioned? It needs a very sharp, very strong point. Observing you kids tonight, I’m finally seeing the shape of that weapon.  You, and those like you, will form that spear point, striking into the heart of the Krall’s strength. That is something no ordinary human could hope to do, but it is something a Kobani human can do.”

****

“Aren’t most things clearer in hind sight?” Rafe asked. “We wanted the new TGs to focus on the faster nervous system’s input and output. Mental contact with rippers, which have no other option than to use their own high-speed network, obviously guide and stimulate that process in our kids. It didn’t even take a week to see considerable differences in the six test subjects. They almost match coordination and reaction speeds with Carson and Ethan now. We have a solution.”

Tet agreed, but pulled at his lower lip. “We’re faced with a bottleneck. It’s an imposition on Kobalt, Kit, Kayla and Kally, to send three hundred TGs to frill with them every day, with a few more kids turning sixteen each month. We have to respect their independence. Besides, Kobalt and Kit are not getting younger. The lifetime of a wild ripper is apparently about twenty years. I think the better care and feeding our cats receive will increase that lifespan, but we need to plan for another generation of human and ripper interaction, until we have contact telepathy for ourselves.

We will not use Kit’s newest cubs that way for at least a year, they’re babies, and they need mom and play time to become healthy rippers. I want to involve more adult rippers.”

Thad thought he knew what Tet had in mind. “It sounds like you plan to work out another agreement with the three nearby prides. Send our kids to them as emissaries, or invite some of them into the compound? Even if the prides agreed, they don’t have very many members.

“Dillon and I estimated that on average there are less than a hundred rippers combined in the three prides nearest to us. If we offered a rhinolo kill, possibly two, in exchange for a week of ten different kids a day interacting with them, while they lay around digesting, that could work. However, they are an independent lot, so I wouldn’t count on even half of them participating. We have almost three hundred kids and not enough time or rippers.”

“I’m not talking just about Prime City area prides, Thad. I’m thinking of the two prides that hunt near Hub City. We have a truce agreement with them, but almost no one from Hub City ever goes out to meet with them. We only visit those prides ourselves when we send our people over for some repair work or to trade manufactured goods for Hub City meat or fish.

“Vince and Sarah are virtual Hub City residents now, since they made the Raspani retraining school their full time work. They go out to see both prides once a month, taking them organ meat from the hunts, making sure they see that humans keep agreements. I’d like to send a contingent of fifty of our kids to Hub City with you, Dillon, and Kobalt, as soon as the burning phase ends. If you go out to meet them, taking Kobalt, Vince, and Sarah, that should provide you a chance to negotiate a temporary food for frill deal.”

“You think MacDougal will accept a bunch of our newly enhanced TGs over there for a couple of weeks?”

“He was just reelected, after four years of stagnation under Cahill’s old pal as mayor. Lady Toledo’s conservative anti Prime City attitude stalled every progressive thing most of the people there wanted done, and which needed our help to complete. I believe they only voted her in for that single term because Stewart had become a fixture, and they simply wanted a change. Now they want to change back. He has their support, and we have his.

“I already know he’s willing to let us send some kids before school restarts. I spoke to him a few days ago. He and the thousands of parents there with SG kids want to see what our SG1’s, now changed into TGs can do. I want to show them we didn’t turn them into blue colored Kobani freaks. Fast and strong perhaps, but they look just like their kids.”

“I heard from Noreen and Marlyn that Carson and Ethan say they want to attend the first classes of the College Hub City is setting up for their seniors, which will graduate high school next year. Maggi hopes we can send more of our kids over there. It will help establish a more integrated society.”

Tet wasn’t surprised those two rambunctious boys wanted out from under parental scrutiny. “Let them know that after graduation, I’m pushing for settlements on the other two continents. With our population explosion, we’ll need that activity as a challenge for our young people, unless we solve the problem of getting higher than geosynchronous orbits.”

“I don’t understand. We have two com satellites up there now, why do we need more?”

“Rafe, I said above geosynchronous orbits, and not to put up com satellites. I want to reach our moon, or rather orbit the moon, to inspect the eight derelict passenger liners.”

“Oh. I thought the Krall destroyed them.”

“At the time they pulled out, we weren’t sure, and they obviously had moved them, because we couldn’t see them any more at night in orbit. I couldn’t let Jake turn on our radar system before they were gone, since they were positive they left us without power. Jake didn’t spot them a week or so later when I allowed him to scan near space. I thought they had taken them to interstellar space or the outer part of the system.

“I guess that was too much of a delay for them, in their rush to start their war. They put them in close orbits around the moon to get them out of the way, avoiding the time consumption of towing them farther away. Remember, we talked them into not blowing them apart with the people aboard, merely because that would have dirtied the space around the planet. Jake did an observation when there was a lunar type eclipse, and saw the dots in the telescope. Radar confirmed all eight are there. That put them well out of our reach, so there wasn’t anything to talk about really. We knew they had shot off all of the Trap emitters, so they had no Jump capability.”

“Then why go up and look closer, then?”

“Because, we have other emitters on ships left here on the ramp, like those on the hull of the Flight of Fancy. There are spares on all the grounded ships, carried if an emitter suffers a meteoroid impact. We can take a bunch up with us, and look for their own spares on the eight in orbit. Those are large ships, and need more emitters than ships like the Fancy, and the designs and wiring would be different. However, if the Krall left the fusion bottles shutdown but intact, and we carried up replacement emitters, we might get one of those ships operational. Chief Haveram is convinced he could do the work if we get him and his Drive Rats to them. We haven’t had the shuttle fuel reserves to spend on the attempt, but with the new refinery starting up at Hub City, we will have more fuel soon. It’s a long shot, and risky, but it might work. The key is that we need their fusion bottles intact, and we need to take one of our own up to jumpstart one of those. A lot of if’s, risks, and work.”

“If we did, are we going to let some people go home?” There were plenty of homesick people here.

“Well, this is my home now. However, should we be willing to go back there to live? To prove whom we are, to get back our lives there, they will run a DNA match. You and I are not entirely the same Rafe Campbel and Tetsuo Mirikami that left there. The illegal mods will show up if they look.”

“True. But couldn’t we sneak in and use a shuttle to land quietly on some Rim world. DNA scans were never used for interstellar travel.”

Thad asked a question. “Rafe, do you think we can sneak into a probable war zone, in a giant passenger liner that went missing seventeen years ago, and draw no attention? The gamma ray burst will reveal the ship, and whoever is aboard will be DNA scanned.”

“Perhaps send some of the unmodified people, with a cover story?” Rafe clearly had never thought about this possibility.

“To do what, exactly?” Thad asked. “Buy some advanced technology and fly back here? Would you trust your life to allow Cahill or one of her sympathizers to go back and keep quiet about us manmade ‘freaks of nature’ trapped here on this world in enemy space?”

“How the hell would I know?” Rafe asked in irritation. “Until two minutes ago, I didn’t even know you were considering this. I don’t have a solution, so don’t ask me for one.” Thad had clearly annoyed the genealogist. “If we can’t go back, then why try?”

“Rafe, I apologize,” Mirikami offered. “I let my mind wander and started a conversation and pulled you and Thad into it, and didn’t spend time explaining all of the problems first.”

Thad put a hand on the scientist’s shoulder. “Rafe, I’m sorry too. I heard about this idea a few days ago, and all I’ve done is think about ways for it to go bad for us. The Krall are obviously the worst threat, but we can’t be certain that the Hub government isn’t a threat to us either, despite our intention to help them fight the Krall. I have children to worry about.”

Tet shrugged his shoulders, and pulled at his lip. “I don’t know yet how we can make the best use of a Jump ship, but we need to actually have one first. Personally, I’d rather have one than not have one. However, you just heard Thad mention a good reason for keeping the knowledge of that prospect within the Inner Circle. If our people knew that we might be able to restore a Jump ship, some, and not just those from Hub City, might argue in favor of going back to Human Space and ignore the risk from our own government. I’m not sure anyone with children would think that way, but I don’t intend to take that chance. When we have the capability, if we get that capability, then it’s time to draw up a return plan.”

17. Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

As the new Gatlek on Poldark, Pendor was compelled to acknowledge that the humans of this world were matching his expectations of what a worthy enemy would be. Gatrol Dektrak, Kanpardi’s successor as Gatrol of the entire human war, had told him that this world would be more of a challenge to him than the last world where he had fought.

Pendor had earned high status as a Mordo clan large-hand unit commander, on the planet humans called Bollovstic's Republican Independency. The three names humans gave that world had incorrectly suggested to him that it would be a much more difficult conquest than proved to be the case. This world, with a short single name, sounded to a Krall’s mind like a lessor opponent.

Obviously, humans did not use a logical method to name things. Recently promoted to Gatlek, Pendor had earned his two-part name. Just as Kanpardi now had earned his promotion to Tor Gatrol, earning a third name and higher title, because of his success in forcing the enemy to fight the way the Krall most wanted.

Yet, this place, Poldark, with but a single name had provided the Krall with a more difficult series of battles than had Bollovstic. The Gatlek he replaced had discovered how deceptive and difficult the enemy here could be. Fortunately, for Gentda, the dead Tanga clan commander he had replaced, that planetary invasion commander had ordered his seed frozen for future use. His preserved seed could still produce cubs that potentially would grow into superior warriors and leaders for his clan. However, his command decision to personally lead a modest force after a smaller human group in panicked retreat, made his genes seem questionable. He had found a trap waiting, which he did not survive.

Thinking of his predecessor’s mistake, he spoke to his underling, “Bring the wounded human that killed Gatlek Gentda.”

This was an opportunity to test his skill with Standard here. The people of the last world spoke that language in a way he had found difficult to understand. The name of the language implied that it would be spoken the same by all, but each human world permitted changes to the sounds of many of the words. On Bollovstic, when he was new there, he had killed a number of potentially useful information sources when he assumed they were deliberately speaking nonsense to confuse him. They had almost made sense, as he “encouraged” them to reveal what they knew of enemy force locations.

After he heard another more experienced translator’s interrogation of an equally confusing captive, he understood that it was possible to learn the different sounds of the same words. The other warrior extracted what he needed from that subject, despite the inarticulate screams between questions put to the human. Most humans had a low tolerance for minor pain. Claw, ear, nose, and finger removal was enough to make many humans tell you anything you wanted to know. As punishment for their weakness, larger removals always followed for those cowards. After all, once they told you what they knew they no longer served an information need. It was efficient to study how the enemy might control themselves after receiving various wounds encountered in combat. “Not very well” often seemed to be the answer for any limb loss.

His temporary aid, Toltak was her name, brought the human to him at gunpoint. It was a human warrior based on his coverings, not what they called a “civilian.” Whatever that peculiar designation was supposed to mean; all humans fought back or died. The captive’s left arm was missing, and there was a bloody bandage on the stump, which extended a hand’s width below the creature’s shoulder. The pathetic human might die soon if he simply removed that bandage and let him bleed. It was amazing they survived any battle, as weak and fragile as they were.

Toltak extended her inner ears and used high Krall to speak.  They knew that many warrior humans understood some low Krall, but they did not have the capacity to hear the ultrasonic language of high Krall. “Leader, I claim the right to kill this one. He speaks words of our low speech, and insulted me and stares into my eyes in challenge. I demand to claim and earn the point for his death now.”

This was the former invasion commander’s aid, a member of the same Tanga clan, of course. Pendor would replace her with a member of his own Mordo clan soon. However, he was in no mood to listen to her complaint of an insult, not when she had just slighted him by failing to address him by his title as Gatlek, nor even used his first earned name.

He used low Krall to reply. “You will demand nothing of me. You forget who I am. I will remember who you are because of that. Holster your weapon and leave the human with me. Did you need your pistol if a one armed human with no weapons attacked you?” He traded her insult for insult.

He watched with interest, as her lips wriggled briefly at the suppressed rage she did not dare speak. Her red eyes flashed away from his, avoiding a challenge that her lower status could not afford to meet. She whirled and swiftly left the commander’s post in the buried war bunker.

Surprisingly, the human male spoke up, “I think I pissed her off. Congratulations, you must be the new Gatlek. You should thank me for your promotion. I killed your predecessor.” The human’s voice was nearly as deep as a Krall’s.

He glared at the human because he spoke without invitation, but respected his daring and defiance, despite his hopeless predicament. He might be trying to provoke him, as he had pushed Toltak, to trigger his own quick death via a typical novice Krall’s rage. Human warriors were familiar with how the Krall conducted most interrogations, and how they usually ended.

“I accept your false congratulations because you were the indirect cause of my coming here. However, my earned status qualified me to receive this leader’s position, or some other equal role in our war. This position on Poldark is more to my liking than many, because you have made the war more interesting here.”

“How, by us killing more of you bastards?”

“Yes, because our Great Path requires efficient culling of our poorest warriors. My understanding of your language has advanced in the years of this war, and I’m sure you know that every Krall you have ever seen is exactly a bastard. Perhaps doubled, because we do not know our mothers either.” He snorted.

“Glad I could make you laugh.” The man added sarcastically.

Pendor looked at the sergeant, as his clothing markings on his good right arm indicated he was. This mid to low ranking human knew more of the Krall than just a few words of low speech, because he understood Pendor’s rank, and recognized his rare gesture of amusement. How the human knew these small details about the Krall made him curious. That interested him, as much as the report the humans had taken the dead body of the former invasion leader, after an apparent attempt to capture him.

This human’s speech was more understandable than that of prisoners he had questioned on the other world, where he had fought. “Your words in your language, Standard, are clear to me. The humans on Bollovstic did not speak your own language as well.”

The prisoner shrugged, and winced from the pain that caused. “The Boll’s are…, make that were, an independent lot, and many of them used the native languages of their old countries when at home, and spoke Standard with a heavy accent. I don’t suppose it matters now what any of them used to speak. You pricks let only a few thousand refugees escape.”

There was a series of heavy thumps heard, and the ceiling and floor vibrated, which put Pendor’s curiosity on hold for a moment. That must be the human artillery projectiles arcing over the mountain ridges. This was such a simple and effective method of attack, but strangely it wasn’t one any of the races the Krall had faced before had used. Their previous high tech foes had used many types of guided munitions, but firing low-tech entirely ballistic projectiles wasn’t something any of them had used, apparently as too primitive and basic a technology. Dumb could be smart at times.

Pendor moved to the bunker’s control console to get a status update, and to speak to various hand-of-hand sub-leaders. The room lacked chairs, as usual for the Krall, so the one armed man sat on the floor, and he watched the various external screens used by the Krall leader with intensity.

Initially, human artillery had also used smarter steerable projectiles, but they soon learned that for some reason the Krall’s antimissile laser defenses were more accurate in knocking down the smart guided weapons than the “dumb” bombs.

When shells followed a pure ballistic path, atmospheric currents, air density, and friction, all combined to subtly alter projectile courses, and a higher percentage of them made it through the defenses. The smarter munitions were better at countering random minor course changes and were definitely more accurate, except that fewer reached their targets. Somehow, guided precision made them better targets for the laser counter fire. The Krall used antimissile tracking computers designed and programed by an alien race, which had exclusively used smart weapons. The software didn’t appear to have as accurate an algorithm to track the primitive style human artillery, at least not precisely enough to hit them all.

Clearly, the Krall either didn’t understand the equipment well enough, or were unable to change the programming. The human’s AI systems were better at knocking down the Krall artillery, of the smart or dumb variety, and then directed counter fire at their source.

The Krall’s own return fire to destroy human gun batteries was quite accurate and very prompt, so human ingenuity had built mobile batteries on relatively high-speed all-terrain tracked vehicles, with multiple rapid firing tubes on gyro-stabilized platforms. They used computer steered rocket assist on the first ten percent of the projectile’s rise, to increase the range and accuracy, but reverted to pure ballistics on the final climb and arc, usually just before Krall detection equipment could see them. Even if only a couple of dozen shells per hundred made it through the counter-fire lasers, the damage delivered was worth the effort.

Pendor had learned that humans here on Poldark hadn’t completely dispensed with smart artillery munitions, and only their delivery was low-tech. There were considerable choices for what the shells did at the target end, after short lives in flight. Some would activate a booster rocket attachment, at low altitude, to increase final velocity for deeper penetration and bunker busting. Others would airburst at roughly head height, to blast thousands of depleted uranium pellets, cased in a hardened shell, to strike any upright Krall nearby. Others scattered small grenade-like bombs, which waited for an armored or unarmored Krall to pass near, and then exploded to spread their smaller load of dangerous pellets.

A new shell version opened at low altitude to spew insect-like mechanical spies, which flew to or climbed on, trees, buildings, armored Krall’s suits, or entered their vehicles and ships, collecting data to send in a compressed signal burst. Afterwards, they exploded like small grenades.

Both sides now used armored personnel carriers to send troops to new battle zones because, even with body armor, the warrior or soldier needed to get to the fight faster that they could run, and be safely shielded from body armor defeating munitions in transit. Once closer to the fight, they deployed to do as much damage as they could. Humans tried to match the Krall physically, but even powered armor, controlled by men, could not come close to the reaction time of a Krall warrior.

A test of purely mechanized AI controlled human armor (a step towards a fully robot soldier) failed to meet expectations, despite quicker response to an attack. The Krall had used electronic counter measures to hamper an AI’s ability to control the suits remotely, and prevented a return of intelligence on the enemy. Later, with onboard AI’s the suits could not receive human instructions and battle plan changes. Both versions of AI battle suits had another flaw the Krall were quick to exploit.

Warriors started strapping live captured civilians or soldiers on the front and back of their own suits. When an AI controlled suit faced a Krall with human shields, the computer software restrictions limited their response. The AI’s had been programmed against killing humans, and could be fooled by dead bodies attached to a Krall or to a vehicle, uncertain if the people were still living. One fateful field decision, made in an urban setting, had removed all restrictions on the AI’s actions. That fight, conducted in a large city, had caused roughly as many collateral civilian deaths by AI as the Krall had killed directly. A warrior would leap into a group of civilians and deliberately draw fire, racking up status points.

In response to the artillery, Pendor ordered two hands of the Krall equivalent of single-warrior light tanks to move to the ridgeline, to destroy the mobile gun platforms if they returned. The small fast tanks carried two fusion bottles, one for powering the electric motors, track system, and four lasers. The other bottle powered the medium bore nine-inch plasma cannon. A warrior wore armor inside the fifteen foot, low profile tank called a Little Dragon by soldiers. A Krall controlled the machine from a sitting position, head up inside the rotating gun turret, his helmet visor providing an external view. If the tank became disabled, the warrior could dismount and fight with his plasma rifle, and the usual assorted personal armament, per the warrior’s preferences.

An armored man or woman, caught in the open by one of these small tanks, had few options. Their suits had quick reacting IR temperature control to blend with the local heat background, and active visual electromagnetic camouflage that made you nearly invisible by looking like your surroundings, but both worked well only if you quit moving. In most cases, if spotted while still moving, you had better get to where a raging beam of star hot plasma couldn’t burn your armored ass off in 2.4 seconds of exposure.

An active tank defense was a hand held eighteen-inch long, two-inch diameter rocket launcher tube, nicknamed Dragon Killers, or DKs. Each soldier carried a half dozen or more, and the suit’s targeting system and power stability made accurate aiming possible. The ceramic sloping sides of the Krall mini-tanks would deflect these small weapons, and shrug off light to moderate laser and plasma beams, and 50 Caliber machine guns. However, at the narrow boundary between the sloping rotating turret and sloping tank body was a weakness. It was possible to “blow the lid off” if you hit that narrow one-inch high gap, and occasionally that was enough to kill the Krall driver.

On a screen showing the bunker’s underground parking area, the sergeant saw eight mini-tanks race out towards a high ridge several miles away. He hoped it was another trap for them. The previous Gatlek had led a similar group of sixteen Dragons into a trap, costing that worthy his life.

Sergeant Reynolds knew about that Krall leader’s mistake, because he had been part of the bait that drew him chasing after what he believed was thirty injured soldiers, apparently receiving emergency medical evacuation. The Dragons had pursued three personnel carriers into a dead end valley. The vehicles each transported ten busted up empty suits, all of which broadcasted false medical alerts, as if for seriously injured soldiers. There actually was only a driver aboard each halftrack. They drove down a concealed ramp and out of sight below a steep rocky natural wall at the end of the box canyon, clearing the way for an ambush.

Killing wounded soldiers was a favored Krall pastime, and thirty of them so injured that they required emergency evacuation was a tempting target. Half of the Dragons never made it out of the canyon. Reynolds and his two fellow drivers had leaped from their parked halftracks and doubled back to a smaller tunnel, which emerged as a shaft in a rocky outcrop the pursuing Dragons had to pass. This was a former human bunker complex, which had been abandoned as the enemy expanded their front.

The three drivers had two DK’s apiece ready, and fired on the lead mini-tanks in a maneuver descriptively called a “poop, shoot, and scoot.” A move where the armored soldier squatted to present as small a target as possible, fired one or two DK’s, then ducked for cover.

The closest tank, driven by that foolish lead-from-the-front Gatlek, had its “lid popped” by Reynolds.  Not that the good sergeant knew the rank of his target at the time. Blowing turrets off four of the small tanks, the men immediately jumped back down the shaft as plasma bolts struck the rocks shielding them. Reynolds had called for the waiting artillery bombardment before the three drivers had even climbed up behind the rocks.

The first inbound high explosive shells, the dozen or so able to evade the Krall laser intercepts, were exploding on and among the Dragons as the three men slid down the shaft. The Gatlek had survived his turret’s violent removal, but not the shell that was self-directed once it reached fifty feet overhead, flying straight into his tank’s open cavity as he called for reinforcements on his suit radio.

The other three opened Dragons died the same way, and another four had one or both tracks blown off.  On three Dragons that were still mobile, the ceramic coating on the turrets had cracked, from concussion impacts.

Once cracked, the turret often wouldn’t rotate around the precision grove where it mated tightly with the tank body, leaving the main gun stuck where it happened to be pointing. After that, the driver couldn’t properly aim the cannon, not without turning the entire tank. As the bombardment continued, the warrior now in charge ordered the eight mobile Dragons to withdraw, and told the drivers of the four de-tracked disabled tanks to exit, and get in between the retreating tanks, using them as shields. Those four Krall died when the next inbound shells, as prearranged, were very low altitude airburst shells. They spewed thousands of pellets, to riddle the exposed warrior’s armor.

The three bait drivers drove their halftracks back up to the surface, where Reynolds and his two corporals confirmed the eight Krall left behind were all dead. “Confirmation” consisting of plasma bursts through the faceplates.

There was one much more elaborate suit than normal, badly damaged, with external electronics and a larger com system package on the dead Krall in the Dragon the sergeant had ‘popped.’ The different equipment looked like it could be of interest to the intelligence people, so the sergeant threw the entire suited body into his halftrack. The three men then made a left turn as they departed the valley mouth, away from the eight retreating Dragons, which were still receiving intermittent artillery fire to keep them moving away.

That bit of enterprising equipment recovery, of advanced Krall suit technology, was Reynolds undoing. He received scant radio warning from his commander when eight single ships dropped out of orbit overhead, apparently headed for his small group. Reynolds immediately ordered the trucks to split up, each driver to seek cover. The move saved his two men, because all eight single ships came after his own halftrack. He drove into a woods but his suit visor played the relayed radar tracks for him, showing them all boring in on only him. A couple of missiles were closing with his wildly zig zaging halftrack, and his last thought, right before he lost his left arm and consciousness, was; “What the hell did I do to piss all eight of them off?”

When he awoke, a short time after his halftrack became a do-it-yourself rebuild kit, two warriors were examining the strange Krall suit he’d taken, and the corpse inside. One of the Krall had pulled Reynolds out of his own armor, before the suit’s nanites had fully closed off all of the bleeders on the end of his stump. Fortunately, not before the suit had loaded him with painkillers and a stimulant. With his back against a tree, he tore off the ragged uniform sleeve that dangled below the left stump and used the fabric to cinch off the remaining light bleeding, using his teeth and right hand.

Both Krall were perfectly aware of Reynolds’ movements, but only one turned fully towards him, and surprised him by speaking passable Standard. Typical warriors had little knowledge of human language. This Krall’s helmet was off and he saw a bit of the blue uniform, telling him that this was a translator, and probably his interrogator.

Oh goody, he guessed there would be no delay getting to the Krall “fun” stuff. He was wrong.

“How did you know this was the Gatlek? Of what use is his body to humans?”

“What is a Gatlek?” he asked, the drugs giving him false energy and bravado.

“This was the leader of our invasion force on Poldark. You killed him in one of your devious human traps, and then took his body with you. Why?”

“I needed a snack, and didn’t have a can opener.”

“I did not think humans ate their enemies. Is your human army low on supplies of food? This information about a weakness would be of interest to the new Gatlek, when one is assigned.”

Reynolds laughed. “You eat us when out of food on a raid. Why shouldn’t we return the courtesy?”

“We don’t like the awful taste of human meat, and eat you only if we must. How do we taste to you?”

Huh! Reynolds thought. The prospect isn’t shocking, he’s only curious.

“I’ve not had a chance to try. You caught me before I could start a fire.”

“It is not surprising a human is reluctant to eat raw meat, you are weak. However, we can discuss your eating habits later, if you have a later.” That didn’t sound promising.

“I am Tupord, a translator of Dorbo clan. My two hands of single ships came down from an orbiting Clanship to help recover the Gatlek. We think your ambush was to capture him, but he died fighting you. We followed his transmitter signal, which he left active.”

Shit! I led them right to me with that damned suit!

“The Gatlek’s assistant has ordered me to take you to her in our command bunker. She is in charge until a replacement invasion leader arrives. However, because you targeted the previous invasion leader, and then tried to escape with his dead body, I recommended that your interrogation wait for the new higher status leader to arrive. Your information could be valuable, and might be lost if that clumsy aid, Toltak, questions you. She is of Tanga clan, the same clan as the Gatlek you killed. Their clan has not been efficient in conducting this invasion. I do not think Tanga clan will remain in control.”

“Well, I sure hate to hear that eight million of our dead and taking twenty percent of the planet in a year is slow progress for you nice people.”

Tupord glared at him. “I speak your language, but your beliefs do not match the words you used. You do not think the Krall are nice, and you want our progress to be slow, so you do not care if the war is inefficient for us.”

“You caught me again.”

This time the Krall looked at him oddly. “You didn’t escape us, unless you were a prisoner before.”

Reynolds shook his head at his wasted efforts at humor. “No, this is the first and last time.”

“A new Gatlek will be here in perhaps eight days or less. My clan commander believes sub-leaders from the victory on Bollovstic are near this world, and one of those leaders will have the required status. You have time to think of what you will tell him, human.”

Reynolds had indeed been thinking, for the last week. They had kept him in bleak conditions but fed him well enough, which had countered the blood loss, and provided the reduced number of nanites a chance to do their repair work. The former aid to the dead Gatlek clearly wanted to extract what he “knew” about human plans for the supposed plan to capture the former leader, and she was brutal at times. Obviously, however, there was restraint on her part because he lived through the week with all his pieces.

Furnishing what she wanted from him was going to be hard to provide, since the dead Gatlek was merely the meat contents of the suit of armor he had decided to take. He needed a better explanation if he wanted to extend his life in a relatively pain free condition. His alternative plan had been to insult her, to provoke her into killing him mercifully, in a quick Krall fit of temper. Sometimes you just don’t have any luck at all. She caused him pain but let him live.

Pendor returned his attention to the now seated human. “I have questioned many of you on Bollovstic. Those captives had little knowledge of us. You have shown you know our titles of rank, speak some of our language, understand a little of how we behave. With me, you recognized my display of amusement, and with Toltak, you used insults that could earn you a quicker death from an undisciplined warrior. Your ambush intended to draw a more powerful force after you, led by the highest rank Krall on Poldark. Both Toltak and the Dorbo translator believe you knew he was in the lead tank and you intended to capture Gatlek Gentda in that trap. You removed his body when you fled. How did you know he was in that tank force, and what use was his dead body to your leaders?”

Reynolds was surprised that the Krall had done so much of the work for him. He thought he’d have to bluff his way through more of his bullshit story. They assumed the humans had set the ambush specifically for capturing their leader, and his own chance decision to salvage the technology on his armor seemed to offer proof. He’d just learned the name of the dead Gatlek, so now was a good time to take advantage of a fresh detail.

“We were told that Gentda was less efficient as a leader than other high ranking Krall, and he didn’t even know we had mechanical spies watching him. We decided he was a weaker leader than other high rank Krall, and we wanted him alive, to learn more of your plans for the war.” Tupord, the Dorbo translator, had told him the former Gatlek wasn’t highly respected, and rival clans considered him inefficient. That blended with his concocted story, but still wasn’t an easy sell.

Pendor snorted. “The most inefficient novice will not cooperate with an enemy. We will die to avoid capture, and if wounded and taken alive, you cannot force us speak to you, and we can make ourselves die. Gentda was not the most efficient leader, but he was an experienced warrior, and would never give you information before he made both his hearts stop.”

Not knowing if Pendor knew the gesture, Reynolds nodded. “If he was aware he was a prisoner, he would never help us, but our newest drug has worked on some captured Krall that displayed slight weaknesses. I rushed to Gentda’s damaged Dragon to inject the drug to shut down his mind, while he was too stunned to fight. Then I took him with me. He was not dead then, because your race is very hard to kill. It may be that the missiles that destroyed my halftrack and took my arm actually killed him. His suit was more damaged after that attack than when I removed him from his tank, still alive.”

“It is not possible to do what you say. A Krall’s mind never shuts down. We do not experience the small death humans call sleep. That is why we can fight at any time, and are always alert.”

Well, that confirmed what Reynolds had often heard about the Krall.  It was the right time to use that information in his evolving fabrication. “But humans know what causes our own minds to shut down, and our bodies make a chemical that does this, to make us sleep once a day. We learned how to concentrate that chemical into a stronger drug, which can even shut down a powerful Krall mind. Your bodies do not make this chemical, so you never needed a way to deactivate the drug, as our bodies do each morning after we sleep.” A tiny trace of truth can be stretched a long ways.

The Krall leader took far longer to respond than was customary for a race noted for snap decisions. He was obviously thinking about what he’d just heard. Reynolds hurried to build something from the precarious pile of twigs his fabrication had assembled.

“I learned some of the Krall language from wounded warriors we kept asleep.” Actually, there was a course taught to troops on low Krall, conducted by AI’s that knew a considerable amount of the language. Encrypted transmissions made it of little use to the average soldier.

“We discovered that the warriors often considered the questions asked of their sleeping minds as ridiculous. They would snort in their sleep.” He mimicked the sound and head toss Pendor had made.

This particular Krall had admitted questioning other humans, so perhaps a few more partial-truths would reinforce his story. “Humans sometimes speak in their sleep, saying random things, and will even speak about suggested subjects, proposed to them while asleep.

“Krall, under the influence of our drug, do the same. However, the few low rank warriors we have captured alive didn’t know of your larger plans. One warrior told us in his sleep that a Gatlek, named Gentda, directed the invasion on Poldark. That’s how we found his bunker and we sent our tiny spy robots to enter. They told us when the Gatlek came out, so we could set up an ambush. How else would we have known when to draw him into a trap, and be ready to capture him?” This is pure bullshit! He thought. I hope it works.

“My only mistake was that I didn’t think to turn off his radio when I had him. Our soldiers will have to try again, with another Krall leader.” The inference was obvious. Any Gatlek would do.

Pendor demonstrated he had drawn the same conclusion. “I will not be so foolish as to personally lead an attack on a small decoy force. I will order a sweep of my bunker for more of your spy devices. My sub-leaders will be ordered to search for these devices, and to always suspect human deceptions when you retreat or show us an easy target.”

Reynolds felt his first trace of hope. At least Pendor was buying into part of the story, since the spy gadgets and ambushes were common parts of the human war effort. He’d have to offer to make himself useful, in some continuing capacity that would keep him alive and whole.

“I don’t want to die cut in pieces from interrogation, so I will help you learn more about our sleep drug, and the antidote that reverses its effect. If you let me stay alive and healthy, I may be able to guide in ways that will protect your unconscious warriors from talking to our scientists.” Even acting as a phony traitor left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

“You can make these drugs for us to test?”

“Sir, I am a soldier, not a scientist, or what you would call a K’Tal. I had more of the sleep drug with my armor, but the warriors that captured me removed my suit and left it behind in the woods. My people will have recovered it by now, since it is a secret project.” Teams routinely recovered armor from battlefield casualties for parts, and obtained a download of the solid-state memory log of the suit’s AI. It would be long gone after a week.

“Then of what value are you to me now?”

Oh, Oh. Give him a use! His mind raced.

“I can show your K’Tal’s some of the stimulants that we use to inhibit sleep, and test them for you. Some of the weaker ones are in common human drinks and in some of our foods. We use them to keep us awake longer, and to help make us alert faster in the mornings. We use drinks called coffee, tea, and other energy drinks that have this chemical, and eat a food we call chocolate. The simplest chemical is caffeine, and we sometimes carry it with us in pill form. The drug we must use to reverse sleep in a Krall is much more powerful, because your minds are so much stronger when our sleep drug puts you to sleep. Nevertheless, the drug to wake your warriors works something like caffeine. Ask other humans about Coffee, and what it does for us.”

“Human prisoners have used coffee before, and have asked for it to drink. We did not know that was to block your need to sleep the small death. Why do you not use it all the time in battle?”

“Caffeine will only work for a few hours before our brains feel the need to sleep anyway. If we stay awake too long, we lose our ability to think properly. We discovered how to make the Krall sleep when we studied how to make humans stay awake the way you do. We can’t make our brains as strong as yours, but we can put your brains asleep if we act fast when you are injured in battle.”

“Are there other ways to deliver this sleep chemical to our warriors? Besides introducing it into their bodies directly, as you did to Gentda.”

Sold! Reynolds thought. Now he’s worried we can put his army to sleep.

“I told you, I’m a simple soldier, not one of our scientists. I don’t know that answer. But I will try to help you find the answer if you let me live.”

Pendor considered this only a second or two, nevertheless a deeper reflection that was usual for a Krall. He tapped his shoulder com unit, and deployed one ear on that side. He spoke in the silent lip wriggle they used.

Reynolds wished he had one of the newly developed ultrasonic ear inserts, which could lower high Krall speech frequencies down to human range. Except, he remembered thigh Krall was effectively a different language, and he had little mastery of low Krall as it was. He guessed the topic of conversation partly involved him, with a revealing result coming soon, possibly in some unpleasant manner.

When Toltak entered, along with several warriors of high rank based on their tattoos, Reynolds spirits took a nosedive. Her last request was to make him pay with his life for the insults he’d given her in the last week. He’d wanted a mercifully swift death then, only just now, with Pendor, he’d thought he’d arranged a stay of execution and continued good health.

Her expression when she entered also seemed anticipatory, although murderous anger at him was nearly the only expression Reynolds had seen on her. When it dissolved into clear confusion and then disgust, it was obvious Pendor was exacting a price from her previous disrespect for the new Gatlek. He then deliberately spoke to her in low Krall, so that the human, used as the means of delivering her penance, could understand what Pendor ordered her to do, and to deepen the insult she felt.

“This captive is a valuable source of information on a new weapon that is being developed by humans. Our race has never faced this weapon. He has agreed to help me learn how it works if I permit him to live, and kept safe from injury. This information is important not only to the war here, but against all humans. Return him to his compartment, keep him safe, and provide him with things humans use to sleep, sit, and eat. Send him clean human coverings.”

Without a pause, he returned to speaking high Krall, apparently to the three high rank warriors. As soon as he finished, and Toltak pulled Reynolds (rather gently, for her) towards the doorway, the other warriors started searching the large room’s equipment cabinets, corners, and ceiling. Probably looking for the “bugs” that Reynolds had said warned them when Gentda went out on a raid.

****

Reynolds had been bored for the last week, but more comfortable in his larger, and now furnished twenty foot by thirty foot cubical. The obvious two cameras and audio pickups proved he was under observation.  That was something he had assumed even in the smaller bare room he’d occupied the first week. Pendor came to see him the day after Tupord had warriors bring in the bed, table, chair, and ill-fitting clean clothes.

The Gatlek had brought self-heating coffee packs and a pile of chocolate bars, all standard Army issue. Pendor instructed Reynolds to consume the products and see how long he could remain awake and alert. Some unseen translators asked periodic random questions through a hidden speaker, to see if he was awake. The sergeant made a serious effort to remain awake for much longer than normal, and used his thumbnail watch overlay to keep track of time. The room had no window of course, and the light, as was normal for the Krall, never dimmed.

After thirty-six hours, he decided it was enough time, so he pretended to fall asleep on the bed, collapsing face down with his thumb watch where he could see it, while his eyes were out of view of the two cameras. He did have to fight hard to stay awake for the “show” he wanted to put on for the watchers. After thirty minutes of feigning sleep, while desperately fighting real sleep, he started mumbling and “talking in his sleep.” His barracks buddies all told him he snored loudly, but never had mentioned if he spoke in his sleep. If it were funny and embarrassing, they would have told him and used it in jokes at his expense, and if he talked of inappropriate serious stuff, they likely would not have said a thing.

“I need to warn them…, the Krall know what we did.” He mumbled incoherently some more. The said, “Want to go home…, I need to escape. Wish a spy bot would find me. The Army could come rescue me.” These were all things he thought the listeners might expect a sleep talking prisoner to say.

A loud voice suddenly sounded from a speaker. He nearly jerked in surprise, and practically wet himself, due to lying down with a too full bladder in a bit of poor preplanning on his part.

“How is the sleep drug made?” The Krall’s voice asked, entirely too loud for a normal sleeping person to ignore.

Idiots! He almost laughed. They were testing his autosuggestion technique, to see if he would reveal any secrets, as he said Krall warriors did.

“It’s a secret brain chemical.” Then he mumbled some more.

“Where does it come from, how is it made?” It was still too loud, but not as startling.

“I think made from brain chemicals..., blue birds fly up your nose and eat worms.” Mixing in a bit of dream nonsense seemed reasonable.

“What are blue birds?” Crap, now he’d led them into goofy land.

“Birds are pretty, I like birds.”

“Does the chemical come from birds or worms?”

Change the subject. “No, it comes from brains. I miss home and I have to pee.” That last was certainly true!

“How is the drug concentrated?”

“I wish I was a smart scientist. I would know how…, (mumble) I need to pee.”

“Can the drug be given to many warriors at once?”

They were worried about mass battlefield effects?

“I don’t know…, It might work that way. I only did it twice by myself…, I want to pee, need to wake up soon... (mumble).”

“Stay asleep!”

Sure, shout an order at a sleeping person to make them stay asleep. He’d created a stupid myth he might have a problem maintaining.

He stirred on the bed, stretching as he often did as he awakened. He rolled over, rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Was there somebody here? I thought I heard a loud voice.” Nothing.

Going over to the slop bucket they provided, he raised the covering board and emptied his bladder into the odorous mess. Then he went back to his bed. This time he really went to sleep.

Reynolds was awakened twice more by overly loud questions, apparently when he was snoring, based on his raspy feeling throat. He sat up each time and asked “What?” with no reply. Now he was worried he might really talk in his sleep, revealing that this whole charade was something he’d made up to stay alive. He could get a good ironic laugh out of that, as they lopped off limbs and tasted them right in front of him.

Several days later, he learned that his supposed nighttime rambling had pushed Pendor into making a decision. One that Reynolds couldn’t see working in his favor, despite extending his life as a relatively pampered prisoner for a time.

“My sub-leaders found three small robot spy devices inside, and four just outside this bunker. They all exploded in small pieces when discovered, after sending a short encrypted radio signal. I believe your Army knows you are alive, and they may have learned that you have agreed to help us learn the secrets of this new sleep drug. You spoke in your sleep, telling us you want to escape, and that they should rescue you. Neither of those things is possible, but the small spy machines can explode, and one could find its way to you and kill you, before you can help us.”

Damn! This sounds like they’re going to move me. He was more right than he expected.

“You will be joined by other prisoners, and all of you will be sent to a place where our best K’Tals or members of our slave races can study your brains, to find how to block the sleep drug before it is perfected for wider use.”

He had now managed to drag other captives into his fabrication. He considered speaking up to spare them, and accept his own untimely and unpleasant death. However, he recalled that the Krall never released a human prisoner except by death. A few had escaped, but they never simply turned anyone loose. His ludicrous story might actually keep them alive longer, so he kept silent. It wasn’t as if he had a real secret to risk revealing to the enemy.

“May I ask where are we going?”

“Off this world,” was the short, disturbing answer.

“Is K1, your base, a nice place this time of year?”  That was his guess, for maximum security.

“Telda Ka was proposed, the world you now call K1, but Tor Gatrol Kanpardi does not think the biological technology to study the human brain chemical is present on our base. He will send you, and enough humans for experiments, to the former Malveran home world, in space that we fully control.”

He didn’t want them take him from Poldark. “I can safely provide you with my help from a stealth ship in orbit here, or from one of your other bases on Poldark. What if I think of something that is here that could help you?”

“Our biology K’Tal and slave experts are not here. It is only a three-week journey, in human time, to the other world. For a war of many generations, that is not long to wait for information. I replaced Toltak with a member of my own clan as my aid.  Her Tanga clan leader on Poldark is sending her to their base world, to return with more trained novices to fight here. You will travel in her Clanship. She will deliver you on her way.”

Swell. “She wants me dead. If I’m alone with her, I will have a fatal ‘accident’ before I arrive.”

“Her clan’s honor is involved with your safe delivery. You will not be harmed.”

With a sigh Reynolds asked, “How many days do I have before I leave?”

“I came to take you to the shuttle.”

“Gee. Don’t I get to pack first?” he asked.

It was wasted sarcasm, as usual. “All you have are your coverings, and they are on your body.”

****

The Clanship had been in the Jump Hole for five days when Toltak entered the open deck area where she housed the seventeen humans. Reynolds had discovered, upon boarding the ship, that sixteen young men and women would accompany him. There was eight of each gender. They appeared selected specifically for youth, health, and vigor. They were recent captures, in a flash raid on a large city, resulting in a high number of deaths on both sides.

As a member of the military, Sergeant Reynolds, as they addressed him, was the older and more experienced man at fifty-two, and appeared to know why they were there. He was as up front with them as possible about what the Krall might do with them experimentally. He omitted the part about the phony story he had told the Krall, because that detail wasn’t going to soothe their fears, or help him keep their hopes alive if they felt they couldn’t trust him. He carried a huge load of guilt around.

Knowing Toltak would not kill or even harm him, he always met her when she came, and he did the talking for the group. All of the younger people, in their twenties, knew the general precautions required when confronted with a Krall that wasn’t trying to kill them right then. Don’t stare or make eye contact, and obey any order. Reynolds didn’t know if the other prisoners had any guarantee of safe delivery, but he didn’t want to risk any of them to find out.

Averting his eyes, he walked up to her. He looked away because he didn’t want her to use his disrespect as an excuse to harm someone else in retaliation. She appeared slightly mollified by his improved behavior, though he knew she would like nothing better than to carve him up for the others to watch.

“We are honored by your visit. What is it you want of us?” A week ago he would have puked before saying that to her.

“There will be a landing soon, but is not on your destination world. I want to visit another world for one or two days. My pilot and the four warriors with me have never seen this place. I wish to hunt there with them. You will be locked inside the ship, and safe. If you do not make trouble, I will reward you with a taste of the meat we kill. It is unique. Do not think you can operate this Clanship yourself. It will activate only for a Krall, and the doors will not open for you. Do you understand?”

“Not completely. We can’t eat just any meat you would feed us from some alien world. Is it safe for us?”

“Yes. Humans have eaten it before, many times, and liked it. However, no human alive has eaten it for at least a Krall breeding cycle. They called it rhinolo.”

18. A Homecoming (Koban)

Carson, Ethan, their fathers, Commander Mirikami, and a dozen others intended to spend most of this year exploring Koban’s next largest continent, now named Jura. The boys, over nineteen and just graduated from Prime City High School, wanted a break before starting at Hub City University.

This more “primitive” continent was isolated from the other two continents by wide stretches of ocean. Cenozo was the continent where Hub City and Prime City were located.

The third and smallest continent, Paleogene, connected to Cenozo via a geologically recent land bridge. The formerly isolated dominate life forms of those two land masses were still mingling and adjusting. The scientists from the Flight of Fancy were responsible for the odd names of the three continents, rather than named by explorers as was sometimes the case on Earth.

They had named Cenozo after the Cenozoic era of Earth, due to the similarity to the types of animals that had evolved there, and that they saw every day. That era on Earth was when diverse animals like deer, cats, pigs, tapirs, rhinos, elephants, horses, owls, shrews, hedgehogs, and rabbits had evolved. Koban had equivalents on that largest continent.

The existence now on Cenozo continent of the dinosaur-like whiteraptors, and their smaller cousins, the micro-raptor screamers, was due to their migration over the Paleogene land bridge on the north west coast of Cenozo, over the last ten or twelve thousand years. They arrived, along with a number of armored dinosaur herbivores, one of which was Thelma’s Thumper. The latter animal, named after the unfortunate woman that sat on one, mistaking it for a rock, only to discover that it came equipped with a club-like tail for defense. A fatal discovery and posthumous naming.

The Paleogene continent had remnants of dinosaur families, but it also was where moosetodons and yaks had evolved. It had been in slow transition from Cretaceous type fauna to the larger mammals of the early Cenozoic. Koban had not experienced many large impact caused extinction events, as had driven and restarted Earth’s evolution by creating niches for new species to fill. The scientists had noted the relative paucity of craters on Koban’s moon (which everyone simply called the moon, not the Moon.) The existence of older successful animals, long after newer forms developed on other continents, was a hallmark of the “clean” planetary system where Koban was located, and the long isolation periods of the three continental plates.

Jura continent, with even more primitive and ancient animals, had been isolated from the other two landmasses for probably a hundred million years. Jura had only a handful of storm blown examples of more modern animals represented, except for birds and wolfbats, of course.

There was continental drift on Koban, but the higher gravity, or possibly a larger iron core made the plates move slower than on Earth. The long isolated continent’s name derived from Earth’s Jurassic era, and the abundant animals there fit the name the scientists universally agreed was suitable. Dinosaur equivalents dominated, in all their varieties. However, organic superconductors had been present in their most remote ancestors, as they were for all Koban life.

There wasn’t going to be any long dispute as to whether Koban dinosaurs were plodding and cold blooded, or fast and warm blooded. No matter what damned temperature their blood, nobody needed to stick a rectal thermometer up the rear ends of any of these beasties to solve an academic debate. They were fast, when they needed to be.

Thad and Ethan were stalking some gray, brown, and blue spotted, large cow sized horned herbivores, which resembled Styracosaurus, members of a Koban-style Ceratopsian family of grazers found on Jura. Convergent evolution had given these particular animals a triangular spiked head shield, which protected their vulnerable necks from raptors and the plentiful K-Rex. They had a two foot nose horn and parrot–like beaks but weren’t normally aggressive. However, if threatened they would form a circle, and back their butts into the center and face outwards. That was if they felt threatened. People didn’t look large enough to be threatening, so if they became concerned over the presence of humans, the placid, generally slow moving horned creatures would run about thirty miles per hour. Not away from people as you might expect, but rather directly at what they felt was large enough to be potentially dangerous, and yet too small to stop them from trampling them into the teal colored grass and brightly colored flowers.

You generally hunted them from the side of the herd’s direction of movement, requiring only light cover for concealment. They could smell humans, but that unknown scent didn’t alarm them. Staying out of sight was the only hunting precaution taken. A hunter of these would take a shot that dropped one in its tracks, and simply wait for the herd to move on as it grazed. Except for a slight start of surprise of the other animals at the noise, the herd would continue to eat grass and leaves, moving slowly on its way, leaving the dead member behind without another glance. They were not quite as tasty as rhinolo, but were less aggressive and far less intelligent. The two men had followed the tracks by truck this morning, finally having to catch up to the herd on foot, because they would take flight when sighting a “predatory” looking truck.

Thad offered Ethan a suggestion. “Son, one shot from behind the neck shield, into the skull. A 50-caliber slug doesn’t need to hit the brain directly. The shock of the impact will turn it to mush. Its brain is only about half the size of your fist.”

Ethan glanced at his dad and smiled, instead of rolling his eyes as he would have a year or two ago. His father was a far more experienced hunter, but Ethan was a TG. He was quite confident that he could take down one of these with only his Krall pistol, and probably could do it with just the large knife strapped to his calf. He knew he could outrun them on open ground for at least a mile, and if he chose not to run, could simply leap onto one’s back and ride until it grew tired. Except, he couldn’t do the latter if he had to carry his slower running father, so he cheerfully accepted Dad’s advice.

In a fast smooth motion, which looked like a snap shot to an average person, Ethan quickly raised the heavy bolt-action rifle, chambering the large round home as he brought the stock up to his shoulder and right cheek, and squeezed the trigger exactly the instant when the gun’s sight lined up with the intended target point. The loud boom sounded out over the grassland, coming from the nearby grove of trees where the two men crouched.

As expected, one of the smaller animals of the herd dropped to its knees, a large slug passing through the center of its tiny brain. The shields of the other animal’s heads pivoted as they lifted their heads at the report and looked around, sniffing. Then, seeing or smelling no threats, they resumed munching grass, slowly moving towards uncropped teal colored fodder ahead, walking around the deceased herd member.

Thad offered his boy a complement. “I thought you might take the large bull for the trophy horn. You made a much better choice.”

Ethan nodded his agreement. “We only have seventeen mouths to feed, nineteen if I count Kit and Kobalt. That smaller cow has twice the amount of meat we need. It’s going to be more tender than that bull, and I won’t catch as much grief from Kit over wasting food. She or Kobalt can let the lions know about the leftover meat.”

Thad latched onto that new subject. “Has she and Kobalt gotten over their disappointment in the cats here? I haven’t frilled either of them since you told me their negotiations mostly flopped.”

Ethan shook his head. “They both think the breeds of cats we’ve found here so far are…,” He paused considering. “I guess the images they gave me mean they are more primitive than rippers. The lions also were a lot less than thrilled to see two really large feline competitors in their territory. They just wanted to be left alone.”

On Jura, the cats contacted thus far lived as long-term mated couples, and were solid tan colored. They called them lions, but they were closer to the size and lanky body type of Earth leopards, only without spots, sporting white facial markings over the eyes and sides of the muzzles. The male had a red-brown mane of bushy hair above the top of the neck frill, which tapered partway down the back, hence the use of lion as a descriptive name for the species.

“Their aloofness may have something to do with what your Uncle Dillon said about their reduced level of socialization, when compared to the ripper pride structure. The lions occasionally meet and interact with other mated pairs, and introduce their cubs as potential mates for other cubs, and they exchange mind pictures, but they are not instinctively pack animals. It’s the concept of the pride that lets rippers accept humans as another pride animal.”

“That seems reasonable.” Ethan shrugged, “I don’t think we will have as close a relationship with lions here, but they definitely received mind pictures of how dangerous and vindictive humans can be if they ever attack one of us. Kit says they will accept our meat gifts as reason to avoid conflict and competition. They positively don’t want a ripper coming after them. They can run faster, but not for as long, and they would be no match for our cats when caught.”

“I guess a truce is better than nothing, but it would have been nice to have active cooperation.”

“Kobalt’s pictures imply that rippers might like the challenge of establishing prides in virgin territory over here, hunting completely knew creatures with different prey terror images to enjoy.”

“Yea, it’s their raw enjoyment of the kill that’s the hardest images for most people to share with them.”

“Well, they don’t like our willingness to kill for other than food. Those are hard images for them to accept. Yet they understand and agree with our desire to hunt the Krall and stop them from killing anything alive for sheer pleasure. The wild prides think the enemies of their enemy are friends, so we are allies against the evil wasteful Krall.”

Thad indicated his agreement, and looked over to their now isolated meat kill. “Ok, young swift legs. Go get the truck, and I’ll start the butchering.” He pulled out his own eighteen-inch hunting blade. “We can be back to camp by midday.”

When he heard the truck returning, it was making more noise than seemed reasonable. The electric motors and fusion bottle power plant were quiet, but the truck body rattling and wheels leaving and slamming onto the uneven ground at high speed made a lot of noise. The edge of the grove of trees prevented him from seeing the vehicle, until it came around the distant corner of trees, nearly tipped up on its left wheels in a hard right turn.

What in hell is that kid up to? He wondered.

Carson and Ethan had largely gotten over the urge to show off their TG abilities in front of their parents. Especially when some bragging feat of accomplishment for a mom or dad was inevitably followed by words such as: “Great, now see how fast you can do the dishes and clean your room,” or “You really are strong, so carry the laundry over to the Flight of Fancy.”

When Thad spotted a flash of teal through the windscreen, he became concerned. That was Kit with him. She had been doing patrol duty around the camp, watching for predators that might be tempted to “sample” a new prey animal. The radio at his waist hadn’t made a peep, which he’d expect if something large, like a family of K-Rex came close. The forty-foot partly blue-feathered Koban replicas of a Tyrannosaurus were extremely dangerous, and you needed heavy guns to bring them down. They absolutely could not be frightened away. For exactly the same reason whiteraptors could not be chased away at home. An apex killer feared nothing.

The Rex’s often followed behind herds, but the Ceratopsians he and Ethan stalked had not passed particularly close to the expedition’s temporary campsite. They had been camped in the area for several days, scouting the region around an abandoned Krall compound, planning for a new settlement. There had been no sign of the big predators, and they would be hard to miss from the air.

Thad wiped his bloody blade in the grass, and slid it into its sheath. He wiped his hands on more grass as the truck closed, hardly slowing. He picked up the rifle and stood waiting as the truck slid to the end of its wild ride. Both Kit and Ethan made graceful exits on the fly, even as the truck rocked back with its brake locks set. For what seemed the millionth time, he noticed the smooth powerful movements of his son and Kit, and mentally compared their movements to how he remembered the Krall moving, so many years ago. He knew he was biased, but he saw more grace and greater power in both of them, and not only because the Krall were bowlegged and he hated them.

With no preliminary, Ethan said, “Frill Kit, Dad.”

He reached out and gripped the fleshy frill of the heavily panting cat, using thumb and forefinger. Instantly he had an image of Tet beckoning with a sense of urgency, followed by an old image of several Krall carrying rifles, all of which suddenly whirled and looked directly at him, and they started running for a shuttle he saw beyond them. They fired towards him, and to their sides, as his viewpoint rotated and shifted rapidly, in fast and confusing arcs. He realized he was seeing a ripper’s view of a pursuit of three Krall warriors that were fleeing for their lives. They were shooting at the ripper, but missing as it bounded and twisted, changing directions. He caught a glimpse of other rippers coming in from the sides. His viewpoint suddenly shifted, and he was now seeing the scene from one of the other rippers, which pulled up just as a shuttle hatch closed. The Krall had barely made it into their shuttle. The sense was that these were old pride memories.

Another image of Tet returned, one hand apparently on Kit’s frill, the other hand clearly beckoning him urgently. He pointed skyward, and then at the larger of their two shuttles. He next saw an image of Prime City, then Hub City. Then the images were from Kit’s viewpoint, racing from the camp to find them.

Thad released the frill, and told Ethan, “You drive, get us back to camp now.” He put his rifle into its padded gun box behind the front seats, and motioned Kit to get in the back. He felt the heat radiate from her body as she passed him, and realized she had run that twelve-mile distance to reach them. He gripped the doorframe, pressed a hand against the truck cab roof, and braced his feet. This was going to be one brutal ride.

The truck wheels tore up the dirt and grass as it spun around, and Kit stretched her neck over the seat back to press her frill against his upraised left forearm. There was an image of a gazelle’s meat rotting on a savanna, apparently on the plains of Cenozo continent if Thad was correct in his assumption. Then an image of the kill they had just left behind followed, making the context clear to him. The inference was obvious; this was wasteful to leave the meat.

He risked a head bump to grip her frill with his left hand, forming a mental image of something he had never actually seen. This was something humans were good at, but hard for a ripper to do. She received an image from him of the Krall, shooting at humans of her pride and at her now grown cubs. Rippers could distinguish real memory images from those humans created, but understood this was her “Father’s” explanation of why they had to go now.

Her deep snarl and exposed canines proved she had forgotten the wasted kill.

Ethan was able to roll smoothly with the truck jounces, and was bracing and floating at various times as they bounced and turned, at nearly seventy miles per hour, over the lumpy and grassy semi-plains, going around trees, shrubs, and the larger rocks he could see. “What’s going on Dad? I saw the images, but Kit didn’t have the context. When did the Krall do those things? Why didn’t Uncle Tet call us on the radio?”

Unlike Ethan, Thad had trouble finishing a sentence without grunting from some hard bounce or jolt. “They haven’t arrived…grunt…yet. Tet didn’t …oops…use radio because they…unhh…might hear. Jake must have…ugh…picked up a White Out. We’re maintaining radio silence now…ugh…as planned. They might land at either dome....ouch…” He bumped the top of his head against the cab roof.

“Damn! Try to miss some of them, OK?”

Except for involuntary grunts, and a few yelps as Thad banged an elbow, head, or knee, they drove on without conversation for nearly nine minutes. It was annoying for Thad to see even Kit handle the jolts better than he did, and he was using hands, feet, elbows and knees, for bracing. He was going to be bruised by the time they reached their destination, assuming he was even conscious. He swore the TG kids all went to some secret Krall driving school.

The truck finally slid to a dusty halt in the camp, finding it in disarray. It was obvious that they were leaving much of the durable or easily replaced equipment where it was. Tet was at the door of the larger shuttle, and shouted to Thad to hurry. Kobalt’s huge head peered around Mirikami’s side. Several SG kids were carrying fragile equipment to the other shuttle, on the run.

Forced to limp from a knee bang as the truck jarred to a stop, Thad hustled to join Mirikami. He was halfway there when he remembered his rifle. He was turning around when Ethan passed him with the heavy weapon carried lightly in his left hand, and he gripped his dad’s arm with his right hand to hurry him along. Kit flashed by and darted through the shuttle hatch, briefly pausing to touch frills with her brother.

Mirikami clapped him on the shoulder. “I was afraid I’d have to leave the second shuttle for you. You nearly beat Dillon back from the Krall compound, only two miles away. It’s a single Clanship, and so far, Jake couldn’t say where it’s going. He picked up the gamma ray burst at about two hundred thousand miles out. He can’t use radar, but Jake visually tracked it by telescope as it vectored towards the moon. That’s almost on the night side right now or at least over the horizon, and I have no idea what it’s doing. As soon as Jake detected the White Out, he sounded the recall sirens at Prime City and Hub City. I only hope we get everyone inside or under cover.”

“Tet, if they are around the limb of the planet, we can still use the com sats for a few minutes.”

“Sorry Thad, I did use them briefly to speak with Jake, then I told him to use tight beam laser to place them both in standby. Cahill, the idiot, tried to use their radio right after Jake issued the warnings to go radio silent. We need to play dead as long as we can. We have to get them to land where we have some chance of catching them off guard.”

Dillon looked around the edge of the cockpit door, from the pilot’s seat. “Hey Thad, saw Ethan driving. I’ll try to be smoother than that.  Everyone get seated, we’re lifting right now. Tet can tell what little we know.” The increasing high pitch thruster noise cut off as the hatch closed, and the shuttle lifted, a bit rocky in his haste. Dillon was a qualified pilot, as was Thad, but he lacked what Tet called “the touch.”

Thad took a seat next to Alyson Formby, the first TG from Hub City, and one of only three TGs on this expedition. She had virtually begged to go on this trip. After a taste of “freedom,” her own words, from what she called the “repressive social boredom” of conservative Hub City, she was a full convert to the idea of gene mods after a week’s visit at age seventeen. At eighteen, the age of consent set for Hub City youngsters to make adult decisions, she had flown to Prime City against her parent’s wishes, and asked for the Koban mods.

When her initial adaptation period was over, which the ripper frilling had helped accelerate, she went home and recruited dozens of eighteen-year-old Hub City kids to try the same mods.

Recruiting among the girls didn’t prove to be very hard, not after her former dominating large boyfriend, Brad Culligan, tried to force himself back into her good graces. His arm would heal sooner than his pride, because Alyson chose the same public location to humiliate him as he had selected in trying to forcibly kiss and fondle her. The Great Auditorium was half-full at lunch time when his high pitched cry drew everyone’s eyes, as he flew seventeen and a half vertical feet into the air (measured by Jake, on request), breaking his arm as he tried to break his fall. The pitch of Brad’s shriek on the way up was “assisted” by virtue of where Alyson had applied her “lift” to launch the good looking, but obnoxious bully.

One aspect of the social changes on Koban had been to bring males out from under the repressive “weaker sex” image that had pervaded society after the Collapse. The “boys are back,” was a new catch phrase, but a few went too far back into the past. The girls insisted on remaining “Ladies.”

Alyson had a question that must have been on the minds of the six SGs aboard the shuttle, with Carson and Ethan the only other TGs. “Mister Greeves, what are we going to do if the Krall find out we didn’t all die?”

Thad glanced at Tet, and answered her, and the other youngsters, as honestly as possible. He figured Ethan and Carson already knew, having been around the Inner Circle’s social conversations all their lives.

“Alyson, there is to our present knowledge only one Clanship, with an unknown number of warriors aboard. We need it to land, we hope at one of the cities where we can hide and try to ambush them, and make certain it never departs. We have to prevent that departure, at whatever the cost.” He looked around at the young faces, one his own son, and realized he could be looking at the price right now.

Mirikami told them some of the flexible plans, many of which had been in outline form for years. “If this is the only ship, and we can keep it from leaving, we will not need to resort to the diaspora model, where we send families and small groups out into the wild, all over the planet to survive as best they can on what they can carry with them or make out of local materials. That has been our last resort plan.

“The situation we face now, at least thus far, offers us a greater hope of preserving what we have built. If there are five hundred, or even two thousand armed warriors aboard, which, given the size of a Clanship is possible, we will be hard pressed to kill them all without losing many of our own, and possibly one or both domes. That still requires that we not let that ship get airborne, to use its lasers, plasma cannons, and missiles. We will lose if that happens. The worst event for us would be if they escaped the planet and Jumped.”

“Sir,” it was Alyson again. “How will we keep the Clanship grounded? We don’t have any weapons that can dent one of those. I studied all I could find in the library about them. They’re supposed to be really tough.”

Mirikami nodded grimly. “We could try to storm the ship and get inside to take control, but the weapon that I see as most effective is the one we are riding in right now.”

Their blank looks turned to comprehension when Carson blurted, “Ram them with this shuttle?” Now they all looked positively alarmed.

Mirikami shook his head. “For smart kids, you sure miss the point sometimes. I wouldn’t ram them with all of us aboard, actually with nobody aboard. Jake, if his signal isn’t being jammed, can control a shuttle if given Link capability.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Carson apologized. “TGs do think fast under pressure, and a remote piloted shuttle was going to be my suggestion. However, none of us could be sure you classical’s had considered that option.” Rather than call the older humans slow thinkers, the TG’s had started using the term classical thinkers. Once the older generation understood the term, it quickly lost its charm.

Laughing wryly, Mirikami pointed out something to the three young TGs. “We old farts don’t think as fast as you hyper youngsters, not in a fight, but with enough time, and I don’t mean just a few hundredths of a second of time, our experience and classical native intelligence can come up with plans that work. Our contingency planning was underway before any of you pups were even born.”

“I guess Aunt Maggi was right about Uncle Tet.” Ethan informed Carson, with a wink.

Mirikami simply had to ask. “What did she say?”

“Don’t poke a bear just to see if it’s awake. It might bite your ass off.”

****

To her five other clan members on the command deck, Toltak said, looking out the viewport, “This will be our home world, after we walk the Great Path but a few hands of hands of breeding cycles.”

Her pilot, Gapod, was unimpressed with the view, as Krall generally were with scenery anyway. “It looks like most worlds we own, no more dangerous.”

“So you can see the three horned rhinolo from here, and judge its speed, strength, and its few weaknesses? You can see the eight rippers stalking you from behind?” The sneer was evident in her words, even if it was difficult to replicate on a Krall’s features. They could widen or narrow their eyes and move their stiff but flexible lips, deploy the internal ultrasonic ears, and show their teeth and purple tongues. However, they were limited in displaying emotions with facial gestures, except for those of rage, domination, and intimidation. The rare snort and head toss of amusement or sense of irony was their sole lighter emotional display.

“More than one hunter has fallen to the charge of a powerful mindless rhinolo. They run and turn faster than any human you have faced in battle, and as hard to kill with a projectile weapon as any foe with armor. If you have the misfortune to have the natural hunters of the rhinolo chose you as its prey, your best defense is to get inside the shuttle door before they kill you. The one you see is probably not the one that will kill you. They are faster and stronger than we are, and very good hunters. It is the animals down there that are the reason we do not live here now, not the higher gravity.” She had adjusted internal gravity to match her memory of its strength on Koban.

“We must keep this visit as a story told nowhere else, if we wish to retain our status as it is now. The path to our clan’s home base was too close to Koban to resist a short visit, but we do not have approval of the joint clan council.” She almost spat the last words. “Tanga clan proposed that we should train our novices here, in this gravity, before they fight humans.

“We cannot change the council’s decision, but I desire the taste of rhinolo meat, and wish to share it with surviving clan mates from my former octet, as a reward for your support for me and our dead Gatlek, and for the many status kills you each have earned in battle, as leaders of your own octets.” The last comments were more to cover her own selfish motives, but once her subordinates agreed, and participated without protest, the bond of secrecy and self-interest would hold between them.

“Why was I asked to take us to the moon of this world before we land?” Gapod cared even less for the view of a moon that he did of the blue-green world below.

“Parkoda, of our clan, was the sub-leader that taught all the Krall how to take other ships and objects with us when we Jump. This was a great discovery, and he used it to tow many large human ships here with captives. The largest of the dead ships are in orbit of this moon as tributes to Tanga clan. This feat should be part of Krall histories, and Tanga clan must retell the story until it is a part of that history. You will tell it more accurately if you see the prizes we took.”

Naturally, her own retelling omitted the part where Parkoda stole credit for the towing idea from humanity. It also overlooked the detail that Parkoda’s raid had captured only three of the eight large prize ships. When the human captives they contained proved to be unnecessary for additional combat testing of novices against humans, he had simply suggested blasting the ships with missiles, with no thought of their trophy value. This would have left rings of trash and debris surrounding their future home world. The competing Graka clan had proposed placing them in orbit around the moon, as an expedient means for the Krall fleet to depart immediately, to make the first attack on a human world, Gribbles’ Nook, thus starting the war. In Krall legends, brags repeated often enough sometimes became the “truth,” so Tanga clan repeated and exaggerated their contribution.

When the Clanship neared the moon, its sensors reported only seven large ships in orbit there. If there’s any quantity a Krall is certain to remember, it was the number eight, the basis of their octal number system, and two hands of captured ships should be there. Toltak immediately ordered a scan of the surface of the moon for debris, in the event one ship had somehow spiraled in and crashed. They found no wreckage after a full orbit.

Next, she conducted a radar sweep of the space around Koban, which produced scattered results. They found the eighth huge human transport in an equatorial orbit close to the planet. There was no power detected from it, and it registered cold on an IR scan. Toltak acknowledged it was possible she had not heard of the final disposition for all of the human ships during the rush and excitement of the Krall departure. She told her clan mates that she had not personally seen eight ships orbiting the moon.

Two other radar specks, spotted in probable geosynchronous orbits, drew scant attention. There were thousands of pieces of wreckage in high and low elliptical orbits. They were the remnants of a demolished human cargo ship, with pieces gradually falling out of orbit as they grazed the atmosphere on low passes, burning up on entry. That ship’s human crew had attempted to escape after arriving here. A Tanga Clanship commander had destroyed it, on Parkoda’s order, as an object lesson to other human ships, thus carelessly cluttering the space around Koban with its debris. It was this messy example that spared the destruction of the eight larger ships, which were incapable of planetary landings.

The search of the space around the planet and of its moon had taken more than two hours. Her curiosity about the location of the final abandoned ship satisfied, Toltak ordered Gapod to descend over the southern part of the largest northern hemisphere continent, where she would identify the abandoned main Krall dome along the southwestern shoreline. She was the only warrior of the six aboard that had lived on the future home world.

Toltak sighted the old walled compound on the coast as they descended. She was pleased at how well it had held up since the mass departure, with some overgrowth visible, but far less than expected. Even the Raspani enclosure still stood. If any of the food animals survived, perhaps they could acquire some of that fresh meat when they finished their hunt. Dried field rations of the spicy staple grew tiresome, but they needed to depart by midmorning tomorrow, to avoid a late arrival at their base from raising too many questions about their less-than-maximum efficiency trip.

There were several large animal herds visible from miles up, which from the size of the specks appeared to be rhinolo. They’d have to launch a shuttle after landing, but they would only need a short time to prepare that. If they moved fast and efficiently, they could be on the savanna and hunting by midafternoon, and eating rhinolo steak by late afternoon.

As the ship settled, she assumed some sea borne storm or a heavy rain had washed the ramp area clean, because there was little if any dust kicked up by the thrusters. The Clanship sank lower on its landing jacks than on other planets, but because they had increased internal gravity two days prior to landing, the local gravity matched what they had felt inside for those days. In normal Krall fashion, the pilot and a warrior named Stilkap hurried to the shuttle hanger to open the outer hatch and preflight the craft.

Toltak, and the three other warriors, Pindor, Kildar, and Rudbit, drew six rifles from an armory rack at mid ship, selecting clips for both armor piercing and explosive rounds. They ignored drawing plasma rifles and the armor they had used on Poldark, stored in compartments below. It wasn’t that plasma rifles couldn’t drop a rhinolo, quite the contrary. Nor was the sportsmanship of a hunt a real consideration. Plasma guns made it such a sure safe kill that there was no risk for the hunters, furnishing no test of their “Krallhood.” The risk of death or injury increased the satisfaction of the kill. They would likely kill one or two animals apiece, and cut only enough meat from one to make the day’s meal.

Carrying the rifles and ammunition to the shuttle bay, the six Krall donned weapon harnesses with pistols, and attached spare clips and personal knives. Sealing the shuttle hatch, Gapod started the maneuvering thrusters, and carefully lifted and guided the shuttle out of the large Clanship hatchway. As soon as they were clear, he boosted smoothly towards the herds, and the hunt they had been anticipating.

****

Mirikami pulled at his lower lip, reflecting on the departed shuttle. “They clearly didn’t detect anything out of place here, or that party of six wouldn’t miss out on a chance for a fight. I’m surprised none of them even stepped out on the ramp, or checked the dome. They never show much in the way of idle curiosity, but I expected them to want to look inside. I thought we could ambush some of them under the overhang, out of sight of the Clanship.”

Thirty minutes earlier, the two expedition shuttles had carefully parked underneath two of the dome’s large garage overhangs, to hide them. There had been armed Hub City citizens waiting inside each of the four dome entrances. They had quickly converged on the west entrance, where the Clanship finally chose to land. Jake had control of both human shuttles now, was prepared to lift them and fly low over the dome at full thrust to ram the Clanship. He had watched and relayed the Krall’s departure track from the moon, and determined they were most likely going to land at their old main compound.

Clustered behind parked trucks under the west entrance’s overhang were the only three TGs they had with them at Hub City. Thirty-two Hub City youngsters were in their eight-week adaptation phase as new TGs, over at Prime City. Carson, Ethan, and Alyson, were huddled with Mirikami, Dillon, and Thad behind a halftrack transport. Twenty other adult Hub City SGs were hiding behind other trucks for added firepower. The two rippers were inside the dome doors, with a couple of hundred other Hub City citizens ready to defend their home. They had sent the cats there, out of sight, because if seen by the Krall, they would provoke instant shooting, whereas an unarmored human being spotted, even with a Krall pistol, wouldn’t seem like much of a threat to a Krall. That was the expectation anyway.

They had no way of knowing how many more Krall could be aboard the Clanship, nor if anyone would be standing watch. The shuttle flight had Mirikami worried, in case it was destined for Prime City, but there were hundreds of armed TGs there, with Jake able to warn them of inbound traffic, which might take several hours to arrive if they stayed suborbital.

Jake’s remote surveillance cameras here at Hub City had revealed one blue and one brown uniformed Krall enter the shuttle, along with four black suited warriors, all with rifles. The brown suited K’Tal would probably be the pilot, and the blue uniform was either a translator, or possibly the mission commander. Except, what was their mission here? It didn’t seem as if they were on high alert.

The big passenger liner in an equatorial orbit had been a major worry for Mirikami, having moved it by thruster power five months ago from the moon. Chief Haveram and a dozen former Drive Rats from various ships had accompanied Mirikami on the risky shuttle trip. They had scavenged Trap emitters from spares stores of ships in orbit at the moon. Then they picked the ship to repair that had the least hull and wiring damage from the emitters the Krall had shot off when they captured the big craft. Mirikami had placed it in a stable circular orbit at seven hundred twenty miles, because at that height, Jake predicted that it would have the least risk from impacts by the cargo ship debris.

They had brought down all of the spare Trap emitters, for modification on the ground to work with the selected ship’s different wiring system. Chief Haveram did not expect to finish the changes for a few months, so fortunately the hulk had been left cold and dead looking. The Krall had low curiosity and little imagination, so apparently they never considered that a clan of “dead” humans had moved the ship to restore its Jump capability.

If the Krall commander was still aboard the Clanship, and activated the heavy lasers, the two shuttles might not survive long enough to ram. If the plasma chambers were hot, and the cannon barrels preheated, the shuttles would never close the gap for a ramming attempt. Jake had no heat sensors at this dome, only visual cameras for Hub City, but he saw no shimmer of heat waves radiating from the closed plasma cannon ports, suggesting an off-guard Krall crew.

Mirikami mused aloud, but quietly. “The lower hatches are still closed, and none of us know for sure if they are coded, or will activate for just anyone. The shuttle hatch is wide open, but it’s at least thirty feet off the tarmac. I’d like to try to get inside, to sabotage the Jump Drive or thruster engines, and use the ramming plan only as a backup. How can I get up there? Do we have some rope and something I can use as a grapple hook?”

Ethan and Carson, crouched behind the same truck with him, shared a quick glance. Carson spoke softly for both. “Commander,” He used his formal title in front of those from Hub City that could hear them. “Ethan and I don’t need a rope or a grapple to get inside, and we can move a lot faster than you can.”

“It’s at least thirty-feet up, and even you two can’t jump that high.” Mirikami hadn’t said no. He wanted to know how they’d get inside.

“We can jump and reach fingers to nearly twenty five feet, so with one to help toss the other, either of us can easily reach the lower edge of the hatch and get inside.”

“Boys, it has to be me going inside. I know how to sabotage a Jump Drive or their thruster engines and you don’t. Besides, I don’t want anyone else in there if I have to order Jake to ram with the shuttles.”

Carson explained how they’d get him inside. “I’ll take a rope with me, Ethan will help toss me higher than I can jump, and I’ll pull you up with the rope. OK?”

Mirikami argued to have the two of them jointly toss him up. They countered by telling him he didn’t have as sure a grip, and that he couldn’t beat a warrior in a fight if he ran into one. Mirikami reminded them he’d outsmarted an entire octet once. As soon as the dickering had started, Alyson crouched and dashed inside the maintenance shop, to return quickly with a coil of rope tied to a truck’s towing hook.

She glanced at the two boys, still arguing with Commander Mirikami, shrugged, stepped around the front of the halftrack and bounded, graceful as a gazelle, across the hundred feet of tarmac to stand under a Clanship landing jack.

Dillon tapped Carson on the shoulder and pointed. “Hey. Brilliant strategy Gentle Men. Blather on until a young Lady does it for you. Very clever plan.”

“Huh?” The befuddled word echoed from all three in the debate that was about to be resolved.

Alyson waved, made a quick rotation twirling motion with the hook dangling from two feet of rope. She stepped out from under the landing jack’s support column and let go. The hook rose as she released the rope, and it flew easily through the open hatchway. As it clanked to the deck, she ran at an angle, pulling the rope towards the right side hatch edge, dragging the hook towards a protruding arm of the hatch’s bottom push rod, where it snagged. She made a left-handed test tug on the rope, lightly lifting herself a foot from the pavement and swung back. As she touched down, she was facing the trucks parked under the overhang, and she made a graceful deep bow, sweeping her free right arm from waist level, out to the side. The implied “Ta Da!” was clear, as she straightened with a smug little smile.

Thad chuckled. “I guess you have your way inside Tet. It doesn’t look like anyone in the ship is monitoring the ramp area either, or we’d have some reaction because they never wait for us.”

Tet stood, and was about to run across to join Alyson, when he heard a commotion behind him, from one of the dome’s eight open personnel and truck maintenance doors. Ana Cahill was forcing her way through the clustered defenders, shouting and complaining loudly, as usual.

Mirikami rushed over, speaking urgently. “Keep your voice down. Do you have a death wish? The Krall might hear you, even though the hull.”

She glared at him. “It’s your fault we’re at risk. Your ‘superman’ project has made it likely they will kill us all now.”

Mirikami was stunned at the depths of ignorance this educated woman was capable of displaying. In a hushed voice, he stated the obvious. “They didn’t return to Koban because of any action by people they believed died twenty years ago. However, they will try to kill us all now, or escape to bring back enough warriors to finish that job. We need the element of surprise Cahill, so shut the hell up.” He’d had enough of her nonsense years ago, but had maintained a civil manner with her, until now.

She had the sense, seeing his anger, to speak softer, but displayed no contrition. “The Krall left us alive on purpose, because we were no threat to them. You criminal Primes have now created these monstrous children, which represent a threat the Krall will have to answer. I want to speak for those of us that opposed you all along, who stayed true to humanity’s laws. We do not deserve to die with you criminals. I demand to speak for those of us who should be spared.”

He glanced over to Mayor McDougal, “Stewart, please keep her quiet and away from those doors.” Then he looked directly into her dark circled eyes, the gravity sagged jowls proof she had refused the clone mods. The pudgy face and body were a testament to how productive and more useful people had kept her very well fed, and had protected for more than twenty years.

“If she steps outside and alerts the Krall, I will shoot her. Understood?” He spoke as if to the man, but continued to look directly at Cahill. She shook off the restraining hands as she turned to walk back into the dome.

Mirikami stared for a moment, on the verge of ordering the mayor to lock her up, but didn’t want to overstep his authority in Hub City. He’d been careful not to pressure these people to follow Prime City’s lead, believing, correctly thus far, that survival instincts and common sense would prompt them to do what Koban itself required to stay alive here. He could be wrong in this case.

He returned to the truck, where Thad and Dillon waited.

“I’m going inside the ship and hope I can get to the Jump Drives to do some damage. Let me have two of those grenades.” He attached them securely to his pistol belt.

Thad had a question. “Tet, do you even know the layout of a Clanship? The Drive Room obviously isn’t near the base, as on our commercial ships, not with those sally ports for warriors placed around the bottom. The images I saw from Jake’s old recordings of Clanships that landed here showed the central shaft of the single thruster main engine, surrounded by the four hatches and decking. The Jump Drive and control room could be placed anywhere, possibly near the top.”

“Thad, our own warships put Jump Drives and fusion bottles near the center, for maximum protection in battle. However, I may just focus on killing the thruster engine, which has to be at the top of that center shaft. If they can’t get off planet they can’t make a Jump Hole.” He paused in reflection, reconsidering.

“That isn’t exactly correct.” He tugged at his lower lip as he thought.

“They can’t make a successful Jump Hole, but they could try to make one anyway, and destroy a few thousand square miles of the planet, taking us with them. I don’t think they’d want to inflict that much damage to their intended home world, but I’m damned confident they won’t want to leave it in our hands when they know we survived here. OK, the Jump Drive is the most important, I’ll go for that.”

Making sure that Dillon and Thad were in the Link with Jake, prepared to follow through on his order to destroy the Clanship at any cost, he ran across the ramp to the dangling rope, Alyson still holding the tension steady against a mild breeze.

“Sir, do you want me to go up and pull you into the hatch?” She seemed entirely too cheerful for the gravity of their predicament.

“Alyson, I don’t have your TG muscles, but I do have the clone mods. I will climb this, thank you.”

The truth was, Mirikami was in good condition for running, rock climbing, weight lifting, and hand-to-hand combat practice with Thad and Dillon, but he’d not tried a rope climb since scaling a cliff, with Dillon helping pull him up on his one and only combat Test Day. There was a technique to this sort of climb, he knew that, but didn’t know what it was and he knew he was about to look clumsy.

Unfortunately, the minor rope climb problem suddenly found itself replaced by a major problem. Jake’s voice in his embedded transducer. “Sir, the Krall shuttle has turned back, and is moving faster than when it departed.”

By his deliberate head tilt, Alyson knew the AI was speaking to him, so she waited. His reversal came quickly.

“Alyson, get up there as fast as you can and pull me up. The shuttle is on its way back.”

The girl startled him by a sudden crouch and a vertical leap of nearly twenty feet, and then pulled herself up in several long easy overhand pulls, flipping over the edge, never using her legs after the jump.

Mirikami glanced at those waiting under the overhang, knowing Thad and Dillon had also heard Jake, and they were passing the word. He wrapped the rope around his right arm, passing a loop around his waist and held with his left hand. He looked up and nodded at a waiting Alyson.

She nearly yanked him off the ground in a flurry of rapid pulls that strained his arm, and in mere seconds, he passed over the hatch edge, swung as if from a feminine gantry on her upraised right arm.

He glanced at her confident smile and deep blue eyes, as she sat him lightly down on the hanger deck. Pretty, lithe, strong as a draft horse, and faster than a thoroughbred, he thought. A simple but potent demonstration of what these youngsters were capable of doing. Alyson was only eighteen, and a mere month out of her final phase of Koban adaptations. She’d only get stronger and faster, as the kids a year ahead of her had done. Like Carson and Ethan. If they survived the next few hours, it would be mainly be by the abilities of these three kids.

“Gather the rope and grapple, no time for you to go back. I have to get into the ship, or hide us in one of these storage lockers in the back. If they dock we have to be out of here or hidden.”

Mirikami saw there were two hatches into the ship, one midway down each side of the fifty-foot deep bay. He was closer to the one on the right so he ran towards that one. Alyson beat him there, in several bounds, having coiled the rope as she went. There was a small key panel there, similar to the ones used on doors in the Krall domes. Mirikami pressed the standard default two-key press that worked in the domes for non-secure door codes. Nothing happened.

As Mirikami looked towards the other hatch, Alyson crossed the thirty feet to that one in nearly a single leap, pressing the same default keys. It didn’t open. The sound of thrusters approaching prompted Mirikami to open several of the storage lockers on his side, but there was no room for a person to get inside one.

As he ran over to the other side, Alyson was opening lockers there, most were partly full, but none with enough room to hide them both. “Alyson, move gear from half empty lockers to fill the others, we might make room.”

Obviously, tossing gear on the floor would be a giveaway, so they were moving as fast as they could, making room by stowing what they removed inside other lockers. Alyson finished first. “Sir, get in here, I’ll move to the end and duck behind the bags of equipment hanging there. If I’m spotted, I have a faster draw than you, and you can still shoot them in the back when they come my way.”

That hardly seemed gallant, but Mirikami also knew it was the most survivable plan. He was about to climb in when he realized the shuttle thrusters were easing in pitch. Krall thrusters generated lower frequencies than on human shuttles, by design. The Krall, with ultrasonic range hearing, didn’t like the interfering high pitch of human shuttlecraft. The sound was definitely easing, as if throttling back and settling to the tarmac.

“I think they are landing outside.”

Alyson nodded her agreement, “I see the nose of the shuttle reflected on a window of the dome.”

Before he could tell her not to do so, she rushed forward towards the open hatch, and light as a feather in 1.52 g’s, stretched out prone as she neared the lip of the deck. She had tied her hair back in the last few seconds, because it had been loose around her shoulders when she offered him the empty locker a moment ago. Now her hair was in a ponytail, and she had done it on the move to the opening, to keep it out of the way. These TGs thought and acted fast, for even small decision.

Trusting that she would tell him what they were doing, Mirikami decided to see if he could get the left side hatch to open for him by trying other simple codes. He reasoned that the Krall wouldn’t expect an enemy to survive to infiltrate their ship, so might not have a complex code.

He tried several simple different combinations that all failed. In frustration he mashed the two top left keys as he turned away, intending to join Alyson. That was the standard “open/close” key combination that he’d seen Alyson press seconds ago. This time a hiss of air marked the opening of the hatch, as it slid sideways to open a way into the ship.

Alyson also heard, and she pulled back and came over to him, speaking softly. “You found the combination. What was it?”

“It opened when I hit the standard two keys.” He sounded puzzled.

“I tried that first.” She told him.

“I saw you. I tried it on the right side as well. But forget that, what’s happening outside?”

“The shuttle landed out on the tarmac, with the Clanship between them and the dome entrance. I can only see the shuttle by reflection from dome windows, and it landed aligned parallel to the dome wall. The hatch on the far side hatch opened, but not the one on the side towards the Clanship. That shuttle and the Clanship landing jacks give them cover, and some of them could be outside already. They are clearly suspicious of something, Sir.”

“OK. You keep watch at the bay doorway. I need to go inside and find the Jump Drive. Watch your back. We don’t know how many came on this tub.”

“Shouldn’t I go with you, to watch your back instead of mine?”

“Possibly, but the Krall won’t expect you to be up here, so you may be able to help out if more of them come out of the sally ports at the base of the ship. They might rush the dome entrance. You have a great sniper position. I wish you had a rifle instead of two pistols.”

“Sir, at this range I’d have to be half blind and upside-down to miss a head shot with either hand.”

He grinned. “I forgot who I was talking to. Carry on TG Alyson.” He gave her a casual salute, and ducked through the open inner hatch.

****

Heading for the anticipated hunt, Toltak watched the once familiar teal colored terrain pass below the shuttle. She pointed Gapod in the direction the sensors indicated was the nearest rhinolo herd. As they passed over the compound’s outer wall, she noted with satisfaction that the electrical fence was still in place after all this time.  It would be unpowered of course, but the last repair job had held up well.

As a no-rank raw novice here, before she gained a few status kills in a hunt at the former human compound, she had made routine circuits around this compound. Looking for damaged fencing, corrosion, cracks in the wall, or places where some animal had tried to dig under. A rhinolo could tear through an electrified gate before falling dead. It happened sometimes, if a belligerent bull saw movement inside. The carcass might ground or short-circuit the power to the gate or fence.

Rippers and desert panthers could scale the walls and enter, if not for the electrified fence on the top, and they seemed adept at figuring out if the power was off. She didn’t know how they knew, but at times small dead animals with claw or teeth marks were found that seemed to have been thrown against the fence and fried, to test if it was live or not. A ripper inside the walls was a real concern. They had no fear of armed warriors, and would stalk and kill several hands worth each year at this compound. She had heard that some broken down gates were from rhinolo chased by rippers. The big animals were normally smart enough to stay clear of the deadly gates, so it might be plausible they were trying to escape a pride attack. The evidence was ripper scent, and multiple paw prints outside, and sometimes inside a broken gate entrance.

It was odd that the unpowered gates were not yet breached. That had happened several times in a Koban year to energized gates when she was here. The uncropped grass inside was proof they had not been. This close to the sea, the salt laden breeze deposited its corroding influence on the wires, insulators, and support posts. Without electrical power, the animals soon learned they could push against the gates and break them down, or scale the walls.

The tall grass and shrubs visible inside the walls should be a constant temptation for some grazing animal or other. Removing a dead animal from the wires was a frequent task for a new novice here, until the duty rotated to an even newer and lower status arrival.

A herd of several thousand rhinolo was within a short distance of the compound wall, so she ordered Gapod to circle the area well above them, to avoid spooking them. She was seeking IR sensor signs of rippers. The various smaller predators were also fast and dangerous, but they didn’t work together in a pack to hunt like rippers, and were less intelligent. A ripper pride appeared to cooperate far more than mere animals should be able to do, and certainly targeted Krall hunting parties.

To insure an uninterrupted hunt for the short time they had to spend here, Toltak wanted the terrain well scouted for a pride. They could go to the next herd if one was in this area. As their path took them back close to the wall, she snorted when she saw a large winged, blue and yellow bird that had died on the electrical fence along the top. It had touched two wire strands at the same time, rather than safely touching only the top wire. It was well decayed, and the first good wind would blow it clear. Her initial thought, provoking the snort of amusement, was at least she didn’t have to power down the fence and climb up to pull it down this time.

“What is it you saw that is amusing?” Gapod was sometimes suspicious of his sub-leader’s confidence in his piloting skills.

She explained about the dead bird, and how as a novice serving here, she had to cut the power, remove the dead animals, and then rearm and test the fence’s power.

Gapod was a decent pilot, and as a K’Tal had some expertise with repairs, equipment, and electrical systems, but normally showed no interest in anyone else’s duties if it didn’t affect him personally. This time, his dull questions provoked a response he hadn’t expected.

“What killed that bird anyway?”

“It’s an electrical fence,” Toltak answered, as if to an idiot, suppressing a snort that could spoil the pleasure of the hunting yet to come, if Gapod took offense.

“Why did they leave it turned on when we left Koban?”

Toltak suddenly felt very much focused, as she felt when a raid was about to start. She responded sharply, slipping into command mode. “Fly to the nearest gate and land close, inside the wall.” She wanted to check something, but didn’t want to be outside the wall when she did that, because they had not finished their scouting. Several things had just coalesced in her mind.

When the shuttle landed by a gate, she made her exit and walked, pistol drawn, over to a box on the wall next to the gate. She was studying the ground as she walked, and after opening the latched cover to the box, slammed it shut suddenly, and looked around alertly. Gapod wasn’t the only one to notice the change in her manner through the cockpit windows. The warriors in back, lacking side windows, had watched her actions from the open hatch. Matching her demeanor, they drew weapons and rushed out to form a defensive perimeter. Against what threat they didn’t know, but their leader clearly was now watchful for some perceived danger.

Reaching them, she quietly hand signaled to recover into the shuttle. Closing the hatch, she told Gapod to get airborne and to climb higher over where they were. She ordered him to level off when the entire compound was visible. Then told all of them what she had discovered.

“The power to the fences is still on, after nearly two birthing cycles, and it was to be shut off when the clans departed. The power for them comes from generators in the dome. I just saw recent transport tracks in the soil passing through the gate. This dome has one or more inhabitants and they have restored the security of the compound.”

Pindor, the next highest status warrior below Toltak asked, “Can it be another clan that has returned, also against the wishes of the joint council?”

Toltak made a shoulder shake that displayed indecision. “It is possible, but the risk of staying here so long that they restored the power and repaired the fences means they must be prepared for a chance discovery by another clan. We risked status by coming to hunt for a single day. By staying here for so long, they risk banishment, sent to die fighting humans with only pistols if lucky, or dishonorable execution if not that lucky.”

Pindor spoke the obvious words. “We cannot reveal that we found them here to our clan leaders, not without admitting we came here, and they cannot allow us to depart if we will speak of them being here. We need to negotiate with the clan represented here, for mutual silence.”

Toltak spoke the obvious alternative. “We can also fight and kill them. However, we do not know how many we face or how well they are armed. With us in the shuttle, we have only projectile weapons and no armor. Our Clanship was open to them while we were scouting, and they may hold that now.

“It is possible they wait for us inside our ship. Our first objective is to get close to our Clanship, but we will not fly into the shuttle hanger. I have seen too many such traps when fighting humans to let another clan do that to us.” The silence of the other warriors was confirmation of her strategy.

“We should be prepared to fight our way into our ship if necessary. However, by their inaction when we landed, I think we may be able to negotiate with those in the dome. They saw us arrive and yet stayed hidden, revealing a possible weakness, which we might use in negotiation. They may suspect we have another Clanship coming, and we must not reveal that we are only six warriors and this one Clanship.”

She laid out her plan to land near the Clanship, using it and the shuttle as cover, where five of them would exit to observe the dome and Clanship. Gapod would remain in the shuttle to use its sensors, and the one laser port on the side towards the dome if there was a fight. Toltak would try to make contact by radio, and initiate a negotiation.

****

When Mirikami entered the hatch, he discovered he was in an airlock, which made sense for a shuttle hanger that opened to space. Except the outer airlock door probably needed to close before the inner door would open. Unless the Krall had a bypass code, allowing both to be open when in atmosphere. He didn’t know the bypass code, so he stuck his head out and softly told Alyson not to be alarmed if the outer airlock door closed.

Mirikami drew his pistol, and pressed the same top two keys on the inner door’s pad. As he had expected, the outer door slid shut before the inner door opened. He was standing to the side, realizing that if a Krall were waiting he would not likely get a shot off anyway. They were too fast for an SG. He had reasoned before going in, however, that no Krall would have waited this long to go after intruders if they knew they were human, so there would be none waiting. A quick look through the second hatch confirmed his reasoning, and he remembered to breathe again.

Fingering the two grenades on his belt, he hurried quietly through a wide corridor that led towards the center of the Clanship. The passage ended fifty feet farther in, feeding into an open deck area that was wide and empty, except for a continuation of the large heat insulated central thruster shaft. There was no lift present as there would be on a human ship, but the Krall generally preferred stairs, which couldn’t break down in a battle if power were lost. There were, predictably, eight broad upward spiraling stairways spaced around the circular bulkhead, and eight wide door hatches leading to side corridors and compartments placed closer to the hull.

A clanship was significantly larger than his old command, The Flight of Fancy, and was at least six hundred feet high, compared to the Fancy’s four hundred feet. He’d have to climb the stairs, the steps set too high and wide for a human’s comfort, and this deck was only about thirty feet above the tarmac, with probably two decks below. To find the Jump Drive, he hoped he wouldn’t need to climb most of the six hundred feet. This deck appeared to be about eleven or twelve feet high, suggesting the Krall ship might have fifty such decks, and he was on the third deck from the bottom. It was a long climb, even with clone mods in Koban’s gravity, with a potential ambush at every new deck.

Pistol in right hand, he used his left hand on the bulkhead to guide him as he kept his eyes fixed on where the steps penetrated the next upper deck. He nearly stumbled due to the high step spacing, so he periodically checked his next step. As his head reached the base of the next deck he could see it was lit, and as high as the deck below, and he heard nothing other than air moving through ventilators.

Peeking over the edge, it looked essentially like the deck he’d just left. These decks were probably where warriors clustered, waiting to descend to the four sally ports at the base, to join those that had already charged into battle, and where spare supplies could be placed for fast access. He noted the recessed cargo attachments in the deck and along the bulkheads, confirming this level was sometimes used for stowage. There looked to be floor plates that opened, and matching ones in the ceiling above, so there were probably hoists somewhere above that could do heavy lifting between decks.

Feeling time was against him, he increased his pace, hoping that any remaining crew would be closer to the command deck at the top. He recalled that Telour, a translator that had accompanied the Flight of Fancy on her abduction to Koban, remarked that human ships needed far too many crew to be efficient. He said Clanships were simpler, and more Spartan (not that he had used that word), and needed little maintenance and no special accommodations for the warriors. They never slept, so they needed no beds or cabins, and had common sanitation and waste disposal sites on each deck, food distribution was on two central decks, and there were several exercise and combat training decks. Thirty-two single ships could be stowed in outer compartments with external hatches, or attached to the outer hull. To double the number of single ships carried, they sometimes used both methods.

He quickly reached a deck where the ceiling was at least two decks tall, observing the center shaft was behind a much larger circular inner wall that went from floor to ceiling. He explored cautiously, but growing more confident that there was no Krall located on the lower decks. He found two doors into the large center area, and was confident, based on the soundproofing and thermal insulation present, that this was where the main thruster engine was located. It was clearly a far more compact engine than the three engines the Flight of Fancy had contained. Nevertheless, the Krall’s advanced thruster technology generated considerably more “push” that the Fancy had been able to produce.

Pistol again at the ready, he pressed the top left two buttons on the keypad. Nothing happened. After a second try that failed, he circled to the other door and tried there. Surprisingly, the hatch slid open instantly. He’d thought the vital room might be locked when the first door failed to open.

The area was quiet and empty of life. The geometry and engine design was alien, of course, but he found multiple large feed lines for fuel that led to what was probably a combination mixer and combustion chamber. If necessary, he could place a grenade here and do significant damage that the warriors were likely not equipped or trained to repair.

However, with an operable Jump Drive, they could obliterate the dome here and leave a very deep and miles wide crater if they tried to create an event horizon in this gravity well. That was his preferred target to disable, since they would never reach another star without Jump capability. However, a Clanship airborne on thrusters was also a weapon they couldn’t counter. Its plasma cannon and lasers were unmatchable. There was nothing but poor choices to select from in here.

His cable and fuel line tracing had brought him closer to the door that would not open for him earlier. It seemed odd to lock that one with a different code, and leave the other door ready to open with the standard code. He noticed a single Krall character over the door. His spoken Krall had progressed with Jake’s teaching, but written Krall much less. However, this door’s symbol was different from the one over the other door, and both matched the symbols he’d seen on the airlock doors on the left and right. With a flash of insight, he wondered if this was equivalent to #1 or #2, or Left and Right.

He tried the standard two top left keys and the door stayed closed. Then he pressed the two top right keys, and the door slid open.

Duh! He thought to himself, applying a mental slap to the forehead. He recalled the Krall generally followed the ancient KISS rule for many things. Keep It Simple Stupid.

The airlock door that had not opened for him had the same symbol as this door, and it would have opened if he’d tried shifting to the two right side keys. It was strange that the other door had not opened for Alyson, since she had used the correct key press. The same key press had worked for him. It was a minor puzzle for later consideration. He needed to climb higher.

The eight staircases spiraled through several higher decks, with some more compartmentalized than lower decks, but none that seemed suitable to hold the Jump Drive and fusion bottles. He’d expect heavy armor around that, in the event of a missile or plasma strike that penetrated deep. A human warship did this, and humans had far less combat experience than the Krall.

The next deck had a sizeable circular enclosure that occupied all but twenty feet or so of that level, leaving a wide corridor all the way around, with doors by each of the eight stairway landings. Each door had a different single symbol over them, and a key pad. Two symbols in a row were those he’d just thought of as Left or Right, but now he decided the eight symbols were probably more like 1 through 8, or something similar, such as names for the digits on a Krall’s two hands.

This wall didn’t look particularly armored, and there were no power or control leads coming out, so it shouldn’t be the Jump Drive room. However, he wanted to see inside anyway. He selected the door with the symbol he had called “L,” and now decided was actually “1.”

His pistol at the ready, he stood to the left side and pressed the top two left buttons. The wide door slid open with an audible whoosh. He peeked around the left edge, and glimpsed a figure coming towards him. He ducked his head back around the edge to avoid a slug through the eye and was on the verge of emptying his clip into the room when he heard a question.

“Toltak, is that you?”

It wasn’t so much the question; it was more the timber of the voice, and the familiarly accented Standard. It sounded like a human male, who next shouted at the owner of the hand holding the gun poking around the door edge at him.

“Don’t shoot, ...unh… there are seventeen unarmed people in here.” The man’s voice had grunted in the middle of his words as he yelled, accompanied by the sound of a body hitting the deck.

Mirikami called out, “Who are you?” He could hear scuffling across the floor. The glimpse had shown him the area was mostly open, and he vaguely recalled multiple large lumps or objects on the floor, but his attention had been on the figure approaching him in a hurry. It had certainly looked man-like in his brief glance. A Krall would have gotten off multiple shots, and would be through the door by now.

There was no reply to Mirikami’s question, but he could hear whispered murmurs from the room and soft footsteps. He decided to look again, but lowered his head so it would appear at a different height, in case anyone had a gun pointed where his head was seen last.

Holding his weapon ready, he aimed it inside as he exposed only his right eye to a potential shooter. A foot kicked out from the other side, knocking the gun flying across the corridor, and a tall well-built man stepped around the edge. He swung a wide hard punch with his right hand that went over Mirikami’s head, partly because Mirikami was still in a crouch, and partly because he was a short man anyway.

The unshaven man wore ill-fitting tight clothing, and the lower left sleeve flapped as if empty. He was well over a head taller than Mirikami, but his wild punch and awkward stance as he over balanced instantly told the smaller man something. Rather than draw his other pistol, Mirikami grabbed the man’s right forearm as it passed over, and pulled it around with clone mod strength, and twenty years of 1.52 gravity conditioning, and stepped into the man’s stomach with his left shoulder, straightened from his crouch, and tossed the man easily over his body, never letting go of his right arm.

The big man thumped heavily to the metal deck, knocking the wind out of his lungs, as Mirikami stepped closer and placed a foot on the right side of his neck,  twisted and pulled up on his right arm, and bent his hand and wrist painfully down in a locking grip. He glanced into the room, and saw at least a dozen people, men and women, all terrified, and looking as if they’d like to dig under the metal floor and hide.

He turned his attention back to the man he had down, as he heard him gasp to regain the wind he’d lost. The man was trying to pivot his body around to ease the twisting that was close to dislocating his shoulder, or breaking his wrist. From the shape of the left sleeve, he only had a stump of a bicep for a left arm.

Mirikami warned him this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t stop struggling and tell me who you are and what you are doing on a Krall Clanship, you will be spending some time in a medlab, healing.”

With only one eye able to peer around the foot pressing into his neck, shoving his face into the deck, he said in a strained voice, “Sergeant Garland Reynolds, we all are Krall prisoners.”

Not easing his grip in the least, Mirikami continued his questions. “Where are your captors, how many are there?”

“After we landed on this world, the leader told us they were going hunting, leaving us locked inside. We heard distant clanging from below after the ship landed and then silence. I think all six warriors were going out to shoot something they call a rhino. Or an animal’s name that sounded something like that. I wasn’t sure we’d even landed at first. They cranked up the damn gravity two sleep cycles ago, and it never let up. Where the hell are we that the gravity needed to stay so frigging high after we landed?”

“I think they wanted to go rhinolo hunting. It was something they used to do when they lived here. The gravity stayed high because that’s its normal value. It’s one point five two times Earth standard. You said Sergeant, which I assume is a military rank and not your first name?”

“Yes, I was captured by the Krall invasion forces on Poldark. I’m a Sergeant in the third division, second battalion, in a ‘bait’ unit.”

The mention of Poldark explained why the accent was familiar. Mirikami could ask about his oddly named military unit later. “Poldark? Have you ever heard of a man named Mavray Doushan, from about twenty five years ago?”

“Sure. When the Krall raids first started, they played some recording by a guy that was supposed to be a captured diplomat of ours.”

“How about a Colonel Thaddeus Greeves, from Poldark?”

“Yea, but not in that recording. He led a security detail for our Ambassador to Bollovstic, on the same lost ship with this Doushan person. Doushan was a Deputy Ambassador or something, nobody very high ranking. They’re all presumed dead since the Krall ain’t noted for their kindness. I went through my guerrilla training in a camp named after Greeves. Otherwise I never heard of him.”

Mirikami released his hold and stepped away from the man, keeping an eye on the other people in the room, whom he now counted as sixteen in number.

“If Colonel Greeves were alive, could he vouch for you?”

“He ain’t, and he couldn’t. I wasn’t in the military until a year before the real invasion started. When it was clear Bollovstic was going to fall, and Poldark was getting larger raids, I joined up. That was two and a half years ago, Hub time. I figured we were next on the Krall’s list, and I was right.”

“Well, Sergeant Reynolds, I hope you didn’t name that camp the ‘Greeves Memorial Camp’ because Thad isn’t dead. He’s outside this Clanship, and may be fighting the Krall right now. You said there were six, are you sure that was all of them?”

“That’s all that Toltak, the leader I mentioned, said were going hunting. I’ve only seen three of them personally, since they don’t socialize with us much. The pilot and one warrior are all that ever came in here besides that sweet bitch, lady Toltak.” Mirikami smiled at the man’s irreverent manner and sarcasm.

“Do you know the layout of this ship? I’m looking for the Jump Drive to disable it, so they can’t get out of this system.”

“I’m ‘fraid not. There ain’t no guided tours on this luxury trip. They just shoved our butts up the stairs and left us locked in here for four days. By the way,” he was sitting up now, looking up at the door key pad above his head, “how’d you unlock the door? We’ve never managed to crack their damn code on Poldark, even when we have a spy bot watch them press the keys. We assume they have an embedded device, like our ear transducers, that’s needed to activate the doors or most of their equipment. Only we ain’t never found anything on or in any of their corpses that would open a door or work their equipment for us.”

Mirikami gave him a wide berth as he stepped closer to the key pad. He was growing more confident that Reynolds was indeed a prisoner, but wasn’t taking chances. Reaching up, he pressed the two top left buttons, and the door swiftly slid closed. He pressed them again, and it opened. He looked at Reynolds and shrugged. “Try it yourself. Perhaps it’s only locked from the inside.”

Reynolds got up stiffly, his breath recovered, no apparent rancor over Mirikami slamming him to the floor. That and his only good arm painfully twisted. He pressed the same two buttons, and the door remained stubbornly open. Mirikami waved him away, then closed and reopened the door. Reynolds tried again with the same lack of success.

“I don’t know why it won’t work for you Sergeant, but I have a dilemma now. I want to be sure this Clanship never Jumps out of this system. I don’t want to leave you people locked up, yet many thousands of lives depend on my preventing this ship from reporting our existence on this world to Krall leadership.”

“Ah. The trust issue.” Reynolds said, nodding. “There have been human collaborators and informants for the Krall before, trying to curry favor and earn survival. You just now found us alive and healthy on a Clanship. I understand, and I also know that no assurance from any of us will serve to convince you of our loyalty to humanity this minute.”

“You do see my problem.”

“I also see your solution. Lock us up again. Stop the Krall from getting away. If you succeed, we might survive. If not, they are eventually definitely going to kill us all anyway, when my bullshit story that kept me alive is proven false.”

“Can you tell me the story fast?”

“Not all of it, but here goes. While my unit played bait to ambush a small tank force of Dragons, I sorta accidentally killed their dumbass invasion leader and stole his armored suit for the electronics I saw on it, with his body still inside. After my capture, with his body in my personnel carrier, I knew I faced painful and ultimately fatal interrogation. I convinced them that humans had discovered a chemical that can force a Krall to fall asleep, just as humans do, and then get them to talk in their sleep and reveal secrets. That was why I told them I tried to kidnap their leader. It was total crap of course, since I had no idea who he was ‘till they told me.

“I offered some trumped up goofy explanation about this secret drug, and even faked sleep talking for them myself. They kept me alive unharmed for testing, and the information I promised them on the fake drug. I lied too damned good, and they were taking me to a world where they have other alien experts to study the biology of human sleep, and find a way to block my imaginary drug. Then they captured these sixteen poor bastards as part of the phony study I tricked them into conducting on me. I had no idea they would do that.”

The young people in the room had a dawning look of outrage at Reynolds overheard story. It was a ludicrous tale that only a devious and desperate human mind might concoct. It was something that the Krall might fear was possible, knowing nothing about why humans and other low animals needed to sleep.

Mirikami laughed, noting the angry looks of his fellow captives. “Sergeant, I’m convinced. Not about the ridiculous sleep drug, but about why all of you are here. That is far too wild a story to fool anyone but the Krall, who despise us for sleeping and are so proud that they don’t suffer from that so-called weakness.

“Besides, I think leaving you locked in with these angry youngsters could be hazardous to yours or their health. However, I don’t have a way to get any of you safely off this ship yet, but the portals at the bottom are a possible way out if I open one for you when I’m done. I haven’t a clue why none of you can activate the doors, unless they inserted a device on you that blocks the key pads.” Something about that notion tugged at the back of his mind, but it slipped away.

“Well, I do appreciate being let out. I might tag along to help you break something if you are OK with that. By the way you have my name, what’s yours?”

“Tetsuo Mirikami, former Captain of the Flight of Fancy, captured by the Krall over twenty years ago, and brought here as a captive, along with my passengers and crew.”

Now Reynolds looked suspicious. “They never found time to kill you in twenty years?”

“They tried once and failed, shortly before abandoning this planet for their own reasons, until today that is. I’m in good company, with thousands of other former captives and their children. However, that too is a long story and I don’t have time to tell it now. Suffice to say, they thought this dangerous heavy gravity world would kill all of us after they stranded us here. We obviously survived.”

As Mirikami talked, he walked over to retrieve his second pistol, noting a hopeful look on the Sergeant’s face. He believed the man’s story, but didn’t know him, so he holstered the weapon. “I don’t want to be caught without all my weapons before I disable this ship. When we make a break for it, and possibly have to face the six Krall, I’ll let you have a pistol. I assume you can shoot.”

“You assume right, although a plasma rifle is my preference against any Krall, armored or not. I sample fired their guns like those that we took off their dead. Ultra-light weight, but you have to be lucky to get through any part of the armor, except for the face plate, or a leg or arm.”

“I’ve never seen a plasma rifle.” Mirikami admitted. “The Planetary Union hadn’t allowed their manufacture after the Collapse, at least up until my ship was captured. These Krall were not wearing armor when they got into the shuttle, so these guns will work fine on them if you hit them enough times, or put one though an eye, mouth, or nostril slit. We also have some heavier rifles with the people outside.”

“It takes a lot to bring them down, I know from hard experience. Don’t count on that lucky eye or nose slit shot. They won’t hold still for you to do that, and they’ll put a slug through both your eyes if you try to hold steady aim that long.”

“We have some youngsters here that can do just that in a snap shot. If six is all they brought, then they are only a risk if they get inside this ship and leave. We will not allow that, and will destroy the ship if it looks like they might get away. I’d recommend you lead these people down, and hide somewhere below. Get out if you get the chance, but I’m going up. Good luck Sergeant.”

He had just started up the stairs again when Dillon Linked, despite Mirikami’s decision to avoid any such communication, in case the Krall detected the signal. Previously, the Krall that were combat testing them here had not cared about short-range suit communications, and allowed them routinely between the prisoners. This time they didn’t want the Krall to know anyone was here at all, at least before they had a chance to ambush them.

“Commander, they know we’re here. How are you doing, we see Alyson by the hatch but not you. Are you inside?”

Mirikami triple tapped his transducer to activate the transmit feature. “If they detected your signal they know for sure we’re here now. How do you know they know we’re here? And yes, I’m inside, searching for the Jump Drive. There may only be six of them. What are they doing?”

“Well, they have stayed hidden behind their shuttle for much longer than I’d ever expect Krall to wait to attack us. They are calling to the dome by radio. Thad and I had no idea what they were doing. I snuck over to the dome and called Jake from inside by a hard wire com set. Good old Jake chimed right in with an answer, not volunteering over the Link naturally, because he was maintaining radio silence until we called him. The damn Krall have been calling us on one of their standard frequencies almost since the shuttle landed. Because they spoke in high Krall, we couldn’t hear the sound of their voices outside. Jake says they want to negotiate a truce, and want to speak to the ranking clan leader here.”

“Are you kidding me? Negotiate a truce?” Mirikami was astonished. This was not a Krall tactic. Something wasn’t right.

Mirikami ignored Dillon’s repetition of Jake’s claim. He called down to Reynolds, who was trying to convince the other captives to go down the stairs with him. “Sergeant Reynolds, I just learned the six Krall outside are calling for a negotiation with whoever is the leader here. Do they ever do that in a fight situation on Poldark? Offer to negotiate?”

“What? Negotiate with humans? Hell no, they have never done so at our request, and have never offered to do so on their own. They never ask for quarter, nor give any. Toltak was an aid to the head Krall, called a Gatlek by rank, which was in charge of the Poldark invasion. She earned her status for that job as a charge-ahead-and-kill-them type, and our spy bots and surveillance bore that out.”

Mirikami nodded his thanks. “Jake, Link me to both Dillon and Thad.” This wasn’t giving anything away now.

Before he could speak however, Dillon asked, “Who the hell is Sergeant Reynolds? I only caught part of his reply through your transducer, but where did he come from?”

Thad hadn’t been in the first Link. “A human is aboard?”

“Focus gentlemen, he was a Krall prisoner with sixteen others, and I’ll explain later. Have you spoken back to the Krall yet?”

“It’s high Krall, we’d have to have Jake translate, but we weren’t going to talk to them before speaking with you. Instead, we have let them detect some dummy transmissions sent out over the savanna, as if to another party. We want to keep them waiting.”

“Wait. I didn’t really catch that the first time you said it. They are speaking high Krall, which they have no expectation we can hear, or understand if we could. Why? That’s an odd way to offer to negotiate with us. It’s like writing notes to a blind man.”

There was deafening silence from the other two men as they realized they had overlooked that non-trivial detail.

Mirikami had the answer in a flash of insight. “They haven’t attacked because they think the dome is occupied by Krall from another clan, and that is someone with whom they might negotiate. They don’t know how many warriors they are up against, and they left their ship wide open when they departed for the hunt. Something made them suspicious and they returned, but they didn’t go into the shuttle hanger in case some other clan is already inside.”

Thad added another observation. “Remember, the Krall joint clan council wanted Koban untouched and pristine, until they have bred warriors that can match the animals here and return. That would take fifty or a hundred breeding cycles, based on what Telour said the day he left us to die. There are not supposed to be any Krall visiting here for hundreds of years. I think we have a small group of Krall outlaws out there on the ramp, who think they are faced with another group of Krall criminals inside the dome.”

Dillon supplied the motive for a negotiation. “They want to make a deal with the other group. A mutual bond of silence, live and let live, with no loss of status from their respective clans.”

Mirikami pulled at his lip. “We need to find a way to turn this to our advantage, but we can’t step out and talk with them, and they aren’t just going to walk over to us, trusting the “honor” of another clan. Dead Krall tell no tales.”

He considered and rejected having Jake speak for them in a fake negotiation. “Jake may be able to translate, but he isn’t going to fool them for more than a few simple sentences as another Krall. He doesn’t even fool humans for long in Standard. We need to do something soon, before they lose patience.”

Dillon had another proposal to delay for time. “How about Jake saying an octet leader is on a hunt and say no more. That way they know they are outnumbered eight to six, and it explains why they have been waiting so long for the leader we appear to be contacting.”

Thad, his military training kicking in, disagreed with that tactic. “They are holding back an attack because they suspect they may be outnumbered, but Krall rhinolo hunts involve at least three or four warriors. An octet would guarantee they have the numerical advantage right here, at this moment, six against four or five, and they will likely attack a known weaker force. These six have their shuttle ready to fly, to support them with lasers and missiles in a fight, so we don’t want that lifting off either. They would probably pretend they have more crew aboard the Clanship as a bluff. I would, so I doubt they will act intimidated. I think we need them to be so confident of a victory in a fight that they all rush over here after us.”

“Thad, you’re touching on the same idea I have been reluctantly considering. Letting them know whom they really face inside the dome. They don’t respect or fear humans, but anyone that steps out to show their face to prove we are here probably won’t survive that exposure. I might simply address them in Standard, with Jake doing a relay for me on their frequency.”

“Tet, if the five that are out of the shuttle run for the Clanship, I doubt we can stop two or three from getting inside successfully. Destroying the ship would be the surest option right now. Why don’t you join Alyson and prepare to bail out of the shuttle hatch as Jake lifts our shuttles to ram.”

“Ah…, that matter I put off discussing about a prisoner aboard? Sergeant Reynolds was a prisoner, held with sixteen other Poldark civilians for biological experiments. I have freed them, but we can’t take them all down that rope where the Krall can see them. Perhaps out a sally portal at the base, towards the dome. Some of them might make it with heavy enough cover fire.”

“Tet, if we are about to lose control of that ship, it has to go, you know that. Whether they can get out or not.”

In the background, Mirikami could hear Ethan saying something to his dad about the cats. “What was that about the cats?”

“Ethan proposes we send the cats out a side entrance to get behind the Krall, out of sight and under cover. Have them roar to distract them. That would give you some time to run for the dome. They would damn well know humans are here after that.”

“OK, send them out. But can Ethan explain that to them well enough?”

“The cats understand words with pictures now Tet, particularly from the kids that spent their entire lives with them. They just don’t think with words as we do. Ethan will go with them, and Carson will stay here. We need their accuracy and speed in front and behind the Krall. I wish we could talk to Alyson. We need all three of them against six of those tough fast bastards.”

“Thad, I’m going back down to get Alyson. I want her at the base portals with me when we open up to make our run. She can shoot straight while on the run, and I’m going to share a pistol with the Sergeant here. He’s fired a Krall pistol before. I still had at least thirty or forty decks to climb to reach the top, and the Krall don’t seem to use elevators. At least I don’t see any, and I don’t have time. I’ll plant the grenades in the main thruster engine room on the way down, on some fuel lines. I’ll try to set them to blow if the ship tries to lift. That probably would be repairable damage if they don’t crash, but would give us some time. I have to move now; I’ll call you when I’m at the bottom portals. Mirikami Out.”

Ethan went into the dome to lead Kit and Kobalt to a side dome entrance, around the curve and not visible to the Krall. Mirikami motioned to Reynolds, and then asked the other’s to follow him down the wide spiral stairs, explaining the plan as he went. Formulating his ideas as he walked and talked.

Reynolds tore off the left sleeve on the shirt he wore, revealing the partly healed arm stump. He handed the sleeve to Mirikami, explaining that with two hands he should be able to tear strips for tying it to the grenade pins. He’d observed the two old-fashioned manual release grenades on Mirikami’s belt. They used simple pull-pins, instead of electronic timers with multiple options, but he didn’t ask where he’d found such antiques.

The Sergeant’s ill-fitting too-small shirt was fortunately made of simple Poldark grown cotton. That former Rim world colony couldn’t produce Smart Fabric clothes. It was a good thing, because they needed something they could actually cut. Mirikami pulled his hunting knife from the sheath stuffed inside his boot top, and cut some strips.

Several decks down, moving faster because he knew there were no Krall waiting, Mirikami started towards the thruster engine. Looking back, he realized none of the others, not even the Sergeant had made it this far. He called up through the overhead opening in the deck, and heard them answer from a full deck higher.

He’d forgotten how this gravity had felt to him when he first arrived here. There were no handholds or guardrails on the Krall stairs, and these people didn’t even have normal human muscle adaptation for this planet yet, let alone the clone mods he had. They were sitting down on each step and scooting forward to the next, staying away from the open stair edge, which Mirikami had so casually trotted down.

He told them to keep going down while he set his grenades, and he was sure he could quickly catch up to them. He set his first grenade on the edge of a narrow ledge by two large fuel lines, so that it should tip over from launch vibrations. A strip of cloth tied off to a thin control line would yank the pin when the grenade fell two feet. He tied another two strips together to hold the grenade aloft after only a three-foot drop, keeping it closer to the fuel lines and off the floor, where it might roll under something that blocked its fragments.

Now he needed to place the second grenade so its explosion would happen even before the Clanship lifted. He spotted a motor driven shift of a circulation fan, probably used to blow fumes from the area. He’d seen such fans on human ships, and they normally kicked on when the fuel pumps were activated, pressurizing the lines for feeding the combustion chambers. Fumes were toxic if there were a leak, and potentially explosive if there were an oxidizer leak. The fan would most likely switch on if the ship were preparing to launch. He reached through the fan housing and tied a cloth strip by slipknot to the fan blade shaft so that it would wind around, and pull the grenade pin. He set the little bomb on what looked like an electronic control module, with shielded wires running to engine components near the fan. He used his last strip of material to tie it in place.

These were crude and simple measures, but perhaps enough to stop a launch, and if not, the second blast might spill enough flaming fuel to bring the rising Clanship down. The best scenario was that the Krall never got back inside. This was a fully functioning Jump Ship. Keeping it intact for human use would be a tremendous prize.

Outside the ship, Ethan opened a maintenance access door from the dome, located far enough around the curve of the building that a view of the Clanship and shuttle was blocked. The problem was that the tarmac was wide enough that they couldn’t reach the tall grass and shrubs at its edge without coming into view of the Krall shuttle. They were sure to be watching in every direction. This was something Ethan hadn’t considered. He frilled both cats with the minor change in plan, and they proceeded around the dome away from the Clanship, gradually spiraling out towards the edge of the wide tarmac. They were almost to the next dome garage entrance before they could reach the cover of vegetation unseen.

After that, he ran crouched low to the ground, head held below the grass tops, the heavy .50 caliber rifle carried loosely in his right hand, nearly matching the pace of the slinking great cats. This was actually an exercise he and Carson had conducted numerous times with these cats, and other TGs and their cats in hunts for game. This time the stakes were more than an empty stomach or loss of bragging rights if they spooked the prey too soon. Wind direction factored into this stalk, knowing how keen the Krall sense of smell was. The breeze blew from the outer compound, directly in line with the Clanship and dome, bringing the warriors only scents of the grass and distant plains.

Finally, Ethan knew they were as near to the Krall as they should risk. He was perhaps a hundred yards behind them. He signaled the cats to come close, after they had halted the instant they heard his soft steps halt. He frilled them again.

Separate and wait for me to signal your challenge roars. He sent an image of his raised fist as the signal. Uncle Tet or our fathers will tell me when to signal you. The cats knew of the “far talk device” he carried, a portable radio set to vibrate rather than talk today, and could receive and send a text message that they understood was a type of mental image of human words, which did not require frilling.

Both cats passed him the same mental image question again, that they had asked twice already, and were burning to have him say “yes.” Can we slay these killers and wasters of meat if they fight us, or attack our pride?

Yes, but at the right time for our pride leaders. We want to capture at least one alive, two if possible, to read their mind images. We need to know if more red ones will come after them, and we do not want them to get inside their flying thing.

He gave them one more image, a signal for a recall to him if needed. Ethan felt their muscles tremble from the pent up energy when he gave them that conditional yes answer to their question about killing the Krall. The sharp vivid images coming back from their minds would have made anyone not raised with them frightened, and possibly horrified. Ethan was neither.

Stay hidden. Go!

In a flash, they separated and vanished silently into the teal colored grass that matched their skin and short fur so well.

Mirikami rejoined and passed the prisoners still descending the stairs, some, despite youth, were running low on energy, and displayed the tremble of legs and arms that were fighting to ease them down the steps. Reynolds was using the wall to steady himself, and he seemed physically fit, aside from the missing arm. More so than the younger civilian men and women, but he had obviously not had an easy time as a prisoner.

“People, we have only four more decks to go, and on the next deck down I’ll make a brief detour to bring in a young lady that helped me get inside the ship. She will add two more guns to my two, and believe me when I say she is vastly more proficient with them than anyone you have ever met. We will both help you down to the next to last level, and figure out what our next move will be.”

Mirikami dashed ahead, leaving Reynolds leaning on the wall, looking at the obviously older and smaller man in wonder, shaking his head.

Pressing the inner airlock door’s buttons, it whooshed open. He had closed the inner door for Alyson to step into the outer door faster if needed, but the last he heard she was still in the small hanger watching from the open hatch. He activated the outer door, which automatically closed the inner door behind him. As he stepped into the hanger, he found he was looking down a pistol barrel.

Of course he was. She hadn’t known who was coming through that door. With her enhanced reaction speed, he barely had time to register the gun pointing at him before it was in her holster again. “Any luck Sir? I didn’t hear any bangs.” She had glanced at his belt to note the missing grenades. Her half smile was proof she wasn’t particularly concerned, trapped on an enemy ship notwithstanding.

“I placed the grenades to try to knock out the thruster engine if they try to leave. I never got high enough to find the Jump Drives. Instead, I found us some new friends from Human Space. There are seventeen prisoners working their way down to the bottom of the ship. They are nearly out of strength in this gravity, and I don’t know how we will get them from here to the dome alive.”

“Wow. New faces! Come on, I want to meet them.” She jumped to the door and pressed the open buttons. The same nothing happened as before. Mirikami pressed, and it whisked right open. They looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Alyson saw the other door and keypad, walked over and encountered another failure to communicate with this darned Krall ship.

Mirikami again opened the door. “The prisoners are unable to open or close doors here either. I let them out but they had a keypad right by the door that had them locked in a large compartment. The standard press worked for me but not for them. Let me put my hand on yours, but you press the keys.” The door whipped back open. Mirikami pulled his hand away, and Alyson couldn’t close it again.

“Kiddo, none of you had better stray too far from me, or at least my hand, else you can’t get off this boat. I’m not positive why as of yet, but I think I have the magic touch.”

He led her over to the stairs, where the end of the line of former prisoners was partway down to the next deck.

Reynolds had stayed behind to see whom Mirikami was bringing back with him. She was young, pretty, taller than average, medium length blond hair in a short pony tail, and moved in a way that seemed nearly a glide, smoother and more graceful than he’d ever seen anyone move, in any gravity. She looked very fit, without looking “muscled,” and carried two Krall designed pistols in low-slung tied off holsters. The clips on both hers and Mirikami’s guns were longer than any he’d seen before for Krall pistols. The fanny pouches they had with them were just the right width to hold up to six similar sized clips.

Mirikami made a brief introduction to the group, and since he didn’t know the other prisoner’s names yet, didn’t ask them now to save time. He indirectly made Alyson aware of the one prisoner he expected to be of some help if they got into the fight he believed was inevitable. “Sergeant Reynolds, if you can slide this into your waistband please accept one of my pistols.”

He handed the weapon over butt first, safety on. He was pleased to note Reynolds verified the safety setting as he accepted the gun, and placed it under his left armpit and, somewhat clumsy using one hand, ejected the clip, looked at the armor piercing rounds, and reloaded the clip. As he slid the gun under his overly snug waistband, Mirikami told him more about the weapon.

“It has a full thirty-two round clip, and I have it set for semiautomatic. The knob on the back end is a selector for full automatic, but that empties your clip fast, and I didn’t bring enough ammo for two shooters. Here’s an extra clip, if you have a pocket.”

“I have a snug shallow pocket, but these were pants the Krall found to replace my bloody ragged and dirty uniform. I mean to speak harshly to their tailor.” Mirikami laughed again at his irreverent good humor in a bad situation.

“Thanks, this is the first time in weeks I haven’t felt gun naked with Krall around. Not that I can outshoot them, but it makes me feel better anyway. I feel bad leaving you with one less gun, but I actually am a decent shot, if not in the same speed class as a Krall. But then nobody is.” He laughed wryly.

“Trust me Sergeant. We have some youngsters here that are faster. Alyson is one of them. When the shooting starts, she will be who I’m counting on to provide cover fire if we need to run.”

Reynolds looked at the slender girl with a clearly skeptical expression. He didn’t say anything, but Mirikami and Alyson both smiled and glanced at each other.

“You look winded sergeant. Perhaps Alyson can assist you in getting down.” Mirikami winked at her.

Reynolds was about to make some polite refusal. However, Alyson stepped swiftly under his right arm, placing her left shoulder in his armpit, wrapped her left arm around his waist and lifted him easily. In a flash, she lightly skipped down the stairs to the next level, dancing lightly around the four people already on the steps, using the last inch of outside edge of each step, with Reynolds hanging over the dangerous drop in one arm of a mere girl.

The “Whoa, whoa, whoa, look out!” ended with him being deposited lightly on his feet at the bottom, and Alyson promptly leaped over ten feet back up the steps to bring down another tiring former prisoner. She repeated this for the last three in the line, depositing them on the final deck above the sally ports on the lowest level.

Jaw hanging open Reynolds blurted, “Son of a bitch, she’s strong as a man in armor.”  Then realizing he had said that in front of a very young Lady, he apologized.

“I’m sorry Alyson. You just surprised the hel…, I mean the dickens out of me…, of us all.” The other younger people were also staring at her as if they didn’t believe what she had just done in this gravity.  The sergeant had already calculated that his two hundred thirty pounds (minus one arm) was equivalent to nearly three hundred fifty pounds here.

“I knew Captain Mirikami was extremely strong when he tossed my big butt over his head when I tried to take his gun way. For a small man he’s a real bull. But I do believe you could take him with one hand behind your back.”

Mirikami nodded, smiling as he walked down the stairway to join them. “With both hands behind her back and probably on one leg, and blindfolded. I’d prefer it if you called me Tet. I haven’t really been Captain of a ship since the Krall gutted her to keep her grounded on Koban. Which, by the way, is the name of planet where you have landed.”

“I go by Gar, since Garland sounds like a pretty decoration. I thought I’d recognize all the habitable planet’s names in Human Space if I heard them. But not one called Koban.”

“Well, Gar, if we get out of this predicament alive today, there are a million questions me and the people stranded here will be asking you and answering. We’re twenty years out of date with news from Human Space, because we are far outside of even the Rim worlds. How goes the war over all?”

“You won’t like it. The Krall started the war just about as long as you say you’ve been gone, so you don’t know how bad it’s looking for us. We’ve lost six worlds, several with most of their populations, and Poldark is slowly going down. They could take us in a month or two if they really wanted, but they actually want it to last. They…”

Mirikami interrupted him as he made the last step down, and held up a hand. “That part of their long term plan we know, but we can spend days talking after we kill or capture the six Krall wanting to get back inside this ship.”

“I heard your side of the conversation earlier. You have a transducer, probably an older version of the one I have. You seem to have them stalemated because they appear to think they are up against another group of Krall, from a different clan.”

Mirikami nodded. “This word was placed off limits to all Krall by the joint clan’s leadership. These six have violated that restriction. We think they want to make a deal with a clan they think is already here, also in violation. We have to either kill or capture them, or destroy this ship. If we do the latter, I’d like it a lot if we were not still aboard.”

Reynolds looked surprised. “These are hard to knock out. If you have that kind of firepower, why don’t you just take out the six Krall I heard you say are waiting by their parked shuttle?”

“Because our big firepower is only two shuttles of our own that we can ram this ship with. The Clanship can’t doge or shoot back at us, sitting here without a crew. If we go after their shuttle their pilot is inside, he could probably get airborne first, and our craft are not armed.  The five other Krall would run back in here. I don’t think we can keep them out. The best option is to ram this ship before we let them regain control, and the nineteen of us needs to cross a gap of a hundred feet of flat open pavement to reach cover. Between a rock and a hard place, as a pithy Lady friend of mine might say.”

“Can you lock the big doors down below?”

“I doubt it. I just figured out today how to open and close doors on this ship using the default codes, and discovered that I’m the only one of us aboard that can do even that. You already told me our spooks, spies, and intelligence people can’t do it. Let’s go down anyway, and look at ways we can possibly block the doors from opening.”

He, Alyson, and Reynolds made the descent to the lowest level alone, because they had the only weapons if the doors should suddenly open. There they saw the four large heavily armored hatch portals, designed to draw swiftly up into hull pockets above them, permitting warriors waiting behind them to leap nearly fifteen feet to the ground and swarm to the attack.

Reynolds described recordings of Clanship raids he’d watched many times, and told Mirikami that warriors poured out of those hatches in a steady stream, leaping to the ground and racing away as the next warrior dropped behind them. However, under the wide decking beneath their feet, he said there were recessed ramps that could slide out and drop to the ground for loading or unloading heavy equipment, supplies, and mini-tanks he called Dragons, and trucks or other ground transports.

Mirikami checked the double key pads, placed on both sides of the portals with thirty or so feet of heavy hull plating in between each portal. It appeared you could operate ramps and hatches from either side of the doors, and the armored hull plating and doorframe lips would give the door operator cover from external fire. The double key pads were identical to those he’d seen earlier, and one must control the hatch, and one the extendable ramp, although Reynolds didn’t know which key pad was which.

They would need a ramp extended to get the new prisoners down. In this gravity, Mirikami could tolerate, with care, a fifteen to twenty foot jump if he rolled on landing. Alyson, and any TG, could go off the fifteen-foot drop in a dead run and with just a bit of knee flex keep right on running when they hit the ground. The newcomers could break bones or suffer severe sprains if they tried to jump down, as if they had fallen from twenty-three feet.

Alyson, despite her inexperience, had been thinking of all she was seeing here, at ten times Mirikami and Reynolds thoughts. “Sir, if we destroy the key pads, will that keep the doors shut? Then the only way in is by the open shuttle hatch, which poses a bottle neck for them, and is also covered from the dome entrance.”

Mirikami shook his head. “Alyson, they can open these remotely, I’ve seen that done from the ramp at Prime City. I doubt destroying the key pads would disable the doors. The motors that move them are inside armored hull plating for the hatches, and even if there are maintenance hatches here, we don’t have time to find the tools and disable all four doors.”

Reynolds added his dismal observation. “The hatches are smooth surfaced and I don’t see a way we can insert anything, even if we found it, to hold the doors jammed and closed. If they want in, we can’t stop them, and they have eight stairways to go up from here. Even sharing a gun with Karl, a young man up there with some militia training, we can’t keep them all trapped down here. You need an external distraction; one that they don’t think requires them to run back here.”

Their subsequent search of lockers around the central thruster shaft, and others against the bulkheads between the portals revealed what at first appeared to be treasure. They found sixteen Krall plasma rifles, which Reynolds casually identified for Mirikami, apparently disinterested.

“Why can’t we use these, if they’re charged?”

“Like the doors of this ship, Krall plasma rifles will not activate for anyone but a warrior.” Realizing what he’d said he shouted, “Hey, maybe it will work for your ‘magic touch.’ Let me show you the activation sequence.” He rushed over and accepted a long and too heavy rifle from Mirikami.

Demonstrating he said, “They insert a talon tip here, and slide this catch forward, and a string of gold colored lights briefly activates on the power pack if it has a charge.”

“Sorry, I left my talon tips at home. Does anything else work?”

Alyson pulled a slender stylus out of a side pocket. “I use this to write or tap on my pocket computer tablet when I don’t want to talk to it, will it do?”

Mirikami inserted it into the small hole on the side by the catch, and slid the button forward. His reward was a dim amber glow of one light for a moment.

“Damn.” Reynolds looked strangely at Mirikami again. “We can take them apart, and even improved our own rifle designs based on theirs, but I heard we never got the control modules to ever activate their weapons for us. Some sort of quantum encrypted device was what I heard kept them dead. For a short time, after a warrior dies, you can use their dead hands to activate a weapon. It will stay operable about thirty minutes. After which you need another freshly dead Krall.”

He tapped the replaceable power module below the weapon. “This power pack is nearly drained because it should have more lights and a much brighter glow if charged.”

Mirikami rapidly tried all sixteen rifles, and a dozen never glowed at all, but several others gave the same dim glow of a single light. The power packs needed replacing or recharging, and they found no spares, and didn’t know where a recharge station was located.

“Gar what if I activate the four with weak charges, and even if there are only one or two shots in each, you use them? I’ve certainly never fired one of these.”

“Nope. You’d have to hold hands with me. When you let go, the weapon will switch off in ten or fifteen seconds. In basic training, we’re taught to use an available enemy weapon system so long as the Krall owner is recently dead and is in physical contact. We had to haul that heavy ass carcass with us if we needed to move for the next half hour.”

“Why not take just the hand? Not squeamish are you?” Mirikami couldn’t help but smile at the thought the rugged one-armed sergeant would be concerned about this.

“Hell no. I’d wear their hollowed out skull if that would keep me alive and killing other Krall. Except the hand alone doesn’t work. We naturally get few opportunities to test or try this, but reports from the field say when a soldier could stay with the corpse, or carry it near him in a truck, he had use of the Krall rifle. Even then it only lasts for roughly thirty minutes after death, when the gun decides its official user is really dead.”

“Well place the four with any power over by that portal. If we need to make a run for the dome, that door and ramp is on the side towards where you need to go, with the Krall on the opposite side, I’m told.” He pointed to the opposite side portal.

“Sir, what use are they on that side?” Alyson had the same question Reynolds was about to ask.

“If we open that portal, and drop the ramp, I can cover all of you from behind that ramp as a shield. If you run straight away from the shuttle, the Krall can’t get a clear shot without moving away from the shuttle. That gives me and the folks at the dome a chance to pin them down or keep them occupied.”

Looking skeptical, Reynolds asked, “Have you ever fought the Krall? They don’t stay pinned down.”

“I don’t have as much experience as you Gar, and mine was twenty years ago, but there are two more boys outside like Alyson, and they will also be shooting at them. The warriors will definitely respect their abilities after only a couple of shots.”

“I don’t mean disrespect, but strong isn’t enough with these warriors. I use armor that nearly matches them in strength, but I can’t move fast enough to make it do what they can do.”

“We think we have that covered,” was all Mirikami said.

Then he added, “Let me Link with my men outside and see what they may have come up with while we were busy here. Jake, a Link please.” He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement anymore.

“Dillon, Thad, we can’t find a way to lock them out of the ship, and I doubt even with Alyson’s help we could hold off five of them if they charge in here. What have you come up with?”

Thad answered. “Ethan and both cats are behind the Krall, not quite straight out from the dome, so they are out of the line of our fire. He has a hand radio, which is set to receive text only since they would hear voice calls. He also has a .50 caliber rifle with him. When shooting starts he can get one or more if they head for the Clanship, before they duck around the shuttle for cover. We have some shots at them from the other side, from under the overhang, but only by shooting around landing jacks. It’s possible for them to have cover from both directions for most of the way. Some of them might make it through, and their shuttle still has its pilot. We have it tough, no matter what we do. If we send our two shuttles up, the sound is different, and they will spring into action before we ram, and you all will still be inside.”

“Like sergeant Reynolds said to me a few minutes ago, we need a distraction that convinces them they don’t need to come back to the ship. I have something in mind, but I need to consider it for a bit.

“Jake will need to talk to them in High Krall. He won’t fool them for long, and they will figure out he isn’t really one of them. We will speak to them in Standard after that, perhaps ordering them to go away and leave us alone.  That should piss them off, and I don’t think they’d be inclined to do anything a human told them to do.

“We might explain we are survivors from the other compound and are no threat to them. Nothing excites a Krall more than weak prey to kill that defies them. I want to push them towards a hunt that will sound fun for them, since we had only their guns and flimsy armor when they left. We can threaten them and say they are outnumbered eight to one. That’s normally terrific odds for six novice warriors, and these are all battle experienced. Our attempt to fool them and to hide will be a clear sign of weakness to them.”

The others agreed, and Mirikami ordered Jake to start a conversation, and feed a translation to him, Thad, and Dillon. Then he signed off.

Reynolds promptly had a question. “Who is Jake? You’re saying he understands and speaks High Krall? We only have a partial dictionary of either Krall tongue, because they nearly always encrypt communications, just as we do.”

“I think twenty years ago the Krall were unconcerned about what we learned here, because we were not expected to survive long after they departed. Jake is a JK model AI from my old ship, and without his help we would not have survived to see the Krall depart, nor have had the help to construct industry and develop the technology that helped keep us alive. He learned their language from unguarded conversations they had in our presence, and from bugging a habitat dome where they occupied the top levels to monitor us captives. We never let them know he existed.”

“Your people and computer would be a gold mine of information for our intelligence folks. Especially if they can figure out how you personally can operate Krall equipment.”

“Yes. Well, I don’t think I’m the only one that can do that, but I’ll wait for a chance to test my theory if we survive our current problems.”

One of the other captives called down. “When are we going to make a break for it? Can you open the hatches for us?”

Reynolds identified him as Karl Wetherby, a young blond haired man with some militia training. The sergeant was explaining what was happening when a completely unplanned, distraction arrived.

Dillon broke in on Mirikami’s monitoring of Jake’s simultaneous translation of his opening conversation with the Krall. “Tet, Cahill found an unwatched maintenance side door, and just stepped out onto the tarmac. I think a Clanship jack or the shuttle’s position has the Krall view of her blocked, but that won’t last long. You threatened to shoot her if she interfered, but I don’t think that’s going to be necessary. She’s walking towards the shuttle wearing her old blue governor’s robes, with her hands in the air. She must have completely lost her mind.”

19. The OK Corral with Knives

Once the Krall had made it clear they suspected there were occupants in the dome, Thad ordered Jake to transmit a carrier wave with random Krall style frequency modulation in a directional signal beamed out over the savanna, and to do it intermittently. Thad knew the Krall detection equipment on their shuttle was certain to pick up some part of the radiation leakage from the side lobe of the dish on top of the dome. He based this belief on empirical evidence from shuttles used to hunt humans on Testing Days, when the Krall located human teams using such directional dishes when they tried to communicate secretly.

However, they would get no information from the purely garbage transmissions Jake sent, although the time wasted on pointless decryption might prove beneficial. Thad figured the Krall would believe that the message contents were coded, rather than simply junk. After all, who sent random messages in a semi secure directional beam? They would assume there was a distant recipient the dome occupants were trying to reach.

Confirming there were occupants in the dome was clearly revealing no secrets. They had turned back from their hunt, landed, and were repeatedly trying to make contact with the mysterious clan they thought was inside, offering to negotiate.

The actual frequency Jake used for the dummy transmission was one suggested by Dillon. It matched the frequency Jake recorded from the hunter killer octet sent after the combat team Mirikami had formed. That was on the last Testing Day the Krall conducted on Koban, proving humans were capable of fighting well enough to match Krall expectations. The Kimbo clan had used that frequency, and they were a small but extremely aggressive clan, which might be of concern to these Krall.

Dillon hoped they might believe that Kimbo clan was here illegally, and hesitate to initiate hostilities with that volatile clan if they could negotiate instead. Interclan negotiations were common, even if almost never used with humans. Thad endorsed the frequency choice, noting that each clan did seem to have a set of frequencies they preferred to use on former hunts.

Now, with Jake attempting to open a fake negotiation that was sure to fall apart, Cahill’s action might serve as a completely different distraction for the six Krall they faced.

****

Toltak stepped into the shuttle for the third time to check the progress of the computer’s effort to decode the intercepted message from the clan inside the dome. With so many thousands of years of conflict, and encounters with alien communications and codes, their slave races had established an immense database of previously used encryption systems for their masters, and quantum methods of searches for known patterns. Learning who was inside was tied to knowing not only what they had said, but also whom they were trying to reach.

They had two earlier transmissions to work with, and a third transmission interception a short time ago was the longest yet. The software system indicated all three transmissions contained different contents, but used the same encoding and modulation. They were all on a frequency used most often by two clans.  Based on past interclan warfare, the computer should have enough data now to furnish at least a hint as to which clan was here.

That knowledge would be of use in estimating the strategy for terms of negotiation. If Kimbo clan, it was important to recall their ultra-aggressive tactics in a fight, and how that translated into a more forceful negotiation style. If the Maldo clan, a small and recent offshoot of old Dorbo clan, they would more likely want equitable trades for each concession or agreement. Both trespassing parties would require assurances that were plausible, that the other side could not divulge the mutual secret. They needed to know how secure the other illegal visitor was of their secrecy within their own clan.

She found Gapod facing aft and looking at the secondary communications display rather than looking out of the windows at the dome and Clanship. This was sloppy, and she challenged him. “If we are attacked from the dome, you are not ready with our most powerful weapon, the right side laser. Why are you not watching?”

Undaunted, Gapod was ready with an answer. “The computer sent the sound that it had a possible match for reading part of the messages. It did that twice before and I called you to look. You were angry with me after the second time, because you said you were not where you needed to be if they attack. Your action made no response possible by me that would not leave you angry if this was a false match. I chose to look for myself, and only call you if we could read the messages. I did not know you would enter.”

She didn’t directly rebut him since he had a valid point, so she looked at the console to see the last search results. Gapod returned to his pilot’s seat, already aware that he’d been correct not to call her. The possible match had been yet another random combination that briefly looked logical. The following attempt to decode more of the messages using that ancient encryption system had failed.

This is taking too long. She fumed. If this were Kimbo I doubt they would wait this long to attack unless they are weak in numbers. If the clan were Maldo, they would want their leader’s decision, even if they outnumber us.

“I will not be angry if you call me again to look.” She went back outside to make another call to the dome to ask for a negotiation.

Her reward this time was a response on the same frequency she had been using, broadcast as an Omni-Directional transmission that each of the warriors could hear.

“What do you want to negotiate?” Jake asked that in response to her offer.

That brought her up short. The subject of a negotiation would be blindingly obvious to a pair of novices that had each broken a rule. The two clans were on Koban against the orders of the joint council. Neither group wants to risk losing any of a lifetime of earned status points for promotions and breeding.

The accent was neutral for whichever clan the warrior speaking was a member, and the pitch of the voice was odd. The pronunciation was perfect to a Krall’s sensitive hearing. The words sounded as if they came from a high-ranking older Krall with many years of experience guiding their tongue and lips. Yet they did not understand what negotiation this predicament required?

She noted the looks from the four warriors outside with her that they found the question and speaker somehow off kilter as well. She shook her left shoulder to signal her mystification to them.

“We require an agreement for silence of our mutual visit to Koban. We will offer a reasonable assurance that our clan will not learn of our landings here. We want the same of you. I am of Tanga clan, of what clan are you?” She had made the first offer of openness, so they were honor bound to follow suit.

Jake was unschooled in Krall culture, and directed to keep the presence of the human “clan” here a secret, so he equivocated. “We agree to maintain our silence if you will do the same. What do you consider a reasonable assurance of secrecy from our clan?” He ignored the issue of what Krall clan he presumably represented. The AI wasn’t aware that a mutual exchange of trust was expected, that knowing the other clan’s identity demanded he provide the same information to them.

Toltak was initially shocked at the lack of honor displayed, realizing that no negotiation would now be possible. However, the naïve offer to maintain silence, without first offering a reasonable explanation of how to assure it, was backwards. She was inclined to attack them immediately, but this warrior’s behavior was decidedly unlike a Krall. The other presumed warriors with him would not want to be included in the lack of honor this one displayed. One of them should have spoken up by now.

One of them did, and her previous shock was multiplied many fold.

****

Mirikami, monitoring Jake’s Standard translation of what he was saying to the Krall, immediately sensed this was the wrong opening question. He didn’t hear Jake’s translation of Toltak’s negotiating points, because Dillon broke in to tell him about Cahill. He was thinking furiously as Jake translated a now meaningless response to the Krall. Time to let them know whom they were really dealing with before Cahill did it for them.

He quickly told Alyson what Cahill was doing, then said, “Jake, put me on the frequency with the Krall, I’ll do the talking, no translation needed.”

“Yes Sir. Ready.”

“Toltak, the human that was speaking for me does not speak high Krall very well, so I will conduct the negotiations in Standard, which I know you speak well. I am the human clan leader here, and my name is Mirikami. I am sending a representative to speak directly with you as a show of my trust. She is in a blue uniform, walking towards you from the dome. She is unarmed.”

Perhaps the Krall might think a blue covering signified a translator, as it often did for them. It might keep Cahill alive another few minutes. He wondered how long it would take Toltak to realize he had slipped up when he used her name.

“Jake,” using the AI’s name assured he would not send this to the Krall. “Has the Krall speaker ever said her name or their mission here? Don’t reconnect me for a moment.”

“No Sir. She never said her name or mission.”

“I was afraid of that. I hope she doesn’t ask how I know her name. Jake, connect me again.”

Toltak was in the middle of demanding confirmation of what he’d just said. “…are humans we left here at Koban Prime? How did you reach this dome? We see the animal you are sending to us. If it makes any movement we do not trust, it will die.”

Mirikami heard enough to fill in her first question, remembering she knew the Prime City compound by its old name. “We had some shuttles inside the larger human ships disabled at Koban Prime, and used them to move people here after all the Krall left. Parkoda had destroyed the gates, and the Koban animals were killing our people. I was the Captain of the first large ship Parkoda brought there, called the Flight of Fancy. I led some of the survivors to this compound, where the gates remained closed. We restarted the fusion bottles to keep the Koban animals out, and we ate the Raspani for food. I told Telour, of the Graka clan, that we would stay alive.”

There are enough plausible story details in there, he thought.

Some were even true, and knowing she was Tanga clan meant she probably knew of Parkoda. A fact she quickly confirmed.

“Parkoda was right. We should have killed all of you before we left. The joint council should not have agreed to let any of you live. I will fix that mistake, by destroying this dome.”

Mirikami had a counter to that anticipated threat. “If you leave such obvious destructive evidence that you were here, some future joint council will search for the clan that violated their restriction and returned to Koban, no matter how many years have passed. Your clan will pay the price when they find proof of your past dishonor. We will hide many recordings of this conversation, and the video proof of your landing. To keep this dome in one piece, you will have to find and kill all of us in a hunt, and we out number your small force. We have over eight humans for each of you six warriors. Speak to our emissary and she will confirm we have the guns that you left us. If you do not harm her, we will let you live.” That should inflame Toltak, yet force her to verify what he said with the so-called emissary.

“Jake, cease the Krall radio transmission. Encrypt our conversation now, and send a text copy to Ethan’s radio hand set. Now Link me with Thad and Dillon.”

“Ready, Sir.”

“Gentlemen you heard. We have until Cahill walks over and spills the beans to decide our next move.”

“Won’t they be listening to this now?” Dillon asked.

“Probably, but it should take a little time to find the encryption key to these transmissions. I won’t talk long and I want you to activate one of your portable radios for those around you to hear what we say. Invite Stewart over to participate.”

As soon as the mayor joined them, Mirikami started. “What about if I let the Krall know we have control of the Clanship? I can open the hatch facing towards them and be ready to fire on the six of them and the shuttle with our four pistols.” Mirikami didn’t think they could possibly hold them off, not even using the four nearly depleted plasma rifles that he deliberately failed to mention. This was pre-emptive, because this bad tactic might occur to someone else.

As he anticipated, Dillon and Thad strongly argued that idea down.

Thad outlined the reasons the best, really addressing the comment to Hub City residents rather than trying to convince Mirikami. He was certain Tet put that bad idea out for exactly that purpose, since he’d had voiced the same objection earlier. “Not a good idea Commander. If even one warrior gets past you, the fight is over and we lose the planet when they power up the plasma cannons and lasers. The shuttle pilot would also be free to reload the warriors under its cover. Then lift up and use their lasers. That eventually has the same fatal result for us. We don’t want them thinking of those options.”

“Right you are. I agree, but I wanted everyone to know why that’s too risky.”

MacDougal offered another idea that Mirikami had expected. “What if we all charge them from out of the overhang, driving and using the cover of the trucks? They can’t stop us all and we’ll reach and overwhelm them.”

Mirikami tackled that one. “It’s a courageous proposal Stewart, but again, it takes time to develop. The shuttle lasers would hit you hard, and it can load up and lift before you get there. We lose if we force them to take that option.”

They partly heard a proposal from someone behind MacDougal, and the mayor repeated it on the com system. “The boy, Ethan, he went out with the two rippers to flank them. They can attack from the back side at the same time.”

They were closer to the scenario Mirikami was trying to orchestrate, but that wasn’t enough by itself. “Only Ethan can attack them from a distance with his rifle or pistols. The cats will take time to cover the ground and close with them. Some of the Krall will make it inside the shuttle and it will lift, and we lose. We need that shuttle staying on the ground, its hatch open, and the Krall distracted from that eventual attack. We need all the warriors otherwise involved when that attack comes.”

Dillon was feeling as frustrated as the rest of the listeners. There didn’t seem to be an answer that led to a victory. “Tet, you said Cahill was the distraction. How can we use that?”

“She is a distraction but not the distraction we need. What do you think will happen when the Krall have her behind that shuttle and start to question her?”

“She went there on her own. They’ll listen.”

“No, these are Krall. They won’t believe anything she says that physical duress did not force from her. I’m going to push them hard enough that they will place her under duress. That’s unfortunate for her traitorous ass, but we need a reasonable excuse for what we will do next.”

Mirikami suspected Thad might have figured out the next step. He certainly understood the honor code of Krall warriors. If not aware of what Mirikami was up to yet, he’d recognize its necessity, and no matter how reluctantly, would accept it. Dillon, for all of his successful efforts at becoming proficient with guns, at hunting, and hand-to-hand training, was at heart a civilian scientist without a military background. His logical mind might tell him one thing, but his heart would say another. He hoped his friend would forgive him.

“What will that step be?” Dillon asked.

“Let me set it up first. Has Cahill reached the shuttle yet?”

Thad provided him an update. “She passed almost under the Clanship, and is walking towards the nose of the shuttle. It looks like she’s having trouble holding up her arms so long in this gravity. I can see sweat on her back and under her arm pits.”

They couldn’t see Mirikami’s nod. “Naturally. She doesn’t have the heat mod, or any of the mods that make it easier to live on this world. Her physical weakness matches the last impression the Krall had of humans here. However, I don’t want them to shoot her if her arms drop. Jake, put me on the Krall radio frequency again.”

“Ready, Sir.”

“Toltak, my emissary grows tired in the gravity and heat. You can see she is having trouble holding up her arms. Do not shoot her if she lowers her hands. She has no weapons, but brings you information about why you would be wise to leave here while you can. We have grown much stronger living here, and you will find we are better fighters than before you left. She will confirm that for you. I told her what to tell you.”

“I see the animal’s wetness under its arms. Your strength is not so great if you cannot walk fast or even hold up your own arms. Do you think her example will make us leave you alive, to continue to foul our future home world?”

“She will tell you the truth, that you cannot beat us in a fight. Our children are stronger than you are now. They grew up on this world. Do not test us, and leave us in peace while you are still alive.”

There wasn’t a snowball’s chance at midsummer on the savanna that the Krall would do that, but their blood pressure, from both heart systems, would probably be spiking right now.

He could easily visualize Toltak’s snarl when she answered. “I, Toltak, of Tanga clan, will personally cut out and eat your foul tasting living heart for that insult.”

“I think you will change your mind when you hear from my emissary. Hear what she says, and then give your more informed reply.” Poor traitorous Cahill was about to meet an ugly fate. Nevertheless, she could still render a service to humanity. This was assuming that Mirikami’s callous seeming plan worked out. That was far from certain. He felt some guilt over sealing Cahill’s fate, assuaged, slightly by the knowledge he would not long survive her if this plan failed.

“Jake, let me know when she answers.” He then addressed his human listeners.

“People, I’m certain the Krall were going to kill her anyway, but now her inevitable death has been turned into an official pretext to make what must follow sound reasonable, at least from a Krall warrior’s perspective. I gave her a fictitious role in the presumed negotiation they themselves called for. Their offer to negotiate wasn’t intended for us, but we can demand satisfaction for the death of our so-called emissary.”

MacDougal was confused, but not outraged. “Demand satisfaction? What do you expect them to offer? They don’t give a damn about us, or our anger. I don’t see how ensuring Cahill’s death helped us.”

Proving that he had indeed grasped what Mirikami planned, Thad said simply, “Challenge them to single combat.”

Mirikami confirmed. “Exactly. Our honor and theirs will have been offended. One on one challenges are how they resolve such issues between themselves. I predict they will energetically accept such an offer.”

“Who wants to follow Cahill to the grave?” MacDougal demanded more than asked.

“I’ll make the challenge. I have no doubt the entertainment will be distraction enough for he Krall. The cats will be able to creep to the shuttle, and Ethan can pick off any warrior that might notice. With the cats inside, the pilot is history, and the rest of you can rush them.”

“No!” The outcry was from Dillon, Mirikami recognized his voice. However, he hadn’t directed the objection at Mirikami.

“Carson, there are six of them. Not even you can handle all of them at once.”

Through the radio’s mike, which drew stronger as Dillon must have approached his son, Mirikami heard the boy’s determination, and knew that he had already analyzed the situation faster and for longer than his father had.

“Dad, they will fight a challenger one at a time, it’s an honor thing with them, and I can beat them. The Commander can’t, not for long enough for the distraction to work.”

“Carson, even if you beat one to the draw, the next one will chose knives, or go bare handed. You don’t have talons, Son.”

“Dad, I was literally made for this. I was conceived, and then purposely modified to defend our world, our race, against the Krall. I even demanded the modifications.”

“Son, that isn’t why you were conceived, your mother and I wanted you. The modifications were to give you a fighting chance on this world and against…,” he let that argument trail off as he realized he was about to repeat his son’s own argument.

“Besides Dad, you talk as if I’m facing them alone. Ethan is out there, and Alyson is too. There are three of us TGs here. If we had the hundreds at Prime City with us this wouldn’t even be a discussion. All we have right now are we three, and our continued existence on Koban depends on us. I have spent hours and days talking about this sort of scenario. It’s necessary to do this, and you know it. Your objection is because of who I am, your son, than of what I am, a Third Generation Kobani Krall killer. Use your mind not your heart, as you are always reminding me when a rational decision is required.”

There was a moment of silence that lasted only a short time, but which felt like an eternity to Carson. His father finally looked up at him, placed a hand on his shoulder and granted him the approval that he didn’t need, but desperately wanted. “I love you Carson, make us all proud, and come back to your mother and I.”

Mirikami felt the weight of guilt all the heavier, now that his plan moved into its final phase. He was sending these three kids up against six battle-hardened representatives of the most powerful, ruthless race of killers in the known galaxy.

He spent the next few moments sending a text to Ethan, and conferring with Alyson and Reynolds. Cahill’s first scream was discernible even through the armored portals.

****

Toltak waited impatiently for the pathetic weak creature to close the distance to the shuttle. The billowing blue covering, blown against her by the breeze revealed a puffier outline of the animal’s body than displayed by most of its kind. It was wobbling as it walked and the hands and arms were gradually drifting lower as it was unable to sustain aloft that minor weight.

This creature was supposedly adapted to this world after so many years living here. The human clan leader dared send this thing to tell Toltak what she should do. After tearing the information she wanted from this human, she would know for certain how to attack them, how many there were, how they were armed, where they were living inside.

As it neared, it’s babbling increased, saying words Toltak heard and understood, but didn’t know what she meant by them. “I am not your enemy because I tried to stop the criminals, so I should be spared. I told them they were making a mistake. That when we went home they would be executed, or at least imprisoned. I said if you returned you would be angry. I warned them not to change your world, to stay away from its animals. When you learn what they did you will spare me, even reward me.”

Finally, it’s arms unable to remain even shoulder high, it let them hang listlessly as she walked in a lurching side to side manner, apparently reluctant to close the final yards, now that it had left itself completely exposed to the will of the Krall. It made another plea. “I will tell you everything you want to know, but you must not harm me. I will be a friend to you. I don’t have any real friends here, so you can trust me to tell you the truth. Everything.”

In a spasm of irritation, Toltak spoke for the first time to it. “Move faster, get behind the shuttle.” The Krall was unwilling to expose herself to go get this worm of a creature, not after the traps humans had proven capable of setting. Not seeing the trap did not mean there wasn’t one.

Cahill thought for a moment. “That’s true. I should get behind the shuttle so they can’t shoot me. He promised he would do that if I helped you. That proves I can be trusted.”  She hurried that last ten feet.

As she rounded the nose of the craft, in a blur of movement Toltak ripped the blue fabric to shreds with her talons, to reveal any hidden weapons. The creature made a small animal shriek of fear, but had no weapons beneath that outer covering. It wore additional coverings beneath. All of the coverings stunk with the smell of human fear and the fluids they excreted from their skins when they were hot. There was a particular fresh amber stain spreading from where its legs met, down a form following material that covered her entire body, revealed a lumpy fat body. The damp material would not hide a useful weapon, but the smell was offensive.

Toltak ripped off the rest of the damp and smelly fabric coverings and threw them disgustedly to the tarmac. The Krall had the ability to be more precise with her talon tips, but chose to leave a number of fine lines on the pudgy skin, which, like paper cuts, slowly oozed small drops of blood.

The stupid animal seemed concerned with pointlessly covering parts of its anatomy with one arm and the other hand. It didn’t appear to notice the tiny slices along its skin, until the salty smelling droplets of moisture it exuded ran down to touch them. That seemed to spark a frantic effort to brush them away as if it burned. The accompanying sounds it made seemed to bear that out, and it briefly forgot to cover the uninteresting parts of its body that it had wanted to conceal.

It was time to get the answers that Toltak needed answered. “How many humans are here?”

“You didn’t need to make me naked. I came to talk to you. Please let me have some clothing. This is unacceptable.”

A talon swipe along one of two large hanging bulges of flesh, located below her old Krall novice tattoo, drew blood and obviously caused pain as she clutched a hand at the minor wound. “Be responsive to my questions and answer what I ask or I will remove parts of you slowly.”

One threat Toltak wasn’t going to make, because she would not force herself to follow through, was to tell the subject she would eat parts of the creature’s flesh. That was often an effective interrogation technique. However, the nasty colored fat of human flesh was more prevalent on this specimen, so don’t threaten what you won’t do was a rule to obey here.

“How many humans are here? And if you do not answer, what part do you wish me to remove?”

Eager to answer this time she blurted, “There are about twenty four thousand humans here. You are greatly outnumbered.”

“Yet so many of them hid from only six warriors. How are they armed, with what weapons?”

“They have pistols and rifles you gave us and some big rifles they found inside cargo boxes. The criminals made bombs and they have knives. They also have rippers for pets that they will send to attack you.”

That last item caught Toltak by surprise. “What is a pet? How would they make a ripper do what they want?”

“A pet is an animal a human keeps for company, that they take care of and feed and live with. The rippers they have will do what they ask, and will attack you.”

There was a loud snort from Toltak, which startled Cahill. The Krall spoke in the silent way they had to the other Krall, two of whom made their own snort.

“Your clan leader sent you to tell me that we are outnumbered thousands to one, even though he said it was eight to one. You say they have rippers, the most deadly of predators, for pets that do what they order them to do. Yet they only have the guns we left here to hunt rippers. Did he tell you to say you built plasma cannons, and tanks? That would be better than the big rifles you say you have.

“Tell me, why did you hide this great strength if you have all of this?” Toltak’s amusement was at an end.

“I don’t know what they are doing. I’m not part of their planning.”

“Yet the clan leader told us you were coming to speak to us before you came, and said you would tell us to leave before we were killed. I think you are mixing the stories you tell to hide something in the confusion. If we attack I believe we will find out how weak you really are.”

“No. The criminals have children that were born here, that they bred to be fast and stronger that you, and you can’t beat them. Please take me with and leave now. I will not be safe here.”

“Ah, now the human children, with rippers as pets will kill us, so we should leave. You say that would be a smart decision?”

“Yes.”

“I warned you that I would remove parts if you did not speak the truth. I will leave your tongue for later, because it will be needed when you change your mind.” She spoke high Krall to Pindor and Stilkap, standing behind the lying animal.

As Pindor grabbed her arms at the wrist and held them out, Stilkap drew a long sharp knife and slowly sliced away a meaty strip of flesh from the left wrist to the inside of her elbow as she screamed until her lungs emptied. Then he used a piece of chord from a belt pouch to tie off the bleeding at the elbow. They had ample practice with humans, and knew how fragile they were, and what was required to keep them alive longer. What they couldn’t do was keep every subject conscious throughout all of the “entertainment.”

Cahill went limp, her body left sagging from the forcibly outstretched arms, her head hanging forward with damp stringy hair hanging down. They let her drop, to await her first stirrings of returning awareness, so they could resume. Toltak regretted not starting with a less drastic removal, say a finger or toe, but she had desired truthful answers to her questions, and wanted them quickly.

The transmission she received next greatly surprised her. It was the voice of the human clan leader.

“Toltak you have dishonored the negotiation you personally requested, and injured or killed my emissary. We demand the right of challenge, to face the warrior that committed that cowardly dishonor. One of our warriors will face that offender, fighting where all can see, below your own Clanship with pistols. Do your warriors retain any honor, and enough courage to face one of us in face-to-face combat? Kimbo clan had enough courage, and lost to us. Perhaps Tanga clan has only Parkoda’s failures with Graka clan as its examples. Are you too afraid of failure with a human?”

All of her warriors spoke and understood some Standard, and they were as enraged as she was at the direct insults. The human’s words stung more because in one sense they were true. Toltak had requested a negotiation, unaware that humans were here, with whom she would never otherwise stoop to holding talks. The humans in turn had a valid reason to feel her actions were dishonorable, and were demanding a standard Krall method of resolution. To refuse would deepen the dishonor that her team would feel if they did not accept. If the humans had a trap or treachery planned, she might possibly lose a warrior if he was too slow for their trickery, but she would gain truly motivated warriors in exchange.

The risk was worth it she decided. She tapped her com button. “The challenge is accepted. We do not trust the honor of humans. Your warrior will walk to the Clanship first, and then when he is exposed if you use treachery, our warrior will walk to meet him. The standard greeting will take place before combat starts.”

“Agreed, and we know of the Krall custom. Our challenger will start his walk soon.”

Despite the obvious eagerness of each of the four warriors with her, Toltak looked at the logical choice. “Stilkap, you performed the removal. You have the honor of our clan to uphold. Check your pistols.”

He had three, in preparation for the original hunt planned for today. He carried holsters on each hip and one on a cross-chest ammo belt set for a left hand draw. He cleaned his blade on the tatters of Cahill’s blue robe and slid that into a belt sheath. He verified two pistols had armor piercing rounds, and one, at his chest, had explosive rounds. He replaced the chest weapon with the gun on his left hip, to make a bigger mess of his victim. He was minutely faster with his left hand, as were most Krall, despite hundreds of generations of breeding for complete ambidexterity.

“You know to be wary of human tricks. Be sure to kill the challenger quickly and move to cover behind a landing jack. Shoot the body several more times to make them aware of how today will end for them. You will able to enter the Clanship quickly when I signal. This is a stupid choice by them for where to fight. It works to our advantage.”

****

Thad watched Carson check his weapons, confirming they slid easily in and out of their lubricated holsters, and that he had them properly tied to his lower thighs. Thad walked over to offer him something, whispering in his ear. Carson briefly looked surprised, then smiled and palmed the small object.

Dillon was in conversation with Mirikami, and now came over to speak to his boy. “Son, I know you’ve seen the tapes of Krall training exercises where they stiffen and extend their left hands in a sort of salute. Don’t be fooled if he draws his right gun at the same time. What he should do is lower his left arm and enter a crouch and make his move.”

“Dad, I’ve watched those old recordings many times, and we TGs all noticed that most Krall are very slightly faster with their left hands. Just as people are predominately right handed, the Krall must once have been predominately left handed.”

“You really saw a speed difference? I never noticed.”

Carson smiled. “That’s why we chose Koban nervous systems for TGs, remember?”

“Don’t be cocky, wise guy. Of course, I remember. I helped isolate the genes.

“Then trust in your work. I do. We all do.”

“OK. Uncle Mirikami says he loves you, and that you don’t need luck, you have speed, and to remember that tuck and roll move he asked you to learn.”

“I will, and I love him too. I wish I could have talked to Mom, but without the satellites, we’d have to use atmospheric bounce, which would show them where we sent our signal. Dad, I’d better start my walk. Like Uncle Thad said, they are highly unlikely to take a pot shot at me as I cross.”

There were multiple guns covering him from behind, and the Krall in front, so he was feeling a bit exposed. He leaned down momentarily to draw out his eighteen-inch hunting knife from his calf sheath. He slipped something out of his pocket, put it back, and smoothly sheathed his knife without breaking stride.

When he reached the Clanship, he remained in clear sight of both sides, but stayed close to the cover of a landing jack in the event he saw signs of treachery on the part of the Krall. He was actually relieved when he saw a warrior walking from around the nose of the shuttle. He could also see the K’Tal pilot in the cockpit, watching him. He was excited, but not anxious. This was life or death, but he didn’t feel like a lifetime of preparation was coming to a head.

He observed the details of the Krall walking towards him. It was the first one he’d seen in the flesh of course, and its massive body build looked obviously powerful. Its smooth gait on bowed legs was as incongruous as it had always looked on Tri-Vid holo tapes. He noted that his left arm swing as it walked never strayed too far from the left holster, but the right had moved at least an inch farther each way. By preference, this warrior was a lefty.

He saw two knives, one at its left hip, at least twenty inches long and probably double edged from its width. A nine-inch slim blade was in a sheath on the chest belt, below the third pistol and left pull holster (another left-handed clue). He noted neither holster had tie downs. Because the Krall had such long arms, the hands naturally were well lower than the hip level pistols. Unless it raised its hands, it would need more time to pull its weapons. It had never optimized its draw, probably because that wasn’t required against the humans it had fought. This would translate into multiple thousandths of a second more before it could grasp the pistol butts to clear the holsters. He was analytically watching every detail. The hundred-foot walk gave him a great deal of time to study his opponent.

It was slight, but there was a minor lean in its gait. That suggested it was favoring its right leg by placing less weight there. Because it wore the standard black uniform with limbs exposed, he noted that the experienced warrior had pronounced ruddy skin coloration everywhere but the right leg, which was grayer from mid-thigh down. It had a tattoo that was over two thirds full of status dots, and reflected many kills. The extensive combat experience and gray right leg told Carson that it was a regenerated limb. The right leg was possibly not as strong or flexible as the left leg. A digit on the right hand was also a lighter color. These combined flags suggested the right side was the weaker side for this warrior. He wasn’t consciously planning how he might take advantage, but any information could become useful.

It stepped under the Clanship, and stayed close to one of the landing jacks. Mutual distrust was to be expected. Carson was loose and watching the Krall, expecting the stiffening and salute, but prepared if he took a shortcut. It didn’t appear to the boy that it was particularly tense, and likely had confronted quite a number of armed humans, aside from the helpless civilians it no doubt had slaughtered. He decided to see if it knew Standard, and wanted to talk.

“My name is Carson. Who do I have the pleasure of killing today?”

“Stilkap will kill here human. I will kill more after you.”

“Did you kill the woman that came out to speak to you?”

“I remove a part with my knife, but it lives. It was weak and went to sleep for now. ”

“I don’t like her, but I will remove some parts from you if I don’t have to kill you first.”

“You are a human that speak like brave warrior. Most beg for life, or try shoot me fast. I will shoot pieces from you.”

“Your Standard is not too bad. Let me say some words in low Krall I have practiced, and you say how badly I speak.”

“Say your words.”

“For a big warrior you have a small brain. Do you like the taste of rhinolo turds? If you ever mated, did the other hatchlings eat all of your cubs?” Those were all of the insults he had practiced with Ethan, and the last was by far the most offensive for a warrior.

Rather than answer him, a pissed off Stilkap straightened his legs, which Carson mimicked by standing straighter, and he raised his own left arm as the warrior’s left hand talons briefly extended. Then, exactly as Carson anticipated, the Krall was letting its arm appear to drop naturally while it really was drawing in closer to its body and lowering at an increasing rate. It was about to draw on him.

His right hand had never strayed from a position in front of his pistol. His hand whipped back and rocked the pistol out of the holster just as the Krall saw his movement and increased its own hand speed. When the weapon tip cleared the holster, Carson’s barrel was leveled at his opponent from hip height, who was just now contacting his own gun butt, with the obvious intention of lifting it vertically out of the holster to fire. That was a less efficient and slower process.

In that split second, Carson decided not to go for a kill shot now, and chose to prolong the duel for the added distraction it would provide. He shifted his aim and fired.

Stilkap realized he was beaten to the draw by the smaller human. It had moved faster than he’d ever seen any Krall move, let alone a human. However, it had made a serious mistake by not taking aim at his head for the instant kill. Stilkap could take killing shots to the body and still take this human with him.

The recognition that it was not a body shot startled him, as the bullet missed him completely, and shattered his pistol, stinging his left hand that had just grasped the butt. His instant response was to draw his right pistol as he moved his left hand simultaneously for the cross-chest pistol draw. The human’s poor aim would cost him his life now, for dead certain.

Except, the human’s left gun was also now clear of its holster. While Stilkap had focused on the expected kill shot from his right hand weapon, the human had nearly simultaneously drawn his left gun. A second shot, which Stilkap couldn’t possibly consider a lucky happenstance this time, shattered his right pistol before he even touched the gun butt. His left hand was just reaching the butt of the chest belt’s holster when the human’s right gun fired again, aimed at his center of mass, but not straight into his chest. The human had held the gun down low, pointed upward at an awkward wrist angle, and yet still hit his third pistol. It was a stunning hammer blow on his chest. Had the slug hit the more fragile body of the pistol, it would have shattered the gun and passed into his chest, between the two hearts. That would be painful debilitating wound and slow him, causing damage to one or more lung lobes, but it would not be a fatal hit. However, the slug struck the lightweight, tough, single giant molecule of the gun butt material at a glancing angle, and deflected up and off to his own right. The slug smashed the clip inside the pistol butt and the trigger mechanism, rendering the third gun unusable.

That was when he realized that the human was no longer seventy-five feet away, and was almost on him, running extremely fast and closing the gap quickly. In an instant, Stilkap knew that he’d never had a real chance to kill him by drawing his pistol. This human was too fast for him, and too accurate. He needed to enter this fight with his weapons drawn, and trade shots. He could have let his Krall physique absorb damage that the human could not survive. Trading wounds could still be a winning strategy for a Krall, but it wasn’t one Stilkap would live to employ.

This human could put bullets into his brain at will. He obviously wanted to be up close and personal when he did that. Something the warrior in him could appreciate, having done that more times than he could count to other opponents. He hated this human with more passion than he knew he was capable of experiencing. Stilkap had obviously never lost a fight, or else he would already be dead. This opponent made the gunfight look too easy, it was humiliating. At least he was dying at the hands of a worthy enemy, and not from some random lucky shot on a battlefield, or a damned human artillery shell. Like the one that took his right leg and finger as it shredded his armor, over a year ago on Poldark.

Stilkap considered all of this in less than a second, and despite knowing he was beaten, was incapable of surrendering to his fate. He reached for both his knives at the same time, hoping he might be able to inflict a wound on his opponent if he foolishly came too close. The smart thing would have been for the human to kill him from a safe distance, but this incredibly fast animal did not appear to choose safe easy ways, when he selectively demolished three guns rather than kill his enemy.

It was impossible for Stilkap to avoid widening his eyes with hope, when the insane human did the least likely thing he expected. He looked past the warrior, then in a flash holstered both weapons, and reached for a knife strapped to his right leg. A blade was the most favored weapon for close quarters fighting for any Krall, and Stilkap was a master of this bloody and pleasurable killing method, where he could see his enemy’s fear, panic, and agony in intimate detail.

This would be the last brazen mistake made by this human vermin. Bullets were equalizers in some sense, because a weak enemy could score a lucky kill shot from a safe distance. A knife demanded placing yourself close to and at risk from your opponent. The human was incredibly fast, and Stilkap anticipated receiving wounds, but those he inflicted in return would soon disable his foe. He had dismantled too many humans in boredom and idle moments to forget which cuts severed tendons, or opened rapid bleed-out points their puny biology could not close down. He’d have this meat animal crawling on its gutted stomach, unable to use its arms and legs to flee from his killer. This would be a better ending than he had even hoped for when he first came out to pulp his challenger with explosive rounds.

Pulling both knives, Stilkap’s roar of satisfaction was clear to his clan mates, who knew of his unusual skill with a knife. They had watched in disbelief the methodical destruction of his three guns. A feat they had never seen another Krall accomplish, at any speed, and done by a human! That phase of the fight was over, abandoned by the human that could have won.

That initial success clearly had led it to foolish overconfidence. Despite the hand speed displayed, no human would be able to match the power of an experienced warrior’s knife thrusts and slashes. The initial wounds inflicted would gradually slow and tire the smaller weaker human, and the mastery of a Krall in the heat of glorious combat would lead to its utter domination. At this form of combat, no Krall in memory had lost to any but another Krall.

Carson knew his father and Uncle Thad would be tearing their hair out right now, because he had not taken a kill shot when he had the opportunity. However, from his vantage point, his glances at the other warriors revealed what his people couldn’t see. Not all of the four warriors behind the shuttle were as focused on this challenge match as those under the dome were. Krall confidence in each other’s ability, compared to a human, was so high that this did not qualify as high drama. One black suited warrior was watching the area around the shuttle as much as he was what was about to transpire. Another blue suited warrior, presumably the leader, was sometimes watching the gathered trucks under the dome overhang, probably watching for a sniper, sometimes glancing his way, and taking frequent quick looks at the low ground cover behind the shuttle.

A more dramatic and gripping fight to the death was needed to truly enthrall all of them. He hoped he could pull it off, but if not, the distraction still should draw all eyes to him. If the knife fight lasted long enough, his secret weapon might draw bulging eyed disbelief from his watchers.

Carson made sure to keep his feet close to the ground as he sped towards the Krall, he didn’t want to be caught in midair by some feint or thrust he’d find difficult or impossible to avoid. The Krall had a longer heavy knife much like his own, double edged with a hand guard, perhaps two inches longer than his own blade. The smaller blade looked more delicate, like a filet or skinning knife, thin shafted with no appreciable hand guard, a knife carried for torture or pleasure, depending which end you were on when used.

All he had was theoretical calculations and scientific estimates of a Krall’s strength compared to his own, so he played it safe on his approach, using his speed against its power. The wide taloned feet with claw tips that had better grip than his boots, and he nearly forgot that they qualified as an additional eight knives coming from a different direction. He slashed in as if going for a stomach cut, kicked himself back as the Krall slashed down where he expected the human’s arm would be with his large knife, and held his small knife ready for a slash or thrust if the human tried to parry the left hand.

Carson kicked down with his right foot, and bounced away as he lifted the curved sharp tip of his knife to slash up at the wrist of the right hand, which he’d anticipated would be following through on the backside of the downward left-handed slash. He cut a deep grove transversely across the inside of the wrist, but the warrior did not lose the smaller knife as he’d hoped. He quickly forgot that disappointment, as two razor sharp talons of the Krall’s left foot raked along his right calf before he pulled it away.

The Krall displayed a sneer of pleasure at delivering a greater wound than it received, and instantly moved to take advantage.

The boy felt a painful burning along his calf, but didn’t betray any expression, and didn’t look down, as the Krall quickly proved it had obviously expected him to do just that. It brought the large knife up as it lunged towards him, in an effort to skewer or cut him while he glanced at a gaping leg wound.

Carson’s blade sliced backhanded to pass under the upstroke, and deeply gashed the bottom of the forearm, using the long reach of the Krall’s full arm extension to leave that area exposed. The warrior’s sneer vanished, as it now did what it had expected Carson to do. It looked not at its own fresh forearm cut, but at the unmarked trouser over the calf, which it had struck solidly.

It paid for that minimal distraction, somewhat differently than it had expected Carson to pay. The boy pivoted on the right leg that the Krall looked at in momentary disbelief, as the left boot flashed around and kicked the right hand holding the smaller knife. The slashed wrist, and possibly the regrown lighter gray digit on the right hand, proved too weak a combination to prevent the nine-inch blade from flying out of Stilkap’s grip.

Smart cloth or not, that slashing kick hurt like hell. Carson decided he’d pay more respect to those short bowed legs. He realized that without the single nine-inch knife to grip, the bastard now had four one-inch long razor sharp tips on its right hand to use instead.

He made a feint towards the warrior who, in typical Krall fashion, moved towards him instead of backwards. This was part of the training he’d received from Uncle Thad, who had watched the Krall practice with each other, and saw them kill humans on hunts through binoculars. They nearly always advanced, on the attack, anytime you went at them.

Carson, in anticipation, used his speed to dodge aside and go around the Krall, who quickly pivoted to keep facing him. He hadn’t been trying to get behind him exactly, just around him. He used the toe of his boot to tap sharply down on the slightly raised tip of the shorter knife the Krall had just lost. It spun up from the pavement, spinning rapidly. Hardly taking his eyes off the warrior, Carson snatched what was to him a slowly pin wheeling object out of the air by its handle.

He made a mock salute, quickly bringing the point of the blade to his left eyebrow, and tipped back out. He added a toothy smile rather than a sneer, being of a happier disposition.

Stilkap was enraged, but cagey enough to recognize that he was facing an opponent that had almost Krall-like skill and even greater speed. Blindly charging in would be a poor tactic used against another skillful warrior. He had to bring his bulk and strength into play against this smaller faster foe. He was in survival mode now, no longer contemptuous of his opponent, and had banished the shame of the gunfight loss from his mind. Gunfight!

How had that crucial detail been pushed to the back of his mind? The human had both its pistols in their holsters. It could kill him anytime it chose, but continued to play with him, as if this were a game. A chill spread down his chest that he’d never experienced before. He’d never known fear, and knew only that he did not like what he felt. He wasn’t high leadership quality, he knew that, but he was better at avoiding human traps on Poldark than many warriors that he had outlasted. He didn’t see a trap this time, but he sensed one in the delaying action of this human.

He looked around quickly, but didn’t see anything out of place, but noticed that his field of vision centered mainly on where he was looking. His peripheral vision was somewhat hazy. His cuts did not hurt, nor bleed, but that was to be expected. No, that wasn’t quite right; he should be ignoring the pain, from the two cuts, and the bruise to his chest. Only he now noticed that he didn’t need to do that. He wasn’t feeling pain that needed to be ignored.

The human walked around him and he stayed facing his enemy, but didn’t understand what new game he was playing. Now the human wasn’t even looking at him, but at the shuttle behind him. He slowly stepped nearer, and Stilkap tensed, raising his own knife and advanced a step, moving his right leg forward, using his stronger left leg as support for a sudden lunge. He felt disconnected from his movements, as if he were watching them rather than feeling them.

The human rushed forward, his right arm and knife swinging sideways in a slash that had to be blocked, but was a useless attack because it was too easy to block. The left hand simultaneously flipped the short knife around and he gripped the blade, raising his arm. With a flick of his wrist, the human threw the blade directly at his right eye. The Krall raised his hand to snatch the knife out of the air, as the human had done, but found that his right arm moved too slowly and his vision had narrowed to see just the sweep of the larger blade towards his side. It was only a last moment twist of his head to the left that prevented the small blade’s tip from penetrating his eye, possibly reaching his brain. The knife buried itself nearly in his right ear, grating against the bone. He completed his block of the inbound slash from his left, and reached up to reclaim his second knife. He’d lost sight of the human’s feet. What was wrong with his vision? Suddenly there was a heavy thud and cracking sound and his forward extended right leg was no longer supporting him. He looked to his right as he started to fall, in what seemed slow motion, and saw his leg bent backwards, as if his knee were backwards. He didn’t feel any pain, but knew from decades of seeing combat injuries that his weak newly regrown knee had snapped backwards. How had that happened?

In the background of the tunnel vision view of his broken knee, he saw the human’s feet come down. The devious creature had used the useless attack on his left side as a cover for leaping into the air and coming down with a vicious kick to his leg and snapped the joint. It didn’t explain why he had not seen the last attack coming, or been able to counter the last two. The lack of pain had to be a clue. He went to thrust the small knife at the human only to find it wasn’t in his hand after all. It must still be stuck in the side of his head and he had failed to pull it out. The human reached out and grasped his right hand, pulling him forward, finishing the collapse of his right leg. He tried to clutch at his enemy’s forearm, to hold him as he brought his left knife hand around to stab at him. He watched the human snap all four of his fingers backwards, and reached over and took his knife away from him.

He wanted desperately for the human to kill him, to end this unendurable shame and humiliation. He tried to force himself to die. That was something a captured Krall could do by stopping both hearts. It takes concentration, but he couldn’t do that. He was aware but had no sense of touch, yet his eyes would move and he could breathe and hear, but had no conscious muscle control.

The human drug his body around where he could see the shuttle, positioning his head sideways so he could see his clan mates looking at him, with what was a mixture of shock and disgust. Now he discovered he actually could experience pain, but it was nonphysical.

Carson turned his back on his paralyzed foe. The extract from the thorns of the Death Lime had done its quiet job.  He wanted to smear more of the substance on his knife tip, but if his skin came into contact, he’d end up on the ground like the broken warrior behind him. The scientists had removed the terrible burning agent from the compound, which made you so keenly aware of the progress of the paralyzing component. Thad had given him the tube with a warning to be careful.

He had accomplished most of what his distraction intended to achieve. He had observed some of the progress as attention was riveted on his knife fight. It was unfortunate that the paralysis had spread as fast as it had. He’d hoped for another minute. Perhaps he could renew their focus for another minute.

“I challenge any other warrior to face me.”

Toltak’s focused her attention on him intensely, as did all four of the other warriors. They burned for an excuse to shoot him down, but they had met the honor challenge, and their representative lost. The odd but rigid Krall honor code forbade a vengeance murder. However, the human offered another challenge.

Toltak, like all of her clan mates, had observed the young human’s blistering speed and accuracy in the short gunfight. He had clearly won that easily. Why he chose to continue into a knife fight when he could have shot Stilkap at his leisure was too Krall-like to believe of a human. That part of the fight was not so one sided, and for a time Stilkap had seemed like he could win, despite some injuries. It had been impossible for the other Krall to tell if the shot that destroyed his chest pistol had penetrated to do some internal damage that caused his collapse at the end. The lack of blood wasn’t a good indicator, because bleeding from wounds always stopped quickly for the Krall.

The challenge already answered settled the original matter of honor, and there was no matter of honor involved for this new challenge. However, every single one of them wanted to accept, if Toltak permitted.

As leader, she had to consider the present circumstances, where they faced an undetermined number of humans. A claim of so many humans was ridiculous, since why would thousands of them not attack the six of them, regardless of losses.

The mindless and weak emissary had said one thing that struck true now, which had cost her a removed part when she said that. She had said criminal humans (whatever that meant) had birthed children that they had bred to be faster and stronger than the Krall. They supposedly did this in only one or two breeding cycles of the Krall, when humans normally took longer for their reproduction, hatching only one, sometimes two of their weak, slow growing cubs at a time. Toltak knew this was so, having opened some human females to see for herself, when conducting interrogations.

She looked over at the lump of the emissary, noting that it had shifted position while they were watching the fight. The breathing was more nervous now than when it had been in the human death sleep. It was awake now and pretending to sleep.

“Rudbit, raise the insane one here, I have questions.”

Cahill screamed again when lifted bodily, the strip of meat missing from her arm a blaze of agony. Only fear had kept her from moaning earlier.

Carson heard her, and despite his dislike for the woman, didn’t want her tortured. He’d actually assumed she was already dead. He called out again. “I demand honor to be satisfied. She is still our representative, sent to negotiate. Fight me, for your honor.”

He was desperate to get them focused on him again. “Bring her around where I can see her, to see what you have done. Have you no honor at all?” He was really trying to play the honor card, since that seemed to be the only lever that worked, sometimes.

Toltak answered with one of those bizarre twists of Krall honor and logic that left humans scratching their heads. “That is a stupid human way of thinking. The challenge satisfied the matter of honor. What I will do with this human was paid by Stilkap’s death. I will have more truth from her or I will have more pieces from her.”

“Your warrior is not dead! I will kill him if you do not return the emissary.” He didn’t want the so-called emissary, who was a traitor to the people here. He did want to make a scene that kept their attention.

Toltak looked up quickly in a rare show of surprise for a Krall. “He is alive?”

“Yes.”

“Kill him for me.”

That was a surprise for Carson, but he’d never dealt with the Krall before. His apparent bargaining chip was worthless. He thought of just one use for his chip. Bet it in one big gamble.

He needed to set up the last part of Mirikami’s plan. They could not allow the Krall to return to the Clanship, and they could not let them lift off in the shuttle. He knew his next action would determine if they could prevent both.

He turned back to Stilkap, and assessed his belt harness. The tight waist belt and the shoulder belt that passed diagonally across his chest and across his back was actually all one piece. The stretched skintight black body suit was tough material but had no slack for a grip. The belt it would be.

Carson rolled the limp warrior onto his face and chest, Stilkap’s eyes rolling to try to see what was happening.  The boy took a firm grip on the shoulder belt near the middle of the back, using his right hand, and lifted the warrior upright in one powerful easy movement. He was heavy, but easily manageable with one hand and arm if he didn’t need to hold him very long. He lowered the body a bit, so the feet at the ends of the short bowed legs were barely touching the ground. He looked out into the grass beyond the tarmac, almost behind the shuttle and nodded.

Every Krall eye was on him as he turned to face the shuttle. Toltak couldn’t believe such a small human, roughly one-third the apparent mass of Stilkap, was able to hold his limp body by one upraised arm and hand. Against Koban’s gravity, she realized this was a more impressive feat of strength than she’d ever thought a human capable of performing. Then he showed her another.

He began running the hundred feet towards the shuttle in easy looking, long smooth strides, with Stilkap’s limp body hardly jiggling as the human held it steady in front of him. She now could see Stilkap’s open eyes, moving from side to side, trying to see what was happening. He wasn’t unconscious, as she had assumed after learning he wasn’t dead, he was alert enough to observe what was going on. How had this much smaller young human manage to do this to an experienced warrior?

Her inquiring mind, not terribly curious at the best of times, suddenly focused on her own survival. The human had, in a move even she found fast, drawn his left sidearm and aimed at her. The flash and SWOOSH of the caseless accelerating projectile was all that saved her life, because it provided just enough warning for her fast reaction to move her head out its path. She heard the high-pitched soft whine as it passed her left ear. It might had struck her left eye had she not instantly ducked right, to get behind the shuttle.

Rudbit had released the arms of the human he was holding to draw both his weapons, and as the human’s first shot passed near Toltak’s ear, Rudbit fired his left pistol (from his fastest hand), and didn’t make a useful second shot from his right hand weapon, since that slug went into the tarmac. That error was understandable, given the splatter of red and grey matter exploding out of the rear of his skull.

Rudbit’s first aimed shot was on the mark, as was generally the case for a Krall, particularly when simply standing still as he had been. That bullet plowed deep into the left side of the chest, and buried itself in the heart. Stilkap’s left side heart.

It originally had been on track to strike the human between the eyes. Except Carson had estimated the future aiming point by looking along the rising pistol barrel, and he shifted the “shield” he was carrying slightly to his left as he himself moved to the right, just before the gun flash.

Carson’s own head shot, made after the Krall released Cahill, but before she hit the ground, was already on the way. He had fired quickly after the missed shot at the leader. It just couldn’t arrive in time to prevent that return fire, so he employed his thick bodied “bullet catcher.”

Another warrior, Kildar, was stepping around the rear of the shuttle for a clearer shot at the human. He’d have to expose his left or right side from behind that Krall meat shield when he drew closer. The next thing that entered Kildar’s thoughts was a .50 caliber round, which left a much larger gap in his skull than a pistol round. His muzzle flew off and forward, proving the shot came from behind. Ethan had arrived, firing the heavy weapon at a dead run.

He dropped the big rifle in favor of using both pistols, but quickly found himself twisting aside to avoid a shot from the Krall leader. She was responding to that heavy gunshot sound, and narrowly missed her agile target. He had twisted in midair, and the slug passed inches from him. He fired back, hitting her once in the lower torso as she too rolled into a tuck to make a smaller target. She continued to roll until she was behind Cahill, but not so far as to be exposed beyond the shuttle nose, a target for the human running towards the shuttle. The dimwitted emissary was numbly sitting next to Rudbit’s corpse, too frightened to move.

In her left peripheral vision Toltak caught a glimpse of teal, which flashed in view briefly towards the aft end of the shuttle, but her attention was on the human that had just gone to ground after giving her a minor abdominal wound, and presumably having killed Kildar. That warrior had not fired back since the booming rifle blast, which was a powerful indication he wasn’t able to do so.

She used the flabby human as a shield, as she sought out her target in the high grass. He had appeared to scurry quickly through the high grass after landing. She was on the verge of basting away with explosive rounds in his vicinity, when a chilling huge roar sounded from her own right, in grass closer to the shuttle’s nose. There was no mistaking the sound of a ripper this close.

Pindor had an ankle wound, but was firing towards the human around the rounded shuttle nose. He had left that foot exposed below the bow and the human took the only shot he had. He must still be using Stilkap as a shield out there on the ramp, because bullets striking the edge of the shuttle nose and on the tarmac behind Pindor proved the human was still shooting back. Now a ripper was joining the attack. The cowardly emissary had not lied about that either.

There were two mysteriously effective human fighters closing with them, and a ripper nearby. Her team had suffered three warrior casualties, therefore, it was time to get into the shuttle and use its mobility and lasers from the air. She called behind her to Pindar, telling him to follow her, as she picked up the human sack of flabby white flesh, to block the shots she assumed would be coming from the human in the grass.

Pindor took several more shots at the prone corpse of Stilkap, using explosive rounds that made small geysers of blood and guts spout from his disgraced former clan mate. The human was so small he was invisible behind the thick bulk of the now dead warrior. Except when he raised a hand in a brief flash from some random spot behind the frayed body, firing extremely accurate shots in return. That was how Pendor’s ankle had been shattered.

Unlike a Krall, humans did not charge into a battle, recklessly accepting wounds. They were too fragile, and because of that, they clung to life tightly. As tightly as this human appeared to be clinging to safety, and staying under cover. His caution would cost all the humans their lives. This cowardly bad tactic allowed Pindor to fire two shots, quickly disengage and fall in behind Toltak and her human meat shield. He limped badly, but was blocking out the pain. They would enter the shuttle and close the hatch, then rise to let Gapod burn them. The ripper that had roared earlier now streaked out of the tall grass towards the edge of the tarmac, bounding left, right, and twisting as it was fired at, and missed repeatedly. A shot from the grass struck Pindor in the arm but he considered it a flesh wound because it did not break a bone. He lifted his bad ankle through the hatch, just as the other human leaned around the craft’s nose around shot him in his other knee, causing him to go down. He shot back instantly, but too late to score a hit.

Toltak callously stepped on his back and placed her other foot in the shuttle, as she fired off a series of rounds towards the bow and emptied her second clip. She counted on the hostage to guard her front from the human that was too stupid to shoot through her to kill an enemy.

She triumphantly slapped the overhead panel to close the hatch, unnecessarily leaving Pindor to his fate. As the hatch lowered past halfway, she holstered her empty weapon, pulled a short knife from her chest belt and, with a fast downward and powerful slash, eviscerated the hostage and shoved her body onto Pindor, as she screamed and clutched at her intestines, spilling from the long gaping wound.

She shouted to Gapod. “Lift the shuttle and come around before these two humans can run far enough to find shelter. They move fast, but I want to see if they can outrun a laser.” The last of the outside light at the bottom of the hatch, as it swung closed, showed Pindor looking up at her with hatred. She could have waited for him to use his arms to pull himself in, or hauled him in herself, but chose leave him to the mercies of the ripper. She heard a shot through the closed hatch, but didn’t know who had pulled the trigger.

She shook her left shoulder dismissively at her clan mate’s hatred. If he were lucky, a shuttle thruster jet would cut him in half, before the ripper tore him limb from limb. With that thought in mind, she didn’t hear the low whine of the thrusters increasing, as they built power to get airborne.

“Gapod get us airborne, now! Before we have to hunt for those two humans.”

He didn’t answer, the ship didn’t lift, and there was no thruster noise. The cockpit door was open, as it often remained, but her pilot didn’t look around the edge to acknowledge his leader’s order. She saw something on the darkened floor in the windowless cabin area, darker than the shadows cast by the doorframe that was backlit from the Koban sun. Her nose, previously filled with the scent of her own, Pindor’s, and the human’s blood, scented other things. A fresh, strong blood smell was from a stain on the floor, seeping out of the cockpit, from beneath the pilot’s seat, but it wasn’t the source of another strong and unfamiliar smell.

Part of the shadows on the floor moved, accompanied by a deep-throated low growl that produced an unusual and very unpleasant sensation in both of Toltak’s double stomachs. A large feline head swung around the edge of the doorframe and looked into her eyes, reflected sunlight turned its eyes into green glows inside the darkened cabin. Its massive jaws and huge canines were wet with Gapod’s blood, which was what was flowing along the floor, and explained why bleeding had not automatically sealed itself. She recalled the flash of teal color in her peripheral vision when outside, as the humans shot at them.

This was why they had pushed for that “honor” challenge. To keep the shuttle grounded, its hatch opened, and her team distracted by the unprecedented spectacle of a human beating a Krall. She could have ordered her team safely into the shuttle at any time, but facing only ordinary humans, why would she? They had manipulated her and her team to create a distraction, to keep the shuttle grounded and its hatch open.

Toltak remembered she had fired off the last rounds in her two clips before closing the hatch, and had betrayed the first rule of battle, instant reloading. She had ignored that rule because she knew she had reached safety, and would defeat her foes.

She had never seen a ripper, only recordings, and heard stories of them. This one filled the doorframe, and outweighed her considerably. She performed a mental inventory. She had her talons, teeth, the short bloody knife she had just used to kill the human, two empty pistols, and multiple full clips. What she wanted was armor and a charged plasma rifle, if even that would be enough at this close proximity.

Toltak moved her left hand slowly towards a spare clip, figuring a dumb animal would not understand the risk if it allowed her that freedom. It appeared to grimace as her hand reached the clip closest to her left pistol. The curving lips remarkably resembled a human’s facial gesture, when they saw something amusing. She would have to be faster on this reload than she had ever been in any combat situation. She prepared herself, and made her move.

Outside, as the hatch closed, Carson, Kobalt, and Ethan, running at maximum, all reached the shuttle nearly together. Ethan had shot and destroyed a gun that Pindor had turned in Kobalt’s direction, and Carson arrived in time to kick the other pistol out of his hand when he drew that one.

Kobalt stood, jaws agape, ready to decapitate the warrior if he moved to harm his “humans.” Ethan had said he could kill, but also that his father and the pride leaders wanted at least one red one taken alive. Kit had entered the not-life flyer to kill its pilot. Her smaller size and superior stalking skill over Kobalt’s ambush style, using his size and strength, had made her the best choice for this mission.

He knew this tube was really a machine that flew, but image sharing with wild prides encouraged him to use their “language” and concepts. His sensitive ears had heard no sounds from inside, particularly the absence of gunfire. He was concerned for his sister, but knew she was aware the survival of all of the human prides required that this flyer stay on the ground. She would die before letting a red one regain control.

The boys talked as Carson touched the flush mounted keypad by the hatch, pressing various keys, starting with the standard press, but it wouldn’t open. He felt rather than heard the entire craft suddenly rock and vibrate, and the roar from inside was easily heard, probably all the way over to the dome. Kobalt snarled, and looked at the Krall on the ground looking back at him nervously, fatalistic about his survival beyond the next minute.

Ethan felt another vibration at his hip. It was his Dad, sending him a text. He switched it to voice, and answered what the message must have been asking of them, located as they were out of sight behind the shuttle. “Kit got inside, we are certain she killed the pilot, because Carson could see that from where he was concealed behind that big ass warrior he carried with him.”

“Are they all dead?”

“The leader made it inside well after Kit killed the pilot, and it closed the hatch after killing Cahill. We heard no gunfire inside, and I just heard a hunting roar, so I hope she’s OK. We have a live one wounded and captured outside the hatch. Dad, we can’t get inside to see if Kit is OK, and she can’t get out.” The last was an anguished cry for help.

“Ethan, this is Uncle Tet.” The unnecessary introduction made the nervous boy utter an involuntary spasm of laughter. He’d known Mirikami’s voice his entire life. “I heard you say you have a captive warrior. Lift him up and use his hand, or hold him near the keypad and you press either the top two left keys or the top two right side keys. One of those should open the hatch.”

“I already tried the normal open codes, Uncle Tet.” He sounded a lot younger now than he did when he went to war a short time ago. His cherished cat “sister” was inside, possibly hurt.

“Just follow the instruction I suggested. I’m on my way from the Clanship. I can open their doors and operate their equipment, and I think your dad can too. If it doesn’t open, I’ll be there soon.”

Carson bodily lifted the Krall by his belt, who could stand only on one leg because of the shattered kneecap. It made a swipe at him with the hand talons of the unwounded arm. The boy was expecting and prepared for such an act by the Krall. As the arm came up and the talons lengthened, Carson grabbed the arm, lifting it until horizontal, twisted it so the palm was up, arm fully extended, whirled to face away and savagely pulled the hand down, swiftly snapping the Krall’s arm at the elbow on top of Carson’s shoulder. It had taken less than a half a second. Carson spun back before the warrior had time to react to more than the sudden pain of the break.

Turning the Krall to face the hatch, he reached under the warrior’s higher armpit and pressed the keys Mirikami had suggested. The sound of the hatch motors and the door unsealing caused him to back away and hold the Krall up as a shield, his feet off the ground. “Get behind us Ethan, let this turd catch any bullets.”

Both boys drew their guns. Carson his left pistol and Ethan drew both, aiming around each side of the Krall’s body, dangling from Carson’s upraised right hand. However, they both forgot to coordinate this with Kobalt via a quick frill, and he surged under the hatch even before it was open enough to pass his body. He forced it higher with his shoulders and entered with a roar that went silent quickly.

That sudden cut-off of an attack roar left Ethan with a chill. He dropped down to see under the hatch, which to his heightened nervous system, appeared to rise at a glacial rate. He could see the haunches of Kobalt, who was in the aisle between posts, which Krall held onto when flying. It wasn’t until he shoved his own head through the partly raised opening that his hearing picked up two ripper’s deep purr equivalents.

Kobalt was touching neck frills with his sister, who was standing astraddle a Krall, with only scraps of its shredded blue uniform evident. The extensive deep scratches all over the warriors body was testament to its rough undressing. As Ethan leaped inside, the improving light revealed a few scrapes and cuts on Kit, but he saw nothing like a serious injury. He made his way around Kobalt, through the forest of support post for warriors, to touch Kit’s frill.

Ethan discovered she was sharing mind images with her jealous brother, passing him what they both clearly considered some of the finest “tasting” terror and fear sensations either of them had ever experienced. The largest number came from this Krall in particular, but Kit had already shared some from the pilot she had killed. Frill exchanges moved thoughts and images at lightning speed via the superconducting nerves. Ethan caught up in seconds as Kit repeated them for him, and Kobalt looked at him resentfully. Kit had a kill, and Kobalt only had second hand thrills. He was pissed off he hadn’t been allowed to kill the red one outside.

Carson joined in, and they all went through them one more time in a few seconds, Kobalt looking at the warrior his “brother” still held gripped by a weapons belt. When Carson realized Kit was OK, he’d let Ethan spend some time with her alone.

The stubborn Krall he held was a slow learner, and Carson had virtually arm wrestled against the warrior’s unbroken arm. He’d used a grip from the backside of the wrist so the Krall’s fingers couldn’t curve inward to stab the human’s hand with its extended talons. It turned out that Carson had no problem forcing the Krall’s arm to bend where he chose, and shoved the hand into the warrior’s face, as it fought to prevent him. It retracted the talons, but they always extended a half inch, and Carson raked them down its muzzle, causing deep scratches.

That had not prevented it from another try to stab Carson with talons, and it would not respond to him in Standard. Carson pulled out his knife that had paralyzed Stilkap, and made a small cut on Pindor’s neck. If enough of the thorn extract remained on the blade, this one would soon grow easier to manage. If not, he’d apply a bit of the extract from the small tube directly on the Krall’s purple tongue, for faster absorption.

He heard the sound of trucks and halftracks on the tarmac, and in a moment a dozen vehicles had surrounded the shuttle, each filled with cheering men and women, all giddy with relief, wearing foolish looking grins on their faces. That lasted until they saw the pitiful and repulsive sight of Cahill’s naked and gutted corpse. Someone covered her remains with a tarp from the back of a truck. No one covered up the dead Krall, which were objects of the greatest interest to all. Until, that is, they learned there were seventeen new human faces on the now opened Clanship. Twenty years of news from home resided with those people, and the gawkers moved that direction quickly.

Carson heard Mirikami’s voice, and his Dad’s, talking as they rounded the back of the shuttle.

“Even if I don’t tell her Dillon, and I’m not going to make up a lie, Jake has it recorded and at least fifty people under the overhang saw what he did. She will see for herself, and hear about it from others. Besides even if I scrubbed the recordings, denying that it happened that way when it sounds exactly like him, and like you by the way, is a waste of good air.”

“Tet, she’ll kill me for letting him get into this situation. If he had simply shot the big dumb shit in the head like I asked him to do, the rest would not have happened.”

“Sure, and the other Krall would have dashed into the shuttle when they saw the cats and Ethan coming, lifted off, and burned Hub City down around our ears. Then they would have used the Clanship to lay waste to Prime City, depart Koban and bring back more hunters for the grandest planet wide survivor hunt they could imagine.”

“Dad, what are you two talking about?”

“What your mom will do to me when…,” his words trailed off as he looked at his son, horror struck. His voice finally returned.

“Oh. My. God! I’m a dead man.”

Carson was confused. “What?”

Mirikami had been staring as well, his initial expression of concern turning into a wide grin as the truth became evident. “Have you considered what you look like right now?”

The boy looked down at his gore covered clothes and limbs, and as he grinned, caked and quickly congealed Krall blood flaked from his cheeks. “I guess I’m a bit of a mess.” Then he hurried to add, “None of this is from me. Really.”

His dad rushed over and started brushing and flicking away bits and pieces of shredded Stilkap from his son’s hair, back, and clothing. The Krall blood wasn’t coming off, except where it had already dried on his high metabolism’s heated skin.

“Don’t anyone record him yet!” Dillon shouted. However, that was exactly what some of the onlookers were doing.

“Someone please trade him a shirt before his mother gets a look at what I let her son do.” He shook his head. “I’m a dead man!” He repeated.

“Dad! Relax. I’ll go take a shower and change before I call Mom.”

Ethan stuck his head out of the shuttle. “That isn’t even the worst I’ve seen him, Uncle Dillon. Have you ever blown up a dead bloated rhinolo just to see what would happen?”

20. The Mark of Koban

They gathered to inspect the Clanship, celebrate their victory, and discuss how and why only Mirikami could use any of its facilities or even open the doors.

Six shuttles from Prime City made a three-hour afternoon flight, filled with science and engineering teams, Chief Haveram and his Rats, a lot more TGs, some returning Hub City citizens, and the rest of the Inner Circle decision makers.

Of the latter group, Thad was comfortable facing up to his wife, Marlyn, since Ethan had not acted half as brashly as Carson had. Dillon, on the other hand, expected a very chilly reception from Noreen. She had opposed allowing the SG teenagers to receive the Koban mods before reaching age twenty-one, and only later reluctantly agreed with Mirikami that eighteen had been a more reasonable alternative. She continued to argue that Prime City should raise the decision age from sixteen, to match where Hub City had set their adult level, at age eighteen.

She had tearfully stepped out of the shuttle and hugged Carson, embarrassing him with kisses and physically checking him for injuries. His younger sister and brother acted as if they were happy to be related to him for a change. Katelyn was also a TG at seventeen, and Cory, over fourteen now, would have to wait an impatient eighteen months for his Koban mods.

Noreen, satisfied her oldest was all in one piece, looked around for her husband, and spotted him with most of the rest of the Inner Circle members, seemingly trying to hide in a group of much shorter people. Tet came just below his shoulders, Maggi to mid chest, and Aldry and Rafe to his nose and chin. She saw Marlyn and Thad were holding hands, standing together with Ethan, and their two younger children, Bradley who also was a TG, and Danner who was waiting, like Cory, to grow up too fast.

She thought she knew why Dillon had avoided her and let Carson meet her alone at the shuttle. She’d had time to put her thoughts in order on the flight.

Placing her arm around Carson’s broad shoulders, she pulled him along smiling, calling for his siblings to follow. “Let’s all go pick on daddy, shall we?”

As they drew closer, Dillon sighted them coming because he had a head at crow’s nest height, and a disinterested mind on the chatter around him. He was using his peripheral vision to watch for the expected frontal attack, waiting only for his darling opponent to formulate her strategy. He mentally girded his loins for the emotional assault.

The others, seeing Dillon stiffen slightly and turn his head, followed his gaze, and stood by to either offer moral support, or in Maggi’s case, perhaps deliver a joyful salvo of her own. She thought he’d acted properly in allowing his son to face the Krall as he had, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t act as a sniper for whichever side came after her favorite prodigy.

Noreen stopped a few feet in front of her husband with both her fists on her shapely hips, arms akimbo, and a stern look on her face. She came directly to the point, using past history as her cudgel. “Dillon! If you had listened to me two years ago, and we waited until these kids were twenty-one to get their Koban mods, Carson would be dead. So thank you so very damned much!” The stern look relaxed.

Dillon looked at his feet and offered his prepared lame defense. “Honey, I’m sorry, I had no choice. He was going to go out anyway and…,” her changed expression and actual words were slow to impinge on his defensive shield. However, they finally penetrated into his awareness. “Uh…, uh, w-what?” he stammered.

Maggi was ready. “Not too quick on the uptake there, genius. To think I mentored you all those years to promote your promising career, and now you sound like a stuttering moron. Try listening to what people say to you. She said you were right, knucklehead.”

Mirikami exploded into laughter. The day had been tense and bloody, and his closest friend wasn’t in trouble with his wife after all. That was a huge relief. Short lived for him, as it turned out.

Noreen turned to her former Captain, stern look returning. “You, on the other hand, Tetsuo Mirikami, manipulated people and planned this operation on the fly, as usual, without ever consulting those that would probably agree with you, if you simply explained what the hell you were trying to accomplish. Lucky for you it all worked, yet again.”

His hearty laugh had shrunk to a weak smile. “I console myself with the knowledge that if a desperate plan of mine fails, at least I won’t live to suffer the consequences.” He shrugged.

Shaking her head she said, “Fair enough Commander.” She gave him a smile. “So please tell us what you plan to do, now that we have a captured Jump capable ship, with another one of ours to follow. And please remember in your plans that I was trained as Spacer.”

He nodded. “How about we go check out the one we have over there.” He hooked a thumb at the Clanship. “If you promise to forgive me, and Dillon, and Carson, I might let you give a Krall Clanship its first name. Making it a part of the growing Koban naval fleet.”

“I’ll think about that for a while.” She hooked an arm through the elbows of her husband and Tet, and steered them towards their prize.

As a large group of people fell in behind them, she saw a new face on a tall man standing under the ship (she decided not to think of it as a Clanship anymore). “Tet, that’s obviously one of the captives I heard you found aboard. Who is he?”

“That gentleman is Sergeant Garland Reynolds, he’ll tell you to call him Gar or Sarge when you’re introduced. I expect his strange tale will be entertaining us tonight at dinner. I hope you found room for a med lab cabinet. He had his left arm blown off when captured by the Krall, on Poldark. I told him we have the equipment and technical knowledge, and some doctors here at Hub City that can start the regrowth. But, a spare med lab was needed, because he’ll have to spend some uncomfortable nights sleeping in it, and I don’t want the people here to do without prompt access to the only one they have.” The bulk of the available med labs had been converted for gene mod use, and Hub City always complained about their single device.

Dillon wondered about the regrowth capability. “No one has had a limb regrown on Koban. Until now, accidents or animal attacks killed the people that lost arms or legs. I know we had a couple of kidney transplants from donors, but that doesn’t take so long and isn’t as complex. We don’t have the nanites that repair the initial damage for the regrowth. How are our doctors here going to get around that problem?”

Aldry was a step behind, and listening. “Doctor Walden checked out all of the captives after they reached the dome, and in his examination he questioned Reynolds about who treated him after he lost the arm. Nobody, he said. Reynolds was wearing a new type of armor, developed for the war, and it comes preloaded with nanites and injectors for injuries. The suit’s AI selects the type of nanite to inject for the type of injury. He lost a limb, so it gave him the nanites he needed to stop bleeding, and to start the preparation for regrowth. They are still in his system. We hope to harvest some of them for culturing more. We fix Reynolds, and get twenty years of nanite development at the same time. With the right nutrients and the nanites, Hub doctors can regrow an identical arm in three months he says.”

“That’s a very fair trade for the use of a med lab,” Dillon decided.

Thad had an even more encouraging description of Reynolds value. “I spoke with him about the war, and how Poldark is coping. His information on how we might get back into Human Space, and onto Poldark in secret is intelligence that we desperately need. From Poldark we can travel to any of the other worlds. He doesn’t know about our gene mods and I didn’t offer explain how out TGs did what they did yet. He wasn’t able to see or hear what happened to the six Krall, he only knows we killed four and captured two, but how we did that won’t stay secret here very long.

“He told me captive warriors always die, apparently by will power, if aware they are captives and can’t escape. That’s why we have both of them numbed with the Death Lime drug.

“The two Krall are continuously aware, but have no physiological control of their bodies to force their hearts or other organs to stop. After Ethan and Kit shared their experience of frilling the leader, I learned through them that frilling a Krall is thrilling and sickening as well.

“Their tough façade crumbles when you learn that there are things they fear, that even terrify them. A ripper’s power and speed are only one of thing they fear. Believe it or not, Ethan and Carson frighten them even more, once they saw their abilities in action. Actually, our TG’s in general terrify them. They realized how outmatched they are, and their glorious twenty five thousand year Great Path is jeopardized. Make no mistake, if their leaders learn of what we have done and where we are, virtually the entire Krall race will converge on Koban and no trickery will save us.”

Mirikami shifted attention away from that possibility, as they neared Reynolds, who was standing by an extended ramp from the captured ship. “We had better get busy bringing the Krall’s empire down as quickly as possible. I know you have been speculating on my ability to open doors on their ships, and I can activate their plasma rifles. I think I can probably operate any equipment that a Krall can.” He paused to introduce the sergeant to everyone, without offering all of the new names that he’d forget right now anyway.

“Sarge here informed me that a dead Krall’s corpse can be used to permit a human to operate their equipment, for about thirty minutes or so, if the body is kept in close proximity to the equipment. The human scientists and military Intel have not figured out how this works. They assume it is a device, but have never found one or discovered how it works if it exists. I’m sure I know why they didn’t find it or detect it in use. Today I told Carson how to get into the closed shuttle by using the warrior they had captured outside. I had Carson use Sarge’s procedure, only with a live Krall. It worked perfectly, as I was certain it would.”

Maggi sighed. “Tet, will we ever cure you of this dropping one shoe at a time habit?”

“Maggi, this is how I figured it out, by picking up the clues one shoe at a time, so to speak.”

“Fine, shoeless and clueless folks everywhere want to know, damn it.”

He nodded. “The Intel people and the scientists were looking for a device, and either didn’t have the idea or capability to check for a weird quantum effect. What does every Krall wear, and only we early captives on Koban have?”

Maggi and Dillon’s eyes both widened with understanding. “I’ll be damned Maggi said.”

Mirikami grinned. “If the shoe or clue fits, wear it.” He said.

Dillon marched up the ramp to the closed portal and was about to press a key pad when he turned to ask a question. “Hey, which of these two pads is for the ramp and which is the for the portal?”

Maggi muttered sotto voice, which all could hear, “Please, please, make him use the ramp key pad. I’d love another good laugh.”

Mirikami chuckled, and told him, “The portal is the top key pad.”

Dillon nevertheless stepped onto the narrow ledge above the ramp’s slot before he pressed the two keys.  The portal rushed up, instead of the ramp retracting. Had the ramp activated with him on it, he would have dropped embarrassingly to the tarmac. He stuck his tongue out at Maggi.

She repeated an oft-used mantra as she shook her head in faux disbelief. “I mentored him, and this is all the respect I earn.”

Reynolds looked at the open portal in disgust. All of you can open the damn doors, and I stayed locked inside rooms secured by the exact same frigging key pads. Why?”

Mirikami explained. “Because you don’t have a Krall tattoo.”

“Excuse me? Neither do you. You people ain’t Krall.”

Mirikami, Dillon, Maggi, Thad, Noreen, and several others unbuttoned the tops of their shirts or blouses to reveal the oval marks.

Reynolds was shocked to say the least. “Why do you wear those? And why do you hide them?” He was suddenly suspicious, as if he he’d found himself in a coven of witches.

Mirikami explained. “The Krall gave us these when we were captured and brought here, to mark us as equivalent to their novices, to permit safe treatment of us. At least until they put guns in our hands, eight to sixteen of us at a time, forced us out into a large outdoor compound where they came hunting for us, to kill us. They tested us on Koban, to see if they could consider humanity worthy of fighting, or if humans simply needed to be immediately wiped out of existence.”

He shrugged. “I can’t speak for everyone, but I covered my tattoo because it was forced on me, like a cattle branding. Even though the Krall wear them by choice, we did not. I never expected to discover it had a practical use.”

Reynolds accepted why they had and hid enemy tattoos, but it didn’t answer the bigger question.  “What is this quantum mumbo jumbo crap you mentioned? I have a tattoo in a private place, and it doesn’t do magic. Except for a few Poldark Ladies.” He winked.

Maggi was amused by his irascible character. “The Krall apply the markings with a device they call a Katusha, which was created by a highly advanced technological culture, called the Olt’kitapi, about twenty to twenty five thousand years ago. That race gave the Krall a chance to rise out of savagery, and they were the first race that paid the price of associating with the Krall. Per the stories Krall translators passed to us, they destroyed the Olt’kitapi, virtually ate them, and took their technology.”

Mirikami resumed his explanation. “We knew that there was a quantum aspect to the tattoos. The tool that applies them can be used to locate anyone that has a tattoo, detecting them through walls, rocks, fusion bottles or solid steel, so long as they are within about a hundred twenty feet of the Katusha.

“Previously unknown to us, the tattoo apparently confers the ‘right’ to use or control other technology that the Olt’kitapi created, via some sort of quantum link over a short scale range.  I think unwittingly, or more probably dismissive of our potential, the Krall marked us early captives for cultural reasons, so that their novices would accept that we had enough status to warrant waiting to hunt us until told they could do so. Accordingly, there are several thousand of us with such marks. Another twenty thousand or so captives arrived just at the time the Krall decided they didn’t need to test us anymore, so they were never marked. None of the children born to us have tattoos, of course.”

“That explains why that super strong young Lady, Alyson, couldn’t open the doors either, unless you were with her.” He looked at some of the people near him that had opened their necklines. “I’ve seen those simple empty ovals on what had to be new novices, and those with a few colored dots, all the way up to some with a whole lot of dots. Like that Krall invasion leader I killed, which had almost two thirds of the oval filled. However, you have the only solid black one I’ve ever seen Tet. What’s that mean?”

Dillon spoke for their humble leader, when he was slow to reply. “The Krall leader in charge of us captives gave him that, on the last day they were on Koban. Our AI, Jake, overheard him tell the warriors with him, in high Krall, that Tet was a worthy enemy and was being marked as such. He is the only one of us with a tattoo like that.”

“You do seem to leave a lasting impression on the Krall.” Reynolds said.

“I don’t do the actual work you know. Today, Carson, Ethan, and our cats did that.”

“Yeaa…, your cats. I have tried staying out of sight when they show up. Holy shit, how did you ever train them to do what you want? They are some big fast mother’s, and smart as hell.” There were some sympathetic laughs over his fear of Kit and Kobalt.

“Gar, they are far smarter than you can imagine. Once we were considered as their prey. I promise, after you let any of us introduce you, you are going to be a fan of them for life. We have several dozen rippers living with families, and they are not pets, they think of themselves as part of that family. A few are still cubs, which you will love.”

“If you want ‘em to get my love, perhaps you oughta try calling ‘em ‘kitties’ instead of rippers. You know what I mean?”

Mirikami only grinned in reply. “There are also flying wolfbats, another former enemy of humans. They don’t live with us as the cats do, but you will have to try to bond with one and get it to know you. Many of us have. They aren’t as bright as the cats, but are smarter than a dog.”

“I’ll have to get used to this place and the fierce but ‘friendly’ critters from hell. Now you have two captive Krall. Are you able to tame them too?”

“No, and we would be content to kill them if we didn’t want information from them.”

“Not a chance. Our Intel folks have never gotten anything out of one of them, and they die in less than a day most of the time. You seem to have discovered a paralyzing agent to keep ‘em alive, but then they can’t talk. Our people would love to have that drug. You know a lot of stuff they would love to know. I need to help you get that knowledge to them.”

“We want them to have it as well. As a first step, I want to take you with us on a tour of the ship, if you aren’t too proud to have some kid carry you up the steps. I will certainly ask for that help for myself when I get tired, until we put in some elevators.”

“Sure. I wasn’t looking forward to the climb when I was asked to wait here for you. Even with a rhinolo steak under the belt to fortify myself. That’s another one of your beasties I want to see.”

“Not close up you don’t, I assure you. They are the natural prey of rippers, and even they only hunt them in a group, like a pride of Earth lions. Let’s go up shall we?”

The mechanical engineers, physical scientists, and technicians stayed lower, to study the systems that ran the ship, and were figuring out where to install a lift. Chief Haveram and his Drive Rats, and several of the former ship engineers went up to see the thruster engine. Mirikami visited that level first, to disarm the grenades he’d left.

By then all of the Inner Circle members were suffering the indignity of letting sixteen, and seventeen, year old kids carry them up to whatever higher level appeared interesting. Reynolds had given in to their help after trying to walk up the bottom ramp and almost falling.

They gave only a cursory look at the plasma cannons and fusion bottles that powered them. They did the same for the heavy and light laser batteries. All were different looking than human equipment, following simpler and more compact designs, but they were things that operated using known principles of physics.

They sent a team to look at a tough thin layer of crystals that seemed to coat the outer hull. That was after Reynolds told them it was part of a stealth technology. Human scientists had never figured out how it worked, even when they had wrecked Clanship hulks to study. Single ships had a somewhat different hull type with stealth technology, but that wasn’t understood either. One problem was that humans couldn’t turn them on. There were small hanger bays for single ships discovered inside, but the first eight bays checked on one level were empty. There were three higher decks to search for an example of one of those small ships. They eventually found eight of them, in the highest deck where the small ships could be stored.

The Jump Drive room, which had been Mirikami’s goal earlier, was about two thirds of the way to the top of the ship, and not in the center, where most human warships had theirs placed.

Thad opened one of the two doors to the room, stepped through, and before Marlyn could enter, closed the door with her outside. She had no tattoo, being from the last group of captives. She could hear him through the door, which unlike the thruster engine room needed no soundproofing. “Hey Sugar, I thought of a way to have my own inner sanctum, a private space I can fill with just my stuff. I need one of these keypads on a door in our quarters, where I can have some private me time.” He chuckled at this demonstration of his superior doorman ship. He heard the slightly muffled reply clearly enough.

“There’s about to be a lot of that kind of time in your future big boy. I don’t need a keypad to keep you out of another private little space you like to fill at night.”

The door whisked open instantly. “Please do come in my love. Explain all the intricacies of a Jump Drive to an ignorant soldier.”

She gave him a cool look up and down before entering. “You have the ignorant part right.” She winked at Noreen on the opposite side of the room, who had opened her own doorway and heard the exchange.

Mirikami smiled at the byplay, and looked around at the unfamiliar controls and monitor panels. Having seen several types of Krall fusion bottles, he recognized three of the larger versions placed here, one of which could power the much larger habitat domes alone. Clan ships were certainly not underpowered.

“If we plan to Jump this bird, we have a lot of learning to do, and figure out what does what. I hope this follows the other efficient designs the Krall use, where minimal manual interaction and tweaking is required. We’ve never seen a training or maintenance manual, and simple user guides only show how to operate the equipment. Everything they use appears to follow a “use it until it breaks and replace” system of logistics. We know they have slave races that build these ships somewhere else, and they brought some slaves to Koban to build the domes for the various clans. They don’t seem to want to do anything but fight, brag, breed, eat, and crap, in that order of preference.”

Reynolds was looking around at the bewildering array of alien designed equipment. “Kole Grant, A college buddy of mine now in a technical analysis section, says the Krall technology all appears to be idiot proofed, as if created for semi-illiterate users. Guns, tanks, and ships often have highly redundant systems, employ some self-repair capability and some are self-regulating to prevent overdriving an engine, wearing down a plasma cannon barrel, or trying to cold fire one and crack the ceramic or damage the focus coils. Their complex equipment doesn’t need much in the way of maintenance, and some of the Clanships we’ve killed show signs of previous multiple repairs, with several modular sections older or newer than other major parts of the ships. Kole said he thought damaged ships were often salvaged and reused. New ships come online only when needed. They must have slave races do any of that work, because warriors sure as hell won’t or can’t do it themselves.”

Mirikami listened to Reynolds, and noticed again how educated he sounded at times, and at others sounded like a good old country boy in the military. Yet he just referred to a friend from college. He was more than he seemed, and the bumpkin persona might be how he kept his Army superiors from pushing him into positions of higher responsibility. Perhaps positions he would be uncomfortable holding. Mirikami had encountered the type before. Competent people, possessing officer qualities, but were not officer material because they didn’t want to lead or take charge of anything.

Mirikami caught Thad’s attention, and nodded his head sideways towards Reynolds, cueing him to feel out the man, as he’d asked him to do earlier. They needed his help, but had to find out where he might stand on gene mods and sneaking into Human Space.

“Sarge, if I were to return to Poldark, what would be the chances of my getting back into the military? I was a Lieutenant Colonel in the militia you know.”

Gar chuckled. “I guess it would be pretty damn good, considering you evidently got a posthumous promotion. The Greeves training camp had a bronze plaque in the Admin office that showed you as a full bird.”

“No kidding? I wonder who thought that much of me?”

“Probably your replacement to head the militia, Nabarone.”

“Major Nabarone got the job? Good for him, he’s a good man. How did he get me promoted, even if presumed dead, when all he got was a promotion to my old rank?”

“Thad, I wasn’t involved in the military at the time, and never heard of you until I joined up and served at the camp named for you. But Nabarone was a Brigadier in the Planetary Union Army by then.”

“Holy crap, Henry quit the militia for the PU Army? I’d believe he’d sooner hang himself than get under the thumb of the Ladies in charge of the Hub military. And how did a force of the PUA get on Poldark, let alone get Henry to lead them?”

“I forgot how long you folks have been out here. You wouldn’t know that Poldark voted to join the Union, to get the resources to hold off the Krall. The late Governor, Michael Boldovic, was President at the time, and named Nabarone to lead the first unit of ten thousand troopers. He may initially have also been in charge of TB-85, the PU training base on Poldark, where much later I took my basic training. When I was captured, several weeks ago, he was Major General Nabarone. If he’s your friend, I suspect you have a way back inside if you want. But I’d recommend against that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Poldark is going to fall. It’s only a matter of time. Two or three years at most, if the Krall drag it out as they have been doing.” He paused.

“With your background Colonel, I’d think you’d prefer to lead your own superhuman commando force instead.” The symbolic thud of his words felt almost audible. The other discussions in the room fell silent. Reynolds knew he’d hit the mark with that reaction.

Mirikami said, “I knew you were sharper than that good old boy language you slip in and out of might suggest. This isn’t a test, and I’m going to tell you some things openly, but I’d like to see what an outsider has gleaned from our activities today, and from the performance of our youngest heroes.”

Reynolds looked at the expectant faces. “Sure. I first thought your kicking my butt this morning was attributable to the gravity. You were adapted and I wasn’t. But, you are really well adapted Tet, as are all of you here. I met some Special Ops types, which have trained extensively on Heavyside, a practically unsettled world considered unsuitable for colony use. It’s on the anti-spinward side of our Rim. The gravity there is about 1.4 times Earth standard I believe. Those young soldiers could beat the older Ladies here in a climbing race to this level, by just a little, but not you men, and probably not the more fit women.”

As an offended “older Lady” Maggi cleared her throat as if about to speak, and Mirikami held up his hand. “Maggi, get to know him before you tear him a new asshole, OK? He’s new here, and defenseless against as sharp a tongue as a dainty little Lady like you might wield.” The look Maggi gave him told him he’d damn well be feeling how sharp that tongue could get soon.

“Go on. Please speak freely,” Mirikami urged Reynolds.

He shrugged. “You must have something like the drugs the Spec Ops guys carry, to give their gravity bulked muscles a spike in performance when they need that. Only yours lasts longer, and I don’t see a sign of the ‘crash’ effect, when their drugs wear off. The gravity here is a bit higher, and the Oxygen is real high, but none of you present the bulky muscles they have, so I don’t know what you did to get more out of your drugs than they do.”

“That’s all?”

He shook his head sharply. “No, and you know perfectly well that isn’t all. I don’t want to offend anyone if I’m wrong, but it’s hard for me to see any other answer. Your teenaged kids are the supermen I meant Greeves should be leading as commandos.

“Hell, that slender girl Alyson, she could run up the forty or so decks to reach this room, carrying a fully loaded out Spec Ops trooper. Perhaps one wearing his damned armor. Those kids are as strong as a Krall, and I suspect more so. I haven’t had a real chance to see their speed, but two boys took out six top notch warriors today.”

“Only four of the warriors,” Mirikami interjected, with a grin.

“Right. A super strong kitty did two. It doesn’t alter my point. No normal human can beat any Krall one on one with only guns and knives. They did. We need that ability desperately. I only hope the fools in the Hub government will accept genetic enhancements.” There, he’d said it! He’d accept the moral outrage and anger if they had found another answer.

Mirikami looked him right in the eyes. “Sarge, I’m offended you think I would lower myself to taking dangerous performance enhancing drugs. Take them anymore, that is.” He grinned. “We did use some in our first months here,” he admitted. “However, I’m equally offended that you think we would subject our children to untried and untested genetic enhancements.” He paused, as Reynolds, visibly uncomfortable, shifted his weight.

“Not without first trying the genetic modification techniques on ourselves. Which worked! We don’t use drugs for energy boosts because we don’t need them anymore.” The Drive Room chamber, full of genetically modified people, filled with laughter at Reynolds expense when he blew a huge sigh of relief.

“You had me going there for a minute, Tet. I couldn’t see any possibility that these youngsters got this way simply by being born here. The Spec Ops troops told us Heavyside couldn’t sustain a real colony population because of the miscarriages. Pregnant women needed to go to full term in the orbital station at lower gravity. You people have been stuck on the ground in even higher gravity. I couldn’t guess how you got around that problem unless these kids were test tube births of modified fetuses. The Hub world populations, and our central government, simply won’t listen to us, but the Rim worlds are asking for clone armies again. At least the worlds on the spinward side have made that suggestion, where the Krall are killing us Rimmers at their leisure.”

Noreen clarified something for Reynolds, in case he still had a misconception about child conception on Koban. “Carson over there was a normal conception and painful delivery for me, as was Ethan for his mother, Marlyn. No test tubes were involved. That is the case for every single child that has been born here. However, the bio-scientists from the Flight of Fancy, a detail that I don’t believe you know about, had to perform gene modifications on any prospective parents before they could risk conception. All of us in here have the mods; almost everyone you’ve met so far has them.

“There are unmodified humans on Koban, quite a few of them still, but more of them are recognizing, particularly after today I think, that the gene mods were necessary for our survival.  However, the Krall will one day return here in force. A single planetary population full of Alyson’s, Carson’s, and Ethan’s, can’t beat the entire Krall race. It would take hundreds of years to fill a hundred other planets with their like, and the Krall won’t wait around for that to happen.”

“My Lady, you don’t need to teach an old hound dog how to suck eggs. That was exactly why I suggested the Colonel there should run a commando unit. My own superiors thought if we could knock out their war material sources, the war would slow greatly, or come to a grinding halt. The Krall waste everything as if there is an endless supply. We don’t know the source of the supply, and don’t have the quality of troops to take them down if we did, but it is probably our only chance.”

Thad approved. “There you go Tet. He’s a man after our own hearts and thoughts. Although his corny references are backwoods even for Poldark. Hound dogs and sucking eggs? Really Sarge?”

Maggi unexpectedly defended her former intended target. “Sarge, I’ll bet you watch old movies.”

Surprised, he said “Yes Mam. Given my recent conversion to soldier, and in a guerrilla warfare section, I’m partial to old war movies now. It’s often exaggerated action to increase the drama, but I get some great ideas that the Krall are too dumb to expect. Why?”

“Your hound dog and egg sucking comment are early twentieth century, and I like old movies as well. It’s nice to meet a literate Gentle Man. Have you seen Sands of Iwo Jima?”

“Sure.” Then a list of old films followed from the two of them.

Mirikami broke up the mutual admiration of old movies soon after it started. “Socialize on your own time you two. We need to see the command deck. The Krall don’t call it a Bridge, but after this ship is commissioned by us, that’s what it will be called.”

The upper deck was wide open, down to just four stairs at the side. Four duplicate consoles in the center faced four directions. As typical for the Krall, there were no chairs or stools, but eight posts were close to the consoles, for grasping for stability if needed.

The big surprise was the real viewports in a complete ring around the deck, at least five feet high. From outside, the covering of the stealth crystal material made them look like the rest of the hull, but from inside, daylight poured in to make the area the brightest encountered so far. The Krall preferred light a bit on the red side, which perhaps was like that of their former home sun.

There was Krall script around all of the controls, which would require translation and new labels. Each of the four consoles had a roughly two-foot diameter ring of rectangles on a sloped panel, with other rectangles in the center and around them. Mirikami counted those in the ring, and noted that the number matched the number of outside viewports. He saw no screens for long range viewing, as human ships had, and followed a hunch. He touched the top rectangle, as he faced the viewport directly across from him. It instantly became opaque, which startled the others at the dimming light. He had pressed the bottom part, so next he tapped the center. Some light returned, but the view was obviously telescopic, because he was seeing part of a magnified distant mountain range. He knew that range was in the direction the viewport faced.

“We had better be careful what we touch, but the viewports are also view screens, and the zoom I have on this one came from my tapping the center.”  He touched the top of the same rectangle and the image, except for intervening atmospheric haze, showed distant stars. He pressed the center again, and the mountains returned.

Maggi was close to that port, and walked closer. “Tet, the image is remarkably detailed. Much sharper than what your ship puts on telescopic shots. At this range and expansion, the mountains would have a bit of jitter from the camera mount sensing vibration. This is rock steady.”

“The zoom has lost some of the view from the flanks of the mountain peak just off center to the left. I want to try something.” He tapped just to the left of center, and the image shifted its center of zoom the same way, showing the left flank of the same peak. However, his fingertip had struck a tiny bit lower that time, and the zoom was a bit less.

Mirikami thought he had it figured out. “I think we have rather fat fingers for fine control of the image. The Krall would be using a talon tip.”

Dillon stepped to another console, pulled out a data pad stylus, and selected the view screen to his front with a tap near the bottom that pulled the view way in, the horizon far distant, as if the focal point were just outside the ship. Then pushed the stylus up for a bit to watch the image zoom out, and as he went right, so did the center of the view, in a smooth drift.

Feeling adventurous despite Mirikami’s warning he tapped a small red dot in the center of the ring on his console. Miniatures of the scenes at all of the view screens, including the zoomed view Mirikami had selected on his front screen, appeared in Dillon’s ring of rectangles. Mirikami noticed the sudden glow of Dillon’s ring of rectangles on the console next to him, and asked what he had done.

Dillon was about to tap the red dot again to show him, when Mirikami’s hand grabbed his. “Hold off on that cowboy. What if the first tap primed one of the four heavy lasers, and it is set to fire on the center of your image on the next tap? We don’t know what these controls mean yet. Look at what is in the center of your front screen.”

“Oh…” was all he said. The top level of the dome filled over half of the screen.

“That probably is not how the lasers are fired, but we can’t be sure yet. The Krall are not big on safety features you know. I probably should not have activated my own screen.”

Reynolds, having heard the byplay, had a few questions. “You guys with the markings can activate things here, but what about your kids? They are going to have to carry the water, so to speak, when you fight the Krall. They can’t even open doors on this bus, or use any of the equipment.”

“He has a point Uncle Tet. Ethan and I have been wondering the same thing.” Carson and Ethan had talked privately, as the inspection worked its way up the ship’s levels.

Aldry had nodded at Mirikami, as Reynolds spoke, letting him know there was still a solution.

Mirikami said, “We have four Katusha’s that never found their way back into the Krall’s hands. Those are the Olt’kitapi devices, which gave us these tattoos. The control buttons are not very elaborate, so we will experiment on animals first to learn what to do. Did anyone ever learn how to use them to make tattoos?” He looked towards Aldry, who had given a Katusha to the physicists for study.

Before she said anything, Jake took that as a question for him. “Sir, I have video recordings of the Krall adjusting the Katusha’s when they administered the tattoos on the Flight of Fancy, and other setting for tattoos administered in the dome, later.”

When Mirikami used the now universally understood head tilt, as he listened to his transducer, everyone waited for what he’d learned from the AI.

“Jake saw the process multiple times on the Fancy, and again for the combat awards from Telour, after our final Testing Day victory. Those recordings can guide us.”

Carson had something to add. “Uncle Tet, I don’t want to sound snobbish, but I’d rather not have an empty oval like a Krall novice wears.”

Most of the tattoos the former captives wore were empty ovals, except for those with points awarded for kills.

Ethan chimed in. “Me either. Carson and I talked on the way up here, and we think we’re better than that.”

“You want one with kill dots inside?” Mirikami would be disappointed if they wanted to keep score, as the Krall did.

“No way.” Carson answered. “We think we’re a worthy enemy. We would prefer a solid black mark, exactly like yours.”

Mirikami was embarrassed, as well as flattered. “I don’t know if Jake recorded that setting, we were standing outside on the tarmac when I received that.”

“I have two clear recordings of that setting Sir,” came the prompt answer from Jake.

Head tilt again was the cue that Jake had told him something, so they eagerly waited for his reply. “Jake has the settings recorded. If you have to bear some enemy marking to use this enemy ship, I suppose that one is the least objectionable.”

“I’ll be proud to wear that mark.” Ethan answered quickly.

He was echoed by Carson. “It’s not objectionable to me at all. All the people I love and admire the most have some form or other of a tattoo. It’s been a symbol for us kids of the people that truly claimed Koban as their home. ”

Mirikami nodded his assent. “Well, at least now they do serve a useful purpose. No one should sail on this ship without one.”

“Excuse me.” Noreen’s voice rang out, having reached a decision. “As we started the inspection I was offered an opportunity to name this ship. I am considering one that will be appropriate, and derived from what I just heard these boys say. I knew I could never get my former Captain to agree to let me put his name on this ship…, so I won’t try to do that.” She said the last hurriedly, before Mirikami could object.

She swept her arms wide and smiled. “I have decided on a name for this ship.” She paused for effect. “You are on the Bridge of the Mark of Koban!”

****

“How’s the arm Sarge?” Speaking around a bite of gazelle meat, Thad had seen him massaging the new limb again. It had been over four months since he’d accepted the clone gene mods at the same time he’d regrown his left arm.

“It’s a strange feeling, Colonel, and itches sometimes. It’s stronger than my right arm now, and I can use my left better than my right now, even though I’m a born righty. Doing the clone mods as the new one regrew appears to have rewired my brain for hand preference, but not for everything else. I can draw a gun faster and shoot straighter left handed, but I find I tend to shift my head over so I can use my right eye for sighting if I use the left hand only.”

“We never had a limb regrowth before, let alone with simultaneous gene mods, so that might be normal. Did you ask Aldry or Rafe about that?”

“Why? I ain’t gonna let ‘em cut off the other arm and try again.”

Thad noticed he slipped into his rural Poldark mode of speech most of the time lately. It appeared to be almost instinctive rather than deliberate. As soon as he was in a position where somebody might expect him to assume greater responsibility, he started sounding uneducated. He was content to train the TGs in guerilla tactics, as a prelude to Greeves setting up commando style training. Reynolds was teaching how to improvise booby traps, and methods of drawing Krall forces into ambushes. He was perfectly willing to work with a squad of youngsters, serving as their advisor, but he had outright refused to accept a spot on “Colonel” Greeves new organizational staff.

Thad appreciated his help in training, although his real value would be when they infiltrated to land on Poldark. Sarge’s general knowledge of Poldark’s new planetary defenses, and possible safe areas to hide the Krall made ship would be useful. However, his recent access to the updated military communications systems and to his former chain of command was more important. Thad needed to make contact with his old friend, Major General Nabarone.

With Nabarone’s help, they hoped they could get material and equipment, and professional instructors for their TGs. Nabarone might even have some Intel as to where the Krall manufacturing worlds were located. If the PU Navy would furnish ships, he could go looking for factory worlds, and start shutting down the Krall war machine from the back door.

“Thad, I heard Maggi say some of the former Spacer crews are getting excited, now that they have all eight OBO liners moved from Kratos to closer orbits.”

OBO was a reference to Orbital Based Only passenger liners, and the eight large liners that the Krall had left circling Koban’s moon belonged to that class. The large moon finally had its own name, voted on from a lengthy list of mythical creatures the citizens of Prime City and Hub City considered. They named the moon Kratos, a spirit of strength, power, and sovereign rule, which were descriptions that appealed to the Kobani.

Mirikami had used the maiden flight of the Mark of Koban to take repair crews to their old ships, where they restarted fusion bottles, and used their thrusters to move them to low Koban orbits.

“They’re like kids in a candy shop after nearly twenty years planet bound. With the thruster fuel they still have aboard the big ships, our hand-full of bigger shuttles can reach them and refuel for round trips. One or two refueled shuttles can then carry qualified pilots with them to each liner. They can check out the shuttle’s in all their hangers, and fly them back.”

The OBOs each normally held five passenger shuttles, with capacity ranging between forty to sixty passengers each. With those additional craft, the planet’s population would have considerably more mobility as it established new communities. Some of the small new towns would be established near Koban’s rich natural resources, which they needed for new industry.

The Raven was still the only passenger ship that they could try to restore to Jump capability. However, it would require more than a year of work to complete, in the absence of a repair dock, proper tools, and factory spares.

“Koban will have an expanding economy soon. I wish we had an expectation of more population, besides more of our own children. You and the sixteen people you arrived with were welcome Sarge, but having willing immigrants would be nice for a change.”

“You don’t think people will want to come here?”

“No. People can’t live here comfortably without the clone mods. The gravity and animals are too much to cope with without them. Even so, clone mods aside, they would be stuck in compounds like this one if they didn’t have the TGs. They, and the future trueborn TTG children they will have, will be the ones that can live outside of walls and domes.

“Besides, we can’t openly let the people in Human Space know how the TGs became so powerful. They have to believe it’s due to living in high gravity, and the use of booster drugs. Even us SGs are subject to the death penalty, by old Hub laws, because of the clone mods. The TGs go far beyond even that transgression, with alien genes. I don’t actually believe that the Planetary Union would pursue that a severe penalty for us here on Koban, not in light of our kid’s ability to beat Krall warriors one on one. Self-interest and survival will stay their hand. However, do you see them welcoming us into the Union, and permitting additional colonization here, which requires gene mods to succeed?

“We are going to be the freak step-cousins they have to tolerate, but only as long as they need us. I think we have to keep our location confidential even from the Hub government. Some of our gene mod opposition in Hub City wants to go home, and I sympathize. However, they are not personally at risk if our genetic modifications are discovered, and some of them would reveal all of our secrets, and where Koban is located.”

“Is that why only modified humans are joining our mission?”

“That’s a major factor, but not the more practical reason. We need to use the higher capabilities of a Krall built ship to accelerate and maneuver. Those of us with only clone mods are already limiting factors for the inertial stresses we can allow inside the Mark of Koban. The TGs could endure acceleration stresses that would incapacitate even a Krall. An unmodified human might not survive the attempt to simply land on Poldark, as we evade the planet’s defenses you told us about.”

“That defense ain’t stopped landing Clanships very often, but they do kill one occasionally. I’d hate to have the good guys kill me when all I did was come home to help.”

He posed a question about their stealth capability. “The Krall you have prisoner told you how to turn on the stealth crystals on the ship’s skin. At least the cats pulled that information from their minds. Why doesn’t their stealth work in the atmosphere, so we can land safe? Our AIs were able spot Krall ships two different ways after they hit air. How they did that wasn’t exactly advertised.”

“An explanation from one of our science people seems obvious in hindsight Sarge. Fast moving invisible large objects disturb the air, and you can detect the turbulence by radar and lidar, even if they can’t reflect beams off the object itself. Except for gamma rays at our White Out, we will be invisible until we enter atmosphere, where we need to zigzag to avoid predictability after that.”

“And about the ‘hole’ theory I heard somebody describe Colonel? Tracker systems that see a hole in the sky? I took mechanical engineering, not electronics. Nevertheless, do you think semiconductor hole current flow applies to a ship’s flight? Want to make a bet on how it works?”

“Damn, Sarge, my degree was military history, also not electronics. Besides, you frigging poker sandbagger, I know you are the one who told our physicist, Sam Wilkins, about the entertainment laser systems, which Poldark put over the big cities. They fill the sky with rapidly scanning beams, and Clanships either absorb or deflect the light beams from their skin, rather than reflect them directly back to the source. Sam thinks an AI is able to detect where the beams didn’t continue, and that looks like a hole in coverage.”

“Oh. Then it ain’t like electric current flow in semiconductors. That had me confused when I offered to bet you.”

Thad wasn’t buying that at all. “Right. Sure it did. Speaking of sandbagging, I wish your mental confusion extended to poker, pal. I’m tired of paying you off in favors. If we create our own currency, instead of using barter, I’ll still stay broke paying you and Mirikami everything I earn.”

Reynolds smirked. “If you can’t afford to lose, you can’t afford to play poker with us. Besides, I like how you polished my new rhinolo hide boots last week. You must have been a sharp looking trooper in your day. You have a real spit shine skill.”

“Ha. I’ll have you polishing my platinum belt buckle after our next game.”

“Ha, back at you. Your pants will fall around your ankles after I win your entire belt.”

Marlyn, who had quietly walked into the dining room looking for her husband, said snidely, “What you boys do alone together, with pants down, is your business. However, I needed to speak to my husband.”

“Huh? Oh, hi Angel. How’d you find us?” He and Sarge had eaten lunch aboard the Flight of Fancy.

“I simply followed the odor of testosterone and the sound of bragging.”

Thad shook his head with a grin and shrugged. “What’s up?”

“The interrogation of the two Krall followed a different tact today. Noreen and I finally decided that the Krall really don’t know the coordinates of their production worlds, and they don’t have names for them any more than their ships or domes have names. However, they have to be able to navigate to them, and we learned previously that they have spectacularly detailed visual and auditory memory.”

“That was how they learn alien languages quickly, and memorized maps and battle zones, right?”

“We think so, but Noreen thought perhaps that their long range navigation used the same sort of memory as learning maps.”

“I don’t know Hon. Map reading skill sure doesn’t seem related to Tachyon Space navigation. Don’t computers need the mathematical certainty of the coordinates, to calculate how to get to those points in a Jump Hole? Even the alien designed computers the Krall ships use must need that. How do they enter the location coordinates if they don’t know what they are? They can’t tell the computer what they remember of light years of empty space, can they?”

“Noreen and I think the Olt’kitapi purposely designed these ships for use by the Krall, and would have taken their mental processes into consideration. Noreen considered how these brilliant benefactors would have solved this problem for their client race, to help them move around the galaxy with the skill set they possess. Captain Mirikami managed to get operational data from our two prisoners, which revealed how to call up star charts, and an immensely detailed map of the entire galaxy. It appears to be a dynamic map, because it has a representation of a pulsar created in a supernova less than fifty years ago. It must update without the Krall’s help.

“The map can be zoomed and shifted, much like the Bridge view screen displays are controlled, using talon taps and drags. Noreen had Jake update his own galactic map by recording the images from the Mark of Koban. By zooming in on Koban on the alien galactic map’s Orion Spur, and making that a center point of a smaller star chart, she included only Poldark and perhaps a thousand light years of Krall space. Noreen then had a detailed star map to put on one of our own screens.

“We showed that map individually to our paralyzed Krall, and when Noreen pointed out Poldark’s and Koban’s stars, we got a mental image of Poldark or Koban as seen from space, from each one of them as we frilled them with Kit’s help. We get images of other apparently habitable planets when we move the pointer around various stars in the volume of space the Krall seem to control. Some stars give us no such image, and may harbor no useful planets from a Krall perspective. We think that’s how they travel to where they have been before. They have the star maps in their own memory, and tap where they want the ship to go. By zooming in for high detail, the Krall can refine where they want to White Out in a star system.”

“Did you learn if any of the livable worlds you had in images were production centers?”

Marlyn gave her husband a look of irritation. “Gee, how much in half a morning did you think we could dig out of them? Based on their lack of information on many stars in their own space, I don’t think they would ever have gone looking for our worlds on their own. They don’t have much curiosity if they were never in a star system. When they captured their first humans, they then had specific stars to investigate for prey.”

“Excellent work by you two Ladies. We have to let Tet know, and arrange for him to spend some time learning more from those two reluctant informers. How is their health holding up? They sure healed fast from their injuries at capture. However, when I saw them last week it was the first time in two months. I had no idea what an emaciated Krall would look like. Is it a matter of our not knowing what nutrients they need?”

“Avery and Rafe think it’s not that. We feed them meat bits and water through the tubes we inserted into both stomachs. They are clearly aware that we extract information from them, and they can’t stop us. Kit and Kobalt transferred fearful images into their minds at first, as punishment for their “evil deeds,” but we finally convinced the cats to block sending anything other than what we ask them to send, and filtered out any feedback of what we learned from them. However, like this morning, the way we used the star map told them we had located some of their useful star systems. They want to die, and have tried to do so since the day we captured and numbed them. I think they are gradually making that happen.”

Sarge expressed his sincerest sympathy. “It couldn’t happen to a nicer set of murderous killers.”

Marlyn delivered a bit of trivia she thought Reynolds might enjoy. “You do know that Toltak apparently thinks your imaginary sleep drug is connected to how we are doing this? I think she believes the scary images from the cats were what we call nightmares. Carving you up alive and eating the pieces is her favorite mental fantasy, which we have to pry her mind away from to get information.

“She thinks the cats are there to protect us if their muscle control suddenly returned. They can only see where we turn their heads or can roll their eyes. We don’t let them see the cats when the frills touch their deadened fingers, or when we touch the cat frills for the mental relay. If they knew we had that mind reading ability, they might find a way to try to block or fool us.”

Thad brought up another subject, related to frilling, that he suspected was her main reason for looking for him right now. “You know we aren’t taking any of the cats with us when we Jump. If the Krall caught a glimpse or scent of a ripper, it would lead them directly here, the only place where they exist. However, we do need contact telepathy for gathering intelligence from any other Krall we might capture.”

Her words confirmed his suspicion.  “Thad, you know Noreen and I are worried about the impact of this particular mod. The other remaining Koban mods, visual and auditory, are complex sensory mods, which are more examples of pure physical improvements, and those are still on hold for now. The contact telepathy mod has the potential to affect the kid’s minds and perceptions. Perhaps changing how they think.”

“Hon, you know that I have no more insight into this mod than you do. What has Dillon said to Noreen? He works with Rafe on the genetics and mapping of the nervous system integration. Aldry or Maggi can also give you a more technical explanation. You know that, so what is it you expect from me?

“Is it reassurance, which I don’t have to offer? I’m as worried as you are. I have the added responsibility of putting our son in harm’s way when we confront more Krall, which we will do. I can’t allow myself to consider my personal feelings when I make a combat decision. For the decision on the telepathy mod, you and I can’t make that for Ethan anyway. It is his decision, and he has decided. I plan to support him in any way I can, and I’ll hold your hand if you will hold mine, as we wait for the results.”

Marlyn sighed, and hugged her husband. “OK. They will start the mod for the ten TG volunteer’s tomorrow morning. Ethan and Carson are going first, claiming they earned that right, and not just by earliest birthdate this time. Ethan insists on going ahead of Carson, not that one hour sooner will make a difference. Alyson has also opted for the mod. She is the only Hub City kid already fully adapted to the earlier Koban mods. I can imagine her parent’s fears, since they never wanted her to select any of the Koban mods, and they won’t even be here for her.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m more worried about bringing these kids home alive than I am this particular genetic change. We need additional Krall Clanships to explore the worlds deep inside their space unnoticed. The Krall aren’t going to hand them over, we’ll have to steal them, and we need more warriors captured alive.

“I warned every one of our two hundred TG force personally. Don’t let me catch them knife fighting a Krall, unless they are damned well out of ammunition. We will have an ample supply of the Death Lime thorn extract, but in light of our kid’s superior skills with guns, I told them to use some of the new hollow point rounds with a bare slug tip exposed. They put a drop of the drug in the hollow point, shoot to wound, and then just wait for the warrior to go numb. Carson didn’t really have much option for his own duel. We didn’t have the new slugs yet, and he needed to stall while Ethan and the cats worked their way closer to the shuttle hatch.”

Reynolds decided to ask the same tired question again. “Are you sure I can’t have the Koban nerve mods, and then the mind reading mod? We still have months before the Jump.”

“Sarge, Marlyn and I already have the Koban nerve mod, as a passive feature. However, we can’t integrate our Koban nervous system mods with new Koban muscles or the contact telepathy mod because we were not born with the organic superconductors in place. We received those genes specifically so our children would inherit them, and be born with them in place. Rafe doesn’t know how to form the superconducting linkage to the Koban muscles if we grow those in our in our older bodies, and the telepathy nerve endings will not form in our bodies if we can’t do that part. The organic superconducting neuroreceptors and motor axons formed in our children as the embryos developed. Me, you, and any Normal made into a SG lacks those.

“We would already have incorporated that mod if we could, and then would know in advance how it would work, before our kids find out.”

He waved his hands at Reynolds dismissively. “Anyway, I think you only want that telepathy mod for playing poker. You’d find some way to touch an opponent’s hand to see an image of their damned cards. I’ll bet you have a way to do that to me already.”

“Colonel, I’d be offended if I offended easily. How about a little game tonight? My boots are smudged again.”

21. On the Mark, Get Set

Mirikami held Alyson’s right hand, as her left hand grasped a thick finger of Toltak’s right hand. The girl was the conduit, linking Mirikami’s mind to the Krall’s mind. It was stunning how quickly she, and the other nine Mind Tappers, or they had shortened the original nickname even further to simply call themselves “Taps,” had mastered the use of the ripper contact telepathy mod.

Years of frilling the cats had prepared the TG1s for the experience, but along with becoming the focal point of the mental sharing process, rather than a “client” of one of the cats in a relay, they had shot well beyond the cat’s capabilities. They managed that feat in less than three weeks of practice, after one or two weeks that were required to establish the neural links within the brain and hands. The end cap superconducting neuroreceptors and motor axons completed the new mod’s linkage via the pre-existing “wiring” of the superconducting nerves. There was less physical change than for the muscle and bone transition they experienced previously.

Ethan and Carson were the first two to report the sudden clarity of the thoughts they could sense from contact with each other, and found they could easily select what thoughts and images they chose to send. The thought filtering for humans, already well adapted for lying and deception by nature, had no more trouble holding back a particular thought or image than they had not blurting out something like “Yes those pants make you look fat!”

It was possible for a TG1 to send thoughts and words that were purely fabrications, and to have thoughts that Taps could withhold. They soon found it was also possible for a human that was aware of a Tap’s ability, to prevent their private thoughts from leaking. If you were not aware, and were unguarded, the Taps said it was as if you were mumbling aloud to yourself all the time and they could make out most of what you were thinking. The Krall, with no concept of such a mental ability, not only didn’t mumble, they sent their arrogant thoughts and images boldly on any subject, particularly when you pushed them in a desired direction, either verbally or with a though picture.

Even when Mirikami suspected that both Krall were aware that humans were sometimes stealing information from them, they didn’t seem able to hold back thoughts. Perhaps their thousands of generations of breeding for superiority made them indifferent to what “lesser animals” learned.

Just now, Mirikami had sent a silent thought question to Alyson, to place in Toltak’s mind. How is K1 defended from human raiders that would try to land?

He was vaguely aware of Alyson’s dismissal and filtering of Toltak’s initial and automatic mental snort at such a ridiculous idea. She was one of the best of the ten new Taps at eliminating the “chaff” of a Krall’s splatter of uninformative thoughts, which followed most questions. Alyson’s follow-up thought did better. If humans were stupid enough to try, how would the Krall on K1 detect them and kill them?

That drew some smug information about how alert Tanga clan was in watching for inbound human ships, how their grounded Clanships had a warrior on duty in every craft to respond to another futile human attack. That some Clanships were always in orbit, ready to intercept human ships or missiles before they could enter atmosphere. A spontaneous contemptuous thought, concerning small Dorbo clan, passed Alyson’s filtering. Toltak thought they had not learned from past human attacks to maintain an alert ground force, as did larger clans. Half or more of their Clanships sat empty on the tarmac around their two domes.

At Mirikami’s request, Jake found an archived dynamic image of K1, formerly named Greater West Africa, before the Krall exterminated its population to have a base. When Toltak was shown an image of the rotating planet, they asked her for the two Dorbo clan dome locations.

Alyson relayed the Krall’s thoughts, and received an image as the locations passed. With Jake recording, they identified precise coordinates for each dome. The two were only a few hundred miles apart.

Next, Mirikami asked about landing procedures for returning Clanships, and the identification process or codes required at K1. He received another mental snort. Because it was impossible for humans to fly a Clanship this was a pointless, inefficient thing to do. No clan had the right, or a reason to question the coming or going of any other clan. They seldom even questioned the comings and goings of their own Clanship commanders.

Mirikami mentally signaled Alyson he was finished, and motioned her to come with him, deciding he had enough information for now. “Alyson, please Link with the other two hundred mission TGs, and tell them I want to meet with them this afternoon, at 1400 in the Great Hall. I’ll locate Colonel Greeves, Sergeant Reynolds, Colonel Martin, and Commanders Martin and Greeves. We’ll all be there, for a mission update.”

“Wow. Yes Sir. I caught a bit of your thoughts Sir. I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t trying to snoop.” She was looking very pretty, with her big blue eyes wide with excitement.

“Then you know some what I have planned. Please keep that to yourself until the meeting. It won’t be a secret for long so it won’t be too much of a strain to hold it in for a few hours. Even if you should you spend some of that time kissing and snuggling. Have a nice lunch with Carson.”

Her face flushed, and she instantly wondered how good her own filters were, if a non-Tapper had read her so easily. Mirikami grinned at her red face, turned and walked away without explanation.

The blush confirmed it for him actually, but he knew from Noreen that the two had been seeing each other every evening. Carson had asked Reynolds for two hours away from training, a subject which casually came up when Mirikami shared a late breakfast with the Sarge and Chief Haveram. Carson told the Sarge he wanted to eat his lunch out on the top of the ridge in the former combat range. In spring that was an attractive place for a picnic, especially if you had a pretty girl to improve the view.

It was fun for the older generation to keep these young supermen and superwomen on their toes. Particularly the TG1’s, the designation the geneticists decided to give the TGs with the contact telepathy mod. It was good to keep those kids wondering how the slow old SGs seemed to read their guarded thoughts. A lifetime of experience, their own past mistakes, and many romantic dalliances was enough of a predictor for the older generation. Of course, for these youngsters, they knew they were the first to ever feel this way.

As he walked away from the adjoining compartments where they kept the two Krall secured, he linked with the AI. “Jake, lock the prisoners in, access limited to the Inner Circle unless Maggi or I tell you different.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Has Mel Rigson tested the forty seven spare transducers we have now, with you?”

“Yes Sir, and they all function, but older models can’t directly Link with the other newer transducers. They require a relay through my system.

They had gained spare modern transducers (well, no more than twenty-one years old) from the OBO ships when they moved them to low Koban orbits, and combined them with the three spare units left from the Flight of Fancy’s original stores. Then they had a half dozen older transducer models from the Rimmer’s Dream, also sitting on Prime City’s tarmac for almost twenty-one years.

“Not a problem. Link me to Mel.” His former Steward greeted him from the Fancy’s old infirmary, where the transducer implant equipment he tested was located.

“Mel. I want only twenty of the newer styles for this mission, except we know that twenty-one year old equipment isn’t actually new. Sarge has the only modern piece on the planet, and Jake can talk with him, but none of Sarge’s advanced features will work with our older capability. I don’t want to take every transducer we have with me. I certainly expect to return, but carrying all the eggs in the same basket isn’t smart.

“OK, Tet. Who gets the implants?”

“I want ten implanted on our TG1s, and the other ten implants go to the team leaders Thad selected. You’ll have to check with him for all of the names. Try to call them in by noon for their implants if possible, since I have a briefing for them at 1400. Please catch Carson and Alyson early because they have a picnic lunch date they tried to keep confidential. Let them think you picked that little secret up from their thoughts after you touch hands. It’ll drive them crazy to think their thoughts leak to us old SG farts.” Laughing, Rigson said he’d do that.

“Set up a Link test using the new Jakob on the Mark, as well as Jake on the Fancy.”

“Will do, Sir.”

The Rimmer’s Dream older JB series computer had hosted a backup copy of Jake’s software for years. The clone programing replaced a simpler AI, nicknamed Jeb, on the Dream. Marlyn had proposed they install her old ship’s AI computer hardware on the Bridge of the Mark of Koban. This permitted them to take a reduced version of Jake with them, calling that version Jakob, to avoid a confusing communications overlap before they departed.

The transmitter power from the new ship was increased for Jakob, to achieve at least a thirty-five mile range to send to a person hosting a transducer, but the tiny transducers still only had a return send range of about six or seven miles.

“Jake, Link me with Thad, Dillon, Marlyn, Noreen, and Sarge. Call back when they’re all able to talk.” He started down the cargo ramp of the Fancy, tempted to jump down as he thought back to how dangerous that ramp descent had felt the first day he set foot on Koban.

He glanced up to note there were two squadrons of wolfbats circling overhead. Rather than a threat, now they patrolled for scorpion skeeters that sometimes strayed into the compound. Food rewards had made them allies, and they took their paid obligation seriously. No one inside this compound or at Hub City had been stung in years. He saw two children playing with a ripper cub. From this distance he couldn’t tell which cub it was, Kyla, Krome, or Kandy. Rippers were a major part of improving their lives now.

He was halfway to the Mark of Koban when all the conference Link parties were ready. “Ladies and Gentle Men, I’m on my way over to the Mark from the Fancy, after having an extremely informative interrogation of our two Krall prisoners. When you can join me on the Bridge I’d like to begin planning an exciting little detour we will make on the way to Poldark.”

Thad asked first, “Detour? What sort of detour?”

“I’m sure you remember the day we decided to proceed with Koban gene mods, shortly after the Krall left. I reminded you of what I told Telour as the Krall pulled out. I said that when the Krall returned, our children might not give this world back.

“Six of their warriors made a mistake and returned early, giving us a quicker way off the planet. We’re done with waiting. Our first stop will be to go looking for the Krall. I intend to make the first installment of many paybacks.”

****

Thad liked the audacity. “We just waltz in and steal two more Clanships, right from under their noses? I think it’ll work. Sarge told us the Navy backed off from attacking K1 after the Krall killed a fifth of the population of Rama, using one of those high-density high velocity Eight Balls he described. The Krall on K1 have had time to grow complacent in the years since then, and a random Clanship arrival wouldn’t be noticed anyway.”

Dillon was on board with the idea as well. “We set down close to a couple of Dorbo Clanships, raise a portal and let our TGs swarm them both. Just like Sarge said the Krall do it when they conduct a raid. We may even find them empty, or they could have one or two watch standers at the top deck, waiting for a near-space warning that human ships have made White Outs. They will never expect raiders coming up their stairs, not right outside their own dome. We secure the ships, send over our flight crews, and lift off. By design, these birds are always ready to fly on a moment’s notice. We can rehearse our TGs on this ship to shorten the time needed, and add polish to the steps.”

Noreen brought up what Reynolds had said was made public at home, Tri-Vid coverage of Parliamentary investigations after the second fleet action the Navy took against K1. “We can’t Jump in directly from Koban. The Krall have a method of telling the direction from which a long rage Jump is arriving. They even get the information in advance, because they were up and waiting for parts of the Hub fleet to arrive. We can’t let them trace a line backwards that points to Koban.”

Mirikami nodded. “I have considered that. We will White Out at some uninhabited star system in Human Space, near K1. Then Jump to K1 from there. Because the Krall also followed the fleet straight to Rama after the second attack, we know they have a capability to follow ships if they do so quickly. The Mark, and the two captured ships will depart K1 in different directions to other nearby empty star systems, and then Jump to a third rendezvous system. The point about ensuring the Krall can’t trace us back to Koban applies to our side as well. If they know that technical trick is possible by the Krall, you can bet they have been working on doing the same thing.”

Marlyn had a non-technological worry, really more of a fear, of how the Krall might find out where they came from. “As hard as it is to consider this, we will eventually lose someone in fighting, and might not be able to recover the body.  Even worse, they may capture one of us alive. They will certainly use the horrible brutal interrogation techniques Sarge has told us about, to learn what they want, or possibly figure it out simply from one of our dead. All of us on the mission carry Koban genes.”

Mirikami nodded, and said, “This is war, of course, and we will have casualties. However, the genes of our dead will not give Koban away to anyone. The Krall don’t have a science of genetics, they do it the old-fashioned slow way, by breeding, so they won’t see our DNA or understand it if they did.

“Hub bio-scientist might be able to do adequate gene decoding now and spot alien genes, but as Dillon can attest, the best geneticists, the majority of them in fact, were all on the Flight of Fancy. Their former graduate students, who may have filled their jobs, did not yet have the knowledge of the people we have here. The Hub’s learning about genetics probably has not flourished as it has here. However, that doesn’t matter either, because seeing an alien gene does not point you to where it originated, if it came from a world unknown to humanity. It isn’t from our dead we need fear discovery.” He looked around at them somberly.

“We must do everything possible to prevent the Krall from taking any of us alive. Even to the extent that we become an instrument of death for one of our own. Remember, we are assuredly facing a painful gruesome death after capture by them. We can try to prevent that pain from happening.” Mirikami avoided looking at Noreen, who had already suffered the personal torment of ending the life of a friend, caught in the jaws of a whiteraptor.

Reynolds had listened to Mirikami’s outline of what he wanted to do at K1. Making that stop before proceeding to Poldark, and he listened as his high-level planers endorsed the idea or offered problems to consider. However, none of them asked what he wanted to know. Why did Mirikami need additional ships to go to Poldark?

He had been sitting on the Bridge of the Mark of Koban, staying as unobtrusive as possible, answering questions if asked, but extremely uncomfortable mixing with the people that helped formulate plans, and furnished leadership in executing them. He’d happily follow orders and fight the Krall, and show the TG kids some guerilla warfare tactics he’d been using against the Krall. What he didn’t want was for Mirikami to assign him some role in a position of authority besides training, or running a small guerilla operation. To assign him something for which he was temperamentally unsuited. He had felt confident that Mirikami understood his attitude, but now he wasn’t so sure, because Reynolds found himself sitting in on a high level meeting. However, his curiosity was burning, so he nervously decided to ask his question anyway.

“Er…, Cap’in, whutcha gonna do wit two udder ships on Poldark? It’s gonna be tuf nuf to sneak one down and git it hid. How’r ya spectin’ to bring two more along, an wuht fer?

Mirikami was sitting at one of the four tall Smart Chair acceleration couches, which they had bolted to the bridge deck by each control position. The exaggerated country hick mannerism, and fractured grammar, demonstrated the man was really trying to make sure his asking that question didn’t lead to his being given a job he didn’t want. Reynolds friends, everyone here, had all noted “ole Sarge’s” language deteriorated anytime he was worried about catching any significant leadership job. He must be scared stiff this time.

Mirikami, partly facing away, gave a slow wink to the others as he swiveled his chair the long way around to face Reynolds. There was no reason not to have a little fun at Sarge’s expense, since he did the same with any of them when he could.

Because the Krall had nothing like a conference room near the top of the ship, Mirikami often held meetings on the Bridge. For visitors they had bolted four long benches to the deck. Reynolds was sitting on one of those, a sheen of sweat noticeable on his forehead, despite the cool air in the ship, and his heat adaptation gene mods.

As Mirikami completed his turn, his praising words probably worried his perspiring target.  “Sarge that was a perceptive question, proving you instantly identified the impossibility of slipping three large ships down to the surface of Poldark simultaneously. You instantly recognized that I must have some other use for those two ships. I do have something in mind, but it may not be the best use, so I’d like to hear from a man that realized that fact. If you had two additional ships to use on this mission, and were in my position, what would you do with them?”

Shit! I should have kept my stupid mouth shut, he swore at himself, sweat appearing on his forehead and under his armpits.

Uh…, if ya lose this ‘un, Koban’s up shit’s creek and no paddle. Send one back I reckon. Thu secont one could jest stan by, if ya got in trouble on Poldark. Meby do sumpen else there, if the genral will hep ya, like Thad ‘spects he will.”

Don’t ask me more, don’t ask me more! He tried to will Mirikami.

“Excellent, Sarge. That is close enough to my ideas that I feel like you must have frilled me, you sly dog. I plan to send one ship back to Koban with a minimal crew. The other would be a stealthed backup. At least until General Nabarone talks to Thad, and agrees to support us. I might take both new ships to Poldark with us first. I haven’t decided.

“Next I’d like to satisfy my curiosity, about another one of your anecdotes Sarge, about the Special Operations troops you met. They prove that the Planetary Union is thinking outside the box, and trying something secretive and different on Heavyside. I want to find out what is going on there. Perhaps we can insert ourselves into their operation, and help one another in some way. Our TGs don’t need drugs or mechanical enhancements to face the Krall. Small unit commando action to the enemy’s rear is what we can best do to disrupt their war machine.”

“You’re not worried Nabarone won’t let us leave, are you Tet?” Thad sounded like he thought that was highly unlikely.

“No, I trust your judge of character Thad, and you knew Nabarone well. However, the Planetary Union is running the human side of the war, and they may not like what we bring to the table, or simply may not trust people wearing Krall style tattoos. Besides, as Sarge has mentioned, there is some risk in just our landing, so we need to have more baskets for our eggs.”

Noreen had her own concern. “Who takes which ship?” She didn’t want to miss the action and return to Koban.

Mirikami pulled at his lower lip, looking directly at Reynolds. “Who indeed should lead either of the new missions?”

Like a gazelle in a truck’s headlights at night, Reynolds sat frozen with apprehension. He knew that lip tug gesture by now. It meant Mirikami was formulating a plan in his mind, and he was staring directly at him. No, no, no! Not me! rang through his head, as he couldn’t even breathe.

Mirikami suddenly spun away, a smile forming, “The new ships will obviously need the command of qualified Captains, and we only brought two spares with us.”

The breathy whoosh of relief, as Reynolds nearly slipped from his bench cushion was audible. Everyone laughed, except Reynolds, who was too red faced with relief to do more than breathe again.

Still laughing, Marlyn shook her head, “Tet, that was funny. Insensitive as hell, but very funny.”

Noreen had slowed to a chuckle, and reminded her Captain he hadn’t answered her question. “OK, Tet. While Sarge recovers what part of his dignity he thinks he can find, perhaps you can tell us the purposes of the two added missions.”

“Right. The mission back to Koban requires the most explanation, because on the surface it appears less vital. That appearance is deceiving, and the mission is certainly more important than being the heavy lifter for the Raven’s refurbishing, which will only be required one time, to take all of the new Trap emitters, replacement hull plates and wiring up to orbit.  And it might fit a couple of shuttles aboard for the work crews to use, and save their fuel.”

Marlyn shrugged. “I guess you need to tell us the deceptive part, since servicing Raven was all I thought was needed back there right now.”

He started his explanation. “We intend to destroy the Krall’s capability to manufacture what they need to conduct their wars. Who builds their ships, weapons, habitat domes, and even their uniforms?”

Dillon provided the expected and perfunctory answer. “Slave races, of course. The Torki manufacture machines and tools, ship parts, weapons, and electronics. Supposed to look like large crabs, per the brief description the translators gave us on the Fancy. The other major slave race is the Prada. One translator said they were black or brown, with white markings, a furry mammal with a long prehensile tail. Dorkda said the Prada had a shape something like short hairy humans. They are the Krall’s main assemblers of parts the Torki make, and they build domes, and run farms. Other than Raspani, kept for food, we heard there were a few limited slaves from other races, retained for uses they never described to us.” Dillon shrugged.

“At least that’s what the Krall translators told us.”

“I believe them.” Mirikami stated. “I’ve seen no sign that the Krall make anything but warriors, which in turn only make war. However, if we destroy the war material factories, do we kill their slaves, or leave them to the tender mercies of the race that would have exterminated them if they hadn’t found a use for them? I don’t want to complete that genocide for the Krall, to exterminate, or cause the death of the last of those intelligent species. Not if I can save some of them. What are your feelings about that?”

The consensus was a forgone conclusion, naturally, as Mirikami knew it would be. Genocide was abhorrent to them all, and they had already done their best for the Raspani herd at Hub City, a people the Krall had bred back to semi sentient creatures.

“I know that you knew, before I even asked that loaded question, what your answers would be, so I’ve given this some thought for quite a long time. Even a single extra ship, this early in our campaign, might make finding and preparing a refuge for those aliens possible. One ship might help us find a haven for them, and have it available before needed. If those races can build domes and equipment for the Krall, and yet still produce their own food and shelter on the various slave worlds, they can do it for themselves if left alone. However, where might there be a place so secluded that the Krall won’t look there for centuries?” That was almost enough of a clue, he thought.

“You seem to be thinking of Koban,” supplied Marlyn.

“Close, but not exactly. Do any of you think dangerous, savage, heavy gravity Koban is suitable for nonviolent races that live on light to moderate gravity worlds? We know they originally settled the abundant habitable lower gravity worlds. Earth itself is a higher gravity planet than ninety eight percent of our own colony worlds. Vince Naguma and Sarah Bradley have told us that the Raspani lifespan here, even when protected from predators and Krall, fed well, and given medical treatment, is well less than half of what their DNA suggests would be expected in less stressful lower gravity. This gravity is far harder on them than it is for us, and humans had gene modifications for resisting aging hundreds of years before we arrived here. Koban would only be a last ditch and temporary shelter at best for the Krall’s slave races.”

Marlyn was growing exasperated. Mirikami always had these things thought out, and he noticed seemingly trivial details, available to anyone, and encouraged others to think of solutions on their own by asking questions, and guiding them. It seemed to be his variation of the Socratic method of teaching them how to think. That meant when he said she was “close” he might literally have meant close.

“The Morning Star?” She asked. In Koban’s sky, it was similar to Venus as seen from Earth. The inner terrestrial planet in this system appeared at various times of the year. It was often the brightest spot in a sky too lightened to see many stars, clearest just before the sun rose.

“Yes! Very good, Marlyn. Tell the others what you learned about it, besides the fact no one ever gave it an actual name?”  She hadn’t noticed his apparent assumption that she knew anything about that world.

“A long time ago, I played Jake’s recordings from the day the Fancy reached this system. My own Captain never thought to do a pre-landing survey, none of them did that came in that huge influx, with no idea of where they were. Jake described the inner world as a terrestrial sized planet in the habitable zone, slightly smaller than Earth, and he detected signs of a biosphere. It piqued my interest, but that’s all Jake’s first day recording had about the planet.

“Some years later, after Thad I had married, Ethan asked me about that bright Morning Star. To give a better answer, I asked Jake to look with his telescopes, but from the ground, in our dense turbulent atmosphere, it wasn’t a sharp image using his small aperture instruments. I asked him to use long-range lasers and sensors, and his radar to check the planet. It appears to have a breathable atmosphere, suggesting that just like most planets with life, the feedback and chemistry of early primitive cells, working over billions of years, produces an Oxygen rich atmosphere. Jake provided me with multiple exoplanet studies that claimed that such biofeedback adapts organisms to self-regulate the mix of gases that life uses for energy production. The most energy is obtained from metabolizing Oxygen, and that makes high-level organisms possible. Like those on Earth and Koban.”

“Like those on Earth and Koban,” Mirikami repeated. “You asked Jake for that information nearly eleven years ago.”

“How did you know that?” She asked, surprised.

“Jake required permission to do the active radar and laser scans you requested, and I granted that. Curious myself, I checked back as to what he might find for you. Just now, for example, you forgot to mention the smaller but much closer moon, and that the world has a higher density than Earth, just as Koban does, so despite being only eighty one percent the size of earth, it has ninety percent of its surface gravity.”

Marlyn nodded her amazed agreement. “It sounded like a good habitable candidate to look at, and it has twenty six percent Oxygen in its atmosphere, compared to our thirty percent. I had forgotten about it, because I never expected we’d have a chance in our lifetimes to visit.”

“I did more than look at the data you requested. I also looked at the background of a friend, who showed a surprising interest in, and an ability to comprehend a complex subject like detailed exoplanet studies. I discovered that you, like myself, was in the Navy before you left to work on civil transports. You, also like me, spent some time on a Navy Scout Ship. Unlike me, you had applied for missions to actually explore and find new habitable planets, but the Hub Navy wasn’t looking for new worlds for humanity to colonize. I had merely wanted to rise in the ranks of the Navy. Neither of us could do what we wanted, so we both left the Navy.”

“You never said anything to me, Tet.”

“I didn’t want to look like the nosy butt I was actually being at the time, and I didn’t see a use for the information without a ship to go there. Now I may have a chance to let you follow an early dream of yours, so my nosiness has found a way to apologize. I’d like you to take one of the ships we plan to steal, then at some point return to Koban to lift that one load up to the Raven, and next organize an exploration trip to the inner world. Take some TGs, there are Spacer crews that I’m sure will want to get back into space to help, so call for volunteers. Back home you will have the honor of giving that planet a name, you can explore and survey a new world, and discover if it will be habitable for future alien guests, and possibly for our unmodified Hub City citizens, if they want relief from 1.52 g’s.”

Marlyn looked dazed. “Wow, Tet. I didn’t think you had a ghost of a chance of making me actually want to head back to Koban so soon. That was a neat trick, you wonderful nosy butt. Thank you, I accept.”

Noreen, careful not to reveal her own relief at not getting that assignment, hugged her friend, and the others joined her in congratulations.

Thad, facing a separation from his wife for an indefinite time, tempered his disappointment with the knowledge she would be safe from the risk of traveling into Krall Space, while doing something useful, and that she really wanted to do. Mom would also be back with their other two teen agers. At least she would be safer back there, after they faced the upcoming big risk to obtain those two other ships.

The remainder of the meeting was discussing training schedules and practice exercises, logistics of what to take with them, and studies of unused systems they could use around K1, and potential Poldark landing sites.

Dillon asked if the old armor they had from Testing Days could be of use.

“They’re worthless against plasma rifles,” Reynolds told him, “or even against the slugs the Krall have in their pistols. That old armor is crap. The military haven’t used that style for two hundred years or more.”

Thad had a better reason. “It’s an ultra-light alien ceramic material, which would identify it as Krall-built, made specifically for humans on Koban. The clans would come here to find out how it got off-world.”

Reynolds was comfortable speaking out now, after Mirikami had assured him he was not going to be asked to lead any forces or made an organizer. He would only Link in as an advisor to the TGs entering the Clanships.

He offered a suggestion. “As a disguise, Krall armor would let you move across a ramp unidentified as human, but the suit’s short legs and long arms will make it hard for them to walk, let alone run and use a gun. I don’t know if the Krall ever wear armor on the surface of K1, because it’s their secure base. However, if there were watchers, or an accidental sighting of humans headed for two ships, they might never get aboard. The suits may not be necessary, but I think you should use them anyway to avoid suspicion.

“We have the six suits aboard the Krall brought along, and they, along with two dozen plasma rifles are now powered and ready for use. Three TGs could hustle over to each of the target ships and be inside within five or ten minutes. Provided they don’t fall on their faces trying to run as fast as a bow legged Krall does. A plasma rifle slung over a shoulder is normal to see. After they cross the ramp, they discard the suits behind a landing jack for freedom of movement. They can then hold the portals open for the rest of each team.”

Thad liked that idea, and made a mental note to train six of his TGs wearing Krall armor, and to practice running. Once the first three with Krall armor were inside a Clanship, two could strip off the suits and start up towards the command deck, while the other ensured the portal remained open. The remainder of the fifty TGs for each boarding party would then rapidly escort Noreen and Dillon to one ship, and Marlyn and Thad to the other. The other hundred TGs would stay in reserve on the Mark of Koban.

After only four days of practice by the TGs, all two hundred could run competently and quickly in Krall armor. It proved to be the same with the practices of a take-over of a Clanship. As soon as Thad and Reynolds had passed any one of the kids as having met their expectations for precision, knowledge, and speed on any task, every test run of each following candidate after them also passed.

Thad had observed that every test run up the internal stairwells involved a leap up to hit the ceiling at each deck, and a flip down to the floor to check for any Krall, then a leap up the stairs again if the deck was clear of targets. All of it done so silently that almost all he heard was the rustle of air. Carson had said they picked this trick up by watching recordings of the Krall raiders that captured the Flight of Fancy. It was more impressive to him here, because they were doing it in fifty percent higher gravity, and passing through fifteen more decks on their way up than the Fancy had.

Thad and Sarge played “bad guys” and pretended to take aim at the TGs on various random decks during the days of practice. The speed of the kids as they “dry fired” proved they always beat the two SG men, who were perpetually too late to swing around to cover whichever stairwell they used.

Once the TGs reported the “occupied decks” as cleared (Thad, Sarge, and sometimes others played dead), the later kids went up twice as fast, not bothering with the flip between decks. He and Reynolds accepted this as merely examples of the physical superiority the Koban mods furnished.

However, it was when he and Sarge pretended to stage an ambush at deck twenty-eight, from behind some cargo bins, that he observed the first kid on that morning’s practice run use a flashy full twist with his flip, for no apparent reason other than to show off. Mike Calderon “killed” the two ambushers as usual, but they told him not to report the deck as “clear,” so they could ambush each of the kids the same way.

The ambushers were again “killed” by the next TG while he was in mid-full twist of his flip, because they were already standing exposed. They hid themselves again, only head and weapons exposed behind the cargo bins for the next TG, Chen Yin-Lee. He did a flip and full twist and “killed” Thad on the way to the deck and Sarge as he landed. With seeing this third full twist, there was clearly a bit of intended razzle-dazzle involved. Both men suspected the kids were cheating, and knew where the “enemy” was waiting for them. That spoiled the random nature of the training they were conducting.

“Chen, come over here please.” Thad knew his father, John Yin-Lee, a former Motorman and Drive Rat from the Fancy.

He was over in a swift two leaps. “Yes Sir?”

“No one is in trouble Chen, but having all of you know where we are waiting to ambush you is preventing us from assessing how prepared you each are for the mission, There will be real Krall trying to kill you then. Please inform whoever spread the word that after we move this time, they will be in trouble if they tell what deck we are on again.”

“Colonel, no one told me that you were on deck 28. I don’t know if anyone else was told.”

Reynolds looked at him skeptically. “How do you explain the full twist each one of you did today at this deck, if you weren’t showing off for us, before you ‘killed’ the unexpected ambushers?”

Chen looked puzzled only for an instant, and he seemed to search his memory. “Oh…, that’s because you passed Jorl Breaker with the highest score yesterday. We wanted to try to beat his score by being faster.” He smiled as if that was actually an explanation that made sense.

Reynolds remembered Jorl’s near perfect fast run yesterday. “Neither of us was on this deck, and he didn’t execute a full twist when he picked me off, how about you Colonel on your deck?”

“No full twist for me either.”

Chen nodded. “Sarge, you were on deck 18, Colonel you were on Deck 24, and you weren’t here to see his full twist as he passed deck 28. This is the only place he did one because he knew you had both been ‘cleared’ and there were no more targets. I guess he felt happy and added that move.”

“You didn’t test yesterday, how do you know where we were then, and what Jorl did?” Thad wasn’t challenging, but he wanted to understand.

“After he got the highest score, we knew his technique worked the best, so Ethan did a Tap on him, and passed his test run along to the rest of us. Even the other’s you passed yesterday got a copy. They wanted to be able to try to beat him on their own, if they get a chance to do it again.”

“So today, this time, all of you were simply copying exactly what Jorl did that passed him? You shared his mental image and thoughts of what he did, through Ethan?” Reynolds was still skeptical.

“Sure, Sarge. We also did that on the test where we needed to run in that clumsy fitting Krall armor. We copied the best run you saw from the first day. Ethan did a Tap on Yilini Jastrov, who figured out how to run just leg flexing from the knees down. He was fastest and most realistic looking you said, so we all matched what he did. Just like we were doing today on the stairwell run. I suppose we all thought you could tell we were mimicking. How else could we all do it exactly the same way? It seemed obvious to us.”

“I’ll be damned. I hadn’t known you could do that so precisely. So you wait until someone passes the test, or perhaps several do, then copy the best method for doing it yourself?”

“Well, until we had TG1s we couldn’t do that Sarge. The cats can’t share the same physical feel of muscle contractions and limb placements with humans. We can’t run like a ripper.”

Thad shook his head. “I think you’ve hit on a spectacular way to learn how to train quickly. But also a way to possibly be limited to the bare minimum required to pass, and everyone then copies that minimum requirement.”

“Sir, I was trying to beat Jorl’s time from yesterday. That would be an improvement wouldn’t it Colonel?”

“But son, it might not be the best possible technique. Faster is only one facet of what we need to do. Doing it the best way is also important. Don’t misunderstand me. You kids hit on a great idea. However, your implementation needs improving. It won’t take much tweaking to do that.

“Jakob, Link me to Ethan.”

After explaining what he’d just learned, he complemented his son for the idea, but described the problem he saw in its implementation.

“Son, everyone is using Jorl’s passing run as their benchmark today, but he was one out of thirty we tested, and we only passed four of you the first day. Today everyone is doing the run exactly as Jorl did, and would all have passed based on that.

“Except Jorl was only the best one out of thirty of you yesterday. I want the benchmark to be the best one out of two hundred tested. Simply wait to share the Mind Taps until we have a chance to see what everyone did, and then combine the best segments of different stages of the operation. One of you will have had the fastest way to run in a Krall suit, another the best way to open the portal to gain access,  a third how to move up deck by deck, and another a better method of scanning for and taking out any Krall that might be waiting.

“Just good enough isn’t acceptable for us. Let everyone do it on their own, and then all of you, and Sarge and I, can discuss the pros and cons of the better performances, and then select and share the Mind Taps of those pieces. You TG1’s can send that data to us slower old foggy SG’s, so we have a feel for what you can do. In any case, congratulations. That was an amazing way to speed up our training, and get the best out of everyone.”

Before the week had ended, the training was complete. They were three weeks ahead of schedule. Thad and Sarge were convinced they had two teams of inexperienced kids that knew exactly how to simultaneously, and rapidly, take over two enemy ships. The ten TG1’s passed the detailed knowledge of how to conduct the raid by Mind Tap, in only a couple of hours, to the other hundred kids, who had not even participated in that training.

With the K1 training completed before he expected, Mirikami quickly made a series of test Jumps from Koban to the edge of the local Oort cloud and back. After several tries, he had narrowed his return arrival point down to three hundred thirty miles above Koban. The new elevator system was hurriedly completed and equipment and supplies were loaded. They were ready to Jump back into Human Space.

****

Mirikami was with the Inner Circle, standing in the open bay of the Flight of Fancy’s hold, looking out over friends and neighbors, and anxious but proud parents of the two hundred TG’s that were going on the mission. He had parked the Mark of Koban close to the Fancy, and the kids making the trip were walking around on the tarmac, greeting friends and family.

It was an emotional parting, and not all of it positive. There were hundreds of Hub City residents in Prime City today, and perhaps a quarter of those were asking for a return to Human Space. When told that the first landing would be a raid on a Krall base, the former colony world of Greater West Africa, with a plan to overrun and steal two more Krall Clanships, most sensible people backed away from the request. A few that were most adamant, and disliked Koban and the “criminals that ran things,” still wanted those “criminals” to do them the favor of taking them to Poldark.

They persisted even after Sergeant Reynolds told them the bad news.  That the Mark of Koban would be landing behind the enemy front, on a continent where the Krall had invaded in force. Furthermore, Poldark planetary defenses would be actively trying to destroy the Mark as soon as it entered the atmosphere, and would assume it must a routine Krall craft with supplies and warriors.

“Land at Belgrade, the capitol. Simply radio ahead,” shouted one Lady, who rallied a few other voices in support.

Mirikami answered her. “An entire planet’s population is under attack, supplied by ships exactly like this one. One of them tries to land near the seat of government in Belgrade, and you think a radio call will convince them to hold back their missiles, lasers, and plasma beams, while they wait to see if a possible human collaborator is telling the truth?” He shook his head no.

“By landing in Krall occupied territory, we expect to encounter no human ground opposition, fewer human anti-ship weapons on our approach, and the Krall will only see some random clan’s ship arriving, which isn’t even a conceivable threat to them.

“We are on a mission to obtain help fighting the Krall inside their own territory. We are few in number, not even sure of our reception by the Poldark military or the government. There is no doubt of a hostile reception if the Krall know we are on this ship, and you think we have time and people to babysit civilians in a combat zone?” He raised a hand as the Lady was about to argue some more.

“Don’t waste your breath. The answer is no! I don’t think we can count on your willingness to die under torture before you tell a Krall captor of all the people living here, on a planet the Krall consider their sacred future home. Take up your debate with your neighbors; they don’t appear ready to risk their lives, children, and home for your personal motives.” He felt less charitable today than he had in past such confrontations. He knew some of the kids he was taking with him were going to die on behalf of these ingrates, who despised them for existing.

Mirikami went down the ramp to mingle with friends and the families of the two hundred TGs he was taking with him. He joined Noreen and Dillon, involved in a discussion with their two envious younger children.

“Mom, a lot of the TGs going are exactly the same age as me.” Katelyn was badgering again to get to go on the mission.

Noreen had heard the claim years before, in different circumstances, but had the answer memorized. “You turn eighteen in a few weeks, and Lawrence and Ellen will be nineteen a week or so after your birthday. Two is not ‘a lot of TGs,’ and eight or nine days overlap of the same age year does not make you exactly the same age. You graduated a couple of months ago, and told me last summer you would simply die if your father and I didn’t let you go to the University at Hub City. The semester starts in three weeks, and we signed you up for the courses you picked out three months ago. I pulled strings to get you in this year. The only thing that changed was the Clanship arrival. And you are not going on this first mission.”

“But I’ll be all alone here. Except for Cory, that annoying itchy little scab on a moosetodon’s rump.” With her parents and Carson away on the mission, only her younger brother, by two and a half years, would be staying behind on Koban.

“Katelyn, you told us going to school in Hub City would be the chance for you to get away, to be on your own as an adult. We arranged for that chance to come true, and Cory won’t be over there to be that itchy scab.”

“Hey!” Cory complained. “I am standing right here, you know. The itchy little scab?”

Noreen laughed and hugged her youngest. “Sorry baby. Mom gets carried away when your sister starts these arguments that wander all over the savanna.”

“I’m not your baby anymore, but I’ll miss you guys. Certainly not prissy catty Kate here. Besides, I have to stay with Aunt Maggi at night, and I’ll be catching all of Dad’s whacks on the head when I annoy her.”

His father’s sage advice was, “Don’t annoy her son.”

“It’s fun. I can’t help it.”

Noreen shook her head at the father-like-son attitude. “Then take your lumps like a man. You’ll find Aunt Maggi is very smart, and knows a ton of interesting things. You may even enjoy the old movies.” Cory groaned.

Mirikami said his hellos and goodbye’s to Cory and Katelyn, then to Bradley and Danner, the younger kids of Thad and Marlyn. He learned the latter kids would be jointly looked after by Aldry and Mel Rigson, his former Steward turned teacher. Aldry and Mel had surprisingly (to Mirikami anyway), recently entered into a two year marriage contract.

He conferred with Aldry and Rafe, and agreed with them that any TGs that wanted the Contact Telepathy genes should have them, and probably all of them would. They would all likely become manmade TG1’s, rather than waiting for their children to be born with those genes. The only genes they now expected to wait for the actual births of third generation children would be the ultrasonic wolfbat hearing and ripper night vision and scent ability.

Slightly behind schedule, they wrapped up the sometimes-tearful goodbyes, and Mirikami and Chief Haveram walked up the ramp into the Mark of Koban together, the last to board.

There were quite a few young people standing on the lower deck, looking out of the sally ports and waving. Mirikami nodded to the Chief, and they activated the ramp first, then final waves and lowered the portal door, as the crown outside retreated to the dome.

“OK people, get to your launch stations, we’ll lift in fifteen minutes.” For the SG’s that meant acceleration couches, for TGs, they had simple sleeping pallets to use.

Mirikami and the Chief took the lift, as the TGs ran up the steps to see if they could beat him to the upper decks. When the lift stopped to let the Chief off at the Engine Room level, some of them were there, grinning, not even breathing hard.

He stopped briefly at the Jump Drive room, again seeing several smiling faces from the previous stop, still breathing regularly. He returned their smiles, checked in on Marlyn, who was talking with her former Drive Engineer from the Rimmer’s Dream. The Krall ship was fully automated, so that other than watching alien output displays on the fusion bottles and the surge on power monitors when a Trap field caught or released a tachyon, there wasn’t anything to do. Jakob was fully capable of monitoring everything for Mirikami, but having a few people around for possible maintenance seemed like a good idea. They even had two Drive Rats down with the Chief, with apparently nothing to do.

The liftoff went smoothly, and kept to a more sedate acceleration than the TGs would have liked, because the SGs aboard decided it was more important to reach vacuum with them still conscious. The kids would have loved a showy max performance takeoff, which would have left everyone but them blacked out.

Once they had tachyons in their Traps, the internal gravity and inertial compensation would activate, and considerably higher Normal Space accelerations were possible. Not as high as what the Krall would tolerate, and well below what their TG’s could accept. Even with the clone mods, and over twenty years spent in 1.52 g’s, the SG’s (“near Normals,” as the youngsters sometimes described them) were the limiting factor for enduring internal acceleration forces.

Mirikami used the star chart himself. They had not been able to interface Jakob to the alien computer technology, so he would have to observe the star map by camera, and help guide them to select systems where they wanted to travel. Mirikami zoomed in on the galactic map, to display a region about ten light years in radius around the home star in K1’s solar system.

The uninhabited stellar system for their first destination was three and a half light years from K1, called Chandler’s star. It had three outer rocky planets and two inner gas giants, one a so-called ‘hot Jupiter’, with no life bearing worlds or moons. At least none that anyone had bothered to search hard enough to find.

It was the first long Jump Mirikami had tried with his new ship. He only had Reynolds’ anecdotal tales of how short a time Jumps took, using the T squared level of Tachyon Space, which humans had learned to access from copied Krall technology.

Based on the described reduction in travel time to Poldark, from various Hub worlds named by the Sarge, Mirikami had an estimate of five or six days to reach the empty destination star system. It was well off to the side of a direct line to K1 from Koban, but both systems were on the the Rim of Human Space. He estimated Poldark would take perhaps a day longer to reach, if they were Jumping there directly from K1, which they were certainly not going to do.

With Noreen and Marlyn both checking his work, and Jakob concurring, he moved the destination star to the center of his screen, zoomed in to look at the various worlds, and tapped a spot clear of any planet but near one in particular, and then tapped the command to execute the Jump. They had decided they didn’t need to waste time telling the ship’s complement in advance when they Jumped, because there was sensation at all, not even a hull ‘ping’ as human ships produced, and no external ports or view screens except on the Bridge.

The outside view went black instantly, and stayed that way, much longer than the few seconds the Oort cloud Jumps had required. They were truly on their way back into Human Space. It was a momentous occasion for them, and completely anticlimactic in execution.

“Jakob, ship wide broadcast please.”

“Ready, Sir.” The voice had a slightly different bland inflection, which Jake’s alter ego said must be due to the different speakers and acoustics. It was a useful distinction to remind them that Jakob was a slower and less capable AI version of Jake.

“We have initiated the Jump, and I expect the journey will take between five and six days. Exercise for TGs will only be allowed on stairways numbered two through six. Number one and seven is reserved for us old SG farts to use, and yes, we all can use the lift that replaced number eight, in between one and seven.” He laughed at himself, knowing the kids already thought of them as old farts.

Noreen, hearing him limit stairwell use, reminded him of the TGs abilities. “Tet, they are a heck of a lot more agile than the Krall. None of them would accidentally hit anyone they passed on a staircase.” She was referring of course to a fatality on the Flight of Fancy, when a Krall warrior killed Rafe’s wife on a stairwell, as it exercised recklessly.

“I’m not afraid they’ll hit me, but the flinch I’ll make as they pass me in a blur might make me trip, and it will damn well make feel inadequate.” They chuckled and nodded at the truth of that.

“I gave them five of the stairwells because Thad wants them to continue to work on their ascent times, and try various different techniques. With more of us aboard, moving around on random decks, they can practice clearing targets with dry fire as they go. Expect to be killed a few times this week by two hundred hyperactive kids.”

In hindsight, he should have said, killed thousands of times, per TG. Hyper indeed!

22. K1

Mirikami’s estimate to reach Chandler’s star was quite accurate. It was five days, nine hours, forty-one minutes when the external screens illuminated with a splash of galactic sky and a nearby red dwarf star.

It was still ship morning, and Mirikami had been on the bridge for over an hour. He was chatting with Ethan, listening to him describe the training adjustments they had made yesterday, in the variations of the assault strategy and techniques they had added to their repertoire. Alternatively, as he called it, the game of capturing a Krall Clanship.

He had Mind Tapped the Captain to share the details of the primary method, then the many variations they had considered. Most of the alternate plans involved finding more Krall on either ship than expected. That was a result of having so many people being aboard the Mark, and some would be in control rooms, others eating, some in various private compartments, and more than one surprised person was “killed” while performing biological necessities in the waste disposal areas modified for human use.

If they really needed to clear the entire ship, every possible place of concealment needed to be examined, once the main goal was achieved of taking over the command deck, and then secondary goals, such as controlling weapon and ammunition access, and securing any single ships or shuttles.

“Ethan, part of your plan is to physically look into any compartment where a Krall could be concealed. You eventually will have to do that to be thorough. However, I think all you need to do to find them is make enough “human” noise and they will oblige you and come out on their own. They aren’t shy or cowardly, and if they hear you with those highly sensitive ears, they will come after you on the run. Yell and make noises as if you’re frightened. It’s almost like an aphrodisiac to them.”

“Good idea. None of us thought of that, since it wouldn’t work like that with our people.” He was about to say something else when instead he said, “There that is again.” Just before the external view screens lit up with stars.

Mirikami went to the closest control position, as Jakob automatically made the arranged announcement that they had arrived. As soon as he was certain their position was where he had expected, and active radar scans revealed no nearby ships or any radio transmissions, he turned back to Ethan, who was about to leave the Bridge, thinking he’d be in the way.

“Ethan, wait a moment please. What did you mean a moment ago by ‘there that is again’ as we did our White Out?”

“When we Jumped from Koban, I felt something in my mind. Afterwards, when I heard your announcement, I figured it was normal and related to the Jump. Alyson said something about feeling it as well, when we talked later. I felt that same sensation just now, a second before we came out, so I see it really is related. This was the first Jump for me and Alyson, or any of us TGs of course. As rookies, Alyson and I were surprised when we felt it happen. None of you professional Spacers ever mentioned that.”

“We never told you because we’ve never felt anything. A ship makes no sound on entering the Hole, and on most human ships we hear a small ping, from a tiny flex of the hull due to a change in gravitational adjustments as we make a White Out. That’s a function of our inertial dampeners preparing for possible sudden accelerations if we encounter rocks headed our way. Krall ships don’t take that precaution, so there’s no sound. If we didn’t do that in our ships, we’d feel or hear nothing physical at all. You said you and Alyson felt something in your minds? I didn’t, and I’ve never heard of anyone that has.”

“Perhaps it has to do with our superconductor nerves?” Ethan suggested.

“Son, I don’t have a lot of use for mine, but I have that mod as well. Perhaps it has to be actively connected to the brain neurons, like yours are.

“Jakob, Link me to Dillon please.”

When they were connected, Mirikami explained what Ethan had told him.

“Hold on Tet, Carson is just outside our sleeping compartment, talking to his mom. I’ll ask him if he felt anything. I sure didn’t, but there are things about these nerves we might not know yet.” Mirikami heard him call to his son and wife to join him. Dozens of TGs bunked on pallets on the floor, in an open bay by Noreen and Dillon’s private room. There was a lot of background noise that cut off, as the swish of a closing door sounded through the open Link.

“Jakob, add Noreen and Carson to the Link.” That was Dillon speaking, who then asked his son a question.

“Carson, did you sense anything when we entered the Jump Hole at Koban, and when we did the While Out a few minutes ago?”

“Yes. But the guys I was sitting with when we left didn’t notice, so I thought it was just me. I felt it again a short time ago, but didn’t know we had arrived until the announcement. Why, is that unusual?”

“Carson, check again with some of the TGs right now, and find out if they felt it.”

The door swished, and noise resumed. In under a minute, Carson was back. “Dad, Uncle Tet, I Mind Tapped what I felt with several TGs, and they said they didn’t sense that. I was told Ron Lowell asked one of them the same thing when we Left Koban. With me, Ethan, Alyson, and Ron, that makes four TG1’s that felt something. I’ll bet all ten of us did. We all have transducers, I can check.”

Mirikami kicked himself. He knew that all of the TG1s had them. He simply had not been talking to them by Link for the last twenty years, and it slipped his mind. “Jakob, Link all the TG1’s in with Carson and me.”

“Done Sir.”

“Carson, you are Linked with the other TG1s. All of you get together, in person, and find out what you sensed, and then pass what you learn on to your father and me. I need to work on planning our approach to K1 right now, but this apparent detection of entering and leaving Tachyon Space is interesting. Captain Out.”

Ethan was already talking with Carson as he nodded to Mirikami and turned away. He’d heard the Captain’s instructions, and was heading down to meet with the other TG1s. There was no telling what this unique ability might mean, but it appeared to affect only those with the contact telepathy mod. That was a new sense to humans and any novel aspect of it was worth exploring.

Shortly, Noreen and Dillon, Thad and Marlyn, stepped off the lift, accompanied by Reynolds. They had exhaustively discussed the overall plan previously, and enroute, but the Jump to K1 from here would take less than three hours. Any proposed changes needed discussion before they made the next leap, and Mirikami had a minor change to make.

“Tet, do you still want to Jump in at the K1 Oort cloud and observe from there before the last short Jump?” Noreen had suggested only one White Out in the K1 system be done, close to the planet. Mirikami had been cautious about trusting the Krall navigation for a close exit after a three point five light year Jump.

“The test Jumps near Koban had accurate readings of the orbits of the planet and the moon, Kratos, so the navigation system had a reasonable chance to know where they were when we made an exit at orbital height from a Jump from the Oort cloud. I didn’t know how accurate it might be jumping from Koban to here or from here to K1. How would it know the present planetary positions? If I zoomed in the map to select a White Out point close to K1, would it actually be where I tap when we get there? Now I’m sure it will, and I don’t need two Jumps.”

“What convinced you?”

“We jumped over five hundred light years to Chandler’s star, and I deliberately selected a spot, using Jakob’s range scale for the system, one thousand miles above the extended north axis of the second rocky planet out from the star. However, the inner two gas giants and the three rocky planets are not close to where they were in their orbits when we looked at them five days ago at Koban. Nevertheless, we came out one thousand miles due north of the second rocky planet anyway. The Krall navigation computer brought us to the same relative location to that planet, meaning it adjusted for the differences of the orbit when we arrived. I don’t know how it did that while we were in the Jump Hole, but it did.”

“So, no pause to observe K1 from the Oort?” Marlyn asked.

“I doubt normal Krall arrivals do that, and I see it isn’t needed now, so we won’t do that. I want the two of you to study the star maps of the two systems you will Jump to first from K1, and then the rendezvous star where we all meet. You aren’t going to have Jakob to help you, and you’ll only have your data pads for reference.” The two Ladies recorded the detailed images of their two-Jump routes to the place where all three of them would meet.

When they closed down their data pads, Mirikami said, “Why don’t we have breakfast, and then go to war in a few hours?”

All ten of the TG1’s happened to be eating in the designated dining area when the group from the Bridge arrived. The Krall deck, furnished with equipment salvaged from one of the old disabled passenger liners, held fifty people at once. Using the transplanted automated food dispensers and their simple AIs, they sat at a table near the ten young adults. Realizing they could be fighting for their lives by this afternoon, referring to the TGs as ‘kids’ was harder.

Mirikami noticed as he ate, that the entire group of ten had all linked hands around the table. He had not considered the process of a group Mind Tap previously. He had frequently joined one or two others in a frill with a cat, when one of them returned with some interesting images to share. Thus far, he’d only gone one on one with any of the TG1s, as he had with Ethan this morning. With the more complex thoughts and images of ten people, he wondered how they kept things clear. He envisioned a sort of crowd murmur as they all talked at once. He’d have to ask about it later. Just as Mirikami’s table was finishing breakfast, Ethan, Carson and Alyson came over.

“Carson, I saw you all in that group Mind Tap. Was that useful?”

“Yes Sir. We all sensed something going into the Hole and again at White Out. You may not know this, but when we Tap with someone often, it’s similar to knowing their voice without seeing them, such as hearing them on a com set without a picture. Their thought patterns are recognized, but it’s much more identifiable than hearing their voice. We don’t think you can fool anyone that knows you, such as pretending to be another person if you blindfold us and take our hand.

“What six of us sensed, for that brief moment, was like Tapping another one of us for a moment. I thought I felt Alyson’s thought pattern for a second or two. Ethan said it was as if I had touched him briefly this morning. I actually was talking about him to Mom when the White Out came. Several others all had the same sense that they knew who it was, and it was always one of our group of TG1s. Those that didn’t sense a specific person said they were not paying attention, or were distracted and can’t say for sure.”

“What did your group Mind Tap accomplish?”

“We all shared our impression of both events. The one today was fresher of course. We decided to all focus on a single person’s mental pattern when we do the next Jump, and see if we can detect her without physical contact. It was Alyson’s idea, so she’s the focal point. She’ll tell us what she may have felt from us after that, and what we may have experienced from her.”

“Good. We’ll start the next Jump in less than an hour. I’ll make an announcement just before then, so you can be ready this time. After that, we have about three hours to reach K1, and the Colonel wants the six of you with your units below, an hour early. The other four of you will stay with your reserve sections on the deck above. OK?”

When Mirikami and the four Bridge crew left them, the youngsters were excitedly talking about the raid. The four TG1s that were part of the reserve force desperately wanted to have a chance to get in on the action. Mirikami wondered how they managed to avoid being afraid, or not showing it if they were.

“Thad, they seem optimistic and eager. Is that just a front you think? I can’t feel anything but a gut wrenching worry that something serious will go wrong.”

“Tet, it isn’t a front for them. It’s partly the confidence they got from the mental images Carson and Ethan provided of their meeting with the first six warriors. They know they are faster and stronger than the enemy is, and have a telepathic ability the Krall don’t have. I reminded them that they don’t have Krall hearing or night vision. However, we are landing on the dayside so darkness is no factor.

“The same confidence runs through all the TGs, Tet, and they each know their tasks well, because of the Mind Taps. I’ve never seen a more ready unit. Sarge agrees.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to put them down in as good a spot as I can find, to reduce the time it takes to cross to the ships we chose. A fast waddle in a Krall suit may hide the first three of each team, but the rest of them will be exposed on the ramp for any Krall to see.”

Calling up the same star map he had saved earlier, Mirikami again had Marlyn and Noreen confirm his work, as Jakob also observed and recorded. He wasn’t unsure of what he was doing, but none of them had significant flight time in the alien craft and by having all three participate, it reinforced their memory if things got hairy.

They were ready. All he need do was deliver the two taps of a stylus to initiate the Jump.

“Jakob, ship wide broadcast.”

“Attention, we are ready to initiate our Jump to K1. Then we have three hours for fun and games, and final potty breaks.” He knew that would amuse the youngsters, coming from their serious Captain.

“Jump in five seconds.” A short silent countdown on Jakob’s screen, and the Captain made his two taps. The outside universe went away.

****

For those in charge the three hours raced by, as they prepared to send their largely untested young men and women into combat with ruthless, experienced killers. The only “tested” part of that force was the 1% of the two hundred that had seen combat against this enemy, on one short afternoon. Carson and Ethan constituted that one percent. Like the other one hundred ninety eight, they were waiting to do something they had prepared for nearly their entire lives. For them, the three hours seemed like it would never end.

They had only one thing interesting to talk about that didn’t concern the possible fight to come. It was the exciting story circulating, concerning a new capability that contact telepathy mods conferred on recipients. It only presented when entering and leaving Tachyon Space, yet that example offered the possibility that the “contact” part of contact telepathy might not apply in special circumstances.

Dillon was intrigued and excited as well, because he had never encountered any genetic capability that gave a biological organism the characteristics that could account for what happened.

He told the others, “Alyson focused on an image and message that none of the others could possibly have known, and all nine of the TG1s reported it came through clearly, and definitely had Alyson’s personality signature. She in turn, was able to sort out individual images sent from each of the other nine in that ‘flash’ of connectivity. She correctly identified who sent which information, and what they sent to her.” He chuckled and amended the last remark.

“Correction, she will not tell me what my son sent to her. She merely confirmed with him that it was an accurate transmission. The kiss delivered upon confirmation is apparently a hint that it was personal in nature.” He laughed, along with his wife and others on the Bridge.

Mirikami fingered his lip. “All of this had to have taken place in the brief interval for the Jump Hole to form. I would have thought that would be too short a time for as much information as they evidently exchanged. This is a subject to explore when we have the luxury of time. I can’t see a practical use for the ability yet, since they can simply hold hands and do the same thing for a lot longer time.” He shrugged.

“Although…,” he paused in thought. “Basic knowledge has a surprising way of becoming useful.” Proof again that prophetic words sometimes become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

He swung towards his control station. “I had better make the announcement I discussed. Jakob, ship wide broadcast.”

“Ready, Sir.”

“All personnel, we will White Out in roughly five minutes, at about four hundred miles above K1. I will promptly start a descent, and make atmospheric entry as soon as we identify the two Dorbo clan domes. I’ll choose a tarmac with two closely paired and isolated Clanships if possible. Our portals number one and two will be rotated towards the targeted ships, and facing away from possible watchers in the dome. As soon as our ship settles on the landing jacks, Colonel Greeves and Sergeant Reynolds will open the two portals for our six in armor to exit. Good luck and good hunting.”

At White Out, the ring of view screens around the Bridge lit up with an image of stars on one side, and a heavily forested green planet on the other. Jakob promptly advised they were three hundred eighty eight miles above the surface, and provided Mirikami a vector on a human made screen, that matched the direction the Krall computer indicated was correct for the orbit that would pass over Dorbo clan holdings. In hindsight, Mirikami wondered if he could have selected a White Out point right above the two domes geographic location on the planet.

Applying thrust aggressively, Mirikami moved the Mark sharply into a lowering orbit, just as Sarge advised him Krall pilots usually flew. Mirikami’s sensor screen in the center of the console reported a number of pink icons for objects in polar orbits, occupying slightly higher orbits than they currently flew. Five were on this side of the planet and three icons, compared to their own centrally located icon, were quite large. More than likely, those were the orbital defense platforms Reynolds told him were here.

Two small deep red icons could be the Eight Balls the Navy had encountered. The Krall used colors to help identify the mass of objects, and the deep red suggested very dense massive bodies, like those condensed matter balls. Following the suggested computer vector, flying by the seat of his pants like a Krall pilot would, they crossed the night terminator. Mirikami was worried they had miscalculated and had arrived when Dorbo domes were in darkness.

“Jakob, how far before we will see the Dorbo domes? Have there been any broadcasts that seem directed our way, asking about us?” It was poor practice to ask running questions of an AI, but Mirikami was anxious.

Left on speaker for all to hear, Jakob was reassuring. “The Dorbo domes will be in early morning light when we approach them, on the other side of the planet. There are numerous transmissions in high Krall. However, none was beamed specifically towards us so I have not attempted to translate those. They are not encrypted. I have detected many omnidirectional signals, which do not appear to have conversations that apply to us. Per your instructions, I have no signals to report that seem intended for our reception. I will report immediately if I detect any.”

Noreen nodded her satisfaction. “If they haven’t switched to encrypted transmissions, then they don’t see any security risks nearby.”

Marlyn had been watching for Clanship activity. “I have seen three departures since we arrived, all climbing straight away from K1, no arcing to enter orbit. I have an apparent inbound just appearing around the limb of the planet ahead of us, apparently going towards the southern hemisphere. We, of course, will be landing on the northern half, at middle latitude.”

Mirikami was satisfied for now. This operation had proceeded as they expected so far, based on information from their captives. He’d want to thank them personally when he returned, if they haven’t finally willed their own death before then.

Keeping thrust on and wasting fuel to hold their lower orbit, like a Krall pilot would do, the dayside was fast approaching. Checking the display controlled by Jakob, Mirikami soon eased the main thrust and applied some reverse, starting down as the target indicator on the curve of planet suggested the domes would be in view shortly. They gradually entered the upper atmosphere fringes, nose first, the alien hull easily able to accept the heat and abuse. Finally, at Jakob’s direction, Mirikami rotated the ship tail forward and applied much higher thrust. This was more manual flying than the Captain had done in most of his transport career, and certainly more than he’d done in twenty years. It felt exhilarating!

Noreen had located the two Dorbo clan domes, and was using her view controls to zoom the visual feed of one dome to her main screen, the other dome onto the adjacent screen. She asked Marlyn to help, because the moving Mark of Koban required constant adjustments. They really missed having an AI handle these matters. Each dome had at least two hundred ships parked around them. Finding Clanships to target was no problem, getting two that were relatively isolated might be.

Mirikami finally was shown a dome with a tarmac where some ships were parked in an asymmetrical pattern, with a section where it appeared ten or fifteen Clanships ships had either recently launched, or space was reserved for new arrivals. He chose that site for their landing. He had the speed of reentry down to five or six times the speed of sound, and pivoted the oval craft into a nose forward line parallel to the surface, at seventy thousand feet and slowing. It was like flying a giant powered acorn, no aerodynamics, simply raw power.

Letting atmospheric drag slow them, Mirikami gradually lost altitude, and conducted the approach much as he’d watched Clanships do on Koban, years before. He reached a point several miles over the dome, went nose up, checked the screen of the tarmac below, and saw three Clanships isolated from their neighbors, close to where the edge of the ramp gave way vegetation. He could set down well away from the dome without crowding other ships, and they would have to select which two of the three Clanships they would board and capture.

“Jakob, repeat this image on the bottom deck’s screen for Thad, and then Link me to him and Sarge.” He continued without waiting.

“Thad, that group of three ships in the center of the screen is the most isolated I could find. I’ll set down near them and you chose the two you want. We already have the plasma chambers hot, the ceramic tubes are preheated, and the heavy lasers are ready. I do not want to have to use them, but we will be ready to blast the third Clanship, the one you bypass, if we see any hostile activity there.”

“OK Tet. I’ve already made a choice. I see the left ship has a portal already open for us, so the middle ship and the left one are ours, the right one is yours to cover. Line up our portals and let’s set down.”

As the Mark settled quickly on its thunderous column of fire, Mirikami rotated the two exit portals to face the targeted ships. He let his ship continue to settle swiftly, as he’d practiced, using the seat of his pants flying and not concerned with paying passenger’s comfort anymore. Nevertheless, the landing wasn’t as hard as he expected when the landing jacks took the weight and he cut power.

Of course! This was only .84 g’s, not the 1.52 g’s he’d used in practice. Knowing something intellectually didn’t prepare you physically. He suddenly realized he felt lighter than he had in twenty years. The internal artificial gravity had automatically reduced inside, as the craft landed. The deceleration had concealed that fact until engine cutoff.

He watched the external camera image from the lowest deck. Both portals were open, and six suited figures leaped lightly from the sally ports and started towards the closer two ships. To Mirikami’s eyes, the gaits looked like the smooth gliding Krall run he knew, and they were moving only moderately fast, to avoid looking like raiders. They had three quarters of a mile of tarmac to cross, and that would take three to four minutes.

Mirikami could have landed closer without appearing to crowd, because there were many closer packed Clanships on the tarmac. However, if he was forced to blast the third ship, and it exploded, Mirikami didn’t want to risk damage to this ship, which was their only certain means of escape if things went wrong.

“Noreen, Marlyn, good luck, and grab that elevator. We don’t want the assault teams waiting for you.” Both waved excitedly as they started down. They were checking their pistols and spare clips, hoping they wouldn’t need them.

Mirikami set three outside views for close ups of all three nearby Clanships, not that he could see into the command decks through their opaque stealth hull crystals. He had just finished that when Chief Haveram joined him, and the two Drive Rats, Macy Gundarfem and John Yin-Lee.

They would help keep an eye on the three nearby ships, and a watch towards the dome and ships in that direction. Jakob also had external cameras they had added for his use. The cameras and mounts reduced the Mark’s stealth capability slightly, because of their small radar reflection cross sections. However, before making the Poldark Jump they’d be removed. A close eye was kept on the closed protective shields over the heavy laser ports of the other ships. If they suddenly opened, they’d know they had been identified as “unfriendly.”

Ethan was the TG1 with the suited team headed for the Clanship with the open portal. He and Jorl Breaker would be making the rush up to the command deck, and Fundar Gotling would guard the open portal, holding it available for the rush of the remainder of the boarders.

The second team had Alyson as their TG1, Yilini Jastrov would rush to the top with her, and Richard Yang would hold the bottom deck and portal. So far, the raid was literally a run in the park, or perhaps a fast waddle was a better description. Even in the Krall suits, every step seemed so springy on this near-half Koban gravity.

As Ethan and his team mates approached the Clanship, they started speeding up and bounding higher, and when still twenty feet from the open portal, the lip fifteen feet above the ramp, they all three jumped, heavy suits, plasma rifles and all, right into the hold. The three were hitting their suit releases on the way up, and had an arm free of the armor to hold the heavy plasma rifles like large pistols. The suits were too clumsy to fight in, and the disguise was no longer required. They stepped out of the suits, lowering them to the deck as silently as they could, and left them lying on the floor.

Ethan and Jorl swept rifles around the area in opposite arcs, looking for targets, and circled the central thruster shaft. Fundar was covering the tops of the eight stairways to catch any warrior that stuck a head over the edge to check on any noise below.

They all three moved around to the side of the portal opening, to avoid a human form being seen from outside, and placed their Krall armor there. Slinging the rifles over their shoulders, Jorl and Ethan drew less wieldy pistols, and moved to opposite sides of the bay to start up  stairwells together. Fundar checked outside, waved in a signal to the Mark, and commenced a search of the storage lockers as his other two partners leaped to the next deck.

The locker check was for items the boarding party might find useful if they met resistance. The Krall prisoners had provided images of rocket launchers, small air defense missiles, plasma rifles and power packs, pistols and ammunition, laser pistols, additional suits, explosives, shaped charges for breeching doors, and more that might be found. There was no standard list of what the Krall carried on Clanships, since individual warriors picked up what they wanted to take on raids, and might leave behind later if not used.

The second boarding team had to get a portal open to gain access, so they needed to briefly step out of sight behind landing jacks on each side of the portal, and strip off their clumsy armor before the hatch was raised. That required only seconds, and the three slung their plasma rifles, and easily jumped the fifteen feet. Alyson was by the left keypad, Yilini and Rich to the right of the portal. She pressed the open keys and the portal rushed up with a slight rumbling sound into its overhead pocket.

The two naked Krall, involved in mock combat exercises, paused to glance towards the unexpected distraction. So did the six observers from their octet. Two members of the octet were wearing weapons harnesses, standing on different stairwells, several steps high for better viewing. The TGs saw that both carried two standard pistols each, and the others were not armed. A fraction of second passed for the warriors to register that it was not other Krall interrupting their practice. It was far too long a lapse.

Alyson had drawn her right pistol and fired, blowing the head off the gray clad octet leader on the left side stairs when she put a round between his eyes. He was in her designated cover area. Rich had matched her blur of movement with his left hand, putting a slug through the left eye of the black clad warrior on the right side stairs, his own designated cover area. Yilini killed the closest observer, who was starting to turn, shooting him through his left ear. Three down in a half-second and the remaining five warriors were unarmed.

Fair fight be damned, Alyson fired on the next closest unarmed observer on her side, as the female warrior crouched to spring. The Krall managed to pull her head aside enough as Alyson fired, taking only a grazing wound to her skull. It didn’t even flinch as it leaped low at her prey, using its clawed toes for grip. Alyson stepped towards the oncoming warrior, and leaped lightly yet high enough so that when the Krall passed below her, it was out of contact with the floor with no way to alter its trajectory. The warrior could only twist cat-like, to rotate its torso to try to rake its opponent with talons as it passed below. Alyson drew her legs up, mere inches above the highest the futile claw swipe could reach, and fired two rounds into the warrior, one in each eye socket, in rapid succession as it glared its hate filled red eyes at her. Alyson dropped easily to the deck as the corpse slid to the edge of the sally port and banged into the hatch frame.

Yilini killed one of the exercising combatants as it snarled in rage, and tried to protect its head with raised massive arms as it rushed him. He calmly fired a bullet through the fleshy muscle of a protective lower forearm, deliberately missing the arm bone, certain an armor-piercing round would tear through undeflected, to enter the open jaws of the screaming Krall. To be positive it was disabled, despite the suddenly cut off scream of rage, he also took out both kneecaps. The body fell, muzzle first into the deck, its shattered teeth scattering.

Rich had a less impressive kill when he shot a warrior in the head.  That Krall had no chance at all, because he was being used ruthlessly as a living shield. The other practice combatant held his teammate’s body aloft as a bullet catcher, in order to rush Rich. Six down.

Alyson shouted. “I want at least one alive to Mind Tap.” She was doing Yilini’s job now, covering the top of the stairwells for more Krall as he went chasing after the eighth warrior, who had ducked around the central thruster column.

“Fine, I’ll keep this brave one alive,” Rich answered, holstering his weapon, not killing the rushing warrior holding his dearly departed brethren.

“Yil, you got the last one?” Alyson asked.

“Working on it. Ducked around the column in your direction.”

Yilini was pursuing the eighth warrior as it moved quickly behind the central column. He knew that there could be weapons belts hung there, so he was alert when a long arm snaked around the side with a pistol aimed right at him. It was much like shooting a stationary target in a practice range. He fired at the pistol itself as he threw himself to the right, to get a better angle on his opponent. The dive and roll was a good idea, because his slug’s impact helped fire a round as it severed a thick finger. The Krall’s bullet passed through where he would have been if he’d continued straight ahead.

The Krall behind the column, using his uninjured hand, threw a two-foot double-edged heavy knife back handed, as Yilini was rolling to the side for a better shot. Yil saw the wrist flip, and was measuring the rate of turns as the blade came spinning his way. He had a bright idea.

The Krall, his only pistol now a wreck, had thrown his best-balanced knife at the rolling target he glimpsed briefly, before pulling his head back from the line of fire. These fighters were impossibly fast and accurate for humans, but they smelled and looked like that prey animal. He threw at where he knew the human would be as he came up to fire again. The smacking sound and painful scream told him he’d take one of them with him, even if he died today. He lunged around the column with a slightly smaller blade, ready to gut his wounded opponent if it was not already dead.

The heavy thud as his own knife buried itself up to the hilt in his chest startled him. He paused in surprise, looking down. That rare look, unusual on those rigid reptilian features, froze there for eternity. The brain that might have ordered the expression to change spattered on the side of the column. He didn’t even hear the last of the rapid three shots that finished the knife’s job.

“Got him, Alyson.” Yilini called out.

“Took you long enough Yil,” was her wisecrack answer.

“I had to learn how to catch a knife and throw it back first. Never tried that before.”

“A bit of overkill then. I heard three shots. Did you hang him too?”

“Smart ass. What’s Rich doing with the one we’re saving?”

“Dancing.”

As Yilini came back around the column it did rather look like Rich was dancing with not one, but two Krall. The Krall without a uniform was obviously one of the two that had been involved in mock combat when the hatch opened. He was holding up a black uniformed dead warrior as a shield. Since Rich had holstered his weapon and wasn’t trying to shoot him, and Alyson was aiming at the top of the stairs, the Krall probably assumed only the one human was matched with him for this fight, but it had a gun and he didn’t.

Kolak had seen how deadly accurate shots these humans were, and so fast that even he saw their hands blur when they drew their pistols. When the third human came closer and didn’t shoot him outright, he assumed it was definitely a fight between himself and the opponent he faced. They were fast, but not massive. He knew he out massed them all, and the smallest one of the three was the one he faced. He was heavier by at least a factor of three, and humans could be broken or pulled apart easily. He’d done just that multiple times.

Alyson went to the portal and signaled to the rest of the assault team to start across. She needed Rich to shit or get off the pot and take this Krall down. They had to know what lay above them if there was an octet down here. They might need to employ an eight-way ascent rather than the two-way they usually practiced, and would have to wait for help.

“Rich, the full team’s on the way. Do it, damn it.”

Truth be known, Rich knew he was faster, and a better shot than a Krall, but he had seldom beat the other TGs in hand to hand combat or wrestling. He practiced the moves and was fast, but his smaller size worked against him with the other TGs, and he lost more often than not to the bigger boys, even some girls. This huge Krall made him nervous, and he couldn’t simply shoot it dead because Alyson needed to read its mind. For some reason he didn’t consider blowing off the elbows and kneecaps of an unarmed Krall. That was barbaric, foreign to his parent’s way of thinking and to the sense of fairness they’d taught him. He’d not yet personally seen what this alien enemy did to humans when it had them captive.

His friends were watching and he wanted their respect. He decided to provoke the Krall. “Drop the dead guy you coward, and fight me. A single human terrifies you?”

Kolak had never had a human challenge him, they had screamed for him, begged him, cried hysterically, a few even had hurled insults before they died badly. None had ever challenged him to fight. His time as an interrogator had shown him many sides to the humans he killed. This one’s behavior was new.

He tossed the corpse of Rontor aside. “I will break you, and tear pieces off and shove them into your openings. I’ll cut you to pieces with my talons and eat the parts as you watch.” He extended his recently sharpened talons to maximum. He mimicked the lip movement humans called a smile, aware that the revelation of his jagged dagger teeth usually terrified them.

Rich was into his bravado mode now. “Well, we have a walking, talking, cowardly lizard that says things he can’t make happen. I have some sharp claws too, and I plan to trim your nails.” He pulled one of his matching double-edged knives from a right calf sheath, in a fast and smooth crouching move, rising to stand straight, his weight balanced on the balls of his separated feet. He wasn’t a good wrestler, but he was good with knives, since hand speed there was useful.

With no more preliminaries, the Krall lunged at him, using a common Krall fighting tactic. He shoved his left hand forward, talons out, intending to swing the right hand around to cut his opponent open, because the human would be forced to use both hands to try to defend against the thrust of the left.

That didn’t happen. In a surprisingly fast move, the prey animal unexpectedly stepped towards him and ducked his body under that upward deflected left arm thrust. The prey executed a crouching spin, and grasped the left wrist from below in an iron grip. That powerful left hand held him surprisingly and painfully tight. The human’s right hand rose up in a near blur that swept past the end of the four thick fingers once, and then back just as fast. Releasing the Krall’s wrist, he kicked back against the left kneecap hard, flying away in a tumbling roll, and rose to his feet to face the warrior. This all happened as Kolak’s right hand completed the wide swooping stroke, intended to disembowel, slicing only air.

“Four gone.” Rich said.

Kolak saw four pieces of jet-black material on the deck. They were one-inch curved and sharply pointed objects. He looked at his now declawed left hand in shocked disbelief. He had seen the blur of motion, but had felt nothing as the human cut off his talons.

He was furious! It will take nearly half a year to regrow those. He thought. It hadn’t occurred to him to consider how long full regrowth of those four fingers would take instead.

Rich held up the knife for him to see. “Sharp isn’t it? Molecular edge, nearly as hard as a diamond. Come on, I have four more nails to trim, you slow stupid animal.”

The impatient tone was infuriating, but obviously being taunted into another brute force lunge could have bad consequences. Kolak moved more slowly, thinking I have greater strength. I could lift his weight easily. He was forgetting that weight and strength was not the same thing, and he had never needed or learned the use of leverage.

When the Krall didn’t come for him again right away, Rich moved in, more confident of not only his greater speed, but he had sensed the Krall’s effort to break his grip on the wrist, and it couldn’t even flex it when he’d squeezed tight.

The Krall’s bowed legs bent slightly deeper as Rich grew close. He was prepared for the spring when it came, noting the toe claws hooking into some of the many recessed cargo tie downs in the deck, seeking a grip to propel its body forward.

Kolak used his legs to start pushing himself forward, intending to use his mass to bowl over the smaller lighter weight human. Once he had him down in his grip, the human was dead. As his momentum built, he saw the human leaning back, appearing to lose his balance and about to fall backwards. Triumphantly, he pushed harder and his arms reached forward to grasp his victory. Except, the human suddenly thrust his knife up into the left wrist, through the bones, using that to pull Kolak forward, and his right hand went under the talons and grabbed and simultaneously pulled hard on the right wrist. As the human’s backside touched the deck, his proportionately longer legs came up under Kolak’s abdomen, and both his feet kicked up strongly, lifting the huge warrior in a high arc, completely passing over his presumed victim by using the warrior’s own momentum.

Said victim tore the knife from the bones in the left wrist, and he held onto the right wrist tightly as Kolak’s arc continued and he crashed heavily to the deck on his back. In a flash, Rich swung a leg over to straddle the right arm even as the Krall thudded down. Two fast slashes of his knife, and four additional talons graced the deck. Now the human kicked against the top of the Krall’s head and shoved himself away, just before the grasping clawless fingers of the left hand could touch him.

However, Rich didn’t roll completely free as he had the first time. He switched grip on the right wrist with his left hand, and as he rolled up on to his left knee, he sheathed his knife with his right hand and pulled the Krall’s right arm over his upraised right knee, resisting the Krall’s strenuous effort to pull free. He swiftly pulled that right arm farther across his knee, then with a powerful downward shove on the captive wrist with his left hand, and a push down on the Krall’s upper arm with his right hand, there was loud noise as the elbow tried to bend backwards. It snapped like a dry twig, broken on Rich’s knee.

The howl from Kolak wasn’t only from rage this time. Rich stood back, ready to break more limbs when the Krall got to his feet.

Alyson walked over, impatient. “Damn it Rich, I wanted him alive, but I can’t wait all day while you enjoy beating the crap out of him. She drew her pistol and swiftly shot the Krall in its left elbow and then both kneecaps. The howl of pain rose in intensity.

“You can finish slowly beating the hell out of him in six months, after he heals.”

She crouched and grabbed a now limp finger on the right hand as the Krall continued to snarl and struggle to turn over or to sit. Rich held the shattered left arm down, as Yil straddled the broad chest to prevent him from trying to sit up, the crippled legs flailing uselessly. Despite Alyson’s complaint about waiting all day, Rich’s fight with the surviving Krall had lasted well under two minutes. The main assault force was only half way there.

Alyson jerked her head back sharply when she initiated the Mind Tap. “Ouch, that must really hurt. Kolak doesn’t like you very much either, Rich.”

“Kolak is its name? Why would he be more pissed at me than at you? You shot the crap out of him.”

“Kolak here hates me too, but you humiliated him without using a gun, so you are number one on his ‘to kill’ list today. By the way, you also apparently scare the poop of of him. He’s never been beaten in a hand-to-hand match, not even by another Krall, and you are only a stupid prey animal. His thoughts, not mine. Now let me make him think of what I need to see. He is starting to suppress the pain and almost able to think clear enough. His knowing Standard should help.”

The Krall’s rush of red colored pain filled thoughts were easing. She sent images of the inside of the Clanship, with an implied question in a final image she knew it could not resist. She supplemented the last image with words. “How many warriors above will come down here to kill us?”

If it knew that answer, it would be unable to avoid thinking of the hoped for carnage. However, she learned there was only a single K’Tal pilot on the command deck. Kolak didn’t even consider her much of a warrior.

“No problem guys. Give me your hands.” They stepped away from the helpless wriggling Krall. She transferred the information in less than a second and let go. “Rich pass this info to the rest of the team when they arrive. Captain Renaldo can start up just as soon as she’s here. Give this one a sting of the Death Lime to keep him still.” She nudged the head of Kolak with her foot and he tried to bite her.

“Yilini, let’s get up there now and take the K’Tal out, alive if we can, but only if we can do it fast and easy.”

She placed the plasma rifle on the deck. “Leave your rifle too Yil. We’ll go faster and quieter. The pilot only has a pistol.”

They went to opposite side stairwells, and made their leap to the second deck, making only cursory checks of each deck as they went up, thanks to the knowledge picked from Kolak’s mind.

****

On their ship, Ethan and Jorl had worked their way three quarters of the way up without a sign of life. They were one deck below the common feeding area, where the Krall had stored stacks of dried red Raspani meat in freezers and coolers on the Mark of Koban.

They had kept each other in sight on decks that were largely wide open. On others, like the next two decks, they wouldn’t be able to see one another. Their repetitive training had allowed them to maintain a consistent pace, using their internal clocks to stay parallel. Ethan sprang up the stairs and launched himself towards the ceiling, turning in midflight as he did so.

Standing at a Krall style high table were two blue suited warriors, tearing chunks from slabs of Raspani rib meat, and some gray-blue looking food was on trays. One, with is back to Ethan, was sucking on a tube of fluid. The other Krall looked up at the motion as Ethan pushed off the ceiling.

Ethan had one of his pistol’s already out as he climbed and fired a quick shot, but because of the angle, the Krall with his back to him blocked his view of the one that saw him.

The spray of brains from the one he killed spattered the other one, but it ducked below the tabletop as the next slug just missed. The storage compartment under the table shielded the other warrior and blocked sight of him. Ethan tried for him anyway, shooting at the tough plastic substance. The warrior he had killed wore a pistol, so he assumed the other one was armed as well.

Ethan rolled quickly to his right as he landed softly, to get closer to another table for cover. A hand came over the tabletop and fired a pistol blind, hitting exactly where Ethan had landed. He shot back but the hand had withdrawn as quickly as it had fired. His bullet grazed the table edge where the hand had been, on target. He fired again as he continued to move, but at the lower compartment in front of where he saw the hand. The hand popped up at another spot and again hit where he had just been. That was good shooting from the blind side of a table.

Ethan reversed himself. His straight-line course towards the closest protection was too predictable. He holstered his pistol and unslung the plasma rifle. That table and its plastic storage section wouldn’t stop a star hot bolt. Predictably, another quick shot from the cagy warrior struck the deck close to where he would have been had he continued towards that better cover. This was a thoughtful shooter, who was being more careful than he’d expect from a typical Krall warrior. It had a blue uniform, but so had Toltak and she had not been all that smart.

He activated the rifle’s power pack, and as soon as he did, a flurry of wild shots rang out that sent him scrambling for cover, as the shooter changed location. The direction of the sound of the last shots told him his clever shooter had gotten behind some heavy metal coolers. Not ideal cover from a plasma rifle, but far better than the table had been. The hasty shooting act also told Ethan that the power pack made some sort of a sound when it powered up, although it was too high pitched for human hearing. That was obviously how his opponent knew it had to move to better cover.

He took a shot at the end of a cooler he thought might be the right one. The wider heavy bolt setting selected didn’t penetrate, but did leave a pitted halo behind in the metal. He dialed the beam down to the slender diameter of a stylus, and fired at the opposite end of the cooler. This time he drilled right through this side, and wisps of smoke rising from the other side proved it went all the way through.

He couldn’t hear anything, but was worried that a blue uniform meant a com set button. He hadn’t seen one on the left side shoulder as he entered this deck, but the right shoulder had been out of view behind the Krall he’d killed. There could be an ultra-sonic call for reinforcements going out by radio now. He couldn’t wait.

“There are several hundred of us coming up from below. It’s better to try to defeat me now, or you will have no chance to escape.” There was no reply to his slight exaggeration of numbers.

The rest of the raiding party should be climbing aboard by now, with his mother. He had trouble thinking of her as “Captain Greeves,” but they didn’t yet have control of the ship. If this warrior wasn’t the pilot, the actual pilot could on the command deck and powering up the heavy weapons, such as the plasma cannons and laser systems, ready to fire on the Mark or the teams crossing the tarmac. He wondered where Jorl was. If he had heard the shooting, he’d be infiltrating from the other side. He may have passed by this deck before the sound of the shots could reach him. If so, Ethan’s Mind Tap data said the next deck with an open area to see all the way across was three decks higher. Jorl would pause and reverse there.

He had an idea. He shut down the noisy power pack, and removed it from the rifle. Leaving the rifle behind, he crawled rapidly around some tables, well away from his last location.

When he had an aisle where he could run towards the center of this deck, to reach the other side of the centrally placed food coolers, he switched to a full clip on his pistol. He started shooting rapidly in various directions, and slapped the power pack to activate it and slid it hard back the way from which he’d come. Then as quietly as he could he ran in a crouch, down the aisle, looking from side to side as he passed other crossing aisles.

He suddenly spotted his target, a blue suit headed away from him in a lane to his right, following or fleeing from the sound of the power pack. He shot him twice in the back just as he ducked around a corner, the Krall’s head no longer exposed for a kill shot. Ethan didn’t start down that lane after him, and quickly reversed a few steps. Three shots suddenly flew in his direction, along the aisle where he had wounded the Krall.

As Ethan had expected, it waited a moment to allow a pursuer to start after their wounded prey, and then took blind shots around a corner to catch them. He knew the two shots in the right side back were hardly going to stop a Krall. This was a very cagey fighter, not at all like the rhinolo-in-a-gift-shop typical warrior, constantly charging at the enemy. This one was using deception, ambush, and cover, as if it had experience with those human tactics. Suddenly Ethan heard additional pistol shots from the direction where Jorl should be coming, and heard the sizzle of a plasma bolt from that same area. His help had arrived.

It was time to resume the more vital mission. With a second shooter as a distraction, Ethan went to the closest stairwell. He leaped straight up to the next deck without pushing off an intermediate step. He still nearly reached the ceiling of that next level, but he had not wanted to expose himself to this observant Krall for that long, by taking a second step for a higher leap. He continued up stairs now at a reckless pace, gun ready but not making an effort to clear a deck. He needed to reach the command deck as quickly as possible, in case a warning had been given.

He saw no other Krall, and finally reached the highest few decks where the curvature of the hull was gradually causing the staircases to converge, reducing in number to only four. Not slowing, he pulled his second pistol and erupted onto the command deck. He instantly killed the one black uniformed Krall that had promptly leaped over the consoles at him. He realized afterwards that the warrior’s only armament was his plasma rifle, disassembled for cleaning. He’d been completely unaware that anything was amiss on the Clanship. The ship was theirs.

The blue uniformed Krall below must not have been wearing a com set after all. In hindsight, why would it need one, when it was eating on its own ship, parked by its own dome, on a Krall base the humans wouldn’t dare attack from space, let alone land and conduct a raid.

Thank you Dorbo clan he thought. We’ll put this to good use.

****

Alyson and Yil both sprang onto the command deck of their ship, and severely wounded the brown suited K’Tal they found using the star charts. It had managed to draw its pistol despite multiple wounds to hands and both arms, before Yil shot it in the jaw, and Alyson shot its pistol. They had been more concerned with avoiding damage to the command deck equipment than capturing the pilot alive, but they managed to do both. They administered the Death Lime toxin, which would have her immobile in five minutes.

Yil raced back down the stairs, to let the other boarder’s know they had control of at least one ship. Except for the surprise of running into an octet having a practice session, the Dorbo clan had lived up to its reputation of being the Krall equivalent of slackers. Three TG’s per ship had proven perfectly adequate to capture the two lightly crewed Clanships.

Alyson considered this fact. A veritable army of Normals would not have been enough. Hell, they couldn’t even have opened the bottom doors, she thought.

****

Still avoiding any radio broadcasts that could be identified as of human origin, Mirikami and the Chief kept an eye on the view screens centered on the two open portals of the captured Clanships. They were waiting for the double thumbs up signal from each ship, indicating that Noreen and Marlyn were ready to launch. They had already had the signal of a successful capture of each. They would signal him and not each other, because they couldn’t see each other’s hatches. When both were ready, Mirikami would close his two hatches as a signal for them to launch in the planned order. Noreen would lift first, followed promptly by Marlyn’s ship, and Mirikami would be right behind.

Reynolds had told them that after the full invasions had started on human worlds, this sort of sequential Krall launch string had been a common practice on Bollovstic and Poldark. Recon drones had also seen it used here on K1, except the times when they launched in a mad scramble to meet the PU Navy on those two attacks. Clanship pilots, as independent as any Krall, liked to display their flight skills and distained the automatic control system the ships were capable of using. Multiple launch collisions had happened during the attacks on K1, when Clanships came up in massed liftoffs. The Navy’s assumption was that flying by the seat of your red-skinned butt was acceptable for Krall pilots in those cases. However, they usually staggered their lift offs, or spread them over wider ramp areas when it wasn’t an emergency.

As badly as Mirikami wanted to get into space, he didn’t want a crowd following them, or even to attract any attention. He didn’t know squat about the Krall tracking capability of ships after they Jumped. He assumed a colder tail made the task harder, so they would leave in a manner that looked normal, before splitting up in three directions.

Noreen and Marlyn obviously put their intensive practice on the Mark of Koban to good use. They nearly tied in signaling and closing their hatches. Mirikami taped the two controls to shut his own hatches, as the signal for Noreen to lift as soon as she was ready. He made a ship wide broadcast. “We are launching within minutes. This will be Krall level acceleration, so secure now. Captain Renaldo will lift first, then Captain Greeves. You should be able to hear them through the hull. I will be thirty seconds or less behind the second launch. As soon as we reach a safe distance out of atmosphere, we will Jump. There will be no announcement. The TG1s that plan to test your Tap ability ship to ship, be ready, but know that we will not all three enter the event horizons simultaneously. Mirikami Out.”

He heard the first rumble as he cut off. Glancing at the view screen still centered on the base of Noreen’s ship, he was in time to see it lift out of view, in a wash of flame and billowing exhaust. On two other screens covering the local ramp area, he saw it lift rapidly, the nose of Marlyn’s ship visible off to one side.

In no more than ten or twelve seconds, he saw the flames erupt below the second ship. Five seconds later, he initiated his own main thrusters, and stabilizing side thrusters, and applied power. He was off as well, the three ships no more than fifteen seconds apart on lift off. In minutes, they had all cleared atmosphere.

It was exhilarating to realize they now had three elements of a Kobani Naval Strike Force. The lead ship disappeared as it Jumped, followed quickly by the second ship.

Mirikami lingered a bit longer, looking back at the colony the Krall had murdered to make their base. I’ll return and help exterminate this infestation, he thought. We will return this world to human control. Then the Mark of Koban winked into Tachyon Space.

23. Risk Factors and Three Missions

A day later, after two intermediate jumps, the Mark of Koban emerged in a protoplanetary system that had never formed planets. It had a thick, wide dusty belt of constantly colliding planetesimals that would coalesce, collide, shatter, and do it again in a few hundred thousand or a million years. This thinly old protoplanetary disk had never been more than a debris field.

It was too dirty there to simply White Out inside the plane of that dusty fragmented orbiting mess. However, it had the advantage that there were no planets or moons for potential observers, or a pursuer to use for concealment. The rendezvous was to be the clear region well above the disk, on the galactic north side, directly above the tilted star’s axis at about one AU distance.

Mirikami started an active scan as soon as Jakob confirmed they were where he had intended to be. A more specific spot was impossible to select from six light years away, without a planet or other reference body, but it would be easy to detect any gamma rays from a White Out. The other ships could navigate to them when they arrived.

“Sir, I have detected a White Out that must have preceded our arrival by several minutes.”

Jakob highlighted the location on a screen, and the characteristics proved it had the mass of a Clanship. At over three light minutes distance it wasn’t in their lap, but before they let that that ship get near, they needed to have communication to confirm the identity. For them it was received almost instantly. Noreen had sent her identification codes almost as soon as she emerged. Mirikami sent his code and waited. She would get his confirmation signal just after her sensors picked up his gamma rays, after a three-minute wait. She was the first to arrive it appeared.

Ten minutes later, they had exchanged other greetings, but the range was too great for a convenient question and answer talk, not when it took six minutes for the reply to arrive. However, that time lag would shrink rapidly soon.

“Sir, there is a second White Out, Clanship mass.”

The new arrival’s position was higher above the plane than the Mark, but a little closer to them. Mirikami repeated his identification code.

Marlyn’s ID code arrived less than a minute after her reentry gamma rays, and all Mirikami needed to do was wait for them to close the distance, which would not take long. The Krall computers had the ability to let you zoom in on star maps to navigate, or use nearby artificial things visually. Then execute a short Jump to reach them quickly. The protocol they had decided on was to let the other two ships come to the Mark of Koban.

In less than five minutes, after short Jumps, they were in a cozy three-ship formation, less than a mile apart. The ring of view screens could also become video communications stations between ships. Mirikami set Noreen’s Bridge on one screen and Marlyn’s to the right of that. Then he walked away from his console and up to the images.

There was nothing like a camera they could find that captured the images, it was as if the whole screen surface captured the image and repeated it on the other ship. In appearance, it was as if you were looking through an invisible window into the other Bridge. There were no reflections on your side, either of you, or of lighted objects behind you. The effect was so perfect that you were tempted to reach through and touch the other person.

They already knew that the two Krall captives on Koban had no idea how it worked, and didn’t care. They knew how to use them, and that was enough for them. Once, Mirikami had produced an image of his own bridge on a screen, looking in as if from outside. He walked up to confront himself in person. Leaning in close he saw his own skin pores, as his image scrunched its face to see them, less than an inch away. It was awkward to do, because it was not your mirror image, something everyone had used their entire lives. If you raised your right hand, the image raised its right hand, as if you could reach across your body and shake your own hand coming at you.

Mirikami had Carson, Sarge, and the Chief with him. From time to time, some of the TGs came up on the Bridge and watched quietly in the background, sitting on the benches.

On the second Bridge with Noreen, was Dillon, Alyson, and Macy Gundarfem, a Drive Rat performing the Chief’s duties over there, in an Engine Room that didn’t seem to need anyone at all. There were some background observers as well, all standing since there were no benches.

Marlyn stood on her own Bridge with Thad, Ethan, and John Yin-Lee, another of the Chief’s Drive Rats. There were several kneeling TG’s in the background, and they had a grip on a seated, limp looking Krall in a blue uniform. They were holding him up, not still, since he obviously had received the paralyzing drug. He bore visible gunshot wounds on the chest and arms that had sealed and scabbed already. The Krall’s jaw looked funny and seemed to be tied in place, as if broken.

On Noreen’s ship, Dillon moved to the side, almost out of the picture for Mirikami as he stepped close to the screen/window into Marlyn’s Bridge. He leaned back again, looking puzzled.

“Ethan, have you Mind Tapped that Translator behind you? I’m almost certain we know him from Koban.” That put a startled look on everyone’s face, except Ethan.

“I have Uncle Dillon. You do know him, only I don’t think until now that he recognized any one of the SGs with us. However, he has already figured out where all of us must have come from.”

Dillon nodded. “The broken jaw had me looking closer, but I think that is Dorkda. He was from Maldo clan, not Dorbo. Jakob, I think our ship is in range for transducer use. Can you confirm that for me?”

Dillon tilted his head as he listened to the AI, then nodded and repeated what he heard. “Jakob says it indeed looks like Dorkda, and Maldo is a finger clan that split from Dorbo, so they are naturally allied clans. That may be why he was at their dome. Dorkda will know quite a lot about us and about Captain Mirikami in particular. I’m sure if you ask, he might even recall an incident with me. He nearly decided to kill me once, because I offended his sensitive nature with an innocent question about why they were leaving Koban.”

Noreen leaned close and looked also, and then pulled back, shrugging. “I don’t remember him as well as you do Hon, he wasn’t facing me down, ready to tear out my heart. I was terrified he was going kill you.”

Mirikami had an uneasy conclusion to offer. “We SGs are a risk on missions were we will be seen by Krall that may have been to Koban and might know us. Ethan, I need you to determine how well he can recognize or remember any of us, and if that’s how he knows we are from Koban.”

“I’ll feed him images of you and all the SGs with us, to see if he knows your faces, although I think most of us look alike to them.  However, that isn’t how he guessed. He can smell traces of Koban on us, and on our clothes. He was a more careful fighter than I’ve ever heard from any of the stories I’ve you tell us. He hid, tried to shoot me from concealment, changed hiding places and used covering fire when he heard my rifle power pack activate, and acted rather like a human does in his own defense and method of attack.”

“Well, pick his brain son. We want as much as we can learn from him, and any other prisoners. What else have you gotten that seems important?”

“Not from him, but from us. We TG1s have some strange results to report, from when the three ships did their multiple jumps. We had flashes of personal messages each time, which we had agreed to try.”

“How is that different than what you already told us, when we jumped into Human Space, and then to K1?”

“Sir, all of us were on board the Mark of Koban in those cases, moving together, and each of us was at least nearby. This time we had flashes of thoughts between TG1s on different ships. As best we can tell, we exchanged the images in real time when the senders and the receivers were far apart. In fact, we were extremely far apart. It was nearly instantaneous connections, across light years of distance.”

Mirikami was well beyond intrigued this time. “This mental flash, as you describe it, happens both on entry and exit from Tachyon Space?”

The three TG1s by the view screens each looked towards their TG1 companions standing in their respective backgrounds for confirmation, saw agreement from them, and answered in the affirmative.

Carson said, “It isn’t full-fledged long communication, but a surprising amount of information is conveyed in the part of a second it takes to enter the Jump Hole, or to emerge.”

Mirikami, as was typical, used his thumb and a knuckle of the index finder to pull at his lower lip for a moment. “Noreen did you and Marlyn make any arrangement to coordinate your Jump timings with each other? I did not, and definitely was last to leave K1, for a nine light year Jump.”

Noreen shook her head. “Marlyn and I knew where each of us were going, and the approximate time in the Hole, but I don’t know how we could deliberately match entry and exits, not without going to the exact same destination at the exact same time, as with a fleet formation.”

Mirikami agreed. “The first Jumps you each made, in different directions, were several light years shorter than mine was, but not exactly equal to each other. That means we probably never were entering or leaving Tachyon Space at exactly the same time. The contents of the transmitted messages must have been hanging around somewhere, in Tachyon Space I suppose, until the recipient was entering or leaving an Event Horizon and able to receive.”

“Tet,” Marlyn wondered, “I was pretty good in the Special Relativity part of FTL and Jump Hole explanations, but how would a thought, no matter how insubstantial, travel almost instantly over light years?”

He had a question too. “It doesn’t happen once we are fully rotated into the Hole, or after the White Out, is that right?” He looked to each of the TG1s close to him. They all agreed that it hadn’t worked that way.

“We will try some testing before we leave this empty system. This capability may give us some sort of long-range communication, and do it far faster than we can travel. We don’t have to be light years apart to experience a time lag that we can measure. It is obviously happening only as we shift into or out of Tachyon Space. We can make more short Jumps right around here.”

“How do you think it works?” Sarge asked, from behind Mirikami.

Mirikami shrugged. “None of us are scientists, and we left those guys at home. However, one possibility I’m thinking of is the ‘spooky action at a distance’ thing that quantum entanglement can produce. That’s where quantum entangled photons separate, and no matter how far apart they fly, a measurement of a complementary property of one, instantly determines the same property of the other photon at any distance away. However, that property does not allow actual communication, which would violate the laws of our universe, with its velocity of light limit on information transfer.”

“Tachyon Space is out of this Universe,” Noreen reminded him of the obvious, unnecessarily.

“True, but establishing quantum entanglement is not easy to produce outside of a lab or in special equipment. I don’t think these contact telepathy genes and superconducting nerves would be able to do that. It could be another method altogether. Tachyons are odd beasts to us in our Universe. It takes enormous energy to slow a near infinite velocity low energy tachyon particle to very close to light speed. That complements the enormous energy needed in our Universe to accelerate a low energy particle to near light speed.

“We need the slowest, highest energy tachyons to create Jump Holes. Perhaps the infinite velocity, extremely low energy tachyons, which are far more plentiful, is something the thoughts of our TG1’s can effect, to modulate them in some fashion, as we transit the boundary between Universes. The targeted mind is the only one that can receive the message, perhaps ‘tuned’ would be the right term, unless it was ‘addressed’ to more than one person. At least that’s how it seems to work.” He waved his hands, laughing.

“Hell, I don’t care how it works. We can be Krall-like this time and simply use it, empirically, until some brilliant person figures it out and explains it to us. I can’t explain the formation of holographic images in a Tri-Vid system, but I use the sets all the time.

“I want to run a series of tests while we’re here, and we can determine if a minimal Jump with a slower transition works better for sending longer thought images or messages, or what happens if we do quick repeated short Jumps. We always chose a direction to go when we Jump, but null Jumps, which are simply entering and leaving an event horizon, are possible without going anywhere.

“If we can use this, long-range communication home to Koban, or between ships from anywhere, will give us a huge boost in capability and coordination. We may be in the Morse code phase of a future interstellar phone system! And I doubt it can be overheard by anyone if the sender and receiver need to know one another.”

An excited buzz continued for a time, and the TG1’s asked the three Captains to set them up their own three-way view screen conference, for devising ways of testing with the three ships and the ten TG1s spread between them. Another part of their excitement was that eventually, nearly every TG would have this marvelous gene mod.

While the younger generation talked, Dillon soon brought the older SG crews back down from the heights, where their active imaginations had risen. “We stink. We need to do something about that.” He said.

Thad rebutted instantly. “Excuse me? I bathed, therefore you speaketh for thyself, scroungy varlet!”

“Oh, Yea? Tell that to Dorkda, sitting right behind you, oh stinky one. I was never on that smelly tub, and yet he nosed out someone from Koban at first whiff. I’ve been on long hunting trips with you. I’d bet my money it was your drawers or socks.”

“Ha! Speaking of long range communication, I think he could smell you through vacuum because…,” Thad’s no doubt brilliant retort was spoiled by his wife’s, no, make that his Captain’s interruption.

“Boys! We can hold a hand’s free peeing contest later, but what Dillon was so inelegantly reminding us of, is the fact that a Krall’s nose is hound dog sensitive. We have to find a way to remove all scent of Koban from our ships, clothes, equipment, and ourselves. Ideas?”

They eventually decided that a biological decontamination station should work, and they had the means to build crude ones on each ship. They could easily test the results on the one Krall they knew had spent years on Koban. If they could get by his nose, it should protect their odorous secret. With a Mind Tap, Dorkda couldn’t even lie to a TG1 to hide what he could smell.

****

Several weeks later, now deodorized of Koban scents as confirmed by a Krall nose, they were finally in possession of a workable long rage communications system. They had developed a technique of exchanging images and messages when creating an event horizon, without actually executing a Jump. They could convey longer and more complex information by using a series of rapid and repeated entry and exits. The only risks they found were for those in Normal Space that might be too close to the flurry of gamma rays released by the quick null Jumps.

A successful procedure was for the first part of a message to inform the receiver how long the entire series would last, so they wouldn’t miss the end of the message. It was a cumbersome method, but it worked. They also discovered that after roughly eight or nine days, a message not pulled from Tachyon Space quickly lost its cohesion. It didn’t completely fade when the targeted receiver finally was able to “listen in,” but it didn’t make sense anymore. It was not a noisy or weak signal; it was mental nonsense, without meaning.

Once the ships separated for their missions, there was a schedule set up for sending and receiving routine messages once a week, assuming a ship were in a position to do null Jumps.

Mirikami brought them physically together for a final briefing, before they made the Jump to Poldark. They did side-by-side hard docking, using the built-in flexible pressurized collars from any of the four airlocks.  They moved around personnel, and put the three prisoners on Marlyn’s ship, to be taken to Koban for safer keeping. There was no shortage of more potential Krall prisoners on Poldark.

Dillon and Thad rejoined Mirikami for the Poldark mission, and the planned subsequent foray into Krall Space. Marlyn would eventually return to Koban, via a circuitous route to avoid any back trail. She would be taking two TG1s back for communications, even though there would be more at Koban soon. A number of TGs wanted to explore with her. Ethan, however, wanted in on Mirikami’s mission, and his mom understood.

Noreen would also have two TG1s with her, and twenty-five other TGs. However, Carson also wanted to stay with Mirikami. Her mission was to infiltrate Heavyside, provided they couldn’t get an outright invitation through General Nabarone’s influence. Whatever human performance enhancing experimentation was happening on Heavyside, Mirikami wanted to know what it was. It could be that the PU military planned to test genetic enhancements in secret there. In which case, the Kobani might be welcomed with open arms.

Mirikami continued the briefing. “We’ll emerge at a thousand miles. Sarge says that’s well above the usual White Out for landing Clanships, and also above the faster reacting low orbit defenses. Nothing keeps the Krall from doing the same thing and using stealth mode to approach from more distant White Out coordinates. Nothing, that is, except their love of the challenge of getting away with it closer to the planet.

“We will all scatter after exit, although I’ll stay in high orbit with you, until Sarge has time to look things over. I want to be sure the stealth function works as well as expected, at least against Poldark’s sensors. We need to verify we can keep continuous track of each other, as we could here.  Our hull surface crystals will let us track other Clanships, and we think most stealthed human ships. Other Clanships can track us as well, but I hope they are no more curious than usual if they see us.

“After Sarge picks a secure looking hiding spot for me, I’ll make the penetration and land. Give us three days, and if we have not radioed you to leave, or we have not called, we need rescue.  If you are both able to leave as planned, split up and start your individual missions. Questions?” He didn’t expect or receive any. The few weeks, while they worked on Jump methods to complement remote telepathy, Mirikami had coordinated several times a day with Noreen and Marlyn on what they would accomplish on their missions.

“Fine. New subject. I don’t want to keep saying Captain Renaldo’s ship or Captain Greeves’ ship. You’ve had time to think. What do you want to name your first commands?”

“The Avenger,” Noreen was prompt to say.

Marlyn followed with, “The Beagle.”

“I think Avenger sounds like a fighting ship, but why Beagle Marlyn? Is there some meaning there?”

“Yes Sir. Charles Darwin sailed aboard the HMS Beagle, for a famous scientific voyage that discovered many new species, and it later surveyed large parts of the coast of Australia. That’s similar to my mission.”

“Excellent names, both of them. I wish we could paint them on the hulls. However, that would ruin our stealth capability, and certainly raise a question if seen by a Krall. We’ve not stolen our last Clanship, but I’d suggest we avoid K1 for a while. We have a number of Spacers at home, ready to return to space and join the fight. They will want tough ships like these.

“I guess we need to say personal goodbyes now, before we undock. We will probably talk again at Poldark, but we aren’t going to meet like this personally for some time.”

After the three ships moved apart slightly, but stayed in a formation, they chose the agreed upon equatorial spot over Poldark, where they wanted to White Out. Per their dynamic star charts, the ships started accelerating in the direction they wanted to be moving when they arrived over the planet.

“Ladies, I wish you good sailing. I’ll see you, or rather see the Avenger and Beagle on sensors when we White Out. Jakob will send the time hack for the Jump, so we all emerge at once.

“It’s time we took this war to the Krall’s own doorstep, and got some help from our own people. Good travelling and good luck. Mirikami Out.”

Jakob sent them a ten-second countdown time hack. That would be the last radio signal they would exchange, until Mirikami had met with General Nabarone, and had his reply, or there was a problem.

Moving in a triangular formation, the three ships composing the entire Koban Navy simultaneously winked out of this Universe.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HUMANS

Crew from Flight of Fancy

Tetsuo Mirikami

Captain of Flight of Fancy. From Old Colony of New Honshu, in the Hub area. Became Commander of Prime City after Krall left Koban

Noreen Renaldo

First Officer of Flight of Fancy. From Old Colony of Ponce, in the Hub area. Married Dillon Martin. Mother of TGs Carson, Katelyn, and Cory.

Jake (almost human)

Advanced JK series AI computer, installed on Flight of Fancy. Able to operate many of the ship systems autonomously. Repository of vast human library of documents, books, films, Tri-Vid shows, etc. A common capability on long Jump passenger liners of that era

Nannette Willfem

Drive Room Officer on Flight of Fancy, and a Jump Engineer.

Roni Jorl’sn

A Flight of Fancy officer and shuttle pilot.

(Chief) Mike Haveram

Chief of the Drive Room on the Flight of Fancy. In charge of the “Drive Rats” and conventional thruster engines.

Macy Gundarfem

Motorfem. One of the “Drive Rats.”

John Yin-Lee

Motorman. One of the “Drive Rats.”

Andrew Johnson

Motorman. One of the “Drive Rats.”

Nory Walters

Chief Steward, of the ten such staff on the Fancy.

Mel Rigson

Steward and primary Medical technician.

Cal Branson

Steward and Medical technician.

Javier Vazquez

Alfon Hanson

Jason Sieko

Stewards.

Bob Campbell

Machinist Mate.

Neri Bar

Machinist Mate.

Chack Nauguza

Cargo Specialist, handy man.

Ricco Balduchi

Cargo Specialist.

Passengers from the Fancy, various other ships, and early captives

On the fancy

Dillon Martin

Professor of biological sciences, sent to Midwife to study developing primitive life. Hidden specialty is forbidden genetics research. From Rhama, a New Colony, close to the Hub worlds. Married Noreen Renaldo. Father of TGs Carson, Katelyn, and Cory.

Maggi Fisher

Professor of biological sciences, Chairfem of Board of Director’s on Midwife project. From Rhama. Organizing unofficial teams to recover lost genetic knowledge. Later, first Mayor of Prime City.

Aldry Anderfem

Professor of biological sciences, granddaughter of Claronce Anderson, a former President of Alders world. Supports secret Genetics research. Administered first human Clone mods in three hundred years, to make Second Generation Kobani.

Rafe Campbell

Studied human genetic mutations from cosmic rays on Brussels, a New Colony. Wife Isadora killed on ship by a Krall, “exercising.” Dove into Koban genetic studies when given a chance to make humans physically superior to the Krall. Administered mods to teens born as SGs, which made them first Third Generation Kobani (TGs).

Ana Cahill

Professor of biological sciences, Vicechairfem of Board of Directors. Political and snobbish, wanted to run the Midwife program. Doesn’t support or know of hidden genetic research. Became first mayor of Hub City. Actively opposed Koban gene modifications.

Zulma Krat

Professor of biological sciences, on the Board of Directors for Midwife Project.

Vincent Naguma

Professor of microbiology, from Greater Angola, an African Colony World at the edge of the Hub, settled just before the collapse. Studied Raspani in Hub City enclosure.

Sarah Bradley

Biologist that specialized in simple viral and bacterial life forms from Newborn. Became interested in the study of Raspani at Hub City, after the old Krall compound was occupied.

Ray McPherson

Husband of scientist. Member of the Fireball Brigade of flame throwers.

Jim (Jimbo) Skaleski

Hydroponics expert for the Midwife station. Fireball Brigade.

Early Captives (at Koban Prime, later renamed Prime City)

Thaddeus Greeves

Former Colonel of a Diplomatic Security detail for Poldark Ambassador. Married Marlyn Rodriguez.  Father of TGs Ethan, Bradley, and Danner. (Note: Character in Book 1 was once named Theodore (Ted), but nicknames Tet and Ted were confusing for readers and writer.)

Marlyn Rodriguez

First Officer of Rimmer’s Dream, arrived in mass capture of human ships. Married Thad Greeves. Mother of TGs Ethan, Bradley, and Danner.

Stewart McDougal

Arrived in mass human ship capture. Moved to second Krall compound, renamed Hub City, and opposed Ana Cahill. Later he became Mayor, and cooperated with Prime City and Mirikami.

Deanna Turner

Organizer of the first Primes to volunteer to work with the Flight of Fancy personnel. On Mirikami’s combat team.

Frank Constansi

Clarice Femfreid

Juan Wittgenstein

Early Prime volunteers to work with Mirikami. On Mirikami’s combat team.

Mavray Doushan

Was Poldark's Deputy Ambassador to Bollovstic's Republican Independency. Both are Rim worlds.

Third Generation Kobani

Carson Martin

Parents Noreen and Dillon, born an SG, received Koban gene mods to become Third Generation Kobani.

Ethan Greeves

Parents Marlyn and Thad, born an SG, received Koban gene mods to become Third Generation Kobani.

Alyson Formby

Born in Hub City as an SG. At eighteen, left home to request Koban mods, against her parent’s wishes. Became first TG from Hub City.

Jorl Breaker

Yilini Jastrov

Richard Yang

Parents were early Koban captives. At sixteen, they received mods to become a TG.

KRALL

Parkoda

Titled Harzax Kopandi for Krall, or “Measures the Enemy” and a Translator. From Tanga Clan of planet Merkrall. Leader of the Newborn raid that captured the Flight of Fancy.

Telour

Krall translator, of Graka Clan. Second in command of Newborn Raid. Placed in charge of captives at Koban Prime.

Gatrol Kanpardi

General/Admiral of Graka Clan, Gatrol is his rank and title. Later, Tor Gatrol, as High General in command of the war with humans.

Delktor

A K’Tal of the Krall. A K’Tal can variously combine skills of scientists, technicians, or Jump Drive Engineers. Of the Mordo Clan.

Dorkda

Krall translator, of small Maldo clan, a recent offshoot of Dorbo clan.

Kapdol

Krall translator, of Dolbrin clan. A minor clan.

Tyroldor

Octet leader, Kimbo Clan.

EXTERMINATED ALIEN RACES

Olt’kitapi

Highly advanced and ancient people, determined pacifists, who first discovered the Krall. Mentored the violent race, hoping to make them more peaceful, but were betrayed and destroyed by the Krall, about 22,000 years ago. Never physically described by the Krall. They taught the Krall how to use the more simple parts of their technology, and designed ships and equipment specifically for them, to suit their personality and level of intelligence.

They were the first conquest described by Krall: “Our old bodies, even so long ago, could easily defeat their smaller and softer bodies. They were fruit and plant eaters that believed their artificially enhanced brains made them more powerful than we were. When we rose up to attack everywhere at once, we lost our first home world to them, and many Krall died before our final victory. After that, we owned their many worlds. We ate them all like the cattle they were.”

Botolians

Aggressive omnivores, evolved from social pack animals that resembled Earth Primates. Good fighters, but controlled a relatively small six hundred light year radius of settled space, bypassing colder and higher gravity planets. Slow breeders. Was first Worthy Enemy. Larger than humans, the size of lowland gorillas, and nearly as strong as a Krall. Smarter than Krall, but slower reflexes and predictable pack hunting tactics made them easier for the Krall to surround and attack. Not tricky or subtle, and preferred direct confrontation over ambushes, and were out matched in such fights. Always refused to surrender, and were all destroyed.

Malverans

A reptilian race the Krall met and exterminated several thousand years before encountering humans. They were an insect eating race that lived only on warm dry worlds, with 0.7 to .8 Earth g’s. Their slow metabolism made them easy prey for the Krall. The volume they’d colonized was about four hundred light-years in radius, adjacent to an area humanity would have been exploring in less than fifty years.

Discovery of Koban

It was a world in Malveran space, which had been far too hostile for the slow reacting Malverans to settle. They had a few dozen colonies, and those fell quickly to attacks by a single clan, the Dorbo.

A hundred thirty years ago, the Maldo, a small finger clan of Dorbo, were awarded a choice of unused former Malvern controlled worlds to build a base. They selected a lush looking heavy gravity world, later called the Testing Ground, or Koban (not a name, because Krall don’t name planets, domes, or Clanships. They just describe them or their ownership). They first built a standard open compound and dome on Koban. Native life nearly killed off the Maldo clan in their compound, twice. They learned they could survive there only by slaves building walls and electric fences, and they had to carry weapons at all times. If lightly armed, they were forced to run from rippers, and rhinolo, or die. This situation drew the attention of visiting clans, who had to see for themselves. They also tried and failed to live in the open on Koban, without walled compounds and weapons.

The world had heavy gravity, it was dangerous, violent, and deadly, so naturally they wanted it! However, not until they could be the top predator, even there. Generations of selective breeding and dietary supplements would be required to develop organic superconductor nerves. They decided to leave the world untouched until they could return and test themselves there again.

ENSLAVED AILEN RACES

Raspani

A spacefaring peaceful race with only about a dozen colonized worlds in a small empire. They were another client race of the Olt’kitapi, advancing under their guidance. After defeat became semi-intelligent, the Krall breed and use them as meat animals, raised in herds on many of their worlds. Resemble a centaur-like small hippo.

Prada

Bipedal, forest and jungle living, eats fruit, nuts, insects, and small game. The creatures are black or brown, with white markings. Resemble a lemur or monkey-like mammal, with a useful prehensile tail. About the size of an Earth Chimpanzee, they can use their five fingered hands (with longer middle finger for digging out grubs) and long toes almost equally well. They retain some arboreal ability. The Prada have large yellow eyes, and they were originally nocturnal animals. They are the Krall’s main assemblers and builders.

Their society took roughly seventy thousand Earth years to colonize a volume some three thousand light years in radius. They selected moderate gravity worlds of 0.7 to 0.8 g’s, and preferring dim redder stars than Sol. They befriended other races, unless such contact was rejected. Engaged in cooperation and trade with Olt’kitapi.

Now loyal and submissive to the Krall, they have lost their original language, so speak only “Low” Krall. They are the largest group of slaves and can build most things the Krall want for war, or have copied from other races.

Torki

A highly intelligent eight foot wide by five foot long, and three foot high land crab race with one large defensive pincher and a smaller one for grasping, and a hard deep purple shell with eight amber colored legs. The two in front are small and used as dexterous manipulators. Their eyes are on two-foot stalks, and they perform fine assembly of tools and electronics for the Krall, copying from plans taken from other defeated races.

As adults these land crabs are terrestrial and are found as far as ten miles from the shoreline, returning to the sea only to soak or breed. They sleep at night in cool burrows several feet deep, or at least to a level that will allow water to seep in for moisture. They are primarily vegetarians, preferring tender leaves, fruits, berries, flowers, seaweed, and some vegetables. Occasionally they will eat fish, beetles, or other large insects.

Like all crabs, they shed their shells as they grow. If they have lost legs or claws during their present growth cycle, a new one will be present after they molt. If the large claw is lost, males will develop one on the opposite side until their next molt. Newly molted crabs are very vulnerable because of their soft shells. They are reclusive and hide until the new shell hardens.

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Attention reader: This concludes our regularly scheduled broadcast at this time.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the story.

LOOK FOR:

Rise of the Kobani (working title)

Book three in the Koban Series

Expected late in 2013