Space Chronicles: The Last Human War (22 page)

T
he master scout leaned against the cave wall, wrestling with doubts, when a fur-covered snout nudged his hand. He looked down to see Kerl-Ga at his side. She thrust her head up under his arm, her old way of demanding affection, and it brought him some measure of comfort.

“Hello, old girl. What do you think of all this? You and I have overcome a lot in our lives. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Thank you
. I needed the reminder. I guess we can achieve anything, if we never stop believing.”

Man and hicay stood in silent friendship.

Thick clouds of steam billowed from piles of heated rocks along each side of a large, windowless room. Hot fog suspended above green-scaled heads of three Heptari royals. They lounged on ornately carved, hardwood thrones with countless gems of every color embedded in edges of the arms and headrests.

The sovereigns basked in loose robes, enjoying moist heat that helped them maintain perfect body temperature.

A small mammal escaped from one of their snack bowls. It scampered across the wooden arm, dodging a knifepoint to vanish into moss, growing thick on either side of the throne.

Directly across from the royals, a floor-to-ceiling
, red curtain extended all the way from one side of the chamber to the other. Full-sized depictions of warriors, in different stages of battle, were embroidered on its ancient fabric. Some combatants wielded bladed weapons while others threw spears or aimed arrows at unseen victims.

At the midpoint of the curtain-wall, a single guard stood in rigid pose. He wore a floor length black kilt held up by a shiny, blood-red sash, tied tightly around his middle. Heavily muscled arms folded ceremonially across his naked chest, while his eyes stared straight ahead as if locked on some distant vision. A single weapon hung from his waist sash, its gleaming double-edged blade almost touching the floor.
Black and red dragon tattoos decorated his scaled chest.

The
hollow sound from a ceremonial chime resonated from behind the curtain. The middle-seated royal nodded.

Removing his sword with a single hand, the guard swung his heavy blade to a vertical position centered on his torso. He pulled back the curtain, revealing a Heptari military officer in
formal dress uniform.

The officer dutifully followed the royal guard across the large room, stopping three paces from the base of the elevated thrones.
Kneeling, the soldier’s eyes locked on the feet of the centermost royal, while he hissed the required formal prose.

“Lords Skah of the Clan Heptari, Supreme Codae of the Heptari Empire, will you hear the story of the Tanarac battle?”

The middle royal lifted his left foot and placed it on a small footstool in front of him. The officer inched forward, never taking his eyes off the foot before him. His long neck stretched its full length, until the tip of his mouth stopped a few centimeters from the three-toed monarch foot. The officer’s bright red tongue flicked from his mouth to touch a jewel hanging at the side of the royal ankle, then, he backed slowly to his original position, eyes still glued to the foot he had just honored.

The r
oyal in the center leaned forward in his seat.

“Rise. Tell of victory . . . or deliver a head.”

The officer stood, keeping his face deeply bowed, and read from an electronic memo pinched between his claws.

“My Lords, the battle engaged, as you commanded. The initial test of Tanarac
resolved just as you foretold. It revealed inferior planetary shields and proved the superiority of our new particle cannons. Their planet almost fell to a single deep space cruiser.”

The Royals nodded to each other in satisfaction, while the officer paused, as required. The oldest royal nodded for him to continue.

“Again, as you foretold, the Tanarac government recalled most of their deep space fleet to their central space port at Wallow Minor. Your surprise attack caught them unprepared. Many of their capital ships were destroyed. Those that remain are incapable of fleeing, trapped in purely defensive positions. It is just a matter of time until we destroy them all. Great Ones, your will has been served.”

The Heptari
noble sitting to the officer’s right seemed impatient. He came to his feet, and his frock slipped down around his waist, revealing heavy scars on his upper torso.

“What of our Tanarac fleet? Tell of success.”

The officer shifted slightly to address him directly, again careful to keep his head bowed.

“Sire, the
enemy managed to recall one full Battle Group to defend their home system. As you directed, our fleet of five Battle Groups remained hidden in deep space waiting for the battle at Wallow Minor to engage. Two Tanarac reconnaissance scouts discovered our fleet before we were ready to attack. Scout warnings were jammed, and one vessel destroyed by ramming, again as you instructed, but the second scout escaped, and our enemy were alerted to our presence.”

“Did we hold the schedule?” The old Heptari leader in the center throne understood the ramifications for changes in timing.

“No, my Lord. The scout report compromised our surprise so Prime Skah Rotaga decided to attack before the enemy could reinforce defenses.”

“Tell of his success.”

“Sires, Tanaracs fought death with great courage.”

All three royal Heptaris frowned at the proclamation. This age-old expression, about the courage of an enemy, meant that a powerful foe achieved some measure of success in combat. It often preceded bad news about a military confrontation.

The officer was quick to report the good news first.

“My Lords, our forces prevailed
, and the Tanarac Battle Group has been neutralized with most of their heavy warships destroyed. Only three star-class heavies remain. They escaped and are being hunted as we speak. Tanaracs hide, like cowards, inside asteroid belts, but Prime Skah Rotaga will crush them in the final battle at their home planet.”

“Our costs?” The third royal demanded the whole picture.

“We entered Phase Three with five full Battle Groups, as you directed. Our final assault on Tanarac provides us with a massive numerical advantage as we send almost three full Battle Groups against a mere three enemy heavies.”

T
wo of the royals stood up, enraged.

“How did we lose two full battle groups to a single inferior Tanarac fleet?” This was not a question. It was a demand for accounting.

The officer described the new antimatter minefield, and displayed a holographic recording of the Tanarac trap. Royals watched the glowing, sector-wide tubes collapse onto two of their battle groups, consuming every ship.

Attempting to soften the news, the officer pointed out that the fleet immediately adjusted sensors to detect such fields
, and that they went on the destroy most of the Tanarac fleet. He also conveyed the fleet commander’s personal apology, offering the mandatory overture from one who had failed in his duties.

“Prime Skah Rotaga offers his head for the loss of so many of your ships.”

The royals returned to their seats and talked in hushed tones while the officer returned to his kneeling position. The oldest royal stood and addressed the officer.

“You may rise before me.” He waited a moment for the officer to get to his feet.

“Tell Rotaga, the Codae commands that he is yet to serve. It was not his judgment costing us two Battle Groups. It was the duty of the First Skah of each Battle Group to detect, and avoid, those minefields. They are guilty of dereliction. Did they survive?”

“No, sire. Both died in the minefields.”

“By Heptari Law, their fate then falls to their families. Scribe!”

A small reptilian servant in multiple full-length robes scrambled past the guard, coming to a sitting position on the floor beside the chair of the senior royal. He held up an electronic device with a long stem extend
ing out of the recorder. The royal spoke into the microphone-camera with deliberate emphasis.

“Be it decreed, the First Skah of Battle Groups I-M and C-M are to forfeit their properties to the treasury of the Empire. The male offspring of their first clutch shall lose their heads. All male offspring from lesser clutches shall serve five years indenture to the Empire. Female offspring and the personal harems of each First Skah are to be sold at auct
ion. Proceeds are assigned equally among the Codae treasuries. That is the final word of the Codae.”

The royal brushed the recording instrument aside as he sealed the order.

“Scribe, transmit our decree to Internal Security for immediate action.”

The standing royal then returned his attention to the officer.

“Send the order for Prime Skah Rotaga to begin the final phase of the Tanarac Annexation. Remind him, his family awaits his success . . . or failure.”

“Yes, my Lords.”

The officer bowed separately to each royal before walking backwards until he reached the curtain.

Deep in space, Prime Skah Rotaga paced angrily on the bridge of his command ship. Two crewmembers kneeled silently in front of his command chair.

“Can either of you tell me why I should not take your heads? You saw the minefield tracings on scanners. Why did you fail to interpret the significance of those signs? Your incompetence cost me two full Battle Groups. Argue for your heads.”

The younger Heptari spoke first without looking up.

“Sir, I am Pak-Three Yah. I questioned the possibility and reported it. This can be verified by my station log.” He held up a small data storage device for the commander.

Rotaga inserted the silver disk into his command module. Recordings of trace signal patterns from the antimatter minefields appeared on his screen, accompanied by a recorded conversation.

Harmless looking space dots moved in a strange pattern along some invisible framework as dialog between Yah and his superior played. Rotaga listened with the benefit of hindsight, knowing that those innocuous dots turned out to be a very lethal trap. The recorded voices told the story.

“But, it does
n’t correlate to any known data,” Pak-three Yah said. “It’s something new, possibly a new form of minefield.”

A different voice responded. “Don’t worry about it. According to our telemetry analysis
, it’s probably just monitor drones.”

“But, what if it is some new kind of minefield?”

“We don’t have reports of new Tanarac weapons. They’re just drone sensors. Ignore them.”

“Sir, shouldn’t we inform the First Skah of each group and send out recon dregs?”

“No, dregs would slow the fleet. They’re just drones.”

“But, sir, I . . .
”

“I said ignore them. That’s an order!”

“Yes, sir.”

Rotaga turned back to the young officer who had given him the recording.

“Rise Pak-Three Yah. If your superior heeded your warning, my fleet would still be at full strength. I promote you to Pak-One. You have done your job with honor, and I want you on my personal sensor deck. Your transfer is immediate. Serve with honor.”

The sensor technician gave an enthusiastic salute before rushing away to begin his newly bestowed rank, and prestigious assignment. His former supervisor remained kneeling.

“Pak-One Slin. Why did you ignore Yah’s warning? Speak!”

“I have no good answer, Prime Skah. I failed
and offer my head. I only ask that my family be spared.”

“I accept your head, Slin. Your family shall be spared.”

The kneeling Heptari lifted his chin as high as he could. A small black box hung loosely on a necklace of thin wire. Rotaga pointed his command staff at the box engraved with the royal seal of his family clan. He pressed one of the jewels on the ornate handle, and the box quivered for a moment as the wire on the necklace retracted into it. When the wire pressed into the soft, smaller scales under the officer’s neck, it stopped.

“Prime Skah, Rotaga, it was an honor to serve you.”

Rotaga acknowledged the compliment and pressed a second jewel. The Heptari officer’s head snapped back and to one side before dropping from his body to the floor. The small, black box landed next to the severed head, its wire loop now fully retracted. Despite the beheading, the body remained in a kneeling position, balanced tenuously on a tripod formed by its knees and tail. Blood spurted from the neck stump and ran down the soldier’s torso until it accumulated in a growing pool.

Unaffected, Rotaga turned to his assistant.

“Report the honorable death of Pak-One Slin to high command. His family shall have full military benefits for life. Call for clean up.”

Rotaga left the command deck.

In his ready room, he studied reports of the battle. A consistent pattern emerged. Damage to his heavies was insignificant, but his light ships suffered heavy losses to the Tanaracs. The Heptari commander admired the ferocity by this overwhelmed enemy. Even in retreat, they maintained order, larger ships remaining behind to cover for more vulnerable small vessels. They defended each other, sometimes to the death, rather than escape individually.

He
pushed back from his desk and thought aloud, “These Tanaracs might not be as easy to defeat as we hoped.” An intercom broke into his thought.

“Sir, we are exiting the first of the five asteroid belts. Tanaracs are not here.”

“Hold all ships on the interior radial line until the entire fleet has exited from the belt. Set up a fleet-wide conference with my commanders.”

Rotaga returned to his command deck. “Report.”

“No sign of enemy ships, sir. Your commanders are on standby, as you ordered.”