Deadly Shores (46 page)

Above it all, yelling with squeaky incoherence, Isak Reuben, and now Lawrence again as well, waved the dripping, tongue-lolling head. Slowly, the whole army began to answer until the thunderous sound of victory was all that could be heard.

“Cease firing,” Chack told Jindal, and sat numbly on the steps to wait for Safir to come, as he knew she would.

“What's all the racket?” Dennis Silva mumbled, some distance away, lying on the steps. “Did we win the damn war?”

“I doubt it. But I think we won the fight—you big jerk,” Pam shouted in his ear, her tears wetting his neck.

“Horn?”

Pam nodded past Dennis—he couldn't see at what—but he was damned if he'd move.
Everything
hurt now. “Over there. There was a 'Cat Marine with you guys. He was kinda groggy, but he kept you both from leakin' out worse than you did. Don't know where he went.”

“His name's Ain't Dewy.” Silva smiled. “I guess I owe him one. Horn?” he repeated.

Pam shook her head and frowned. “He'll live,” she snapped. “I just said so, didn't I? Not that he deserves to,” she added darkly. “Not that
you
deserve to!” she emphasized furiously, returning to the business of bandaging his many wounds. “But you will,” she added, too softly for him to hear, “until the next time.”

//////
Ajanga City

NE Madagascar

F
irst General Esshk paced the dock, glaring at the fires eating the massive barricade around the Second City of the Principal Isle.
Even the bestial hunters of the interior have turned on us,
he brooded. He'd begun to suspect they might, when they began shadowing his swiftly running column almost as soon as it emerged into the jungle from the catacombs beneath the Celestial Palace. They hadn't attacked; the heavy guard of sport fighters he'd assembled to escort the purest female guardians of the Celestial Bloodline had seen to that. But they didn't have to attack; they saw them leave. Now, heavily reinforced no doubt, they were trying to burn Ajanga.

“Can we hold the city, Lord General?” the Chooser asked anxiously, almost trotting to catch up.

“We could
keep
the city,” Esshk replied, stressing the difference, “even with the relatively few warriors posted here—if all we had to concern us were the savage hunters in the forest.” He took a long breath. Even now, in the darkness after the long, terrible day, his mind was reeling. They—
he
—had lost the Celestial Palace—and the Giver of Life herself!—to what they'd all once considered
prey
! “If the world had not been turned on its head, I would merely send a pack of hunters beyond the barricade to chase the sport prey back into its preserve.” Even that term, “sport prey,” almost caught in his throat. Even such as they were now a threat, and therefore true “enemies.” Throughout its long history, the sprawling empire of the Grik had never had existential enemies before. Now they seemed to be gathering at every hand. What would General Halik do? he wondered, realizing the younger Hij must certainly have a better understanding of the enemy by now. He wished the one he considered his protégé were here, or he could get word to or from the only being left in the world whose judgment he actually trusted.
How odd that is
, he realized.
Halik was just a sport fighter himself a few short years ago. I must interview the others who helped us make it here
.

Not for the first time he wondered where Kurokawa was, and what he was doing. If he'd abandoned Halik in India, where would he go, if he lived? His Sovereign Nest of Jaaph Hunters on Zanzibar, no doubt. Esshk pondered whether he should consider Kurokawa an advantage or menace now. He certainly
needed
the treacherous creature—or more specifically, he needed his people and their technology. But did Kurokawa still need him? He would have to find out.

He spoke again, as much to organize his own thoughts as to explain to the Chooser: “Against those who drove us out, there is no hope. Even if they do not already know of this place, their flying machines will see the smoke of the barricade fires and find us with the dawn.” He nodded at the dark form of the iron-plated battleship in the harbor. There was only one of the apparently useless things here, along with a trio of “cruisers,” but the twenty-three females he'd spirited away from the palace were already on board. “We must not be here when they come.”

“
Of course
we cannot be here!” the Chooser fervently agreed, “and we must preserve the bloodline at all costs,” he added. “It has never been . . . interrupted in such a way before, and we must contemplate how best to proceed.”

Esshk looked at him, eyes narrowing in speculation. “True,” he agreed, “How
shall
we proceed? You would be the proper authority to ‘choose,' I suppose.” His tone was heavy with irony.

“That may be,” the Chooser whispered, licking his teeth as if tasting each word before he uttered it. He was almost trembling with excitement—and terror—over the previously undreamed thoughts suddenly cascading through his mind. “But I would prefer that we choose
together
how to proceed in such . . . unprecedented circumstances. Surely we cannot simply proclaim an unelevated female as our new Celestial Mother. Such a creature might be deemed illegitimate by the provincial regents, and at the very least, her . . . unbridled judgment would be rightfully questioned as unsound. That is something we cannot risk in these perilous times.” Esshk stopped pacing at last, and the Chooser regarded him, increasingly earnest. “And, of course, such a proclamation could be resisted for the implication that I—
we
—believe we have the supreme authority to make it in the first place. We might end up sparking internal conflicts among the regents at the worst possible moment while at the same time casting away the power to do anything about it!”

“What are you suggesting, Lord Chooser?” General Esshk demanded, suddenly very formal, and the Chooser gulped. He might have already gone too far, he realized, but there was nothing for it now but to reveal his entire scheme as it unfolded in his mind.

“I am suggesting that we—
you
, General Esshk, as protector of the guardians of the Celestial Bloodline, and carrier of the Noble Blood yourself—should serve as principal regent to
all
the females until one elevates herself above the others and assumes her destiny in a more . . . natural way. By conquest over her siblings.”

“But in the meantime,
I
would rule? Don't be ridiculous! I cannot be the Celestial Mother!”

“Of course not,” the Chooser quickly agreed, “but you can be the Giver of Life. In
all
respects . . . eventually. Particularly if you lead us to victory.”

General Esshk was silent, thoughtful. Finally he snorted. “A most . . . amusing scenario, Lord Chooser. But before we engage in such imaginative intrigues, let us concentrate on making it to the continent alive, and rousing all our race to the task of avenging the dignity, territory, and Celestial Mother we just lost.”

India

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” General Pete Alden said. “Folks are gonna talk.”

General Halik tilted his head. “
You
asked for
this
meeting,” he replied, “not I.”

When Hij Geerki finished his translation, Pete snorted. “Kind of a joke. Skip it.”

The two were facing each other in knee-deep grass on what Pete's people were calling the “Highland Plain.” Pete didn't know squat about what India was supposed to be like, but he'd never pictured any part of it looking like this.
It'd be great cattle country,
he supposed. The big herds of duck-faced herbivores seemed to like it. Pete, General Lord Muln Rolak, and Hij Geerki were alone for this meeting, as were Halik and Ugla, his general. It struck Pete how weird it was that he'd grown to, well,
trust
Halik not to pull something fishy at times like this, even while they were trying to kill each other. He was a Grik, a hateful, despicable enemy, but at the same time, he'd shown he had a sense of honor, and even as Pete had directed the systematic dismantling of Halik's retreating army—something Halik hadn't made exactly easy—Pete had to admit he'd grown to respect the bastard.

Their respective escorts had been ordered to stay back, out of earshot, and beyond their capability to help if things went sour, of course. Pete's guard detail—members of the Czech Legion that day—were sullen about that. Likely they thought he'd robbed them of the chance to rub out the enemy leaders and there'd be complaints. There'd
really
be complaints, from everybody, if Halik agreed to the proposal Pete intended to make.

“We've got you, Halik,” he finally said almost gently. “Anytime we want, we can wipe you out.” He shrugged. “Hell, it won't even be a fight. Our P-Forties are flying off a grass strip this side of the Rocky Gap now, and we've got Clippers—the big fat planes with four engines—flying out of a lake north of there. You ain't got doodly in the air. We can pound you with heavy ordnance until every last one of you is dead, and all my army has to do now is sit back and watch.”

“I do not concede that you can destroy so easily,” Halik contended, “and we are but a few days' march from our west-coast base of supply—and many reinforcements.”

Pete shook his head. “Sorry, Halik. I've decided not to let you make it there.” He saw the Grik's slight nod and wondered if that meant the enemy leader had suspected all along that Pete was letting him run.

“Then why are we talking? Why are you not already ‘wiping us out'?”

Pete hitched his web belt up, put his hands on his hips, and stared at the Grik for a moment before exhaling explosively. “I'm not exactly sure, to be honest. I've got reasons, but I'm not sure they're good enough. I'll lay things out as I see 'em, and then you tell me.”

Halik jerked a diagonal nod.

“Well, first of all, I ain't sorry to tell you that we just got word that an operation we launched against your capital in—we call it Madagascar—has succeeded.” He paused to let that sink in, and noticed the intent glares that stiffened Halik's and Ugla's faces. He wondered what that meant, but apparently they knew what Madagascar was. “Not only have we taken the main city, whatever it's called,” he continued, “but your honcho, your ‘Celestial Mother,' is dead.”

Halik and Ugla snarled and snapped at each other in their tongue, while still glaring at Pete and Rolak with what Pete guessed was a variety of incredulity.

“What're they saying?” he asked Hij Geerki.

“They don't 'lieve you, Lord!” Geerki chirped. “Exce't they do. Halik don't think you'd got any reason to lie on such a thing, 'cause us
can
kill they all.” Rolak snorted amusement at his pet's use of the word “we,” and Pete was surprised by how that struck him as being, well, rude. Geerki didn't seem to mind, and he listened to Halik a moment longer before continuing. “He guesses you know these things 'cause o' 'raa-dee-o,' an' asks why you tell he. Is so'thing you need o' he?”

Pete chuckled. “Doesn't seem as broken up about our news as I expected,” he told Rolak.

“Surprised, surely,” Rolak agreed, “but not stricken with grief, no. And he has quite quickly steered us back to the purpose of our meeting here.”

“Yeah.” Pete looked at Halik. “Okay. In case it takes a while for all the implications of what I told you to hit, I'll help you along. First, any reinforcements you might've been counting on, particularly in regard to your better-trained warriors, working up at Madagascar, just dried up at the tap. We also know that Kurokawa's been rounding up most of those before they get to you, anyway. We're not sure what he means to do with 'em, though I'll bet he's not planning on rescuing you. Either way, you were already about as far out on the limb as you could get.” He shrugged. “Captain Reddy and the forces under his command just sawed that limb off at the trunk, and whatever you've got with you and in the coastal cities to the west are all you're ever going to have.” His eyes bored into Halik's. “You're well and truly screwed, General Halik.”

“If you are so sure of that, why do you not simply destroy us and be done with it?” Ugla challenged hotly.

Pete looked at the other Grik, then spoke back at Halik. “That's the question, ain't it?” He looked at the old Lemurian at his side. “Me and Rolak've been kicking this around for a while. It's still a little mushy in my mind, but here it is. You kind of know me, and I kind of know you. We're never gonna be friends—that just flat can't happen,” he interrupted himself harshly, “but that doesn't mean we always have to fight.” He waved around. “It's a damn weird world. Probably even weirder for you all of a sudden than it is for me, once you think about it, and there's a lot worse people in it than you”—he grinned wryly—“or me.”

“Kurokawa springs to mind yet again,” Rolak offered conversationally, and Pete nodded. Halik considered that and nodded too.

“The point, I guess,” Pete continued, “is that we don't have to love each other to stop killing each other, and if we can stop because we
decide
to, maybe we can decide not to start up again.”

“My friends,” Rolak nodded at Pete, “prefer to have a reason to fight. I do now as well, though that may not always have been the case. I wonder what it is that you will fight for, General Halik, now that you have a choice.”

“You used this argument with me once before,” Halik accused through Geerki, “but then broke the truce we had between us and attacked.”

“That was different,” Pete defended. “You were getting ready to attack
us
!”

Halik seemed to accept that. “So. What is this ‘choice'?”

“That is what we have come to offer you,” Rolak said. “A real one, and at the most fundamental level, a very simple one as well: A choice between life and death. You may reject our offer out of annoyance that we slew your ‘Celestial Mother,' and die for revenge—for the dead leader of a murderous, wasteful culture. Perhaps you will choose to die because you simply know no better. Whatever your reason, you
will
surely die, as will every member of your species we can find in all of Indiaa. You must believe by now that we have the means of accomplishing that end.”

Halik didn't reply, but Rolak hadn't really expected him to.

“On the other hand,” Pete said, “you can take our deal and give yourself and your army a new start. A
fresh start
,” he stressed. “Maybe the first one you Griks've had in a million damn years, because all the shit that made you what you are is gone.
Dead
. Maybe you can eventually make yourselves into something we don't want to kill anymore.”

Halik and Ugla snarled at each other for a while again.

“They are probably lying, Lord General, about everything,” Ugla insisted, not caring that Geerki would translate. “And even if they are not, about the Celestial Mother, they broke one truce. Why not another?”