EarthRise (42 page)

So, given the fact that the newly liberated ships were not only badly outnumbered, but lacked a reliable command and control structure, it seemed advisable to pull them out of orbit and regroup beyond the planet’s gravity well. Then, with a command structure in place, the “free” navy would be better prepared to fight.

Would the Saurons follow? No, few of Rul’s advisers thought so. First, because there were only so many Ra ‘Na willing to help them; second, because the Saurons lacked the technical know-how required to operate the ships completely on their own; and, third, because too little time remained to them. Birth-death day was coming up fast, and thanks to efforts made by the humans, the master race was running behind schedule.

That was the theory in any case, and emotions to the contrary notwithstanding, Rul had agreed to act on it. But not before one last act of defiance. An attack on the citadels that would not only bring additional hope to the humans, but force the Saurons to spend precious time and energy trying to make repairs. Rul, cognizant of the coffins now orbiting Earth, gave a nod. “Thank you, P’ere Dee. Notify the bridge . . . I’m on the way.”

Elsewhere aboard the ship, down on the Launch Deck, a single cleric emerged from a shuttle, passed through the lock, and offered his credentials to a pair of heavily armed guards. A bandage concealed what remained of his left ear, another bandage protected the wound on his left arm, and he walked with a strange bowlegged gait. One of the sentries, an individual named Niss, examined the holo doc. “Your name is Has?”

“Yes,
P’ere
Has, assistant to Grand Vizier Tog.”

Nis growled deep at the back of his throat. “You work for ‘turd’ Tog? The collaborator? We should put a bullet through your head.”

“The Grand Vizier is a true champion of the people,” Has answered defensively, “and sent a message to Dro Rul. I have that message in my possession and wish to deliver it.”

“So, hand it over,” Niss replied. “I’ll pass it on.”

“No,”
Has replied stubbornly, “the message is for Dro Rul. Please notify him that I have arrived.”

Niss made a face and turned to his companion. “Put a message in to P’ere Dee—he’ll know what to do. Meanwhile, let’s put the collaborator in holding tank two.”

“I’m
not
a collaborator,” Has said indignantly, but it made no difference and they took him away.

Meanwhile, in spite of efforts to restore the
Balwur
’s bridge to pre-Sauron conditions, the lighting was too low and many of the fittings were too large. Still, it was nice to see Ra ‘Na-style seats where slings had recently been, and to know that the Saurons who remained were under heavy guard.

Rul, careful not to usurp the authority of the vessel’s newly named commanding officer, stood to one side as the ex-power tech prepared the ship for battle. Her voice was calm and steady. “Pods One and Two—both engines ahead one-third. Energy cannons two, four, six, and eight, stand by to fire on target one.
Balwur
to the fleet . . . may the Great One protect you . . . commence firing.”

HELL HILL

His name was Sko-Mor, and as chief overseer, and assistant to the resident stonemaster, it was his responsibility to see to the workforce, and ensure adherence to the work schedule. Had the Fon bothered to familiarize himself with the human system for tracking time, he might have known that it was exactly 6:00 P.M. when the shift ended and the slaves streamed down off the hill. A common occurrence witnessed many times before.

What Sko-Mor
failed
to notice, however, not until it was too late, was the fact that as the slaves streamed down
off
the hill, the next shift failed to move
up
. Then, just as the discrepancy began to dawn on the overseer and the wheels had started to turn, artificial lightning flashed down out of the clear blue sky, struck Observation Tower ^-[], and cut the structure in two. The top half was still falling, still many feet from the ground when a loud crack was heard, and thunder rolled across the bay.

Now the Fon understood. The slaves had been warned about the attack in advance . . . and that’s why they remained at the bottom of the hill! The humans would pay for that, and pay dearly, the moment the bombardment ended.

Thanks to his position on the roof of the citadel’s north tower, Sko-Mor had an excellent position from which to view the ensuing destruction, or would have, if the next bolt of energy had been directed somewhere else. Unfortunately for the overseer, the next shot touched down not ten units away, incinerated his body in less than one one-hundredth of a unit, and damaged the tower’s roof.

Meanwhile, many miles above, the crew of the
Balwur
gave a reedy cheer. Not for long, because the cruiser came under almost immediate fire from Sauron-controlled vessels all around them, but long enough. Blood had been drawn—and even the normally dour Rul was forced to release a satisfied smile. Then, with covering fire from Pol’s
Liberty
, the
Balwur
and the other ships of the newly reconstituted Ra ‘Na navy broke orbit and withdrew into space.

Has had the holding cell all to himself. Like the rest of the Ra ‘Na the cleric had been born and raised in space. That being the case, he recognized the tremors that ran through the ship’s hull for what they were. The ship was under attack! And, judging from the way it felt, the
Balwur
was fighting back.

Has felt the gentle tug as the ship powered its way out of orbit and escaped into space. The reality of that produced mixed emotions. On the one hand, Has was proud of what his people had been able to accomplish against seemingly impossible odds. But what about his mission. Would Rul agree to see him? And what if he didn’t? But there was nothing the cleric could do except worry, and finally, once the battle-induced tremors had subsided, drift off to sleep. And that’s what Has was doing when the hatch hissed open, two members of the newly formed Ra ‘Na constabulary entered, and one nudged him with a boot. “P’ere Has? Get up. Dro Rul wants to see you.”

Has rubbed his eyes, allowed the second constable to help him to his feet, and was herded out into the corridor. The cleric had served aboard the
Balwur
during his younger days and knew the vessel well. That being the case, he had a pretty good idea of where they were taking him and could direct most of his attention to the sights and sounds around him. Perhaps most noticeable was how happy members of the crew were as they shouted greetings to each other, and even went so far as to hold hands and dance in circles. And that in spite of the bandages many wore, the bulkheads splattered with Ra ‘Na blood, and the informal memorials that marked places where major battles had been fought. Also worth noting was the complete absence of Saurons—and the resulting absence of fear.

It was heady stuff,
wonderful
stuff, so much so that by the time Has was shown into Rul’s ascetically barren chambers, the envoy had serious doubts regarding what Tog liked to refer to as “. . . the loyalist cause.” Loyal to
what
? The Sauron who had applied a red-hot iron to his genitals? To slavery? To fear? None of it made sense. Still, the fact that Tog sought to enter into some sort of dialogue raised the possibility of racial reconciliation, and that was good. Or so it seemed to Has.

The compartment was already filled to near overflowing with all manner of individuals, both ecclesiastical and secular, all of whom wanted to obtain Rul’s advice, permission or an indulgence of some sort. But first it was necessary to get past P’ere Dee, better known to many as “the iron gate,” who, for better or worse, was empowered to decide who would be allowed to see Rul, and in what order.

And so it was that Has was suddenly plucked from the obscurity of the outer waiting room and escorted into Dro Rul’s study. The cleric went to one knee, bowed his head, and was about to offer further obeisance when the prelate touched his shoulder. “I know you mean well, P’ere Has,” Rul said, “but the time has come to ask ourselves whence such traditions came? From the planet on which we originated? Or from the race that took it over. Do we kneel to the person? Or to the Great One whom that person represents? All of us must find time to meditate on such questions. So, until such time as we come up with answers, I would ask that you forgo such rituals and greet me as you would anyone else. Here . . . sit by my side . . . Now, P’ere Dee tells me that you were entrusted with a message.”

“Yes,” Has replied eagerly, accepting the proffered chair. “The Grand Vizier, that is to say Dro Tog, would like to meet with you.”

Rul’s ears rotated forward. “For what purpose? There is very little upon which we agree.”

“That’s just it,” Has replied earnestly. “I think he’s coming around.”

“He said that?”

“Sort of,” Has extemporized. “Dro Tog admits that the Saurons have grown increasingly abusive, and based on that, a rebellion is justified.”

Having just returned from an errand, P’ere Dee arrived in time to hear the last part of the exchange. He gave a snort of disbelief. “No, offense, P’ere Has, but the so-called Vizier not only qualifies as a collaborator but may be guilty of greater crimes. Why listen to him?”

“I believe the message was directed to
me
,” Rul put in, gently asserting his authority. “The book of tides tells us that no transgression is so great that a soul should be abandoned to darkness. Moreover, there are practical considerations. Were Tog to shift his allegiance, many of those who still cling to the old reality would come over with him. The cause would be strengthened and the conflict shortened.”

Dee clearly disagreed but managed to keep his mouth shut.

“So,” Rul continued, “where would this meeting take place?”

“There is an asteroid,” Has replied, “currently used for storage. Realizing that you may have concerns regarding security, Tog suggests that you search the planetoid prior to the meeting and bring a force of bodyguards. He will come alone.”

“Why not meet us out here? Beyond the planet’s gravity well?” Dee inquired suspiciously. “Even if the asteroid is clear, Dro Rul could be intercepted on his way to or from the meeting.”

Has replied with a shrug. “For all I know, the Grand Vizier, I mean Dro Tog, would have agreed to such a proposal. Please remember that he had no way to know that you would break orbit.”

“P’ere Has has a point,” Dro Rul said diplomatically, “as do you. Let’s settle the matter with an agreement to meet on the asteroid. The two of you can work out the details. Let’s hope something good comes of it.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend the first meeting of the free Dromas. I’m not sure what I fear most,” Rul said wryly, “the Saurons or my peers. I fear there will be as many opinions as there are tongues to articulate them. Wish me luck.”

Both of the clerics did, Rul withdrew, and the planning got under way. Maybe, just maybe, something good
would
come out of the meeting.

ABOARD THE SAURON DREADNOUGHT
IB SE MA

The
Ib Se Ma
’s cavernous Launch Deck had been temporarily sealed and pressurized. Thousands upon thousands of Saurons stood shoulder to shoulder waiting to hear what many already knew: All of them were about to die.

Slave labor had been used to erect scaffolding with a platform on top. A ramp led upward but Hak-Bin, eager to prove that his health was intact, made the journey in a single leap. Once on top of the structure and gazing out over the assembled multitude, the Sauron took a moment to admire the symmetry arrayed before him. The Zin stood at the front of the assemblage—like black jewels gathered around his feet.

Those Kan not on guard duty around the perimeter of the Launch Deck, or down on the planet’s surface, stood in precisely aligned ranks. Their chitin shimmered as it sought to match the dull gray metal beneath their feet.

Behind the warriors, their numbers far greater than the Zin and Kan combined, stood the Fon. Many looked up toward the platform with what could only be described as implacable stares. Some had taught themselves to read, that’s what the intelligence reports said anyway, and the very thought of it served to chill Hak-Bin’s blood. What if that capacity were passed to their nymphs? Such knowledge could destabilize the entire social structure. For example, had all of the Fon been able to read, and troubled themselves to access the computerized data available to the Zin, they would know about the damage inflicted on the citadels, the manner in which thousands of rebellious Ra ‘Na had escaped into space, and the fact that the human resistance continued to grow stronger. Angered by what they would no doubt see as his failings, who knew what the functionaries might do?

Fortunately, thanks to the memories that
his
nymph would inherit, the Zin felt confident that his descendant would be cognizant of the danger and take the steps necessary to deal with it.

Warmed by that thought, Hak-Bin stepped forward. Three globe-shaped cameras, all held aloft by a technology the Zin would never understand, shifted in response. Hak-Bin knew that the images produced by them would be beamed to similar assemblages within other Sauron-controlled ships, the citadels on the planet below, and to hundreds of Kan outposts. Individuals not free to watch the feed would have access to recordings. The words had been memorized and came easily. “Greetings . . . We have come a long ways since our ancestors seized the first ships and made their way out into the vastness of space. During the succeeding years we have survived journeys through seemingly endless night, swarms of meteorites, and battles with implacable foes. All to advance our race toward the final destination: a planet known as Paradise. Have we arrived? No, as any of you presently located on the surface of the planet can attest.”

The joke stimulated laughter, not only among those watching the feed on the planet below, but from those on the Launch Deck. Thus encouraged, Hak-Bin continued. “No, the planet we call Haven is just that, a place where the race can rest and regenerate. Not only in the figurative sense, but in the
real
sense, prior to resuming our epic journey.”