Freehold (10 page)

A few minutes later, Feeg was wrapped in the warmth of a borrowed heat-cape, watching as the ugly little assault boat disappeared into the underground hangar. Once the sand-covered lid was slid back into place, you could walk over it and never suspect the fortress hidden below. The location had been chosen with great care. Here the sand was shallow, allowing the underground construction for which Il Ronnians were justly famous, and a small tributary of a great subsurface river could be tapped for power and water. Feeg touched a hand to rubbery lips at the thought of that holy substance.

An armed hover car made a few passes over the area, erasing all traces of the landing, and then stopped a respectful distance away, careful not to shower him with blown sand. As he walked to the car, Feeg inhaled deeply of the clean night air. Yes, he thought to himself, it is a planet worthy of our race. Beautiful expanses of clean sand, clinging like warm flesh to the planet's skeleton of rock, all of it fed by veins and arteries filled to overflowing with the holy fluid. It was, in fact, a nicer planet in some ways than the Il Ronnian home world. All things considered, Freehold's mineral wealth would be like an additional blessing, an omen of good things to come, a blessing on the race. But first he must cleanse it of all impurities, much as a priest must wash the sacred symbol of his Sept before offering it to those assembled before him. The analogy pleased Feeg as he imagined himself presenting a miniature Freehold to the Council of One Thousand. But first he must deal with the humans. Already they fought among themselves, making his task easier. How stupid they were! Still, they could be stubborn, these humans. They had been underestimated before. He scowled as he climbed into the car, nodding to the two bodyguards appropriate to his rank, and growled at the driver. “You have your orders, execute them.” Without a word the driver put the car in gear, goosed the turbines, and skimmed off across the sand.

Senator Austin Roop swore continuously as he paced up and down in front of his hover car. He cursed the sand under his feet, the stars in the sky, and the goddamned pointy-tailed Il Ronnians who'd asked him to meet them in the middle of the night. No, damn it, the coded radio transmission had
ordered
him to come! How dare they? Who did they think he was, some errand boy? He'd done what they asked, hadn't he? Why treat him this way? The more he thought about it the madder he got. But deep down, below the anger, he was afraid. Not just a little bit afraid, like when he got up in front of the Senate, but gut sick afraid. It was an emotion he didn't feel often. Time after time he'd faced big game on a variety of planets, most of it quite lethal, and on many of those occasions he'd been scared. But never like this. He stopped pacing for a moment to listen. But all he heard was the pinging of his hover car as hot metal cooled in the night air. He could jump in it and go. There was nothing to stop him. But the thought of double-crossing them scared him just as much as did the thought of facing them. For all he knew, some of them were out there in the dark watching him that very moment. The mere thought sent a shudder through him. He resumed his pacing, but darted glances every now and then into the dark surrounding him. Damn them ... why did it have to be clear out here, in the middle of the night? Looking at them in the daylight was bad enough ... but at night ... Suddenly, he heard the tell-tale whine of distant turbines and whirled to face the sound. He composed himself slowly and carefully, just as he'd done a hundred times before speaking in the Senate. But try as he might, he couldn't lose the knot of fear that twisted his guts when the hover car appeared out of the night.

He flinched as the car swung insultingly close, spraying him with sand. The hover car's door whined open, releasing a blast of heated air and spilling light out onto the sand. Feeg was silhouetted for a moment as he stepped out. Roop felt his guts twist. He'd met Il Ronnians before, but he'd never get used to the way they looked. He remembered spooling through his father's Bible as a little boy, looking at the 3-D illustrations, and how the chill had run down his spine when he came to the one depicting the devil. Feeg was that illustration come to life. He was tall, standing on long, spindly legs, which ended in cloven hoofs that seemed to float on top of the sand. His skin was leathery and hairless. Eons before, its reddish hue had provided Feeg's ancestors with protective coloration on a world of red sand. His skull was bony, his deep-set eyes hidden by the deep shadows cast by a prominent supraorbital ridge. One long, pointed ear lay flat against his head. The other ended in a stump, sliced off by a pirate, accounting for both his passionate dislike of that breed, and his nickname among the troops, “Old One Ear.” His long tail twitched back and forth like a cat's before wrapping itself around his waist.

As Roop had grown older, he had of course learned about the academic debate surrounding Il Ronnian physiognomy. Some experts believed the alien's devil-like appearance accounted for the almost instant dislike each race had for the other. They suggested that, after thousands of years of exposure to a negative image closely resembling the Il Ronn, most people couldn't view them objectively. Of course others disagreed, pointing out that from all evidence the Il Ronn had preceded man into space by thousands of years, and had perhaps visited Earth, treating primitive man with something less than kindness and thereby earning their reputation for evil. Still others said the resemblance was purely coincidental, and the enmity between the two races was the natural product of conflict between two aggressive, expanding empires, now separated by only a thinning band of unclaimed frontier worlds.

But regardless of who was right, for Roop, the Il Ronn were inextricably linked with that illustration in his father's Bible, and the fear and loathing that went with it. Nonetheless, he drew himself up straight, forced what he hoped was a confident smile and, using his best political manner said, “Hello, I'm Senator Roop. And you are?”

Feeg didn't reply. Instead, he looked Roop slowly up and down as though examining an interesting specimen at a zoo. Roop felt himself blush as the knot of fear in his gut grew even tighter. Having completed his inspection, Feeg said calmly, “You have accepted payment. You have failed. Explain.”

Mustering what dignity and courage he could, Roop said, “And why should I explain anything to you? I don't even know who you are.”

Feeg regarded him thoughtfully, and then said, “I am the one who will have you killed if you do not answer my question.” His two bodyguards stepped forward, their assault rifles at port arms.

“You wouldn't dare!” Roop replied.

Feeg smiled—a terrifying sight, because as his thin lips pulled back they revealed rows of carnivorous teeth. He looked slowly around the horizon. “Oh, but I would dare. I am sure many people are lost in the desert each year and never found. Hover cars break down, radios fail, people become tired and confused and wander off into the sand, never to be seen again.” Feeg looked toward the invisible horizon as though he could see Roop wandering hopelessly into the wastelands. “Now,” he continued, his voice as hard as durasteel, “answer my question. Why have you failed?”

Roop began to shake. First his hands, then his knees, then his whole body until his teeth chattered. He knew that if he wasn't careful he'd lose control of his bowels, and the thought scared him even more. Oh god, why had he gotten into this? “I ... I don't know what you mean,” he said. “I've done everything I was asked to do. How ... how have I failed?”

Feeg's tail unwrapped from his waist to twitch back and forth in astonishment. Hands clasped behind his back, Feeg slowly circled the human as he spoke. “How have you failed, pathetic one? Would you call recruitment of an entire brigade of mercenaries into the citizenry of your planet a success? You were ordered to weaken this planet's ability to defend itself, not strengthen it.” Feeg stopped directly in front of Roop, his eyes glowing like red-hot coals in the darkness.

“And I did,” Roop argued desperately. “All along I've encouraged them to argue, debate and generally waste time. And it would've worked, too, if the mercenaries hadn't offered their services for free. How ... how was I supposed to counter that?”

“The absurd machinations of your ridiculous government are of no interest to me, or to my superiors,” Feeg replied. “We are interested in one thing only ... results.”

For a moment, Roop's resentment got the better of him. “You think you're so damned smart; did it ever occur to you that Kasten and his people are probably right? Chances are that Intersystems
is
in league with the pirates. Maybe they'll show up with a fleet tomorrow ... and then where will you be?” The second the words were out of his mouth, Roop regretted them and would have given anything to bring them back. He shrank waiting for the blow or bullet. It didn't come.

Instead, Feeg wore an expression of amused condescension. “So the mouse has teeth. What a marvelous surprise! In answer to the mouse's question: No, fool, we do not worry about the pirates. Why should we? They only want thermium, as does the company you call Intersystems. We want the entire planet. Do you seriously think the pirates would willingly live and work here?” Feeg gestured toward the desert that surrounded them. “Why bother, when it is easier to take what they want—either for themselves or Intersystems, it makes no difference. In the end, this planet will be ours. The only question is whether you will live to witness it.”

Roop wasn't so sure that the pirates and Intersystems should be dismissed so lightly, but he could see there was no point in arguing, so he stood, with his head hanging, waiting for whatever the next few moments would bring. He thought about the small blaster in the sleeve holster on his left arm. At least he'd take the alien to hell with him! Much to his own surprise he almost laughed, and the thought dissolved the knot of fear in his gut.

“However,” Feeg said thoughtfully, as if sensing somehow the change in Roop's emotions, “perhaps a second chance is in order. I believe you are, in your own way, sincere. And if you aid us, we will not fail to reward you. When the planet is ours, you shall rule your kind, and who knows—perhaps you will serve us elsewhere, as well. All things are possible for those who are loyal and accomplish the tasks given them. So I offer you one more chance. Success will bring you wealth and power beyond your wildest dreams. Failure will bring you death.”

Outwardly, Roop listened attentively, the very picture of subdued obedience, but inwardly he gloried in the power he would have, even daring to wonder if he could eventually rid himself of the Il Ronnians, keeping it all for himself. He was still scared, but not immobilized, and as he swore his loyalty, he silently promised the ugly alien payment, with interest, for the fear and humiliation he had suffered. The two of them talked for many hours, finally parting company just as the sun peeked above the eastern horizon, their plans for taking over Freehold complete.

High above Freehold, the brigade's three transports followed one another in orbit. They were spaced far enough apart so that they couldn't be destroyed with a single missile, but close enough to make transportation between them convenient. They were huge ships, each capable of carrying a thousand people plus weapons, ammunition, food, and other supplies. Their size, plus the complex maze of duct work, antennas, observation platforms, and weapons blisters, made it obvious that they had been constructed in space and would never be able to negotiate a planetary atmosphere. For hours crowded shuttles had flitted between the ships and the surface of Freehold. Now they were all aboard.

Stell's eyes roamed
Zulu
's wardroom from his seat at the head of the massive table. He ignored the people pouring in who chatted with each other and searched for their seats. In spite of them, it was a private moment. In many ways it was like coming home, and he found himself wishing Olivia were there, so he could tell her all the stories it brought to mind. But she was still at the villa where he had left her two days before. He smiled as he thought about the precious hours they had spent together. Exploring slowly at first, then a little faster, then racing from subject to subject, finding agreement after agreement, eager to learn more. By the time he'd had to leave, they'd been talking about the future. Something he and his fellow officers had done a lot of here. His eye was caught by the bar that dominated the far end of the room. It was made of Terran oak, and its highly polished surfaces glowed like an altar in a chapel of steel. How many drinks, stories and laughs had been shared while standing around it? And there, just to the right of the bar, if you looked carefully, you could make out the patch in the ship's durasteel hull. They'd taken a torpedo there, just off Momar II. Old Willy, the wardroom steward, had been killed instantly—but his beloved bar had survived without a scratch. Over the years the
Zulu
had been hit many times, but she'd always come through, just like the brigade itself.

Like all the brigade's ships, the
Z
was old, older than those serving in her. And, like her sister ships, the
Masai
and the
Shona,
the
Zulu
wasn't really a fighting ship. Her true role was that of transport. Oh, she had energy cannons and a few missile batteries, but they were mainly defensive and wouldn't do too much harm to anything but another antique like herself. Her main defense lay in the powerful screens that she could generate. She wasn't fast or pretty, but her huge drives could put out lots of power, a fact that had saved their lives many times and was a source of tremendous pride to her Captain, Amanda Boyko.

Captain Boyko had a wiry body, small, dark features, fiery eyes, and a temper to match. She sat on Stell's left, with her two peers, Captains Nashita and Kost, ranked beside her. Beyond them were former Captain, now
Major
Wang; Samantha, looking very uncomfortable in her dress uniform and puffing the inevitable dopestick; and, beyond her, a number of lieutenants, senior noncoms, and specialists of various kinds. To his right were Sergeant Major Como, Oliver Kasten, Austin Roop, Elwar Bram, several key industrial leaders and various members of Freehold's Defense Force. It was a council of war.