Star Brigade: The Supremacy (SB3) (8 page)

Habraum nodded tersely, staring at where the CoE once lay, leaving body bags of the deceased behind. V’Korram and a few UniPol agents stood guard over them. He turned back to Hremhauish, who looked notably less offended. “Let’s have UniPol leak misinformation that Reyes evaded capture. This cuts off his chances of fleeing Terra Sollus or trying to disappear within Conuropolis. He’ll have to contact another cell for an extraction,” suggested Habraum.

“No doubt the CoE will want to retrieve Reyes before someone else,” Hremhauish nodded in agreement. “Or they could just kill him instead.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst result.” Habraum shrugged. “All we need is for him to make contact, so we can get intel on which CoE arm is forming these strike teams.”

“All right. I’ll have my team get the message out regarding Reyes,” consented Hremhauish.

Soon, the other body bags had vanished, all except the one. V’Korram knelt down to zip it open…

SWISHHHPOP!

The human inside was Sino-Mandarin, peaceful and calm as if asleep. Hremhauish gaped, his eyestalks sticking straight up at the battered sight of his mole. “What happened to Ishida?”

“We had to make it look good,” Habraum explained as two UniPol agents attended to Ishida’s wounds. “You extracting him?”

Hremhauish shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll send him back in under the story of barely escaping. See what else he can feed us.”

Habraum saw no fault in that plan. “Understood.” On that note, Hremhauish shook hands with Habraum and the two parted ways.

During this whole exchange, Habraum watched as Sam addressed the UniPol agents ushering twenty-seven Korvenites onboard the smaller ship. He smiled. This past year, Sam’s crusade for Korvenite rights had been no secret, as evidenced by her recent adoption of an orphaned Korvenite teenager. Just another thing that Habraum respected…and adored about Sam. Until five months ago, thanks to an initiative from the former Galactic Union Chouncilor, there hadn’t been a proper spotlight on the Korvenites’ grim plight. Even so, Habraum knew there were still obstacles these Korvenites had to conquer. Once every Korvenite boarded the smaller vessel, Sam dashed through the rain and up the
Ishliba’s
boarding ramp.

Both UniPol ships lifted off into the dark sky, leaving just the
Ishliba
on the muddy outcrop.

Habraum tapped the comband. “Nwosu to Solrao.”

“Captain!” answered Lt. Solrao Xiahl, the
Ishliba’s
copilot.

“Everyone aboard?” he asked. Another zigzag-like lightning bolt fractured the heavens.

“All except V’Korram,” Solrao replied, her Ibrisian accent sounding as if she were dozing off. Before Habraum could reply, she added, “He’s been on the outcrop’s edge a while, and won’t answer his comband. Should I just transmat—”

“Don’t bother,” Habraum interrupted, mildly irked. “I’ll get him. Nwosu out.” The Cerc swore under his breath and trudged up the rocky outcrop. All he wanted was to return to Hollus, debrief CT-1 and UComm uppercrust, and see his son, Jeremy. But with his troubled recon officer, nothing was ever simple. He plodded uphill, his footfalls squishing into muddy earth.

Within a brisk macrom or two, V’Korram became visible standing at the outcrop’s edge, a gigantic and chiseled figure against the rainy dark. The Kintarian was soaked, tawny body fur dripping from the rain as his uniform’s forcefield was shut off. His long mane hung over his face in wet, matted curtains of ginger. His breaths came out in thick clouds of condensation. Habraum couldn’t see what V’Korram was fixed on, only the churning clouds above the outcrop’s incline.

V’Korram’s pointy ears pricked up as the Cerc neared. He threw back his sopping mane with a toss of his head, glancing over his left shoulder. Habraum glimpsed the typical surly look that V’Korram gave most everyone, before the recon returned back to the unseen vista below.

“Lieutenant,” Habraum called out. “Time to go. Why aren’t you…”

Habraum’s voice caught in his throat. Walking another half-metrid upward, he saw now what had so ensnared V’Korram. Right on cue, a barrage of lightning forked down from the black, bawling heavens, giving Habraum complete clarity beyond this muddy outcrop.

Conuropolis.

From this high point, a large share of the Union’s capital city-state was visible. Habraum took a moment to digest the view. Despite traveling there several times since the Battle of Terra Sollus, this was his first time really seeing Conuropolis’s full panorama in almost five months. Immeasurable skyscrapers and spacescrapers jutted toward the heavens, towering shadows illuminated by savage lightning. The worst damage from the Korvenite attacks had been repaired, restoring the city-state to most of its bustling glory. The infinite building lights and endless streams of hovercar traffic worming around were evidence enough. Nonetheless, dozens of gigantic construction machines the size of command cruisers still hovered within Conuropolis’s nucleus, fixing or removing the stumps of ruined structures.

Habraum stood at V’Korram’s side, jarred by the absence of the colossal Korvanes statues that once ringed the city-state’s borders. Once a tourist attraction to boast Terra Sollus’s rich history, the monoliths had been animated by the Korvenite Liberation Front to assault Conuropolis. After those attacks, UComm wisely demolished any remaining statues. But the monoliths hadn’t been the most destructive weapon employed that day, as the Korvenites had hijacked a battle station meant to be shared with the Kedri Imperium. Luckily, Star Brigade had disabled the station, allowing UComm forces to destroy it.

But the cost…
Habraum’s thoughts landed on Honaa Ishliba, as he knew V’Korram’s had. Months ago, the Cerc had grieved and moved past losing the Star Brigadier who died saving him. But this abrupt reminder was a scalding brand to the chest. He tore his eyes away from the cityscape to gasp for air.

“Reminded me of Honaa,” V’Korram began, his growl muffled by the pounding rains. “Once Star Brigade’s future was secure, all he wanted was to go back to Rothor IV.”

Habraum stared. He didn’t expect such an admission. “I know,” the Cerc muttered reflexively. Before he died, Honaa had revealed to Habraum his desire to return to his family and homeworld.

“Someone has to remember him.” V’Korram’s voice cracked. His eyes hadn’t left the cityscape. “Naming a vessel after him isn’t enough...”

“No one’s forgotten Honaa.” Habraum regained composure and returned his gaze to V’Korram. “I haven’t.” Another fork of lightning flashed, fully illuminating the Kintarian’s feline features. Habraum winced at the sorrow there. He took a tentative step forward, placing a hand on the taller V’Korram’s shoulder. “Sorrow isn’t the only way to honor his sacrifice,” he said.

“I know, Captain,” the Kintarian snarled, ears flattening.

“Just listen,” said Habraum, ever patient. “Before I returned, Star Brigade’s survival was partly because of him. Every moment with my son since Maelstrom’s attack is thanks to Honaa. Being grateful for those things are a few ways we keep honoring him.”

V’Korram considered this and lowered his head almost in benediction, soaked ginger hair spilling back over his face. Habraum breathed easier. Reaching V’Korram was never easy.  After a lengthy silence, Habraum removed his hand from his lieutenant’s shoulder. “You good?”

“Yea,” V’Korram said, brusque and surly again.

“C’mon, then.” The massive Kintarian turned and padded down the outcrop toward the
Ishliba
. Even with the deluge of rain and muddy earth, his footsteps barely made a squish of noise.

Habraum lingered on the outcrop under the hammering rain, lost momentarily in Conuropolis’s endless sprawl. Two consecutive lashes of lightning lit up the cityscape again. And Habraum wondered, where had Honaa’s remains fallen?

The Cerc sighed heavily, slowly turning away from the view and the memories. He followed V’Korram down to the
Ishliba.
His team was waiting.

“Explain to me how attending another superfluous dinner party helps reach a peace accord between Faroor’s two species?” Taorr the Younger, son of Maorridius Magnus, tried to remain calm while addressing Faroor’s Defense Minister. But he found metal walls had more give than this stubborn creature.

“Representing the Ttaunz’s best interests in your father’s place should not warrant a debate,” Faroor’s Defense Minister Haemekk threw back on the holoscreen floating before Taorr. “Sympathizing with those unwashed Farooqua savages only weakens your family’s position, especially as they keep suicide bombing our cities. I handle the Farooqua and the real politics. You and your brother are the face of the Ttaunz leadership. That is the deal, pup.” The Defense Minister narrowed his button-like blue eyes. “Turn your transport around, get dressed in proper clothing, and attend Senator Praece’s banquet.
Now
.”

Haemekk never had to shout. The force behind his words nearly cowed Taorr, like they had many times in the past. And Haemekk’s face, stern and unsmiling, teased at war stories that were the stuff of nightmares.

For years, Taorr had feared the domineering Defense Minister who served two Magni, Taorr’s father included, looking every bit the ruler that Taorr didn’t. Even seated, Haemekk was tall, with over half a foot in height on the youngster. A lean yet broad-shouldered frame filled out his ever-changing neon robes, usually superior to Taorr’s dreadfully plain taupe robes and pants. The Defense Minister’s skin was covered in a creamy pelt baring a downy sheen, unlike Taorr’s drab and unadorned peachy-pink pelt. Haemekk’s dark-red mane was tied back into a single, conservative braid falling to his mid-back, simple for a Ttaunz male’s hairstyling. Still, it trumped how Taorr’s midnight-black hair spilled down his shoulders messily.

Taorr, the heir to Faroor’s Viceroyship or “Magnal Throne” as Ttaunz called it, then remembered the sea of Ttaunz homogeny awaiting him at this banquet. Attending one Ttaunz highborn gathering was the same as attending the thousands before it.

Same arrogant merchant kings and politicos pining for the times when the Ttaunz ruled a Supremacy of numerous planets, instead of sharing a diminutive Union memberworld with those “filthy” Farooqua.

Same Ttaunz merchant princes and princesses, their perfectly engineered features bearing similarly vacant stares and courteous sneers.

Same highborn apathy for anything outside their own pleasures. The heirs to Faroor’s future, indeed.

Taorr no longer had a place among those empty-headed aristobrats. “No, Haemekk,” he replied firmly.

Haemekk enjoyed this defiance like a snowflake enjoyed flame. “Your father knew what was important,” the Defense Minister snarled. “Any wonder why many call for your brother to ascend to the Magnal Throne instead of yourself? Or why your betrothed’s family wants to call off your nuptials due to your brazen inattention?”

Taorr closed his eyes, as if that could check the anger bubbling beneath his down-covered flesh.
Do I want to mention this in front of guests?
Opening his eyes, Taorr decided he didn’t care. “The same brother who will once again drink himself into a coma tonight at Senator Praece’s gathering? The same brother currently helping himself to my betrothed like some common all-you-can-eat buffet?”

That shut Haemekk right up, confirming the Defense Minister knew about the two-year affair. Of course he knew. Disgusted, Taorr shook his head and changed the subject. “I want what is best for our species, which is impossible if we are not in diplomatic accord with Faroor’s natives. I will see you at next day’s light.”

With an annoyed handwave, the floating viewscreen winked out, ending the transmission. And Defense Minister, all grim and about to retort angrily, vanished along with it. Immediately, the young Ttaunz sunk into his seat as if deflated. He stared aimlessly out the viewport of his rapidly moving transport, mind spinning. When the politicians and merchant kings from several city-states had screamed for justice after last week’s suicide bombing in Muunica, he barely convinced his brother and Haemekk not to retaliate. The biased Ttaunz news streams had been deriding “Taorr the Conciliator” as grossly ineffectual for the past year. Incidentally, they weren’t wrong.

His attempts to broker peace with the Farooqua tribes were failing, and Faroor’s High Council was all but useless. How his father dealt with these daily pressures was a mystery. Taorr almost envied Maorridius Magnus’s current position.
Almost
.

“Have I taught you nothing about negotiations, youngling?” The peaceful voice from across the compartment sounded like three soothing voices speaking at once.

Usually the words from his travel companion calmed him. Not tonight. Taorr focused his attention on the egg-headed Kudoban sitting across from him.

“Sorry, Zojje,” Taorr apologized, “but your teachings are useless when dealing with my own kind.”

The Kudoban known as Zojje straightened an abnormally long neck as his three mouths, one in the middle of his neck and another at its base, let out a chortle. “Patience can weather the worst storms.” Zojje tilted his egg-shaped head to one side innocently, the nostrils on his forehead wrinkling a bit. “Master yourself and someone like Haemekk will seem like an imagined pinprick.”

Taorr snorted at the Kudoban platitude. “Want to bet currency on that?”

Zojje stared back at the Ttaunz, his features clouding over. “Perhaps not.”

The Kudoban’s downhearted reaction wiped the cynicism off Taorr’s face. It didn’t entirely surprise him, either. Zojje was a renowned diplomat, one of four mediators sent to Faroor by the Union to quell the strife between Ttaunz and Farooqua. Given Zojje’s successful track record, everyone expected a resolution in but a few months. Four years later, progress had been minimal, and other mediators eventually left. Still, Zojje soldiered on, his tolerance of both races’ stupidity continuing to inspire Taorr.

Tonight, the two sat silently in an armored hovercar transport, sleek and spacious in design without any fancy tech trappings. The vehicle was flanked front and back by two similar hovercars, each carrying a few Ttaunz diplomats and at least half a dozen elite bodyguards from the Ttaunz Defense Force. Under a darkened purple sky, the three hovercars flew low over the patchy ground on route to negotiate with a leading clan of the N’noa Tribal Nation. Taorr always admired the hospitality and imaginative art of the Farooqua N’noa. His own kind, the allegedly more civilized of Faroor’s two species, could learn a thing or twenty from them.