A fighting chance

16

PLANET LONG JUMP, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS

The air inside the low, one-story building was warm and thick with the throat-clogging stench of death as Christine Vanderveen crawled across the floor on hands and knees. The heavy canteens thumped and bumped on both sides of her as empty shell casings skittered away from her knees. She paused, and her right hand came down on a patch of half-dried blood.

The facility, which was cradled within a U-shaped valley, was intended to function as a retreat for Dr. Tomko and a proving ground for his latest cyber forms. Now the formerly idyllic setting had been transformed into a war zone. Fortunately, Vanderveen had been able to prevent the Ramanthian hunter-killer team from entering the TOMKO complex during their first attack. But that hadn’t prevented the bugs from launching a second assault eight hours later. Now there were only half a dozen of Dr. Tomko’s people who could be classified as effectives plus an equal number of walking wounded to defend the complex when the time came. They were seated with their backs to the front wall, talking to each other in low tones, as Vanderveen eyed the section of sun-dappled floor that was marked by dozens of divots and splashes of blood. Because of the windows located just below the roofline at either end of the building, a six-foot-wide swath of duracrete was visible to the snipers positioned on the surrounding hillsides. They fired at anything that moved and had two kills to show for their efforts.

There was no science to it. Just luck, as Vanderveen summoned all of her courage and threw herself forward. The canteens flew all about her as she plunged through the hazy sunlight, and a distant crack was heard. The bullet missed by inches, bounced off the floor, and smacked into the ceiling.

Vanderveen landed hard, and all the air was knocked out of her lungs. Her legs were still in danger, but a pair of strong hands was there to pull her into the shade. “The trick is to slide,” Cathy Kor said, once the diplomat was safe. “That was a belly flop.”

Kor had been second-in-command of Dr. Tomko’s security force before the bugs killed her boss. Now the square-faced merc was in charge. She had a buzz cut, green eyes, and a spray of freckles across her nose. A series of dashes were tattooed around her neck along with the words “cut here.”

“I’ll remember that,” Vanderveen said, as she began to untangle the canteens and pass them out. “Anything new?”

“Nothing good,” Kor said phlegmatically. “The bugs popped most of our spy cams. But they missed a couple, and Sparks tells me they’re massing for another attack. Humans this time.”

Vanderveen knew that Sparks was a skinny tech who had been in charge of the facility’s electronic surveillance system back when there was one. He and two other men were holed up down in the basement, where they represented the last line of defense for the Queen and her staff. In case the bugs got inside. “Humans?” she inquired. “That’s weird.”

“Port scum, probably,” Kor said disapprovingly. “There isn’t much law on Long Jump. That’s why Dr. Tomko hired us.”

“Can we hold ’em off?”

Kor shrugged. “Maybe. But I doubt it.”

Shattered glass lay everywhere and made a crunching sound as Vanderveen stood and turned to peek out a window. She jerked away as a bullet slapped the back wall. Where were the reinforcements she had requested? There was a war on, and the government was short of everything, but surely the Confederacy had some sort of resources in the area. Even a contingent of customs agents would be welcome if they could fight. “Uh-oh,” Kor said ominously, as she looked over a windowsill. “Here they come.”

Having checked to ensure that the Queen was safe, or as safe as she could be under the circumstances, Chancellor Itnor Ubatha shuffled past the animals assigned to protect her into the chamber beyond. Sparks was sitting in a chair, staring up at a bank of video monitors. One showed the scene on the floor above, where the mercs were beginning to fire at the oncoming attackers. And two provided shots of the grounds. The rest were black.

Having heard Ubatha’s approach, Sparks spoke without turning to look at him. “Here comes another attack, sir. It looks like your friends hired a group of mercs.”

“They aren’t ‘friends,’ ” Ubatha grated. “They’re enemies. Mine as well as yours.”

“Roger that,” Sparks replied. “Look! One of them has a sword!”

Ubatha felt something cold grab onto his guts. “Zoom in on the soldier with the sword.”

Sparks did so. The Ramanthian in question was standing near one of the holes that had been blown in the fence, waving the mercs through. “What’s so special about him?” the tech inquired. There wasn’t any answer. And when Sparks turned, Ubatha was gone.

As Vanderveen took a peek through the blown-out window, she saw dozens of tiny figures passing through the gaps where the security fence had been holed. “Kill them,” she ordered grimly. “And remember.. They won’t take prisoners.”

The comment was intended more for Kor’s men than the officer herself. Because they were mercs. And like hired guns everywhere, they were bound to put themselves first. Fortunately, none of the men and women showed any signs of running as the snipers opened fire from the hills and the attackers swept forward. “ Aimed fire,” Kor said grimly. “We’re starting to run low on ammo. Hey! Where’s the bug going? He’ll get his ass shot off.”

As Vanderveen turned to her left, she saw that Chancellor Ubatha had exited through the hole where the front door had been. He was holding a pistol. And, judging from appearances, he was about to join the battle. She shouted, “No! Stop!” But it was too late.

Vanderveen grabbed one of the assault weapons that were leaning against the front wall and made for the front entrance. Not because Ubatha was a friend, but because he was an important link to the monarch and the only member of her retinue who had the capacity to stand up to her.

A bullet pinged off the door frame as she darted outside. The formerly pristine lawn was a mess. Kor’s mercs were firing out through the windows. And Vanderveen knew there was a very real danger of being shot from behind. But it was too late to worry about that as one of the attackers opened up on Ubatha with a submachine gun. Geysers of dirt rose all around the Chancellor as he continued to plow his way forward, and Vanderveen dropped to one knee.

There wasn’t enough time to use the scope. All Vanderveen could do was bring the rifle up and fire instinctively. One of her bullets struck the man with the SMG in the shoulder and turned him around. Another threw him down. Ubatha, seemingly unaware of the manner in which his life had been spared, continued to shuffle forward.

As bullets kicked up puffs of dust around him, the War Ubatha felt a terrible sense of shame. For to lead animals into battle was to be an animal. But such was the fate that the gods of war had allotted him. And the alternative was even worse. If he failed, the entire empire would be at risk. The War Ubatha’s thoughts were interrupted by a series of overlapping sonic booms. All of the beings around him paused to look up at the sky. “Drop pods!” a noncom shouted. “Destroy them.”

And the mercs tried. But there wasn’t much point in doing so. The chutes used to slow the containers had already been released, and the containers hit the ground one after another. Plumes of gas jetted away from them as the pods began to open. “Now!” the War Ubatha shouted. “Attack them now. Before they can defend themselves.”

What ensued was a horrible free-for-all. Each drop pod contained two legionnaires-a cyborg and a bio bod. Once on the ground, they were supposed to exit, come together, and prepare for combat. A process that should take less than sixty seconds. But while some of the containers landed in front of the Ramanthian-led force and some landed behind it, the rest came down practically on top of it. T-2s were struck by multiple rockets as they lurched out of their pods. And many bio bods fared even worse. They were shot while still strapped into their seats. But try as they might, the mercs couldn’t kill all of the legionnaires, and it wasn’t long before they were taking casualties as well.

The War Ubatha saw one of the containers hit fifty feet away, raised his sword, and charged. There was a flash followed by a loud boom as the pod took a direct hit. A panel blew off as the blackened vehicle toppled over onto its side. It appeared as if the cyborg was trapped in the wreckage. But a human rolled free and struggled to rise.

The War Ubatha had arrived on the scene by then. He raised the blade high, knowing that when it fell, the animal’s head would roll free.

Chancellor Ubatha wasn’t a very good shot. Nor did he need to be from only a dozen feet away. He looked down the barrel, squeezed the bulb-shaped handle, and felt the resulting recoil. The bullet struck the War Ubatha’s right thigh, shattered his chitin, and dumped the warrior on the ground. Meanwhile, as the revengeful T-2s and their riders made use of their superior firepower to cut the mercs down, the tide of battle began to turn. In fact, the battle was nearly over as the legionnaire whom the War Ubatha had been so determined to behead raised his carbine. “No,” Vanderveen ordered as she stepped in. “Hold your fire. That’s an order.” The soldier complied.

The War Ubatha still had his sword and was trying to lift it when a second bullet shattered his arm. “Now,” Chancellor Ubatha said, as he stood over his fallen mate. “Now you will pay. There is only one way you could have followed us here. And that is with information obtained from the Egg Ubatha. Information you would have had to force out of her. Is she still alive?

“Answer me,” Chancellor Ubatha demanded as he placed a foot on his mate’s chest. “Did you kill our mate?”

The War Ubatha had been wounded before. But never so badly. And the pain was intense. He could hear the other Ubatha. But the words sounded as if they were coming from a place a million miles away. “We are at war,” he answered. “Each must do his or her part. I asked, and she refused. Sacrifices must be made. That is the way of the warrior.”

Chancellor Ubatha made a strange, choking sound. He fired again and again until the pistol was empty-and the War Ubatha was nothing more than a bullet-riddled corpse. Then, having thrown the pistol down, he turned away. Vanderveen looked at the legionnaire as a T-2 fought its way clear of the wreckage. “Follow him. Keep him safe.”

The legionnaire’s face had been hidden behind his visor until that point. But as he removed his helmet, she saw something remarkable. “Tony? Is that you?”

Santana smiled. “Sorry we took so long. But we were on a transport en route to Adobe when orders came in to divert. They said a diplomat was in trouble. I should have known.”

Vanderveen’s eyes were full of emotion. “Yes,” she replied joyfully. “You should have known.”

PLANET ALGERON, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS

Days were short, so timing was critical; as the sun rose in the east, the shuttle temporarily designated as RAM 1 settled onto the VIP pad at Fort Camerone, and a contingent of Naa blew the spiral-shaped horns that had traditionally been used to announce the arrival of an important chief. A large group of dignitaries, including President Nankool, Secretary of State Yatsu, and Military Chief of Staff Bill Booly, were on hand to greet those aboard the incoming ship.

Intersol vid anchor Danny Occuro was stationed on the ramparts above the landing pad. One of the news network’s flying cameras was focused on him. The rest were providing the director with shots of the scene below. Occuro felt nervous and for good reason. He had been chosen over many others to provide pooled coverage of the most important news story since the destruction of the Friendship and the beginning of the war with the Ramanthians. It was a weighty responsibility and one that would put his name in the history books. Because, assuming that what he’d been told was true, the Warrior Queen had survived her injuries by becoming a cyborg. And pictures of her new body were about to be sent throughout the Confederacy for the first time.

As the shuttle’s skids made contact with the repeller-scorched tarmac and the engines spooled down, it was time to begin his narration. “This is Danny Occuro, reporting live from the planet Algeron, with breaking news. I am referring to the arrival of the Ramanthian monarch, often referred to as the Warrior Queen, who, having been injured on Earth, had reportedly died of her wounds. In fact, it was only a little more than a month ago that the Ramanthians held a state funeral for her and chose a new Queen to replace her.

“But according to highly placed government sources, the Warrior Queen was actually on the run, hiding from a team of Ramanthian assassins. That suggests that the present Queen is little more than a pretender, a tool placed on the throne by a cabal of senior officials, all of whom want to run the government themselves. I’ll have more on that as additional information becomes available.”

The picture dissolved to a shot of the landing pad. “The hatch is opening now, and President Nankool is going out to meet the monarch, even as a formal twenty-one-gun salute can be heard in the background. That’s an honor reserved for the president and visiting heads of state. A sure sign that the Confederacy plans to recognize the Warrior Queen as the legitimate leader of the Ramanthian people. Doing so would open up the possibility of a truce although there aren’t any assurances that the present Queen would agree to step down.”

As the director took a wide shot and the camera zoomed in, Occuro described what he saw. “This is it, gentle beings… Our first look at the Queen’s new human-designed body. It’s our understanding that this is one of three vehicles the monarch can wear, each of which offers certain advantages.”

At that point, a split-screen comparison appeared showing file footage of the Queen right next to the live feed. What the audience saw was a richly dressed Ramanthian who had already exchanged formal bows with the president and was making her way along the reception line. A small coterie of staff members followed behind. Two were human although Occuro had no idea who they were. “However,” he said, as the split screen disappeared, “even though the Queen’s body looks normal, I have it on good authority that the design incorporates bullet-resistant materials as well as communications gear that is consistent with both Confederacy and Ramanthian protocols. That, too, seems to suggest some sort of diplomatic accommodation is in the works or has already been agreed to.

“I suggest that you remember this moment. There are all sorts of uncertainties, not the least of which is how the Ramanthian people will respond to the sudden resurrection of their once-popular leader. But it’s possible that we are witnessing a pivotal moment in history.”

Never, in all of her twenty-seven years, had the Warrior Queen been in the presence of so many animals. Their ugly faces surrounded her. Harsh voices assailed her ears. And the putrid stench of their filthy flesh made her want to vomit. Except that she couldn’t vomit. Not anymore. Because her electromechanical body had no need to consume food or get rid of it.

It was an amazing vehicle, with which she had developed an almost immediate love-hate relationship. Love because of the way in which it had freed her from the metal rack, and hate because she was an incomprehensible monster now. All of which was made more painful by the knowledge that without the aid of the disgusting creatures around her, she would already be dead. Murdered by members of her own race. That fact and more swirled through her mind as the last introduction was completed, and President Nankool escorted her into the fort.

Airborne cameras were everywhere. They zipped, darted, and even rolled along the floor as the animals sought to capture every moment of her shame. But the publicity was necessary. The Warrior Queen knew that. Parth and his cabal would try to block the incoming broadcasts. But the soon-to-be-reinvigorated denialists would find a way to make the truth known. Bootleg copies of the broadcast would be made and secretly distributed to all of the empire’s planets.

Parth and his cronies would declare them to be propaganda and insist that the creature seen meeting with the animals was a robot rather than a cyborg. And what else could the traitors say? Since they had declared her dead?

So, in the end, it would come down to what she said, how she said it, and testimonials from the expat experts that Chancellor Ubatha was going to bring in. In the meantime, the royal would do what she had been taught to do since birth. And that was to play her part to perfection.

Vanderveen and Santana had been relegated to the very end of the processional, and the diplomat was happy to be there. Having successfully defended the monarch from assassins and negotiated an interim agreement with the royal, it was a relief to hand her charge off to more-senior officials. That plus the fact that Santana was walking along next to her combined to put Vanderveen in a very good mood. So when the president, the Queen, and the rest of the party entered a conference room and left her outside, she was thrilled. “We’re going to have dinner with my father,” Vanderveen said, as she turned to Santana. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I would love to have dinner with your father,” Santana said. “I haven’t seen him since the day I left Algeron for Jericho. He came out to see me off. He was very worried about you.”

“He’s still struggling with my mother’s death,” Vanderveen replied. “Let’s see if we can cheer him up.”

Santana nodded. “And then?”

Vanderveen put her hands in his. “Then we’ll have some time to ourselves.”

Santana smiled. “ That sounds good. Very, very good.”

For the first time in many months, President Marcott Nankool had reason to hope. His decision to back the Warrior Queen rather than accept Parth’s offer looked as if it might pay off. Assuming that he and his staff could convince the frequently cantankerous monarch to do all the right things. And that would be no small feat because, in spite of the words that came out of her beak, it didn’t take an empath to detect the underlying contempt she felt for all humans, including him.

They were seated around a circular table. It was the same one that had been used during the meeting with Parth. Even Christine Vanderveen’s detractors had to agree that the high-level verbal agreements she had negotiated with the Ramanthian royal were quite solid. The most important of them was that the Confederacy would help restore the Warrior Queen to her throne in return for “a reset to prewar conditions.”

If implemented, the agreement would force the bugs to surrender all the worlds they had captured, with the possible exception of certain nursery planets. And the Confederacy would do likewise. The exact wording of the agreement would have to be hammered out. But there wasn’t much doubt as to the outcome since the Confederacy was in the driver’s seat.

No, the problem was a difference of opinion regarding how to begin the upcoming PR offensive and where to do so. This was why Chien-Chu was making the Confederacy’s case for the second time. “With all due respect, Your Highness,” he said patiently, “Earth is the perfect place to launch your campaign because it’s the human home world. And in order to succeed, we need buy-in from our citizens. That will require some effort since nearly all of them blame you for starting the war.

“Yes,” Chien-Chu said, as Chancellor Ubatha opened his beak to speak, “I know… The previous Queen, sometimes referred to as the great mother, set events in motion prior to her death. But perceptions are important. And Earth is the place where you were wounded, thereby cementing your unofficial title of Warrior Queen and earning you a permanent place in the hearts of all Ramanthians. By going there to make your first speech, you will evoke strong emotions on both sides. Although they may have reservations, most humans will rejoice over the prospect that their home world will be freed. Meanwhile, those Ramanthians who have grown tired of the war and understand the strategic realities, will realize that a reset represents a good outcome given what could occur otherwise.”

Nankool couldn’t read the Queen’s nonverbals but suspected that she wasn’t used to much, if any, push back. So when she spoke, he was interested to see what she would say. “I continue to have reservations,” the royal replied. “The planet Trevia would be a better choice in my mind. A great many Ramanthian expats live there, a significant number of whom would welcome my return. But I place a great deal of trust in Chancellor Ubatha and his opinion.”

All eyes went to the Ramanthian official, and although Nankool fully expected him to echo the Queen’s opinion, he was in for a pleasant surprise. “Thank you, Highness,” Ubatha said. “I believe Earth would be a good location for all of the reasons Admiral Chien-Chu put forward plus one more. Assuming that the Confederacy can put you on the surface and provide sufficient security, the visit will not only highlight the physical courage that you’re known for, but the cabal’s dishonesty as well. Because Parth and his cronies have lied to our citizens about conditions on Earth. And your presence there will make that clear.”

Perhaps it was Ubatha’s vision. Or maybe his comments gave the Queen a chance to save face. But whatever the reason, she agreed. “We will assign a senior diplomat to travel with you,” Yatsu declared. “And General Booly will arrange for security.”

“Thank you,” the Queen replied. “But I would like to retain Consul Vanderveen’s services-and those of Major Santana as well. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for them.”

“Of course,” Nankool replied, before anyone could object. “Consider it done.”

The top of the windswept pinnacle was lost in darkness until the private air car swooped in to hover above it, and a pair of powerful floodlights came on. They served to illuminate part of the ancient ruins that covered the top of the plateau and threw hard shadows toward the east. As the aircraft lowered itself onto the ground, the pool of light shrank. “You’re sure about this?” Santana inquired, as the skids touched down. “We could stay somewhere warm.”

“Oh, it’ll be warm,” Vanderveen promised. “And private. As you know, Fort Camerone is like a small town. Everybody knows everything about everyone else.”

“Maylo Chien-Chu knows,” Santana pointed out, as the single crewman tossed a large duffel bag out onto the rocky ground. “This is her air car.”

“That’s true,” Vanderveen agreed. “But she can keep a secret.”

“Then so be it,” Santana said, as he jumped to the ground. “I’m looking forward to our first camping trip.”

Vanderveen dropped into his waiting arms, another duffel bag hit the ground, and the crewman waved good-bye. The engine screamed, and the pool of light began to expand as the air car took off. It snapped out of existence a few seconds later. “Two days,” Vanderveen said. “I’m going to have you to myself for two whole days. Then it’s off to visit Earth.”

“If we don’t freeze to death first,” Santana cautioned. “Come on.. Let’s find a place to hole up.” And find it they did. There were a number of underground dwellings to choose from, all excavated by the Naa hundreds of years earlier.

Having inspected half a dozen possibilities, Santana and Vanderveen settled on a snug chamber accessed via a spiral stairway carved out of solid rock. They didn’t have any dried dooth dung to use as fuel, but thanks to a friendly supply sergeant, Santana had something better-a quantity of military F-1. A single block would provide a hot fire for six hours. So it wasn’t long before firelight began to dance on the walls, a pleasant warmth suffused the room, and the odor of cooking filled the air. “Our relationship could end right here,” Vanderveen said, as she dropped the final ingredients into a pot. “In spite of having servants most of her life, my mother was an excellent cook and tried to pass her skills along to me. But I never paid much attention.”

“If memory serves me correctly, you have other talents, however,” Santana said, as she stood and entered the circle of his arms. Her lips seemed to melt beneath his, the clean smell of her filled his nostrils, and the kiss lasted for a long time. Eventually, she pushed him away.

“No dessert until you finish your dinner,” she said sternly. “No matter how horrible it may taste.”

The stew was surprisingly good. And as Santana ate, sitting with Vanderveen only two feet away, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so happy. But that was bad in a way because the war was far from over, and Vanderveen would go wherever her duties took her, including war zones like Earth. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than to find something so precious only to have it snatched away. He was thinking about Charles and Margaret Vanderveen when their daughter turned to look at him. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I was thinking.”

“About what?”

Santana looked at the fire, then back again. “I love you.”

Vanderveen smiled gently. “Yes, I know. And I love you.”

The fire hissed, shadows were joined, and time seemed to stop.

PLANET EARTH, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

The battle began moments after the Confederacy cruiser Cygnus and her escorts popped out of hyperspace. That was to be expected since elements of the Ramanthian fleet had been in orbit around Earth since the invasion months earlier. But, thanks to a diversionary attack on bug-occupied Mars, half the Ramanthian ships normally assigned to the human home world were a hundred million miles away when the Cygy arrived. And that plus the element of surprise gave Admiral Kurtz the advantage she needed.

The ensuing action was brief but violent and resulted in the destruction of twelve Ramanthian vessels, which was probably very painful for the Warrior Queen. Although Santana couldn’t detect any expression on her carefully molded face as the assault boat designated RAM 1 departed the cruiser’s brightly lit hangar bay for the blackness of space.

The Queen’s assault boat had an escort comprised of twenty-one Dagger 190s, all of which were under strict orders to defend RAM 1 regardless of the cost. Once on the ground, it would become Santana’s job to protect the Warrior Queen from both humans and Ramanthians, a task he was determined to carry out because it was his duty to do so and because Christine was part of the royal’s retinue. She was seated a few feet away from the Queen. Christine’s eyes met his, and she smiled.

The assault boat shuddered as it entered the atmosphere, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Our formation is under attack, but our escorts are keeping the enemy at a distance. We should be on the ground in about ten minutes.” A click served to punctuate the paragraph.

Santana knew that Commander Foley’s resistance fighters were supposed to provide most of the security while his team served as the ultimate backup. And while that was fine in theory, the officer knew that Foley’s patriots were the very people most likely to try to assassinate the Queen. Which meant it would be foolish to let anyone other than members of his own team get close.

They were a piratical-looking platoon, led by second-in-command Lieutenant Bushnell, Dietrich, and two reliable sergeants. There were eighteen legionnaires in all, not counting himself, all of whom were combat veterans and had been carefully screened. It wasn’t a large force compared to what Santana could have requested, but he feared that a full company would be too large and might get in its own way.

And, making the situation even more interesting, there was the fact that General Booly had given him orders to kill the Queen if she tried to make unauthorized contact with Ramanthian forces or if it appeared that she might fall into the wrong hands. Or pincers, as the case might be.

Santana’s thoughts were interrupted as the ship banked, circled, and came in for a landing. “We’ll be on the ground in a minute or so,” the pilot announced. “Please remain in your seats until the green light comes on.”

There was a solid thump as the assault boat put down. The green light came on, and the stern hatch cycled open. That was the cue for Santana and his platoon to exit the transport and take up defensive positions all around. It quickly became clear that Lieutenant Bushnell knew what he was doing. That gave Santana time to examine his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was that the assault boat was sitting on a rise near the center of the vast wreckage-strewn crater that had been Los Angeles. The ship was surrounded by a company of ragged resistance fighters. They were dressed in whatever bits and pieces of military gear they had been able to pull together, and all of them were facing outward. Just as they should be in order to defend the Queen.

To the west, beyond the resistance fighters, the blackened remains of what had once been a sizable starship could be seen. “You’re looking at the Hive Defender,” a male voice said. “It was at the center of a large base. We went after it, and the bugs drove us off, but only after we inflicted a lot of damage. In spite of repeated attempts, they haven’t been able to reconstitute what they had. My name’s Foley. Commander Foley. And I’m guessing that you’re Major Santana.”

The naval officer was so lean that he looked more like an animated skeleton than a man. And although his voice was friendly, his eyes were like dark pools. It was a look Santana had seen before, both on the battlefield and in hospitals later on. Foley had seen too much, made too many life-and-death decisions, and would never be the same again. “Yes,” Santana replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And congratulations on your victory. Taking that ship down is an amazing accomplishment.”

“It cost a lot of lives,” Foley said bleakly. “But the Hive Defender will provide the perfect backdrop for the Queen’s speech. The wreckage will send a message to humans and Ramanthians alike.”

The Queen and her party were filing out of the ship by then and being herded into position by an overly officious Public Relations (PR) officer. Danny Occuro was present as well. Three airborne vid cams bobbed around him. “Speaking of the Ramanthians,” Santana said, “where are they?”

“About five miles away,” Foley answered casually. “We spent the last two days clearing the landing zone, and I lost five people doing it.”

“So when will they counterattack?”

Foley shrugged. “Who knows? Our efforts to employ biological warfare against them have been very successful. So there are a lot less of them than there used to be. If we’re lucky, they won’t respond until the Queen is back in orbit. And the fact that we have a significant amount of air cover should slow them down.”

As if to illustrate Foley’s point, there was a loud roar as three Daggers passed overhead. They fired rockets at an unseen target, and smoke billowed up into the sky. That was when Vanderveen arrived on the scene. “Commander Foley? I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Christine Vanderveen.”

Foley looked surprised as he shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Your mother was a very extraordinary woman. And a brave one. I was telling the major how successful our biological warfare campaign has been. That’s thanks to Margaret and the team she assembled. The Confederacy owes her a deep debt of gratitude.”

Vanderveen was about to reply when the PR officer began to bellow instructions over his megaphone, and the diplomat was forced to rejoin the Queen’s party. The message had been agreed to in advance, but it was her job to make sure that the royal stuck to it.

As Foley issued orders to his troops via a handheld radio, Santana made the rounds and was pleased to see that all of the T-2s and their riders were properly placed. And thanks to the open area all around, the enemy would have very little cover if they tried to attack over the ground. Having assured himself that everything was as it should be, he paused to listen as the broadcast began.

“I am standing on the planet Earth,” the Queen said, “at the center of what was the city of Los Angeles. A battle was fought here in the recent past. It was a symbolic battle in the sense that while our brave troops won, the human resistance fighters did a great deal of damage to our base, and we’ve been unable to rebuild it.

“Why is that?” the Queen demanded, as her dark eyes stared into the camera. “It’s because the pretender who sits on the throne and the cabal who placed her there are incompetent and don’t know how to lead.

“Worse yet is the fact that thousands of the troops serving on Earth are suffering from a life-threatening and highly communicable disease. That means they are essentially trapped here since the cabal is afraid to bring them home, where they could infect the general population. You didn’t know that, did you? Well, there are a great many things the cabal wants to hide from you, including the fact that I am still alive.”

That was when a transmission came in over Santana’s headset. “This is Blue Leader… There is a Ramanthian combat assault platform (CAP) coming your way. It was submerged off Malibu and surfaced about a minute ago. It’s huge. Over.”

Santana swore. The warships orbiting high above were supposed to protect the ground party from that sort of surprise-but they had no way to see down through the water. Nor had he been aware that the enemy CAPs were capable of submerging themselves. It made sense, though, since they were probably designed to function on water worlds when necessary. “Roger that… Slow it down if you can. We’ll wrap up and pull out as quickly as we can. Over.”

Santana heard two click s by way of a reply and turned to Foley, who was standing a few feet away. “Tell your people to stand by. A CAP is headed our way. And we won’t be able to stop it. Not without firing on it from space. And that could result in a lot of collateral damage.”

Foley’s eyebrows rose slightly, but that was all. “Where was it?”

“Underwater. Off Malibu.”

Foley shook his head in amazement. “So that’s where they hid it. Every night they brought the blasted thing out and attacked anything that had a heat signature. Then, come dawn, it disappeared. Now we know.”

“Yeah,” Santana said, “I guess we do. The Daggers will attempt to delay it. I’ll notify the PR officer. We’re pulling out.”

“Sounds good,” Foley replied casually. “You do that.”

The Queen was still talking as Santana approached Vanderveen. She was standing next to the PR officer and Bushnell. “Tell the Queen that it’s time to leave. What amounts to a flying fortress will arrive here in a few minutes.”

Vanderveen looked worried. “I’ll pass the message through Chancellor Ubatha.”

“But the Queen hasn’t finished yet!” the PR officer objected. He had a red face, a carefully trimmed mustache, and a very nonmilitary paunch.

“She’ll get killed if we don’t pull her out of here,” Santana countered. “Tell her. I want everyone on the assault boat two minutes from now. Lieutenant Bushnell, please prepare to withdraw.”

“Look at that!” Bushnell said, and pointed toward the northwest. The combat assault platform was the size of a skyscraper turned on its side. It was heavily armed and could launch aerospace fighters, which were already climbing up to do battle with the Daggers. Something about the fact that the monster was only two hundred feet off the ground and traveling at a mere twenty miles per hour made the ship all the more frightening. There was a flash of light and a loud report as one of its main batteries fired. What sounded like a freight train roared overhead. Half a second later, the ground shook as a column of soil shot up into the air a thousand yards east of the boat. Fortunately, Vanderveen, Ubatha, and the Queen were halfway up the ramp by then. And the assault boat’s engines were beginning to spool up.

It was then, as the air surrounding the Ramanthian vessel shimmered and electrical discharges crackled all around the ship, that something completely unexpected occurred. Carefully camouflaged missiles produced what sounded like a combined roar as they shot almost straight up, struck the assault platform in quick succession, and exploded.

The combined impacts proved to be too much for the ship’s defensive screens, and at least one of them was able to punch a hole in the CAP’s belly. The resulting explosion was not only deafening but produced a shock wave that could be felt miles away. The ship’s stern hit the ground first, soon followed by the bow, which crushed what was left of a hotel. A cloud of dust billowed up to conceal the vessel’s final death throes.

It took Santana a moment to absorb what had taken place and figure out why. That was when he turned to Foley. The resistance leader had a big grin on his face. “Nice, huh? The bugs never knew what hit them.”

“Why you rotten bastard,” Santana replied. “You knew where the CAP was hiding all along! And you used both the Queen and the rest of us as bait.”

The grin vanished from Foley’s face. “Welcome to my world, Major.. Or what’s left of it. And give this message to the Queen. If she ever puts a foot on this planet again, I will personally blow her fucking head off.”

And with that, Foley walked away. The dust cloud had cleared a bit, and bright flashes could be seen as what sounded like thunder rolled, and a series of secondary explosions destroyed what remained of the CAP. The royal visit was over.