The Final Battle

Poseen-Ka strode into the Death Dealer’s enormous wardroom and saw that the necessary preparations had been made. The court, comprised of his old protégé Grand Marshal Hisep Rula-Ka, a relatively young war commander named Mimbu Zender-Ka, and a grizzled old sector marshal named Hulu Hasa-Na were already seated.

In keeping with the nature of the occasion, their chairs were backed by solid steel. His seat had an open back that symbolized his complete vulnerability and was located in front of them. He strode towards the chair and sat down. This was the second occasion on which he had faced a court of inquiry during his career and would almost certainly be the last. Not only had he lost an entire fleet to the humans, but the war as well, and the penalty was obvious. Death. It was an ignominious but altogether appropriate end to a failed career.

Rula-Ka wasted no time in calling the court to order. He was splendid in his crossed battle harness and ruby red command stone. His voice filled the room. “By the authority of the ruling Triad, Section 3458 of military regulations, and the authority vested in me, this court of inquiry is now in session. War Commander Zender-Ka will read the charges.”

Zender-Ka’s skin was gray and tight across the plane of his face. He cleared his throat, glanced towards Poseen-Ka, and read from the printout in his hand. “Given that the fleet under War Commander Poseen-Ka’s command was committed to action more than twenty annual units ago, and was subsequently destroyed, with collateral loss of lives and material, the court calls on said officer to answer such questions as seem pertinent, and to justify his actions. Failure to answer these questions, or to cooperate with this court, is punishable by imprisonment or death. Are there questions?”

There were none so Zender-Ka continued. “When the court is satisfied that the relevant facts have been heard, evaluated, and understood, a decision shall be rendered. The decision will be binding, final, and implemented within a single cycle.” Zender-Ka’s eyes darted around the room. “Questions?”

There were no questions so Zender-Ka gestured assent. “The relevant regulations having been read, and there being no questions, the court may proceed.”

“Good,” Rula-Ka said cheerfully. “It’s my hope to have this nonsense completed in time for mid-meal. War Commander Poseen-Ka, you heard the charges, how do you respond?”

No one rises to the rank of war commander without developing political as well as military skills, so Poseen-Ka had taken note of the routine, almost lighthearted tone in Rula-Ka’s voice and knew it meant something. But what? That the officers in front of him were simply going through motions? That he’d be exonerated? Or that they didn’t care and were eager to rid themselves of a minor irritant. He had witnessed and heard stories about both situations. He worked to keep his voice level and calm.

“The charges are factually correct. I was in command of a fleet . . . and it was destroyed. The enemy proved a good deal stronger and more resourceful than previous encounters had led us to expect.”

“Previous encounters that led to the destruction of seven human-occupied systems, hundreds of ships, 1,237 research stations, fuel depots, habitats, as well as isolated colonies,” Rula-Ka put in sternly, “and were praised by the Triad.”

Poseen-Ka kept his face impassive but felt a keen sense of gratitude towards this onetime subordinate. What had started as little more than a flicker of hope burned more brightly now and warmed his body. The other officers nodded dutifully and did their best to look interested. All of which suggested that the outcome was a foregone conclusion. Not to be acknowledged as such, but understood by the same mysterious process by which so many things were understood, and occasionally misunderstood, so that otherwise promising careers were sometimes terminated while less deserving records won praise and promotion.

It was what Poseen-Ka privately thought of as the dark side of a culture in which the deep-seated need for individual survival was so strong that larger social structures were tolerated only because they provided the means by which to dominate other sentient and therefore threatening races. But his desire to survive was equally strong so he listened for his cues. They weren’t long in coming.

Poseen-Ka chose his words with care. “After the battle, my troops and I were confined on the surface of a planet the humans call Worber’s World. We remained there until freed by a fleet commanded by Grand Marshal Rula-Ka.”

“Who is well aware of the valiant assistance rendered by War Commander Poseen-Ka and his troops,” Rula-Ka intoned, “saving thousands of Hudathan lives. Video of that battle has been forwarded to the Triad and will be seen by millions of Hudathan citizens.”

Poseen-Ka looked at his onetime subordinate and realized that his previous assumptions were wrong. This was more than a well-orchestrated attempt to save what was left of a mentor’s career, this was part of a carefully designed public relations campaign calculated to build civilian support for another war and the sacrifice it would entail. The microbots, the secret weapons factories, and the ensuing ambush were all part of an elaborate script. A script written by Grand Marshal Rula-Ka.

Rula-Ka inclined his head as if reading Poseen-Ka’s thoughts and confirming his conclusions. It was Zender-Ka who spoke. “The court is once again indebted to Grand Marshal Rula-Ka for his timely observation. Would War Commander Poseen-Ka care to add anything to the account?”

“Thank you,” Zender-Ka said politely. “Are there any questions for the war commander? No? That being the case, I see no impediment to a vote. Grand Marshal Rula-Ka? How do you vote?”

Zender-Ka inclined his head to the subordinate open-neck position. “Thank you. I vote ‘not guilty’ as well. Let the record show that War Commander Poseen-Ka is found innocent of all charges real or potential and declared fit for command. The court is adjourned.”

Stunned by both the outcome and the unexpected speed with which it had been achieved, Poseen-Ka stood to accept the congratulations of the officers who had judged him. Moments later he was ushered out of the wardroom and into Rula-Ka’s private quarters, where a table had been set and a feast awaited.

Although the Hudathan had already enjoyed some excellent meals since his release, he still felt the urge to gorge himself on all the foods he’d been denied for the last twenty years. But the military surgeons had warned him against the dangers of excess so he limited himself to small, carefully chosen portions.

Knowing Poseen-Ka would want to devote most of his attention to the food, Rula-Ka used the opportunity to brief the recently freed officer on the strategic situation. “Here . . . have some marinated tripe. A favorite. as I recall. At least that remains the same. Many things have changed. Take the Triad, for example . . . Ibaba-Sa finally died. Some say of natural causes. Others aren’t so sure. Kora-Ka had the good sense to retire and Taga-Ba grew so senile the clan had him institutionalized. Poor old fart. Here . . . try some sour bread. All of which means increased opportunity for those who were not closely aligned with the previous Triad and are on friendly terms with the new one.”

“Yes, it would,” Rula-Ka said smugly, helping himself to a second portion of his favorite pudding. “So much so that I will need some capable officers if I am to accomplish all that the new Triad expects of me.”

Well aware that the conversation was proceeding exactly as Rula-Ka wanted it to, Poseen-Ka had no choice but to go along. “I’m pleased to hear it. Is there any way in which I could be of assistance?”

The pudding rattled as it was drawn up through a large straw and into Rula-Ka’s slit-shaped mouth. He talked with his mouth full. “Yes, old comrade, there is. It isn’t fair, what with your imprisonment and all, but the race requires your skills. I want you to accept a jump to sector marshal and command the new fleet.”

Suddenly, Rula-Ka’s eyes burned with internal fire, and eating utensils jumped as his fist hit the table. “More than that, I want you to destroy the Confederacy with the same ruthless efficiency a doctor reserves for disease-bearing bacteria! Not a single life, race, or ecology will be spared. Your job is revenge. Give it to us . . . and the entire race will be grateful.”

A lifetime of obedience urged Poseen-Ka to say yes, to grab the chance at redemption and never look back. But experience had taught him that humans were extremely hard to kill. He gestured his respect. “Your offer does me great honor. I hesitate to speak lest I shame myself and therefore you.”

Rula-Ka wiped his mouth with the back of a gigantic fist. “Never. You had a saying when I was young. ‘Silence teaches nothing.’ Teach me that I might learn.”

Poseen-Ka spoke carefully. “I know nothing of the fleet that you spoke of . . . but I know this: The last fleet under my command was equal, if not superior to what the humans eventually brought to bear, and it was destroyed. We lost because I was too cautious, because the human cyborgs defeated us on the ground, and because the humans came together at the critical moment. I promise to learn from my mistake . . . but what of the rest?”

Rula-Ka hissed his approval. “An excellent analysis! Correct in every detail. Which is why we spent years developing cyborgs of our own, and are taking steps to divide the enemy into at least two warring factions. Are you finished? Excellent. Come. We have a meeting to attend.”

The Alpha clone known as Antonio knew the Hudathans would have little or no interest in what he looked like, but couldn’t resist the temptation to check his reflection in the mirror anyway. He was well aware of the fact that his brothers were contemptuous of the carefully arranged ringlets of hair and that was a large part of the reason why he liked them. They made him different and therefore more significant. But what of the horizontal worry lines that ran the width of his forehead? Were they deeper now? More prominent? He knew they were.

What had started as cheerful acquiescence to Pietro’s latest plan had turned into a source of unremitting worry. What if Marcus was correct? What if the Confederacy really was the lesser of the two evils? What if the Hudathans had lured them into a carefully laid trap? A somewhat unlikely possibility given the number of Hegemony ships on hand . . . but what if?

Still, it wouldn’t do to reveal his doubts to Pietro, not with the aliens already aboard. He shook his head, saw his reflection do likewise, and turned away. Ten steps carried him through the hatch and out into a busy corridor. Crew people, all copies of ten basic tech types, saluted respectfully. Antonio nodded politely, turned down the appropriate passageway, and found his brother waiting by the main lock. He wore the usual toga, clasp, and frown. He started to say something but a light flashed green and a tone cut him off. The hatch cycled open.

Antonio had seen holovids of course, but was psychologically unprepared for how large the Hudathans were. Large and menacing. It took an act of will to remember that the aliens were on his turf rather than the other way around. Pietro did the talking. “Welcome aboard! Please accept our apologies if we inadvertently omitted courtesies of rank or title.”

The lead Hudathan, an imposing specimen who wore shoulder belts with a ruby red stone set where they crossed each other, spoke via the translator that rode his waist strap and fed his implant. His voice had a hissing quality. “Thank you for your concern, and please accept our apologies for failing to observe whatever protocols apply to guests. While we have killed millions of your kind we have never had a reason to learn about your culture.”

Antonio felt his blood turn ice cold. Were the words intended as a threat? Or a simple statement of fact? Pietro opted for the second and less ominous interpretation. “Of course. I am known as Pietro and this is Antonio. Together with our brother Marcus we rule the Clone Hegemony and are known as ‘The Triad of One.’ ”

“I am Grand Marshal Hisep Rula-Ka,” the first Hudathan said tightly. “This is Sector Marshal Poseen-Ka, his adjutant Arrow Commander Nagwa Isaba-Ra, and my adjutant, Spear Commander Pasem Dwaneka-Ba. We have a tripartite leadership council as well, which gives us something in common, and bodes well for an agreement.”

Antonio noticed that the second Hudathan was visibly older than the first, and somewhat shrunken, as if he were recovering from an extended illness. The other two were as healthy as the first and just as intimidating.

Happy to let Pietro take the lead, Antonio found himself paired with the alien known as Poseen-Ka and was interested to note that he wore no translator and spoke standard with a minimal accent. “I haven’t seen any human ships since the war. Is this one typical?”

Antonio knew that an honest answer could have military value but figured the Hudathan spy drones had already furnished them with the information anyway. “Yes, it’s typical of Hegemony invader-class cruisers, but not of Confederacy ships, which tend to be larger and more heavily armed. We prefer to have smaller vessels but more of them.”

Poseen-Ka nodded the way humans do and committed everything he saw to memory. Based on what he’d learned in the past from the renegade named Baldwin, he knew that the humans saw Rula-Ka’s willingness to board one of their ships as a sign of weakness, which served to emphasize their stupidity. Who in their right mind invites a member of another clan into the ancestral fortress? No one, that’s who.

So it was with considerable interest that Poseen-Ka observed the way in which the ship was laid out, the mostly identical crew, and the body language of those around him. A rather useful gift, courtesy of two dead humans. Baldwin and the female named Norwood.

The briefing room was quite large but had been made smaller through the addition of movable partitions. Chairs, each specially constructed, were positioned so that each Hudathan would have a section of wall protecting his back. Poseen-Ka was impressed by his hosts’ attention to detail and raised his estimates of their intelligence. Once seated, and supplied with refreshments he had absolutely no intention of consuming, Rula-Ka got to the point.

“Our forces attacked and destroyed the Confederacy habitat known as Battle Station Alpha XIV. This is but the first step of what will be an all-out effort to impose Hudathan control over this sector of the galaxy. The Clone Hegemony has two choices: you can stand with the Confederacy and die, or stand against them and live. Which will it be?”

Pietro found the blunt, almost insulting language hard to bear, but managed a smile. “You get right to the point, Grand Marshal Rula-Ka . . . and I admire that. Please allow me to be equally frank. . . . While there is little doubt as to the strength of the forces under your command, the ultimate outcome of the war is still very much in question, as your presence aboard this ship proves. That means our choices are a good deal more complex than you indicated. We can side with the Confederacy, which could lead to your defeat, we could side with you, increasing the likelihood of victory, or we could sit on the sidelines and see what happens.”

Poseen-Ka saw Rula-Ka’s eyes flash as they had a few hours earlier. “Neutrality means nothing! Your are either for or against us! There is no middle ground.”

Antonio saw tiny beads of sweat pop out on his brother’s forehead and knew his looked the same. His stomach churned and his hands began to shake. He lowered them to his lap.

Pietro struggled to sound casual and to fight the rising panic. “Yes, of course. But under what terms? Suppose we side with you, and emerge victorious, what then?”

It was a key question and Poseen-Ka was curious to see how his new superior would answer. Rula-Ka leaned back and seemed to relax. “The Hegemony would be free to live life as it does now but would not be allowed to expand.”

It was a rather obvious lie, since the entire point of the Hudathan offensive was to exterminate all sentient races, with an emphasis on humans. The female called Norwood would have laughed at such words and Poseen-Ka expected Pietro to do the same. He didn’t. Much to the Hudathan’s amazement, and subsequent contempt, the clone nodded, smiled, and accepted Rula-Ka’s offer at face value. Documents were signed within the hour. A single lie, convincingly told, had reduced the enemy by 25 percent. Victory was possible.