Chapter Nine

Maarkean was getting impatient. The time when he would need to depart for Irod crept closer, but Solyss, Fracsid, and Eri’dos had not yet arrived with the recruits. He would soon face the choice of either waiting for them or going to Irod with nothing to offer.

He didn’t have a lot of confidence that the others would have much luck in finding recruits. But anything was a place to start from. It wouldn’t be a good sign if their only recruit was a bounty hunter who had been hired to capture him.

Repairs to the Cutty Sark were coming along well. He hated letting others do all of the work, but it was becoming increasingly clear that his efforts to help were more of a hindrance. Switching out ruined control circuits and replacing broken components was the extent of his engineering skills. The work Chavatwor and Saracasi were doing went beyond that, yet neither admitted as much to him.

When a ship was spotted approaching the shipyard, Maarkean felt relief. It occurred to him only after he went to greet the ship that it might not be friendly. Another bounty hunter or an Alliance ship was not out of the question.

Fortunately, as the craft got closer, he recognized her as Chimopori, Solyss Novastar’s ship. The small courier, slightly bigger than the Cutty Sark, descended through the cloudless sky. As she came in for a landing, Maarkean noticed another speck fast approaching. His earlier concerns about another bounty hunter resurfaced.

The second ship grew more distinct, and Maarkean identified her as a passenger transport. Jerik’s ship had masked itself as a passenger transport, but that had been mostly sensor illusions. This one actually looked like a passenger ship.

Either a second bounty hunter had a much more effective disguise, or Solyss and Zeric had been effective in recruiting at least someone. That, or Zeric had decided to return to his old life as a ship thief.

By the time the passenger transport came in for its final descent, the boarding ramp on Chimopori came down, dispersing Zeric and a Camari female. Maarkean assumed this woman to be Ymp, the head of Zeric’s former mercenary group. With luck, that might mean that the rest of the company was onboard the transport.

“Maarkean Ocaitchi, allow me to present Ymp Ki-Li,” Zeric said with a less-than-enthusiastic tone in his voice.

“Major Ocaitchi,” Ymp said, her eye stalks bowing slightly in a Camari sign of respect.

“Ms. Ki-Li,” Maarkean replied. He debated whether to insist on just being called Maarkean. Formally, he had no authority; he was just another rebel. But it was his express goal to form a military fighting unit, and a level of formality would be required.

In the end, he shelved that decision for later. “Welcome to Kol. I take it Zeric was successful in convincing you and Ice to join us?”

A sheepish grin crossed Zeric’s face. “Not exactly. Though we did pick up a little under forty experienced people. Plus some experienced pilots and others with other skills, Ymp and a few of her more faithful companions among them.”

“Excellent,” Maarkean said, adding as much enthusiasm as he could to his voice. He was curious about what Zeric wasn’t saying, but he could learn that later. “If Eri’dos and Fracsid can do as well, we’ll have close to a company in strength, with maybe a few star fighter squadrons.”

“Just need guns and some star fighters,” Zeric said, his grin genuine again.

“What is this place?” Ymp asked. “Zeric said we were coming to an abandoned outpost. This does not look abandoned.”

The main doors to the converted warehouse were open, revealing the buzz of activity inside. People and robots moved about between ships, sparks flew from welding equipment, and a cacophony of noise bounded outward. Several ships filled the available space inside, leaving only a relatively narrow corridor down the center for movement.

In the time Maarkean had been here, work had finished on one freighter and two more had arrived to take its place. Chavatwor had dispatched Htaretter in his newly refurbished Bright Blade to pick up another crew of new workers along with a supply shuttle of new equipment. The speed of growth amazed him, but the Kowwok’s business sense was exceeded only by his engineering skill.

“This is UDF Inc. Shipyards. Chavatwor arrived and set up shop before I got here,” Maarkean explained. “But he’s agreed to allow us to use some of the other buildings, at least for a while.”

While Maarkean talked with Zeric and Ymp, the rest of the crew from Chimopori disembarked. Before long, the people aboard the passenger transport joined them. He soon found himself surrounded by several dozen people, and he had no idea what to say. Everyone here had come to follow him in a fight against the Alliance. What do you say to a group like that?

Gratitude was always appreciated, he decided. That and instructions on what would happen next. Unfortunately, he only knew the next step, not the one after that. People would inevitably assume, or at least hope, he had everything planned out for the next year.

“Welcome, everyone, to Kol.” He didn’t know that everyone here could be trusted yet, but secrecy regarding their location would not hold for long. “You’ve all come here for one reason: you are tired of the Alliance’s abuses of power. We’re here to stand up to them until they realize our voices cannot be ignored, our rights cannot be suppressed. This won’t be an easy or a short struggle. But it is just.”

At this, there was a mix of cheers and uncomfortable stares. Apparently, some people had bought into the revolutionary zeal more than others. Maarkean was fine with that. He had gotten involved in this rebellion before he was fully committed to the cause; others could do the same.

“For now, we’re going to find everyone a place to stay. Beyond the shipyard behind me are three buildings. One of them has been set aside for our use as a barracks. The rooms are small, but big enough for two people to a room. Right now, there are enough rooms to spread out, but we expect more to arrive in the next few days. So if there is someone you wish to bunk with, go ahead and do so.”

Asirzi Z’ren came out of the shipyard and started guiding the group around the side of the building. She had volunteered to help Maarkean with some of the logistics.

The woman did not appear interested in joining his band of rebels, but he found her frequently trying to make herself useful to him. He appreciated the help, but he wondered what her interest in him was.

At first, he had entertained the fantasy that she was attracted to him. Since his wife, Eyris, had died in the same vehicle accident that took his parents, he hadn’t been in any form of relationship.

Life as a smuggler hadn’t even afforded him the chance for short-term relationships, especially in the last year. And even with one mechanical arm, Asirzi was reasonably attractive.

When he had mentioned this theory to Saracasi, however, she’d bluntly told him that Asirzi had no sexual interest in men. He trusted his sister’s judgment on this subject, though he had no idea how she could tell. It was difficult to identify what gender some species were, much less their sexual preference. For some reason, Saracasi appeared particularly annoyed with his ignorance this time.

As the group of recruits began following Asirzi, Maarkean caught sight of a dark-haired Terran male. The man looked familiar. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing at first, but his sense of recognition grew stronger the more he looked. He just had to ignore the unkempt hair and the multiple-days-old growth of facial hair.

“Dav?” Maarkean asked.

The Terran stopped moving with the others and turned to face him. “Maark.”

Maarkean stood there, flabbergasted. Davidus Brieni had been a member of his flight school group, and they had joined the same squadron. They had flown countless missions together against the Confederacy along the way. And they had hated each other.

Well, hate might be too strong of a word, Maarkean decided. During their early career, they had competed for assignments and promotions.

They had always been neck and neck. Davidus had been the first promoted to lieutenant and the first made a flight leader. He had taken no small amount of pleasure in rubbing that fact in Maarkean’s face.

“You know each other?” Zeric asked, surprised.

Maarkean nodded. “Everyone, Major Davidus Brieni, Alliance navy pilot.”

“That’s Commander Brieni, Major,” Davidus said, in the arrogant tone Maarkean remembered so well. “And it’s ex-Alliance navy pilot, just like you.”

“You never mentioned that during the interview,” Solyss said with an accusatory tone.

Davidus shrugged dismissively. “Had I mentioned I was a navy officer and an old friend of Maarkean’s, would you have brought me here?”

“‘Friend’ might be pushing the meaning of the word,” Maarkean said, frowning.

“Maybe. But the point stands. Would you have trusted Alliance military?”

“Yes,” Zeric answered, causing Davidus to raise a questioning eyebrow. “I’m former Alliance. Maarkean, as you apparently know, is, too. I expect there are some others here among that group.”

Zeric looked to Solyss as if for confirmation, and the Terran nodded. “A few of them were former marines or army. There is one who flew for the Confederate navy.”

Davidus frowned at that last comment, and Maarkean resisted the urge to do the same. He had come to trust Lahkaba, a former member of the Confederate military, but he found it hard to feel happy about working with any others. Old enmities were hard to let go of. Which raised the question of why Davidus had decided to come here.

“Regardless of that,” Maarkean said, “why are you here, Dav? There was no one more committed to the Alliance than you.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Davidus retorted. “There were lots of things I could question about you, but your patriotism was never one of them. Yet here you are, leading a rebellion against the Alliance.”

“I’m not leading a rebellion,” Maarkean said. “Elected officials from every world in the sector are. I’m just helping to form a fighting force to aid them.”

“Of course you are,” Davidus said, skepticism in his voice. “And that’s why you’re recruiting people by telling them that if this congress does not form an army, you’ll go rogue?”

Shocked, Maarkean turned to look at Solyss and Zeric. They had discussed that possibility, but he thought they hadn’t come to a firm plan. Apparently, he was the only one who had thought that.

For their part, Zeric had the good sense to look ashamed, though Solyss looked confused by Maarkean’s scrutiny. The man clearly believed that the fight would continue with or without Congress’ support. Solyss had sought him out before he had even decided to actively oppose the Alliance. Solyss was definitely committed to this fight.

With a reluctant sigh, Maarkean nodded. “According to the Alliance, the congress is a rogue terrorist group. I’m called a traitor and a subversive. I think the only chance for success requires Congress, or some kind of similar group, to be leading a united front of all the planets in the sector. But someone needs to stand up to the Alliance, and if we have to do it on our own for a time, well, I was already doing that.”

Not that he had meant to be doing that, Maarkean said to himself. Most of his close friends knew that, but it wouldn’t be good to go around advertising that now. He needed people to believe in the cause, not to think he was here by accident.

Davidus smiled. “Good. Then you’re not being used as some kind of figurehead. I couldn’t follow someone like that. But knowing you’re committed to this makes me confident it’s worth fighting for.”

There was a compliment buried in what Davidus said. They had always respected each other, but had rarely let pleasantries get past their antagonism. Maarkean found himself touched by the sentiment.

Then Davidus reminded him of why they hadn’t gotten along well. “Because you’re going to need me if you hope to win. You never were a good teacher, and this mishmash of rabble is going to need a lot of training.”

Maarkean just shook his head. He didn’t like Davidus much, but it looked like he had found his flight instructor.

A few weeks later, Zeric had to face reality. It wasn’t as if he had wanted anyone else to be in charge. Gu’od, Gamaly, Maarkean, Saracasi, Lahkaba, and Lohcja were the only ones he really trusted. Maarkean, Lahkaba, and Lohcja had been gone for a while; presumably, Maarkean had met the other two on Irod, where they were hoping to get an official answer from the congress. Saracasi was bright but didn’t know a thing about working with mercenaries or organizing a ground unit. And Gu’od and Gamaly had both just given him a pointed look when he suggested one of them do it.

So in the end, Zeric found himself in charge of the collection of mercenaries, renegades, smugglers, scoundrels, thieves, and other scumbags they had recruited. But he had no idea what to do with them. Until Maarkean returned with the official word from the congress, they had agreed to not take any formal action.

Most of the group had brought their own personal weapons. As they stood now, they could probably overthrow the limited Alliance presence on Kol. There would have been little point in doing that, however. The cities and mining companies had already stopped paying custom duties to the Alliance authorities, and the planetary governor did not have enough troops to force the issue. For all practical purposes, Kol was free from Alliance rule.

Aside from the Alliance, Kol still suffered from a severe smuggling and piracy problem. Technically, by refusing to pay the custom duties, every single ship coming in and out of Kol was now a smuggler, but the companies didn’t care much about that. The pirates, however, were a different matter.

Maarkean and Zeric had discussed going after the pirates as their first action. Clearing out the pirates would go a long way to convincing the locals, and in turn the people around the sector, that they were better off without the Alliance. Even though most companies had stopped paying their taxes, it was generally assumed most were just holding onto that money so that they could hand it over if an Alliance task force showed up to press the issue.

Even if Zeric wanted to start the piracy campaign, he didn’t feel it would be a good idea to go into combat with this rabble. Most of them had some fighting experience. Some had former military training or time with organized mercenary bands. But by and large, they were more a disorderly band of thugs than a coherent military unit.

To deal with the problem of organizing the Rogues, as he liked to call them, before they were officially organized, he fell back on the old marine standby: physical training, or PT. Holding regular PT sessions provided routine. Being in the middle of the desert saved them from the usual problem of drunkenness, and exhaustion saved them from fighting among themselves.

Most of the group, while in relatively good shape, were far from their peak. Zeric counted himself among that group and pushed himself hard. Serving as an example to the others was only a small part of his motivation. If any of the group got unruly and decided to challenge him, he wanted to have a good chance of winning. Or, at the very least, out-running them.

The desert environment provided an additional challenge to overcome. The dry, hot air played havoc for the Camari and, to a lesser extent, the Liw’kel. But the Dotran thrived. For their part, the Notha and Kowwok surprised him with their adaption. With their fur coats, Zeric would have assumed they’d suffer from the heat. Instead, the fur proved to be an effective insulator and kept them at a stable temperature. They fared even better than the Terrans and Braz.

On a whim, Zeric convinced Gu’od to begin instructing the group in martial arts techniques. His friend had resisted at first, citing the need for proper spiritual guidance for Ni’jar techniques to be effective. In the end, he had relented when Zeric suggested that he would just ask Sienn’lyn to do it.

Gu’od had taken Sienn’lyn on as an apprentice of sorts, claiming to be responsible for her ouster from her enclave on Mirthod. Based on the continued interest the girl and Asheerah continued to show in him, Zeric was suspicious. The daily PT had even taken on a sense of competition between those two and Gamaly. Under different circumstances, Zeric might have found it sexy. Now he just worried about Gu’od.

To his surprise, Ymp proved herself to be a valuable asset. He had expected conflict from the former mercenary commander. Instead, Ymp helped keep order among the group and made no public arguments with him. There were some private ones, which only served to reinforce her public support.

Conscious of the need for a solid officer and NCO core when they were formally organized, Zeric tried to get to know everyone. It started out easy enough; the first batch of marine recruits was less than forty people. When Fracsid and Eri’dos arrived, that number swelled to well over one hundred. That didn’t include the pilots and crewers, or the almost one hundred workers Chavatwor already had working for him. He had never been very good with names before, and he felt like a heel every time he couldn’t remember the name of one of the new people.

Fortunately, not all of them were his sole responsibility. Davidus had agreed to Maarkean’s offer to serve as flight instructor. A few dozen of the recruits had more experience in a cockpit or aboard a starship than they did carrying a gun. They participated in some of the PT, but Davidus had them helping with the work on the mining freighter about half the time.

After a few weeks, Zeric had started to form a picture of how the group would be organized. A Liw’kel with very dark red skin, named Deja’z’reth Adat’to, had former experience in the Liw’kel army as a drill instructor. He had proved himself to be invaluable with training, and Zeric thought him a good candidate to continue that role.

Sigfa Neith, a former Ice member and Ymp’s associate, had shown good leadership potential. He, along with Asheerah and a blue-carapaced Ronid named Calek Orion, would make good platoon leaders. Some of the mercenaries had brought armored combat space suits, similar to what Asheerah fancied wearing, and Zeric had an idea about forming a space assault platoon.

He had, once again, attempted to convince Gu’od or Gamaly to serve as the group’s second in command. Gu’od had refused, claiming that as a Ni’jar he could fight and advise, but not lead. Zeric thought the notion ridiculous, but he did manage to convince Gu’od to serve as the group’s first sergeant.

Gamaly’s reluctance came as more of a surprise. She turned down any offer or suggestion he made. He never got a genuine answer about why; she only said it wouldn’t be right to commit herself to a role she wouldn’t be able to fill for long. Zeric wondered if her reluctance had something to do with the Liw’kel women who were all over Gu’od. He would never have thought there was anything there for her to worry about.

In the end, circumstances forced him to accept the inevitable. The only person remotely qualified to serve as a second was Ymp. Despite her assistance of late, he wondered how well she would continue to handle their role reversal.

Aside from Gu’od and Gamaly, he mentioned none of this to anyone. He had no idea how long Maarkean would be on Irod. The journey there was only a few days, and there had already been ample time to make the round trip several times.

But politicians always took forever to do anything. Even rebel ones. So Zeric waited, hoping Maarkean would return with good news before his band of misfits got tired of exercising in the desert.

Lahkaba considered himself a patient person. It was a necessary quality in politics. Most times, he could sit quietly while someone else droned on about an insignificant matter without showing any signs of agitation or annoyance.

Or that’s what he told himself he did. In truth, he didn’t know how everyone else perceived him, but he did know that he didn’t have a reputation for impatience. He was counting on that helping him have an impact now.

“Two weeks we have been here and for two weeks we have avoided the main reason we’re here,” he grumbled to Maarkean as they walked toward the building the people of Irod had given them to use as a meeting place.

“You’ve been telling me you don’t want to bring the idea of an army up for vote unless you’re sure it will pass. What’s changed?” Maarkean asked.

“I’m fed up. That’s what’s changed,” Lahkaba growled. He then calmed himself and spoke again with a more normal tone. “But also, I’ve gotten a message from Sulas. There was another riot turned massacre. If we don’t act soon, the people of Sulas aren’t going to wait for us. And I don’t think a spontaneous uprising is going to go as well there as it did on Enro.”

Maarkean nodded appreciatively as they walked. Then he said, “I’ve been reviewing the data our Alliance spy has given us. I might have found something that could help you.”

Kaars Aerinstar, former Alliance intelligence officer, had finally revealed his name to Lahkaba once they had departed from Sulas. He had brought with him mountains of reports: supply lists, troop transfer requests, discipline charges, battle plans, requisition forms, and more. It was a treasure trove of data, but also a giant mess.

Once Maarkean had arrived on Irod, he and Lahkaba had begun going over the data. Most of it turned out to be useless—typical bureaucratic paperwork. Kaars insisted that intelligence was gleaned by pulling fragments from many different sources. Lahkaba hadn’t disagreed, but he had feared that it would require a sophisticated computer program and a team of highly trained analysts.

Now, Maarkean explained that while he had looked over supply reports, a pattern had started to form. Packet ships from Braz would arrive at regular intervals, bringing updates and orders from headquarters. Every time, the packet ship would then be dispatched to the Trepon sector. A standard courier would occasionally be sent to Loisa, but the fast packet ship would always go to Trepon.

“When I crossed that with some of the supply reports, I noticed a large shipment being dispatched to Trepon as well. Every indication shows that a fairly substantial portion of the Alliance’s capabilities are located in Trepon, not Kreogh,” Maarkean concluded. “We’re probably only dealing with a handful of ships for this entire sector. Trepon is almost as far away as the core worlds of the Alliance. Messages about Enro will just be arriving there in another few days. So, the upshot is, we still have three to five months before any reinforcements get here.”

Lahkaba considered the news. He wanted to push the congress to finally act, but he doubted the news about the massacre on Sulas would help. Some of the delegates would fear that any military action would bring similar consequences to their worlds. But he also knew that if he didn’t push for a vote on the military, Lei-mey would. And she had antagonized enough members that they might vote it down just out of spite.

Lahkaba mused, “It sounds like an opportunity that we don’t want to pass up. I might be able to use that. But Ailleroc and Cardine are still both very hesitant to take this kind of action. They only tentatively supported Enro’s decision to fight. Kol and Mirthod take their lead from those two. Only Dantyne, Sulas, and Enro are sure to vote yes. That’s still a pretty weak position.”

“They won’t be swayed by this data? Or the news from Sulas?” Maarkean asked skeptically.

Lahkaba shook his head. “They’re too afraid of retaliation. Ailleroc has the strongest Alliance presence and the largest population of Braz and Terrans. Cardine, despite a primarily Camari population, rivals Sulas economically and has relatively limited Alliance interference. Siding openly with a rebellion, should we lose, will jeopardize that freedom.”

“So what do we do? Just hope they’ll come around?” Maarkean asked. “You’re pretty persuasive.”

With a grunt, Lahkaba said, “Thank you, but I have a more realistic understanding of my abilities. We need to find something they want.”

“You mean bribe them?” Maarkean asked, unease clear in his voice.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lahkaba said. “It may be a stereotype that politicians will just do whatever the highest bidder says, but it has a basis in fact. Politicians are people, and people do things that benefit them. It’s not as coarse as offering bribes. We just need to find something that will benefit the people of Cardine or Ailleroc enough that it would make declaring war on the Alliance worthwhile.”

Lahkaba pondered his options. Idealistic appeals would only go so far. The desire to be free of the Alliance had gotten the people to form this congress. But forming a congress to air grievances was a far cry from forming an army to fight for those grievances to be addressed.

“What about placing one of them in charge of this military?” Maarkean pondered.

Tilting his head to the side, Lahkaba considered Maarkean. “What do you mean? I always assumed you would be in charge of the military. The people see you as an inspiration.”

“Thank you, but I have a more realistic understanding of my abilities,” Maarkean said with a wry grin, before continuing with a more serious tone, “Isn’t one of their delegates a general?”

Lahkaba nodded. “Celris Numba. Retired from the Camar Army.”

“Perfect. Then he’ll have far more experience with ground forces than I do. He’d do a better job organizing and planning that than I would. I can still be involved. Maybe head up this group of Rogues, as Zeric keeps calling them. I’ll do more good from a starship or star fighter than I could leading ground forces.”

The idea had merit, Lahkaba thought. Offering the people of Cardine a leadership role in the military would increase their prestige in the sector. Making the leader a non-Braz and non-Terran would also sway anyone who would have had issues with Maarkean for those reasons.

But he was also hesitant. He did not know much about Celris Numba, aside from the fact that he had been in the Camar military. The Camari was older than many of the other delegates. He had not been a part of the Cardine delegation until after Enro, which suggested they had some interest in seeing an army formed.

He had assumed Maarkean would be at the head of the military. Several others had as well. Despite his friend’s claim to the contrary, many people had confidence in his abilities. He was a symbol of resistance, and not having him at the head might undermine confidence.

On the other hand, it wouldn’t matter how much confidence Maarkean could inspire if they never formed a military in the first place. They had a rare opportunity where the Alliance was weak. If they could seize control of the sector before reinforcements arrived, it would put them in a much better bargaining position.

“All right,” Lahkaba finally said. “I’ll make that suggestion, and we’ll see how the cards fall.”

“An honor to meet you, General Numba,” Maarkean said with a slight bow.

The Camari standing before him returned the bow with a nod of his eye stalks. Camari skin grew darker with age, and Numba’s was a very deep, dark red. Numba reached his hand out, and Maarkean hesitantly shook, concerned about how hard to grip, since Numba’s fingers felt more akin to squishy tentacles than fingers.

“And you as well, Major General,” Numba replied. “You have been an inspiration to us all.”

“Thank you, sir,” Maarkean said as the pair started walking away from the congressional chambers.

The debate Lahkaba had sparked had dragged on for far longer than Maarkean would have thought possible. In the end, they had agreed to form a united military force with the intention of ousting any Alliance forces that prevented them from restoring each planet’s duly elected government. The details still needed to be worked out, but Numba had been designated as the military’s leader.

Several delegates had argued for Maarkean to fill that role. Ailleroc, after realizing that the motion for forming a military would pass, had backed Maarkean. Unsurprisingly, Zhet from Enro had supported Numba, along with several other non-Alliance native-species members. In the end, a compromise had been reached, and Maarkean had been assigned as the leader of all naval and marine forces. He would have preferred a naval rank title over the marine one, but he was just glad a decision had been made.

“It seems we have a lot to do,” Numba said idly.

“Yes, sir,” Maarkean said, trying to slip back into a subordinate role. He had spent most of his adult life in the Alliance navy but had now been on the run for several years. Answering to no one had gotten comfortable and familiar.

“I understand you already have a small force of volunteers assembled and a shipyard willing to work with us?” Numba asked.

Maarkean nodded. “Yes. Chavatwor was a refugee from the prison on Olan. He has moved his old shipyard to Kol and is prepared to begin work retrofitting civilian transports into gunships and even has begun plans to design us our own capital ships.”

“Capital ships? Sounds expensive,” Numba said.

“Maybe. Lahkaba has all of the figures and estimates. He’ll see what the congress can afford,” Maarkean answered.

“Hmm,” Numba said. “You will need to run things like that through me from now on. I plan on presenting a budget to the congress for all military needs. That way our finances are decided by us military experts instead of the politicians.”

“Of course, sir,” Maarkean replied. Numba’s request—order, rather—made sense. It would not do to start undermining his new commander right out of the gate. “I’ll get those figures to you. Chavatwor is charging a very reasonable fee for his service. He estimates he can retrofit a mining freighter into an escort carrier and build three squadrons of fighters and two frigates in under a year. He’ll need to get some more experienced workers and some more equipment as well.”

“A pretty tall order,” Numba said. “We won’t win this war in space. Most of our space resources will need to go to troop transports. Moving troops to the planets where they are needed will be the most important job for the navy.”

Maarkean frowned. Dismissing the need for a combat navy was a major underestimation in his mind, especially if Numba was planning to have a concentrated, mobile army rather than homegrown armies on each world.

“Sir, troop transports will be vulnerable to the Alliance if we don’t have a navy of our own.”

“Of course,” Numba said with a grunt. “We will need combat ships. We just can’t afford to devote the time and resources to building an entire fleet. But send me your recommendations, and I’ll include some of them in my request to congress.”

“Yes, sir,” Maarkean said, starting to wish he and Lahkaba had not rushed into recommending Numba as military leader. He tried to dismiss that thought; maybe he just wasn’t used to taking orders anymore. But he couldn’t help but think about the problems that arose with rushing into things without thinking them through.

“When would you like to meet to begin strategic planning?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Numba replied. “I’ll handle that. You should return to your troops on Kol and get them trained up. I’ll send any prospective candidates to join you there.”

“Sir, if I’m not to be involved in the strategic planning, how can I coordinate our strikes effectively?”

“Coordinate strikes?” Numba said, surprise in his voice. “It’s a little early to be thinking about that. You have no ships, I have no troops. We need to get things organized first; then we can decide what to do with them.”

The statement made sense to Maarkean. Just because the congress had decided to raise an army did not mean one would just appear overnight. He might be letting his eagerness get the better of his judgment. Perhaps it really was best that Numba was in charge.

“Of course,” Maarkean said. “Once the congress has decided on ship funds, I’ll return to Kol and get Chavatwor started.”

“Good, good,” Numba said and started to walk away. “Carry on, Major General.”

Maarkean remained where he was, watching the old Camari depart. He felt relief and comfort at odds with a sense of regret and unease. What happened next would be out of his hands. But that was not unusual.