THE HIDDEN ENEMY
Venatora was starting to realize that there was another enemy at work.
Skink was reeling from her ambush and was struggling to regroup and return fire. But it was a sporadic effort and so weak that her forces should have overwhelmed them right at the beginning.
And yet she was being hammered by rocket and mortar fire that far exceeded his visible efforts at defense.
The ground shook as another round came blazing in. Once again, it didn’t come directly from any of Skink’s people she could observe.
And then Clew said, “What’s that over there, Highness?”
She looked where Clew was pointing and saw a flash of light.
“I don’t see how Skink could have flanked us,” she said.
And then it came to her.
It was Sten!
It just had to be. Who else could have staged such a cunning operation? Who else would have had the sheer nerve to take this sort of risk?
Only an all-in gambler like Sten would have the cajones to take such a chance.
The issue became settled in her mind.
It was Sten. It could be no other.
But what did he want? What did he hope to gain?
When the answer came she shivered. This was a mission to wipe out piracy in the Empire. Obviously, it couldn’t be completely destroyed. But with Skink and the other captains dead, or out of action the Emperor would be taking a big bite out of the problem.
Well, not just Skink. There was more. Much more. There was a burgeoning pirate culture that would only get deadlier and more successful as they grew.
The Himmenops.
Led by none other than Venatora herself.
A gut wrench.
Sten wanted her dead.
He was here to kill her.
But I thought—
Woman, it doesn’t matter what you thought. The lover of your dreams wants you dead. And you have to act, and act fast, or all will be lost.
“Marta,” she called out. “Palsonia. Get over here.”
In a moment her two most trusted women and Clew were by her side.
“There isn’t time to explain,” she said, “so just listen very carefully and do exactly as I say.”
There were murmurs of “Yes, Highness,” and she went on.
“Any minute now, things are going to blow up in our faces.”
“But, Majesty,” Marta protested. “We’ve got him. Skink is all but done.”
“Clot, Skink,” Venatora said. “He’s not the problem.”
And then she laid it out for them. Told them that Sten was here with a Mantis team. When the drakh hit the fan, there was a good chance Venatora would be killed, or at the very least, taken out the action.
“If that happens,” she said, “I want you all to regroup and head back to our ship. Never mind the Command Center. All that is over and done with.”
“We’ll never leave you here, Majesty,” Palsonia objected.
“You may very well have to,” Venatora said. “The important thing is our homeland. Our people. When you reach the ship get it fired up and ready to go. Wait for me for one cycle. No more. Then go.”
“Majesty,” Marta wailed and her love of Venatora was so strong it was almost overwhelming.
Venatora dialed her pheromones back. Felt the tension in the women ease somewhat.
“One cycle,” she repeated. “No more. And if you should see the enemy before that get the clot out of here and go home.”
A barrage of rocket rounds blasted into their camp and they all had to duck down to escape the raining debris.
When it stopped, Venatora raised up. “But before we do anything else,” she said, “I have one thing I want to accomplish. One person I want to make sure is dead. The one who started this whole thing.”
Grabbing a launcher, she went to an overlook, knelt down to sweep the forces below with her binocs.
She heard a rustling sound and she looked down to see a little green lizard scurrying along the branches of a bush that grew from the side of the cliff.
It stopped and stared at her for a moment, completely still, except for a throbbing at its throat, that revealed scarlet folds.
Venatora was captivated by the sight. The throbbing throat. Green, then skin accordioning to reveal flashes of ruby red. In and out. In and out. In and—
She shook herself. This was nonsense. Once again, she looked through the binocs. And there was Skink, plain as day.
He was such a smeg head. Yo-ho-hoing like the legendary pirates of yore. All a stupid testosterone-fueled pose.
But he was really no different than any of the other captains. Greedy clots. Short on loyalty, long on back-stabbing.
The binocs swept onward.
And there she was:
Anthofelia!
She settled her sights on the upstart princess. This would be one of the rare times Venatora would take real pleasure in snatching someone’s life away.
Once again there came the rustling sound. Strangely clear over the sounds of the raging battle. And there was that little lizard staring at her again. The scarlet throat seemed to be pulsing faster.
In and out. In and out. In and—
Whispering voices came from nowhere.
Everywhere.
The voices suddenly took on an overwhelming importance. What were they saying? Who were they talking to? And who the clot were they?
Beneath her, the outcrop shuddered. Then moved. Slowly at first. She felt sick in her stomach.
There was a lurch.
Venatora shouted in alarm as she plunged from her perch. She fell a few feet, but was brought up short by the thick bush below. Somehow she’d managed to hang onto the rocket launcher.
She scrambled around until she found a good position. Pulled up the binocs, which were dangling from a thong about her neck.
She found Anthofelia again.
Excellent.
This death was not to be denied her.
She settled her sights and was about to fire, when she saw two women approach Anthofelia from behind. She recognized them immediately: Nalene and Yatola.
Very well, she’d kill all three.
But just as she about to pull the trigger she saw Nalene grab Anthofelia from behind. She had her by the hair and was pulling her head back.
And then Yatola stepped in and slit Anthofelia’s throat.
A gush of blood and the would-be princess was on the ground, limbs thrashing while Nalene and Yatola held her down.
Then she was still.
And Anthofelia was no more.
A great sense of satisfaction swept over Venatora. It was right and good that Anthofelia’s own people had put an end to her.
She heard Marta calling her: “Majesty? Are you all right?”
Venatora looked up and saw Marta and Palsonia standing there. Palsonia had a rope. She dropped the end down and Venatora caught it, then started to tie it about her waist.
Then somewhere far above here there was a blood-curdling SCREECH!
Venatora froze. Found herself staring into Marta’s dark eyes.
Then came a crash and a roar and a flash of burning pain as a lightning bolt split the sky and it was if the gates to an enormous river had been opened and rain came torrenting down.
It was heavy. So heavy. Pounding her back and head. Then the Raid turned to hail and she was being peppered with ice that stung through her clothing.
She hid her face in one arm, tried to shelter her neck with the other. Then it was hail and rain together, slashing her flesh, while at the same time the rain was so thick that she could barely breathe.
Venatora knew that if she was going to survive she would have to get the clot off this cliff.
At first, she tried to go up, but couldn’t find a handhold. So she went down, jamming a fist into a rock crevice, finding a place for her boot, then slowly…slowly…going down while the rain and hail pounded at her.
Somehow she managed to continue down and after what seemed to be an eternity, she was on the ground and finding shelter beneath several huge boulders.
She huddled there while all around her the storm raged, lightning crashing and thunder rolling and it seemed like there would never be an end to it.
* * * *
Someone was tugging at his arm, going “Boss? Boss?”
Skink raised his head and saw Hasana kneeling beside him. He was so glad to see her he nearly wept. Good and faithful Hasana staying with him no matter what.
He looked about. “Where’s Gurnsey?”
“Dead boss. At least I think he is. Last I saw of him he was running, but no way could he outrun all those… those… things.” She stifled a sob. “It was terrible, boss. Terrible.”
Skink tried to remember. His mind was so shocked he could barely think. What was Hasana talking about? Why had Gurnsey been running?
He looked around. He could see debris. Probably from the storm.
But wait a minute.
What storm?
Then he recalled the intense downpour of rain and hail. Okay, but now the storm was clearly over. The day was bright. The sky cloudless.
He shifted his bulk, bumping up against something large and fleshy. Skink reached down and grabbed the object, pulling it up so he could see.
And then he nearly screamed. It was an arm! The bloody stump of an arm from the shoulder down to the wrist. As he looked, frozen in horror, there came a chittering noise and a little black bug came scampered out of the bloody wrist stump.
Skink shouted and hurled the arm away. His stomach clenched and he got to his knees and spewed his guts. Hacking and coughing and vomiting, Hasana holding his head and saying, “There, there, boss. You’ll be fine. Everything’s okay.”
But he wasn’t fine and nothing was okay and it would never be okay again.
Memory came flooding back. The raging storm. The rain and the hail the lightning and the thunder and suddenly it was over as quickly as it had begun.
The canyon floor was flooded with water, but then the arclights bloomed on and cracks appeared in the floor of the canyon and the water was sucked into the cracks until nothing was left but steam rising under the hot arclights.
He didn’t see his people so he shouted for Gurnsey to get his behind over here they had a war to fight and where the clot was the enemy?
People started to creep out of their shelters. Blinking in the light like underground animals after a long winter’s nap. There was Gurnsey, coming at a trot. Hasana just behind him. Then some of his other pirates.
Then he saw Anthofelia’s people rising up and he had a sudden flash back to the moment when he saw her aides catch her and slit her throat, which was fine with him. Good riddance.
A moment later his troops started to appear, looking dazed, but coming out of it. Checking their battlerifles and gear.
Then he heard a pop! pop! pop! like firecrackers going off and he whirled to see little puffs of dirt exploding—pop! pop! pop! One went off just by his boot and a little black bug come tumbling out.
He smiled. It was a fierce little thing with tiny gnashing mandibles and clicking claws and a protruding tail with stinger on the end.
It came running toward him, as if to attack.
Stupid little thing.
“Ooh, I’m scared,” he chortled and he raised a boot and smashed the bug to a yellow pulp.
There was a sudden stillness. All across the canyon people came to an abrupt halt and fell silent, looking about as if sensing something was about to happen.
Skink felt a chill run up his back.
Then the entire floor of the canyon erupted in miniature explosions and millions of little black bugs came crawling out of the ground, mandibles and claws clicking, stingers waving about. Chittering with so many little voices that the sound became a series of ear-piercing shrieks.
They swarmed the pirates and the women and the air was rent with screams and there was blood everywhere as the insects devoured every scrap of flesh until only bloody uniforms were left behind.
Skink turned and scrambled up the hillside, not daring to look back. Then he found a safe place beneath some boulders and crawled in. He got himself turned around and saw the carnage below as the little bugs swarmed anything that moved.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was all over. And a long silence settled in over the dead.
And night fell so fast that it was like enormous curtains had closed on the scene.
Skink was too frightened to move and after a time he fell into a restless sleep full of screams and chittering bugs and empty, blood-soaked clothing.
And the next thing he knew, Hasana was tugging at his sleeve, going, “Boss? Boss?”
He felt a gnawing in his belly, realized he hadn’t eaten for hours, and looked for his knapsack so he could grab some rations. But it was nowhere to be seen.
“Got anything to eat?” he asked Hasana.
“Sure, Boss,” she said. “Right here.”
He looked up and Hasana was just sitting there, staring at him. Hands empty. She grimaced and an odd look crossed her face, as if she were in pain.
“What’s wrong, Hasana?” he asked.
“Wrong, Boss? What could be wrong?”
Then her mouth came open as if she were going to say something else.
“Hasana?”
She lurched forward, retching. Gagging. Skink reached over to slap her on the back. To rid her of whatever was stuck in her throat.
She moaned. Gagged again. And then she vomited up hundreds of chittering black bugs that fell from her mouth into her lap and raced across her body toward Skink and he was screaming and shouting, “Get away, get away, get away,” but they kept coming, wave after wave of them and he fell back, screaming and screaming and then in a moment he was entirely covered with stinging, biting insects, thrashing wildly about, but there was no escape, no way to get free of Demeter.
A moment later, there was nothing left but a heap of bloody clothes, a battlerifle, a holstered pistol and a pair of boots, standing side by side.