A Warrior's Sacrifice (7 page)

Two hundred and forty-five kilometers northeast from where the Maharatha landed, another base lurked, unknown to anyone in the Republic. It lay deep below the earth and trees, its entrances the same color as the leaf litter, heat sinks and coils of wire dampening the signatures that might expose it to the watchful eyes of Republic and IGA satellites.

In those underground caverns, the base's denizens scrambled. They had a visitor today, the Princip, the architect of the invasion that had wrested land back from the Humans and their alien allies.

The excitement in the hidden base was palpable, the tension leading to more than the usual numbers of subjugation rituals amongst the lower ranked Choxen. The Base Commander, a Choxen named Brixaal, had been caught in the swirl of hormones as well, defending its status as Base Commander several times.

Brixaal had no idea what to expect, nor why the Princip had chosen this base after so many months of attentions elsewhere. Brixaal prepared as best It could, fabricating weapons and gear for invasion. It had also ordered every single grow tank into operation to produce both the Granrexen — the armored foot soldiers that the Republic called "Grunts" — and new Choxen soldiers. Already the first batch had their scars denoting completion of basic combat skills, with a second to soon follow.

With the suddenness of an invasion, it was time, and from the dark summer night, a small transport arrived hovering and quiet from the forest. The Choxen that emerged looked like all the others, except It carried an aura of power, a presence that couldn't be denied — and a reputation that It wouldn't.

"Princip Kavin," Brixaal said, bowing, head and neck exposed in a display of complete obeisance.

"You have information on the artifact?" Kavin's voice was raspy, the result of a voice box punctured in battle.

"We do, Princip. The Quislings await you in the forest south of here."

"Take me to them. Now."

"Absolutely, Princip." Brixaal gestured back toward the transport from which Kavin had emerged.

They both entered, the Princip first and the Base Commander following behind. The small cab smelled stale, with the faint, lingering scent of subjugation; the smell stirred something deep inside Brixaal, his body responding with a flush of sex hormones and adrenaline.

"You have done well for me," Kavin said as the vehicle wound its way along paths in the forest, its optical and electronic countermeasures hiding it from probing eyes in orbit. "Not long ago I gave this task to all my Base Commanders, and you are the only one to succeed."

"You honor me, Princip," Brixaal said with a bob of Its head.

Quiet again.

"How are the preparations for war?"

The Princip's mask of anger and fury fell, revealing — for just a moment — what looked like exhaustion.

Brixaal's battle hormones stirred.

The moment passed, and Kavin regained control. "We are besieged on all sides by the weakling Humans and their alien allies. Myself and Kre'ngar are the last Princips of worth on this continent. Observations within the Republic lands show preparations for a renewed push. Prepare yourself."

"We are prepared, Princip. When I heard of your coming, I knew it could only be the start of a new campaign." The image of battle, of conquest and flames and killing, enticed the Base Commander further. It was difficult to resist now, the
need
to subjugate someone, anyone, and if the Base Commander could subjugate the Princip and in doing so gain control of an entire Principality, so much the better.

By the time the Choxen transport reached the rendezvous point, the darkest part of the night had passed. Utter blackness gave way to the gray-yellow light of the planet's only moon beaming through the leaves overhead. A low, cool wind rustled leaves still green and tender.

Even in the dark cast by the overhead trees, Kavin could see the Humans as clear as if it were daylight. There were eighteen total, the majority in places of supposed safety, hiding behind trees or laid out in depressions in the ground. Two Humans, the leaders of this Quisling tribe, shivered despite their oiled animal skins, exposed to the elements and the hateful eyes of the Choxen.

They show their weaknesses.
Kavin grunted to suppress a laugh. They could have hidden their cold with simple tricks of the mind — or been smart enough to dress in better clothes. Their other weakness, the dichotomy of the sexes, made them permanently flawed. Even in the Republic, their scientists had chosen to keep the differences that nature and random chance had bestowed upon the species instead of editing them out.

In silence, Kavin thanked the Siloth Makers that had corrected nature's mistakes and created a race of Sentients superior to Humans — a species crafted in the image of their makers.

Yes. The Humans of the Republic were weak, weaker even than the Quislings that raided these lands. How long had it been since there was a truly strong Quisling family? It was a long time ago, decades, a family so strong that they put even Kavin's soldiers to shame. The leaders of the family had even defeated It, and in that moment when Kavin should have been subjugated, the Republic struck.

The scars across Kavin's back itched, the proof of Its hubris and lack of attention. Kavin snarled and pushed the memory away; the wish to be subjugated by a
Human
was a dangerous thought indeed.

"What information do you have?" Kavin asked.

The Humans shrank back, eyes fluttering between Kavin and the other same-faced Choxen that flanked their leader. "Uhh," the man stammered, "we have information on an alien relic."

"And? Describe it to me."

"It is an orb the size of my fist," the man held up a clenched hand, "midnight black with a single line that splits it into two perfect halves."

"What?" Kavin rasped taking a step forward, arms outstretched to seize the man. On both sides of Kavin, guns rattled from holsters and blades slid free from their scabbards. Kavin lowered its hands. "Is that true?"

"It is, Xe," the woman said, using the formal, gender-neutral pronoun of Kavin's people.

"Have you seen it?"

"No, Xe. Only heard of it from our contacts."

"You must acquire it!" At Its sides, Kavin's hands twisted into claws.

"We will, Xe. We will need time … and aid."

Perhaps they weren't as weak as Kavin had at first thought. A weakling would do as It was commanded, not use Its information for leverage. It had a mind to capture them all, torture them for their insolence and the information they harbored. But that would only grant Kavin
information
, not access to the item It coveted. It could not take the risk.

Yet agreeing to their demands would make Kavin appear weak and would instigate a new series of attempts at subjugation from within the guard, Kavin already knew that the Base Commander was on the edge, but that was another matter, and one Kavin relished.

Kavin shook Its head. To acquiesce was a small thing. To find the artifact was Its duty after all, assigned by the Siloth Makers before they left the planet, and the Siloths' imperatives preceded one's own.

"Tell me what it is you wish." Kavin could see their spines stiffen, nerves hardening as they perceived that this concession somehow meant the subjugation of a Choxen Princip.

"Xe, all we ask is for safe harbor in your lands, equipment, food, and clothing for our people."

"Done. You will return the relic to me within a month. See Brixaal about your needs." Kavin turned. The meeting was over.

Kavin was close now, the relic within reach. The Choxen occupation of this planet needed only to last until the relic was within hand and then Kavin would be saved from this fallen world and the lost battle for its control. It would reach Its goal, yes; and It would sacrifice everything if need be.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The forest crept forward. It wasn't sudden — that wasn't the way of forests. Ivies meandered along the ground, probing the defenses; ferns leaned their leaves across the burn-line. They were the forward scouts of the forest, the plants that grew and spread before the trees could take root. They met no resistance; there were no longer any inhabitants to beat back the advance.

The signs of Humanity were clear and unmistakable. Low plasteel buildings placed end-on-end formed the perimeter. Logs, sharpened on the upward end, comprised the gate. Clothing hung limp and forgotten on drying lines. Simple tools lay abandoned in the gardens, the cultivated plants indistinguishable from weeds.

It had only been a week since the civilians here were taken.

And they
had
been taken. It was too easy of a target to survive. Corwin knew this because he'd raided encampments like this before. The settlement had been doomed from the start. It was the layout; the denizens had relied upon the front gate for protection. They'd never conceived that someone could gain access by climbing up and over the buildings that formed the outer wall.

Corwin felt sick, ashamed. He dyzued similar feelings in his Voidmates. He sensed their aversion, that nagging fear that perhaps Corwin hadn't given up his old ways and they were maybe walking into a trap.

For a moment Corwin toyed with the idea of letting them wait outside on their hoverbikes, but that was a waste of time. They had to learn to trust him some time or another — even if he didn't trust them himself.

"Kai, get the gate," he said.

The Variant dismounted and pulled the gate open. Twisting the handle of his hoverbike, Corwin drifted in, the others following after. He parked behind a shed, careful to keep the bike hidden from the road, and dropped to the ground.

"Check these buildings and let me know what you find."

They each nodded.

Corwin started in the back. A mental command brought his short-range scanners on line. They swept forward like the sonar of a bat, returning to him a detailed image of the doorway and a few meters beyond. A chime indicated that it was clear of danger. Nudging the door open with his boot, Corwin entered the dark building. His helmet adjusted to the low light.

The interior was in shambles. A table and chairs, shoddy compared with what they'd seen in Yanmao's office, were overturned and broken. Dishware lay scattered, the food rotting on the floor. He crossed the room in a few steps, shouldering open another door. It was a sleeping area with three sets of bunks arranged and packed in true Republic fashion.

A body sat propped against a wall, its eyes glazed and bulging, its wounds squirming with insect larvae. He'd tried to defend himself and paid for it. He was better off this way; better that he died here instead of giving in and facing the horrors that the Choxen would have visited upon him in their search for genetic purity.

Kai's voice rumbled through the com. "I found something."

"On my way." Corwin left the building behind, relieved to be out under the open sky again.

Kai stood in a doorway a few buildings down. In his massive hand, he held a dozen strips of white cloth, some bloodied, some not.

Chahal froze mid-step, shook it off.

"I'm sorry," Kai said, handing the Exilist symbols to Chahal.

Phae snorted. "Their carelessness killed them."

Corwin sucked in a breath to rebuke Phae, but Chahal cut in. "Yes," she said. "They were weak. They have been tested and failed." She stepped into the building, and the others followed after.

The room was a mess, blood and bodies and pieces of rotting flesh strewn across wall and ceiling and floor. Nothing had been spared. An arm, purple and oozing, lay on the floor nearby, the fingers and hand small — a child's, not much older than seven or eight.

Had the enemy also died here? It was hard to tell.

"They fought," Chahal said, laying the strips of white cloth out onto the floor. "There is some dreng in that."

"What good is fighting if you don't win?" Phae asked.

The com crackled to life. "Void Commander Shura, this is Yanmao, do you copy?"

Corwin stepped from the building, using the call as an excuse more than anything else. "I copy."

"We've just gotten a report of a settlement raid in progress about thirty kilometers north-northeast of your position. Coordinates are inbound."

"Understood. Commander Shura out."

Corwin jogged to his hoverbike. "We need to go," he said to his Void. "Settlement raid in progress."

Phae sprinted from the building, across the open field, shouting in excitement as she leapt aboard. "Let's get these sons of Siloth!"

"Is there anything you need to do for them, Chahal?" Corwin asked on a private channel as he uploaded the coordinates to the others.

"No, sir. It is not important what happens to the physical body
after
death, only to the spirit before."

"Fine," Corwin said as he led the way out through the gate.

This far from civilization, roads were little more than beaten paths through the forest. In some areas, the trees had been cleared, but they were still made of dirt, grass, and industrious weeds, and out of ease followed the contours of the landscape. The winding country lanes would lead the Maharatha far afield of their destination, and while hoverbikes were capable of high speeds without much sound, the antigravity cushion on which they rode made turning a challenge. Their situation necessitated haste, and Corwin left the roads for a more expedient route.