Weapons of War (7 page)

"One of their clones?"

"Yes. I never met mom, but that picture of her that you always projected onto the wall of our apartment, that's etched into my brain. I don't even need to think about it to call it up. The woman, she was the spitting image. An exact duplicate."

"They cloned Juliet?"
 

"It seems that way."

"So they caught up to her, and they took her?"

"I think so."

Gabriel expected his father to fall apart again. To take the news hard, like he and Colonel Choi had both believed he would. Instead, he started to laugh. A hard, deep laugh.

"What's so funny?" Gabriel asked, as his father leaned forward, beginning to cough from the effort.

"They made copies of your mom," Theodore said. "Do you have any idea what that means?"

"It means she was captured. It means she's most likely dead."

"She was always most likely dead, son, as much as I hate to admit it. No, I'm laughing because it means that those couillons have no idea what kind of reckoning they've brought down on themselves. None at all. A spirit like Juliet's can't be quelled forever. They're going to learn that the hard way if they haven't learned it already.

"It's like I said, son. God has a plan, and it's a doozy."

Tea'va shifted slightly in the confines of the gi'shah, the suspension gel of the cockpit cold and damp against his more sensitive, more human-like flesh. For older drumhr, the koo'lek was a necessary ingredient, as it was filled with nutrients, hormones, and chemicals that would make the pilot a more efficient fighting machine. For them, it would remove waste and add back needed fluids, as well as act as a transmitter to the bek'hai's every thought, transferring electrical signals into activity that would pass to the organic control system of the gi'shah. For him, it did little more than cling to his body, attempting to fulfill its design and failing miserably. Instead, he had to wear a cap and suit composed of the gori'shah, microscopic symbiotic organisms that were often grown to maturity woven into their more recently developed clothing.
 

It was the gori'shah that would enable the transfer for him. This made flying the craft less efficient for him than was for the others, and was one of the reasons he had given chase to the Heil'shur. He had wanted to prove that his more genetically advanced form strengths were greater than its current weaknesses.

He had failed.

It didn't matter. The Domo'dahm had listened to his plea. Had allowed him another chance. While the other pur'dahm ridiculed him, the Domo'dahm believed in him and his future. If only Rorn'el didn't insist on his mating with the Mothers, the situation would have been perfect.

He saw the Ishur growing nearer through a tiny transparent slit at the head of the gi'shah, slightly distorted by the fluid he had to look through. A thought sent the fighter into a slight vector change, decreasing thrust and angling for the ship's hangar.

"My bek'hai splice was second to Kan'ek," Gr'el said through their communication system. His voice was muddled by the transfer from the koo'lek to the gori'shah, to Tea'va's ears. "He commanded the Ishur during the invasion."

"Was it your splice who allowed the human ship to escape?" Tea'va replied.
 

"Drek," Gr'el cursed, speaking in bek'hai. "The human ship evaded the entire fleet. It makes no less of any of the bek'hai involved. Must you always be so abrasive?"

"It was an innocent question," Tea'va said.
 

"The Ishur has a growing history of failure," Gr'el said. "Perhaps that is why the Domo'dahm allowed you to command it?"

Tea'va felt his upper lip curl at the remark. He didn't respond to it. Rorn'el would be receiving reports from Gr'el about his performance. He knew he should be working to be friendly with the pur'dahm, not taunting him about his heritage.

"We will change the Ishur's fortunes together," Tea'va said. "When we destroy the humans, we will both gain rank in the eyes of the Domo'dahm."

"Yes, we will," Gr'el agreed.

Tea'va didn't speak again after the exchange. He watched the Ishur as it drowned out the entire viewport of the gi'shah. The hangar was little more than a thin line of white light along the huge lek'shah surface. It took nearly two hundred cycles to produce enough of the material to build a star fortress. He had heard it would take even longer now. Apparently, the Earth's atmosphere was not as favorable to the production process.

Gr'el was already a problem. He would become a bigger problem as time passed. Both were jockeying for position to take over the bek'hai when the Domo'dahm's years were up. This would be the best chance either of them had to make a lasting impression that could bring the bek'hai under their control. Not only would he have to outmaneuver the humans, he would need to outmatch Gr'el as well.
 

He was certain the Domo'dahm was fully aware of this. Rorn'el was affording him the chance to either prove himself or die.

He would make sure he wasn't the one who died.

He scowled at the thought, the expression forcing his crooked lips open, allowing the gel to seep in through the cracks. He sputtered, forcing it back out and refocusing his efforts to keep his mouth on the breathing apparatus.

Disgusting.

He shifted his attention back to the approaching hangar. The white lights had expanded, showing a depth to the space as it sank back into the fortress. It took little effort for him to line the gi'shah up with the pattern, and even less for him to guide the fighter through an atmospheric filter and into the cavernous space. Dozens of gi'shah rested in organized patterns along the floor of the hangar, along with a few of the larger ek'shah, more heavily armored and less maneuverable craft that were intended primarily for close combat. They had been sent out sparingly in the years since they had arrived on Earth.

The lights directed him to the proper position on the hangar floor. Tea'va turned the gi'shah sharply as it sank in the artificial gravity, bringing it to the ground with a soft thud. He watched through the viewport as a team of five human clones rushed over, pushing an apparatus with a large, empty bin ahead of them. They reached the fighter, and a moment later he heard a thud and pop, and then the gel began to drain from the cockpit.

Tea'va shivered slightly as it was released, though the gori'shah suit helped keep his thinner skin warmer. As soon as the gel was down to his ankles, he removed the cap, signaling the cockpit hatch to open. It rotated up on a hinge, revealing the rest of the hangar to him. A smaller pur'dahm was waiting nearby, his long fingers, thicker, scalier skin, and lack of expression showing him as a less successful splice.

"Pur'dahm Tea'va," the bek'hai said, lowering his head in submission. "The crew of the Ishur is prepared to enter your servitude."

Tea'va could imagine how difficult the statement was for the pur'dahm. As the now former commander of the Ishur, Ilk'ash had not only been demoted but also relegated to the third position in the command cell.

"Authority accepted," Tea'va said, raising his head in response. The body language was more important than the words. He took three steps toward the other pur'dahm before turning to wait for Gr'el.

He was already approaching. He lowered his head to Tea'va, just enough to be proper. "Gr'el dur Lok'ash is prepared to enter your servitude."

"Authority accepted," Tea'va repeated, raising his head. He was more careful this time, adjusting only enough to finish the ritual but not embarrass the pur'dahm. "Ilk'ash, take us to the bridge."

"Of course, Dahm Tea'va. Follow me."

Tea'va fell in line behind Ilk'ash and Gr'el, forcing himself to hold his mouth closed, or else risk upsetting Gr'el with a satisfied smirk. He was almost happy the Heil'shur had gotten away.
 

With greater risk came greater reward.

"Tell me about your pursuit of the human starship," Tea'va said.
 

He had positioned himself in the center of the bridge, in a seat on a pedestal intended for something much larger than he was. While many aspects of the bek'hai fortresses had been adjusted for the drumhr, there were reminders of their prior evolution still mingled in the details.

Tea'va didn't know why this seat had yet to be replaced. He didn't care. It was comfortable enough, even if it did make him look small.

Ilk'ash was at the command station below and to his left, his hands resting in more of the koo'lek gel so that he could monitor the ship's systems. He looked uncomfortable in the spot, unused to being forced into such activity. As a commander, he would never have been involved with managing the fortress himself.
 

The bek'hai withdrew his hands, the gel slipping off and back into the semi-circular receptacle in front of him. He then stood and turned to face Tea'va. Even standing, his head barely reached up to Tea'va's feet.

"The Domo'dahm ordered us to prepare the Ishur for launch immediately after the starship arrived inside of our domain," Ilk'ash said. "Most of the lor'hai were already present and carrying about their tasks. Many of the drumhr were not in a stage of warning. Why would they be, when there has been no outside threat for over fifty cycles? Under these circumstances, I am proud of how quickly we were able to put the Ishur into space."

"You should be proud," Gr'el said. "I am willing to wager that the Un fortress is not as well-prepared to launch."

"Go on," Tea'va said. "I'm more interested in how a human ship with no weapons managed to get away from you."

Ilk'ash's head snapped up, his eyes angry. He immediately lowered it again, though Tea'va could picture him glowering into the floor. He had to be careful with Gr'el. He didn't care what Ilk'ash thought of him.
 

"Their armor absorbed a number of direct plasma hits," Ilk'ash said. "It is thicker than the others we destroyed during the invasion. At least, that is what my science team tells me."

"Why didn't you fire any missiles at them?" Tea'va said.

"The Domo'dahm ordered me not to. He didn't want to waste them. He didn't know they had bolstered their armor either."

"And how did they escape?" Tea'va asked. He didn't need to. He already knew the answer. He had seen the human starship plummeting toward the planet. He had seen the way it shimmered and shifted, trying to gain purchase in the slipstream.

Then he had seen it disappear.

"It entered the slipstream, Domo Tea'va," Ilk'ash replied softly.
 

"Inside of the defenses?"

"Yes, Domo."

"I have never heard of such a thing."

"Neither had I," Ilk'ash said, looking up again. "If I had not seen it, I wouldn't believe it. They used the slipstream to escape."

"Why didn't you follow?"

"We couldn't."

"Why not?"
 

"We could not calculate the slipstream coordinates in time. We also-"

"You couldn't calculate the coordinates? A human calculated the coordinates."

Ilk'ash's head lowered a second time, dropping almost to his shoulders. "The humans had time to prepare-"

"I saw the ship come down," Tea'va said, interrupting a second time. "They did not prepare to join the slipstream. I am certain of it. Who is the dahm in charge of the science team on the Ishur?"

"Lor'dahm Zoelle, Dahm Tea'va."

Tea'va felt his anger growing hotter. "A clone?"
 

"Yes, Dahm."

"One of the un'hai?"

"Yes, Dahm. Shall I call her to the bridge?"

"No. I will deal with that one later."
 

He paused, thinking. Should he be so bold, so soon? He glanced down at Gr'el. The pur'dahm was looking straight ahead, maintaining decorum. What would the Domo'dahm think if he followed his instinct?

"What did the Domo'dahm think of your failure?" he asked.

"Failure? Dahm, it wasn't my fault. My crew did the best they could. Lor'dahm Zoelle is an accomplished mathematician and astronomer."

"You didn't answer my question."

"He gave the Ishur to you, Tea'va," Ilk'ash said, dropping his title. "That is the answer."