I shook my head inside my helmet. “Not if they’re smart. They would have figured out that the fire rivers would all converge here and—”
Four camouflaged doors in the ceiling dropped open and dozens of spiders jumped down on us, firing, screeching weird high-pitched cries. One of them landed on my shoulders, heavy enough to buckle my knees and knock the rifle out of my hands. I saw a horrific set of mandibles snapping at my visor and felt a laser burn my arm. Grabbing at the spider, I yanked it away from me and smashed it against the cavern wall. Its hard shell took the shock, several of its arms sinking their barbs into the armored sleeve of my suit, another two firing pistols into my torso.
I staggered back, still clutching the thing by one of its barbed arms, and reached for the pistol at my hip. My right arm was badly burned, but I shut off the pain signals and yanked the pistol out of its holster. The Arachnoid tried to block me with one of its arms but I clubbed the arm away and fired into its clacking, snapping mouth. The beam sawed through the creature’s head and came out the other side, splashing against the wall.
Turning as it dropped away from me, I saw another spider clinging to a trooper with several arms and flicking the detonator of a grenade with one free claw. The explosion killed both of them and knocked the rest of us to the floor of the cavern.
With my senses in overdrive I fired at two more of the Arachnoids, pulled a third off Frede’s back and blew its head off, then swept half the cavern with the beam of my pistol.
The attack ended as suddenly as it had begun. Four of my troopers were on the ground, dead or dying. None of the spiders was left alive.
Through the suit radio I could hear Frede gulping for air.
“Thanks,” she gasped. “It was going to set off a grenade, I think.”
“Suicide fighters,” I said. “We won’t have any prisoners for the scientists to study.”
Frede laughed bitterly. “Tough shit,” she said.
I was able at last to tell the Tsihn admiral that Bititu was secure, after four days of intense battle. My casualties were nearly eighty percent. I myself was burned in the chest and right arm.
The admiral congratulated me, although its image in my visor showed no sign of pleasure or even of approval.
“The Hegemony has not seen fit to attempt to reinforce Bititu,” it complained. “My fleet has waited here for nothing.”
As we were being ferried back to the troopship I wondered why the Commonwealth thought this barren chunk of rock was important enough to kill hundreds of troopers. Apparently the Hegemony did not want to hold on to Bititu badly enough to send help to its Arachnoid garrison.
I shook my head wearily. Was there some real strategic meaning to this fighting, or was it all a game that the Creators were playing among themselves, using us and the other alien races we had encountered as pawns for their entertainment?
What difference did it make? Sitting there in the shuttle craft on the way back to the troopship, grimy and bloody and utterly exhausted, I did what all the other troopers were doing. I leaned my head back against the bulkhead and dozed off.
“It is not a game, Orion.”
The Golden One appeared before me, radiating light so blindingly bright that I had to shield my eyes with my aching, weary hands.
He seemed deadly serious, none of his usual mocking tone in his voice, his face somber, almost grim.
“The balance of forces in this war is tilting the wrong way,” Aten told me. “Anya and her ilk are slowly overcoming my Commonwealth.”
“But we took Bititu,” I protested, like a child seeking its father’s approval. “Isn’t that something?”
“Not enough,” he said. “The Hegemony did not go for my feint. The fleet waited, but the enemy did not step into the trap we had prepared for them.”
“Feint? All that killing was nothing more than a feint?”