For now, at least, the clan was safe.
Chapter Fourteen
Colonel Ruk na Graz glared morosely at the data screens which comprised one entire wall of his cramped office. He had resented this duty assignment from the day his posting had been ordered from the Homeworld. His uncle had fallen from the emperor’s favor yet again, scuttling Ruk na Graz’ own hopes for a successful military career. Damn that long-toothed, hot-tempered, loose-tongued old fool! If not for his uncle, Ruk na Graz would never have been reduced to commander of a dismal, airless hole bored into a cratered chunk of rock at the back of beyond.
He tapped clawtips in a pattern of irritated impatience against his desktop, hating almost as bitterly the orders which had just come from the Imperial palace on Melcon. Those orders kept his forces—such as they were—bottled up uselessly in garrison on this gods-forsaken airless moon.
He could only watch in rising frustration as the enemy reinforced itself with ever more troop transports, ever more battle machines, while he was forbidden even to poke his muzzle into the open, much less strike a blow against the hated humans. Melcon, he had decided morosely, was rotten with incompetence and greed. A cowardly lunacy had permeated the Imperial palace, one that kept the border patrols from openly confronting the Empire’s enemies, as honor demanded.
Why, in his grandfather’s day, these arrogant, upstart humans would simply have been blasted from the sky the moment they dared appear in orbit above a Melcon-held world. Particularly one where such an important—and expensive—scientific experiment was under way.
But with a new emperor on the throne, Melcon now ordered the military forces on the borders of Melconian space to hide, to gather data in secret, to do nothing that would betray their presence to their new human neighbors. Safer for Melcon, perhaps, when dealing with enemies as potentially damaging as the humans, but such a fight was utterly without honor.
And now that dishonorable policy of secretive cowardice had landed squarely on his own desk. He glared at a printout of his latest orders, received just before the new human battle group had broken into the system from hyper-light drive. Ruk na Graz held a snarl rigidly behind his teeth, to prevent his aide de camp from hearing it, in the outer office.
“Under no circumstances,” those orders read, “are you to allow the enemy to take prisoner any live populations of Tersae. The enemy must not gain access to information about Melcon through access to these experimental animals. The safety of the Empire and the Homeworld far outweigh the results of this experiment in biological manipulation, fruitful as it has been. If it becomes necessary to protect the secrecy of this project, execute destruct codes and evacuate the star system.”
Lunacy!
“Execute destruct codes,” they said. His muzzle wrinkled in bitter distaste. He didn’t give a damn about the experimental animals, but it was such a wretched waste of Melconian time and effort, to simply euthanize the beasts before the experiment had reached its fullest maturity. Generations of Melconian scientists had poured their talents and genius into the creation of the Tersae, into the manipulation of their genetic code, gathering critical information on biological deformation in the process, information that would give Melcon the edge in any long-term conflict with her enemies.
From where he sat, at least, the humans looked more and more like the worst enemy Melcon had yet encountered. Intelligent, resourceful, capable of manufacturing weapons that were the equal of anything developed in Melcon’s weapons laboratories, they were also doggedly tenacious. Everywhere humans had gone along the edges of Melconian space—or Melcon’s uneasy border with the Deng—the humans had poured immense resources into holding onto balls of utterly worthless rock, valueless apart from the presence of human colonies.
A scowl lifted the jowls from his teeth. That tendency to fight for worthless bits of rock might apply elsewhere, but it was clear to Ruk na Graz that the humans had found something of immense value here, something they were mining by the shiploads. Whatever it was, it was valuable enough to send war machines in to defend the mines, and that spoke—to Ruk na Graz, at least—of critical war materiel. His increasingly urgent reports had been totally ignored, leaving him no choice but to watch from this carefully-hidden moon base while cargo transports jockeyed and maneuvered through the muck and debris of this misbegotten star system.
The Tersae were certainly far too stupid to figure out what the stuff might be and why the humans wanted it. The only thing the Tersae were good for—in this particular context—was delivering bullets and bombs. And they were so incredibly brainless, they blew themselves up more often than not, dying “gloriously” for their makers. Ruk na Graz snorted. They didn’t even know how to die properly. If not for the waste of so many Melconian lifetimes spent creating and manipulating them, he’d almost have enjoyed issuing the destruct codes.
A low buzzer interrupted his bitter ruminations. “What?” he asked harshly.
“Forgive the intrusion, Colonel Graz, but Science Leader Vrim is asking to see you.”
Ruk na Graz bit back the angry words on his tongue. “Send him in,” he growled.
“Yes, Colonel Graz.”
The door opened and Grell na Vrim entered, muzzle respectfully lowered. The Science Leader had gone grey around the jowls, having spent most of his career on this moon base or conducting field research down on the surface. Vrim had not been pleased by the order halting all such field trips until the human threat had been satisfactorily neutralized. If the Science Leader had come to demand yet again that he rescind that order . . .
Ruk na Graz waited for the aging scientist to halt in front of his desk before speaking.
“Yes, Science Leader?”
Holding some sort of printout tucked under one arm, Grell na Vrim met his gaze squarely, anger visible in the set of his ears. “Is the rumor true, Colonel? Has the Homeworld ordered the destruction of the Tersae?”
Ah . . .
“It’s no rumor, Science Leader.” He tossed the printout across his desk.
Vrim read it, clamping his ears flat to his skull. “This is an outrage!”
“I agree.”
“Then—?” Hope flared in the tone of his voice and the brief lifting of his ears.
“I will do whatever is necessary, Science Leader, to protect the Empire and the Homeworld from threat.”
“But—” Vrim closed his mouth again with an audible snap of his teeth. “Yes. Of course. May a lowly scientist ask if we are expected to sacrifice our own lives, as well, protecting the Homeworld’s secrets?”
Strength still blazed in those eyes, the strength of a zealot dedicated to his mission. Ruk na Graz was unable to disguise the sympathetic twitch of his ears. Vrim was no soldier and did not bring the same expectations to his work that a soldier would have, facing those orders. The Science Leader saw only the ruin of his life’s work in that sordid little printout—and rightly feared the destruction of his life, as well.
“I sincerely hope not,” Ruk na Graz said quietly, giving the most honest answer he could, for he respected the Science Leader, although he would never dare admit it to a mere civilian. “That would be a far greater waste, in my opinion, than the loss of a few thousand flightless, furry birds. To lose good Melconian lives, protecting the secrets surrounding those stupid beasts . . .” He shook his head in frustration. “Given the strength of the human incursion into this system, they are clearly determined to fight as long and as hard as necessary to inhabit that wretched ball of ice. I would advise you and your people to start packing. The Homeworld will not allow me to fight for this star system, so the best we can do is make a run for it in a fast transport ship while the humans are distracted.”
“Distracted?” Vrim asked, openly puzzled.
“That is my worry,” Ruk na Graz growled. “Yours is getting your people and as much of your research data as possible ready for emergency evacuation.”
“Yes, Colonel,” the Science Leader muttered. He brought out his own printout, then. “We have received a transmission from one of the Tersae clans.” He handed it across.
Ruk na Graz frowned at the transcribed message. “Invisible mound-stingers? What in the seventeen moons are they talking about?”
Vrim shrugged. “I don’t know. I was hoping you might have some idea, since I don’t know much about weapons systems.”
Another scowl lifted Ruk na Graz’ jowls. “I’ve never heard of anything remotely like this. Buzzing mounds and invisible weapons that cut holes through a solid body? If this were a military installation, at least I’d have access to a decent laboratory of weapons technicians, to try figuring it out.” He tossed the printout onto his desk, so disgusted he couldn’t even find words to express it.