“Does General Rokoyan know all of this?”
“Rear Admiral Santi at Angelrath is communicating to him daily over the SWIFT channels, from what I’ve heard.”
This shut Brooks up. The captain obviously felt slighted at not being fully informed about the danger that Delas was in.
The pair remained quiet as Captain Brooks dodged traffic around the terminal, and then drove through security at the starport’s main gate. Many factories and industrial complexes had sprung up around the starport since the last time Ishida had been at Starveil. It was impressive to see so much construction underway. Huge cranes were lifting gigantic support beams while small swarms of construction robots welded the frames together within fountains of sparks. Great plots of scrubgrass were being cleared away, laying bare the savannah soil that had been long ago judged useless to the plantation owners. Given another century, Toman considered, Delas could very well be the industrial powerhouse running this entire sector. It certainly had the raw materials for it, and now it was building the manufacturing foundations.
The four-lane highway coming from the south had little traffic on it as they increased speed on the on ramp. This changed, though, as they approached the tall buildings of central Starveil. Such concentration of population only confirmed how the planet’s work force was rapidly converting from mining and agriculture to manufacturing and service.
“I was told to ask you,” the captain spoke up once they were on the highway, “whether your Bolos were going to be poking around our defense network anymore.”
“No.” The colonel smiled. “We’ve done all the poking around that we needed. Your network is well maintained and operated, I was told.”
“Thank you.” The captain was gracious. “General Rokoyan will be pleased to hear that, though he was very upset at the time.”
“Do you talk with him often?”
“Me? No, not anymore. I used to work for him at Blackstone, so he knows me personally. But he rarely ever leaves the place, or has any reason to talk to anyone outside of it.”
“What do you do here?”
“I’m the liaison between the DDC and the Starveil DDF. All cities have at least one. We try to organize cooperation between the cities in their wargames and acquisition of equipment. It’s more work than you’d think.”
Colonel Ishida nodded, understanding.
Ishida was distracted by an impressive site as Brooks turned off the highway. Although the colonel had landed at Starveil several times, he had never had the opportunity to cross the old-style suspension bridge that spanned the Delas River. He had seen it from a distance several times, but never had reason to visit the northeast section of the city. It certainly was not the largest suspension bridge ever created, but it was a rare opportunity to see one outside of Earth.
As the bridge rose higher and higher, the distant treeline north of the city became visible. The jungle beyond was an unbroken mass of dark green vegetation stretching to the horizon. Turning east, the colonel could just make out the ocean coast beyond the river delta. As the colonel looked down at the barges and ocean transports that were travelling Delas’ largest river, Brooks continued to discuss the difficulties of his job.
“It’s gotten better lately, but the cities insist on viewing each other as competitors,” the captain was saying. “All of the large mining corporations that first colonized this world staked out their claims, populated their cities, and have been in each other’s face ever since. Getting them to work together under any circumstance is frustrating, even for planetary defense.”
“Still no nukes?”
“Not yet.” Brooks shook his head. “For now the cities are just concentrating on the Hellbore turrets. They’re still uneasy about letting the DDC control any thermonuclear warheads.”
“But they don’t mind the ground batteries?”
“Nope. The Hellbore turrets are fine since they can’t be used against ground targets. We’re even trying to get various local high-tech industries involved in the Cape Storm battery, but that has made the progress slow. We’re hoping that the next battery will have completely Delassian components.”
A noble goal, Toman thought, but not worth the delay in getting those turrets operational.
“When will Cape Storm become operational?” Toman asked.
“Next year, sometime, was the last date that I saw.”
Toman grunted acknowledgement, and grew reflective. Captain Brooks continued discussing his problems with local corporations, but Toman paid little attention to it.
Before she died, Maria Ishida was a well-known name in Delassian political circles. She had often written long letters to him telling of the bureaucratic battles that she was in, just as he sent her news of the battles of the 39th. Maria would write her letters with the same language and terminology he used, though he never thought that she was mocking him. It was a game that she played with a soldier’s determination and guile. Often she’d be working against the very corporation that she was employed by, Telsteel Industries, the core of Telville’s commerce. On Delas, politics and business were often the same. To her, the fierce competition between the cities was what was driving Delas’ rapid advancement. Although the powerful corporations might be a royal pain to the local governments, Delas would never have grown so powerful, so quickly, without them.
Somewhere there must be a balance, Toman thought. Maria, though, just believed that a civilization grew in stages. Brooks had admitted that things continued to get better. The power of the local corporations was waning. Now it was time for the city governments to take control of the politics. Maria had seen this beginning twelve years before, and perhaps she had planted many of the seeds.
Colonel Ishida worried, though, that their growing season was over, and this harvest would happen far too soon.
* * *
“This is a foolhardy plan, Is-kaldai Keertra.”
The entry into the dark room by Ad-akradai Irriessa had not gone unnoticed by the crimson-robed figure sitting motionless at his wide command console. Keertra, however, didn’t bother turning away from the crisp image of a white and blue planet that was projected onto a massive display on the rear wall. Irriessa strode quickly from the door to stand directly before the console, and his dark and leathery, lizardlike skin twitched uncontrollably in his frustration. Bulging muscles covered a humanoid frame that stood over seven feet tall. Still, Keertra did not face the enraged commander, even though Irriessa was the servant of his most hated rival, Is-kaldai Riffen. Their long and slender surias, most assuredly drawn on sight before the mission, remained strapped to their sides, blades unbloodied.
“I use only my own troops, Irriessa. Why do you complain?”
“Your soldiers, as vile as they are, may be needed later.”
Keertra could not smile at the insult, for his face had limited contortions. The Kezdai’s deep-set, bright green eyes and dark beak were almost eaglelike, frozen for a lifetime in nearly the same cold expression. His protruding eyebrows, however, narrowed a fraction. And his cobralike hood, which cooled his blood in his homeworld’s desert heat, expanded noticeably as the blood vessels within protruded and pulsed.
“You still remain ignorant, Irriessa, of our mission. None of our soldiers are to return from this raid. So says the pact we have agreed to.”
“Our mission is to learn, Is-kaldai, not to die needlessly. You are reckless.”
“And you are insipid. Wars require planning, but victories need daring. It is because of those like you that we have remained idle for so long while these aliens fortify.”
Ad-akradai Irriessa did not react to this slight. As commander of Is-kaldai Riffen’s elite troops for thirty cycles, he was a Kezdai that was secure with his priorities and capabilities. His dark blue and white robe was adorned with the jewel incrusted medallions of countless battles, personal and on the field. This was, however, the flag bridge of Keertra’s personal warship, the Mirreskol. If he were to let this trading of insults continue, he would have no support for his version of what happened next.
Still, many times he had been alone with Keertra within this room, and each time the thought of ripping the Is-kaldai’s throat out hounded his every thought. The fiercely loyal guards that were stationed outside the doors could never react in time to save their leader. This small chamber was the most protected part of the ship, where Keertra could watch all things and command what he needed, without being bothered by the annoying details that the ship’s captain was meant to deal with. To many of the Is-kaldai, however, the flag bridge was but a place to hide, away from the knives of their overly ambitious subordinates and determined enemies. It amazed Irriessa that Keertra continued to allow him in.
“Will you be accompanying this insertion?” Irriessa asked without emotion.
Keertra was silent for a long while before answering. Irriessa waited patiently, determined not to be aggravated. The Ad-akradai was sure that this silence was meant to irritate him, rather than Keertra reflecting on a decision yet to be made.