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Sub-leader Kan Vosich stared through the shimmering veil of the force field. His callused fingers curled in sympathy with his narrowed lids. The Giswe prison guards milled near the command center. Their thick-furred faces and rapidly waving, six-digit hands revealed the extent of their agitation.
Vosich glanced back as a soft voice muttered behind him.
"Maybe it's true." Vosich's Second, Perip Irst, nodded towards their alien captors. Slowly, the big man chewed on a sliver of harra root. With great deliberation, he spat the mashed fibers at the shimmering vertical wall of energy. The remnants of the stimulant sizzled faintly and slid silently to the orange-brown dirt.
Vosich shook his head. "I don't know. So many rumors have floated through. Difficult to tell what to believe."
Absently, Irst reached inside his purple POW garb. Biting off another inch of harra root, he said, "Good if it's Brezina. Bad -- very bad -- if it's Rhanler."
A shuddery breath flitted through Vosich. "I hope we chose wisely, my friend. If we did not..."
Irst said nothing for a long moment. "If we did not," he said flatly, "we'll not have long to regret our errors in judgment."
"Perhaps I can speak with Tralang."
Irst snorted his opinion of the camp commander. "Who would tell that fur-head anything important?"
Vosich filtered his fingers through his thick, white hair. "We have to make plans. If the Brezinans reach us first, we'll be home free. If the war truly is ending and the Rhanlers liberate us, we'll have to fight."
Heading for the camp entrance, the two comrades-in-arms subconsciously fell into a synchronous gait.
"How many of us remain?" Vosich asked.
Irst pursed his lips. "Last time I checked, we have 2100 officers in residence at the ten camps. They're spread roughly evenly among them."
"Combat troops?"
"Tougher to estimate." Irst squinted at the distant blue-white sun lifting above the edge of the force shield thirty meters overhead. "Total? Maybe two-hundred-thousand who volunteered to fight the Rhanlers. Another fifty-thousand support personnel. They've had basic training but little to nothing in terms of direct fighting."
Vosich paused at the inner lock through the field. Dark shadows of fatigue and stress lent a sunken appearance to his eyes. "Communications... How can we organize when we're scattered across half this continent?" His mouth thinned to a hard, angry line.
"Surely the Gisweans hate the Rhanler regulars as much as we do. If we can get them to cooperate with us as repayment for our help in the war..."
A bitter smile curved Vosich's cracked lips. "Don't go soft on me now, Perip. Giswe's as rotten as Rhanler."
"Almost."
"Fine. 'Almost.' The difference between being tortured to death or shot in the head. The point is, the Giswean command used us as a tool. I hardly think they'll feel any gratitude for their instrument."
Irst chewed thoughtfully. "Might help them after the war. Gain them some sympathy."
"I'll reserve opinion on that possibility. They could exploit our notoriety one final time."
Irst swept a spread-fingered hand through the air as though envisioning a banner. "'The Heroes of Rhanler Flee to Freedom.' Or," he said, reversing the gesture, "'Traitors Returned to Rhanler to Face Justice.'"
Maneuvering his eyes toward the retinal reader, Vosich said, "I'd much rather be a peon in Brezina than a potentate in Rhanler." The light flickered green. Seconds later, a speaker hissed to life. Vosich ignored it. "Unfortunately, our former colleagues will do their best to ensure we have neither option."
"There is always Brezina," Irst said.
"Yes," Vosich said. "There is always that."
The thick, matted fur enveloping most of Tralang's bony body whispered the extent of his misery. He had not been able to shampoo or groom it properly in days. Events moved too quickly, too mercurially. His sluggish thoughts did not cope well with deviation from routine. When he had been placed in control of this camp, he had been inordinately pleased. After years of shuffling from one undistinguished and unsuitable post to another, he had finally settled into an existence suited to his phlegmatic personality.
Now, he stared at the swift unraveling of his perfect life. The damned human Brezinans and Rhanlers had destroyed the glorious quest. Soon, Giswe would lose not only its conquered worlds. It teetered on the very brink of partition if not obliteration.
He growled at the First Talon standing rigidly at attention near the doorway. "Send in the prisoner."
The guard pounded his acknowledgement of the order against his armored chest. The barrel of his crackler rifle sported flecks of rust. At another time and in another place, Tralang might have chastised the fellow. Given the calamity sweeping towards them, what did such trivialities matter?
An involuntary snarl curled the edge of Tralang's thick lips as Vosich entered the small office. The Giswean's yellowed fangs glistened softly in the artificial light.
"What is it, Prisoner Vosich?" The deep, guttural rumble of Tralang's voice held an implicit threat.
"We have heard rumors, Pack Leader."
"You state the obvious. Rumors fly more plentifully than a flock of bluins."
"We have heard that the war is over."
"It is not over. If it were, do you think I would be here shepherding a flock of human trash?" Tralang paused to see if Vosich would rise to the bait.
The human's naked features contorted. For inner control, Tralang assumed; studying humans in order to understand their twisted emotional responses ranked low on his list of duties.
"We have heard," Vosich said tightly, "that the war is ending." He hesitated. "And Giswe is losing."
Coming from a prisoner, such a statement of fact constituted a grave insult. By rights and tradition, Tralang would be fully justified in severely punishing this enemy.
"Such boldness can lead to much pain," Tralang said perfunctorily. "But...like so much in this war, your status is muddled."
"Because I sided with you against my own people? Because I and my men wore your uniforms, carried your weapons, killed my former comrades?" The prisoner raised a skinny brow.
Tralang shook his elongated head. "You are not a member of our Pack. Yet many of you died for us. To achieve our goals. To protect us."
A bray of laughter burst from the prisoner. His tiny-toothed grin greeted Tralang's assessment.
"The exact opposite, I'm afraid, Pack Leader. What we did, we did for ourselves. Not for you."
"You weaken your own position," Tralang said, delighted at that strange admission. "If you acted not to help us, why should I help you?"
Vosich's gray eyes widened ever so slightly. "We fought first for ourselves. You cannot deny you benefited, as well."
Tralang tapped his thick-nailed fingers on his desk. "Your men served their roles as decoys and delayers. Their efforts amounted to little."
"Giswe forced many Brezinan and Rhanler prisoners to work."
"Lazy plant eaters, all," Tralang said dismissively.
"We volunteered. Don't you see how much better we performed than those others?"
"Trivial differences. Your own world conscripts its citizens. How is that better than forcing our enemies to work for their shelter and meals?"
Vosich's gaze lowered to the floor. "I'm afraid they are two sides of the same coin, Pack Leader."
Tralang pushed his advantage. "Why, when you retreated before our superior armaments in the Sutpar system, one of your own kind -- the planetary governor -- revealed your hiding place at the first hint of danger to his precious personal holdings." He curled his fingers into claws. "A Pack member never betrays one of his own. He knows the rest would rend him limb from limb for such a perfidious act."
Tralang pushed back his chair and marched towards the prisoner. The human did not flinch when the Giswean stopped inches from him. The Pack Leader's breath blew hotly upon that bare, alien skin.
"Indeed, that was not the first treachery you encountered before your capture," Tralang said, relishing this opportunity to inflict verbal humiliation. A Pack member would have been curled upon the ground by now, whimpering and begging for forgiveness from the other members. If only he could make this stupid human submit, could make him concede his lowly status, then Tralang could ignore -- for a while, at least -- the degradation Giswe would soon endure at the hands of its adversaries.
"Initially, you had our ships scurrying away, their tails between their legs," Tralang said, leaning closer. "Pushing us towards the jump point, however, cost you resources. Each battle weakened or destroyed elements of your strength. You almost had us. Almost. All you required for the annihilation of our invasion fleet were a few score of reinforcements popping from the nexus. You would have trapped us between them and you." He lifted his lips in a savage smile. "Why didn't that work, Prisoner Vosich?" he asked, slightly emphasizing Prisoner. "What prevented you from achieving that total victory you could taste like blood from a fresh kill?"
Vosich compressed his lips.
"Tell me!" Tralang roared, glad to have a helpless target for his rage, his frustration, his fear.
Grimly, the prisoner met his warden's heated gaze. "The Rhanler High Leader refused to send me more ships."
Spreading his muscular arms, Tralang spun away. "What conceivable reason would motivate him to abandon such a 'hero of the people' as yourself when triumph lay barely beyond your fingertips?" Turning, he waited eagerly for Vosich's reply.
"He learned..." The prisoner inhaled a deep breath. "He learned that my wife supported his opponents. She wanted Rhanler to be free again. As it once was."
"And what happened to your wife? And your cubs?" Tralang asked, already knowing the answer.
"I...I don't know. I tried to find out, but..."
"But you were on the run, crushed as you strained fruitlessly for success. Abandoned by your Pack! Denied its assistance. Delivered into the clutches of your foes by one of your own kind. Disgraced. Then you compounded your shame by convincing us you would fight and murder your own kinsmen."
"We fought to be free."
"Freedom is an illusion. You must always depend on others in the Pack. You are born in a Pack, raised in a Pack, educated in a Pack. You work in a Pack. You'll die in a Pack. What you seek, what you tossed your people aside for like so much garbage does not exist."
Vosich swallowed. When he spoke, his words came softly, calmly. "We sought peace. With you. And Brezina."
Tralang barked his amazement. "Peace with us? 'Scum' no better than your own kind? Never."
"There is always Brezina," the prisoner said defiantly.
With his agitation leaking away, Tralang returned to his chair. "Perhaps," he said. "The race is on for who will arrive first to 'liberate' you and your underlings. Why they think you are the worth the effort, however, I truly do not know." Waving Vosich away, he switched on his comp. "Nor do I care."
As Vosich preceded his escort towards the prisoner compound, he had the small satisfaction of knowing that the bastard animal, Tralang, had at least confirmed some of the rumors. The war that had begun as a struggle to control the Sutpar nexus and then spread geometrically from system to system would soon be winding down.
With faster and more numerous vessels, Brezina would logically arrive at this outpost first. Throughout the war, the outdated Rhanler contingent had lagged behind their uneasy allies in technical advancement and logistical support. Of course, more of the conflict had been played out in Rhanler controlled systems. The destruction had been considerable.
Brezina will reach us first, he thought.
They had to.
Cringing inside, Admiral Mirr Aloc of the Brezinan Third Fleet watched the status reports spin silently across his personal screen. Though marginally bigger than others aboard the Bellerophon, his cabin sported no luxuries. A holo of his wife and three children -- two sons and a daughter -- rested on his nightstand. The minutiae of administration clogged all the other once-free spaces surrounding his desk and bed.
As a distraction as much as from thirst, he sipped at the glass of orange juice his executive officer had delivered. The mottled continents of Stiites drifted lazily by in the false window revealing the planet about which they orbited. Somewhere down there, cowering behind force fields and guarded by the dregs of the Giswe military, tens of thousands of prisoners -- both Rhanlers and Brezinan -- waited to be freed.
"I thought I had grown numb at these sights, these numbers." Aloc glanced at his exec, Jur Kwin, where he sat tipped back in another chair.
Kwin yawned. None of them had slept much in the past two weeks. "Glad you haven't. Maybe if we concentrate on such images, we won't be so eager to fight next time."
Aloc grunted. "Noble thought. Don't bet your pension on it, though."
A sad yet wry grin touched Kwin's lips. "How long do you think it'll be before the propaganda machine switches our attitudes from the 'valiant Rhanlers defending their homes' to 'the dastardly tyrants crushing liberty at every turn'?"
"Hobson's choice." Aloc forced himself to focus again on the pictures of blasted cities, scorched farmland, splintered forests. Once, Stiites had been a prosperous world. Now its only use lay in containing unfortunate warriors captured by its Giswean protectors.
"Remind me again why we slogged into this quagmire?"
"You know as well as I do we couldn't let Giswe control the Sutpar nexus. It's one of the largest linkages in this corner of the galaxy."
"A dictatorship by any other name..."
"...stinks as badly. I know. I can't escape the stench of helping such bastards. How many tens of millions have died on how many hundreds of worlds? How many trillions of credits have those people lost and we've spent propping up the foul taste of the Rhanler High Leader?"
Kwin shrugged uncomfortably. "What are you going to do? The politicos give orders. We take them."
"And do our best with the lousy hand we've been dealt." A sour expression twisted Aloc's weathered face.
"Ironic, though."
With sudden energy, Aloc slapped the screen off. "What is?"
"The Rhanlers could have held on to Sutpar. They deliberately chose to abandon Vosich."
The Admiral shook his gray head. "Don't know if we'll ever learn all the details on that one."
Kwin raised a bushy brow. "I hear he's down there," he said nonchalantly.
Startled, Aloc blinked. "Here? On Stiites?"
"That's the report."
"I'll be..." A grin spread across the Admiral's face. "I want to shake that man's hand."
"I don't know, Admiral. The High Leader says Vosich is a traitor. A terrorist."
"You know the drill, Jur. 'One man's terrorist --'"
"'-- is another man's freedom fighter.'" The exec dropped his chair to four legs. "He's lucky we're here first, that's all I can say."
"Yeah. I imagine he'll find Brezina considerably more to his liking."
"I'm sure our own boys will be glad to escape this hell-hole, too."
"All the better we arrived first. Allies or no, I wouldn't want our men at the tender mercies of the Rhanlers." He drank more juice. "When are we scheduled to land?"
"Another week or so while we 'negotiate' with the locals. Gotta preserve the 'pride of the Pack,' and all that BS. Then we can begin transferring the prisoners to our transports."
Aloc blew out his cheeks. "No kind of job for a fighting man."
"No. Not at all."
Steeling himself for the ordeal, Aloc flicked on the monitor. The scrolling visions of death resumed where he had stopped.
Despite his better judgment, Vosich let the smile wreath his face. "It's true," he said, grappling to keep his relief and enthusiasm under control. The fifty upper level Leaders who had gathered in his quarters began an excited chatter at that confirmation. "The orbiting ships belong to Brezina. We're going to make it!"
Unit Leader Alin Kirsk spoke above the babble. "When are we going to be released?"
"Tralang says they've finished setting up the protocols. The Brezinans will be here in a couple of days. After that, it's simply a matter of processing all the names against their lists and physically hauling us out of here."
A tinge of concern dusted Kirsk's youthful face. "And we'll be going to Brezina, right? Not back to Rhanler?"
"Of course. The Brezinans are familiar with our situation. They value freedom as much as we do. They'll be glad to welcome us as refugees."
"Good," Kirsk said, nodding to himself. "Good."
"Now. Each of you will be responsible for spreading the information to..."
In full formal regalia, Admiral Aloc headed briskly down the corridor to his waiting shuttle. Only a final, pointless ceremony with the planetary leaders stood between him and his objective. Then they could finish this mission and head for home. Rest, recreation, and refurbishing. The first two for his men, the last for his ships.
Perhaps Vosich would enjoy dining with the Admiral...
"Admiral Aloc! Admiral! Wait." Behind him, Exec Kwin bounded through the busy foot traffic. Waving his personal comp, he thundered to a stop, breathless. "Last minute instructions from Fleet Headquarters."
"Stupid key pushers! What bit of reg nonsense has them all riled now?" Snatching the comp, Aloc scanned the message. He stopped midway through and started again. His darkening expression conveyed only a fraction of what he felt. He cursed not-so-quietly under his breath.
"Damn it! Damn them."
He looked sharply at Kwin. "You've confirmed this? Both content and authenticity?"
"Yes, Admiral. Twice," the exec said bleakly.
"When will they arrive?"
"They already have."
"I see." For long seconds, Aloc stared blankly into space. "I don't see that we have much choice in this matter."
"I can go for you, Sir. No need for you to --"
Shoving the comp back into Kwin's hands, Admiral Aloc rumbled his reply. "No you won't! If this has to be done, I'll be the one looking him straight in the eye." With dogged determination, he stormed towards his shuttle. "He deserves that much, at least."
Over two-thousand Leaders stood on the field outside the prison grounds. For the dozenth time, Vosich smoothed his uniform. He had heard much about this Admiral Aloc. A good first impression on his part would launch his relationship with the Brezinan on the proper course.
The furred Giswean contingent flanked them on the right. Tralang appeared to have combed himself, at last. His resigned slouch told Vosich the alien would accept these awkward conditions because he had to. He would not, however, greet the human leader as an equal. Only those of his Pack deserved such respect.
As Admiral Aloc and his entourage strode nearer, Sub-leader Vosich straightened his spine another degree. When the older man halted, the soon-to-be-former-prisoner saluted briskly.
"Sub-leader Kan Vosich, Admiral," he said by way of introduction.
Returning the salute, Aloc extended a hand.
Surprised, Vosich returned the gesture.
"I've heard a lot about you, Sub-leader," the Admiral said. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."
"Thank you, Admiral. I...I appreciate your kind comments." He grinned. "But I can think of no better circumstances than to be leaving this prison and breathing the free air of Brezina!"
"Yes. Of course. I understand." Aloc hesitated as though he would say more. Very briefly, he closed his eyes. "First of all, Sub-leader, we will escort your officers to a conference where we will spell out the particulars of this transaction. As you might imagine, transporting so many men is quite an undertaking."
"Yes, Sir."
"You'll expedite matters if you simply follow all our directives."
The faintest hint of a chill whispered through Vosich. His brow wrinkled in momentary suspicion. "Of course, Admiral," he said slowly. "I... Of course."
"If you'll lead your fellow officers to the transport, we'll convey you to the conference site."
"Sir?"
Aloc's tongue wet his lips. "There's no building large enough here to hold so many people. Um. We don't want to try to communicate with you here in the open. The presentation is set up for you. At the conference site." He turned and pointed towards the waiting transport. "Now if you will so kindly --"
Boldly, Vosich reached out and gripped Aloc's upper arm. At the officer's startled expression, the Sub-leader released his hold. For a handful of seconds, he scanned the Admiral's face. "We are merely going to a conference. Correct, Admiral?"
Meeting the other man's eyes, Aloc stiffened. "I give you my word of honor, you are going to a conference."
Reluctantly nodding, Vosich explained the situation to his men.
When at last all the prisoners were aboard, Admiral Aloc personally accompanied the Rhanler rebel to the bridge. The Brezina officer spoke little during the trip.
The flight lasted less than half an hour. Once the transport landed and the ramp was lowered, Giswean guards marched up to the ship.
Vosich raised a brow in query.
"Their territory. They insist on maintaining control until you are lifted off-planet."
In orderly rows and columns, the prisoners disembarked two-hundred at a time. As each segment reached the cercrete apron, Giswean soldiers guided them towards a large hangar.
The first of the Rhanler prisoners had nearly reached their destination when Vosich glimpsed non-furry faces emerging from the shadows. A moment of confusion blossomed into panic as the color of the uniforms those strangers wore penetrated his awareness.
"Those are Rhanler greens!" Vosich shouted. "What are they doing here!" His voice screeched up an octave.
Aloc clutched at Vosich's sleeve. "Please. Don't make this worse than it already is. If you'll just --"
Yanking away his arm, Vosich's hands tightened into fists. His jaw whitened with the strain of containing his outrage. "The Rhanlers or the Gisweans would have killed us with blasters. You did it with your word of honor."
"Vosich, please! You must understand. I had no choice. I was ordered to --"
Vosich did not wait to hear the rest. Evading other eager hands, he dashed towards his men and the exit.
By the time he emerged into the blue-tinged daylight, over half the officers had spread across the distance to the hangar. Those nearest that metal structure realized their betrayal moments before Vosich burst into the open. The Sub-leader could see their struggling, fighting figures surging against a growing number of green-uniformed Rhanlers.
"It's a trap!" he screamed as loudly as he could. "Back into the transport! Now. Hurry."
Precious seconds ticked by while the information filtered past the prisoners' happy anticipation. The Giswean guards wasted no time in moving in.
The attack proceeded fiercely, ruthlessly. Though they did not fire their cracklers, the guards demonstrated no reluctance in using the stocks as effective clubs.
For awhile, the Rhanler officers gave way under that onslaught. Soon, however, hidden knives and clubs of crudely shaped metal or wooden rods emerged from beneath prison garb. Surging wildly, frantically, desperately against their captors, they drove the aliens back.
Scrambling against the tide of those still in the transport, the prisoners outdoors pushed and shoved their way up the crowded ramp. Some tumbled from the edges. Bruised and battered though they and the other victims of the guards were, they wasted no time nursing their wounds. With single-minded intensity, they rose to their feet, clambered onto the ramp, and resumed their determined quest for safety.
Some prisoners, dazed by the Giswean blows, were dragged towards the hangar and the waiting Rhanlers. Many of those groggy men swam towards consciousness and broke away, running and staggering as best they could towards their friends and cohorts. Again and again, the Gisweans gave chase, beating the prisoners senseless yet again, then dealing a third time with men fighting more and more weakly for their freedom.
Even those officers of Vosich's who had no weapons or who lost them during the battle brawled barehanded with the outnumbered aliens.
With more and more Gisweans squirming or lying motionlessly on the cercrete, Vosich felt a glimmer of hope sputter in his chest. As long as their captors refrained from discharging their weapons, they had a chance to make a successful retreat.
Urging his men into the ship, Vosich remained at the entrance, rallying and encouraging his bleeding troops.
Soon, however, even that trickle met a roadblock. From within the ship came the buzz and hiss of stunners. Frenzied cries of anguish drifted towards him.
The swollen features of his Second, Perip Irst, came into view as the big man carried an unconscious mate up the ramp. A large, blood-streaked blade protruded through Irst's wide, leather belt.
"Perip!"
"Kan." Even in this desperate hour, Perip did not abandon his stoic tenacity. "What should we do?"
"If those Rhanlers get us, we're dead men. Aloc's our last chance."
"The bastard sold us out."
"Right. But I don't think he liked it." Vosich scanned the large number of approaching Giswean reinforcements and the Brezinan troops who had them in a pincer. "We don't have any choice."
"Yeah," Perip said, a streak of bitterness lacing his voice. "There's always the Brezinans."
With Perip acting as ramrod, the two officers forced a path. Once inside, they crouched and leaped towards the passage leading to the bridge.
Two Brezinan soldiers blocked their path. The black barrels of fully charged stunners rose to aim at the prisoners' chests.
"Hold your fire!" a voice barked. Stepping from an alcove, Admiral Aloc approached the two Rhanler renegades.
Glancing out a nearby portal, Vosich's eyes widened in sick dread. As both Giswean and, finally, Rhanler troops neared the transport, the disheartened prisoners began slicing their own throats rather than fall into the grasp of their enemies and their fellow citizens. Those men without weapons begged for their compatriots to kill them first.
"Admiral, for the love of humanity, stop this madness." The words tore from Vosich's throat, trembling and pleading. "Deliver us to a third party. Someone. Somewhere. Don't let the Rhanlers take us or we're dead."
Woodenly, Aloc shook his head. "The decision's already been made. They've promised not to harm you."
"Their promises mean nothing! Don't you know that by now?"
"The High Leader insisted that you all be repatriated. He refused to sign off on the peace accord if we rejected his demands."
Vosich flung his pointing hand towards the field. "They're worse than the Gisweans. Give in on this, and they'll be back for more. Again and again. I know these people. I was one of them."
"Everyone's tired of war. Can't you see that? All the death, the destruction. No one has the stomach for any more." Aloc seemed to be talking as much to convince himself as Vosich. He lowered his voice. The screams of the dead and the dying wafted thinly through the thick armor of the transport. "They won't kill them all. Some will survive."
Vosich felt his energy, his life draining from his soul. Listlessly, he shook his head. His arms hung leadenly at his sides. "'Won't kill them all,'" he repeated incredulously.
"They've seized twenty-thousand of our own men as bargaining chips," Aloc said intensely. "They won't release them until your men are in custody and off-planet."
Swallowing dryly, Vosich drew on the dregs of his willpower and pulled himself fully erect. "And me?"
Aloc's hooded gaze drifted away. "They've... You've already been tried and convicted. They've already decided to execute you." With an obvious effort, he brought his eyes to face Aloc's. "They insisted on that condition above all others."
Before Vosich could snatch the knife from Perip's belt, the nearest Brezinan fired his stunner.
As he faded into unconsciousness, Vosich's mind grasped at a final thought: There is always Brezina.
The announcement from the High Leader interrupted all programming on every world under Rhanler control:
After being fairly tried and convicted of treason, espionage, and terrorist activity against the citizens of Rhanler and its wards, Sub-leader Kan Vosich, former hero and now traitor to the Rhanler armed forces and people, was executed today in the capital of Condel by order of the High Leader. His body was immediately cremated and his ashes scattered. He was preceded in ignoble death by his wife and four children. The two-hundred-thousand defectors who joined his rebellion will soon receive their just punishment, as well.
