Opening Moves (10 page)

It was another quality which earned Tarek Winters respect: he didn't hoard or swindle money like a lot of captains did. With good reason he believed a distrustful crew would ultimately lose him money in the long term. That was one reason he kept his people well paid, and happy. Judging by their wide grins they were currently
very
happy.

“
Rául, get the beers in,” Tarek handed him a disposable credit stick.

“
And ask if they do Pina Coladas,” Alexej added.

The small man scrambled up, still wearing a grin and scampered off to the bar.

“Pina Coladas?” Annie frowned. “Hell, even I wouldn't drink them.”

For the first time that night Tarek burst out laughing, his joviality mixing with the singing and laughing of the troops at a nearby table. It wasn't a classy bar, and the man behind the bar certainly knew that, but for atmosphere it was unbeatable. He cleaned up a new set of glasses with a happy expression and kept the alcohol flowing.

“
The more we do to you, the less you seem to believe we are doing it.”

–
Dr. J
oseph Mengele, physician in the Nazi concentration camp Auschwitz

C H A P T E R  3

Toklamakun, Dominion Occupation Zone

Early May, 2796 C.E.

It was the privilege of a conqueror to survey the conquered, to stand upon the field of glory and look with all due pride and satisfaction at the fruits of their victory. While Strategos Corr'tane was currently exercising that right he wasn't overly impressed with what success had placed in the Dominion's lap. Toklamakun was hardly some sort of blissful paradise, even if one took into account the environmental and climatic aftershocks of the asteroid bombardment the navy had unleashed on the place. As far as his eyes could see there was only a rough landscape of blasted brownish rock, crippled and thorny shrubberies, and the openings of underground warrens where the Makani thrived.

He walked on, looking past the other Ashani naval personnel who had finally been allowed to the surface after the army had secured the remnants of most of the major population centers. The other groups were currently pointing in awe at a vast crater caused by an impact from one of the asteroids maneuvered into position by the fleet. A particular officer was telling proudly of how this crater was his very personal accomplishment. Corr'tane didn't resent him for bathing in his moment of triumph, but to him the gloating was pointless. He headed slowly away.

The sky was a dull orange color caused by the sun light refracting through dust particles in the air thrown up by the orbital strikes. None of the surface cities had been left standing. Many underground warrens had been collapsed. The death from the bombardment and the following total collapse of the Makani infrastructure so far was estimated to exceed a billion people. Armed guards closely watched over Corr'tane. It wouldn't do for a senior Strategos to be assassinated on a visit to a supposedly pacified safe planet.

The notion made him smile a little. Life and death had blended into one for him. For so many years he had existed in a world where both had struggled for dominance. He no longer cared to make a distinction. They were the same thing, bared of deep moral or spiritual meanings. You lived, and then you died. End of story. He had dedicated his very life to the study of death. Everything Corr'tane had done for a decade had been to linger in its company so much so that he had developed a greater affinity for death than for life. If he dwelt on that particular train of thought too long he found himself becoming deeply uncomfortable.

Beyond a low rise in the terrain he came upon a valley and paused to examine the view. The vale was filled with people - Makani - who were held behind masses of electrically charged wire fences. They had been herded together by troops cleaning out the underground cities and grouped in their thousands in these holding centers all across the planet. Food and shelter were basic, if they were lucky.

He scrambled down the slope with his escorts, noticing an overwhelming odor of unwashed people blowing over from the camp. The scent made him wrinkle his nose in abject disgust, but it did not stop him from walking right up to the wire.

“Strategos, with respect,” his escort leader spoke. “You shouldn't get too close.”

“
Thank you, captain. Your concern is noted,” he replied. “But I assure you: I know what I am doing.”

A large group of Makani had begun to gather opposite where he had stopped. They were wretched to look at, with the tattered clothes on their bodies being all that was left of their possessions. He guessed most of them were civilians. Beneath the grime and dirt he recognized some had once worn high quality clothing, now as stained and dirty as everyone else's. There were no social classes anymore, no rulers or leaders. Wealth had no meaning to them, and privilege was a thing of the past. They were all the same now: just a conquered people at the mercy of the Dominion, at
his
mercy. The thought gave him a rush of exhilaration. The power Corr'tane had over these people an arm's length away! To grant life or take it with a word, to merely indicate to the guards around her to open fire or lob a grenade into the mass, to sow such pain and destruction. He could almost feel himself succumbing to the temptation to do so. These people meant nothing to him.

“
Corr'tane!” a voice interrupted his thoughts. “At last I find you on this gods forsaken world!”

His annoyance at the interruption evaporated as he recognized his sister. His face burst into a wide smile as he embraced her with a laugh.

The Makani stared emptily at them with hungry and haunted eyes.

“
Sister! What a pleasant surprise to have you here!” he laughed, taking a step back to muster her. She looked like a female, longer-haired mirror image of him. With the faintest hint of sadness part of his brain realized that no trace of the former gentle astrophysicist was left in her hard face. The past decade had molded them all into something different. The thought passed as quickly as it had come. “I saw your forces performed well in the attack. I'm proud of you, little sis.”

“
'Little sis'?” she snorted. “You're like fifteen seconds older than me!”

“
Yeah, but those
do
count,” he grinned.

Pyshana grunted. “Just keep telling yourself that. As for that battle? It was barely a challenge. Those Makani ships were swept away like sand in a hurricane,” she gestured dismissively at the camp's inhabitants.

“Even so, I hear the High Strategos noticed you. Could be that there's a great deal of honor and medals heading your way.”

She grinned even wider. High Strategos Kalla'shan was very frugal with praise. Very few people ever impressed him, but those that did tended to be well rewarded. Corr'tane himself was one of those few. His enthusiasm at his studies had earned him a quick promotion, but it was only when he spoke of fleet matters and how to run a strategic war that Kalla'shan had truly seen his potential. The old officer had given him an opportunity to prove himself by heading the team that had planned the attack on Aeta. The skill Corr'tane had shown in these duties had earned him a promotion to the rank of Strategos on the spot, gaining entry into a circle of the barely two dozen Ashani who formulated the Dominion's military policy.

“I ask only to serve my people,” Pyshana answered solemnly.

The knowledge they shared was still the best kept secret of the Ashani race. Aside from High Command and some
very
senior scientist nobody knew of the doom that threatened all life on Karashan. The territorial expansion was explained to the people as the Ashani race seizing its destiny, or that the aliens were constantly taking and hoarding resources that belonged to the Ashani and soon they would falter as a species unless something was done.

After a few years a subtle – and quite often not so subtle – propaganda campaign permeating all layers of the Dominion's society had made it surprisingly easy to work the Ashani up into a militant frenzy. They embraced the idea of outside persecution and fervently supported the attacks on their neighbors as justified acts of retribution. By now a full scale war with the Pact was not only expected by the people. It was all but explicitly demanded. Which, of course, was exactly what High Command and the Strategoi had engineered them to think in the first place. Everything was falling into position.

“And that time is coming, sister,” Corr'tane nodded. Pyshana had risen to the rank of Commodore, commanding a sizable task force. She had yet to reach the rank of Strategos, but he suspected that was more due to a lack of opportunity rather than skill on his sister's part, something soon to be remedied.

“
Our intelligence officers are saying the Érenni and Tuathaan are preparing for war,” Pyshana remarked, throwing a quick glance at the eyes watching him silently.

“
Honestly, that was to be expected,” Corr'tane sighed. “But, and that is the crucial point, none of the other Pact worlds are mobilizing. Aeta, Toklamakun,” he shrugged. “To them they still are nothing but brushfires in the middle of nowhere. No, sister. Their petty squabbles still keep them at each other's throats. Well, until we tear them out, that is,” he smiled coolly.

“
But they might unite once we strike,” his sister cautioned. “And when combined the Pact fleets are not insignificant.”

“
True, but leaving aside the Tuathaan they are uncoordinated and mostly poorly led,” Corr'tane said precisely. “And even if it turns out they fight well: raw courage does not win wars. Planning and careful preparation does, and that is where we have the advantage. That, and our soldiers are fearless and without peer in the galaxy.” He looked over his shoulder and winked at one of his guards. To the man's credit he remained completely emotionless. A perfect soldier.

“
The sooner the better,” Pyshana grumbled. “Gods, I hate this place. The people are revolting to just
look
at.” She glared at the prisoners who continued to silently stare back. “And it stinks to all hells.”

Corr'tane nodded, crossing his arms before his deep crimson tunic's chest. “Trust me, it won't be long until we can conquer more worthy planets. Still, this place does have its uses.” He turned to view the crowd, meeting the gaze of each one in turn. Each turned away from his cold eyes, perhaps intimidated by the uniform or his side arm, perhaps cowed by some deeper uncertainty.

But one did not. One met and held his gaze full on, causing him to crack a small, icy smile. “Come here,” he commanded in the Érenni language which was commonly spoken on Toklamakun.

For a moment the man did not move, then lost his hesitation and stepped forward.

“Brother…?” Pyshana hissed and the guards slowly changed to a fighting stance.

“
Stand easy,” he commanded. “Why so nervous, sister?” he smiled widely. “Just look at them. They are no threat.” He continued to grin widely as the Makani reached the wire. As he stopped Corr'tane noticed a tiny figure clinging to his trouser leg, trying to stay behind him.

“
Who are you?” he asked in Érenni.

“
Kront,” the native answered bluntly.

“
I don't care about your name,” Corr'tane replied calmly. “I want to know who you are to these people.”

“
I am... I
was
mayor of the closest city.” He calmly met the Strategos' gaze.

“
A local leader. A man of power and dignity,” he nodded. “Do you still speak for these people?”

Kront looked around, then nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Then tell them from this day on they are all slaves to the Ashani Dominion and will be expected to work hard for us. If they don't, they and everyone they know will be killed.”

He hesitated slightly, obviously thinking of what lay ahead for him.

“Now,” Corr'tane demanded firmly.

With another glance, much less confident now, Kront turned and began to speak in his own language.

“The Makani are a hardy race,” Corr'tane leaned to the side and spoke to his sister. The Makani were a tall people, taller than the average Ashani by more than a foot. Broad-shouldered and with long arms hanging down almost to their knees their skin was a gray layer of tiny scales that made it all but impossible for non-Makani to keep individuals apart. “They'll make good workers in our mines and refineries, plus we can forget about safety features. Any accidents and we can always get fresh supplies from here.” He returned his gaze to the prisoners. They were livestock to the Ashani, a resource to be used and expended for whatever short term gain they provided. Their lives were inconsequential, meaningless, especially to Corr'tane. Their only worth was what he could learn from them before they ceased to exist as a race.