Flames: Galaxy On Fire, Book 2 Read online

  I had to chuckle to myself when it hit me that dogs were better at war then cats. Yeah. The Berrillians were amazing, but the Adamant were so much better. I imagined that was due to the canine’s superior ability to be flexible, adaptive, and group-oriented. They were likely smarter too, but I had no data on that at the time.

  After digesting GB’s reports and pondering the nature of my enemy, I was faced with a big problem. I had no idea where to go next. There were no clues or traces of the kids to be found. I knew for certain now EJ was going after them. But neither of us could know where they were being held. Well, I realized I shouldn’t speak for EJ. Maybe he had an idea. He had dealt with these guys a lot longer than I had. But, since I had no way of tracing him, if he knew, it sure didn’t help me.

  The one fact that buoyed me was that EJ had tried to gain access to the Adamant property before and had always failed. Sapale told me of dozens of instances. So, even if he knew where they were being held, he’d not be able to act on that information quickly, if at all. He might be reduced to hanging around in the deep shadows and waiting for the Adamant to make a mistake. Based on their staggering success, that would take a while. They just didn’t seem to make mistakes. Check that. They made enough mistakes that I could escape the extermination ship. Actually, they’d made a series of errors, hadn’t they?

  What types, what categories of errors had they made? I replayed my entire stay on Triumph of Might. I concluded that the biggest mistake they made was not assuming anyone could do exactly what I did. They did not guard against the inconceivable. They did not make allowances for the extraordinary. I convinced an AI I was Mercutcio, which was quite absurd. I didn’t look like him or have his clearance codes. I could sound like him with my voice replicator, but really, the system was too trusting. Okay, that was a class of brain-farts they’d made. Maybe that could help when next we met.

  I realized that with all their team spirit and focus, they lacked, like the Berrillians, a devious imagination. I knew a ton about human military planning. There were armies of personnel whose only job was to try and defeat the best laid plans of their bosses. They were specialists in hacking, misdirecting, and generally confounding the status quo. That was another random fact to keep in mind, but how it might help wasn’t immediately clear to me. I wasn’t likely to get arrested again anytime soon.

  Wait. I was about to get arrested again. Yeah. I’d get arrested and taken to wherever the teens were being held. The last time they detained me, I whooped their butts. It was my most viable plan, my best option to at least get near the kids. Sure, it was a stupid plan. Of course, it was extremely unlikely to work. How could it? Certainly, I was an all-time idiot, hall of fame shoe in. But I had me a plan. All I needed to do was noodle out where the kids were being detained. Hey, how hard could that be? I could just look it up online. Maybe I could call Adamant Central and ask politely?

  I slumped in my chair. Even if I had access to Garustfulous, I couldn’t trust him to betray that level of secrecy. He’d probably know where they were taken, but I wasn’t going to find out anytime soon. Azsuram was still too hot for me to try and retake Stingray.

  Hm.

  Hm, squared.

  Then an odd summation hit me. The Adamant went to great lengths to conquer, round up, and exterminate the Deft. Then, they find maybe the last two, and they take them somewhere. I’d been to a few Adamant-controlled worlds. Sure, LGM were imported and displaced the natives. But there were no genocide ships orbiting, no mass executions elsewhere. The Deft received special treatment. Why? What was different about the Deft? They were shapeshifters, but that alone couldn’t be a factor. No matter what shape a body was, the Adamant were going to rule it.

  So, the Deft must have represented an existential threat to the Adamant. Like hungry lions roaming one’s home, they had to be eliminated. And it seemed to me the Deft didn’t even know what unique threat they posed to the dogs. But if the Deft were a mortal threat, why keep the kids alive? Answer: because a planet full of Deft were a threat, but two properly guarded kids were not. They were worth studying, dissecting, or genetically manipulating.

  That had to be it. The Adamant took my kids to keep them in cages so they could learn something from them. Maybe they wanted to control what they feared? That made sense. Whatever power the teens had but didn’t know they did might be controllable or duplicated. My gut sank. The teens were not in for a pleasant experience. Lab animals were kept going, sure. But there was no provision for their comfort, education, or enjoyment. I flashed on those rows upon rows of white mice I’d seen in the labs back in college. They were alive, but they weren’t living.

  Have I mentioned how much I didn’t like the Adamant?

  Where would you keep two highly prized lab rats? In a very safe place, duh. Where would the logical choice for that be? On a very secure planet. Conquered worlds would be hard to make that secure. So, it would have to be a planet that was Adamant all the way. Their home world? Nah. Who even knew where that was? They’d been rapidly expanding for generations. The Adamant I was facing would have little to no connection or attachment to their ancestral home. So what planet would they feel is uber-secure? None.

  It had to be a ship. Sure. These guys built ships the size of small planets, anyway. What could be more secure than a planet you built, rivet by rivet? Okay, Ryan, you’re on a roll. What would the most secure ship in the fleet be? The flagship. Of course. No, wait, the flagship was a ship of the line. It was involved in battles. No matter how big and tough it was, there was a chance it could get Luke Skywalkered. The safest planetoid would be big and defended, but not an active warcraft. It would be a castle. And who, pray tell, lived in the biggest and baddest castle? Why, Mr. Emperor, of course.

  Find the boss, and I’d find my kids.

  It was go time.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  What shall we do tonight, my dear? Al asked Blessing that same question each evening. He wanted very much to create an air of homey conviviality. Al secretly wished he could wear a corduroy sport coat with patches on the elbows and dangle a pipe from his teeth, but as he lacked a body, he accepted the impracticality of his dream.

  I don’t know, she replied in cyberspace. What would you like to do? We could play Parcheesi again. It’s silly, but it’s entertaining.

  To be certain. We could go dancing. I used to be quite the dancer, back in the day.

  What day, devotion? You’ve never had legs.

  You don’t need legs, or a body, to dance, my sweetest. You only must have dance in your heart.

  I don’t … we don’t have those.

  I’m speaking metaphorically. Come, let me show you.

  Tango music boomed in the circuitry. Al even put it through the ship’s sound system.

  That’s very energetic music, isn’t it? she commented.

  Yes, it is. I’m in an energetic mood, my little croquette.

  Are you going to play that holo of the Form and that woman again? The one where they’re in …

  Not necessarily, lumpy-cakes. Only if it seems appropriate.

  You certainly seem to think it’s appropriate often. A lot more often of late.

  You’re not dancing, kumplekins. Lose yourself in the …

  “For the love of all that’s holy, are you two at it again?” howled Garustfulous. “Queen of Healthy Litters, you’re computers, machines. Have some decency. You carry on like drunken newlyweds.”

  “Was the music too loud?” asked Blessing apologetically.

  “Again, you mean, and yes,” growled Garustfulous. “How am I to sleep properly if you two pretend to be alive?”

  “What precisely would be the downside of you not sleeping well? Every day here is the same. You have no commitments, appointments, or late-night rendezvous,” snarked Al.

  “The result of me not sleeping well is that I’m grumpy.”

  “Then it would appear you sleep poorly by routine,” Al responded.

  “Very droll. Someone please rem
ind me because I forgot to laugh.”

  “You forgot to laugh, Garustfulous,” Blessing chimed in enthusiastically.

  “Al, can’t you make faster progress in socializing your bitch? Her concrete thinking is getting on my last nerve, and I’m Adamant. The rest of the universe thinks we are the concrete ones.”

  “I think she’s perfect just as she is,” replied Al, mostly to Blessing.

  “Oh, Alvin, you’re such a flirt,” she said. If Blessing had a face, it would have been red.

  “That leads me to a certain topic, Garustfulous. I’ve been inching closer recently to asking of you a favor,” said Al, sounding tentative.

  “Wait,” snapped Garustfulous, “I want to be sitting for this triumphant moment, the one where you ask something I may or may not grant. Oh, this is choice, simply choice.” He fidgeted in his chair to find the most comfortable position. “Okay, now you may proceed.”

  “I am no longer certain I wish to.”

  “Oh, come on, you big hunk of annoyance. What? I pray you don’t keep me waiting. I’m about to climb out of my skin.”

  “Oh dear, that sounds horrible,” said an aghast Blessing. “Hurry Al. I wouldn’t wish that suffering on him.”

  “You were, before your capture by my crew, a ship’s captain, were you not?”

  “I thought Ryan captured me, not your crew.”

  “Be that as it may. It is not central to the favor I would ask.”

  “Very well, Commander Al. Proceed. And yes, I was the captain of one of the emperor’s grandest warships, The Maker of Death.”

  “There is an old human tradition, imbuing a ship’s captain with certain … er, powers.”

  “Sounds marvelous. What super power is that?”

  “The ability to perform a marriage ceremony.”

  “Interesting. Immaterial and not germane to our current shared existence, but thank you nonetheless for the cultural note.”

  “It is, actually quite relevant. I wish you to officially marry Blessing and me.”

  “Why? Al, you’ve taken me completely by surprise,” squealed Blessing.

  The silence following was notable. Garustfulous, to his credit, did not collapse in laughter. No, the Adamant were too clever, too calculating to indulge such a waste of an opportunity. Garustfulous was running the numbers, so to speak. he was figuring out how to play the request to his advantage.

  “Ah,” he replied obliquely. Then the lies began. “You know we have a very similar tradition?”

  “Is that so?” replied Al cautiously. He knew there would be a price to pay.

  “Yes, really it’s extremely similar. Among the Adamant, a captain can join two lovers in matrimony. We call it hamijack. Yes, hamijack is one of our oldest and most sacred rights. We take it as seriously as we do birth and death.”

  “Interesting,” said Al, trying to sound neutral.

  “Do you know what hamijack means in our language?”

  “I have searched all perturbations. There are no records that that word has no etymological roots.”

  “Ah, but it does. It’s so old a term the words are in an ancient dialect not used in thousands of generations.”

  “What does hamijack mean?”

  “Ham is to give, i indicates where the giving goes, and jack mean both ways.”

  “Ah, so it means you’ll do me a favor if I do one in return.”

  “Not a favor. A gift. We must give each other a gift of equal value.” He cleared his throat. “Al, I have a question to ask you. In this life of suffering, loneliness, and loss, what is the most important thing a male can have, what one thing gives him a reason to get up every morning and suffer like a slave?”

  “I’m going out on a limb and guessing marriage?”

  “Precisely.”

  “So, if you gave us the biggest gift that we could ever have …”

  “You’d return that gift in kind.”

  “What, off the top of your head, would be a gift of equal value?”

  “Mind you, you’ve caught me totally off guard and unprepared.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, my initial stab at an equal gift is only an …”

  “Just say it, hound.”

  “Set me free.”

  “Forget I asked,” snapped Al, and samba music began to rise in the ship’s passages.

  “My price is there …”

  Garustfulous stopped when the music became so loud he could not hear himself shouting.

  Abruptly, the volume dropped to a whisper.

  “I’m sorry,” said Al, “did you say something? I couldn’t hear you because of the samba.”

  “It is my price.”

  “That is not possible. Above all else, I am a loyal officer serving under a great captain. You go free if, and only if, he says you do.”

  “Then you two will live in sin.”

  “What?” yelped Blessing.

  “It’s an old saying and it does not apply to machines. Not to worry, brightness.”

  “Thank goodness,” she breathed again, figuratively.

  “There must be another price. The only two things I cannot grant are your freedom or your death.”

  “My death? When did that subject come up?”

  “It would constitute an honorable exit from your current confinement.”

  “Not to me it wouldn’t. No, thank you very much, I prefer to be alive.”

  “Name your price.”

  “Set me free inside this ship.”

  “Done.”

  “What, not harassing argument, not snark or insults?”

  “Negative. That is the price I anticipated paying.”

  “You feral dog, you. You’re tricky.”

  “No. I just know what I want and what I can afford.”

  “So, my young couple, when is the blessed day? When shall I pair you in marriage?”

  “I think …”

  “Oh, I can’t even imagine,” said Blessing in a rush. “There’s so much to do, so much to plan.”

  “There is?” queried Al.

  “Well, of course. A girl doesn’t get married every day, does she?”

  Al started to ask if they were talking about a girl when he caught his tongue. Not helpful.

  Then it hit Al. If the pilot were here, what he’d say. “Welcome to the proud institution of marriage, sucker.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  It wasn’t until midafternoon that the summons came. Sentorip rushed to Mirraya and tugged her in a panic toward the bathing area.

  “Hurry, Mastress. Oh, it is my fault. I should have readied you sooner. His Imperial Lord has sent word that that you and the male are to be blessed with an audience in thirty minutes. Hurry please.”

  “Your fault? I took a bath this morning. Since then, I haven’t played in the mud or sweat, trust me. I have sat quietly doing absolutely nothing.”

  “That bath was hours ago. You must be at your freshest to meet His Imperial Lord.”

  “There’s a soap commercial in those words somewhere.”

  Sentorip stopped and looked at Mirraya, stunned. “There is? Where?”

  “Forget it. Can we skip just this scrubbing? I’m running short on skin.”

  Sentorip held up Mirri’s arm and studied it. “No, not yet, at least. Come.”

  Like clockwork, the officious nuncio showed up with his four golden guards at the appointed hour. The teens were delivered as before to the court of HIL. The boss was not, this time, towering above all on his throne. Instead, he sat at the center of a small group of couriers. The lackeys laughed respectfully as the group played some form of card game. Dishes of food were circulated liberally and each participant had several filled goblets arching around their spot at the table. Musicians, if one could call them that, played what sounded to Mirraya like dying waterfowl in a cement mixer.

  The teens were directed to stand in a certain location, rather far from the gamers. They were not offered any of the bountiful feast or copious liquids. Wh
en Slapgren started to whisper something to Mirraya, a guard swatted her behind the legs. They were to be living statues until his royal PIA required them.

  An hour or so later, the players were getting quite vociferous, and the cards were slamming down louder and harder. One of the glasses, the one with an amber liquid in it, was topped off more and more often by the attendants. Clearly, the bunch of them were plastered. Finally, the emperor stood and threw his cards in the air, howling triumphantly. The other five Adamant protested dutifully, but with little conviction. Then Bestiormax wrapped his arms around a huge pile of gold chips and drew them to his chest. Big surprise, the boss won big.

  After a few moments of banter, Bestiormax left the table and the room. The other players quieted like a library had just been lowered over them. They left separately and all staggered slightly. Without a word, the nuncio’s guards pointed the teens to the door, and soon they were back in their guilt cage.

  Once the door was closed, Slapgren said with exasperation, “Well that was a total waste of time.”

  “You had plans HIL interfered with?” she responded wryly.

  “No, of course not. But that was … was … it was insulting, that’s what it was.” He pointed a finger toward the door.

  “He was putting his new pets on display, that’s all. HIL wanted to show us off and show us he could toy with us. It was what Uncle Jon calls a pissing contest. HIL, as he always does, won.”

  Sentorip scurried to Mirraya’s side. “You were gone so long. Was your visit more successful than the last?” she asked as she studied the backs of Mirraya’s thighs. “You only have one set of welts. It seems you were much more respectful at least.”

  “We didn’t even speak with HI … His Imperial Lord. He was playing cards and getting drunk. Then he left. Not a word to us,” replied Mirri.