Bolos: Old Guard Part 11

How outrageous, Keertra thought, and charged.

The sudden throw came unexpectedly.

There was no crater in the middle of the complex, but whatever devastated all of the buildings certainly detonated there. A large circle of black carbon and gla.s.s marked where the intense blast had erupted. The Telville Oceanographic Inst.i.tute would be out of commission for several seasons while they rebuilt. It was one of the last parting shots the aliens . . . the Kezdai, Toman corrected . . . had made before they were finally crushed.

Several of the alien soldiers were captured in the last battle. Many killed themselves before the medics realized that they could consciously cut off the blood flow through their hoods by flexing the muscles within. A quick dose of muscle relaxant managed to keep a few of them alive, and provided the Dela.s.sians with some information, such as what the aliens called themselves.

While the top floor of the inst.i.tute's main building was virtually blown off, the remaining structure was basically intact. It was here that personal belongings were being gathered from the wreckage and surrounding countryside. Serina owned many reference books that she kept here, but these Colonel Ishida donated back to the inst.i.tute. All that Toman took with him was a box containing the personal items that she had kept at work. A picture of him and her mother, along with a couple pictures of Kaethan and several stuffed animals filled most of the box, though scorch marks blackened a few of the animals.

It was an unyielding drive that pulled him downstairs, to where his daughter had died, though the colonel found the urge inexplicable. With the elevator down to the pool not working, the colonel instead used the stairway. Toman mentally shielded himself by taking on the att.i.tude of an investigator a.n.a.lyzing a crime scene, though when he arrived at the tiled pool, all had been long cleaned and scrubbed. The only evidence of the fight that remained were the shattered tiles that lined the floor and walls that the hypersonic needles had blasted. Also there was a tiled section of wall near the pool that seemed to have suffered an impact of something large.

A soft exhale of air marked the entry into the pool of Kuro, coming in from the sea. Although the complex generator had been destroyed in the attack, portable generators were scattered throughout the buildings, including one that now powered the speakers that Kuro spoke out of.

"h.e.l.lo, Colonel." Kuro said as she spotted him at the pool edge.

Unsure whether the overhead pool microphones were working, Toman wandered to the poolside table and picked up the transmitter there.

"h.e.l.lo, Kuro. How are you?"

Toman sat down, wishing that he had a cool drink like he had the time he visited before. He knew few details of the fight that took place down here. All that he was told was that a Kezdai scout had infiltrated the complex and killed his daughter before Kuro killed him.

"Very sad," Kuro mourned. "I miss Serina."

"I do too, Kuro." The orca's sentiment choked him up slightly.

"Is Kaethan here?"

"No, he was hurt very badly in the fighting. He's still in a hospital, now."

"Will he live?"

"Yes. I'll be taking him back to Angelrath soon, though. They can care for him better there."

"Tell him to see me when he gets back."

"I will."

The colonel smiled for the first time since he had heard that Serina had been killed. Kuro's concern touched him deeply.

"Is Peter okay?" Toman remembered Serina's co-worker, the one that Kuro would play rough with.

"Peter is okay, but he will be very busy for a long time. No time to play with me."

"What will you do while they reconstruct the inst.i.tute?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps I will join the Coast Guard. Perhaps Delas would like me guarding their coasts."

Colonel Ishida laughed, not so much at the idea as at her phrasing.

"You would help us fight if the Kezdai came back?" the colonel asked.

"Of course," Kuro answered flatly. "Earthlings must stick together."

Colonel Ishida remained smiling as he reconstructed some paradigms that he had formed regarding orcas. The thought of his species finally finding an ally was pleasing to Toman. But perhaps they always had one, but never bothered to ask.

"You are right, Kuro," he said. "We should stick together."

NEWS EXCERPT. 33 Early Summer, 104:3381. Brigadier General Toman Ishida of the Line, commander of the Bolos that defended Delas against the Kezdai invasion, today announced his retirement from the Dinochrome Brigade. After fifty-five years of service, twenty-seven of which in command of the 39th Terran Lancers, the recently promoted general declared that he planned to remain on Angelrath to spend more time with his son, who is recovering from serious injuries suffered in the fighting on Delas. The two Bolos of the 39th will remain on Delas until they are rotated out of the sector early next year. They are scheduled for an unspecified refit . . .

In other news, Rear Admiral Josef Santi, Naval Sector Commander at Angelrath, announced today that the Concordiat has denied his request for an offensive to be mounted against the Kezdai, stating lack of resources. In response, Admiral Santi has requested strong reinforcements be sent to the sector when the 39th is rotated out. Asked whether he expected further incursions, Santi only mentioned the obvious dangers in allowing an attacker to escape without punishment.

The Kezdai council chamber was a bright and s.p.a.cious auditorium, built with large blocks of blue-veined white stone over five centuries before. Redesigns and armed rebellions had altered its appearance over the years. Only the foundation remained of the original stone blocks that once rose up in flying b.u.t.tresses fifty meters high. The building design was far simpler now, but still impressive. Open gas-lit flames burned eternally from cauldrons mounted in the stone uprights, placed more for effect than for their lighting. Large wooden beams, highly prized on a desert world such as this, supported the tall ceiling and braced the uprights, giving the room an anachronistic aura.

Pendants and flags hung from poles and rafters, declaring which of the forty-seven ruling clans claimed what section of seats.

And all the seats were filled this night with warriors thirsty for blood, and thousands more crowded the view screens outside. Great plans were being laid while age-old enemies were forgotten. The Mor-verridai himself spoke before the gathered Is-kaldai, rising from his dwindling existence with a pa.s.sion never before seen. He delivered to them a stirring proclamation of war as one would throw raw meat to a pack of ravenous Ethretsau.

Brooding alone in his place of prominence was Is-kaldai Khoriss, seated in his crimson robe, its left sleeve falling empty of the arm that should have been there. As one eye stared, unblinking, at the spectacle before him, only an iron plate was strapped over the place where his left eye should have been. His look was menacing, and the Mor-verridai avoided his eye even when declaring his brother Keertra hero and martyr.

To which Khoriss almost laughed.

Even now the new Is-kaldai was reconsidering his choice not to follow through with his brother's plans. A deep bitterness had lodged in his soul, born from his wounds, and the deaths of so many, so needlessly wrought. A craving for vengeance, too, was there, burning as brightly for the Humans as for all those around him who sent him down to that planet unsupported. If Keertra could see him now, Khoriss mused, he'd be pleased.

But Keertra was gone, his body burned this morning and his ashes thrown to the wind. Khoriss had no final words to say, remaining as quiet as he was when the guards woke him onboard their flagship to tell him of his brother's fate. The sight of Keertra, lying on the b.l.o.o.d.y deck with Irriessa's surias through his left eye had been stunning enough without the addition of Irriessa's lifeless corpse nearby, and the pistol-blasted body of the small human outside that supposedly killed them both and then tried to escape. Such was the official story that few could believe, but its alternatives were too divisive to portray to the Council. Tonight great plans would be laid, and nothing could be allowed to divert them from their path.

Rook's Gambit

John Mina

Sean Petrik liked the staccato clicking sound his boots made as he walked down the hall. Now, as a full-fledged officer, there seemed to be more authority, more crispness to his stride. He particularly enjoyed the loud booming echo which bounced around the white marble floor and walls. Sean smiled when he came to the door and, for the thousandth time, read the name of his professor engraved on the plaque it held up.

COLONEL RICHARD T. DONLON.

PROFESSOR OF BOLO TACTICS.

FORT WILLIAM R. SCHEN MILITARY ACADEMY.

His smile broadened as he gave a token knock and walked in beaming with pride. He had come directly from his graduation ceremony and still had on his dress blacks.

"Come on in, Petrik," the colonel said and sat back in his chair sizing up his former student.

The office was s.p.a.cious but stark, with a solid dark norwood desk and three matching, uncushioned chairs. The only decorations interrupting the view of the pure white walls were three framed diplomas, four Certificates of Valor, and one large poster showing the famous fire-breathing skull over the number 19: the symbol of the colonel's regiment. Sean snapped to attention and gave a formal salute. "Lieutenant Petrik reporting as ordered, sir," he announced, stressing Lieutenant.

"At ease, Petrik, have a seat." The grey-haired colonel took a cigar out of the bra.s.s-trimmed humidor on his desk and offered another to the young officer.

"No thank you, sir. I don't smoke."

Donlon eyed the lieutenant as he lit the cigar and blew out huge puffs of white smoke. "You will, son. Wait 'till you 'See the Elephant.' "

Sean smirked to himself with the image that brought up. Such an ancient expression with apparent origins in pres.p.a.ce Earth. Of course Donlon hadn't actually seen an elephant; no one had. They were extinct. Sean had seen a holovid of one, though, and it had to be one of the most ridiculous looking things the universe had ever produced. But he knew his old professor meant that he had never been in combat.

Donlon continued puffing as he spoke. "Congratulations, Petrik. Sorry you weren't first in your cla.s.s at graduation."

"Bancroft deserved to be first, sir. She's a better commander."

"That's true, but you still have a lot to be proud of. Even the person who finishes last in the cla.s.s is qualified to command a Bolo. But I don't have to tell you that. Anyway, the reason I called you away from all the celebrations and kisses from your sweetie is that I already have your first a.s.signment."

"No trouble, sir. I broke it off with my 'sweetie' in my first year. It just wasn't fair to her since I had no time available for the relationship." Sean could barely contain his excitement. "My a.s.signment, sir?"

Donlon smiled and shook his head. "Always the practical one." After another puff, the colonel began his briefing. "I've been asked to pick someone for a special a.s.signment. I realize you just graduated, but your skills are needed on the front. You'll be shipping out in two days."

"Thank you, sir." Petrik could barely contain his elation. "I've been looking forward to fighting the Melconians for two years now. Ever since my cousin was killed. But why me?"

"You're one of the few who were trained with the still cla.s.sified Mark x.x.xIV. But you won't be fighting Melconians. You're going to Delas. You all right, son?"

Lieutenant Petrik couldn't help but flinch. His head was reeling with all this new information to process. "Well . . . yes, sir, I helped field test the Mark x.x.xIV and I've been dreaming of commanding one. But . . . er . . . where the h.e.l.l is Delas? And who will I be fighting?"

"Delas is on the frontier. And you'll be fighting the Kezdai. Here." He tossed a large envelope. "You can study all the details. However, you won't be commanding. Your Bolo will be operating under General Cho."

Sean's disappointment was evident but he maintained his composure. "Any relation to 'The' General Cho?"

Colonel Donlon sat back and took a long draw from his cigar. Then he slowly blew out the smoke while he tapped the ashes into a silver receptacle. "It is 'The' General Cho."

This was more than the lieutenant could bear. "General Cho? General Hayward Cho, the Hero of Laxos? But that was back in 3311." His face was a mask of disbelief. "He must be over . . . "

"He's 97. And he's been retired for twenty years or so. He taught here at the Academy for thirty years. Where do you think I learned tactics?"

"But why would they . . . "

"The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d settled down on an obscure frontier planet. Said it was just what he was looking for. Secluded, peaceful . . . Said he was going to study the art of 'bonsai,' whatever the h.e.l.l that is. Well, he had the bad luck to pick a spot that wound up right in the middle of a major invasion. It seems these Kezdai need the minerals on Delas and don't have much use for humans. The current situation can only be described as unstable. About three years ago this previously undiscovered race called Kezdai sent an expeditionary force to Delas to see what they were up against. They were squashed pretty quickly but followed up with a full-scale invasion with a mission of total conquest and annihilation of the resident humans. It was touch and go for a while but the locals managed to hold them to about half the planet. The battles in the surrounding s.p.a.ce have yet to have either side emerge dominant so your insertion will be as covert as possible. The hope is that these extra Bolos will turn the tide. Unfortunately, there are very few veteran Bolo commanders around and old Cho got drafted out of retirement."

Sean mused, "I guess if I have to serve under someone, it might as well be the greatest Bolo tactician of all time. You think he's still sharp?"

The colonel looked thoughtful. "You never know with Cho. There was somewhat of a scandal when he retired. A few of the higher-ups thought he was incompetent. They sort of forced his retirement."

"He was declared incompetent twenty years ago?" Petrik was almost shouting. "Colonel, what have you gotten me into?"

"I'm not sure, son. That's why I picked you. You're one of the best I've ever seen and, well, I thought you could handle it no matter what the situation."

The lieutenant stared at his instructor, watching the smoke billow over the desk. Then he took a deep, smokeless breath, exhaled slowly, and gave his monotone reply. "Thank you, Colonel. I'll do what I can."

Sean popped the hatch of his "egg" and was immediately conscious of the rich organic smell of this planet while the steamy air caused his face to perspire. As he crawled out, the arhythmic symphony produced by the forest life provided a stark contrast to the silence of the highly insulated drop pod. He gazed at the gigantic trees whose branches intermingled to form an upper strata for the arboreal denizens as well as provide a protective canopy for the creatures on the ground.

Well, here I am, he thought, once more resigning himself to whatever inglorious fate awaited him. He spent a few minutes stretching out, took a detailed inventory of the equipment, checked his wrist computer for his coordinates, then secured his equipment and began to hump through the old-growth vegetation toward the rendezvous point.

Petrik's mind raced ahead, powered by the anxiety of adjusting to a new world, a new Bolo, and a very, very old commander whom he worshiped as a legend but who, at this point, might be a feeble old tree grower. That's what bonsai was. He had looked it up. The art of growing trees and keeping them small. It seemed kind of silly, since there were plenty of plants that looked just like small trees.

There was certainly no lack of large trees here. The forest seemed to go on forever, with an infinite variety of vegetation. Many of the trees seemed like giant gra.s.ses and almost all had thick nests of undergrowth around their bases. He often couldn't tell where the host tree left off and the parasitic vines began. Or maybe they were all part of the same organism. He'd never had much use for botany but there were some fascinating specimens here.

Sean was in the process of admiring a particularly grandiose tree with green bark when a great, blood-curdling roar issued from behind it. The brush shook violently, then an enormous creature burst out and charged directly at him. The thing was scuttling on jointed legs that moved a lot faster than he thought possible and was wielding a pair of vicious claws. Sean's combat training took over and he leapt to the side milliseconds before the razor-sharp blades snapped together in the s.p.a.ce he had just occupied. The momentum of the charge caused the beast to take a few seconds to spin around and renew the attack but by then Sean had his gauss pistol out and was blowing dozens of holes in its carca.s.s. Even so, the creature still managed to complete its final lunge, which Petrik sidestepped, before it flopped, lifeless, to the ground.

"Holy s.h.i.t!" the lieutenant exclaimed, examining the alien. It was about four meters long and, when it had stood up to run, was about two meters high. The entire body was covered by a rock-hard, greenish brown sh.e.l.l and it had twelve legs plus the two deadly claws, as well as some smaller, more intricate appendages near its mouth that it must use to a.s.sist the eating process. Then he anxiously looked around for any others. Is this a Kezdai? he thought. But on further inspection he saw no evidence of weapons or armor. Besides, from what he had read, they weren't suppose to be this big. Also they were described as vaguely reptilian with bird beaks. This thing looked more like a cross between a crab and a giant c.o.c.kroach. It was probably described in the fauna disc but he had never gotten around to studying it.

Giving the beast a good-bye nudge with his boot, he resumed his trek; this time keeping a sharper watch for danger instead of just sightseeing.

When he finally broke into a clearing, the sight he was presented with inspired a great pounding in his chest. There it was, the Mark x.x.xIV. His Mark x.x.xIV! G.o.d, what a beauty! He'd only seen them on the testing range. But here, in this pristine natural setting, it looked like an armed city that had floated down out of the clouds. The twin h.e.l.lbores jutted out; the shiny new mortars glistened in the daylight. And the h.e.l.lrails . . . They stuck straight up giving the appearance of invulnerable towers. The h.e.l.lrails were the latest development on the Bolos. That's what made it a Mark x.x.xIV. These were not the puny railguns mounted by the outdated local militia tanks, the Templars. These were advanced Bolo railguns, more powerful than any other mobile land weapon in the known universe. The twin h.e.l.lrails were sixty meters long and were designed for knocking out enemy ships even before they entered orbit. Each delivered a bolt of ninety megatons. How could the Kezdai stand up to such firepower?

When he approached the Bolo he noticed a tall, thin man working on one of the forward turrets. "h.e.l.lo there," Sean called up.

The man continued working but responded. "H'llo." Petrik caught a glimpse of a weathered, reddened face and a large nose sticking out from under a dark mop of unkempt hair.

"I'm Lieutenant Petrik."

"Figured." The man switched tools and spat.

This was less of a reception than he had expected and he was not about to tolerate insubordination. "I said I'm Lieutenant Petrik, soldier. You do know how to salute don't you? Delas may be on the other end of the universe but it's still part of the Concordiat."

The technician turned around slowly and sized up the indignant officer. Then he put away his tool, hiked up the filthy grey coveralls that he looked so natural in, and methodically climbed down. He jumped off the lower platform and walked up to his superior. "Tell you what, Lieutenant. This fancy crate of yours is goin' into battle in three days and I'm the only maintenance crew there is. He took a pretty hard fall when they dropped him and got a couple of hardwoods up the kazoo. Now, I can spend the next three days followin' you around wipin' your a.s.s or I can be puttin' things right with this machine. Your call. But it won't be my b.u.t.t stickin' out when the s.h.i.t starts flyin'."

The lieutenant glared at the man. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Private Lawlor."

"Carry on, Lawlor. The general inside?" He pointed to the Bolo.

"Yup." The private turned back and began to climb.

Sean mounted the elevator platform and rose into the control room. From what he could see, the Bolo seemed to be intact inside but if it hit hard enough to damage some of the external systems, it was likely that a few things were shaken loose in the internal systems as well. Seated in the commander's chair was a dark, shriveled figure, hunched over and staring at a chess board with a cigar in his left hand. His right arm was missing all the way to the shoulder. Sharing the table with the chess pieces were an ash tray, a half filled gla.s.s, and an almost empty bottle.

"General Cho?"