When All Seems Los lotd-7 Page 9

  But intimidating though such measures were, some of the prisoners managed to ignore them. One such individual was Private First Class Cassidy, who, having devoured all his food during the day’s march, went looking for more, a practice very much in keeping with the survival training the Marine Corps had given him.

  So neither Vanderveen nor the rest of the people gathered around Nankool’s fi?re were alarmed when Cassidy disappeared, or especially surprised when the torch-bearing marine reappeared forty-fi?ve minutes later, with a rather remarkable prize cradled in his arms. The egg, which had a yellowish hue, was at least twelve inches in circumference.

  And, as Hooks put it, “A sure sign that something big and ugly lives in the area.”

  Cassidy, who was clearly pleased with himself, grinned happily and immediately went to work preparing his fi?nd for a late dinner. No small task, given the shortage of tools and cooking implements. But fi?nally, after painstaking experimentation, the marine managed to remove one end of the oval-shaped egg with repeated taps from a triangular piece of rock. Then, having seen how thick the shell was, Cassidy placed the container on a carefully arranged bed of coals. It was slow going at fi?rst, since there were solids within the yellowish goo, but the process of stirring became considerably easier as the now-scrambled yolk began to heave and bubble.

  A tantalizing odor had begun to waft through the smoky air as the marine bent to remove the protein-packed shell from the fi?re—and Vanderveen felt a moment of temptation as Cassidy offered her both a grin and a spoon. “Here, ma’am. Dig in!”

  But for reasons Vanderveen wasn’t entirely sure of, she shook her head and smiled. “I’m full at the moment. But thanks.”

  Cassidy shrugged good-naturedly, ate a spoonful, and rolled his eyes in obvious pleasure. That spurred a sailor to try some—followed by a greedy Calisco. All three were busy chewing when the Ramanthian guard shuffl?ed into the circle of light and eyeballed them. All conversation came to a sudden stop, and fi?relight danced in the alien’s coal black eyes. He couldn’t speak standard, but when the trooper spotted the fi?re-blackened egg, his electronic translator did the job for him. “What-is-that?”

  The rifl?e made an excellent pointer, and, being a marine, Cassidy had plenty of respect for it. “That’s an egg,”

  the young man said proudly. “A big honking egg that I found out in the swamp. You want some?”

  The question was followed by a moment of profound silence, during which Vanderveen began to feel a strange emptiness take over her stomach. Because as the Ramanthian processed Cassidy’s words, the diplomat remembered something important. Rather than give birth to live offspring, the way many species did, the Ramanthians produced eggs, some of which were allowed to hatch naturally.

  The diplomat wanted to say something, to fi?nd a way to forestall what she feared would happen next, but it was too late. There was a loud bang as the Ramanthian shot Cassidy in the left knee. The marine uttered a cry of pain as he grabbed hold of the bloody mess and began to rock back and forth. “Why, God damn it, why?” the soldier wanted to know.

  Half a dozen prisoners had come to their feet by then, Nankool among them, and the Ramanthian might have been in trouble had it not been for the sudden shaft of light that washed over the entire area. “Hold it right there,” Tragg said grimly. “Or pay the price.”

  More Ramanthians arrived after that. There was a brief burst of conversation as the fi?rst guard made his report, followed by an obvious expression of anger from a heavily armed noncom. “Who else?” the trooper demanded. “Who else eat our young?”

  Cassidy screamed as another shot rang out. His good knee had been transformed into a ball of bloody hamburger, and he brought both wounds up against his chest where he could cradle them with his arms. “Nobody!” the marine insisted stoutly. “Just me.”

  There was a long moment of silence as the noncom surveyed the beings around him. Tragg, who was watching the episode from afar, spotted at least two guilty-looking faces. But the Ramanthian noncom had no experience at reading alien facial expressions, and the overseer had no reason to intervene. Especially since the POWs were unlikely to make that particular mistake again.

  Nankool made as if to step forward, but Hooks held the president back. And, with nothing else to go on, the Ramanthian was forced to accept the marine’s confession. Orders were given, Cassidy was borne away, and Calisco threw up.

  Tragg, who was still watching via the monitor, nodded knowingly and turned his attention to another face. A beautiful face second only to the one he had destroyed back at the spaceport. There was something about the blond woman that reminded him of Marci. He had spared her once. But for how long?

  Vanderveen felt a sense of relief as the spotlight clicked off, but the feeling was short-lived as the Ramanthians began to cook Cassidy over a fi?re, and the screaming began. PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

  Having only recently been elevated to the post of Chief Chancellor, Itnor Ubatha was still rather conscious of the perks associated with his position and took pleasure in the fact that a government vehicle was waiting for him as he left his home. The driver opened the rear door. Ubatha slipped inside and reveled in the cell-powered car’s luxurious interior as it carried him along busy streets, through one of the enormous chambers in which the citizens of the city lived, and past a bustling shopping center. The Chancellor and his mates could purchase almost anything now. But that was a recent development. The path from junior civil servant to a position second only to the Queen had been perilous but well worth the effort. Now, having arrived, the bureaucrat faced a new challenge. And that was to hold on to what he had. Because one could never rest within the labyrinthinal world of Ramanthian politics. The key to survival was to not only anticipate what the Queen would want next, but to take action if such a thing was possible, which in this case it was. Because after a long series of brilliantly executed schemes, the Egg Orno’s single surviving mate had not only failed to deliver on his most extravagant promise, but gone into hiding somewhere off-planet. But where? That’s what the Queen might very well ask Ubatha when he met with her later in the day. She wouldn’t really expect him to know the answer, of course, since the intelligence functionaries had been unable to locate the missing diplomat, but what if he were able to develop a lead? The offi?cial had nothing to lose other than some time, so the decision was easy. Especially since he would be in control of the interview and everything else that happened, too. Which, come to think of it, was the way things should always be.

  Having been notifi?ed of the Chancellor’s visit the day before, the Egg Orno’s emotions had initially been buried beneath the weight of the preparations necessary to receive someone of Ubatha’s high rank, but everything was fi?nally ready. And, with no means to distract herself, the female was nearly paralyzed with fear. Because Ambassador Alway Orno had been missing for a long time by then, the government was trying to fi?nd him, and she had been interrogated fi?ve times.

  And that, the Egg Orno feared, was the purpose of Chancellor Ubatha’s visit. To interrogate her in a way that lower-ranking offi?cials couldn’t. And, if successful, to fi?nd out where Alway was hiding. So when her sole remaining servant entered the carefully screened reception alcove to announce Ubatha’s presence, the Egg Orno was painfully aware of how much was at stake, and determined to perform well. Because it was her duty to protect both her mates and her progeny. A responsibility that she, like the Queen, took very seriously indeed. Except that she had produced only three eggs, while the monarch was in the process of laying billions, a reality that was fundamental to Ramanthian foreign policy. Because billions of additional lives implied more planets. And more planets implied more ships to serve them, which her mate had successfully stolen from the Confederacy. A fact that both the Queen and her advisors seemed to have forgotten. The anger she felt acted to neutralize the Egg Orno’s Fear. Like all his kind, Ubatha was equipped with two antenna-shaped olfactory organs that protruded from his forehead and provide
d the offi?cial with all sorts of information as he entered the Orno family’s abode. The air was redolent with the odor of expensive incense, but it wasn’t suffi?cient to conceal the smell of spicy grub sauce that wafted from the kitchen, or the lingering tang of recently applied cleaning agents.

  And, while the Chancellor’s compound eyes wouldn’t allow him to focus on anything more than a yard away, he saw the sandals next to the front door, the carefully arranged rock garden beyond, and the exquisite layering of fabrics that had been hung in front of the earthen walls. Farther back a glistening water-walk carried the offi?cial into the reception room, where the Egg Orno was required to sit behind an opaque screen rather than confront him directly. A well-placed light served to project the Egg Orno’s carefully groomed profi?le onto the paper-thin partition, thereby protecting both Ubatha and herself from any possibility of scandal. But, even though the bureaucrat couldn’t see the female directly, he could smell the heady combination of perfume, wing wax, and chitin polish that identifi?ed the Egg Orno as a member of the upper class. “Welcome,”

  the Egg Orno said, as her pincers went through a highly stylized series of movements. “The Orno clan is honored to have such a distinguished visitor. Please sit down.”

  “As I am honored to be here,” Ubatha said, as he straddled an ornately carved chair. “Ambassador Orno is fortunate to have such a skillful mate and charming home. If only he were here to enjoy both.”

  Now it begins, the Egg Orno thought to herself. And rather quickly, too. “Yes,” the female agreed out loud. “Nothing would please me more.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” the Chancellor replied smoothly.

  “Because if you were to offer your assistance, I suspect the government would be able to locate Ambassador Orno and bring him home.”

  For what? The Egg Orno thought scornfully. So you can kill him? Never! But to actually say something like that would be to reveal the way she actually felt and thereby foreclose any possibility of joining her mate on Starfall. So the Egg Orno lied with the same elegance she brought to everything else. “Having already lost the War Orno in service to the empire, I fear that the ambassador is dead as well,” she said sadly. “Nothing else could explain his prolonged absence. However, lacking proof of such a calamity, I continue to hope for a miracle.”

  Though almost certainly false, it was the right thing to say, and Ubatha was impressed by the Egg Orno’s cool unfl?appable persona. “Perhaps you are correct,” the bureaucrat allowed politely. “But I would be less than forthright if I were to ignore a second, and to some minds, more plausible possibility. And that is that having bungled his latest assignment, and fearing the Queen’s wrath, your mate has gone into hiding. An understandable, if not-altogetherhonorable strategy, that seems beneath a person of Ambassador Orno’s accomplishments.

  “So,” Ubatha continued gravely, as he continued to eye the now-motionless silhouette, “should you somehow learn of Ambassador Orno’s whereabouts, I urge you to contact me, so that we can take steps to ensure a safe return. I think such a course would be best for both of us.”

  He wants the credit, the Egg Orno thought dully. And he’s offering to protect me if I go along. “I understand,” the female replied coolly. “It was kind of you to come.”

  Ubatha knew a dismissal when he heard one and, lacking a way to force a response, had no choice but to go. “Thank you for your hospitality,” the offi?cial said smoothly, and the visit was over.

  The Queen, who had once been the same size as her female subjects, was huge. It was a transformation that continued to bother the monarch, because her body was so large that a special cradle was required to support her swollen abdomen, and she could no longer move around on her own. Which, when combined with the nonstop production of eggs, made her feel like a factory. A cranky, increasingly paranoid factory, that was very hard to please. Especially in the wake of the Confederacy’s suicidal attack on the subsurface city of First Birth, in which 1.7 million Ramanthian lives had summarily been snuffed out of existence. The disaster was referred to as “a tragic seismic event” on Hive but was heralded as a tremendous victory within the Confederacy.

  But, while not equal in magnitude, the recent annihilation of an enemy battle group in the Nebor system had done a great deal to restore the Queen’s previously fl?agging spirits. This meant the monarch was in a relatively good mood as Chief Chancellor Itnor Ubatha arrived on the platform in front of and directly below her normalsized head. For his part, the bureaucrat was well aware of not only the Queen’s hard-eyed scrutiny, but the colorful drape intended to hide most of her swollen body, and the rich pungent odor of recently laid eggs that wafted up from the chamber below. The smell caused certain chemicals to be secreted into the Ubatha’s bloodstream and fl?ow to his brain. As a result, the offi?cial suddenly felt simultaneously protective, receptive, and subservient. Just one of the many reasons why the monarch’s clan was still in power after thousands of years. “So,” the Queen said, without preamble, “how did the meeting with the Egg Orno go?”

  Ubatha bent a leg as his mind raced. It seemed that the Queen had him under surveillance. A perfectly logical move from her perspective. But why signal that fact to him? Because the Queen wanted him to know that even though she had been immobilized, very little escaped her notice. And to seize control of the conversation—a technique she was famous for. None of what Ubatha was thinking could be seen in the movement of his antennae or the set of his narrow wings, however. One of many skills the bureaucrat had mastered over the years. “I failed, Majesty. Of which I am greatly ashamed.”

  Ubatha hadn’t failed, not really, but his willingness to portray himself in a negative light amounted to an oblique compliment. Because by opening himself to the possibility of punishment, the Chancellor was demonstrating complete faith in the Queen’s judgment. It was the sort of political fi?nesse for which the offi?cial was known. “Come now,” the Queen said indulgently. “I fear you are too hard on yourself. Especially since the failure, if any, should accrue to the head of my so-called intelligence service.”

  Ubatha knew, as the monarch did, that the offi?cial in question was standing not fi?fty feet away, talking to a group of royal advisors. And, because the Queen’s voice was amplifi?ed, there was little doubt that he was intended to hear the comment. “Your Majesty is too kind,” the Chancellor replied. “When asked about her mate’s whereabouts, the Egg Orno continues to maintain that Ambassador Orno is dead.”

  “But you don’t believe that.”

  “No, Majesty. I do not.”

  “Nor do I,” the monarch replied thoughtfully. “I have my reasons. What are yours?”

  Rather than address the fact that there was no body, or other physical evidence of Orno’s death, Ubatha chose to pursue another strategy instead. “As I entered the Egg Orno’s home,” the Chancellor said, “I noticed that a single pair of sandals had been left in the vestibule.”

  There was a moment of silence while the Queen absorbed the news. Ramanthian culture was rich in traditions. One of which compelled females to leave clean sandals by the front door to welcome her mates home. But when a male died, the sandals were ceremoniously burned. So if both of the Egg Orno’s mates were dead, as she steadfastly maintained, then there wouldn’t be any sandals in the vestibule.

  Yes, the whole thing could be explained away, and no doubt would be had the Egg Orno been given a chance to do so. But above all else the Queen was female, and possessed of female instincts, which meant that the presence of sandals next to the door carried a great deal of weight where she was concerned. “You have a keen eye,” the Queen said quietly. “And a keen mind as well. . . . I know you’re busy Chancellor, very busy, but please lend your intelligence to the hunt for citizen Orno. He made a promise. It was broken. And he must pay.”

  Ubatha bent a knee. “Yes, Majesty. Your wish is my command.”

  PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

  It was raining, and had been for hours, as Olive
r Batkin continued to fl?y just below the treetops. Having seen the Ramanthian shuttles a day earlier, he’d been looking for the ships ever since. No small task because even though the spy ball knew where the interim spaceport was, he’d been hundreds of miles away when the contrails appeared, and the cyborg’s top speed was about thirty miles per hour. So as water cascaded off the leaves above, Batkin followed a trail of dead bodies from the spaceport toward the future site of Jericho Prime. The corpses had already been victimized by jungle scavengers and were starting to decay. It was a shocking sight, or would have been, except that Batkin had seen it before. Because slave labor had been put to use elsewhere on the planet as well. What made these dead bodies different, however, was the fact that all of them wore identical blue uniforms and were clearly military. The fi?rst such POWs the cyborg had seen on Jericho given that the Ramanthians routinely killed any member of the Confederacy’s armed forces unfortunate enough to fall into their pincers. However, judging from appearances, this particular group had been spared. For a particular purpose? That was possible, although the bugs were notoriously unpredictable, and the whole thing could be the result of a whim by some high-ranking offi?cial.

  Still, Batkin’s job was to investigate such anomalies, so the cyborg was determined to follow the trail of corpses wherever it led. Which was why the spy ball topped a ridge and followed the opposite slope down to the point where a vast marsh gave way to a lake. Thousands of interlocking circles radiated outwards as the rain continued to fall, and the alien sphere followed a row of vertical poles out to the island beyond.

  The prisoners were gone by the time Batkin arrived, but tendrils of smoke marked the still-smoldering fi?res. The cyborg had given the ruins a quick once-over, and was about to depart, when he heard a strange keening sound. Which, after further investigation, originated from a fi?reblackened lump that was wired to a metal spit. Batkin looked on in horror as two eyes appeared in what he now realized was a badly burned face. The raspy words were almost too faint to hear. “P-l-e-a-s-e,” Private Cassidy said.