Peace World Part 20

It had been an interesting day. The fact that they had made contact with a Minith that seemed considerate of their circ.u.mstances and appeared-not only willing, but seemingly anxious-to ally with them was incredible. It felt too good to be true, so Conway instinctively looked upon the situation with jaded eyes. She had faith in the general, but he was not above making mistakes, so she would need to remain alert.

The Telgorans had been posted around the perimeter of the compound for security. The sergeant knew they were capable fighters, and their ability to share thoughts gave her comfort that no one would get into the compound without warning. Still, she kept her weapon cradled in her arms as she closed her eyes.

Her last thought before sleep was that tomorrow, she'd give t.i.tan some grief over his injury. Her lips curled into a thin smile as she drifted off.

Patahbay stood watch on the southern side of the open courtyard. The remaining slivers of his dindin force were arranged around the other parts of the compound. They were alert for threats, and remained diligent. All shared his thoughts and feelings. He felt refreshed, content, and full of hope. The Waa and the general had a plan-one that would return the Waa to the surface and keep the Minith in check.

The Family had been correct to reach s.h.i.+ale on the decision of helping the general.

CHAPTER 32.

Grant parried the thrust with a downward sweep of his left forearm and stepped inside the reach of Teng's staff. He reached under the young Minith's still-extended left arm, grabbed a handful of tunic, and tossed the boy over his right hip. He was careful not to injure his host's youngest son, and eased his fall to the ground. Teng still landed fully on his back, but with only half the impact of a real throw.

The boy used the b.u.t.t of his staff to initiate an impressive recovery from the throw and immediately vaulted back to a position of en garde. Grant noted the move, was impressed by his quickness. Someone had taught the boy well.

"You held back," Teng accused Grant. "On these training grounds, we only hold back to prevent an injury."

Grant smiled. "Good, because that's why I held back."

The boy straightened, looked at Grant with a t.i.tled head. "Minith must be tougher than humans. A throw like might sting, but it can't cause serious injury."

The boy was tough and had moxie as well. He was a lot like his father.

"Duly noted, Teng. That was half-speed. Next time, you get the full treatment."

Grant had awoken later than his normal time. His age, recent injury, and the stress of the day before seemed to gang up on him. After several minutes of bedside stretching and in-place calisthenics, he sauntered outside to find Rala and her two sons sparring in the courtyard. t.i.tan, Conway, and Gee were standing off to one side, watching. Grant said good morning, joined the group, and watched for several minutes, impressed with the show the boys and their mother were putting on for the humans. Grant had sparred with Treel on numerous occasions. The soldier was very good at hand-to-hand, but over time and dozens of matches, Grant had figured out the alien's weaknesses and began exploiting them. He watched for those same weaknesses in the three he now observed. To his surprise, he did not see them.

When Rala called for a short break, she offered the humans a chance to spar with the boys. Conway had immediately volunteered, but Grant nixed that idea. He did not trust anyone tossing these young Minith around but himself. The last thing he needed was for one of them to come up injured. So he limbered up and entered the area marked off for sparring and faced Teng, the younger of the two. While remarkably good, especially considering he was only nine, the boy was no match for Grant's experience, speed, and size.

"My turn." Arok strode purposefully into the center of the courtyard and Teng marched out, head held high. He sent a glower toward Grant as if to say, "next time." Grant merely nodded in acknowledgement. He had no doubt that Treel's youngest son would be a fierce fighter one day. His mother and father could be proud of him. His mind flashed briefly toward Eli before focusing on Arok, who now stood in front of him, his staff already spinning in his right hand. Grant had to be careful-the last thing he wanted was to get beaned by an eleven-year-old Minith wielding a stick.

"Anytime you're ready to eat dirt," he told the boy in Minith. In English, he added, "You're going down, clown."

Arok's ears twitched and the spinning of the staff slowed noticeably. Grant wondered if the older son was put off his game so easily, and regretted throwing out such an antagonizing challenge. Teng had seemed so self-confident, Grant was somewhat disappointed that the older brother did not seem to possess a similar disposition. He was preparing to offer a less-antagonizing greeting to Arok when the young alien struck.

The staff flashed quickly downward on a diagonal course starting on Grant's left. The speed with which it was delivered almost caught him, but he managed to dodge a half-step backwards just in time to avoid the hit. The initial slash was followed by several more in rapid, non-stop succession. The swings had Grant hastily back-peddling to avoid the smack of wood against his head, shoulders, or chest.

The boy had faked him out! Made him believe his comments affected his mindset just long enough to launch what was turning into a very effective attack. All Grant's attention was focused on avoiding the whirlwind of wood being directed toward him. He quickly reached the boundary of the sparring arena and had no more room to retreat. With no other option, he waited for the next blow to arrive-another diagonal slash across his body, he noted-and swept his left arm out just before the staff made contact with his left shoulder. His arm intersected the path of the staff, deflected it to the right and away from his body.

d.a.m.n, that stings!

He pivoted on his left foot and allowed the momentum of the arm-swing to rotate his body three-quarters of a circle. As with Teng, he was now inside the effective range of the staff and within range of its owner. Arok reversed the staff's movement and struck Grant in the back, but it was like hitting a baseball with the portion of the bat just above the hands. The strike had no leverage, no real power. It might leave a red mark, but Grant was glad to have escaped the onslaught with such minor damage.

Almost casually, he reached out, grabbed Arok, and-remembering Teng's derision over his earlier throw-tossed the older brother from the arena. Though he still held up somewhat, the throw carried more power and the boy landed with an emphatic whump.

Grant looked to Rala as he rushed to help Arok. She tried to display no emotion, but Grant had spent enough time with Treel to know that she seemed... proud?

Yes, she seemed proud that her son had almost cleaned his clock. Grant guessed he would be proud too if his son did as well against a full-grown Minith fighter. Thank goodness he would never have to worry about that ever happening.

He reached a hand to the boy and helped him to his feet.

"I almost had you, human," Arok said, dusting his backside. "Shall we go again?"

Grant realized Arok had every bit as much self-confidence and mettle as his younger brother. He was opening his mouth to respond when he heard the sound of the Minith pulse rifle.

Rala was smiling inwardly, though she let none of her emotions show on the surface. Her sons had performed well against a fully grown human fighter. Arok had left two visible marks on the human's body and had almost landed an incapacitating blow. Only the human's speed and skill had prevented the staff from landing. Where does such skill come from on a planet of humans? she wondered.

She waited quietly and without comment as Arok challenged the man to another round. She knew Teng would claim his right to duel again before Arok had the chance and looked over to her youngest just in time to see him crumple to the ground.

The flash and sound of a pulse rifle firing a second time barely registered with her. She rushed to her fallen child.

Conway immediately recognized the sound and flash, and pinpointed the danger coming from the top of the fence they had cleared the previous day. She was shouldering her own weapon when the second blast from the top of the wall caught the Telgoran standing on that side of the courtyard. As she watched in dismay, the tall gray dindin warrior's head evaporated with the shot.

"Top of the wall," she called out and tried to get a bead on the Minith head and shoulders that peeked over. Before she could take the shot, the lone Minith disappeared. "He's gone."

She found herself sprinting after Grant, who was already halfway to the wall. Patahbay, obviously alerted by the death of his fellow warrior, was already there, standing over his fallen comrade.

Grant scooped up the fallen Telgoran's weapon.

"Toss me," she heard him tell Patahbay. Without thinking twice, the Telgoran put his hands together, waited for Grant to step into them, and then hoisted the man into the air.

"Me next!" Just like the previous day, she jumped into the waiting hands without slowing and felt herself hoisted skyward. She was only seconds behind the general, but she hated playing catch up.

She landed roughly and felt her right ankle turn. It wasn't too bad, but she knew she would be limping for the next week-just like that giant oaf. Dammit.

As she bounded to her feet, she sensed someone landing behind her and turned to see Patahbay. He had obviously hoisted himself up and over the wall solo. One of the benefits of height and steel-like muscles, apparently. The speed with which he sprinted after Grant left her standing alone. She looked up and down the street and said a quiet thanks. It was empty, and with any luck, would remain so for the foreseeable future.

She then set off after Grant, who had reached the next street, almost thirty meters away. Conway saw him set his feet, aim the rifle, and fire. Then he took off down the side street and was out of her sight. Patahbay was right behind him.

Several pain-filled seconds later, she ran/hobbled around the corner and ran directly into Patahbay. The collision knocked her against the wall of the building, but the warrior did not slow. He was carrying the large unmoving form of a male Minith.

That's not something you see every day.

"Dammit, Conway, get off your a.s.s and get back to the compound!" Grant whispered the command, but it still had its intended effect. She lurched to her feet, surveyed the street-still empty-and, with Grant's help, made it back to the wall.

Patahbay was waiting with his hands held low and she hobbled into them. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of putting her bad foot into position and had to bite back a scream as she was tossed roughly back across the wall. The pain of her injury caused her vision to dim and she wondered how she would manage to land when she couldn't even see.

Thankfully, she was neatly snagged out of the air by another of the Telgoran warriors and placed gently on the ground. She knew she had Patahbay and his mind-speak to thank for that consideration.

When her vision returned, she found herself lying next to a groaning male Minith. His right leg was spurting deep purple and she quickly scooted away to avoid the mess.

Grant landed next to her, executing that strange drop-roll technique he used, and then Patahbay dragged himself over and then down the wall.

With luck, their little escapade had not been witnessed by any Minith. They would know soon enough, she supposed.

The Minith did not last long. The shot from the human weapon had removed most of his lower left leg and he had died from blood loss.

Grant released the male's tunic and let the body fall to the ground. He then stood up and crossed the courtyard to where Rala, Arok, and Gee were huddled over Teng's unmoving form.

Although he did not know Minith customs, he knew grief when he saw it. And death. He did not know what to say, so held his tongue.

"What did he say?" Grant had to strain to make out Rala's words. He did not know what to tell her. The wounded male had not lasted long, and the few syllables he uttered had made no sense.

"Nothing, really. A name, perhaps? It sounded like nonsense. I'm sorry."

"Tell me the nonsense."

Grant swallowed, certain what he had to tell her would not help her understand.

"He said, 'Oy-loo.'"

Rala rose up slowly, then walked into her home, leaving the body of her youngest son lying in a pool of purple.

They remained out of sight while the Minith medical team took care of Teng's body. Grant wondered briefly how the Minith disposed of their dead, but knew he could not broach that subject with his host. Unlike a human mother, Rala did not display her grief openly-though he knew she had to be distraught at the death of her youngest son. Avery would be inconsolable if anything ever happened to Eli, and he shuddered at what his own reaction would be to such a loss. He couldn't imagine losing his only child.

Shortly after Teng's body was removed from the residence, Arok knocked on the door to the room where the group huddled to let them know it was okay to come out. Like his mother, the boy did not show much emotion at the loss of his brother. Grant shook his head and wrote it off as a trait of the Minith.

Rala stormed out of her office, dropped into her personal vehicle, and began the slow, agonizing trip back to her sole living son. And the others.

She did not want to think of the others-the humans and Telgorans-that she was harboring. To think of them would remind her of the reason she was in mourning, the reason she had needed to contact the medical evaporation personnel, the reason why Teng was dead.

But the reason could not be forgotten any more than it could be ignored. She slammed her hand against the thick, hide-covered console behind which she now sat.

She had failed to seek Oiloo's permission to speak with the human.

As a result of her failure, the Zrthn had felt threatened. And because he felt threatened, he had decided a "message" needed to be sent to his "Minith puppet." That's what he had called her-his "puppet." All this time, she had believed they were partners, but now she knew he was using her-and planned to keep on using her-to regain access to the agsel.

Rala bit down on her anger, swallowed it whole along with a large helping of grief. She had to stay focused on the task at hand-taking over as Minith governor. Later-after that goal was reached-she would decide what to do with Oiloo. He had sent his message. She watched as the streets pa.s.sed by outside the window and vowed to send her own. She had no problem using the humans to help her accomplish either goal, if necessary.

CHAPTER 33.

Ceeray looked down at the carnage surrounding Violent's Prison in despair. The burnt husks of human vehicles covered the landscape immediately surrounding the building. It was clear that the Minith had selected their landing location to cause maximum damage to the forces arranged to repel their invasion. Having spent years with the aliens, the former interpreter understood the ease with which the Minith could make such a decision. Being the cause of so much death and violence did not pose a huge moral dilemma for them like it would for most humans.

Then again, she had played her part in the destruction of the Minith home world. For the first time, she understood one of the main issues with war. It rarely ceases with a single act against the opponent. Revenge is an emotion and an act that swings both ways.

She spied fighting to the south, so she navigated the carrier in a wide arc to the north past the alien vessel. She settled the stolen vehicle near the eastern entrance to Violent's Prison.

The first thing she noticed when her thin-soled shoes. .h.i.t the ground was the heat. The earth was still hot from the mothers.h.i.+p's landing only hours before. The second thing she noticed was a human soldier standing just inside the open entrance. A child-Adrienne-was standing next to him. She rushed over, relieved to find one of the missing children so easily. Eli and Jonah could not be far away.

"You should not be here," the soldier chided. His voice and face were filled with agitation. "The fighting continues to the south and the north."

She ignored him and faced Adrienne, Eli's friend. "Where are the other two?" Her own voice was not much different from the soldier's in its rebuke.

"I'm sorry, Ceeray," the girl whined, close to tears. "It was Eli's idea."

Ceeray had no doubt whose idea it had been. In the short time she had known the boy, Avery's son had proven himself to be the thinker and the unacknowledged leader of his group. Only he would have even considered missing his ride to the safety of the mines. She loved her friend, but felt the boy must have too much of his father in him to ever be a true citizen of Earth-one who could actually help society.

"Where?" she repeated.

"If you're looking for two boys, they aren't here," the soldier stated. She turned her attention toward him. His voice had lost its sharpness. Apparently showing up at the edge of a battle is okay if you're looking for stray children, Ceeray thought.

"Well?"

The man merely pointed out the entrance, toward the s.h.i.+p in the distance. "Treel took them to the alien s.h.i.+p."

"I'm sorry, Ceeray!" Adrienne cried, obviously distraught, but the interpreter was still focused on what the soldier said. "Eli just wanted to help Treel get home."

"He took them to the s.h.i.+p?" Ceeray wanted to join Adrienne in her crying jag, but knew that wouldn't help the two boys. Despite her knowledge that it was suicide, there was only one thing she could do. "Hand me your weapon," she told the soldier.

"Um. That's not going to happen."

"Dammit, soldier! Unless you want to go with me to that s.h.i.+p, give me your rifle."

"You can't be serious," he said. But the look on her face and her outstretched hand obviously told him she was very serious. He slowly handed his rifle over, shaking his head as he made the transfer. "If you want to wait, I can notify my chain of command. They can send a team with you."

"No time." She was being stupid-she knew that. She also knew that she had a better chance at success than anyone else. She spoke the aliens' language, and no other human on Earth had spent as much time inside a mothers.h.i.+p. But what really spurred her on was knowing it had been her inability to perform a simple task that had allowed Eli to get into this situation. She had to set things right. "Just tell me how to work this thing. Then you can alert your commander."

Two minutes later, she was back in the stolen carrier and headed for the alien s.h.i.+p.

Mouse watched the vid-feed from the circling fighter carriers. His plan had worked exactly as he had envisioned. When the last of the alien fighters went down, he was struck by a sudden, but powerful, realization, a realization so potent-and, in hindsight, so obvious-that he had to stop everything he was doing to consider the consequences.

The Minith are not very smart.