important objective, which is winning the war.” And with that, both Jakov and Wilmot departed.
A long silence followed the moment when the door closed. “Damn,” Xanith said fi?nally. “He doesn’t want to fi?nd the POWs.”
“No, I think it’s President Nankool that he doesn’t want to fi?nd,” Doma-Sa said cynically. “A strategy I can easily understand since it’s the sort of thing that my people are known for!”
All of those present knew how dangerous Hudathan politics could be, so no one chose to debate the point. “I fear you are correct old friend,” Chien-Chu said grimly.
“But I’d like to be wrong.”
“Well,” Booly replied thoughtfully, “let’s continue to refi?ne the rescue plan. Then, once we know where the POWs are, it will be ready to go.”
“And if Jakov refuses to authorize a rescue mission?”
Chien-Chu wanted to know.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” the offi?cer answered stolidly.
“Any attempt to send a rescue party without the vice president’s approval could be interpreted as treason,”
Xanith warned.
“And failure to try and rescue them could be regarded as treason as well,” the general replied grimly. “So let’s hope that we’re never forced to choose.”
3.
Any offi?cer or trooper who surrenders will be executed.
ABOARD THE RAMANTHIAN FREIGHTER
More than a thousand prisoners stood at the bottom of the long, narrow hull and stared up through the metal grating located a few feet above their heads. They could see lights, and the soles of their tormentor’s feet, but very little else. Christine Vanderveen was among them and, like all the rest, was extremely thirsty. Although the diplomat had been forced to surrender her watch back on the Gladiator, she fi?gured that the POWs had been aboard the freighter for about three miserable days. And like those around her, Vanderveen’s body was so conditioned to the daily schedule that it somehow knew when the rain was about to fall. That’s what the prisoners called the water, in spite of the fact that the substance that gushed out of the Ramanthian hoses had already been swallowed, processed, and pissed many times before.
Even so, the brackish stuff tasted good, real good, to people who were desperately thirsty. Which was why Vanderveen, Nankool, and all the rest of the POWs stood with their heads thrown back and their mouths wide open.
Many, Vanderveen included, were naked. Having willingly traded their modesty for the opportunity to take a shower. And, even though the diplomat’s body was well worth staring at, such was the condition of their dry, cottony mouths, that none of the neighboring men were looking at the diplomat lest their heads be in the wrong position when the precious liquid started to fall. All of which stemmed from the fact that the Ramanthian command structure hadn’t expected to take prisoners in the Nebor system—and had been forced to put the animals on an H
class freighter. A ship so inadequate that even the most benefi?cent of captors would have been hard-pressed to treat the POWs well, never mind Captain Dorlu Vomin, who regarded empathy as a sign of weakness.
But Vomin was resourceful. So, rather than sit around and complain about the burden he’d been given, the veteran freighter captain employed both his recalcitrant crew and the prisoners themselves to shift all of the cargo from Hull 2, through the connecting cross section to Hull 1, thereby making half of the H-shaped ship available to house the mostly human cargo. Then, rather than attempt to rig some sort of temporary plumbing for the undeserving POWs, Vomin came up with a more effi?cient plan. By turning hoses on the animals twice each day, the crew could not only provide the prisoners with an opportunity to drink but fl?ush their waste products into the bilges at the same time! Then, having been pumped out and purifi?ed, the water could be used again. The only problem was that the freighter’s recycling equipment was working overtime and might eventually fail under the strain. The sound of footsteps echoed between the metal bulkheads as Vomin began to pace back and forth. The Ramanthian was toying with them, and the prisoners knew it, because they’d been through the routine before. It was tempting to lower their heads until the coming diatribe ended, but they knew better than to do so. Because the wily Ramanthian had been known to start the rain halfway through one of his harangues. And once the water began to fl?ow, there would be only fi?fteen seconds in which to take advantage of it. So as Vomin began to talk, the prisoners kept their eyes focused on the grating above.
“Good morning,” the freighter captain began evenly. “I see that you stare up at me, like fl?owers following the sun, knowing that I am the source of all life.”
The fi?rst time Vomin had delivered one of these strange speeches, there had been jeers, catcalls, and all manner of rude noises from the prisoners standing below. But having had their “rain” shortened by ten seconds, the POWs never made that mistake again. So they stood, jaws achingly open, while Vomin strutted above them. “You will lose the war,” the Ramanthian informed the prisoners. “And for a very simple reason. Because as you gathered various cultures under a single government each polluted the rest. Weakness was piled upon weakness, and fl?aw was piled upon fl?aw, until the center of the obscenity you call the Confederacy began to rot. A process that is well under way and will inevitably lead to a series of poor decisions. Decisions that my race will take advantage of.
“Fortunately, the rest of your lives will be spent working on something worthwhile. Because there are jungles on Jericho. . . . Jungles that must be cleared for the benefi?t of our newly hatched nymphs. So as the Ramanthian rain begins to fall, I suggest that you savor each drop, knowing the full glory of the task that awaits you! That will be all.”
As usual the hoses came on without warning as Vomin’s crew began to spray the gratings. The water cascaded
