who ran to get the rocket launcher, which was resting next to the reserve ammo supply. But another bandit came up over the wall and shot the merc in the back. The impact threw Holby facedown as Ubatha brought the Negar to bear. A short burst sent the man on top of the ladder windmilling back to land somewhere below.
Another salvo of rockets struck. Explosions shook the building, and Cosmo was yelling over the radio. “Holby? Can you hear me? Kill that thing!”
Ubatha scuttled forward, put the assault rifle down, and was fumbling with the launcher when Holby returned from the dead. “Armor is important,” he said as if lecturing a recruit. “Never buy the cheap stuff. Give me that thing and watch my six.”
Ubatha didn’t know how the number “six” played into the situation, but the need to protect the human was obvious. So he made a grab for the Negar III as Holby fired a rocket up into the sky. It struck one of the Strider’s knobby knees and exploded with a bright flash.
“Good one!” Cosmo shouted, as the walker came to a stop. “Feed him another.”
The second shoulder-launched missile was fired by someone down in the courtyard. It streaked upwards, hit the control cab dead on, and blew up. Ubatha watched in fascination as the Strider swayed, fell over backwards, and landed on two side-by-side buildings. A cheer went up from the mercs, and Ubatha clacked his approval as the machine broke into pieces. “Get back to your posts,” Cosmo ordered sternly. “They may come after us again.”
But as the minutes went by and the wind began to die down, it became apparent that the battle was over. It seemed the destruction of the Strider had been the deciding factor. They would never know who had organized the attack or why. Except that the size of the complex and the presence of guards probably led them to believe that something very valuable lay within.
Ubatha turned to Holby. “I’m sorry about Fala-Ba,” he said, and shuffled away. And, strangely enough, he meant it.
THE SPACE STATION ORB I, IN ORBIT OVER PLANET LONG JUMP, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
The planet Long Jump was located inside of the Confederacy’s original borders. But just barely. Like Sensa II, where the Queen and her retinue had been hiding previously, Long Jump was a rim world. And one that was strategically located near a key nav point. But rather than force wayfarers to waste time and fuel landing on the surface, local entrepreneurs constructed an orbiting space station called Orb I, where customers could refuel before venturing out into the unknown. Or returning to the core worlds.
Over time, the space station had expanded to become more than a fuel stop. Now it was a mostly law-free zone in which just about anything that didn’t threaten the habitat’s well-being could be bought and sold. And thanks to some very robust defenses, Orb I had been able to defend itself against pirates, Sheen raiders, and-most recently-a Ramanthian destroyer.
In the wake of the attack, Ubatha knew it would be necessary to sneak aboard the space station, which loomed beyond the viewport next to him. Farther back, beyond Orb I, the planet Long Jump could be seen. It was mostly blue, with patches of brown. Not the sort of planet that Ramanthians preferred, but strategically important nevertheless.
The trip from Sensa II had been made aboard a Thraki vessel called the Dark Star. The ship was fitted out to look like a freighter-but carried enough armament to be classified as a corvette. The perfect vessel for transporting a small but very important cargo. A royal cargo, which could be quite demanding at times. “You’re sure that no one will be able to see me?” the Queen inquired. “I wouldn’t like that.” The metal cage that protected her now-frail body had been bolted to the deck in case the vessel’s argrav generators failed.
Ubatha felt a tremendous desire to please the monarch and knew that the air within the cabin was thick with psychoactive chemicals. Something that could have an effect on his objectivity if he wasn’t careful. “No, Majesty,” he said patiently. “You and one of your ladies-in-waiting will be concealed inside a specially equipped cargo module. The rest of us will be put aboard the space station in the same fashion.”
“And you’re sure that this Tomko animal can help me?”
Ubatha had answered the question many times before. But the chemicals plus the sense of compassion he felt for the royal helped keep his annoyance under control. “Yes, Majesty, assuming you’re willing to make the necessary sacrifice.”
And that was the problem. Because prior to her injury, the Warrior Queen had been known to refer to human cyborgs as “freaks.” It was a view shared by nearly all the Ramanthian population and frequently reinforced by the priesthood, who feared that the use of artificial bodies might disrupt family bonding and the race’s reproductive cycle.
But with the entire empire at stake and no other options, the royal had been forced to consider what had previously been unthinkable. “My body is broken, but I don’t know if I can give it up,” the Queen said uncertainly, giving Ubatha a rare glimpse of the person behind the royal facade. She was a very real female, not that different from the Egg Ubatha. He felt the usual pang of regret and made an effort to redirect his thoughts.
“Well, that’s why we’re here. Once you’ve had a chance to consult with Dr. Tomko, you’ll be in a position to make that decision. However, as you know, the cloning process that Hosokowa recommends would take a significant amount of time. And this approach would allow you to return to the throne more quickly.”
There was a gentle bump as the ship made lock-to-lock contact with one of the many berths located around the disk-shaped space station. That was the cue for the unloading process to begin-and Ubatha could tell that the royal persona was back in place. “Don’t let them drop me,” she said crossly. “Or you’ll be sorry.”
Ubatha knew that the Queen would be helpless without him-and that he was the one in a position of power. But he bowed, and said, “Yes, Majesty, of course, Majesty.” Not so much for the Queen as the empire. Because, for better or worse, Ubatha was a patriot.
After being unloaded onto Orb I ’s “A,” or cargo deck, the specially designed containers were placed on floating power pallets and towed onto a spacious lift. The elevator carried them up to “B” deck where the robo tug hauled them out onto the utility track that circled the space station’s core.
Horizontal air slits had been cut into the cargo module that Ubatha was sharing with five other members of the Queen’s retinue. So rather than focus on the uncomfortably close quarters and a growing sense of claustrophobia, Ubatha chose to peer through a nearby slot instead. He could hear announcements over the PA system, see the “zip” ads that slid across the electroactive walls, and smell the strange amalgam of body odors, perfumes, and lubricants that filled the air. Foot traffic had been relegated to a path farther out, and it was crowded with humans, Prithians, Hudathans, Dwellers, Thrakies, and androids. But no Ramanthians. Not a single one.
It was frightening to see how isolated the Queen and her retainers were. What if Benjii had betrayed them? What if they were about to be given over to the humans in exchange for a trade agreement? And what about Dr. Tomko? Could he be trusted?
There were so many dangers that Ubatha felt a great sense of foreboding as the robo tug took a right-hand turn-and towed the containers down a side passageway into a lift that was smaller than the first. It carried them up to “C” deck where, much to Ubatha’s relief, Benjii was waiting to meet the royal party. Ubatha caught a glimpse of the Thraki and heard him say, “Follow me.”
The tug started up again, passed a succession of numbered hatches, and took a hard right. That took the short train into what looked like a storage space with racks all around.
Moments later, some white-suited animals appeared, opened the containers, and went about the delicate task of moving the Queen into what one of the technicians referred to as “the clinic.” Ubatha was in attendance throughout, doing the best he could to comfort the royal and satisfy her more reasonable requests.
Eventually, once the process was complete, the Ramanthians found themselves inside a high-tech lab. It looked like a combination operating theater and research laboratory, with adjustable lights overhead and workbenches against the bulkheads. All of which was intimidating and reassuring at the same time.
Moments after the Queen was positioned under the lights, a human entered the room. Though no expert on such matters, Ubatha was sufficiently acquainted with animal culture to know that the individual who introduced himself as Dr. Tomko was both handsome and well dressed. Perhaps too well dressed, given how elaborate the clothing was. “Welcome!” Tomko said jovially as he went over to stand where the Queen could look up at him. “I understand you are interested in acquiring one or more electromechanical vehicles.”
