sometimes referred to as the great mother, set events in motion prior to her death. But perceptions are important. And Earth is the place where you were wounded, thereby cementing your unofficial title of Warrior Queen and earning you a permanent place in the hearts of all Ramanthians. By going there to make your first speech, you will evoke strong emotions on both sides. Although they may have reservations, most humans will rejoice over the prospect that their home world will be freed. Meanwhile, those Ramanthians who have grown tired of the war and understand the strategic realities, will realize that a reset represents a good outcome given what could occur otherwise.”
Nankool couldn’t read the Queen’s nonverbals but suspected that she wasn’t used to much, if any, push back. So when she spoke, he was interested to see what she would say. “I continue to have reservations,” the royal replied. “The planet Trevia would be a better choice in my mind. A great many Ramanthian expats live there, a significant number of whom would welcome my return. But I place a great deal of trust in Chancellor Ubatha and his opinion.”
All eyes went to the Ramanthian official, and although Nankool fully expected him to echo the Queen’s opinion, he was in for a pleasant surprise. “Thank you, Highness,” Ubatha said. “I believe Earth would be a good location for all of the reasons Admiral Chien-Chu put forward plus one more. Assuming that the Confederacy can put you on the surface and provide sufficient security, the visit will not only highlight the physical courage that you’re known for, but the cabal’s dishonesty as well. Because Parth and his cronies have lied to our citizens about conditions on Earth. And your presence there will make that clear.”
Perhaps it was Ubatha’s vision. Or maybe his comments gave the Queen a chance to save face. But whatever the reason, she agreed. “We will assign a senior diplomat to travel with you,” Yatsu declared. “And General Booly will arrange for security.”
“Thank you,” the Queen replied. “But I would like to retain Consul Vanderveen’s services-and those of Major Santana as well. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for them.”
“Of course,” Nankool replied, before anyone could object. “Consider it done.”
The top of the windswept pinnacle was lost in darkness until the private air car swooped in to hover above it, and a pair of powerful floodlights came on. They served to illuminate part of the ancient ruins that covered the top of the plateau and threw hard shadows toward the east. As the aircraft lowered itself onto the ground, the pool of light shrank. “You’re sure about this?” Santana inquired, as the skids touched down. “We could stay somewhere warm.”
“Oh, it’ll be warm,” Vanderveen promised. “And private. As you know, Fort Camerone is like a small town. Everybody knows everything about everyone else.”
“Maylo Chien-Chu knows,” Santana pointed out, as the single crewman tossed a large duffel bag out onto the rocky ground. “This is her air car.”
“That’s true,” Vanderveen agreed. “But she can keep a secret.”
“Then so be it,” Santana said, as he jumped to the ground. “I’m looking forward to our first camping trip.”
Vanderveen dropped into his waiting arms, another duffel bag hit the ground, and the crewman waved good- bye. The engine screamed, and the pool of light began to expand as the air car took off. It snapped out of existence a few seconds later. “Two days,” Vanderveen said. “I’m going to have you to myself for two whole days. Then it’s off to visit Earth.”
“If we don’t freeze to death first,” Santana cautioned. “Come on.. Let’s find a place to hole up.” And find it they did. There were a number of underground dwellings to choose from, all excavated by the Naa hundreds of years earlier.
Having inspected half a dozen possibilities, Santana and Vanderveen settled on a snug chamber accessed via a spiral stairway carved out of solid rock. They didn’t have any dried dooth dung to use as fuel, but thanks to a friendly supply sergeant, Santana had something better-a quantity of military F-1. A single block would provide a hot fire for six hours. So it wasn’t long before firelight began to dance on the walls, a pleasant warmth suffused the room, and the odor of cooking filled the air. “Our relationship could end right here,” Vanderveen said, as she dropped the final ingredients into a pot. “In spite of having servants most of her life, my mother was an excellent cook and tried to pass her skills along to me. But I never paid much attention.”
“If memory serves me correctly, you have other talents, however,” Santana said, as she stood and entered the circle of his arms. Her lips seemed to melt beneath his, the clean smell of her filled his nostrils, and the kiss lasted for a long time. Eventually, she pushed him away.
“No dessert until you finish your dinner,” she said sternly. “No matter how horrible it may taste.”
The stew was surprisingly good. And as Santana ate, sitting with Vanderveen only two feet away, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so happy. But that was bad in a way because the war was far from over, and Vanderveen would go wherever her duties took her, including war zones like Earth. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than to find something so precious only to have it snatched away. He was thinking about Charles and Margaret Vanderveen when their daughter turned to look at him. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I was thinking.”
“About what?”
Santana looked at the fire, then back again. “I love you.”
Vanderveen smiled gently. “Yes, I know. And I love you.”
The fire hissed, shadows were joined, and time seemed to stop.
PLANET EARTH, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
The battle began moments after the Confederacy cruiser Cygnus and her escorts popped out of hyperspace. That was to be expected since elements of the Ramanthian fleet had been in orbit around Earth since the invasion months earlier. But, thanks to a diversionary attack on bug-occupied Mars, half the Ramanthian ships normally assigned to the human home world were a hundred million miles away when the Cygy arrived. And that plus the element of surprise gave Admiral Kurtz the advantage she needed.
The ensuing action was brief but violent and resulted in the destruction of twelve Ramanthian vessels, which was probably very painful for the Warrior Queen. Although Santana couldn’t detect any expression on her carefully molded face as the assault boat designated RAM 1 departed the cruiser’s brightly lit hangar bay for the blackness of space.
The Queen’s assault boat had an escort comprised of twenty-one Dagger 190s, all of which were under strict orders to defend RAM 1 regardless of the cost. Once on the ground, it would become Santana’s job to protect the Warrior Queen from both humans and Ramanthians, a task he was determined to carry out because it was his duty to do so and because Christine was part of the royal’s retinue. She was seated a few feet away from the Queen. Christine’s eyes met his, and she smiled.
The assault boat shuddered as it entered the atmosphere, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Our formation is under attack, but our escorts are keeping the enemy at a distance. We should be on the ground in about ten minutes.” A click served to punctuate the paragraph.
Santana knew that Commander Foley’s resistance fighters were supposed to provide most of the security while his team served as the ultimate backup. And while that was fine in theory, the officer knew that Foley’s patriots were the very people most likely to try to assassinate the Queen. Which meant it would be foolish to let anyone other than members of his own team get close.
They were a piratical-looking platoon, led by second-in-command Lieutenant Bushnell, Dietrich, and two reliable sergeants. There were eighteen legionnaires in all, not counting himself, all of whom were combat veterans and had been carefully screened. It wasn’t a large force compared to what Santana could have requested, but he feared that a full company would be too large and might get in its own way.
And, making the situation even more interesting, there was the fact that General Booly had given him orders to kill the Queen if she tried to make unauthorized contact with Ramanthian forces or if it appeared that she might fall into the wrong hands. Or pincers, as the case might be.
Santana’s thoughts were interrupted as the ship banked, circled, and came in for a landing. “We’ll be on the ground in a minute or so,” the pilot announced. “Please remain in your seats until the green light comes on.”
There was a solid thump as the assault boat put down. The green light came on, and the stern hatch cycled
