data from even the most distant parts of its far-flung body. That’s how the Al knew when the Thraki convoy started to power up. It seemed that the biological’s plan had failed, a rather predictable outcome that confirmed the Hoon’s preexisting bias: Though mostly harmless, and occasionally useful, Jepp was an idiot. That being the case, the computer intelligence ordered the human’s shuttle to lift, severed the incoming communication, and ordered his forces to attack. They confirmed the nature of his instruction, and insofar as the Hoon was concerned, the incident was over. Jepp staggered and nearly lost his footing as the shuttle pushed the planet away. Veera, who had been serving as interpreter, quit in midsentence and was quick to strap herself in. The human looked left and right. “What’s happening? I demand to know! Veera ... Sam ... tell the Hoon.”
The teenager warbled to the robot. It answered in kind. Jepp collapsed into the ill-fitting seat. “Switch to standard, damn you! And hurry up.”
“The Hoon broke the connection,” Veera said simply.
“That’s his way of ending a conversation.”
“But the Thraki!” Jepp objected, “They are under my protection!”
Veera could have said something regarding how much his protection was worth but chose to remain silent instead. Though not of his species, and not capable of tears, she knew how he felt. When the Thraki died, his dreams died with them.
Lis and the other youngsters watched from the rocks as repellors stabbed the hard oxide-rich soil. The ships hovered head high until the insystem drives were engaged. Then, with the precision born of long practice, the spaceships accelerated away. With them went fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, friends, and more, never to be seen again. The battle, if that’s what the massacre could properly be called, would take place on the far side of the planet where the thin, nearly nonexistent atmosphere gave way to vacuum. A small mercy—but a meaningful one.
The cubs, especially the younger ones, made little noises toward the backs of their throats. Lis thought about saying something, warning them to be quiet, but decided to let it go. There was only a limited chance that the machines would pick up on such a low-powered transmission. One of the males said, “Look!” and pointed toward the center of the crater. Lis looked, and there, exactly where her father’s ship had been, sat a cargo lighter. Like an egg in a nest. The vessel was small, very small, but capable of a hyperspace jump. It was gray, about the same temp as the surrounding rocks, and completely innocuous. Had a course been entered into the ship’s navcomp?
Yes, she knew that it had.
They waited for three long days before concluding that the battle was over and the Sheen had left. Slowly, almost reverently, the youngsters filed down out of the rocks and made their way toward the ship. It was only when they stopped to look up that Lis saw the name spray-painted across the bow. It was hers.
Chapter 14
Standard year circa 1815
Clone World BETA018, the Clone Hegemony
Vice Admiral Ham Ista Rawan, who, as the senior officer on the ground, had the dubious honor of commanding all Thraki forces stationed on Clone World BETA018, secured the fasteners on his standard issue parka, waited for the form to climb onto his shoulder, and left the relative comfort of his office. Metal clanged under his boots as he crossed the catwalk that bisected the cavern and eyed the fighters arrayed below. They were Owana IFI Interceptors and, like the admiral himself, had seen long, hard service.
The aerospace fighters were parked in two opposing rows. Wraithlike wisps of vapor leaked from the umbilicals that connected the ships to the ground support systems. Some twenty transports, easily identified by their larger hulls, lurked deep within the shadows.
The interceptors would be busy soon, Rawan reflected as he returned a technical’s salute, stepped onto a freight platform, and stabbed the “Down” button. His breath fogged the air as a motor whined, the lift jerked in protest, and sank toward the flight deck below. Ships had dropped in system. Confederate ships, with not a word of protest from the normally contentious Hegemony. The same clones who had welcomed his people with open arms only months before, had turned decidedly less hospitable of late, even going so far as to cut off communications. It didn’t require diplomatic credentials to understand why. The Hegemony feared that if the Sheen attacked their guests they would suffer as well.
The officer could have felt bitter, could have felt betrayed, but didn’t. It seemed as if his people were destined to go friendless, to roam the stars forever, bereft of peace. The clones were nothing more than the latest manifestation of a hostile universe.
The platform clanged to a stop, Rawan stepped off, and turned toward the cold gray light. It flooded through the cavern’s entrance and glazed the deck in front of him. Walking into the alien glow, then peering out over the semi- frozen landscape, was part of his daily routine. Officers saluted from a distance, technicals went about their chores, and the robots ignored him. The admiral’s breath came in gasps as his lungs struggled to extract oxygen from the cold thin air. The medical officer claimed they would get used to it after a while, but Rawan had his doubts.
A wrench clattered as the officer neared the opening. A cold, clammy wind caressed Rawan’s face and sent his
