That was the motto you chose! Yet you possess neither one of them.”
The deck shuddered, as if in response to the alien’s words, and a dull thump was transmitted through many layers of durasteel. Some of the Gladiator’s computer-controlled fi?refi?ghting equipment remained in operation, and the ship’s maintenance bots were doing what they could to stabilize the systems they were responsible for, but without help from her crew, the ship was dying.
“Why are you alive?” the Ramanthian demanded through the loudspeaker on his shoulder. “When any selfrespecting warrior would be dead? The answer is simple. You aren’t warriors. You’re animals! As such your purpose is to serve higher life-forms. From here you will be taken to a Ramanthian planet, where you will work until you can work no longer. Or, perhaps some of you who would prefer to die now, thereby demonstrating that you are something more than beasts of burden.”
The offi?cer’s words were punctuated by a bellow of rage as General Wian Koba-Sa charged through the ranks in front of him. A Negar IV assault rifl?e began to bark rhythmically as a Ramanthian soldier opened fi?re—and Vanderveen saw the Hudathan stumble as he took two rounds in the back. But that wasn’t enough to bring the huge alien down—and there was a cheer, as Koba-Sa jumped up onto the maintenance platform. The formerly arrogant Ramanthian had started to backpedal by that time, but it was too late as the Hudathan shouted the traditional war cry, and a hundred voices answered, “Blood!”
And there was blood as Koba-Sa wrapped one gigantic hand around the Ramanthian’s throat and brought the other up under the fl?ared chin guard. The helmet didn’t come off the way the Hudathan had hoped it would, but the blow was suffi?cient to snap the bug’s neck, even as Koba-Sa fell to a hail of bullets.
Then all of the prisoners were forced to hit the deck as the Ramanthians opened fi?re on the helpless crowd, and didn’t stop until an offi?cer repeatedly ordered them to do so, but only after many of the soldiers had emptied their clips.
Dozens of bodies lay sprawled on the deck by that time, but there was something different about the crew beings still able to stand, and the emotion that pervaded the hangar. Because rather than the feeling of hopelessness that fi?lled the bay before—Vanderveen sensed a strange sort of pride. As if Koba-Sa’s valiant death had somehow infused the prisoners with some of the Hudathan’s headstrong courage.
And, rather than attempt to humiliate the POWs as the previous offi?cer had, Vanderveen noticed that his replacement was content to line the survivors up and march them past tables loaded with blue ship suits and hundreds of boots. All taken from the Gladiator’s own storerooms. But there was no opportunity to check sizes, or to try anything on, as the prisoners were herded past. The best strategy was to grab what was available and trade that for something better later on.
And it was during that process that one of ship’s main magazines blew, people struggled to keep their feet, and the entire operation went into high gear. The Ramanthians were afraid now, afraid that the ship would disintegrate with them still aboard. So Vanderveen and all of the rest were herded into the waiting shuttles. The air was warm, thanks to the heat from their engines, and heavily tainted with the stench of ozone.
It didn’t take a genius to fi?gure out that there were more prisoners than the twenty shuttles could hold. And Vanderveen knew that meant that some of the Gladiator’s crew would be left behind. Other people began to realize the same thing, and there was a mad rush to board the spaceships. Guards fi?red over the crowd in a futile attempt to stem the fl?ood, but suddenly realized that they could be left behind and hurried to join the fear-crazed mob. Vanderveen wasn’t sure she wanted to board one of the shuttles, especially if there was an opportunity to enter one of the Gladiator’s many escape pods instead; but she never got the chance to do more than think about the alternative as the people behind her pushed the FSO forward. Naked bodies collided with hers, an elbow jabbed her ribs, and the man directly in front of the diplomat went down.
Vanderveen attempted to step over the body but couldn’t, and felt the crewman’s back give as she was forced to put her weight on it, and tried to shout an apology as the river of fl?esh carried her up a ramp and into one of the shuttles.
There were bench-style seats along both bulkheads, but no one got the opportunity to sit on them, as the lead POWs were pushed forward and smashed against the bulkhead. Fortunately, Nankool was there, ordering people to be calm, and somehow convincing them to do so.
Then the ramp was retracted, Vanderveen felt the shuttle lift off and start to move. There were lights, but not very many, and only a few viewports. However, the diplomat was close enough to see dozens of screaming, kicking prisoners sucked out of the launch bay into the airless abyss of space as massive doors parted.
The shuttle jerked back and forth as the Ramanthian pilot was forced to thread his way through a maze of fl? oating debris before fi?nally clearing the battle zone. Then, as the spaceship began to turn away, there was a massive explosion. Bright light strobed the inside the of the shuttle, but there was no sound, as the Gladiator came apart. Someone began to pray, and even though Vanderveen had never been very religious, she bowed her head. The journey to hell had begun.
For those who would rule, the greatest threat can often be found standing right next to them, with a well- honed blade and a ready smile.
2.
FORT CAMERONE, PLANET ALGERON,
THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
As a stream of formally attired dignitaries shuffl?ed in through the double doors, Legion General William “Bill”
Booly III, and his wife, Maylo Chien-Chu, were forced to pause while the colorfully plumed Prithian ambassador was announced to the crowd beyond. That gave the couple a moment in which to look at what normally functioned as the fort’s mess hall but, having been commandeered for the vice president’s fi?rst annual military ball, had magically been transformed into a ballroom.
All of the grim posters cautioning legionnaires about the dangers of land mines, unsecured weapons, and sexually transmitted diseases had been replaced by yard upon yard of colorful bunting that hung in carefully measured scallops along the walls. The previously green support columns had been painted white, detailed to look like marble, and hung with pots of artifi?cial fl?owers. The normally bare mess tables wore crisp white bedsheets.
