“But that’s a minor detail,” the monarch continued dismissively. “My intelligence chief offered to take care of the oversight personally, but I told him no. Having lost both mates and narrowly escaped death herself, the Egg Orno has suffered enough.”
“You are known for your mercifulness,” Ubatha intoned, and momentarily wondered if he had pushed it too far. But because the Queen truly believed she was merciful, the fl?attery slid past her if not the chosen one.
“But you didn’t come here to discuss the Ornos,” the monarch said, as she gave birth to another fi?fty citizens.
“No, Highness. I didn’t,” Ubatha agreed. The Confederacy put out an announcement, a rather interesting announcement, that was relayed to me by the Thraki ambassador.”
“An ugly breed,” the Queen observed distastefully.
“But I digress. What is that pack of degenerates up to now?” Both the monarch and the chosen listened intently as Ubatha relayed the news regarding Nankool’s disappearance and Jakov’s elevation to the presidency.
“What do we know about this Jakov person?” the Queen wanted to know, as the narrative came to a close.
“We know he’s ruthless,” Ubatha observed. “Since he made the announcement in spite of the possibility that Nankool is alive. Details regarding Jakov’s background will be included in your mid-morning intelligence briefi? ng.”
“Good,” the monarch replied. “Perhaps this human will prove to be more reasonable than his predecessor was.”
That was a given insofar as the chosen was concerned. Because she had been careful to memorize all the information available regarding Nankool’s staff—and was pretty sure that Jakov would make signifi?cant concessions for a peace that left him in charge of the Confederacy. A promising development indeed.
“And Nankool?” the Queen inquired. “Is he among the prisoners?”
“I don’t know yet, Majesty,” Ubatha replied honestly.
“But I will certainly fi?nd out.”
PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Thanks to the repellers that kept it aloft, the Ramanthian scout car could travel more slowly than a conventional aircraft could, giving the insectoid troopers plenty of time in which to inspect the verdant jungle below. And that was what they were doing as the air car drifted over the treetops.
Thanks to advance notice from both Batkin and the T-2s, Team Zebra had been given plenty of warning before the scout car arrived. Enough to hide themselves under a thick layer of foliage, activate all of their countermeasures, and suspend use of their radios. That strategy had proven effective three times over the last few days. As the insistent thrumming noise generated by the scout car increased, and the downdraft from the Ramanthian repellers caused the treetops to thrash about, Santana and the rest of the legionnaires peered upwards. They hoped to escape notice one more time but feared they wouldn’t. And for good reason since it was clear from Batkin’s electronic intercepts that the bugs knew some sort of incursion had taken place.
How didn’t really matter, although there was the distinct possibility that the battle with the nymphs had been visible from space or that one of their patrols had stumbled across the body-strewn clearing. And, had the Ramanthian military presence on Jericho been larger, it was almost certain the team would have been interdicted by that time. But since there weren’t all that many soldiers on the ground, and those present had their pincers full guarding both civilian and military POWs, the aliens had been unable to bring a suffi?cient amount of bug-power to bear on the problem. Up until that point anyway. As if working in concert with Santana’s thoughts, the scout car paused almost directly above the hidden legionnaires and hovered, as if the Ramanthian troopers had seen something suspicious. If they had, and tried to report it, Batkin would “hear” and order the T-2s to fi?re. The scout car and its occupants would almost certainly be destroyed. But, rather than improve, conditions would almost certainly become worse. Because when the scout car failed to return, even more units would be sent to the area, and the team would soon be located. So everything was at stake as the enemy vehicle hung like a sword over the legionnaires’ heads.
But just when Santana feared that discovery was imminent, the engine noise increased, and the vehicle slid toward the north. No one moved. . . . And it was a good thing, too. Because the Ramanthians returned four minutes later. The scout car thrummed softly as it passed over them a hundred feet higher than before. They’re looking to see if anyone or anything went into motion after they left, Santana thought to himself. The bastards.
The team was forced to remain where it was for another hour before DeCosta felt it was safe to proceed. Precious time was lost, but the team had gone undetected. Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon was relatively uneventful. The company was able to make fairly good time since they had Batkin to scout the area ahead and guide them around obstacles.
Finally, as the sun started to set, Batkin led the team out into a shallow lake. It was the same lake the Confederacy POWs had been forced to cross on their way to Camp Enterprise. And it was then, as they passed through a grove of frothy-topped trees and entered the oily-looking water, that everyone got a good look at the space elevator hanging above them. The structure was very nearly pink at the moment, and incredibly beautiful, as it hung suspended halfway between day and night.
A line of poles led them out to the island at the center of the lake. It was the same spot where the POWs had camped for the night—and Cassidy had subsequently been roasted over a fi?re. Camping on a trail utilized by the Ramanthians clearly entailed some risk, but Batkin theorized that the marauding nymphs wouldn’t want to get wet, and DeCosta was willing to try it.
But rather than camp outside, as the POWs had, the major insisted that the entire team spend the night inside the half-buried building, where they were less likely to be detected from the air. The mazelike interior was a mess —
so work was required to make a section habitable. It was dark by the time carefully screened fi?res were lit, battle lamps came on, and the evening routine began. The second squad of the second platoon had guard duty. That left the rest of the legionnaires free to choose a section of fl?oor to sleep on and prepare a communal meal, a brew made more fl?avorful by the addition of nonissue sauces and spicy condiments.
Then, once the meal had been eaten, and the legionnaires’ mess kits had been washed in the lake, it was time for the so-called foot patrol, which was when Kia Darby, who doubled as a medic, went from person to person and inspected their feet. A none-too-pleasant chore, but an important one for any group of soldiers, including those who rode war forms all day. Because in spite of that advantage, the bio bods still had blisters caused by the continuous
