elsewhere. Thereby strengthening the opposition rather than weakening it.”
Ubatha paused to look around before taking his argument to its logical conclusion. “So I oppose an attack on Earth, the functionary concluded gravely. “But if overruled on this matter, I recommend that we glass the planet, rather than simply occupy it. Because by rendering the world uninhabitable, we will strike the sort of psychological blow that you visualize, but without being required to commit any troops. Soldiers we will need when the surviving humans seek revenge. Thank you for the opportunity to speak.”
Only one pair of pincers was heard to clack. But they belonged to the Queen, who understood how diffi?cult such a speech was, especially given the political risk involved.
“Thank you,” the monarch said sincerely, as the rest of her advisors watched the drama unfold. “You make some excellent points. But I am going to overrule you—for the following reasons. First, the same intelligence reports that you referred to make it clear that even as the more adventurous members of the human species left for the stars, there was a marked tendency for lazy, self-satisfi?ed, and privileged members of the race to remain on Earth. Which means the planet will be relatively easy to pacify.
“Secondly, were we to glass the planet as you suggest that we should, it could cause the surviving humans to launch another attack on Hive. The last one killed 1.7 million Ramanthian citizens—so how many would the next assault kill?” she demanded rhetorically.
“Thirdly, rather than render Earth uninhabitable, I want to use the planet as a bargaining chip. A tidbit that we can negotiate over for the next twenty years. Then, when all fi?ve billion of the great mother’s children reach adulthood, we will sweep through the Confederacy and eradicate the animals once and for all!”
The plan was so audacious, and so farsighted, that all of Ubatha’s doubts were swept away. “Thank you, Majesty,”
the Chancellor said humbly. “I have seen the future, and it is ours.”
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY
The sky was lead gray, and the temperature hovered just above freezing, as Mama Dee led her ragged fl?ock of followers west along the two-lane highway. A bitterly cold wind pressed against their scarf-wrapped faces as a heavily loaded Ramanthian convoy passed them headed in the opposite direction. The humans could feel the wash of heat produced by the alien power plants and hear the rattle of click-speech as one of the troop transports passed them. The bugs might have stopped the band of humans had it not been for the “truce stick” clutched in their leader’s left hand. Dee was a big-boned woman who looked a lot like her broad-faced Ortov mother. Although some of her Chan-line father’s DNA could be seen in the shape of her eyes and the breadth of her nose, most of her body was concealed by an ankle-length gray cloak that was cinched around her waist with a length of rope. All manner of items dangled from the makeshift belt, and they appeared to dance as she turned to look over her shoulder. Then, having assured herself that the group was intact, Dee faced the wind.
Like most free breeders the “Children of Nature,” as they called themselves, had been forced to eke out a living high in the mountains or risk sanctions from the “true breeders who lived on arable land at lower elevations. Founder folk, which was to say bigots, who continued to believe in the nonsense Dr. Carolyn Anne Hosokawa put forward, in spite of how absurd the theory of rational design obviously was. Such hostility made life diffi?cult, very diffi?cult, but now Dee and her fl?ock were faced with another problem. Because only three days after seizing control of the planet, a squad of heavily armed Ramanthians had appeared in their village and ordered the Children of Nature to walk all the way to the city of Ship Down, where a civilian POW camp had been established. And, to make sure the humans did as they were told, the aliens destroyed the collection of stone huts that constituted the village even as the refugees left. Of course Dee and her two dozen followers had no desire to enter a camp, especially one populated by founder folk. But they hadn’t been able to come up with a realistic alternative. The truce stick was actually a tracking device shaped like a staff, which provided the Ramanthians with real-time data regarding the family, and where it was going. In fact it could actually “see” them, and their surroundings, or so the bugs claimed. They could dump the device of course, but that would cause the chits to send a shuttle. And Dee knew what would happen next. The Ramanthian aircraft would locate her family and put all of them to death. That left Mama Dee with no alternative but to trudge toward the dimly seen afternoon sun and hope for the best.
Having moved into position during the hours of darkness, and having found cover on a rocky ledge, there had been little for Colonel Six and two of his Seebos to do but hunker down in their sleeping bags, and take turns trying to sleep. But it was diffi?cult due to the pervasive cold, the muted roar of the river below them, and the occasional whine of turbines as Ramanthian convoys crossed the bridge nearby. The light arrived gradually, as if hesitant to replace the darkness, and was fi?ltered by a thick layer of clouds. A fi?re was out of the question, but Six gave permission for one of the Seebos to heat some water with a carefully shielded fuel tab. Having brushed his teeth, and taken a somewhat awkward piss, the offi?cer crawled forward to the point where he could place his back against a rock and peer through a screen of lacy vegetation. The target was an arched bridge. It was about half a mile away and still shrouded in mist. The vapor began to dissipate as the air warmed and vehicles loaded with troops, heavy weapons, and supplies continued to cross it.
All were viewed from an angle, since the clone’s vantage point was down canyon, looking toward the southeast. Meanwhile, directly below the bridge, river 78, 241.2 jumped and boiled as if eager to escape the mountains and travel to more hospitable climes below. Six heard a scraping sound and turned to fi?nd that Corporal One-O, as his comrades called him, had arrived with a mug of steaming tea. It had been necessary for the Seebo to duckwalk, and though a small amount of the precious liquid had been lost during the trip, most of it still remained.
“Here you are, sir,” One-O said cheerfully. “Are two sugars enough?”
“That’s plenty,” Six replied gratefully. “Thank you. Once you’ve had your tea, pack up the gear, and tell Niner to bring the launcher. We’ll wait for a heavily loaded convoy, dump the bridge into the canyon, and haul ass.”
“That’ll show the bastards,” One-O said approvingly.
“Don’t worry—we’ll be ready.”
“Good,” Colonel Six responded, and allowed the lichencovered rock to accept his full weight. The mug warmed his hands, the bridge drew his eyes, and the offi?cer wondered how many bugs he would kill on that particular day.
“Okay, squirt,” Mama Dee said, as she scooped the child up off the road. “How ’bout a ride?”
“I’m tired,” the little girl complained. Her nose was running, and she wiped it with a sleeve.
“I know you are,” Dee said sympathetically. “But look down there! See the bridge? Once we cross it, we’ll stop for lunch. How does that sound?”
“Can I have a cookie?” the child wanted to know.
