Two long-haired men with war helms crested with eagle wings stood at attention by the U-shaped contraption, gripping R3s. Six more manned the bridge, all well-built soldiers wearing deep scowls and leather breastplates with firearms at their hips. My chances of taking any of them by surprise were zero given my crippled hand. As for Mong, well, I’d never gotten used to his intimidating size and strength. His leather and fur-clad bulk, some mythic incarnation of Genghis Khan, cast a cold shadow and exuded a magnetism that never failed to give me the creeps.
“How are our campaigns going in the frontiers?” he barked.
Balt shrugged. “They are going tolerably well, lord. We have puppet figures dancing Azron a tune in the Denista system. Funds and raw materials trickle in slowly from conquests in Bagrish. We grow our Beryllium plants there and on Phenix and other worlds in the Veglos sector. Captain Yisil is producing more warships every week on Susol’s moon.”
Mong gave a gruff acknowledgement. “Anything else?”
“A continued resistance on Melinar, sir. We have Guptaon under control, her sister planet. We’ll blast them to compliance, if needed. But the Melinarians pose a worse threat. I propose we exercise extreme military force, move in on their planet with prejudice.”
“Melinar?”
“They have cunning spies, lord. Also advanced tech which seems to have jammed our signals.”
“Ingenious bastards, eh? Rebels?”
“More than that, sir. They rile up the neighboring worlds, the Vendecki, who are pooling forces with the Jaiwils on Xistris.”
Mong slammed his fist on the console. “This is unacceptable, Balt. We must quell this budding rebellion and crush them all. We’ll fly to the Azileus system immediately. Assemble the armada. Full speed. The kid gloves come off. No mercy.”
“Very well, my lord. And the jammers?”
“I doubt they can jam an entire fleet.” Balt nodded and barked orders into the com to the war captains.
“Prepare the enhanced fareon beams we received from Trellian,” Mong instructed. “Have our vanguard outfitted with our most impenetrable armor. The insurgents will learn not to meddle with my plans. They’ll be slaughtered. They’ve ignored our terms for too long and flout our authority like sharp-toothed badgers. I’ve offered them every reasonable alternative.”
Balt grinned. “Too true.”
I felt the ship lurch as we warped into Melinar with an armada that would make General Krod’s historic fight against the Fineus rebel strike of 2401 look like a baby shower. Mong’s ships materialized from the ethers, ships outfitted with augmented tech and now deployed. A thousand strong.
My mouth hung open. I’d never seen such a force of warships. They must have warped in from all over the galaxy.
“Look at their pitiful defenses,” gloated Hadruk. “Two hundred Vendecki warships and a smattering of Melinar skyslips—That against our millardian? Paf.”
Mong spat a wad of phlegm on the deck. “We’ll overpower them with our superior firepower. Our armor is better and our new shields juiced with neutron boosters. Strike at will.”
The ships sped forward to meet the defending vanguard. The first squadrons branched out in complex, crazy spiraling loops, each army trying to outflank the other. Mong’s, of course, having the superior numbers. I cringed at the sight of the Melinarian forces surrounded and crushed.
Mong barked a command, “Order the left wing to bank and wipe out that Vendecki wedge.”
“Signals jammed, sir,” the weapons engineer cried.
“What?”
“It’s bizarre. Like the last time. We were sure it was a temporary glitch—”
A Warhawk went up in flames beside us, now a smoking fireball, prey to Vendecki fire. Another disintegrated in a cindery ruin to our starboard.
Hadruk swore. “We cannot communicate with our fleet, lord! Jamming signal at 90%.”
“Where’s the source?” Mong bawled.
“We don’t know. Conflicting reports.”
Mong’s face turned beet red. “Find it, you fools!”
The weapons engineer cried in vain, “Sir, they not only jam our signals, but scramble our weapon’s systems. Fareons have gone haywire.”
Mong blew air out of his nose.
I grinned a sour clown’s grimace. Finally a world that could fight back against these mongrel war dogs. I rocked on my heels, relishing to see Mong fall, even if I were to die in the process. I stared down at my mangled hand. If I didn’t get regen soon, the nerve damage would be permanent. I doubted dear old Mong was about to outfit me with another robot hand. I clenched my good right fist, the prosthetic, the robot implant, and ached to use it against his ugly face. Maybe drive it into his skull. Kill him in one last stand.
“Report.”
“Weapons still jammed, sir. We’ve traced the sources to two small moons, Twidor and Anxaste, orbiting Melinar.”
Mong hissed. “So fast? You knew this before? Why the hell didn’t you say something earlier?”
“We ignored it because the signals ping-ponged back and forth, confusing our sensors.” The engineer clacked keys on the pad nervously. “We thought they were malfunctioning. I now believe they have dual jammers going.”
“Of course they have, you numbskull. How can they jam our signal and keep their channels open?”
“We don’t know. They must have penetrated our encrypted messages. Some new phantom tech.” The weapons engineer’s heavy jaw clamped then quivered under the heavy boom of more strikes on the hull. Multiple enemies were encircling us. I jerked about and snatched a look through the viewport. Melinar and Vendecki craft swirled in dive formations to bomb the hell out of Mong’s flagship. “If we destroy any station down there,” the engineer quavered, “we destroy any chance of using such tech in our
