“It’s a better start,” said Noss. “Why didn’t you think of it right from the get-go?”
Harg, the signals engineer, answered, “We didn’t think Mong or any ally of his could track and destroy a transmitter so quickly. If the transmitters had been up longer, we’d likely have destroyed his armada.”
“An honest mistake.”
“That cost far too many lives. Let’s hope it immobilizes them for good this time.”
“I’m still not clear on the overall plan.” I rubbed the heel of my palm on my temple.
Phel gave an impatient flourish. “We stir up the pot on Melinar, Mong goes in to retaliate and we jam their signals. The plan’s success relies upon the fact that Mong hasn’t cracked our jammer infiltration codes. I’m worried his enforcers might have fleshed it out of our captive engineers. But the good news is, we never gave any of them a full schematic of the tech. Mong’s crew could theoretically piece it together on the fly—but that’d take—”
“A lot of ifs and probables here, Phel,” I interrupted.
“I know. That’s why time is of an essence.” He turned to Volia and flashed meaningful glances at both of us. “So, will you fight?”
“Hold on. I never agreed to—” My mind flashed on the post and tank in the Redemption Chamber then I clenched my teeth. “I’ll help you out.”
Volia stirred in her seat and set down her glass.
Wren gaped. “Are you sure, Rusco?”
“Not really, but—”
Wren’s eyes fluttered. Blest just gave his head a little shake and took a fish’s gulp of wine. Grild and Zan seemed indifferent, resigned to whatever fate was in for them, going whichever way the wind blew. By the look of their hollow stares, I could tell that their lives were at an impasse, governed by the toss of the die.
Conflicting thoughts poured through my mind. Not the least, Mong’s words drifting back to me, that dim time on Vulpin’s bridge, “I never retreat, Balt. Never. I win every battle I fight.” Perhaps the Vendecki ruse was the deadly hammer that would drive steel into Mong’s flesh through that chink in his armor.
And then, maybe it wasn’t.
* * *
Down in the underground hangar on Vendecki’s moon, Hedra, we oversaw the clandestine loading of boxes and assorted cases of rifles, R4s, gauge 3 power packs, land mines, shell absorbers, flamethrowers, anything we could get in the hold of Starrunner and other starships to help the rebel cause on Melinar. We wore standard grey Vendecki khakis with Vendecki logos pasted on our breast over high-grade Kevlar. Black boots, crash helms, refitted R4s at our waist, the whole shebang.
Phel approached me, wearing a moody frown. “New plans, Rusco. Forget the scheduled arms drop. We need fighters in the air at 0200.”
“Say what?” I stared at Volia who’d come by and overhead.
“Conditions on Melinar have turned for the worse,” she said in a strained voice. “Mong’s amped up his persecutions, accusing Melinarian spies of being the ones who dug up the location of Othwan and brought about the invasion of his sanctuary. I just watched the video feed.” She uttered sorrowful croak. “Slave camps, interrogations, brutal torture. Mong’s captains have examined all our technically skilled engineers and scientists. They ply them with truth-serums, discarding them like garbage once they’ve served their purpose. Their minds are fried from drugs and repeated drills. The Vendecki endure no less savage scrutiny. When will it stop? It’ll never stop! Not until that madman is put down.”
“I agree with you there, Countess. But easier said than done.” I rubbed my jaw and looked around at the smattering of ships, pilots, crew and engineers. “You expect to take down a sociopath and a well-greased war machine skilled from day one. You have largely untrained rabble here and some low-tech ships. You don’t even have fareons installed. Mong hasn’t gotten to where he is without substantial resources.”
“You underestimate yourself, Rusco—and us. You had him! We had him—we had him worried, and we escaped from his lair right under his nose.”
“A lot of luck and diversion there. With more luck to go. How many died?”
Volia sighed. “Our ratio was 4 to 5. That puts us at a 20% total fatality figure. Most of the forces escaped unscathed in that shootout. We decimated Othwan. And we’re ready to counterattack.”
My eyes could not help but gleam with temptation, unusual for even me. It was an impressive statistic. I looked to Noss and the others who’d been silent this whole time. “So what do you have? What’s your plan?”
Phel pushed closer with his teeth clacking. “Mong’s fallen for the bait. We’ve confirmed knowledge of his next attack. Nineteen brave men and women died to bring us that information. We mustn’t squander their sacrifice. We’ll use the intel for max gain to strike Mong where he least expects it!”
“All fine and nice. A motley crew of disorganized skullbashers. Angry dissidents whose friends and families have been tortured and killed by that mongrel, all fired up to fight an impossible fight.”
“Yes, that’s what we are, Rusco, you’ve summed us up all too nicely.”
I grinned. “You’re at least an honest, pushy bastard, Phel. This rabble is my kind of piss and vinegar folk.”
“Great to hear.” He brightened. “Because you’re going to lead Reaver Party 3.”
I let out an explosive breath. “What the fuck? Where did you dream up this hare-brained idea?”
“I know your type, Rusco.” Phel narrowed beady eyes on me. “I did some digging on you. You’ve got nothing else left. Your life’s worth shit now, a shambles, debt up to your ears, bounty hunters in every sector looking to cash in, with that alpha dog hounding your
