William Fortchen - Action Stations

"But the Crown Prince and his own son lead the attack."

"Do you think the Emperor truly cares if they live or die? There are other grandsons of other concubines. If there is victory he will embrace them, if they die he will immortalize them, if they lose he will denounce them and blame those who fought under them as well. This war will burn off our strength and yet leave his clan even stronger."

"I cannot believe this," Jukaga gasped. "You speak of the Emperor."

"It is time to grow up!" Vakka snarled. "It is time to put away your childish dreams of how the universe should be, and accept the truth behind it all. Everything is power, that is the goal. Glory is but a tool to trick others to give power to those who rule."

"Once there was the glory of the hunt and those who returned with red talons were acknowledged and glorified for feeding the clans. But now? If you should fight in this attack and destroy a Confederation ship, what does it bring you?"

Jukaga looked at him, unable to reply.

"What is glory then? You destroy a ship, but it will be the Emperors power which grows, not yours. Oh, you will be praised, you will wear new baubles, concubines will come to you willingly. But as for power? We, the heads of the clans, will receive new worlds as our bribes and new wealth as payment. But when one owns entire worlds already, what is one more? Only the Emperor will grow stronger and chances are you will die for nothing in this fight."

Vakka sighed and settled back on his pillow.

"Judge later, my son. Not now, go to your fight, and if it should actually come to pass that there is a great victory, then see who has actually won."

Vakka waved his hand in dismissal.

Jukaga stood up and bowed. Vakka finally stirred.

"May your talons be wet and, if fated not to return, may praise be sung of thy name."

The ritual farewell having been said, Jukaga straightened up.

"I am angered, father, that you had me removed from the fighter force. What good am I-" and he hesitated for a moment, " — what glory is there to stand behind Admiral Nargth and to run his errands?"

"Continue to read the writings of these humans," Vakka replied. "A word of advice at the right moment has often turned the tide of battle. Do that, and you accomplish far more than simply charging to your death."

"As you will it, father," Jukaga said bitterly and, turning on his heels, he stalked angrily out of the room.

Vakka smiled as the door slammed shut. At least the cub would most likely survive now. He didn't give a damn about the shame to his own name for asking to have his son removed. It was evident that the Emperor wanted a good killing off of those who were the best of the young heirs to the control of the clans. Well, this one he would not get.

He let his thoughts drift to the other thing he had been contemplating. It was a plan within a plan that both drew him and yet caused him to rebel against his most basic instincts. And yet, if it worked, perhaps this insanity could still be avoided. War might be inevitable with the Confederation but, if so, the enemy must be better known, his weakness in politics exploited, his will softened yet further. The Crown Prince only saw the humans as an opponent to charge when, with patience, they could be weakened from within. It was one thing the race had never truly learned, that war could be fought on many different levels.

His plan took form and all that it implied both frightened and drew him closer to unleashing it.

"Sire, we think we have located another Confederation spy team."

Gilkarg looked at his aide with annoyance.

"So why bother to worry me with this? If they've been found, take them out."

"My lord, there're some interesting details to this. One of our agents just reported into the station at Jigada with the information."

The Crown Prince stood up and was now most definitely interested. The Jigada system was the forward resupply point for the Sixth Fleet just before it went in to attack.

"Apparently there is an unstable jump point into the next system over that we were not aware of. It was declared off limits since it leads into a black hole system."

"Let me see the system on the holo, then we will decide how to handle it."

There were considerations within considerations here. This one would have to be handled carefully.

Gar's Emporium.Confederation date 2634.218

"We've been in this damn place for over a month," Vance growled. "Just how much longer is this crap gonna take?"

Geoff stared blearily into his mug. He wasn't even sure what he was consuming any more. What was really troubling to him was that there was something about The Pit, as the locals called it, that was starting to grow on him. Maybe, after all the years of harsh discipline, there was something inside stirring to life in a place where he didn't have to take any orders. Turner had cut them loose after the first couple of days, and Geoff now found it amusing that Vance had actually clung to his side, though perhaps Vance might have seen it the other way around.

"It's almost like the learning curve on a fighter," Vance had explained, as if he was a seasoned veteran of places like Gar's. "Get through your first three missions and your chances of survival skyrocket. The trick is, just getting through those first three."

Their second day out on their own, the first bar fight had occurred, a Cat and a Jarma lizard deciding that Vance's wallet was worth lifting. The Cat was now minus a hand, thanks to Geoff's shooting. As for the lizard, well, there were rumors that Haggans found the Jarma to be a particular delicacy and neither Vance nor Geoff objected when a Haggan slithered up and offered them fifty credits for the body.

Blowing the hand off the Cat just before it nailed Vance had secured a grudging friendship, though Vance kept claiming that once a reciprocal save had been pulled off things would get back to normal.

Geoff continued to act as though he was staring into his drink as a Cat settled down on the stool next to him. He watched cautiously from the corner of his eye for, after all, Stumpie, as they now called him, might have friends willing to do a vengeance job. This one looked new, however. There was a slight bristling to the Cat's mane; the thing was nervous and hyperalert.

The thing that was strange was that he and the Cat were, in the legal sense, enemies. Word of the declaration of war had reached The Pit and, for the first few hours, it had seemed as if fighting would break out. But then the master of The Pit had made a rare public announcement, pointing out that there was no sense in tearing each other apart when profit could be made. Now the war was viewed almost as a joke.

Geoff eyed the Cat cautiously, then decided to venture an opening.

"First time here?" Geoff asked casually, hoping the Cat understood the pidgin dialect of space, a mix of English standard and Imperial standard which was the language of trade on the frontier.

The Cat snarled, a standard response when a human first spoke to them. Geoff already knew to give a toothy grin in response to show he was not afraid, but not to open his jaw, which was a signal for a fight.

"Many times here," the Cat responded.

Geoff could tell he was lying. The thing kept looking back and forth as if soaking it all in the for the first time.

Geoff motioned for the barkeep to set up a drink for his new neighbor and the Cat looked over at him in surprise.

"To the spilled blood of our enemies," Geoff announced, raising his mug in salute.

"We might be speaking of your blood," the Cat replied as he took a tentative sip of the drink, grimaced, and then forced the rest of it down. Geoff motioned for a second.

He didn't even want to think about how much money he had spent buying drinks. In fact, word seemed to have gotten around The Pit so that, whenever he walked in, there was always at least one pathetic drunk whining at him for 'a taste of juice.