The Morcai Battalion. Diana Palmer

Alamantimichar’s deep, powerful voice filled the chamber. No image came with it. Only high military and political leaders had ever seen him. The emperor’s reputation for privacy was legend, like his military. “At 1600 hours Terravegan standard time this day,” he began, “the Rojok federation decimated Terramer. Among the dead is my son, Marcon. My daughter, Lyceria, is presumed to be a captive of the Rojoks. This Council,” he said accusingly, “guaranteed the safety of my children as diplomatic observers on Terramer. The guarantee was worthless. The Holconcom, after rescuing one of your Tri-Fleet ships from attack, was cut off behind enemy lines and communication discontinued. Before contact was lost, I was informed that the Jaakob Spheres were also in Rojok hands.”

      There were murmurs among the councilmen. Lawson cursed under his breath. It was a disaster. The Spheres gave the Rojoks the key to the DNA of every Tri-Fleet member race. With them, the Rojoks could engineer viruses to target each specific race. But, even worse, there was one tiny strand of DNA which encoded the history and military capability of each one, as well. These secrets were not even shared with outworlders. Old Lokar had persuaded the Tri-Galaxy Federation members to include that secret in the Jaakob Spheres, guaranteeing their safety. They had been carried aboard the diplomatic observers’ ship for safekeeping. What a joke! Safekeeping, indeed.

      “I demand,” Tnurat continued, “that the Council retaliate for this atrocity. If such retaliation is not forthcoming, the Dectat will act in a declaration of war on the neutral member planets of the Council. I allowed the limited use of my Holconcom as forward scout support for the Tri-Galaxy Fleet in response to a plea from your Admiral Lawson, after the latest Rojok incursion into Tri-Fleet territory. Now I ask, no, I demand, that the Council, including the neutral worlds, send armed units to support my government’s troops in a declaration of war on the Rojok tyrant Mangus Lo. The alternative is that you will fight not only the Rojok, but the Centaurian Empire, as well. The vanguard of our military is the Holconcom,” he added in a soft threat. “Some of you may remember how they put down revolutions in our planetary space. And how they deal with enemies. The choice is yours. Help me rescue my daughter and stop Mangus Lo’s aggression, or face the consequences. I will expect a reply within one standard hour.”

      A long, heavy silence fell over the room. Lawson watched idealism die in the eyes of the diplomats, giving way to what was undeniably fear.

      The Terravegan ambassador stood up. “May I speak?” he asked Lokar.

      “You may. I present the human ambassador from the Terravegan colonies, Giles Mourjey.”

      “Honorable Chairman, members of the Council,” Mourjey began, his eyes sweeping among the male and female delegates of the Tri-Galaxy Council, one of whom was an imposing Centaurian female named Karimasa. “The only force standing against the Rojok invasion of the New Territory has been the Royal Legion of Terravega, with some small assistance from the Altairian and Jebob militaries. I think it goes without saying that the human regiments of the Tri-Fleet have made the larger sacrifice of men and women. You may also have heard of Ahkmau, the Rojok death camp, where two million human soldiers have been systematically tortured to death in Mangus Lo’s insane lust for galactic conquest. With all due respect, delegates, while you were pursing the idealism of interracial harmony with your clones on Terramer, the Royal Legion of Terravega’s Strategic Space Command was pursuing a different goal. It was enforcing the only war vote of any member planetary systems in this Council, standing against a bloodthirsty dictator who’s already enslaved two planetary systems that declared neutrality. The humans have been decimated by Rojok attacks in the New Territory!”

      A dark green, slender delegate stood up quickly. “What he says is not true,” the delegate, a Vegan colonial, growled. “The Meg-Vegan High Council also issued a war vote and our Guards even now fight with the humans.”

      “Yes, indeed, Ambassador,” Mourjey replied, “in rec halls on bases all over the three civilized galaxies, they fight with us. But on the battle lines, they turn around and run!”

      The Vegan turned dusky under his green skin, but he didn’t deny the charge. Instead he sat down, smoldering.

      Mourjey faced the Council. “Delegates, the human colonies are getting damned tired of fighting this unholy war virtually alone. If it’s peace you want, if you hope to retain your own planetary systems, you’ll have to crawl out of your holes and fight for them! If you’d rather not involve yourselves in the danger, then by all means, go home and learn to speak Rojok. That is, if the Rojoks don’t take the New Territory before you have the time, and throw the lot of us into Mangus Lo’s sonic ovens!” He sat down.

      Lawson swung around and got to his feet. “He’s right,” he said. “I’ve tried to tell you delegates that the conflict can’t rock on like this. I’ve only got five hundred thousand men left in the Strategic Space Command of my Royal Legion, out of the five million I started with. We’ve lost ships, we’ve lost supply transports, we’re even now patching comm units into neutral ships because we’re losing outposts by the day. I need help, or the Rojoks are going to grab the solar systems in the New Territory. If they do that, its mineral resources and colonization possibilities and water resources and fertile farming plains are going to be dead to us. Our overflow populations and dwindling energy and food stores will send some of us into oblivion as a race, and the Rojoks won’t have to fire a single shot to accomplish our demise.”

      “You might also remember the Spheres that were captured by the Rojoks,” Mourjey broke in. “If the Rojoks have them, they hold the key to the complete obliteration of every member race of the Council. The military information alone which they contain will guarantee our defeat. I’m sure some of you remember slavery?”

      The Rigellian delegate pursed his yellow lips. “Some of us also remember the Great Galaxy War,” he said quietly. “Another like it and some of us would be obliterated regardless.”

      “Freedom has a price,” Lawson said philosophically. “But fighting Rojoks isn’t your only option now. You have a choice between fighting the Rojoks or fighting the Rojoks and the Centaurian Empire as well. Would any of you care to match the cream of your military forces against the Holconcom?”

      There was a long silence, interspersed with urgent whispers. Council members glanced at each other in obvious apprehension.

      Lokar spoke for them. “Some of us have also suffered the penalty for provoking the Holconcom, and remember it well. Nor do I harbor concern for the Holconcom ship, which has been cut off by the Rojok vessels,” he added with an amused glance at the Centaurian delegate, whose fine lips pulled into a very human smile. “My sympathy, rather, is for the Rojoks. We will call a vote.”

      Lawson saluted Lokar and left the chamber. He knew when he left what the outcome would be. He only regretted that it had taken so many lives, and Tnurat Alamantimichar’s threat, to open the eyes of those diplomatic moles. So many human lives, so many atrocities…

      Then he remembered the reference to the Holconcom rescue operation. He permitted himself a tiny smile. The Bellatrix. It had to be. And Captain Holt Stern and his crew were alive after all. But for how long? Humans and Holconcom together, in a confined space, under pressure. The Holconcom would slaughter them with little provocation. They knew nothing of humans. Only Dtimun had any real experience of them, and he was notorious for his dislike of the entire species. His heart sank. Perhaps it would have been more merciful for the humans if a Rojok blast had claimed the Bellatrix with all aboard!

      

      The harsh sound of Rojok voices brought Lyceria back to consciousness. Waves of vertigo wound through her head as she tried to sit up on the bed. She peered through the dim light toward the door. Behind it, a flood of Rojok voices rushed in at her. Three voices; one obliging and placating, one defensive, one harsh and threatening.

      The autodoor zipped up. One lone Rojok entered the small cubicle. He walked with authority. He was tall, reddish-skinned, hard-muscled. His long shock of blond hair was neatly trimmed, flowing down over the high collar of his black, long-sleeved uniform jacket. His slacks followed powerful legs down into heavy black boots. His slit-eyes peered at her from a lean, stern face that showed no