Shu placed a finger on the screen. Pol knew that anyone with access to a com screen could see—but decided he didn’t care. “I love you.”

  “And I,” the initiate replied, “love you.”

  Elsewhere aboard the Liberty, and dozens of other ships, the battle continued to rage. A blow had been struck—but the war raged on.

  NEAR THE MAYAN RUINS OF NAKABE, GUATEMALA

  Lord Hak-Bin had been moved from the makeshift operating room to more pleasant quarters, where he could recover from the effects of the anesthesia and the operation itself. In fact, unlike the indigenous structures that most Saurons had little choice but to take advantage of, the lodge with the high-peaked roof, removable walls, and generous floor plan had been constructed with Sauron comforts in mind.

  The fact that the quarters had previously been occupied by Dun-Dar, who was now forced to wait in his own antechamber, added to that individual’s growing sense of frustration. News, all of it bad, continued to pour in. Not only had there been some sort of slave revolt at the citadel located north of the equator—the fleet was under attack as well. Was Hak-Bin aware of that? No. Why? Because Ott-Mar had given instructions that his patient should not be disturbed. So now, as Dun-Dar was forced to await admittance to his own lodge, the Lord high-idiot lolled within. Or so the stonemaster assumed.

  In that regard, however, Dun-Dar was wrong. Far from lolling about, Hak-Bin was not only up, and on his feet, but he stood admiring himself in a full-length mirror. In spite of the fact that his body was still somewhat swollen, and the manner in which stainless-steel sutures had been used to hold certain sections of chitin together, he looked much more presentable than before. So much so in fact that the Zin wouldn’t hesitate to appear in public. Not nude, of course, but swathed in one of his new custom-made black togas, and hung with the ornaments of office.

  Of far more importance than how he looked was how Hak-Bin felt. Not only had the transfusion cleansed his blood of change-related toxins, it effectively put the increasingly demanding nymph on hold and infused his body with energy. So much so that the Zin shuffled over to the door, threw it open, and was about to take a walk when he found himself snout-to-snout with a startled Dun-Dar. The stonemaster managed to recover his composure and gestured respect. “Lord Hak-Bin… Ott-Mar said your health was much improved. I’m pleased to see that his report was accurate.”

  Hak-Bin took note of the manner in which the word “health” had been used as a stand-in for his actual condition and gave the normally blunt stonemaster credit for some tact. “Thank you, Dun-Dar, I feel much better. My apologies for usurping your quarters. Please allow me to assure that I will withdraw by day’s end.”

  The mere mention of the manner in which he had been inconvenienced went a long way toward improving Dun-Dar’s mood. “It was nothing,” the stonemaster lied. “I’m sorry to bother you during your convalescence, but I have news to impart.”

  “None of which will be good,” Hak-Bin responded, catching a whiff of the pheromone the other Sauron had emitted and correctly assessing the stonemaster’s body language. “Well, come in, make yourself comfortable in your own quarters, and tell me the worst. I’m back now—and ready for most anything.”

  But Hak-Bin wasn’t ready, not for the news that Franklin had escaped a well-deserved death, that the human resistance fighters had gone so far as to attack Sauron fighters, that a group of ferals were making regular radio broadcasts, that a large number of formerly placid Ra ‘Na were in open revolt, that fully half of the Hok Nor Ah had come under their control, that more than a quarter of the fleet was now in their hands, and that a large number of Zin were after his head. It was a lot to absorb—but Hak-Bin managed to do so. Dun-Dar watched in wonder as the other Zin not only withstood the onslaught of negative news but seemed energized by it. If ever there had been evidence that Hak-Bin had been born to lead, here it was.

  “Disturbing though the situation is, it could be worse,” Hak-Bin allowed thoughtfully. “Based on your report it sounds as if the citadels are intact, both catalyst factories remain under construction, and seventy-five percent of the fleet is under Sauron control.”

  Dun-Dar could see the manner in which the other Zin was already at work weaving the facts into a story that the Council of Clans might accept—and was amazed by the other Sauron’s brazen effrontery. “Yes, lord, your points are well taken. How can I and those under my command be of service?”

  “Keep the slaves under control,” Hak-bin replied. “Finish the citadel, complete the necessary preparations for the great day, and save a cell for me. It will be an honor to die here with leaders such as yourself.”

  This was high praise indeed, and even though Dun-Dar suspected that the other Sauron was trying to manipulate him, he couldn’t help but feel flattered. “I will see to it myself, lord. My nymph is pledged to yours. May I ask where you will go from here?”

  Hak-Bin looked surprised. “Why, up into orbit… The fleet falls under my authority does it not?”

  Dun-Dar bowed formally. “Yes, eminence, I feel confident that it does.”

  NEAR BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON

  The house had been rather nice at one time, but that was before the owners were forced into slavery, looters trashed the place, and the birds moved in. Now, with the exception of the single room in which the meeting was being held, the place was a mess.

  Still, while not as nice as it had been, a little cleanup work had been sufficient to restore the dining room to something like livability. The heavily scarred dining room table, which had once been the center of family dinners, was now laden with maps, binoculars, a pistol belt, and multiple cups of instant coffee. Professor Boyer Blue blew the steam off the black brew and raised the mug into air. “To the president of United States… A free man at last!”

  Franklin grinned. “Maybe not free… but out and about.”

  Deac Smith took a ceremonial sip of coffee. “We’ll take what we can get.”

  “I’ll second that,” the man called Patience added, “although the Sasquatch Nation regrets the fact that Sauron fighters were allowed to crash into the fragile waters of Puget Sound. Who knows what sort of pollutants have leaked out to poison the water?”

  Franklin would have been happy to see five hundred Sauron fighters dive into Puget Sound, but nodded dutifully and gave thanks for the fact that Blue had been able to bring the greens back to the table after Amocar assassinated their leader. The fact that the onetime bodyguard had been killed while trying to shoot the very man he was pledged to protect had gone a long way toward placating them. “Yes,” Franklin replied, “I’m sure we all look forward to the time when we can work on a global cleanup. In the meantime the battle continues—and I would like to introduce P’ere Nec who agreed to sit in on behalf of Dro Rul.”

  The Ra ‘Na sat level with everyone else with the aid of two telephone books. He had dark, nearly black fur, streaked with rust and gold. Like most of Dro Rul’s inner circle, the cleric had an ascetic bent and wore plain brown robes. His beady brown eyes darted from one face to the next. “Dro Rul sends both his regards and his apologies but knows you will understand. Our people launched their attack on the oppressors approximately twelve units ago. Dro Rul felt it was important that he be with our people.”

  Blue nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you for making the long dangerous journey to the surface.”

  “There are dangers,” the cleric conceded, “but conditions continue to improve. I came here from a Ra ‘Na-controlled factory ship, on a Ra ‘Na shuttle, with two Ra ‘Na fighters for protection. A wondrous moment indeed.”

  “Absolutely,” Franklin agreed. “But while I have no wish to understate our joint accomplishments, it’s my duty to focus on the tasks that lie ahead. So, if no one objects, I would like to discuss item number two on the agenda.”

  Having heard no objections, the chief executive officer nodded. “This particular issue has more relevance to those of us who happen to be human—but would have an impact on our alliance with the Ra ‘Na should anything happen to me.”

  “Which it darned near did,” Smith said heavily.

  “Yes, there was something of a close call,” Franklin admitted reluctantly, “but, thanks to the folks on my security team, I’m still around. The next attempt could be successful, however, which is why we need a vice president. I believe that Professor Blue is an excellent candidate—and hereby nominate him.”

  Blue raised an eyebrow. “Regardless of his wishes?”

  “Yes,” Franklin answered decisively. “I can’t force you to accept my nomination—but I hope your conscience will. The requirements of the people, and of our alliance with the Ra ‘Na, leave little room for personal preference.”

  “Motion seconded,” Smith said firmly.

  Given the fact that only one potential candidate remained, all heads swiveled toward Patience. He was a big man with a round face and a bushy beard. He raised both hands palms outward. “Oh, no you don’t… I hang drywall with the best of them, play a little banjo, and sing in the choir. But a politician I’m not, and, assuming this thing goes our way, that’s what you’re going to need.”

  All eyes returned to Blue. The historian had already passed on the presidency—for what he thought were excellent reasons. But now, with no other takers, the academic couldn’t find it in his heart to refuse. “All right… if that’s what you want me to do. But only till proper elections can be held.”

  “Done,” Franklin replied. “The nomination has been made and seconded. No other nominations were put forward. All those in favor of Professor Boyer Blue for vice president of the United States say ‘aye.’”

  There was a chorus of “ayes.”

  Franklin nodded. “Let the record show that Professor Blue was named vice president by acclamation, to serve until regular elections can be held or until this body shall determine otherwise.”

  There were cheers, followed by another toast, and the historian made history. There had been other African-American presidents, but this was the first time that African Americans had held both of the country’s top political positions, and was something to be proud of if they lived long enough to celebrate.

  “Now,” Franklin said, “let’s tackle the next item on the agenda. While we attacked the Saurons—another group attacked us. I refer to the so-called Society of the White Rose—a group that seeks to spread hatred via regular radio broadcasts. If I’m not mistaken, this is the same group of so-called ‘racialists’ who murdered my wife. If we ignore the bastards, they could not only draw support away from our cause—they could use racism to destroy any chance of putting American society back together when this is over.”

  Manning, who stood at the back of the room, winced. Not only had he been in love with the president’s wife, but his sister had been an enthusiastic member of the organization under discussion and directly responsible for Jina’s death.

  “An excellent point,” Smith commented softly. “Were the FBI and Secret Service still functional, they’d go after the scumbags full force.”

  There was silence for a moment. When Patience spoke his voice was hesitant—as if unsure of how his words would be received. “No offense, Mr. President, them having killed your wife and all, but is this the right time to go after them? We don’t have a lot of resources as it is… Can the resistance fight on two fronts and win?”

  It was a practical question and deserved a practical answer. Franklin raised his estimation of the self-described drywall hanger by a full notch. “Patience makes a good point. I can’t even pretend to be objective. What do the rest of you think? Should we go after the White Rose? Can we afford to do so? And where are they anyway?”

  P’ere Nec cleared his throat self-consciously. “Their headquarters are located in the area you call Idaho. Our technicians noticed the facility sometime ago, but, as with so many other things, they forgot to report it to the Saurons.”

  There were chuckles all around. Blue was first to speak. “Yes, I think we should go after them, but no, we can’t afford to do so. Not in the conventional sense anyway.”

  Franklin leaned back in his chair. It made a creaking sound. “Your comment seems to suggest that a nonconventional means might exist. Do you have something specific in mind?”

  “Yes,” Blue replied carefully, “I do. It’s kind of Machiavellian, however—and wouldn’t look very nice in the history books.”

  “Screw the history books,” Franklin said pragmatically. “Unless we manage to win, there won’t be any history books. What’s your idea?”

  “Well,” Blue began, his delivery unconsciously shifting to cadences once used in the classroom, “thanks to our Ra ‘Na allies we know where these people live. That being the case, we could feed the information to the bugs and let them handle the problem.”

  Franklin gave a long low whistle. “That is Machiavellian. But I like it… How ‘bout the children? What happens to them?”

  Blue was amazed to discover that he hadn’t thought about the possibility of children. Had he changed? Become hardened by months of ruthless occupation? Yes, it seemed that he had. Horrible though it was, he was willing to condemn children to death in order to achieve what he saw as the greater good. Just like so many of the historical figures he had once lectured about. When Blue spoke it was as if the voice belonged to a stranger. “I wish there was some way to protect them, Mr. President, but I don’t see how.”

  The room was silent for a moment, and Franklin bowed his head. “No, I suppose there isn’t. You were correct, Boyer, this won’t look very pretty in the history books, but I feel we have very little choice. We need to put everything we have into fighting the Saurons. So, how would it work? Why would the Saurons listen to us?”

  P’ere Nec spoke with downcast eyes. “I am ashamed to say that not all of my kind support the resistance. They have been slaves for such a long period of time that some identify themselves with the Saurons. One, a collaborator named Dro Tog, would be happy to convey the news to his masters.”

  Franklin allowed the front legs of his chair to hit the hardwood floor with a loud thump. “Brilliant! Let’s make it happen…”

  The resistance leaders moved on to the next agenda item after that, but Boyer Blue, who had seen his own daughter die on a live television broadcast, soon lost the thread. More children would die—and the responsibility was his.

  DARK SIDE OF THE MOON

  Three fighters, all of which had been liberated from the ship Nu Mor Ga (Memory of Ancestors), during the revolt, and now belonged to the newly formed Ra ‘Na navy, lurked just off the dark side of Earth’s moon. They were undetected so far, and the Great One willing, would remain so long enough for Tra and his two companions to complete their mission. Lord Hak-Bin had vanished from sight for a period of time, but now, judging from the com traffic that raced back and forth between the citadel near Nakabe, Guatemala, and the dreadnought Ib Se Ma (Taker of Worlds), the big bug was about to reappear.

  It could be something else, of course, since the Sauron transmissions had been encrypted using code generators developed by the Ra ‘Na themselves, but the pattern looked promising. There was quite a bit of evidence that Hak-Bin had been holed up in the citadel at Nakabe… and the Ib Se Ma was one of the few major warships not sabotaged, damaged, or somehow compromised during the revolt.

  So, assuming that Ra ‘Na intelligence was correct, and Hak-Bin was about to lift off, the mission was relatively simple: intercept the Sauron shuttle and destroy it.

  There were problems, however, not the least of which was the fact that neither Tra nor his fellow pilots had been trained to fly anything other than shuttles and other unarmed craft. Yes, Ra ‘Na pilots had flown combat missions in the distant past—the fact that interceptors even existed was proof of that fact—but unlike his Kan counterparts, who were born with inherited skills, Tra had none of his ancestor’s skills to guide him.

  Not only that, but given the fact that only a handful of interceptors had been converted for use by Ra ‘Na pilots, there was every likelihood that the three-person attack force would be outnumbered as well. The knowledge of that weighed heavily as the newly minted fighter pilot sat in the recently converted seat, his face plate retracted, trying to ignore the coppery smell of Kan body odor that still permeated the cockpit. He was frightened, very frightened, but happy to be where he was. If they could pull the mission off, if they could kill Hak-Bin, the odds would be greatly improved. Momentarily leaderless, the Saurons would squabble amongst themselves, and Dro Rul would capitalize on that.

  Tra checked the hastily converted control board, wished the waiting was over, and stared out into the blackness of space. Perhaps someday his people would return home. Where was the much-storied Balwur anyway? Straight ahead? Somewhere astern? If the stars knew, they refused to answer.

  ABOARD THE SAURON SHUTTLE OR SU, (USEFUL)

  The shuttle had cleared Earth’s atmosphere and was on course to land aboard the Ib Se Ma, when the warning arrived. The pilots received it, checked to make sure the fighter escorts had as well, and sent word to Hak-Bin via a Fon named Ath-Dee. He shuffled down the aisle, bowed, and delivered the news in the slow, ponderous style he considered appropriate for intercourse with members of the Zin caste.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your eminence, but it seems that the slaves seized some of our fighters, three of which are positioned on the far side of the moon. Based on their location, and the fact that they have already started to accelerate, there is a strong possibility that they intend to attack this shuttle. The pilots believe that we can outrun them. Please check to ensure that your safety harness is secured… and notify me if there’s anything else I can do.”

  Hak-Bin occupied a thronelike passenger sling that took up a disproportionate amount of the cabin. Ott-Mar rested within a standard sling toward the front of the compartment, and Tog, who wished he was somewhere else, occupied a bolt-down seat on the far side of the main aisle. Hak-Bin looked up from a swing-out data screen and regarded the Fon with the Sauron equivalent of a frown. “We have a fighter escort?”