Kruq’nov awaited Shrekhar reprisal patiently for several days. When it arrived, it came in a form unexpected. Instead of militia it came in the form of conscription. Along with Mercher, M’krah was to provide laborers for Imperial projects on the planet. The Shrekhar rounded up rogue males, sending them to distant Shrekhar factories or to the new station under construction in high orbit. Neither Kruq’nov nor Nrsah saw the logic in their plans. It was not until Gherelith explained that the Shrekhar saw the rogue males as the threat and hoped to disperse the troublemakers.
Kruq’nov saw the move as an opportunity. Instead of spreading thin their enemies, the Shrekhar managed to plant several in all of their key locations. Reaching the new station would be tricky but the factories were easily within reach. One of the males to elude Shrekhar press gangs contacted Kruq’nov. After their periodic hunt, the two Kings met this male in the butcher’s shop. Saloons and other public places were no doubt bugged. Fortunately, the Shrekhar have already developed the same contempt for small business as any of the Eight.
Nrsah eyed the male, Vashar the merchant, with suspicion. Kruq’nov approved of his distrust. Vashar was far older than Nrsah and it showed in his fuller mane. He claimed to have no service in the Imperial army or navy, but a number of scars on his face spoke of other battles. Vashar called himself a merchant, but under Imperial law he was nothing more than a smuggler.
Before Vashar conducted any business, he waited until Shar’eik vanished into the bowels of his shop with a fallen antelope. “Is it wise to speak around him?”
Kruq’nov’s eyes narrowed and his ear flattened. “The Tanner can be trusted to keep secrets. He has no more love for the Shrekhar than any of us.” Kruq’nov would be far more worried about conducting business in earshot of an Ape. Despite his ranting, the Matriarch refused to expel her Terran slaves. The Pride trusted their servants, as much as anyone could trust a slave. Sure, they were trustworthy until their owners woke one morning with all their throats slit.
“The bombs are a simple enough affair,” Vashar continued without any preamble. One of the advantages of dealing with other males was their dislike of speeches. “Small arms are going to be more problematic.”
Kruq’nov hoped this was not going to be about more pay. “Explain.”
Vashar’s eyes darted about the shop as if he were expecting a listening device to suddenly appear. One in his line of work could never be too careful. “Kilrathi arms are not as tightly controlled here as in other sectors, but they are still in short supply. Now I have associates in the Epsilon System that can—“
“Apes?” Nrsah asked in surprise. He and Kruq’nov exchanges scandalized glances. The only dealings either ever had with the Apes off Ghorah Khar involved one side trying to kill the other.
Vashar snorted. “I am talking of frontier worlds, not of the Confederation. Their border worlds are no fonder of Terra than we are of Kilrah. Besides, how do you think saloons on Ghorah Khar get their Terran booze?”
That hit home more for Kruq’nov than his brother. The elder King had acquired a taste for rum. He always assumed the alcohol was a spoil of war. When he returned home he would have to ask Ghe—no, he better not ask the Matriarch. She would want to know why he asked. Keitcha would tell what she knew without so many questions.
“Rum is one thing,” Nrsah said with a sidelong glance at his brother. “Rifles are another.” Nrsah held out an open hand. “How exactly is a male of our race supposed to handle one of their dinky weapons?”
Vashar’s expression told them very loudly that how was not his concern. “Perhaps you should take control of the Shrekhar arsenal first; then you can make as many plasma rifles to your specifications as you wish.”
Kruq’nov held up a hand to silence his brother. “Let’s just worry about armed the conscripted laborers first.” He wondered what the Shrekhar would think if they discovered a cache of these weapons. Maybe they would think the Terran slaves planned to rise up. They certainly would not believe any self-respecting Kilrathi would wield an alien weapon. “How many can you have by the end of the Kahrik?”
“I have a seller lined up,” Vashar explained. “He promises at least eighty octave rifles and an octave shoulder-launched missiles.”
They would not down a space fighter, but those missiles could make short work of any low flying gunships. It really took the fun out of war when the other side had air superiority. “It’s a start.”
Once again, Kruq’nov and Nrsah found themselves in an uncomfortable situation thanks to politics. Negotiations between the M’krah and Mercher Prides brought the Pride females closer. He already heard talk of a union between the two Prides, and had to admit it would be a prudent move. If the two Prides pooled their resources then they could push the Shrekhar off the planet altogether. It was the makings of a planetary Pride. Protecting a single city was more took more than enough effort, but defending an entire planet would require help.
Help sat across from the table from the M’krah Kings. Kruq’nov eyed the two males with deep suspicion, which was in turn returned upon him and Nrsah. Nrsah felt a little more self-conscious. The two Kings of the Mercher both had full and lush manes. Nrsah took some comfort in knowing they were born to lesser Prides than his birth Pride. His mother and aunts and sisters by now were all biochemists. He knew nothing of their work for much of it was classified.
Knarthi nar Mercher and his younger brother Revahr were brothers by birth and battle. Knarthi serves as squadron commander on one of the Empire’s carriers while Revahr flew on his wing. They killed many Apes during their time in the fleet. Knarthi’s kill score of over two eights impressed most Kilrathi. Too bad for him Kruq’nov was not most Kilrathi. His eyes narrowed and ears flattened as he considered the well groomed male. Knarthi certainly never slept in a vermin-infested trench. The few scars tracing across his snout spoke of a few up-close battles, likely in the ship’s mess.
Though they were allies, Kruq’nov refused to admit these males into his house. They met on neutral grounds, in the saloon frequented by the former Kings of the M’krah. Kruq’nov recalled fondly the day he and his brother stepped in to the pub and challenged the former Kings to Thrakrik, ritual combat for control of the Pride. He was not the only person eyeing the strangers with distrust. The few others frequenting the saloon did not take kindly to these newcomers. Kruq’nov hoped none of the other customers were spies. He would have preferred to meet in his favorite saloon, but like the manor, that was his territory.
After the two sets of Kings stared each other down for minutes, Nrsah grew bored with the contest of wills and spoke. “You know, I bet all our females are having a great time right now. They’ll spend all night talking, and talking, and talking—“
Revahr snorted in laughter. “I know what you mean. If they aren’t talking about the most trivial of things, then they are lecturing you about how to behave. It’s like we’ve never lived inside a house before.”
Kruq’nov shot the Mercher a reproachful stare. Gherelith lectured all the time and it grew tiresome. However, she was the Matriarch and it was her roll to lecture. No matter how often she and Kruq’nov clashed, he would never think to speak ill of her in public. Knarthi suffered similar experiences and smacked his brother upside the head. It was clear which male was the older brother, if only by a handful of minutes.
“Revahr, we did not come all this way and leave our territory unguarded to whine. We have business to attend,” he turned his gaze towards Kruq’nov. “Now what forces do you have at our disposal?” Knarthi tried to impose his will over the M’krah Kings. The two of them were nothing more than enlisted ground warriors, and the former pilot assumed he had the right to command. He assumed wrong.
Kruq’nov bared his teeth in a savage grin. “You are a guest in my city, and I would suggest you remember that. You have no right to march in and act like some high-born officer.”
Knarthi growled in return. “I have commanded males in combat. All you did was relay the orders of the officers above you.”
“And what do you know about fighting on the ground, pilot?” Kruq’nov pushed his chair back and shot to his feet. He leaned against the table and literally looked down at the former squadron commander.
Knarthi considered rising to meet the challenge, but he was keenly aware of the other eyes watching him. They were either Kings of minor vassals or rogue males; by rights he should not even acknowledge them. He could tell all of them were loyal to Kruq’nov and would back him in a fight. “Nothing. And what do you know about combat in space, which is where the Empire will attack us from?”
“The same as you know about ground combat,” Kruq’nov hissed before retrieving his chair and returning to it. As he calmed himself, his supporters relaxed.
“We appear to be two experts on one subject but novices on the other,” Knarthi admitted, abandoning any attempt to dominate this male. From what he heard of Kruq’nov, the male was a long time veteran of Repleetah. Just how he managed to leave the planet was unclear, and at the moment unimportant.
“Perhaps we should command the ground forces, while you command those in space,” Nrsah suggested. It was a reasonable division of power with one slight flaw. They had no space forces.
It was a flaw Knarthi picked up immediately. “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Follow your command?”
Kruq’nov felt like biting something. They were supposed to be co-existing at the very least, not bickering. It might be easier to kill these two and take over their Pride as well, but as Knarthi pointed out, Kruq’nov knew nothing about space combat. “We’ll just have to capture whatever the Shrekhar have, such as that station they are building above us.”
“And their ships,” Revahr suggested. “They have several of them.”
“Cargo ships, what good are those in combat?” Kruq’nov sniffed.
“More good than you imagine,” Knarthi shot back. “We can mount weapons on them and increase their shielding, graft larger engines to them.”
“They’d be shot to pieces,” Kruq’nov pointed out. He was no space force expert, but even he knew a warship could shred a cargo ship.
Knarthi and his brother laughed. “You’d think that, but no. The Apes uses the ugliest, most make-shift craft to fight us along their frontier. They are a creative foe, if nothing else.”
Kruq’nov noted the respect in the other male’s voice. Good; he would not dismiss the Apes so easily. Perhaps there was more to combat in space than he first thought. He also thought about his dealings with the smuggler. Many weapons that would be coming to Ghorah Khar would be Terran made. He exchanged a glance with Nrsah, trying to see what his brother thought. Nrsah dipped his head in agreement.
“Very well,” Kruq’nov said. “You can build your fleet, but I want my males on those ships.” He might agree that Knarthi had superior knowledge of space but that was by no means a guarantee of trust. Whoever commanded orbit had a distinct advantage.
Knarthi scowled at Kruq’nov. “As long as my males are placed in the militia, then we are in agreement.”
“Agreed,” Kruq’nov would have lost respect for the male if he was not equally mistrusting. “Now let’s drink to our mutual distrust.”
Knarthi let out a low rumbling chuckle. He lifted his glass of local palm wine in salute.
M'krah Manor
Kruq’nov woke with a start at the first explosion. Many Kahrik in the trenches conditioned his body to dive for cover before his mind was fully aware of what was going on. For a second, he thought he had returned to the trenches of the now dead Repleetah. Only after the initial fog of sleep wore off did he realize he was indeed awake. There was little difference between the realm of the waking and of sleep. Only seconds before he dreamt of the endless barrages preceding a Terran push.
A second explosion brought his mind into focus. Kruq’nov lifted his head from the floor of the common room to survey his surroundings. He must have fallen asleep on one of the couches. His veteran ears told him both explosions were less than an octomaks distance. A third explosion rang closer; this one was in the air. Something exploded in flight, but what? He crawled towards the nearest window and peered out into the night. Eights of traces lines illuminated the night sky as people on the ground opened up on an airborne enemy.
He spotted a flare from a missile leaving its launcher. The shoulder-launched missiles, though small for a Kilrathi, proved to be lethally effective. The contrail connected with a target in the sky, resulting in a fourth explosion. His eyes spotted several gunships in the skies over M’krah, and if his senses were correct, they were all headed towards his manor.
Instantly he was on his feet and running through the manor, shouting for everyone to awaken. The Pride females, unaccustomed to any sort of warfare, were slow to respond. A few of them ignored his shouts and went back to sleep. He cursed their peaceful lives; could they not tell something was out of the ordinary? Explosions did not occur on a regular basis in his city. Only a few cries of confusion met his ranting, and most of them from recently born cubs—his cubs. Well, his and those of his brother. At least with the older females, Kruq’nov was certain of the father.
Kruq’nov rounded a corner, nearly tripping over a stand and knocking a vase to the floor. It shattered on impact, but the veteran heeded it no attention. If those gunships reached their target, and he was certain the manor was that target, a lot more of the Pride’s heirlooms would be left in shards. The trip left him off balance, sending him into the wall. He rolled off the wall and recovered his footing, cursing as his elbow slammed into a fire alarm.
Kruq’nov stopped in his tracked and rounded on the big green button. If they would not listen to his voice, maybe they would listen to the alarm. He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it into the alarm. An instant later, the halls were filled with the most gods-awful sound he ever heard. His hands went to his ears to protect his sensitive hearing from the alarm. Though his ears pained him, his goal was achieved. Instantly snarls and growls rose to challenge the ear-splitting alarm.
Kruq’nov pushed past the sudden rush of his Pride from their quarters. He stopped as his eyes met Keitcha’s. She looked at him in alarm. “What is going on? Where’s the fire?”
Kruq’nov pointed upward. When Keitcha did not understand, he spoke two words. “Air raid.”
“Air raid?” the concept was foreign to her as any other Pride female. There were stories of the Terrans launching a raid against Ghorah Khar, but that was more than two Shrik ago, before her Pride arrived on the planet. “The Terrans? Why would they—“
Kruq’nov let out a sharp hiss to silence her. “It’s not the Apes. It’s the Shrekhar.”
Another explosion hit, this one nearly directly above them. The gunship fell from the sky, crashing into the manor’s vast yard. The crashing bomber and its payload hit with such force as to knock many of the M’krah Pride off their feet. Kruq’nov’s head rang from the sound and he dimly heard the whine of falling bombs. With only seconds to act, Kruq’nov through Keitcha beneath one of the hall’s arches and through his own body over her to shield her and his unborn cubs from the coming explosion.
Kruq’nov and Nrsah surveyed the wreckage left in the wake of the Shrekhar attack. Half of their manor was left in ruin and several females and cubs were unaccounted. A few were dug up from the ruins. Nrsah roared in fury as the body of Meichar was drug from the ruins still clutching a cub in her arms. Neither lived through the attack. Meichar was his favorite, like Keitcha was Kruq’nov’s. As such, Kruq’nov never touched the female, meaning the dead cub was also Nrsah’s.
Both Pride Kings fought to contain their rage. With no enemy in sight to kill it did them little good to give into bloodlust. “They will die for this,” Nrsah snarled as he paced about the ruins.
“They will,” Kruq’nov agreed. “Do not worry about that brother, they will indeed die.” He hoped Nrsah did not charge headlong at the first Shrekhar than stumbled across his path.
Nrsah refused to be mollified. “They will die soon. We should have struck at them openly by now instead of slinking around in the dark like—like—“
“Like dirty Apes?” Kruq’nov offered. Nrsah flashed his teeth in a predatory smile. “We will move as soon as all our pieces are in place and not a second before. It would do us no good to strike until we’re ready.”
Nrsah continued to pace. He did not like the answer, not one bit. He wanted to rip out some Shrekhar throats now, not wait. He knew his brother spoke wisely. It was better to strike and win than strike for satisfaction. His fury so consumed his attention that he nearly tripped over an arm sticking from a pile of rubble. Regaining his balance with his ancestral predator’s grace, he whirled on the obstacle, kicking fiercely at it. The hairless and burnt arm of a Terran slave reached out from beyond like the undead crawling from its tomb.
“Even in death these creatures still haunt us,” Nrsah hissed. He was no more pleased by the presence of Apes in his household than Kruq’nov, though he was far less vocal in his opposition.
Kruq’nov was about to make his own comment on Terrans when a roar of anguish caught both of his ears like wind to a sail. He turned towards the voice and saw Keitcha clutched in an embrace with the Matriarch, wailing in sorrow. He bounded towards her, deftly crossing the ruined landscape. Ahead of him, Keitcha, Shelcha and Gherelith stood near a recently uncovered body.
Kruq’nov came to a stop upon laying eyes on the deceased. This was no junior Pride female, but the corpse of Ghenkril, sister of the Matriarch and mother of Keitcha and Shelcha. Keitcha broke free of her aunt and turned to comfort and be comforted by her twin. Both females survived the bombing with a few bumps and bruises, to which Kruq’nov thanked the gods.
Kruq’nov stood next to the sisters and looked down at the fallen Ghenkril. Like Nrsah’s favorite, she had an infant clenched in her grasp. The child was just as dead as her aunt. Kruq’nov roared in fury, recognizing the newborn as one of his own. The night’s events struck Kruq’nov at full force, nearly knocking him onto all fours. He was supposed to protect the Pride, that was one of the two roles of a Pride King, and he failed.
The air defenses hastily built in the city were not enough to stop the air raid. Should-launched missiles could not take the place of proper plasma cannons. Short ranged missiles were the best he could do with the money available. If he had more funds—no, he would not shift blame for this disaster. He failed in his duty and would not have to spend the rest of his life trying to overcome this disaster.
Gherelith walked over to Kruq’nov and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “I should have listened to you. You were right, and I ignored your advice. You wanted heavy weapons to defend the city and all I could offer were those fireworks.”
Kruq’nov brushed the arm away. Defense was his responsibility and he would allow no one to claim his failings. “Perhaps they would have helped, but it would not have stopped them from launching this attack.”
“There will be another,” the Matriarch half-said and half-asked.
Kruq’nov bowed his head. “Of course. They will likely come on foot to clean up whatever is left.” The probably expected to catch the M’krah unaware and kill most of them while they slept. It added insult to injury. The Shrekhar had such a low opinion of the M’krah that they treated them like beasts of prey and not honored foes. The accursed Apes had more honor than the Shrekhar.
“And you will be ready?”
Against Kruq’nov bowed. “We will. The Shrekhar will find resistance to their governorship is alive and well. None of them will leave our city alive.”
Gherelith brightened at his words. In the morning light, standing amongst the partial ruin of her home, the Matriarch showed her age. Kruq’nov never realized just how old she was. He knew she was past child-bearing, but the true depth of her age only showed in disaster. How much longer did she have to live? Long enough to see her enemies dead, that much was certain. “When you deliver the killing blow to our enemy, I wish to be there. I want to see the Shrekhar fall and my Pride avenged."
Kruq’nov gave her a savage smile. “That can be arranged Matriarch. That can most certainly be arranged.”
Kruq’nov saw the move as an opportunity. Instead of spreading thin their enemies, the Shrekhar managed to plant several in all of their key locations. Reaching the new station would be tricky but the factories were easily within reach. One of the males to elude Shrekhar press gangs contacted Kruq’nov. After their periodic hunt, the two Kings met this male in the butcher’s shop. Saloons and other public places were no doubt bugged. Fortunately, the Shrekhar have already developed the same contempt for small business as any of the Eight.
Nrsah eyed the male, Vashar the merchant, with suspicion. Kruq’nov approved of his distrust. Vashar was far older than Nrsah and it showed in his fuller mane. He claimed to have no service in the Imperial army or navy, but a number of scars on his face spoke of other battles. Vashar called himself a merchant, but under Imperial law he was nothing more than a smuggler.
Before Vashar conducted any business, he waited until Shar’eik vanished into the bowels of his shop with a fallen antelope. “Is it wise to speak around him?”
Kruq’nov’s eyes narrowed and his ear flattened. “The Tanner can be trusted to keep secrets. He has no more love for the Shrekhar than any of us.” Kruq’nov would be far more worried about conducting business in earshot of an Ape. Despite his ranting, the Matriarch refused to expel her Terran slaves. The Pride trusted their servants, as much as anyone could trust a slave. Sure, they were trustworthy until their owners woke one morning with all their throats slit.
“The bombs are a simple enough affair,” Vashar continued without any preamble. One of the advantages of dealing with other males was their dislike of speeches. “Small arms are going to be more problematic.”
Kruq’nov hoped this was not going to be about more pay. “Explain.”
Vashar’s eyes darted about the shop as if he were expecting a listening device to suddenly appear. One in his line of work could never be too careful. “Kilrathi arms are not as tightly controlled here as in other sectors, but they are still in short supply. Now I have associates in the Epsilon System that can—“
“Apes?” Nrsah asked in surprise. He and Kruq’nov exchanges scandalized glances. The only dealings either ever had with the Apes off Ghorah Khar involved one side trying to kill the other.
Vashar snorted. “I am talking of frontier worlds, not of the Confederation. Their border worlds are no fonder of Terra than we are of Kilrah. Besides, how do you think saloons on Ghorah Khar get their Terran booze?”
That hit home more for Kruq’nov than his brother. The elder King had acquired a taste for rum. He always assumed the alcohol was a spoil of war. When he returned home he would have to ask Ghe—no, he better not ask the Matriarch. She would want to know why he asked. Keitcha would tell what she knew without so many questions.
“Rum is one thing,” Nrsah said with a sidelong glance at his brother. “Rifles are another.” Nrsah held out an open hand. “How exactly is a male of our race supposed to handle one of their dinky weapons?”
Vashar’s expression told them very loudly that how was not his concern. “Perhaps you should take control of the Shrekhar arsenal first; then you can make as many plasma rifles to your specifications as you wish.”
Kruq’nov held up a hand to silence his brother. “Let’s just worry about armed the conscripted laborers first.” He wondered what the Shrekhar would think if they discovered a cache of these weapons. Maybe they would think the Terran slaves planned to rise up. They certainly would not believe any self-respecting Kilrathi would wield an alien weapon. “How many can you have by the end of the Kahrik?”
“I have a seller lined up,” Vashar explained. “He promises at least eighty octave rifles and an octave shoulder-launched missiles.”
They would not down a space fighter, but those missiles could make short work of any low flying gunships. It really took the fun out of war when the other side had air superiority. “It’s a start.”
Once again, Kruq’nov and Nrsah found themselves in an uncomfortable situation thanks to politics. Negotiations between the M’krah and Mercher Prides brought the Pride females closer. He already heard talk of a union between the two Prides, and had to admit it would be a prudent move. If the two Prides pooled their resources then they could push the Shrekhar off the planet altogether. It was the makings of a planetary Pride. Protecting a single city was more took more than enough effort, but defending an entire planet would require help.
Help sat across from the table from the M’krah Kings. Kruq’nov eyed the two males with deep suspicion, which was in turn returned upon him and Nrsah. Nrsah felt a little more self-conscious. The two Kings of the Mercher both had full and lush manes. Nrsah took some comfort in knowing they were born to lesser Prides than his birth Pride. His mother and aunts and sisters by now were all biochemists. He knew nothing of their work for much of it was classified.
Knarthi nar Mercher and his younger brother Revahr were brothers by birth and battle. Knarthi serves as squadron commander on one of the Empire’s carriers while Revahr flew on his wing. They killed many Apes during their time in the fleet. Knarthi’s kill score of over two eights impressed most Kilrathi. Too bad for him Kruq’nov was not most Kilrathi. His eyes narrowed and ears flattened as he considered the well groomed male. Knarthi certainly never slept in a vermin-infested trench. The few scars tracing across his snout spoke of a few up-close battles, likely in the ship’s mess.
Though they were allies, Kruq’nov refused to admit these males into his house. They met on neutral grounds, in the saloon frequented by the former Kings of the M’krah. Kruq’nov recalled fondly the day he and his brother stepped in to the pub and challenged the former Kings to Thrakrik, ritual combat for control of the Pride. He was not the only person eyeing the strangers with distrust. The few others frequenting the saloon did not take kindly to these newcomers. Kruq’nov hoped none of the other customers were spies. He would have preferred to meet in his favorite saloon, but like the manor, that was his territory.
After the two sets of Kings stared each other down for minutes, Nrsah grew bored with the contest of wills and spoke. “You know, I bet all our females are having a great time right now. They’ll spend all night talking, and talking, and talking—“
Revahr snorted in laughter. “I know what you mean. If they aren’t talking about the most trivial of things, then they are lecturing you about how to behave. It’s like we’ve never lived inside a house before.”
Kruq’nov shot the Mercher a reproachful stare. Gherelith lectured all the time and it grew tiresome. However, she was the Matriarch and it was her roll to lecture. No matter how often she and Kruq’nov clashed, he would never think to speak ill of her in public. Knarthi suffered similar experiences and smacked his brother upside the head. It was clear which male was the older brother, if only by a handful of minutes.
“Revahr, we did not come all this way and leave our territory unguarded to whine. We have business to attend,” he turned his gaze towards Kruq’nov. “Now what forces do you have at our disposal?” Knarthi tried to impose his will over the M’krah Kings. The two of them were nothing more than enlisted ground warriors, and the former pilot assumed he had the right to command. He assumed wrong.
Kruq’nov bared his teeth in a savage grin. “You are a guest in my city, and I would suggest you remember that. You have no right to march in and act like some high-born officer.”
Knarthi growled in return. “I have commanded males in combat. All you did was relay the orders of the officers above you.”
“And what do you know about fighting on the ground, pilot?” Kruq’nov pushed his chair back and shot to his feet. He leaned against the table and literally looked down at the former squadron commander.
Knarthi considered rising to meet the challenge, but he was keenly aware of the other eyes watching him. They were either Kings of minor vassals or rogue males; by rights he should not even acknowledge them. He could tell all of them were loyal to Kruq’nov and would back him in a fight. “Nothing. And what do you know about combat in space, which is where the Empire will attack us from?”
“The same as you know about ground combat,” Kruq’nov hissed before retrieving his chair and returning to it. As he calmed himself, his supporters relaxed.
“We appear to be two experts on one subject but novices on the other,” Knarthi admitted, abandoning any attempt to dominate this male. From what he heard of Kruq’nov, the male was a long time veteran of Repleetah. Just how he managed to leave the planet was unclear, and at the moment unimportant.
“Perhaps we should command the ground forces, while you command those in space,” Nrsah suggested. It was a reasonable division of power with one slight flaw. They had no space forces.
It was a flaw Knarthi picked up immediately. “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Follow your command?”
Kruq’nov felt like biting something. They were supposed to be co-existing at the very least, not bickering. It might be easier to kill these two and take over their Pride as well, but as Knarthi pointed out, Kruq’nov knew nothing about space combat. “We’ll just have to capture whatever the Shrekhar have, such as that station they are building above us.”
“And their ships,” Revahr suggested. “They have several of them.”
“Cargo ships, what good are those in combat?” Kruq’nov sniffed.
“More good than you imagine,” Knarthi shot back. “We can mount weapons on them and increase their shielding, graft larger engines to them.”
“They’d be shot to pieces,” Kruq’nov pointed out. He was no space force expert, but even he knew a warship could shred a cargo ship.
Knarthi and his brother laughed. “You’d think that, but no. The Apes uses the ugliest, most make-shift craft to fight us along their frontier. They are a creative foe, if nothing else.”
Kruq’nov noted the respect in the other male’s voice. Good; he would not dismiss the Apes so easily. Perhaps there was more to combat in space than he first thought. He also thought about his dealings with the smuggler. Many weapons that would be coming to Ghorah Khar would be Terran made. He exchanged a glance with Nrsah, trying to see what his brother thought. Nrsah dipped his head in agreement.
“Very well,” Kruq’nov said. “You can build your fleet, but I want my males on those ships.” He might agree that Knarthi had superior knowledge of space but that was by no means a guarantee of trust. Whoever commanded orbit had a distinct advantage.
Knarthi scowled at Kruq’nov. “As long as my males are placed in the militia, then we are in agreement.”
“Agreed,” Kruq’nov would have lost respect for the male if he was not equally mistrusting. “Now let’s drink to our mutual distrust.”
Knarthi let out a low rumbling chuckle. He lifted his glass of local palm wine in salute.
M'krah Manor
Kruq’nov woke with a start at the first explosion. Many Kahrik in the trenches conditioned his body to dive for cover before his mind was fully aware of what was going on. For a second, he thought he had returned to the trenches of the now dead Repleetah. Only after the initial fog of sleep wore off did he realize he was indeed awake. There was little difference between the realm of the waking and of sleep. Only seconds before he dreamt of the endless barrages preceding a Terran push.
A second explosion brought his mind into focus. Kruq’nov lifted his head from the floor of the common room to survey his surroundings. He must have fallen asleep on one of the couches. His veteran ears told him both explosions were less than an octomaks distance. A third explosion rang closer; this one was in the air. Something exploded in flight, but what? He crawled towards the nearest window and peered out into the night. Eights of traces lines illuminated the night sky as people on the ground opened up on an airborne enemy.
He spotted a flare from a missile leaving its launcher. The shoulder-launched missiles, though small for a Kilrathi, proved to be lethally effective. The contrail connected with a target in the sky, resulting in a fourth explosion. His eyes spotted several gunships in the skies over M’krah, and if his senses were correct, they were all headed towards his manor.
Instantly he was on his feet and running through the manor, shouting for everyone to awaken. The Pride females, unaccustomed to any sort of warfare, were slow to respond. A few of them ignored his shouts and went back to sleep. He cursed their peaceful lives; could they not tell something was out of the ordinary? Explosions did not occur on a regular basis in his city. Only a few cries of confusion met his ranting, and most of them from recently born cubs—his cubs. Well, his and those of his brother. At least with the older females, Kruq’nov was certain of the father.
Kruq’nov rounded a corner, nearly tripping over a stand and knocking a vase to the floor. It shattered on impact, but the veteran heeded it no attention. If those gunships reached their target, and he was certain the manor was that target, a lot more of the Pride’s heirlooms would be left in shards. The trip left him off balance, sending him into the wall. He rolled off the wall and recovered his footing, cursing as his elbow slammed into a fire alarm.
Kruq’nov stopped in his tracked and rounded on the big green button. If they would not listen to his voice, maybe they would listen to the alarm. He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it into the alarm. An instant later, the halls were filled with the most gods-awful sound he ever heard. His hands went to his ears to protect his sensitive hearing from the alarm. Though his ears pained him, his goal was achieved. Instantly snarls and growls rose to challenge the ear-splitting alarm.
Kruq’nov pushed past the sudden rush of his Pride from their quarters. He stopped as his eyes met Keitcha’s. She looked at him in alarm. “What is going on? Where’s the fire?”
Kruq’nov pointed upward. When Keitcha did not understand, he spoke two words. “Air raid.”
“Air raid?” the concept was foreign to her as any other Pride female. There were stories of the Terrans launching a raid against Ghorah Khar, but that was more than two Shrik ago, before her Pride arrived on the planet. “The Terrans? Why would they—“
Kruq’nov let out a sharp hiss to silence her. “It’s not the Apes. It’s the Shrekhar.”
Another explosion hit, this one nearly directly above them. The gunship fell from the sky, crashing into the manor’s vast yard. The crashing bomber and its payload hit with such force as to knock many of the M’krah Pride off their feet. Kruq’nov’s head rang from the sound and he dimly heard the whine of falling bombs. With only seconds to act, Kruq’nov through Keitcha beneath one of the hall’s arches and through his own body over her to shield her and his unborn cubs from the coming explosion.
Kruq’nov and Nrsah surveyed the wreckage left in the wake of the Shrekhar attack. Half of their manor was left in ruin and several females and cubs were unaccounted. A few were dug up from the ruins. Nrsah roared in fury as the body of Meichar was drug from the ruins still clutching a cub in her arms. Neither lived through the attack. Meichar was his favorite, like Keitcha was Kruq’nov’s. As such, Kruq’nov never touched the female, meaning the dead cub was also Nrsah’s.
Both Pride Kings fought to contain their rage. With no enemy in sight to kill it did them little good to give into bloodlust. “They will die for this,” Nrsah snarled as he paced about the ruins.
“They will,” Kruq’nov agreed. “Do not worry about that brother, they will indeed die.” He hoped Nrsah did not charge headlong at the first Shrekhar than stumbled across his path.
Nrsah refused to be mollified. “They will die soon. We should have struck at them openly by now instead of slinking around in the dark like—like—“
“Like dirty Apes?” Kruq’nov offered. Nrsah flashed his teeth in a predatory smile. “We will move as soon as all our pieces are in place and not a second before. It would do us no good to strike until we’re ready.”
Nrsah continued to pace. He did not like the answer, not one bit. He wanted to rip out some Shrekhar throats now, not wait. He knew his brother spoke wisely. It was better to strike and win than strike for satisfaction. His fury so consumed his attention that he nearly tripped over an arm sticking from a pile of rubble. Regaining his balance with his ancestral predator’s grace, he whirled on the obstacle, kicking fiercely at it. The hairless and burnt arm of a Terran slave reached out from beyond like the undead crawling from its tomb.
“Even in death these creatures still haunt us,” Nrsah hissed. He was no more pleased by the presence of Apes in his household than Kruq’nov, though he was far less vocal in his opposition.
Kruq’nov was about to make his own comment on Terrans when a roar of anguish caught both of his ears like wind to a sail. He turned towards the voice and saw Keitcha clutched in an embrace with the Matriarch, wailing in sorrow. He bounded towards her, deftly crossing the ruined landscape. Ahead of him, Keitcha, Shelcha and Gherelith stood near a recently uncovered body.
Kruq’nov came to a stop upon laying eyes on the deceased. This was no junior Pride female, but the corpse of Ghenkril, sister of the Matriarch and mother of Keitcha and Shelcha. Keitcha broke free of her aunt and turned to comfort and be comforted by her twin. Both females survived the bombing with a few bumps and bruises, to which Kruq’nov thanked the gods.
Kruq’nov stood next to the sisters and looked down at the fallen Ghenkril. Like Nrsah’s favorite, she had an infant clenched in her grasp. The child was just as dead as her aunt. Kruq’nov roared in fury, recognizing the newborn as one of his own. The night’s events struck Kruq’nov at full force, nearly knocking him onto all fours. He was supposed to protect the Pride, that was one of the two roles of a Pride King, and he failed.
The air defenses hastily built in the city were not enough to stop the air raid. Should-launched missiles could not take the place of proper plasma cannons. Short ranged missiles were the best he could do with the money available. If he had more funds—no, he would not shift blame for this disaster. He failed in his duty and would not have to spend the rest of his life trying to overcome this disaster.
Gherelith walked over to Kruq’nov and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “I should have listened to you. You were right, and I ignored your advice. You wanted heavy weapons to defend the city and all I could offer were those fireworks.”
Kruq’nov brushed the arm away. Defense was his responsibility and he would allow no one to claim his failings. “Perhaps they would have helped, but it would not have stopped them from launching this attack.”
“There will be another,” the Matriarch half-said and half-asked.
Kruq’nov bowed his head. “Of course. They will likely come on foot to clean up whatever is left.” The probably expected to catch the M’krah unaware and kill most of them while they slept. It added insult to injury. The Shrekhar had such a low opinion of the M’krah that they treated them like beasts of prey and not honored foes. The accursed Apes had more honor than the Shrekhar.
“And you will be ready?”
Against Kruq’nov bowed. “We will. The Shrekhar will find resistance to their governorship is alive and well. None of them will leave our city alive.”
Gherelith brightened at his words. In the morning light, standing amongst the partial ruin of her home, the Matriarch showed her age. Kruq’nov never realized just how old she was. He knew she was past child-bearing, but the true depth of her age only showed in disaster. How much longer did she have to live? Long enough to see her enemies dead, that much was certain. “When you deliver the killing blow to our enemy, I wish to be there. I want to see the Shrekhar fall and my Pride avenged."
Kruq’nov gave her a savage smile. “That can be arranged Matriarch. That can most certainly be arranged.”