elsewhere. Brixaal prepared as best It could, fabricating weapons and gear for invasion. It had also ordered every single grow tank into operation to produce both the Granrexen — the armored foot soldiers that the Republic called "Grunts" — and new Choxen soldiers. Already the first batch had their scars denoting completion of basic combat skills, with a second to soon follow.
With the suddenness of an invasion, it was time, and from the dark summer night, a small transport arrived hovering and quiet from the forest. The Choxen that emerged looked like all the others, except It carried an aura of power, a presence that couldn't be denied — and a reputation that It wouldn't.
"Princip Kavin," Brixaal said, bowing, head and neck exposed in a display of complete obeisance.
"You have information on the artifact?" Kavin's voice was raspy, the result of a voice box punctured in battle.
"We do, Princip. The Quislings await you in the forest south of here."
"Take me to them. Now."
"Absolutely, Princip." Brixaal gestured back toward the transport from which Kavin had emerged.
They both entered, the Princip first and the Base Commander following behind. The small cab smelled stale, with the faint, lingering scent of subjugation; the smell stirred something deep inside Brixaal, his body responding with a flush of sex hormones and adrenaline.
"You have done well for me," Kavin said as the vehicle wound its way along paths in the forest, its optical and electronic countermeasures hiding it from probing eyes in orbit. "Not long ago I gave this task to all my Base Commanders, and you are the only one to succeed."
"You honor me, Princip," Brixaal said with a bob of Its head.
Quiet again.
"How are the preparations for war?"
The Princip's mask of anger and fury fell, revealing — for just a moment — what looked like exhaustion.
Brixaal's battle hormones stirred.
The moment passed, and Kavin regained control. "We are besieged on all sides by the weakling Humans and their alien allies. Myself and Kre'ngar are the last Princips of worth on this continent. Observations within the Republic lands show preparations for a renewed push. Prepare yourself."
"We are prepared, Princip. When I heard of your coming, I knew it could only be the start of a new campaign." The image of battle, of conquest and flames and killing, enticed the Base Commander further. It was difficult to resist now, the need to subjugate someone, anyone, and if the Base Commander could subjugate the Princip and in doing so gain control of an entire Principality, so much the better.
By the time the Choxen transport reached the rendezvous point, the darkest part of the night had passed. Utter blackness gave way to the gray-yellow light of the planet's only moon beaming through the leaves overhead. A low, cool wind rustled leaves still green and tender.
Even in the dark cast by the overhead trees, Kavin could see the Humans as clear as if it were daylight. There were eighteen total, the majority in places of supposed safety, hiding behind trees or laid out in depressions in the ground. Two Humans, the leaders of this Quisling tribe, shivered despite their oiled animal skins, exposed to the elements and the hateful eyes of the Choxen.
They show their weaknesses. Kavin grunted to suppress a laugh. They could have hidden their cold with simple tricks of the mind — or been smart enough to dress in better clothes. Their other weakness, the dichotomy of the sexes, made them permanently flawed. Even in the Republic, their scientists had chosen to keep the differences that nature and random chance had bestowed upon the species instead of editing them out.
In silence, Kavin thanked the Siloth Makers that had corrected nature's mistakes and created a race of Sentients superior to Humans — a species crafted in the image of their makers.
Yes. The Humans of the Republic were weak, weaker even than the Quislings that raided these lands. How long had it been since there
With the suddenness of an invasion, it was time, and from the dark summer night, a small transport arrived hovering and quiet from the forest. The Choxen that emerged looked like all the others, except It carried an aura of power, a presence that couldn't be denied — and a reputation that It wouldn't.
"Princip Kavin," Brixaal said, bowing, head and neck exposed in a display of complete obeisance.
"You have information on the artifact?" Kavin's voice was raspy, the result of a voice box punctured in battle.
"We do, Princip. The Quislings await you in the forest south of here."
"Take me to them. Now."
"Absolutely, Princip." Brixaal gestured back toward the transport from which Kavin had emerged.
They both entered, the Princip first and the Base Commander following behind. The small cab smelled stale, with the faint, lingering scent of subjugation; the smell stirred something deep inside Brixaal, his body responding with a flush of sex hormones and adrenaline.
"You have done well for me," Kavin said as the vehicle wound its way along paths in the forest, its optical and electronic countermeasures hiding it from probing eyes in orbit. "Not long ago I gave this task to all my Base Commanders, and you are the only one to succeed."
"You honor me, Princip," Brixaal said with a bob of Its head.
Quiet again.
"How are the preparations for war?"
The Princip's mask of anger and fury fell, revealing — for just a moment — what looked like exhaustion.
Brixaal's battle hormones stirred.
The moment passed, and Kavin regained control. "We are besieged on all sides by the weakling Humans and their alien allies. Myself and Kre'ngar are the last Princips of worth on this continent. Observations within the Republic lands show preparations for a renewed push. Prepare yourself."
"We are prepared, Princip. When I heard of your coming, I knew it could only be the start of a new campaign." The image of battle, of conquest and flames and killing, enticed the Base Commander further. It was difficult to resist now, the need to subjugate someone, anyone, and if the Base Commander could subjugate the Princip and in doing so gain control of an entire Principality, so much the better.
By the time the Choxen transport reached the rendezvous point, the darkest part of the night had passed. Utter blackness gave way to the gray-yellow light of the planet's only moon beaming through the leaves overhead. A low, cool wind rustled leaves still green and tender.
Even in the dark cast by the overhead trees, Kavin could see the Humans as clear as if it were daylight. There were eighteen total, the majority in places of supposed safety, hiding behind trees or laid out in depressions in the ground. Two Humans, the leaders of this Quisling tribe, shivered despite their oiled animal skins, exposed to the elements and the hateful eyes of the Choxen.
They show their weaknesses. Kavin grunted to suppress a laugh. They could have hidden their cold with simple tricks of the mind — or been smart enough to dress in better clothes. Their other weakness, the dichotomy of the sexes, made them permanently flawed. Even in the Republic, their scientists had chosen to keep the differences that nature and random chance had bestowed upon the species instead of editing them out.
In silence, Kavin thanked the Siloth Makers that had corrected nature's mistakes and created a race of Sentients superior to Humans — a species crafted in the image of their makers.
Yes. The Humans of the Republic were weak, weaker even than the Quislings that raided these lands. How long had it been since there
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