The Belt Loop (Book Two) - Revenge of the Varson Page 2

  Phatie moved to join him, his medals and ceremonial chains and ornaments tinkling as he walked. “This is Divine. The One Who Casts No Shadow is surely behind this. Let us step up the timetable, then. We cannot let this opportunity slip through our fingers like so much sand. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for.”

  The young colonel looked at his master and extended his left hand. “I agree. We must move on this. The humans have no idea that we can make it out of our system, we can use small ships with tremendous jump capabilities. Something we did not have ten years ago.”

  Bale Phatie extended his left arm and grabbed the colonel’s outstretched arm near the elbow. They exchanged a ritualistic tug then clapped their free hands on top of their arms.

  “Operation Vanuuiad is set in motion,” Phatie said with exuberance.

  “No, your eminence, don’t forget how we must think now. In Elberese it would be called ‘Decimation’.”

  Phatie looked at his young protege and smiled. “Operation Decimation it is,” he said.

  Chapter 3

  The trip out to Rauud Mithie left Bale Phatie in a hopeful mood. His shuttle made the journey in just under four hours and spiraled in for a landing at the small port facility on the rocky world. Rauud Mithie orbited a small yellow-orange star on the far reaches of the Malguur Domain and it had been totally spared in the horrendous war with the humans, their battle cruisers never venturing out that far. That almost miraculous oversight had left the Malguur with at least one functioning manufacturing and technical center that had escaped human scrutiny. It was on Rauud that Phatie had hidden away his medical facilities, the laboratories and research centers designed to completely explore all things human. And accomplish other secret missions based on the needs of Colonel Inskaap.

  For the last five years Phatie had locked down the small planet, prohibiting any release of electromagnetic energy into surrounding space. All landings and takeoffs were strictly monitored and reported to him personally. Every emigré had to have Phatie’s personal chop on their arrival or departure permits. As far as the rest of the galaxy was concerned, this planet did not exist. To be sure of its complete anonymity a majority of the enterprises conducted here were done so underground.

  Phatie gave his shuttle crew strict commands and ordered them to have the ship prepared for a return to Canuure in exactly six hours. He knew that would put stress on his men but that burden came with the territory and they were quite used to it by now. He only had the most loyal men serving him directly; any dissent was met with swift and permanent reassignment, usually to posts not on this side of the mortal veil.

  “Sir, your ground transportation is ready,” one of the port inspectors said. “If you would follow me.”

  Phatie looked at his aides, three officers that had followed him down the shuttle ramp with armloads of equipment and his special nutritional lockers. “Which one of you men arranged for ground transportation?”

  The three Malguurians looked pained. Finally one young officer spoke. “I did, your eminence. I thought it would be advantageous for you to get a firsthand look at the strides the people here have made in the last cycle.”

  Bale Phatie swung a vicious back hand at the officer, knocking him off balance as the blow connected with his jaw. “Put that container down, lieutenant, and get yourself over to flight control and arrange for a flyer. I do not have time to waste on sightseeing tours. My intelligence reports tell me all I need to know about the condition of this dirt ball. I do not like to have my precious time squandered in this fashion.”

  The lieutenant regained his footing and sat his load down. “Right away, sir, right away,” the man said as he shuffled off to the port control center.

  “Let this be a lesson for you junior officers,” Phatie said, turning his gaze on the other two men. “My world is one of expediency. My time is more valuable to me than anything else you may think. Do not try to curry favor with me by arranging things that I have not specifically asked for. Follow my orders to the letter. Is that understood?”

  The two junior officers shifted their burdens to their right hands and thumped their chests with their left fists. “Understood, sir!” they cried in unison.

  Phatie shook his head and stared at his men. It was going to take months of intensive hammering to get these men on a war footing, get them to recognize the needs of a wartime commander. The quiet, almost sickening disgrace the race had suffered at the hands of the humans was something he had to bring to an end, and quickly. No more “can’t do” attitudes could be tolerated. Not by his staff, not by his lackeys. The next person he had to make an example of would not get off with just a swipe from his powerful hand. The next time his hand would have a weapon in it. The time for inserting steel back into the backbones of his men was at hand.

  The lieutenant rejoined his group and picked up his metal container. “Your eminence, we can proceed to Pad Seven; a flyer awaits your command.”

  “Lead the way, sergeant,” Phatie said as he ripped the sash from the shoulder of his startled aide. “Try to earn your rank back while we’re on this trip.”

  The Piru Torgud tossed the former lieutenant’s sash onto the oily landing pad and made a conscious effort to step on it as he strode away.

  * * *

  His plans could not have fallen together more perfectly than recent events indicated. Finally that ineffectual pretender Wan Galnal had met his maker. Colonel Zuure Inskaap smiled to himself and eased his way out of his cramped quarters. He shared a billet with seven other Malguurians and sometimes the closeness and the cloying odors of his compatriots were just too much to handle. He was by definition a loner, one who did not seek out any companionships and longed not for female company. Females were an untidy distraction with their constant talk and complaining. Nothing they had to say interested him in the least. What was most important for him right now was the furtherance of his plans.

  He pulled up the collar on his great coat against the harsh winds of Canuure. The seasons were changing and before long the fragrant ocean breezes would be howling torrents of acid rain and the sands of the shoreline would scour the countryside around the Orduud — the Canuure Military Complex and Government Center — and drive the nomadic Malguurians inland to higher ground and their underground tribal complexes. That scenario suited him just fine. No foot traffic on the streets, no ground-car traffic on the roads. During the Yaruuid — the Winter Cycle — his fellow citizens would retreat underground in their warrens and caves to snuggle up and create more young. The Malguur had over a billion souls to replace.

  Inskaap reached the parking facility near his barracks and operated the sensor in his hand. Top lights flashed twice and assured him that the vehicle was safe to pilot. Still, he looked the car over for a few minutes, unable to detect any unwarranted aftermarket additions that were not on the vehicle last night. One of the most undesirable options was the hidden fractive grenade that often wound up beneath the chassis of intelligence officers’ cars. There were still many on Canuure that resented the new order, the new push toward militarization. How could these sheep be so content to carry around the burden of defeat and humiliation as if it was a fine new coat of winter fleece? And he knew that many officers of the Orduud saw things exactly the way he did. He was young and cocksure and had the ear of the Piru Torgud. He knew that alliance would serve him well in the future, his own machinations being just as diabolical as his esteemed commander.

  Satisfied that the vehicle was safe, he popped the door and waited for it to lift up and away. A quick glance at the interior showed the car to be empty. He settled his long frame into the driver’s compartment and hit the stud to close the door.

  Today was going to be a glorious day. He had places to go and people to intimidate. And now that Wan Galnal was gone he also had new roads into the inner sanctum of the Orduud to pave. And once there, once in place among the senior staff, that could only mean a short wait before he sprung his trap for Bale Phatie. The supreme com
mander of the Malguur military. The bombastic ass. His boss.

  Inskaap turned right and exited the parking facility and headed east. If he had turned on his rear window defogger he would have seen the plain black ground-car that followed him out of the lot.

  Chapter 4

  Admiral Uubiid was nervous and it showed. He paced back and forth in long measured strides and his ordinarily stiff countenance was occasionally rippled with minute shudders as he walked.

  He was on the high catwalks above the erection and ship building yards in an enclosed manufacturing center just north of the main port on Rauud Mithie and it was his duty to supervise the construction of the new Malguur Fleet, especially the new iteration of fast-attack boats. The blockade runners. Once the engineers had reverse-engineered some of the wrecked human craft and added some old-fashioned Malguurian ingenuity, the fleet was producing many ships capable of the new “jump” technology. The new ships all had the required suppression fields and would now easily match the drives of the human fleet. If all went as planned, the Malguur Fleet would be back at strength in a few more human months. Uubiid had to remind himself to start thinking in human terms, start calculating in human time intervals, start counting down the days and weeks until he could proclaim the fleet operational.

  Far below him on the erection floor four Victory-class ships were in the final stages of production. Small blue-white sparks of molten metal showered the floor as the robotic arc-welders made seams and joins around the hulking ships. Thousands of workers moved parts and equipment along tracked tramways that fed each position on the floor. The sound of heavy machinery and colossal energy usage assaulted his ears but it was a sound that meant his work was getting done, a sound that surely would please the Piru Torgud.

  After yesterday’s meeting Uubiid had high-tailed it back to Rauud Mithie to oversee this critical component in the planned counter-strike against the humans. After Bale Phatie finished with his inspection of the medical facilities he would come to this manufacturing complex next. That visit was the cause of his nervousness. He knew the Malguur as a people were on a course that could not be altered. Unless they could strike a fatal blow at the overlording humans and blast their way out of the bottle, the blockade, they would all perish in a self-instituted war of conflicting ideologies: those that wanted peace against those that wanted revenge for the destruction of three Malguurian worlds. Not totally convinced he was on the correct side of the argument, Uubiid followed his orders and decided to let the chips fall where they may, just as the sparks of molten steel fell away from the side of the new ships hundreds of meters beneath him. History would be his judge and he hoped it would be kind.

  * * *

  Surrounded by a phalanx of staff doctors and surgeons, Bale Phatie continued his inspection of the medical facility. So far, he’d been very impressed at what he saw. The first three laboratories had been stunning to observe. Lab Number One contained the only human survivors of the war in Malguurian captivity. There were twenty-seven humans kept alive in cryogenic storage tubes, only thawed out when it was their turn to star in the operating theater. One by one the humans had been subjected to all manner of inspection both externally and internally. Needless to say, a lot of the subjects did not survive the clumsy probing by the Malguur doctors. The original number of subjects had been over six hundred.

  Phatie had watched as one of the human women had been dissected. By now the doctors had learned enough about human anatomy and physiology to understand some of the basic requirements to keep the subjects alive while they carried out their ghastly experiments. A minimum of anesthetic was used and during the operation Phatie had witnessed the human sit up during the procedure and scream. Of course, the soundproof operating theater kept those vile guttural cries from his ears. He watched with amusement as one of the doctors removed the woman’s womb and described the human reproductive system into the recording devices that would send his voice into the headsets of the assembled observers up in the galley. Phatie elected not to wear a headset and after a few more minutes of silent study, he motioned his assemblage of medical escorts to proceed to the next venue.

  It was in Laboratory Number Two that he reached for the listening device. In the lab below a thin Malguurian male was sitting in the middle of the operating theater with a heavy swath of bandages around his neck. The subject was wearing hospital garb below his waist and nothing above. From his high angle Phatie had been able to discern the tuft of wiry gray hair as it marched down the back of the man’s elongated skull and covered the center of his back before tapering off into his pants. His back was mottled with orange splotches that spread across his shoulders and upper arms. A fine looking specimen, Phatie thought.

  He listened as the young Malguurian tried pronouncing human words. He knew that this lab specialized in reconstructive vocal-cord surgeries. All in an attempt to get the intonations as perfect as possible. Part of his overall plan called for having many of his troops able to speak perfect Elberese. He’d listened for a few minutes and signaled it was time to move on to the next lab.

  Laboratory Three contained a comparative anatomy class. Several doctors were explaining the differences between human and native body types. On steel tables below the observation ring Phatie saw cadavers of both species being poked and prodded by what must have been medical students. Most of the white-smocked Malguurians in the theater carried study tablets and they each wore face masks.

  Now they were heading for the final lab, Laboratory Four. This was the one that the Piru Torgud was mostly interested in. He spoke to one of his escorts and instead of watching from the observation platform above the chamber, they proceeded around and down the spiraling staircase. At the bottom of the stairs the commander was instructed to don a surgical outer garment and affix a mask to his face. He did as he was told. No need in taking any unnecessary chances, he thought. What he didn’t understand was that the protective gear was aimed at protecting the patients within the lab, not the other way around.

  After a few minutes, his contingent was ready to enter the double airlocked lab.

  When the inner lock cycled Phatie swept into the chamber and looked at the human sitting in the middle of the room. At least the figure looked human. Phatie walked around the man and carefully pushed some of the doctors out of his way. Only the orange splotches on the man’s back betrayed him.

  “How long, doctor?” he asked the nearest masked physician. “How long post-op?”

  “Fourteen of their days, your eminence. The bone resections take the longest to heal. We have to insert composite rods into the base structure of the mandible and anchor the prosthetic chin into place. The brow reduction is just a matter of removing enough bone and shaving some of the underlying musculature. Of course, the swelling and accompanying ecchymosis takes time to fade.”

  He walked completely around the subject. “And the arms? Same thing?”

  The talking doctor reached over and carefully grabbed one of the man’s arms. “We remove a portion of the bone in the upper arm and re-attach it using composite pins and rods. The excess flesh is removed from the armpit area and with the exception of a slight difference in overall proportions, the clothes the man will wear should hide any of these alterations.”

  Phatie nodded and carefully looked at the man’s hands. Both were wrapped in filmy gauze and he could see the outline of four fingers, not three.

  “The hand reconstruction takes the longest, sir. What we do is split the middle finger, add resin fillers to the sawed bones and graft new skin over the split. Once healed, the hand looks entirely normal, human normal, that is.”

  He grunted his approval and walked away a few feet. “Are those aural implants meeting with much success? His ears look distended, doctor. Have him stand.”

  The doctor said something into the man’s surgically altered ear and he immediately stood on wobbly legs. The commander walked around the subject and surveyed every centimeter of the manlike creature. He noticed the fine line of
sutures that marched around the nape of the hybrid’s neck and continued under the bony ridge of his lower jaw.

  “We have three of the human months to be ready, gentlemen,” he pronounced through his face mask. “How many of these altered men will you have fully operational in one month? Their training and integration activities will take up the remainder of the alloted time.”

  The doctor motioned the subject back into the chair. “The volunteers are not exactly breaking down the door, your eminence. The first generation of our hybrids are already serving the Domain as forward lookouts and spies on two human worlds. Based on how many subjects we have already processed, I estimate we will have about twenty second-generation men ready to go by then.”

  Phatie walked over to the doctor and grabbed his shoulder so hard the surgeon let out a little yelp of pain. “Then you must ramp up the volunteering process, doctor. We will need at least fifty of these hybrids ready before we can proceed. Do I make myself clear?”

  He released the doctor and the surgeon staggered away, grabbing his injured shoulder. “Perfectly clear, sir,” he mumbled through his mask.

  “Very well, then, carry on with your work.”

  The Piru Torgud tore off his mask and his surgical garb and dropped them unceremoniously onto the sparkling tiled floor. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the inner hatch and one of his entourage stepped forward and punched the controls. In a swish and clatter of his ceremonial chains, he pushed through and was gone.

  Chapter 5

  “Well, Admiral Uubiid, show me what I came to see,” Phatie commanded. “Not these flimsy blockade runners, but the new prototype. The human design.”